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THE 


^1  jj 

New  England  Magazine 


{AND  BAY  STATE  MONTHLY) 


an  miuatrateb  fIDontbli? 


DEVOTED  TO  TtTE 


HISTORY,  BIOGRAPHY,   LITERATURE,   EDUCATIONAL 

AND  GENERAL   INTERESTS 


OF  THE 


NEW  ENGLAND  STATES  AND   PEOPLE 


Volume  V 


BOSTON 

ARTHUR   p.   DODGE 

1887 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress  in  the  year  1887  by  Arthur  P.  Dodge  in  the  office  of  the  Librarian 

of  Congress  at  Washington.    All  rights  reserved. 


INDEX   TO  THE  CONTENTS  OF  VOLUME  V. 


>5»?oc- 


PAGE 

Amherst  Hills,  To  The,  (verse) 17 

Arens,  E.  J 533 

Art  and  Literature 92,  199,  291,  394,  492,  600 

Ahlbom,  Ida  A 13 

Art  in  Book  Illustration 95 

Austin,  Henry  W 118 

Aristocracies,  The  Three 580 

ArchaeoFogist,  To  An,  (verse) 273 

Andover  Seminary  Trial,  (Editor's  Table) 385 

Arnold.  James  N 469 

Ammidon,  Philip  R 478 

Allen,  Hon.  Stephen  M 486 

Andrew  of  Paris,  A  portrait  of 100 

Anthony,  Senator,  and  Providence  Journal, —  Illustrated 574 

Anthony,  Henry  D.,  A  portrait  of 498 

April.  (Editor's  Table) 591 

April  on  the  Farm,  (verse) 545 

Ballou,  Rev.  Hosea,  A  portrait  of       404 

Brownings,  The,  (verse) 13 

Bouquet  of  Weeds,  A 14 

Bodwell,  Joseph  Robinson,  Portrait  of 28 

Bodwell,  Joseph  Robinson,  Biographical  Sketch  of 29 

Bassett,  William  G 184 

Bierstadt,  O.  A 171 

Brown.  Clara  Spaulding 253 

Bangs,  Elgbert  L 267 

Brooks.  William  Gray 299 

Bell  of  Schaffhausen,  The,  (verse) 333 

Bolton,  Charles  K. 333-532 

British  Cake,  The ;  A  Story  of  the  War  of  1812 376 

Birdseye.  George '  346 

Banker,  C.  A 452 

BartholdiStatueof  Liberty.  (Editor's  Table) 83 

Bit  of  Old  China,  A 417 

Bread  Making,  The  History  of 608 

rilechcr,  Henry  Ward,  (Editor's  Table) 588 

Congregational  Denomination.  The 230 

Chapin,  Rev.  E.  H.,  A  portrait  of 406 

Capen,  E.  H.,  D.D 401 

Copyright,  International 7 

Circulation  and  Reputation,  (Editor's  Table) 484 

Capitol,  The  Massachusetts      66 


169589 


iv  GENERAL    INDEX. 

PAGB 

Christian  Science  Mind  Healing 59 

Completeness,  (verse) 105 

Clark,  James  G 105 

Carrington,  Gen.  Henry  B.,  LL.D 106 

Civil  War  in  1862,  with  Map 106 

Chickadee,  To  A,  (verse) 118 

Colleges,  Mark  Hopkins  on  the  Uses  of,  (Editor's  Table) 592 

College,  Smith,  A  History  and  Description  of,  —  Illustrated 207 

College,  Maine  State,  A  History  and  Description  of, —  Illustrated 546 

Copper  Mines,  The  Simsbury 427 

Congressional  Matters,  (Editor's  Table) 283 

Cole,  Samuel  V ' 273 

Cotton,  Rev.  John,  Portrait  of 298 

Cotton,  Rev.  John,  Biographical  Sketch  of 299 

Cross,  Allen  Eastman 17 

Cake,  The  British ;  A  Story  of  the  War  of  1812 376 

Canoeing  in  Kennebec  County,  Maine 347 

Cullis,  Dr.  Charles 438 

Carr,  Laura  Garland,  (verse) 362,  579 

Clough,  William  0 363 

Choate,  Isaac  B 417 

City  of  Providence,  The 499 

Caldwell,  Rev.  S.  L.,  D.D 574 

Distinctive  Traits  of  John  B.  Gough 3 

Downes,  Wallace 19 

Dexter,  Rev.  Henry  M.,  D.D 230 

Deserted  Meeting- House,  The 363 

Doyle,  Mayor,  of  Providence 528 

Doyle,  Thomas  A.,  A  portrait  of 528 

Editor's  Table 80,  i88,  278,  382,  482.  588 

Englishman's  Opinions,  An 478 

Economics  of  Industry  in  School,  (Editor's  Table) 483 

E^^iscopal  Church  in  the  U.  S 309 

Election,  A  Vermont  Town,  (1815) 472 

Epitaphs,  Old  Time 253 

Easter  Offering,  An,  (verse) 558 

Educational  Institutions,  New  England 546 

Maine  State  Agricultural  College 546 

Northfield  Seminary 335 

Smith  College 207 

Europe,  The  Strained  Relations  of,  (Editor's  Table) 588 

Family,  A  Notable 53 

Flower,  Richard  C,  Portrait  of 55 

Family,  the  Unit  of  the  State,  The 82 

Fellner,  Eugene , ^8 

Form  and  Color,  Poetry  of 261 

Fair  Northfield,  and  The  Evangelist  Moody, —  Illustrated 335 

Facts,  Fears,  and  Imagination 469 

Fisheries,  The.  (Editor's  Table) 383.485 

Farman,  M.  Winslow 472 

Faith  Cure,  The.  — Illustrated 438 

French,  J.  M.,  M.D 427 


GENERAL   INDEX.  v 

PAGB 

-FatherofBoston,  The,"  (Rev.  John  Cotton),— Illustrated 399 

Femald,  President  M.  C 546 

Forsyth  de  Fronsac 580 

Gough,  John  B.,  Distinctive  Traits  of 3 

Gould,  Elizabeth  Porter 150 

Gill,  William  1 59, 249, 438 

Goss,  £.  H 321 

Ghiberti's  Second  Gate,  (verse) 437 

Guild.  R.  A.,  LL.D 538 

Hill,  George  Canning 539 

Historical  Record 84,  193,  285,  389,  488, 593 

Historic  New  London  —  with  Map 119 

History  Writing,  (Editor's  Table) 193 

History  Writing,  Local 278 

Hard,  Edwin 53 

Hurd,  Charles  E. 95 

HoUoway.  Charles  M 119 

Hichbom.  H.  S f    .    .  347 

Hoosac  Tunnel  Property,  The  Sale  of,  (Editor's  Table) 482 

Heart,  The,  (verse) 576 

International  Copyright 7 

Isms :  Christian  Science  Mind  Healing 59 

Early  Transcendentalism  in  New  England 163 

Transcendentalism  of  the  Ages 249 

The  Faith  Cure,— Illustrated 438 

Old  Theology  Healing 533 

Index  to  Magazine  Literature 91,  202.  294.  396,  494,  604 

In  Two  Acts.    (A  Story) 321 

Isms  and  Denominations,  (Editor's  Table) 282 

Index-making,  (Editor's  Table) 284 

Irish  Home  Rule,  (Editor's  Table) 588 

Jordan,  Israel 69, 437 

Jordan,  M.  A 207 

Jenks,  Arthur  Elwell 558 

Kline,  Johnny,  The  Tunker  Preacher 141 

Kennebec  County,  Me.,  Canoeing  in 347 

Keene,  Mrs.  Luther 376 

Keyes,  Lucy.    (A  Story  of  Early  Times  at  Mt.  Wachusett) 79 

Knight,  Horatio  G.,  Portrait  of,  (Frontispiece) 94 

Knight,  Horatio  G.,  Biographical  Sketch  of 184 

Labor  Problem,  The,  (Editor's  Table) 281 

Literature  and  Art 92,  199.  291,  394,  492.  600 

Langhome,  Orra 141 

Love's  Preference,  (verse) 266 

Ludlum,  J.  K 244 

Libraries,  Public,  (Editor's  Table) 283 

Love,  The  First 539 

Luther.  Frederic  N 499 

Longevity,  New  England,  (Editor's  Table) 591 


vi  GENERAL   INDEX. 

PAGB 

Massachusetts  Capitol,  The,  (Frontispiece) 2 

Massachusetts  Capitol,  The,  Historical  and  Descriptive  Sketch  of 66 

Magazine  Literature.  Index  of 91,  202,  294.  396,  494,  604 

McCosh  Misunderstanding,  Th^,  (Editor's  Table) 192 

Moses,  Henry  George  on,  (Editor's  Table) 284 

Miner,  Rev.  A.  A.,  D.D.,  Portrait  of,  (Frontispiece) 400 

Miner,  Rev.  A.  A.,  D.D.,  Biographical  Sketch  of 452 

Magazines,  Historical,  (Editor's  Table) 484 

Moody,  Evangelist,  and  Northfield,  —  Illustrated 335 

Meeting-House,  The  Deserted 363 

McGlynn,  Father,  (Editor's  Table) 382-592 

Mind  Reading,  (Editor's  Table) 383 

Mind  Healing,  Christian  Science 59 

Map  of  New  London 140 

Maine  State  Agricultural  College,  —  Illustrated X 546 

Maine,  A  Reminiscence  of  the  War  of  1812,  in 376 

Marble,  A.  P. 79 

Maverick,  Samuel,  Sketch  of 221 

Map  of  Seat  of  War  in  1862 108 

Mountain  Stream,  The,  (verse) 187 

Municipal  Government,  (Editor's  Table) •  280 

Munkacsy's  Christ  before  Pilate,  (Lit.  and  Art) 600 

McArthur.  William,  LL.D 34 

Mayor  Doyle  of  Providence 528 

Murray,  Rev.  John,  Portrait  of 402 

New  Years,  (Editor's  Table) 278 

Nicolo  Cesi.    (A  Story) 34 

New  London,  Historic,  —  with  Map 119 

Necrology 87, 195,  287.  392,  490,  595 

Nash,  Charles  E 29 

Nelson,  Harriette  M ^. 275 

Northfield  and  Evangelist  Moody, —  Illustrated 335 

Nineteenth  Century  Mystery,  A,  (Ghost  Story) 457 

New  England  Winter,  A,  (Editor's  Table) 384 

Old  Time  Epitaphs 253 

Old  Time  Pastor,  An 275 

Old  Theology  Healing ^ 533 

Old  Man  Bowen  (A  Story) 559 

Park,  Rev.  Edwards  A.,  D.D 3 

Palmer,  Francis  Sterne 266 

Politics  on  the  Canada  Line  (1815) 472 

Portrait  of  J.  R.  Bodwell 28 

Miss  Sophia  Smith 209 

Dr.  R.  C.  Flower 55 

Andrew  of  Paris ico 

Rev.  E.  H.  Chapin 406 

Rev.  A.  A.  Miner,  D.D.,  LL.D.,  (Frontispiece) 400 

Rev.  Hosea  Ballou 404 

Hon.  H.  G.  Knight,  (Frontispiece) 94 

Rev.  John  Murray 402 

President  Seeljie,  (Frontispiece) 206 

Rev.  John  Cotton,  (Frontispiece) 298 


GENERAL   INDEX.  vii 

PAGE 

Henry  B.  Anthony,  (Frontispiece) 498 

Thomas  A.  Doyle 528 

President  M.  C.  Fernald 546 

Pictures  of  Algiers,  (verse) 406 

Peters,  Alfred  Henry 545 

Poetry  of  Form  and  Color 261 

Prichard,  J.  V 321 

I*age,  Henrietta  E. 457 

Plymouth,  A  Day's  Trip  to 150 

Providence,  The  City  of 499 

Providence  Journal  and  Senator  Anthony 574 

Price  of  Power,  The,  (verse) 532 

Religious  Denominations 230 

I.  The  Congregational  Churches 230 

II.  The  Episcopal  Church  in  U.  S 309 

III.  The  Universalis!  Church,  —  Illustrated 401 

Reade,  Fletcher 261 

Rhodes,  W.  H 608 

Remembered  Mornings  (verse) 69 

Railroads  and  Canals,  (Editor's  Table) 590 

Railroad  Horrors,  (Editor's  Table) 590 

School  Children,  Overwork  of,  (Editor's  Table) 282 

Simsbury  Copper  Mines,  The 427 

Sir  Reginald's  Banquet,  (verse) 450 

Scollard,  Clinton 450 

Shinn,  Rev.  George  W 309 

Scelye,  Rev.  L.  Clarke,  Portrait  of,  (Frontispiece) 206 

Smith,  Miss  Sophia,  Portrait  of 209 

Smith  College,  A  Histor>' and  Description  of, —  Illustrated 207 

Sister  Agnes ;  A  Story  of  Shaker  Life ^ 171 

Strikes,  (Editor's  Table) 592 

Transcendentalism  in  New  England 162 

Transcendentalism  of  the  Ages 244 

Temperance  Ideas,  The  Progress  of,  (Editor's  Table) 483 

"  To- Whoo,"  (verse) 426 

Taylor,  John  G 602 

Universalist  Church,  The,  —  Illustrated 401 

University,  A,  for  Worcester,  (Editor's  Table) 4%2 

Vamcy,  George  J 66 

Walsh,  George  E 559 

Wayside  Inn,  The,  Sudbury, —  Illustrated 19 

Wilson,  Calvert 7 

Weeds,  A  Bouquet  of 14 

War  in  1862,  The  Civil,  —  with  Map 106 

Wall,  Annie 162 

Women,  A  New  Study  for,  (Editor's  Table) 384 

Worcester,  A  University  for,  (Editor's  Table) 482 

Wright,  J.  B.  M 187 

Writing  History,  (Editor's  Table) 193 


viii  GENERAL    INDEX. 

PAGE 

Wild  Glen  River,  The,  (A  Story) 244 

Woman  of  It,  The 267 

Workingman,  The  American,  (Ekiitor's  Table) 279 

Winter  Calm  in  the  Country,  A 346 

War  of  1812,  A  Reminiscence  of 376 

Winter  in  New  England,  (Editor's  Table) 384 

Webster  Historical  Society 386, 486 

Winchester,  Mary 335 

Wealth,  Insuflficiency  of  Material,  (Editor's  Table) 362 

-Why?"  (verse) 362 


I 


I 


4  TRAITS  OF  JOHN  B,  GOUGH, 

personality.  It  depended  on  his  character  and  derived  its  magnetic 
force  from  the  original  genius  which  lay  behind  it.  I  have  seen  him 
move  his  hand  in  such  a  way  as  fully  expressed  his  thought  before 
he  had  uttered  a  word.  I  have  seen  him  move  his  foot  in  such  a 
way  as  to  make  it  unnecessary  for  him  to  move  his  lips. 

His  peculiar  nervous  organization  made  him  unlike  other  men. 
It  facilitated  his  fall  into  vice.  Men  would  have  apologized  for  his 
evil  habits  if  he  had  not  risen  from  them.  They  would  have  been 
called  the  penalty  of  genius.  Sensitive  as  he  was,  we  wonder  that 
he  did  not  lose  his  life  when  he  lost  his  virtue.  It  has  been  said 
that  he  was  trained  in  the  school  of  penury.  This  is  true.  It  has 
also  been  said  that  he  was  trained  in  the  school  of  vice.  This  is 
not  true.  He  was  educated  by  his  resistance  to  vice.  It  has  been 
said  that  innocence  never  rises  into  virtue  until  it  is  tried.  Mr. 
Gough's  trial  continued  through  life.  It  proved  him  to  have  been 
a  hero.  We  do  not  expect  that  a  man  so  tremblingly  alive  as  he 
was  to  the  power  of  temptation  will  remain  firm  and  constant  in 
resisting  the  evil  which  had  once  subdued  him.  We  knew  the  im- 
pressibility of  Mr.  Gough's  nature ;  we  knew  the  perils  of  his  ex- 
citable temperament ;  yet  we  felt  as  sure  of  his  steadfastness  and 
perseverance  as  if  his  temperament  had  been  phlegmatic. 

As  a  lecturer,  Mr.  Gough  was  a  preacher  of  righteousness.  He 
pressed  upon  the  conscience  the  homely  virtues.  We  scarcely  be- 
lieve ourselves  when  we  say  that  he  was  born  with  powers  fitting 
him  to  be  a  minister  of  the  gospel,  and  also  a  theatrical  perform- 
er. If  he  could  have  retained  his  health  amid  the  seductions  of 
the  greenroom,  he  might  have  been  eminent  in  the  histrionic  pro- 
fession. Was  it  to  be  expected  that  his  genius  for  comedy  and 
tragedy  would  be  employed  during  a  long  life  in  warning  men 
against  the  very  vices  associated  with  the  plays  of  the  theatre? 
He  was  an  imaginative  man.  He  was  also  a  mechanic.  He  had 
been  an  indigent  book-binder,  and  he  became  a  connoisseur  of 
beautiful  books.  His  library  was  full  of  costly  volumes,  rare 
specimens  of  the  typographical  art,  rich  and  elegant  pictures,  on 
which  he  was  wont  to  make  choice  criticisms.  Very  seldom  can 
we  find  a  private  library  more  attractive  than  his  to  the  lover  of 
the  fine  arts.  Outwardly  his  books  were  splendid  ;  inwardly  they 
were  solid  and  instructive.     They  were  classic  treatises  on  all  sub- 


TRAITS  OF  JOHN  B.  GOUGH.  5 

jects  interesting  to  the  general  reader.  They  were  not  kept  for 
show,  but  for  information.  Some  of  them  he  referred  to ;  some 
he  read ;  some  he  studied ;  by  all  he  was  stimulated  to  a  love  of 
letters.  He  had  no  ambition  to  be  a  learned  man  or  a  devourer  of 
books,  but  he  aimed  to  do  good  by  his  lectures,  and  to  enrich 
them  with  thoughts  suggested  by  the  great  masters  of  literature. 
He  was  so  facetious  and  nimble-witted  that  he  obtained  the  repu- 
tation of  being  a  most  amusing  companion.  He  was  amusing,  but 
he  was  likewise  edifying.  He  did  not  close  a  conversation  or  a 
lecture  without  some  instructive  remarks.  He  combined  a  marvel- 
ous clearness  of  perception  with  a  marvelous  quickness  of  intuition. 
While  addressing  a  promiscuous  assembly  he  detected  at  a 
glance  when  he  should  make  a  transition  "  from  grave  to  gay,  from 
lively  to  severe."  Being  aware  that  **  tears  dry  fast,"  he  suddenly 
turned  weeping  into  laughter.  Being  aware  that  ludicrous  images 
will  not  long  retain  the  interest  of  a  sound  mind,  he  suddenly 
turned  the  laughter  into  serious  contemplation.  His  sallies  of 
humor  smoothed  the  way  for  solemn  appeals ;  and  his  impressive 
admonitions  gained  a  new  power  from  the  dazzling  wit  which  intro- 
duced them.  His  facetious  words  attracted  the  giddy  multitude 
to  his  lecture  room,  and  men  who  would  not  listen  to  an  orthodox 
sermon  were  impressed  by  his  equally  orthodox  admonitions. 
Some  have  imagined  that  heiwas  not  a  reasoner.  He  did  see  and 
feel  the  force  of  an  argument,  but  he  was  distinguished  by  a 
ready  and  sharp  insight  rather  than  by  a  cumbrous  logic.  His 
rapid  intuition  outran  the  syllogism.  In  the  first  premise  he  fore- 
saw the  conclusion  which  others  were  laboring  to  prove.  He  was 
not  a  thoroughly  read  theologian,  but  he  was  more.  He  had  an 
instinct  darting  into  the  truth  and  needing  no  chain  of  argumenta- 
tion to  insure  his  evangelical  faith.  From  his  familiar  converse 
many  well-instructed  clergymen  have  derived  fruitful  maxims. 
He  felt  what  he  said.  His  prayers  at  the  family  altar  were  ex- 
pressions of  deep  thought  and  honest  feeling.  Their  reverential 
spirit  was  a  kind  of  touchstone  for  sound  doctrine. 

During  a  warm  but  pleasant  evening  in  1844, 1  was  walking  with 
Prof.  B.  B.  Edwards  across  the  village  green  in  Andover,  and  no- 
ticed that  the  Old  South  meeting-house  was  dimly  lighted.  Influ- 
enced by  mere  curiosity,  we  looked  into  the  house  and  saw  a  young 


6  TRAITS  OF  JOHN  B.  GOUGH. 

man,  apparently  a  boy,  standing  on  the  platform  and  addressing 
eighty  or  ninety  auditors.  Our  attention  was  arrested  by  his  mu- 
sical voice.  At  that  time  its  tones  were  like  those  of  a  flute.  We 
were  affected  by  his  plaintive  intonations.  He  seemed  to  be  in  a 
melancholy  mood.  Still,  his  facetious  words  chased  his  sorrowful 
accents  swiftly  as  a  weaver's  shuttle  glides  with  the  woof  through 
the  warp  of  the  fabric.  We  did  not  know  the  name  of  the  young 
man,  but  we  inwardly  predicted  that  his  frail  body  would  be  early 
consumed  by  his  ardent  mind.  This  was  the  penniless  young  man 
who  was  to  spend  more  than  forty  years  in  raising  thousands  of 
inebriates  from  the  gulf  into  which  he  had  fallen.  This  was  the 
uneducated  young  man  who  was  to  support  many  penniless  youths 
in  academies  and  colleges.  This  was  the  diffident  young  man  who 
was  to  address  the  students  and  the  professors  of  American  and 
British  universities,  jurists,  statesmen,  clergymen,  members  of  a 
Senate  and  members  of  a  Parliament  and  to  draw  tears  from  their 
eyes  while  he  retained  his  self-command.  Reflecting  on  the  act 
that  he  delivered  nine  thousand  lectures  to  eight  million  five  hun- 
dred thousand  hearers,  and  left  an  example  which  is  itself  an 
impressive  sermon  to  us  all,  and  that  he  passed  through  un- 
numbered trials,  perils,  diseases,  persecutions,  we  are  reminded 
of  the    duty  which   he  often  exemplified : 

Judge  not  the  Lord  By  feeble  sense, 
But  trust  him  for  his  grace, 
Behind  a  frowning  providence 
He  hides  a  smiling  face. 
His  purposes  will  ripen  fast, 
Unfolding  every  hour. 
The  bud  may  have  a  bitter  taste, 
But  sweet  will  be  the  flower. 


INTERNATIONAL  COPYRIGHT 


INTERNATIONAL  COPYRIGHT. 

BY  CALVERT  WILSON. 

When  Fletcher  wrote  his  since  well  known  and  oft  quoted  lines, 
**  Give  me  the  making  of  a  people's  ballads  and  I  care  not  who 
may  make  its  laws,"  he  recognized  the  wide-spreif  d  influence  that  a 
popular  author  always  exercises  over  the  minds  of  his  readers,  who 
in  a  civilized  and  cultured  country  form  the  masses  of  the  people. 
As  reason  and  justice  necessarily  form  the  basis  upon  which  all 
legislative  enactment  is  either  urged  or  opposed,  so  do  ballads 
impress  us  with  the  justice  and  strength  of  an  argument,  or  Don 
Quixote-like  laugh  away  its  absurdities.  Fichte,  the  German  phi- 
losopher, calls  the  man  of  letters,  **a  priest  continually  unfolding 
the  god-like  to  man." 

Recognizing  the  great  power  and  importance  of  a  national  litera- 
ture in  moulding  the  character  of  our  people,  and,  in  determining 
their  influence  upon  our  country's  happiness  and  prosperity,  we  do 
not  think  that  we  can  ask  of  our  legislators  too  stringent  measures 
for  the  encouragement  and  effectual  protection  of  its  authors, 
which  it  seems  possible  to  secure  by  means  of  an  international 
copyright  only. 

The  principle  of  the  rights  of  property  is  established  upon  so 
firm  a  basis,  that  it  is  considered  the  **  key-stone  of  the  arch  of 
society. "  Is  it  not  most  important  that  this  principle  should  em- 
brace, under  its  protective  provisions,  all  glasses  of  property 
equally  and  impartially? 

Now  when  a  violation  of  these  rights  becomes  so  palpable  an 
injustice  that  it  outrages  a  large  and  most  influential  class  of  our 
population, — for  as  Mr.  Carlyle  says,  "  as  it  is  the  spiritual  always 
that  determines  the  material,"  the  men  of  letters  must  be  regarded 
as  a  most  important  class  of  our  population  —  does  not  every 
sentiment  of  honor,  every  principle  of  justice  call  for  a  reconstruc- 
tion of  legislation,  better  adapted  to  the  protection  of  this  class  of 
property? 

In  1 8 19  a  copyright  law  seemed  to  American  writers  and  inven- 
tors necessary  to  the  protection  of  their  property  at  home,  and 


8  INTERNATIONAL  COPYRIGHT, 

Congress  was  empowered  to  **  promote  the  progress  of  science 
and  the  useful  arts,  by  securing  for  a  limited  time  to  authors  and 
inventors  exclusive  rights  to  their  respective  writings  and  in- 
ventions." 

How,  we  would  ask,  has  Congress  "promoted  the  progress  of 
science,*' — which,  as  logicians  tell  us,  is  knowledge  in  theory  in 
contradistinction  to  art,  the  application  of  these  theories — when 
it  refuses  to  throw  around  our  struggling  literature  the  only  pro- 
tection, which  in  its  competition  with  older,  longer  established 
nations,  it  can  find,  in  the  international  copyright. 

On  February  2,  1837,  Mr.  Clay  presented  to  the  Senate,  a  me- 
morial signed  by  fifty-seven  English  authors,  representing  the 
"injury  to  their  reputation  and  property  by  need  of  a  law  to 
secure  to  them  within  the  United  States  the  exclusive  rights  to 
their  respective  writings,  '*  and  requesting  legislative  remedy. 

Mr.  Clay  very  properly  insisted  that  honor,  justice  and  even 
morality  demanded  the  passage  of  this  law,  and  urged  it  with  all 
the  power  of  his  matchless  eloquence,  closing  his  argument  with 
a  brilliant  tribute  to  Sir  Walter  Scott,  "whose  writings,"  he  said, 
"were  dear  alike  to  our  country  as  to  England,  and  read  and  en- 
joyed from  Maine  to  Georgia,  from  the  Atlantic  to  the  Mississippi, 
and  yet  he  had  received  no  compensation  from  American  publish- 
ers for  his  labor,  where  an  equitable  remuneration  might  have 
saved  his  life,  made  his  genius  capable  of  greater  efforts,  and  re- 
lieved his  closing  hours  from  the  burden  of  debt  and  toil." 

We  maintain  that  the  necessity  for  an  international  copyright 
grows  more  and  more  imperative  every  day.  Our  best  men  become 
more  and  more  conscious  of  the  evil  effects  of  this  injustice  to  for- 
eign authors,  and  a  retributive  Nemesis,  which  follows  nations  as 
well  as  individuals,  already  comes  to  us  in  the  form  of  a  inferior 
national  literature. 

How  can  this  be  otherwise,  when  an  American  writer  finds  it 
almost  an  impossibility  to  dispose  of  his  literary  work,  with  the 
splendid  literature  of  other  nations  attainable  at  little  or  no  ex- 
pense? Thoroughness  and  efficiency  in  literary  work  are  the 
result  of  years  of  study,  possibly  of  severe  privations,  and  in  giv- 
ing our  young  literati  increased  protection,  we  obligate  them  to 
strive  for  greater  excellence. 


INTERNA  TIONA  L   COP  Y RIGHT. 

In  1838.  Mr.  Edward  Everett  Hale  memorialized  Congress,  set- 
ting forth  the  impolitic  as  wcH  as  unjust  construction  of  our  law, 
and  asking  that  it  be  made  international.  This  called  forth  many 
counter  petitions  from  publishers  and  booksellers,  which  caused 
its  failure. 

Even  at  this  remote  date  we  blush  to  quote  the  principal  objec- 
tion, that,  incorporated  into  the  printed  report  sent  forth  to  the 
world,  to  our  great  discredit,  —  "by  the  enactment  of  an  inter- 
national copyright  law  in  favor  of  British  authors,  the  profits  of 
trade  and  manufacture,  and  all  the  benefits  arising  from  encourage- 
ment to  national  industry,  would  be  for  us  ON  THE  WRONG  SIDE  of 
the  ledger." 

Oh  !  short-sighted  legislators  I  Our  civilization,  though  a  mag- 
nificent fabric,  is  little  worth  without  the  spirituality  of  sentiments 
of  justice  and  integrity.  With  a  traditional  sensitiveness  upon 
most  questions  affecting  our  national  or  individual  honor,  we  were 
willing  to  say  to  the  world,  "  this  government  is  under  no  obliga- 
tion to  extend  to  foreigners  exclusive  copyright  privileges." 

Human  law  unhappily  finds  it  difficult  to  adjust  antagonistic 
claims  arising  from  different  interests;  we  cannot  legislate  to  de- 
stroy the  motive  of  self-interest,  for  that  we  are  told  is  the  founda- 
tion of  material  progress;  but  here,  by  a  singular  paradox,  that 
hectic  of  demagogism  "the  best  interests  of  the  masses"  and 
justice  become  identical. 

We  make  ethics  a  chief  study  in  our  schools  and  universities,  it 
is  ingrained  with  our  Latin  and  Greek  classics,  we  ally  it  with  poli- 
tical science,  making  the  latter,  in  its  close  relation  to  it,  synony- 
mous in  the  framing  of  laws  of  government  for  the  continuance  of 
our  dignity  and  prosperity,  and  yet  the  syllogistic  conclusion  that 
"  right  is  right, "  in  spite  of  all  specious  arguments,  was  never  more 
applicable  than  in  this  question  of  the  rights  of  both  foreign  and 
domestic  authors  to  the  protection  of  the  international  copyright. 

In  1842,  Mr.  Clay  again  introduced  his  bill ;  in  the  same  year, 
Mr.  Irving;  in  1843,  Mr.  Rufus  Choate;  in  1848,  Mr.  John  Jay; 
in  1852,  Mr.  Sumner;  and  in  1866,  Mr.  John  P.  Baldwin,  of  Massa- 
chusetts ;  demonstrating  conclusively  the  growing  demand  for  this 
act  of  justice  to  foreigners,  and  protection  for  American  writers. 

Washington  Irving,  in  1842,  writes  to  the  editor  of  the  Knicker- 


10  INTERNATIONAL  COPYRIGHT 

bocker  Magazine,  citing  a  most  flagrant  instance  of  injustice  done 
to  an  American  author,  a  friend  of  his,  just  embarking  upon  the  sea 
of  literary  life,  whose  works  the  publishers  declined  to  accept  upon 
the  plea,  that  "they  could  pick  and  choose  among  the  successful 
works  daily  poured  out  by  the  British  press,  for  which  they  had 
nothing  to  pay  for  copyright. " 

Should  not  such  a  statement  as  this  at  once  have  awakened  our 
legislators  to  the  necessity  of  most  rigid  protective  measures  for 
our  American  writers?  Objecting  strongly  to  communistic  prin- 
ciples as  regards  material  property,  should  we  not  as  strenuously 
oppose  the  agrarian,  who  would  seize  upon  the  more  sacred  pos- 
sessions of  mental  labor,  and  recognize  no  distinction  of  MEUM  and 
TUUM.  There  is  unfortunately  no  mechanism  for  the  writer  as  for 
the  inventor,  which  often  enables  him  to  make  his  work  useless  to 
others  unless  he  will  furnish  them  the  key  to  unclose  its  treasures. 

In  1873,  the  subject  was  very  generally  discussed  in  both  Great 
Britain  and  the  United  States;  and  in  referring  to  Mr.  MorriU's 
adverse  report  in  the  Senate,  we  find,  that  while  he  concedes,  that 
"  both  American  and  foreign  authors  are  understood  to  be  agreed, 
as  well  as  the  most  important  portion  of  American  publishers,*' 
yet  (to  continue  in  the  words  of  the  report,)  "the  printers,  type 
founders,  binders,  paper  makers  and  others  engaged  in  the  manu- 
facture of  books,  remonstrate  against  the  measure,  as  calculated  to 
diminish  the  popular  sale  and  circulation  of  books,  by  raising  the 
price  thereof,  and  thus  prejudicial  to  this  branch  of  industry." 

By  what  claim  of  justice  or  reason,  we  ask,  would  one  branch  of 
national  industry  expect  to  grow  prosperous,  or  find  employment, 
at  the  expense  of  another  and  more  exalted  one,  without  which 
they  would  not  have  the  elemental  material  for  their  peculiar  in- 
dustry? It  is  an  irrefutable  fact  of  political  economy,  that  the 
most  intolerant  agrarian  becomes  a  conservative  the  moment  he  has 
anything  to  conserve.  Let  these  same  printers,  type  founders  and 
binders  become  popular  authors,  and  where  would  we  find  more 
zealous  partisans  for  an  international  copyright? 

In  unreflecting  obedience  to  the  popular  cry,  our  legislators  tell 
us  that  it  will  diminish  the  circulation  and  advance  the  price  of 
books.  Would  it  not  be  a  great  advantage  to  the  majority  of  our 
young  readers  if  most  of  the  light  literature  o(  the  day  was  unat- 


INTERNATIONAL  COPYRIGHT  11 

tainable?  Statistics  show  that  works  on  science  and  art  are  not 
now  materially  cheaper  here  than  in  England,  and  are  rarely  found 
in  cheap  editions.  Our  public  libraries  increase  in  number  and 
size  every  year,  and  make  all  these  works  accessible  to  those  who 
cannot  buy  them.  We  are  told  that  "the  masses  of  the  people 
and  buyers  do  not  ask  it."  They  have  never  been  appealed  to, 
and  we  feel  so  assured  of  their  strict  sense  of  justice  and  honor  as 
a  people,  that  we  are  prepared  to  say,  that  the  supporters  of  this 
argument  are  misled  by  their  construction  of  the  advantages  to 
what  are  termed  "  the  masses."  To  a  nation  of  honorable  men  the 
stigma  of  "  literary  piracy  "  is  a  source  of  constant  mortification. 
We  know  of  a  very  popular  English  writer,  who  is  so  prejudiced 
against  Americans  on  this  account,  that  she  has  repeatedly  refused 
to  meet  them.  Are  we  to  be  like  the  professional  prophet,  '*  glad 
of  the  harm  that  gives  us  a  certain  credit?"  In  the  words  of 
Charles  Lamb,  "  Do  we  fear  to  find  repentance  for  a  good  action?" 
In  further  reporting  his  committee  Mr.  Morrill  said :  "  In  con- 
struing the  constitution,  reference  should  be  had  to  the  condition 
of  affairs  at  the  period  of  its  adoption."  Here  we  agree  with  the 
Senator;  as  at  the  time  of  the  framing  of  our  constitution  we 
had  no  literature,  it  was  not  necessary  to  legislate  upon  the 
subject. 

This  committee  summed  up  the  conclusion  of  their  adverse  report 
in  these  words :  "  That  no  form  of  international  copyright  can  fairly 
be  urged  upon  Congress  upon  reasons  of  general  equity,  or  of  con- 
stitutional law." 

A  modern  writer,  in  asking  for  a  test  of  justice  and  benevolence, 
says :  "  It  is  with  the  man  who  has  the  public  ear,  and  uses  it  to 
the  advantage  of  the  poor  fellows  who  may  be  hindered  of  their 
dues,  if  their  pretensions  are  treated  with  scorn."  Must  we  not 
then  ask  of  our  legislators,  who  more  than  any  one  else  have  the 
public  ear,  to  use  every  advantage  for  the  benefit  of  our  authors, 
than  whom  no  class  are  more  "  hindered  of  their  dues,"  or  persis- 
tently denied  just  compensation  for  their  labor? 

No  philosophic  reasoning  will  enable  us  to  find  a  present  good 
in  a  long  tolerated  evil.  There  are  times  when  under  the  most 
abnormal  circumstances,  instinct  and  aspiration  seek  to  evolve 
from  the  mistakes  of  the  past  a  blessing  for  the  future. 


12  INTERNATIONAL  COPYRIGHT. 

Already  a  decadence  in  our  literature  is  apparent ;  most  of  our 
brilliant  writers  of  the  last  generation  are  passing  away,  and  where 
will  we  find  others  to  fill  their  places?  Where  will  we  look  for 
our  Websters,  our  Clays  and  Calhouns,  our  Prescotts,  Motleys  and 
Bancrofts,  our  Drapers,  Emersons,  Irvings,  Hawthornes,  Coopers, 
our  Longfellows  and  Whittiers?  We  see  but  little  promise  in  our 
young  literature  of  to-day  of  doing  so  under  the  most  favorable 
auspices.  No  one  can  deny  that  our  sources  of  intellectual  growth 
would  have  a  long  needed  stimulus,  and  that  its  tone  would  be 
commensurately  elevated  by  proper  protection.  Carlyle,  in  his 
**  Hero  Worship,**  speaks  so  pathetically  of  the  author,  **  ruling 
from  his  grave  after  death  whole  nations  and  generations,  who 
would  not  give  him  bread  while  living."  In  speaking  of  Dr. 
Samuel  Johnson,  he  says :  "  The  largest  soul  in  all  England,  and 
provision  made  for  it  of  fourpence  half-penny  a  day  !*'  Now  that 
the  subject  is  more  generally  understood  and  discussed,  we  feel 
assured  of  the  ultimate  passage  of  the  bill.  Our  own  Congress  is 
making  a  more  earnest  effort  in  that  direction,  and  the  Gladstone 
Government  introduced  a  bill  into  the  House  of  Commons  to  carry 
into  effect  the  terms  of  the  convention  of  Berne  last  September. 
The  Queen  is  authorized,  by  order  in  council  to  direct,  that,  as 
regards  literary  and  artistic  works  first  published  in  a  foreign 
country,  the  author  shall  have  copyright  therein,  for  a  period  not 
exceeding  the  period  for  which  authors  are  given  a  copyright  in 
Great  Britain. 

This  is  of  course  to  be  reciprocal ;  it  is  to  be  hoped,  that  the 
provision  of  Senator  Hawley's  bill  now  before  our  Congress,  re- 
quiring the  republication  of  foreign  works  in  this  country,  will  not 
exclude  us  from  the  benefits  of  this  bill  should  it  become  a  law. 
The  bill  is  said,  in  principle,  to  be  very  much  the  same  as  that 
introduced  by  a  New  York  member  of  the  Forty-Eighth  Con- 
gress, and  which  the  Judiciary  Committee  unanimously  reported 
favorably ;  but  a  motion  to  suspend  the  rules  and  pass  the  bill 
failed  of  its  two-thirds  vote,  though  a  large  majority  of  the  mem- 
bers voted  in  its  favor. 

In  our  political  blessings  we  have  so  much  for  which  to  thank 
the  spirit  of  noble  self-abnegation  of  our  forefathers,  our  independ- 
ence and  liberty   of  person,  the   institutions  which   give  us  our 


THE  BROWNINGS.  13 

honorable  place  among  nations,  all  won  for  us  by  their  swords. 
A  modem  writer  tells  us  truly  that  "  the  eminence,  the  nobleness 
of  a  people,  depend  on  its  capability  of  being  stirred  by  memories, 
and  of  striving  for  what  are  called  spiritual  ends," — ends  which 
consist,  not  in  immediate  material  possessions,  but  in  the  satisfac- 
tion of  a  great  feeling,  a  consciousness  of  noble  justice. 

Shall  not  we  of  this  generation  bequeath  these  spiritual  ends, — 
for  justice  and  right  are  indeed  spiritual — as  a  heritage  to  our  de- 
scendants, and  give  them  an  honorable  place  among  the  world's 
scholars?  Side  by  side  with  the  memories  of  our  forefather's 
struggles  with  the  sword  for  national  existence,  let  us  leave  those 
of  our  struggles  with  the  pen  for  a  national  literature, — ^which  we 
are  told  is  the  only  part  of  a  nation's  glory  that  survives  its 
physical  destruction. 


THE  BROWNINGS. 

BY    IDA   A.    AHLBORN. 
ELIZABETH. 

The  peaks  of  light  lay  in  her  view, 
Their  glory  flames  the  verses  through ; 
And  still  you  feel  her  question  you : 

Is  God? 

• 

ROBERT. 

His  greatness  is  a  faith  sublime, 
That  sees  beyond  all  space  and  time 
And  sings  through  measure  and  through  rh3ntne 

God  is. 


14  A   BOQUET  OF  WEEDS. 


A  BOQUET  OF  WEEDS. 


BY  THE  AUTHOR  OF  "  HOMESPUN. 


n 


As  Goethe,  the  German  poet  and  philosopher,  says  the  sim- 
plest pleasures  are  the  more  lasting,  so  may  it  be  true  that  the 
plants  we  thoughtlessly  trample  under  our  feet  yield  a  fragrance, 
whose  place  in  the  associations  the  rarest  odors  of  rich  exotics  can 
never  successfully  dispute. 

A  weed  is  ordinarily  a  thing  to  be  pulled  up  and  flung  away. 
Yet  of  the  list  of  weeds  that  are  familiar  by  their  names  to  the  ear, 
what  one  is  there  that,  on  being  mentioned,  cannot  start  some  of 
the  happiest  of  human  thoughts  and  remembrances?  Weeds  are 
so  homely  and  unassuming  that  they  root  themselves  in  the  heart 
as  they  do  by  the  roadside  and  in  the  garden.  They  bear  the 
most  endeared  of  familiar  names,  too.  They  are  indigenous; 
savoring  of  soil  and  locality  together ;  suggestive  of  domestic  and 
individual  experience ;  and  in  close  sympathy  with  the  common 
life  of  man.  This  it  is  that  keeps  them  so  fast  in  the  affections, 
even  when  they  are  confessedly  obstructive  and  worthless.  A 
catalogue  that  should  give  the  names  of  all  the  weeds  with  which 
we  have  an  acquaintance  from  our  childhood,  would  kindle  far 
more  pleasure  in  the  thought  than  a  companion  schedule  of  for- 
eign plants  with  invertebrate  botanical  titles,  slow  in  the  pronun- 
ciation and  quick  to  be  forgotten. 

The  names  of  weeds  are  poetic,  for  the  reason  that  they  have  a 
human  rather  than  a  scientific  signification.  They  are  plants  that 
grow  by  our  doorsteps,  about  the  sink  drain,  along  the  roadside, 
in  the  trodden  paths,  and  always  just  where  we  are  most  likely  to 
meet  them.  They  are  common.  We  like  them  without  thinking 
why,  and,  like  the  friends  of  childhood  and  youth,  we  cherish  them 
when  we  are  unconscious  of  it.  The  gentle  Cordelia  knew  her 
father  was  "as  mad  as  the  vex'd  sea,"  because  she  saw  him  com- 
ing crowned,  not  with  laurels  or  the  honored  growths  of  the  garden, 
but 


A   BOQUET  OF  WEEDS.  15 

—  **  With  rank  fumiter  and  furrow  weeds, 
With  hoar-docks,  hemlock,  nettles,  cuckoo-flowers, 
Darnel,  and  all  the  idle  weeds  that  grow 
In  our  sustaining  corn." 

Even  then  the  weed  was  esteemed  a  worthless  thing.  In  his 
moments  of  real  or  affected  despondency,  Byron  can  think  of 
nothing  with  which  to  liken  his  life  but  a  fruitless  weed,  flung  by 
the  ocean  on  a  rock.  But  nature  works  faultlessly  with  her  com- 
pensations. We  may  despise  these  humble  harvests  of  unwel- 
come sowing,  yet  the  sweat  which  is  the  cost  of  their  eradication 
is  nothing  like  the  sweat  of  many  another  burden  we  are  called  to 
bear ;  and  it  may  be  disputed  in  all  seriousness  whether  their  sub- 
missive way  of  asking  hospitality  of  us  does  not  turn  the  edge  of 
our  hostility.  Weeds,  moreover,  are  among  the  very  few  things 
in  this  world  that,  though  in  sheer  wantonness  we  destroy  them, 
never  fail  of  recompensing  us  for  our  pains  with  no  less  generous 
a  supply.  We  may  continue  cutting  them  up  forever,  but  they 
will  keep  coming  all  the  thicker  and  assert  themselves  with  a  still 
more  submissive  persistency. 

Strolling  across  lots,  beyond  the  confines  of  gardens  and 
orchards,  they  greet  me  in  populous  and  thrifty  colonies.  The  very 
thistle  that  is  the  farmer's  special  aversion,  suggests  on  the  instant 
the  crest  of  Scotland  and  the  purple  of  old  Tyre,  while  it  offers  its 
couch  of  down  to  the  morning  bee  to  wallow  in.  To  him  it  is  the 
bed  of  royalty  itself,  with  the  brightness  of  the  sky  to  tint  its 
tapestries  and  gild  its  canopy.  The  nettle  that  I  see  growing  by 
the  edge  of  the  stone-heap  suggests  the  poet's  immortal  strawberry 
underneath.  Its  sting  is  resentful,  but  so  minute  a  set  of  spines 
successfully  defends  its  graceful  stateliness  and  leafy  dignity.  Path- 
weed  is  a  plain  plant,  which,  with  hardhack,  dogtoes,  motherwort, 
spearmint,  and  balm,  binds  up  in  the  recollection  with  those  fra- 
grant decoctions  or  savory  compresses  which  so  soothe  provoking 
ailments  in  midwinter. 

Next,  I  leap  the  fence  or  the  wall,  and  strike  across  toward  the 
wood.  In  its  half-shadows  springs  up  a  family  of  untutored 
plants,  hardly  to  be  named  as  weeds,  though  their  native  allies  on 
the  score  of  commonness.     There  is  spearmint  and  pennyroyal, 


16  A   BOQUET  OP  WEEDS. 

that  in  their  gathered  bunches  will  make  an  upper  chamber  fra- 
grant with  wood-thoughts  from  harvest  time  to  planting.  There  is 
elecampane,  and  princess  pine,  and  bloodroot,  and  wake-robin, 
and  gold-thread,  and  meadow  rue ;  squirrel  corn,  and  Solomon's 
seal ;  bellwort,  and  a  host  more,  to  entice  the  feet  of  one  who  finds 
companionship  in  pleasant  associations  into  the  sequestered  wood 
paths  across  which  the  hen  partridge  troops  her  shy  brood  in  the 
early  days  of  autumn. 

By  the  roadside  grow  yarrow  and  tansy,  and  all  manner  of 
herbs  that  rank  with  the  weeds;  vervain,  mullein,  brake,  —  all 
worthless  practically,  yet  precious  from  the  habit  of  association, 
that  affectionately  invite  familiar  feet  to  trample  them  without 
hesitation,  dressing  the  old  country  ditches  and  stony  banks  along 
the  roads  with  their  grateful  greenery ;  alluring  the  thoughts  to 
the  homeliest  hospitalities ;  self-supporting ;  waiting  on  the  bounty 
of  no  cultivator's  hand ;  a  largess  of  nature  herself;  and  a  hint  of 
plenty  where  poverty  alone  is  mistakenly  suppose^  to  reign.  If 
we  had  the  seeing  eyes  to  discover  the  true  beauty  that  is  folded 
away  in  a  roadside  weed  as  well  as  in  the  aristocratic  scion  of  the 
hot-house,  there  would  be  no  such  idle  impatience  that  God  had 
not  distributed  the  wealth  of  His  creation  in  a  spirit  of  more 
equal  profusion.  And  what  and  who  are  we,  that  we  presume  to 
compute  the  comparative  value  of  weeds  and  exotics,  and  to  rate 
them  according  to  our  near-sighted  and  fantastic  rules  of  rank  and 
vegetable  royalty ! 

The  native  nursery  of  the  weed  is  the  garden.  There  it  waxes 
fat  almost  with  impunity,  defying  the  sharpest  blades  and  the  most 
diligent  hands.  It  springs  up  along  the  alleys  and  walks,  runs  in 
and  out  the  rows  of  nascent  vegetables,  derides  you  quietly  at 
evening  when  you  walk  forth  in  the  cool  of  the  day  to  glory  in  your 
morning  accomplishment,  and  seems  imperturbably  resolved  to 
maintain  its  footing  both  as  the  domestic  man's  companion  and 
tormentor.  Bless  the  faithful  persistency  of  these  friendly  weeds 
in  the  garden  !  There  are  none  to  speak  a  kindly  word  for  them, 
and  I  will  fain  pluck  up  the  courage  to  do  it  myself.  It  is  not 
uttered,  of  course,  as  a  cultivator,  but  as  a  lover  of  all  that  rejoices 
to  live  on  the  fruitful  bosom  of  our  common  mother.  The  pusley 
is  an  admitted  nuisance  and  pest ;  the  little  chickweed  mats  the 


TO  THE  AMHERST  HILLS.  17 

ground  with  a  damp  barrenness;  the  vigorous  dock  and  veiny 
plantain  sprout  along  the  course  of  the  drain  with  a  luxuriant 
confidence  that  all  but  defies  the  uprooting  hand ;  and,  from  gate 
to  summer-house,  and  from  paling  to  back-wall,  there  is  a  multi- 
tudinous host  of  intrusive  visitors, "  creeping,  creeping  everywhere," 
now  boldly  coming  forward  into  sight  and  showing  their  strength, 
and  now  shying  in  among  the  concealments  of  the  vegetable  over- 
growth, but,  without  the  trouble  they  make,  certain  to  be  sadly 
missed,  even  as  one  might  sensibly  lament  a  sentiment  vanished 
from  his  heart. 

Sore  visitors  as  they  are,  though  nowise  comparable  to  the 
parasites  that  prey  on  vegetation  and  fruit,  and  so  blamably  bent 
as  they  are  on  choking  the  more  valuable  growths,  they  neverthe- 
less do  somehow  make  to  themselves  friends  among  those  who 
indulge  mainly  in  recreations  at  their  presence.  And  I  verily  be- 
lieve that  if  a  homesick  exile  from  his  dear  garden-spot  were  to  sit 
down  to  a  chapter  of  lamentations  over  the  departed  happiness  of 
a  loved  occupation,  he  would  not  forget,  in  his  affectionate  enum- 
eration of  familiar  plants,  the  very  Weeds,  vile  as  we  call  them, 
over  which  so  much  toil  was  yearly  spent  to  so  little  effective 
purpose. 


TO  THE  AMHERST  HILLS. 

BY  ALLEN  EASTMAN  CROSS. 

Hills  to  the  North !  where,  a  slumbering  lion, 
Tobey  lies  couched  in  his  carven  pride, — 

Unto  eternity  your  inspiration 
For  the  beholder  still  shall  abide. 

Oft  have  I  wandered  your  mighty  sides  over. 
Felt  the  wild  vigor  your  summit  gives. 

Climbed  o'er  your  rocky  spurs,  roamed  through 
your  gorges, 
Lived  the  sweet  life  that  a  dreamer  lives. 


18  TO  THE  AMHERST  HILLS. 

Hills  to  the  East !  where  the  early  arbutus 
Tenderly  trails  o'er  your  pastured  lands, 

Where,  with  its  glory  and  crowning  of  spruces^ 
High  o'er  the  Orient,  Pisgah  stands. 

Hills  to  the  South  ?  your  most  beautiful  ramparts 
Come  to  my  eyes  whene'er  I  recall 

Blessed  old  Amherst, — my  dear  Alma  Mater, 
Happy  art  thou  in  thy  Southern  wall. 

Like  a  high  soul,  that  from  struggle  and  sorrow 

Gaineth  a  sweetness  more  pure  and  fine. 
So  hath  this  rampart,  ice-worn  and  storm  riven, 

Grown  to  a  loveliness  more  divine. 

• 

Hills  to  the  West !  but  a  curtain  of  beauty 

Suddenly  rises  before  mine  eyes. 
For  on  the  nearer  and  dearer  horizon 

Views  of  the  College  of  love  arise. 

I  can  not  look  to  those  far  away  hill-tops. 

When  in  the  interval  thou  art  seen. 
Beautiful  Hampton  !  the  queen  of  the  valley,— 
Amherst,  the  prince,  saluteth  its  queen. 

Lo  !  it  is  sunset ;  again  I  am  standing 
On  the  high  look-out  of  college  tower ; 

Over  the  meadows  the  bell  of  old  Hadley 
Soflly  proclaimeth  the  twilight  hour. 

Up  to  the  North  where  Sugar-loaf  mountain 
Raises  its  table-bluff  stem  and  bold. 

Loveliest  monarchs  of  light  and  of  darkness 
Seem  to  be  laying  their  cloth  of  gold. 

Thus  while  the  waning  light  falls  upon  Amherst, 
The  hills  round  about  in  their  glory  stand, — 

Happy  old  Amherst,  they  fitly  may  symbol 

Thy  beauty  and  strength,  that  is  still  more  grand. 


THE  WAYSIDE  INN,  AT  SUDBURY. 


THE   WAYSIDE    INN,    AT  SUDBURY, 

BY  WALLACE   D01VNES. 

"  Along'  the  varying  road  of  life. 
In  calm  content,  in  toil  or  strife, 
At  morn  or  noon,  hy  night  or  da/ 
Ae  time  conducts  him  on  his  way. 
How  oft  doth  man  hy  core  oppressed 
Find  at  an  inn  a  place  of  rest!  " 

Pre-eminent  among  those  institutions  whose  existences  are  sacri- 
ficed to  the  innovation  of  the  railroad  is  the  tavern,  or  inn.  In  the 
old  world  and  in  the  new,  the  tavern  has  always  been  the  rendez- 
vous where  the  village  joker  and  wit  were  wont  to  meet  and  keep 
their  fireside  audiences  in  good  humor  by  happy  jest  or  wondrous 
story.  It  was  also  the  delightful  retreat  where  the  Rip  Van  Winkle 
—  or  hen-pecked  husband  —  of  the  neighborhood  found  sweet  re- 
spite from  the  "strifeof  tongues  "of  the  irate,  and,  sometimes,  long- 
suffering  wife  at  home.  The  latest  gossips  always  found  ready 
listeners  there;  and  from  its  hospitable  hearth  there  went  out  over 
the  invisibie  wires,  that  seem  to  thread  every  country  community, 
the  most  reliable  and  trustworthy  information  possible  about  every- 
body and  everything. 

But  alas !  for  the  old  time  inn  with  its  jollity  and  good  cheer. 
How  rapidly  it  is  becoming  a  thing  of  the  past !  The  hotel,  with 
"  all  the  modern  improvements, "  has,  by  a  very  natural  evolution, 
displaced  it.  A  melancholy,  tenantless  ghost  of  itself,  along  some 
little-used  country  road,  or  some  modernized  fragment  in  a  now 
thriving  young  town,  is  about  all  there  is  to  be  found,  by  our 
rapidly  changing  civilization,  of  the  old  time  inn. 

At  the  period  when  the  inn  stood  recognized  among  the  estab- 
lishments for  promoting  good-will  towards  man,  England  was  the 
most  famous  country  as  regards  the  number  of  them;  but  while 
America  lacked  in  numbers,  its  inns  failed  naught  in  the  quality 
of  their  good  cheer  and  wit. 

It  seemed  therefore  that  it  would  be  a  source  of  much  delight  to 
visit  one  of  those  ancient  hostleries  before  it  shall  have  succumbed 


20  THE  WAYSIDE  INN,  AT  SUDBURY. 

to  the  inevitable  decrees  of  time.     Thus  thinking,  I,  one  day  in 
autumn,  made  a  journey  to  the  old  "  Wayside  Inn,  at  Sudbury." 

About  an  hour's  ride  on  the  Massachusetts  Central  Railroad 
brought  us  to  the  ancient  town  of  Sudbury,  on  the  outskirts  of 
which  we  meet  the  old  Boston  and  Worcester  turnpike,  —  over 
which,  but  a  generation  ago,  the  stage-coach  lumbered  twice  a 
week,  conveying  travellers  and  the  mail. 

As  we  walk  along  this  road,  the  rare  beauty  of  the  surround- 
ing country  calls  forth  our  admiration  and  adoration.  Such  a 
scene  as  this  met  our  eyes  !  Far  to  the  left,  beyond  sloping  land 
and  hollows,  Mount  Nobscot  and  the  hills  of  Middlesex  arise  amid 
draperies  of  purpling  mist;  woodland  stretches,  over  which  the 
year  has  thrown  the  autumn  garment  embellished  with  tinges  of 
the  deep  red  and  brown  of  the  oak,  the  rich  yellow  of  the  maple, 
with  here  and  there  an  inlay  of  green  pines.  From  our  right 
winds  and  glides,  serpent-like,  through  the  far  expanse  of  moist, 
brown  meadow-land,  the  Sudbury  river,  bearing  silvery  gleams. 
And  withal  a  softening  haze  pervades  the  whole  country  about. 
Thus  we  travel,  allured  by  the  finery  of  nature ;  and  the  more  we 
study  and  admire,  the  more  our  orisons  go  forth  to  her,  that  we 
may  have  a  better  conception  of  her  wonderful,  changing  self. 

Suddenly  we  are  disturbed  in  our  devotions  and  musings  by  the 
abrupt  curving  of  the  road ;  and  we  emerge  from  the  labyrinthine 
way  into  an  open  space,  where  first  meets  the  eye  the  mansion  so 
appropriately  named  by  Longfellow,  the  **  Wayside  Inn. "  The 
seclusion  of  this  tavern  is  favorable  to  meditation,  and  has  the 
admirable  effect  of  inducing  the  rarest  pleasures  of  fantasy  and 
sentiment.  It  is  surrounded  by  great  oaks,  which,  although  having 
lived  at  least  t>\'o  hundred  and  fifty  years,  still  retain  their  majesty 
and  stretch  forth  their  branches,  whose  "  race  of  leaves'*  dishevelled 
by  the  wind  throw  about  fluttering  shadows  during  the  happy  day- 
time, and  at  night,  a  strange,  sombrous  gloom.  But  as  "  change 
doth  unknit  the  tranquil  strength  of  man,"  so  of  trees;  these  — 
the  tutelary  spirits  of  the  inn  —  by  the  climatic  changes  of  many 
years,  show  the  rough  and  wrinkled  skin  of  old  age.  **  Knotted 
with  age,  yet  beautiful "  they  stand.  •*  preserved  through  many  a 
year  by  the  reverence  of  our  forefathers.  " 

The  building  has  few  architectural  details.    It  is  a  large,  gabled- 


THE  WAYSIDE  INN,  AT  SUDBURY. 


roof,  clapboarded  house,  three  stories  high,  flanked  on  either  side 
by  an  ell.  It  has  no  less  then  seventy-nine  windows,  out  of  every 
one  of  which  beamed  good  cheer  and  welcome  in  former  days, — 
but  now  coldness. 

Before  we  seek  admittance  over  the  ancient  threshold,  —  for  the 
doors  are  not  now  thrown  open  to  the  general  public  as  once  they 
were  so  freely  —  let  us  sit  down  under  the  branches  of  one  of 
these  glorious  oaks,  and  review  somewhat  of  the  past  history  of 
the  house  and  those  who  were  its  hosts. 

This  building,  as  a  tavern,  (it  is  the  oldest  in  the  country),  with- 
stood and  defied  the  fitful  blasts  and  thundering  storms,  snows 


and  frost-^,  fur  tu-;irl;-  Iwn  Ci^ntiirit.-;.  ]ia\'in„  !—i:  ■.■;... .i.J  ■_■  u,-.' 
public  in  the  year  1686,  by  David  Howe,  and  was  retained  by  four 
generations  of  that  family.  Thus  it  was  that  it  was  first  named 
"The  Howe  Tavern,  at  Sudbury.  " 

Colonel  Ezekiel  Howe,  the  son  and  heir  of  David,  came  into 
possession  of  it  at  his  father's  death  in  \7^6.  It  was  during  the 
rule  of  the  Colonel,  (who,  by  the  way,  was  a  great  dignitary  in 
those  days),  that  the  "  sign  of  the  red  horse '  was  first  displayed, 
from  which  circumstance  the  name  of  the  inn  was  changed  from 
that  of  "The  Howe  Tavern,  at  Sudbury,"  to  that  of  "The  Red 
Horse  Tavern,  "  —  which  name  distinguished  it  from  "  The  White 


22  THE  WAYSIDE  INN,  AT  SUDBURY. 

Horse, "  at  Boston,  and  "  The  Black  Horse,"  at  Marlboro*.  In 
1796,  the  Colonel  died,  having  been  landlord  some  sixty  years. 
The  inn  then  came  into  the  possession  of  his  son,  Adam,  wha 
held  control  forty  years,  then  died;  at  whose  death  his  son 
Lyman  took  up  the  "  reins  of  government, "  and  carried  on  the^ 
tavern  until  i860;  when  there  being  no  longer  use  for  it,  —  the| 
stage-coach  having  given  way  to  the  railroad  —  its  doors  were 
closed  upon  a  public  which  had  ever  esteemed  this  public  house 
superior  to  all  others  in  this  country. 

The  hospitality  of  such  a  place  was  of  course  proverbial. 

At  the  termination  of  its  career,  the  old  sign  bore  on  one  side 
the  painting  of  the  prancing  red  horse,  and  on  the  other  the  ini- 
tials of  the  past  tavern-keepers  (except  Lyman),  with  the  dates 
of  the  beginning  of  the  possession  of  each,  viz. : 

D.  H.,   1686. 

E.  H.,   1746. 
A.  Howe,   1796. 

During  both  the  French  and  Indian  and  the  Revolutionar)r 
wars,  the  Red  Horse  Tavern  was  greatly  desired,  by  the  soldiers, 
as  a  resting  place ;  the  chief  reason  being,  I  suppose,  because  of 
its  reputation  of  having  the  best  liquor  of  any  of  its  contempor- 
aries. 

Let  us  now  lift  the  great  brass  knocker  and  seek  admittance. 
The  lady  in  charge,  being  informed  of  our  desire  to  see  the  inte- 
rior, kindly  admits  us. 

On  entering  we  are  confronted  by  a  wide  hall  running  through 
the  basement  floor  from  portal  to  portal,  with  spacious  rooms  orf 
either  side. 

We  enter  first  a  large,  square,  low-studded  room,  with  wain- 
scotted  walls,  and  ceiling  supported  by  great,  rough-hewn  oak 
beams.  This  was  known  as  the  "best  room,"  or  parlor.  It  is 
stripped  of  many  of  its  ancient  accoutrements,  but  the  great  fire- 
place still  remains ;  on  whose  hearth,  when  the  fire  burned  with  all 
its  wonted  glow,  how  many  vagaries  and  fancies  were  created 
within  the  souls  of  the  illustrious  ones  who  mused  in  its  fire- 
light !     For  was  it  not  from  such  a  sight  that  Longfellow  wrote  ?  — 

"  The  fire-light,  shedding  o'er  all 

The  splendor  of  its  ruddy  glow, 

Filled  the  whole  parlor,  large  and  low." 


THE  WAYSIDE  INN,  AT  SUDBURY. 


23 


The  lines  cut  on  the  window-panes  by  that  old  tarred-and-feath- 
ered  loyalist.  Major  Molineux,  are  still  exhibited.  On  one  of 
the  panes  is  cut  the  following  rhyme, — 

"What  do  you  think? 
Here  is  good  drink  ! 
Perhaps  you  do  not  know  it. 
If  not  in  haste,  stop  and  taste, 
You  merry  folks  will  show  it." 

■On  the  other  pane  is  cut  the  author's  name  and  the  date,  viz.; 

"Wm.   Molineux,  Jr.,  Esq. 
24  June.   1774,  Boston." 

A  copy  of  the  original  Howe  coat-of-arms  is  displayed  hanging 
over  the  fire-place.  Over  the  crest,  interwoven  among  scrolls, 
leaves  and  heraldic  devices,  painted  in  lively  hues,  the  following 
genealogy  is  inscribed : 

"Creation  of  The  most  Noble  &  Puissant,  Ld,  Charl,,  How  E'- 
of  Lancaster  &  Br.  of  How  of  Wormleighton  1st  commis^  of 
y*  Treasury,  1st  Gent'-  of  y'-  bedchamb'-  to  his  Maj.  Kt.  of 
y='  garter  &  one  of  y^  Gov"-  of  y'-  Charte'-  house.  Great''-  Bt. 
How  of  Worm,  toll  in  y*-  country  of  Warwick  Nov''  18,  1606  in 
y^  4lh  of  James  y'-  ist  &  E^  of  Lancaster,  Jun,  y"  Sth,  1643  '" 
y'-  19th  of  Charl*'  y^*  1st,  of  this  fam^"  which  deriv'-  them- 
selv*'  from  a  young''  branch  of  y*-  ant'-  B''*'  How's  men  .... 
fam,  many  ages  Since  in  Eng"- among  which  were  Hugh  How  y*- 
father  &  Son  great  faver"*-  of  K"-  E"*-  y"-  2^  J"  How  Esq' 
son  to  J"'  How  of  Hodinhull  in  y^'  country  of  Warw'' 
&c.,    &c.,    &c.,   &c.,    S:c.,    &c. 

Below  the  shield  the  scroll  reads.  "By  the  name  of  Howe,"  and 
below  this  scroll,  the  following  description  of  the  coat-of-arms  is 
written : 

Arms.  He  became  Gules  &  Chevron  Argent  between  3  cros 
croslets  &  3  wolfs  heads  of  y":  same  crest  on  a  wrath  a  Wyvern 
or  Drag"-  part  D.  per  pale  or  &  vert  perced  through  y^-  mouth 
w""  arow  by  y"-  Name  of  How.  y^  wolfs  are  y*-  fam*  arms, 
cros"-  for  Gt.  Accf-  done  by  y*-   ist  E.     &c.  &c.  &c. 

Lifting  the  old-fashioned  latch  by  a  great  brass  knob,  we  pull 
-open  the  heavy  oaken  door  and  tnrn  down  the  wide  hall-way,  but 


IHE   WAYSIDE  /.V.\\  AT  SC'DBC'/iV. 


arc  opposed   in  our  passage  by  a   large,  wooden,  five-bar   gate. 

This  gate  divided  the  private  from  the  public  quarters.  At  the 
end  of  the  hall  on  the 
left  we   enter  what  was 

1  the   "family   sitting- 

room"  of  four  genera- 
tions of  the  Howe 
family.  It  is  remarkable 
for  nothing  in  particular 
except  that  its  walls  are 
covered  with  a  curious 
kind  of  old-style  wall- 
paper. Otf  this  room 
is     a     long     apartment  | 

til     y^y\^     11  ^i       which   was    utilized   in 

Wfy^      >NJ^>         U       getting    up   great    din- 
1  Lji      *■      J^W  ^m.       "^"^^    ^°^    special    occa- 

"  "  sions.     From  the  right  ' 

of  the  hall  we  enter  the 
"family  dining   room," 
which,  like  most  of  the  , 
rooms  in  the  house,  is 
of  the  square  and  low- 
studded  style.  It  is  sup-' 
plied    with    two    spa-  I 
cious  pantries,  whose  "good  things"  were  kept  from  sight  and   , 
whose  appetizing  odors  were   kept  from  the  olfactory  organ  by 
the  old-fashioned   linglish  double   doors.       Off  this  room  is  the  I 
famous  t;ip-room,  a  rendezvous,  in  days  of  yore,  of  the    greatest 
conviviality.      Across  one  side  of  the  room  stretches  a  cavernous 
fire-place,  in  whose  mouth  great  fires  of  oak  burned.      Then  did 
"the  crackling  faggots  fly"  in  all  their  glory,  warming  both  the 
body  and  heart  of  those   gathered   about  it.       On   another  side  i 
stands  the  bar,  filled  up  with  a  wooden  portcullis,  which  could  be 
raised  or  lowered  at  will,  and  when  closed  drinks  could  be  passed 
under  it.      The  oak  flooring  of  this  room  has  been  worn  thinner   ' 
than  that  of  any  other  in  the  hostelry,  by  the  tread  of  nearly  two 
centuries.      Across  the  ceiling  the  great  beams  are  entirely  black- 
ened  by  steam   rising    from     innumerable    pots  of   "nut-brow«  J 


THE   WAYSIDE  LVN.  AT  SUDBURY. 


25 


liquor."  There  can  be  no  doubt  but  that  this  was  the  best  patron- 
ized place  in  the  whole  house;  and  the  several  hosts  must  have 
had  rules  similar  to  the  following  (which  were  found  in  an  old 
English  inn),  in  order  to  preserve  order  and  good  humor  in  the 
assemblings : 

"Call  frequently. 

Drink  moderately. 

Be  good  company. 

Part  friendly. 

Go  home  quietly. 

Let  these  lines  be  no  man's  sorrow, 

Pay  to-day  and  1  will  trust  to-morrow." 

We  now  ascend  to  the  second   story  by  a  short,  wide   flight  of 

creaking  stairs.     On  this  floor  is  the  "Old  Hall,"  which  was  used 


THE  -BEST  ROOM." 

by  the  young  men  and  maidens  of  Sudbury  town  in  which  to  hold 
dancing  parties,  until,  as  years  increased,  and  likewise  dancers,  it 
proved  too  small:  and,  therefore,  the  "New  Hall"  was  built.  It 
is  about  twice  as  large  as  the  old  one.  and  was  added  seventy 
years  ago. 


26  THE  WAYSIDE  INN,  AT  SUDBURY. 

The  next  point  of  interest  is  the  ''  La  Fayette  chambers."  The 
*  suite'  received  its  historic  appellation  from  the  supposed  fact 
that  La  Fayette  did  once  occupy  it  for  a  night.  The  walls  of  the 
rooms  are  covered  with  the  oldest  style  of  paper  hanging  found  in 
this  country,  known  as  the  "  blue  bell "  pattern.  The  figure  of  the 
blue  bell  flower  was  stamped  upon  small  squares  of  paper  by  hand, 
and  square  by  square  was  laboriously  placed  upon  the  wall.  The 
polished  oak  floors  have  been  highly  decorated  with  blue  and 
brown  flowers,  painted  in  diamond  checks. 

These  two  rooms,  making  the  suite,  were  the  only  apartments 
which  were  let  in  their  entirety,  and  were  accordingly  very  expen- 
sive. On  passing  into  the  next  room  we  have  a  specimen  of  those 
which  were  not  let  in  their  entirety.  This  room,  though  quite 
small,  was  supplied  with  five  beds,  each  of  which  was  supposed  to 
hold  at  least  two  individuals,  —  stage-drivers,  peddlers,  and  the 
common  lodgers  occupied  them.  This  chamber  is  easily  and 
quickly  accessible  from  the  tap-room  by  a  narrow  stairway,  and 
there  must  have  been  some  remarkable  manifestations  in  it,  when 
the  beds  were  occupied  by  a  goodly  number  of  "  half  spirited  " 
fellows,  who,  possibly,  had  been  driven  from  below  on  account  of 
their  too  great  hilarity,  and  who  thought  to  rid  themselves  of  the 
influences  of  Bacchus  in  the  *'  communion  of  the  drowsy  god," 
but  alas  !   could  not  "  commune  "  with  those  lethean  divinities. 

Ascending  another  flight  of  crazy  stairs  brings  us  to  the  old 
attic,  about  which  the  spiders  have  strewn  a  great  net-work  of  cob- 
webs. All  about  here  were  stretched  beds  innumerable,  which 
were  occupied  by  the  very  commonest  lodgers. 

There  is  an  old  room  up  here  known  as  the  **  grain  room,"  from 
the  fact  that  during  the  Indian  wars  the  grain  was  stored  here  to 
protect  it  from  the  savages.  Places  appear  in  the  floor  where 
great  cracks  have  been  covered  with  a  axe-hewn  boards,  pieces  of 
old  boot  leather,  and  cow-hide  which  never  saw  a  tannery;  and 
the  walls  are  honeycombed  with  great  holes,  made  by  the  rats. 

We  descended  the  three  flights  of  stairs,  which  cry  out  most 
pitiably  with  the  long-endured  burdens. 

We  pass  out  of  the  venerable  mansion  of  sublime  effluence,  which, 
with  its  traditions,  inspired  our  great  poet  to  write  those  delightful 
**  Tales  of  a  Wayside  Inn,"  which  will  ever  give  it  a  celebrity  and 
interest. 


THE  WAYSIDE  /X.V.  AT  SUDBURY', 


27 


We  find  that  we  have  spent  a  memorable  afternoon ;  and  now 
the  sun  has  nearly  gone  to  rest,  and  it  is  the  time  when  the  mighty 
oaks  throw  their  sombrous  gloom  about. 

We  disappear  down  the  labyrinthine  road,  feeling  that  the  in- 
spirations which  wc  carry  away  shall  be  potent  enough  to  exorcise 
all  evil  or  inharmonious  spirits — thoughts  which  labor  to  mar  the 
happiness  which  we  find  in  exercising  good  fellowship  towards 
our  fellow  man. 

Looking  back  we  catch  a  farewell  glance  over  the  rising  brow  of 
a  hillock,  of  which  but  a  small  portion  is  seen,  darkened  in  the 
twilight. 

As  we  proceed  once  more  we  fancy  that  we  hear  rumblings  be- 
hind us,  and  instinctively  our  thoughts  seek  the  inn. 

We  .seem  to  see  the  ponderous  stage-coach  just  arrived.  We  hear 
the  great  commotion.     There  is  mine  jolly  old  host — Howe,  just 


come  forth  with  due  courtesy  to  greet  his  newly  arrived  guests. 
Through  the  open  doors  great  floods  of  light  proceed  from  the  tap- 
room, flecking  the  darkened  road.  Peals  of  merriment  come  from 
the  same  place,  and  are  lost  in  echoes  among  the  woods  opposite. 
Then  a  loud  blast  is  sounded  and  a  cheer  goes  up,  and  off  starts 
the  coach  again  for  Boston  town,  some  twenty  mites  beyond.  But 
ere  it  has  passed  beyond  the  meadows  a  suddenly  rising  mist  envel- 
opes it,  and  it  is  hurried,  as  truant,  back  to  the  ages  that  are 
passed. 

Mine  was  a  day  well  spent  at  The  Red  Horse  Tavern,  or  The 
Wayside  Inn,  at  Sudbury  Town. 


JOSEPH  ROBINSON  BO  DWELL.  29 


JOSEPH   ROBINSON   BODWELL, 

Governor  Elect  of  Maine. 
BY  CAPT.  CHARLES  E.  NASH. 

New  England  is  fertile  in  strong  men ;  and,  like  her  geological 
surface  and  her  climate,  her  people  are  distinctive,  and  peculiarly 
her  own.  In  building  homes  in  the  wilderness,  the  fathers  and 
their  children  attained  large  development  of  mental  and  moral 
force,  which  the  law  of  heredity  soon  fixed  in  succeeding  genera- 
tions. This  robustness  of  character  —  shown  in  many  forms  of 
individuality —  is  as  manifest  to-day  as  ever,  and  is  a  potential 
factor  all  over  the  world ;  for  in  every  civilized  land  are  men  of 
New  England  ancestry,  distinguished  in  their  various  fields  of  ac- 
tivity for  intelligence,  enterprise,  and  high  moral  qualities.  Not 
alone  do  statesmen  and  scholars  give  a  country  its  eminence ;  New 
England  would  still  have  been  great  without  her  Webster  or  Long- 
fellow. The  tiller  of  the  soil  and  the  artisan  were  before  either, 
and  without  them  there  could  be  neither  statesman  nor  poet. 

The  subject  of  this  sketch  is  a  typical  New  England  business 
man,  —  a  product  of  the  grand  stimulative  and  educating  forces  of 
the  land  of  his  birth.  His  earliest  colonial  ancestor  of  whom  there 
is  public  record  was  Henry  Bodwell,  a  brave  soldier  in  King 
Philip's  war,  (1675).  His  father,  Joseph  Bodwell,  was  a  farmer  in 
Methuen,  Massachusetts,  and  occupied  with  his  family  for  many 
years  the  homestead  farm  at  the  mouth  of  Spigot  river.  His 
mother's  family  name  was  Howe ;  she  was  a  lady  of  culture  and 
refinement. 

Joseph  Robinson  Bodwell  was  born  June  18,  1 8 18.  After  the 
years  of  early  childhood,  like  most  farmers'  sons,  he  was  called  to 
the  work  of  the  farm.  It  was  in  this  school  of  manual  labor,  with 
toughened  hands,  skillful  in  the  use  of  the  simple  tools  of  hus- 
bandry, that  he  passed  his  youth  and  early  manhood.  As  all  the 
energy  of  the  hero  may  find  scope  in  the  cultivation  of  a  single 
farm,  so  has  New  England  homestead  training  ever  been  produc- 
tive of  the  qualities  that  make  distinguished  men  in  the  arena  of 


30  JOSEPH  ROBINSON  BODWELL. 

practical  life.  It  was  so  in  the  case  of  the  Methuen  farmer's  boy. 
Ruddy  in  health,  of  buoyant  spirits,  and  resolute  and  self-reliant 
for  whatever  work  or  enterprise  was  before  him,  he  early  showed 
that  superior  individuality  and  force  of  character  which  we  see  in 
the  mature  man.  While  attending  the  district  school —  that  grand 
institution  which,  to  so  many,  constitutes  the  whole  of  their  educa- 
tional privilege  —  he  earned  money  during  evenings  and  the  early 
mornings  by  making  shoes.  In  1838  he  purchased  in  connection 
with  his  father,  —  largely  with  his  own  earnings  —  a  farm  in  West 
Methuen,  and  with  filial  fidelity  aided  in  its  cultivation  until  his 
father's  death  in  1848. 

While  yet  a  farmer  he  took  the  steps  that  led  him  into  the  spe- 
cial business  career  in  which  he  is  so  prominent.  When  capitalists 
began  to  utilize  the  water-power  of  the  Merrimac  at  Lawrence^ 
Massachusetts,  Mr.  Bodwell  was  employed  to  haul  granite  blocks 
from  Pelham,  New  Hampshire,  for  the  construction  of  a  dam.  In 
this  capacity  he  became  familiar  with  the  art  of  quarrying  and 
working  granite.  His  long-cherished  ambition  to  work  in  a  wider 
and  more  lucrative  field  than  a  circumscribed  country  farm  im- 
pelled him  to  concentrate  all  his  energies  in  the  direction  of  the 
granite  industry.  From  this  beginning  he  has  been  remarkably 
successful,  rising  from  the  position  of  humble  employee,  with  goad- 
stick  and  oxen,  to  the  head  of  the  granite  business  in  the  United 
States. 

The  State  of  Maine  is  rich  in  granite  for  architectural  and  other 
uses.  The  headlands  and  islands  of  Penobscot  Bay  had  been  the 
home  of  the  sea-fowl,  undisturbed  by  the  quarryman's  hammer^ 
and  worthless  as  property,  until  the  quick  perception  of  Mr.  Bod- 
well, coupled  with  his  practical  knowledge  and  vigorous,  enterpris- 
^i^g»  aggressive  business  qualities,  showed  that  they  could  be 
transformed  into  quarries  more  valuable  than  gold  mines.  In  1852 
Mr.  Bodwell,  in  company  with  Hon.  Moses  Webster,  began  to  work 
the  quarries  on  Fox  Island.  Since  then,  under  the  inspiration  of 
Mr.  Bodwell  and  others  endowed  with  his  spirit  and  characteris- 
tics, these  granite  beds  have  been  converted  into  scenes  of  busy 
industry,  and  made  to  yield  material  for  the  building  of  many 
magnificent  national,  state,  civic  and  private  edifices.  Mr.  Bodwell 
began  operations  here  with  one  yoke  of  oxen,  which  he  drove  him- 


JOSEPH  ROBINSON  BOD  WELL.  31 

self  and  shod  with  his  own  hands.  From  this  beginning  an  asso- 
ciation of  capitalists  organized  under  the  name  of  the  Bodwell 
Granite  Company  and  elected  the  enterprising  pioneer  to  its  presi- 
dency ;  this  position  he  still  fills ;  under  his  management  it  has 
attained  the  stature  of  the  leading  granite  company  in  the  country. 

Granite  of  lighter  color  and  more  delicate  texture  than  that  on 
the  sea-coast  is  found  in  great  abundance  at  Hallowell,  on  the 
Kennebec  River,  about  forty  miles  inland.  This  is  the  most  de- 
sirable kind  for  monumental  and  artistic  purposes.  These  quarries 
had  been  abandoned  for  many  years ;  Mr.  Bodwell  foresaw  a  pop- 
ular demand  for  so  handsome  and  valuable  a  quality  of  granite, 
and  in  1866  removed  with  his  family  to  Hallowell,  where  in  1870 
was  organized  the  now  famous  Hallowell  Granite  Company,  of 
which  he  was  then  chosen,  and  still  remains,  president.  The 
beautiful  products  of  this  association  have  been  sent  into  nearly 
every  State  in  the  Union ;  its  colossal  statuary,  like  **  Faith  *^  at 
Plymouth,  Massachusetts,  and  the  War  Monument  on  Boston  Com- 
mon, rivalling  white  marble  in  its  beauty,  are  to  be  found  in  all 
the  great  cities  of  the  land,  from  Portland  to  New  Orleans.  The 
Sphinx  in  Mt.  Auburn,  the  piece  of  sculpture  which  so  arrests  the 
attention  of  every  visitor  to  that  magnificent  city  of  the  dead,  was 
carved  from  this  quarry,  as  also  some  of  the  grandest  edifices  in 
the  United  States,  like  the  Capitol  at  Albany.      , 

Mr.  Bodwell  still  retains  his  early  love  for  agricultural  pursuits. 
He  owns  and  cultivates  with  success  a  large  farm  in  Hallowell. 
His  accurate  judgment  of  the  different  kinds  of  live-stock,  neces- 
sary to  meet  the  demands  of  the  country,  led  him  to  import  a  herd 
of  thorough-bred  Hereford  cattle  in  1879.  This  was  a  bold 
venture  from  which  he  did  not  expect  financial  success,  but  so 
favorable  was  the  result  that  he  has  now  become  one  of  the  largest 
importers  of  special  blooded  stocks  in  the  country. 

In  public  political  life  Mr.  Bodwell  has  filled  with  ability  various 
positions  of  trust  and  hftnor.  He  has  twice  represented  his  fellow-  v 
citizens  in  the  Maine  Legislature ;  two  terms  he  served  as  Mayor  ^ 
of  Hallowell ;  was  delegate-at-large  to  the  Chicago  Convention  in 
1880,  which  nominated  General  Garfield.  Friends  have  often 
pressed  him  in  vain  to  accept  nominations  for  higher  offices ;  but 
he  was  induced  to  listen  to  the  almost  irresistible  demand  of  the 


32  JOSEPH  ROBINSON  BO  DWELL 

Republican  party  of  his  adopted  State,  and  accept  the  nomination 
for  Governor,  last  June,  and  was  elected  in  course  by  a  handsome 
majority. 

Mr.  Bodwell  is  pre-eminently  a  business  man.  He  possesses 
remarkable  ability  to  project  and  execute  large  enterprises,  which 
have  uniformly  been  successful.  Versatile  and  apparently  equally 
efficient  in  diversified  business  departments,  he  is  president  of  the 
Bodwell  Water  Power  Company  at  Oldtown,  Maine,  a  corporation 
which  holds  the  largest  water-power  in  New  England.  He  carries 
on  lumbering  operations  on  the  head-waters  of  the  Kennebec 
river,  and  is  a  stock-holder  and  promoter  in  several  railroad 
enterprises. 

Mr.  Bodwell,  in  his  various  enterprises,  is  a  great  employer  of 
labor  of  all  degrees  of  skill,  from  the  simple  drills-man  to  the 
artistic  sculptor;  from  the  woodsman,  river-driver,  millman  and 
farm-hand,  to  the  artist  and  designer  of  grand  edifices  and  monu- 
ments ;  his  various  quarries  are  literally  hives  of  industry.  By  his 
considerate  treatment  of  his  employees  he  holds  in  full  measure 
their  respect  and  esteem.  No  strike  or  lock-out  ever  occurred 
about  his  works.  Having  honorably  risen,  as  if  by  gravitation, 
from  the  humble  workingman  to  a  lofty  position  in  the  business 
and  financial  world,  his  sympathies  are  too  broad  for  injustice  to 
exist  which  he  can  prevent.  Mr.  Bodwell's  generous  nature  makes 
him  strongly  and  practically  philanthropic,  without  ostentation  or 
desire  for  notoriety.  Broad-brained  and  large-hearted,  with  the 
memory  of  his  own  early  struggles  fresh  in  his  mind,  he  is  quick 
to  sympathize  with  those  who  are  manfully  wrestling  with  adverse 
circumstances.  Many  promising  young  men,  assisted  by  his 
patronage,  have  entered  upon  business  careers,  whose  usefulness 
and  success  are  in  some  measure  modelled  after  those  of  his  own. 
A  lover  of  knowledge,  and  a  generous  friend  of  education,  his  con- 
tributions to  literary  institutions  have  been  liberal.  He  will  be 
admiringly  and  lovingly  remembered  when  the  splendid  granite 
structures  he  has  helped  to  build  shall  have  become  old  and 
picturesque  ruins. 

No  act  ever  stained  his  business  or  personal  honor  and  integrity ; 
he  has  always  worn  the  "  white  rose  of  a  blameless  life."  His  re- 
ligious views  have  for  their  central  thought  the  divine  love  and 


JOSEPH  ROBINSON  BO  DWELL.  33 

care  for  the  whole  human  race.  His  special  affiliation  is  with  the 
Universalist  denomination.  His  domestic  life  is  one  of  sweetness 
and  joy.  The  strong  and  rugged  side  of  his  nature  which  the 
world  sees,  has  love  and  gentleness  for  its  obverse  in  the  family 
circle.  He  married  in  1848,  Eunice  daughter  of  Josiah  Fox;  she 
died  in  1857,  leaving  one  daughter,  Persis  M.,  who  is  now  the 
widow  of  the  late  J.  M.  Paine  of  Hallowell.  In  1859  he  married 
Hannah  C,  sister  of  his  former  wife.  Their  only  son,  Joseph  F., 
is  a  promising  young  man,  now  engaged  in  securing  an  education. 
Born  not  to  the  purple,  but  to  the  simple  inheritance  of  the 
average  country  boy,— obscurity,  poverty,  labor, — but  with  the 
manly  brain  and  fibre  that  come  from  the  rich,  vigorous  blood  of 
puritan  ancestry,  disciplined  to  self-reliance  in  the  stern  school  of 
practical  life  amid  the  peerless  institutions  and  moral  atmosphere 
of  New  England,  Mr.  BodwelFs  magnificent  career  is  a  happy 
illustration  of  the  grand  flowering  of  New  England  civilization  into 
men,  strong  and  symmetrical,  the  honor  of  their  generation  and 
their  country.  To  the  youth  of  to-day  his  life  is  an  example  and 
an  inspiration ;  the  heritage  that  was  his  is  theirs ;  his  attainments 
and  eminence  are  their  possibilities. 


^ 


34  NICOLO  CESI, 


NICOLO   CESI. 

BY  WILLIAM  Mc  ARTHUR,  LL.  D. 

I. 


"  Is  he  mad,  or  a  demon?  " 

**  Both,  I  should  imagine,"  was  my  unhesitating  answer. 

We  were  standing  —  my  friend  Jules  Picot,  who  put  the  query, 
and  myself — in  the  doorway  of  a  cabaret  not  far  from  the  fountain 
of  Trevi,  in  one  of  the  environs  of  Rome,  regarding  with  amaze- 
ment a  singular  display  by  the  greatest  violinist  of  the  day,  Nicolo 
Cesi.  He  was  playing,  inside  the  wine  shop,  to  a  group  of  persons 
in  an  humble  sphere  of  life.  My  friend  Picot  and  I  had  shortly 
before  left  the  Colonna  Palazzo  where  Cesi  was  engaged  by  its 
wealthy  owner,  at  what  might  be  considered  fabulous  remunera- 
tion, to  render  only  two  airs  during  the  evening,  and  where  he  had 
evinced  one  of  his  capricious  humors, —  no  extraordinary  thing 
with  him  of  late.  On  our  way  homeward,  in  which  we  took  a  cir- 
cuit of  a  portion  of  the  outskirts  of  the  city,  as  the  night  was  very 
fine,  and  attracted  by  the  music,  we  discovered  the  man  in  this 
obscure  wine  shop,  surrounded  by  a  number  of  delighted  —  nay, 
enraptured  —  country  people ;  Cesi  obviously  on  the  best  of  terms 
with  his  auditory,  as  were  they  with  him. 

It  had  long  been  my  ambition  to  become  a  pupil  of  the  great 
master ;  but  rumor  had  credited  him  with  a  temper  as  vile  as  his 
genius  was  eminent ;  and  it  was  accordingly  a  pleasant  surprise  to 
me  to  find  the  man  so  thoroughly  good  humored  with  his  peasant 
audience. 

My  friend  and  I  entered  the  shop,  and  after  having  paid  for  our 
wine  we  joined  the  crowd,  to  listen.  Cesi's  quick  eye  perceived  us 
the  moment  we  appeared,  and  he  at  once  became  sullen ;  t^^'ice  he 
raised  his  violin  to  the  position  for  playing,  but  each  time  quickly 
lowered  it.  He  was  however  persuaded  by  his  listeners  to  resume 
his  performance.  He  then  commenced  to  play  a  Romance  of  his 
own,  to  which  we  all  listened  so  intently  that  each  one  felt  his  very 
breathing  to  be  almost  an  intrusion.  The  master  could  never  have 
played  as  he  did  on  this  occasion ;  for  in  that  humble  wine  shop, 


NICOLO  CESL  35 

surrounded  as  he  was  by  the  tanned  faces  of  the  peasants,  he  eli- 
cited from  his  violin  such  melodious  sounds  as  would  not  have 
been  produced  by  him  from  that  instrument  in  the  concert  rooms 
of  any  European  city.  The  piece  he  essayed  was  the  saddest  and 
sweetest  of  melodies ;  each  note  went  straight  to  the  heart ;  and 
tears  stood  in  the  eyes  of  the  impressionable  Italians,  many  of  them 
bearded,  stalwart  men. 

The  scene  in  itself  was  weirdly  striking,  and  was  one  of  those 
seldom  witnessed  by  an  Englishman.  Under  the  swinging  oil 
lamps  Cesi's  wild  black  eyes  had  all  the  unhappy  restlessness  of 
insanity,  and  his  face  grew  white  with  the  intensity  of  his  passions. 
One  could  see  by  the  expression  of  his  countenance  that  each  note 
came  direct,  as  it  were,  from  his  very  soul,  and  caused  him  agony ; 
while  his  long  nervous  fingers  seemed  to  caress  the  strings,  so 
gently  and  dextrously  was  each  movement  performed. 

It  was  some  seconds  after  the  musician  had  finished  ere  we 
realized  the  fact,  and  even  then  the  delicious  sounds  we  had  been 
enjoying  with  such  rapt  attention  seemed  to  float  around  and 
above.  Then  the  moment's  silent  pause  was  succeeded  by  a  burst 
of  wild  cheering. 

Cesi  then  threw  back  his  disordered  hair  from  his  heated  brow, 
and  nodded  to  my  friend  and  me,  who  were  standing  slightly  out- 
side the  group,  the  while  waving  his  hand  and  smiling  all  around ; 
but  no  one  present  could  induce  him  to  play  again,  and  laughing 
gayly  he  left  the  house,  followed  by  almost  all  the  crowd ;  but  so 
entranced  had  I  become  that  it  was  only  after  I  had  proceeded 
some  distance,  that  I  missed  my  friend  Picot  from  my  side.  Cesi 
went  along,  talking  in  a  jocular  strain  with  several  of  his  humble 
admirers  who  kept  well  around  him ;  and  just  as  we  all  reached 
Mount  Esquilinus,  he  wished  us  "  Buona  notte, "  and  swiftly  dis- 
appeared in  the  direction  of  the  Baths  of  Trajan  and  Titus. 

I  found  myself  alongside  a  comely  peasant,  one  Carlo  Vatti, 
whom  I  knew  as  selling  fruit  at  the  Fountain  of  Trevi.  The  man, 
recognizing  me,  removed  his  hat,  saying,  as  he  fanned  his  heated 
brow  before  replacing  it,  "Ah,  Signore,  Cesi  has  led  us  a  dance 
after  him,  but  genius  deserves  to  be  honored  everywhere. " 

I  looked  at  the  speaker  in  surprise,  and  then  I  realized  where  I 
was  —  in  Rome. 


36  NICOLO  CESL 

Glad  of  the  man's  company,  I  took  my  way  back  to  the  interior 
of  the  city  with  Vatti,  it  being  now  past  midnight,  and  my  destina- 
tion being  close  to  the  Porta  del  Popolo.  Our  conversation  natur- 
ally dealt  wholly  with  Cesi,  and  Vatti  related  to  me  many  of  his 
curious  characteristics ; — how  he  played  nearly  every  night  at  that 
same  wine  shop,  and  how  he  always  bade  the  company  good  night 
at  the  Esquiline  Hill.  My  companion  also  dilated  on  Cesi's 
munificent  generosity,  and  his  charity  to  the  poor  in  the  cold 
winter  season.  "Ah,  Cesi  is  great,  Signore,  yet  he  is  mad.  I  re- 
member him  some  years  back,  before  he  was  so  well  known ;  he 
had  then  a  very  beautiful  girl  pupil  with  whom  it  is  said  he  fell  in 
love ;  they  were  married,  and  he  used  to  leave  Italy ;  however,  he 
returned  from  foreign  countries  one  night,  and  we  never  heard 
more  of  the  lady ;  people  say  she  died  in  one  of  the  great  cities, 
and  Cesi  never  permits  any  allusion  to  her.  I  call  to  mind  so  often 
seeing  them  together  of  an  evening  in  the  Borghese  Garden,  and 
all  Rome  speculated  on  the  probability  of  a  marriage  before  many 
months  would  pass,  between  the  maestro  and  his  fair  pupil.  He 
was  at  that  time  quite  sociable  and  genial,  playing  then  for  the 
nobles  as  graciously  as  he  does  now  for  the  populace ;  but  since 
his  wife's  death,  Signor  Cesi  has  never  been  the  same, —  and  they 
say  she  would  have  been  great  too ;  for  she  was  young  then, 
barely  sixteen,  and  played  almost  as  well  as  Cesi  himself  did ;  and 
Cielo!  how  handsome  she  was,  tall  and  graceful,  with  hair  like  the 
sunlight,  and  such  hazel  eyes.     I  heard,  too,  that  she  was  English." 

At  the  Fountain  of  Trevi  we  parted,  I  pursuing  my  way  towards 
the  Corso,  where  I  found  Jules  Picot  awaiting  my  arrival. 

I  could  not  help  thinking  all  night  about  Cesi,  and  before  morn- 
ing broke  I  decided  that,  come  what  might,  I  should  go  to  him 
that  very  day,  and  ask  him  to  allow  me  to  become  his  pupil. 

n. 

Cesi's  villa  was,  as  regards  locality,  situated  most  charmingly 
among  the  ruins  and  the  gigantic  ilex  bowers  on  the  Esquiline 
Hill.  It  was  some  hours  past  noon  by  the  time  I  reached  the 
place.  I  perceived  that  the  gardens  were  quite  neglected.  Every- 
thing around  bore  an  air  of  languid  repose,  but  it  was  the  stillness 
of  solitude.     The  atmosphere  was  laden  with  the  perfume  borne 


on  the  warm  breeze  from  the  adjacent  orange  groves,  and,  although 
there  were  some  evidences  in  the  trailing  vine  of  the  labors  of  the 
husbandman  of  a  bygone  generation,  all  nature  hereabouts  ap- 
peared now  to  be  surrendered  to  a  condition  of  wildness  as  com- 
plete as  if  the  hand  of  a  destroyer  had  been  stayed  midway  in  its 
full  career  upon  a  cliltivated  garden.  A  ruined  trellis  here ;  a  heap 
of  tesselated  liles  there;  in  one  place  the  pedestal  whereon  stood 
once  the  now  broken  piece  of  statuary  lying  beside  it.  half  con- 
cealed by  tangled  grass  and  creeping  shrubs;  broken  fragments  of 
the  ruined  curtilage  walls  spread  about  outside;  — all  bearing 
testimony  to  the  withdrawal  of  the  hand  of  man  from  a  scene  which, 
by  the  expenditure  of  a  little  care  and  the  conservation  of  art, 
might  have  been  rendered  the  fitting  dwelling-place  of  a  Catullus. 

After  having  been  detained  a  !ong  time  waiting,  an  aged  man 
came  out  slowly  across  the  stone  courtyard  in  answer  to  my  sum- 
mons at  the  bell.  He  could  tell  me  nothing  save  that  his  master 
was  then  from  home,  he  having  gone  toward  the  city,  but  that  in 
any  event  Signer  Cesi  never  saw  visitors,  and  it  was  therefore  use- 
less for  me  to  remain.  At  first  I  actually  thought  of  leaving,  but 
after  a  few  moments'  deliberation  I  entered  into  conversation  with 
the  old  servitor  concerning  his  poultry  yard.  He  invited  me  to 
see  the  fowl  while  being  fed,  and,  as  he  scattered  the  grain  about,  I 
learned  from  him  that  Cesi  lived  absolutely  alone,  no  one  ever 
crossing  the  threshold  save  the  musician  himself,  and  my  inform- 
ant, Tito,  who  even  himself  saw  very  little  of  the  maestro. 

"  I  have  simply  to  dress  a  good  dinner,  which  he  eats  towards 
evening,  by  himself,  after  he  has  finished  composing,  and  neither 
before  nor  after  that,  save  to  provide  him  with  an  early  breakfast, 
do  I  see  him.  One  whim  of  his,"  continued  the  old  fellow,  chuck- 
ling, "  is  that  he  must  have  covers  laid  for  two,  and  then  he  locks 
the  door  on  himself,  and,  to  do  him  justice,  he  has  a  rare  good 
appetite.  He  goes  out  after  dinner,  I  believe,  either  to  play  at  the 
palazzi  of  the  nobility  or  to  amuse  himself.  " 

"  But  docs  no  one  at  all  ever  visit  him?  has  he  no  pupils?"  I 
inquired,  "  for  that  is  why  I  am  here.  " 

"  Well,"  responded  the  old  man,  glancing  uneasily  around,  "  un- 
less it  be  the  evil  one  himself — as  I  have  little  doubt  —  not  a 
solitary  individual  sees  him.      Sometimes  I  hear   sounds  in  his 


38  N I  COLO  CESL 

rooms  when  he  is  out.  But  the  holy  saints  preserve  us,"  he  ejacu- 
lated, crossing  himself,  "  all  Rome  says  he  has  bartered  his  soul  as 
Paganini  did,  for  his  violin  playing.  You  do  not  think,  signor,  that 
the  devil  eats  as  we  do  ?  I  often  intended  to  ask  il  Padre  Michele. 
I  dare  say  he  will  be  able  to  tell  me,  for  it  might  be  a  mortal  sin, 
povero  me/  were  I  to  be  cooking  victuals  for  the  past  year  or  more 
fur  his  majesty,"  observed  Tito,  with  a  shudder,  as  he  pointed 
downwards  with  his  forefinger. 

Smiling  at  the  garrulous  old  man's  conceit,  I  indulged  him  in 
his  fancies,  for  it  is  generally  useless  to  try  reason,  or  to  argue 
concerning  the  supernatural  with  an  Italian ;  therefore  I  sat  under 
the  orange  trees  and  said  nothing,  hoping  each  moment  to  see  the 
great  maestro ;  but  Tito,  when  he  had  finished  feeding  his  geese 
and  chickens,  told  me  sturdily  that  I  should  have  to  leave  soon,  as 
it  was  near  dinner  time  and  Signor  Cesi  was  expected,  else  he 
should  lose  his  place,  and  in  fede  mia,  he  added  firmly,  "  that 
would  be  too  much  of  a  sacrifice  for  sake  of  gratifying  a  stranger's 
curiosity.  '* 

I  saw  the  situation  plainly  then,  and  at  last,  aided  by  the  bribe  of 
ten  liras,  a  substantial  douceur  in  the  eyes  of  an  Italian  peasant, 
Tito  consented  to  accompany  me  through  the  edifice.  It  was  in 
alructure  a  gloomy  Italian  villa  half  in  ruins,  abounding  in  frescoes 
Which  Horace  and  Maecenas  may  possibly  have  gazed  on,  although 
the  colors  were  still  almost  fresh.  The  vestibule  was  supported  by 
n\arble  pillars  topped  by  Doric  capitals,  and  on  either  side  were 
t<i  bo  seen  some  specimens  of  fine  sculpture,  including  the  "Or- 
pheus anil  Kurydice"  after  Praxiteles.  Inside  the  abode,  dust  lay 
iipuu  everything  thickly;  the  inlaid  floor  and  the  quaintly  designed 
fiirniture  of  a  dead  age  were  covered  with  it;  whilst  in  two  or 
ihret;  of  the  chambers  were  to  be  seen  several  violins,  and  violins 
only;  ('esi  was  a  collector  evidently.  I  thought,  as  I  regarded 
them.  At  the  furthest  end  of  the  dwelling  I  at  length  came 
u|Min  the  first  signs  of  habitation  :  for.  in  a  long,  lofty  room,  whither 
niv  iMiide  led  me,  in  which  were  choicest  frescoes  and  casts  of 
the  Laocoon  and  Apollo  Belvidere.  I  observed  CesVs  escri/oire,  of  a 
mndern  style  in  ebony  and  gold,  entirely  out  of  harmony  with  the 
lofty  Roman  chamber.  The  escritoire  was  piled  with  manuscript 
parts.     The  atmosphere  around  was  hea\y  with  the  odors  of  the 


NICOLO  CESI. 

flowers  which  the  nobles  of  Rome  so  lavishly  bestowed  on  the 
great  maestro;  some  scattered  around  were  already  dead,  others 
were  nearly  so,  whilst  on  all  the  side  tables  and  chairs,  also  in  a 
large  carved  wardrobe,  a  medley  of  wearing  apparel  of  ail  descrip- 
tions was  distributed. 

At  the  extreme  end  of  the  apartment  a  heavy  velvet  portiere 
depended  over  the  entrance  to  what  appeared  to  be  a  deep  alcove, 
and  deciding  in  my  mind  that  this  was  Cesi'a  sleeping  apartment,  I 
left  Tito's  side,  and  stepping  across  the  room,  lifted  the  curtain, 
being  curious  to  see  the  chamber  in  which  the  great  musician  slept 
and  dreamed.  Just  as  I  raised  it,  however,  and  perceived  that  a 
door  barred  further  progress,  I  heard,  as  I  fancied,  the  faint  sound 
of  footsteps  at  the  other  side  of  the  door. 

Cesi  must  be  there,  I  concluded.  Here  was  my  opportunity. 
Had  old  Tito  spoken  falsely  about  his  being  away?  I  had,  how- 
ever, the  test  ready. 

"  Tito,"  said  I,  "  the  dust  of  these  rooms  is  so  intolerable  that  I 
would  give  a  deal  for  a  drink  of  water.  Will  you  kindly  fetch  me 
one  ?  " 

"  Probably  signor  would  prefer  an  orange." 

"  Certainly,  good  Tito,  you  may  as  well  bring  me  both,"  I  re- 
sponded, as  I  slipped  into  his  hand  a  few  liras,  which  the  old 
servant  clutched  eagerly  as  he  departed. 

"You  will  not  leave  this  apartment  till  I  return,"  stipulated  Tito, 
"  I  shall  be  back  presently." 

Seizing  the  opportunity  afforded  by  the  old  man's  temporary 
absence,  I  tried  the  handle  of  the  door,  but  finding  it  locked,  I 
turned  the  key  which  was  on  the  outside. 

Upon  opening  the  door  I  found  it  led  into  a  room  which  was 
ablaze  with  waxlights,  and  standing  in  the  centre  of  the  apartment 
was  the  most  beautiful  woman  1  had  ever  beheld.  I  was  struck 
dumb  with  wonderment  at  the  scene  around  me.  Not  a  vestige  of 
daylight  was  visible,  and  in  every  available  corner  were  gigantic 
candelabras  holding  lights.  Behind  the  lady  was  a  writing  table, 
similar  to  the  ebony  one  in  the  outer  room,  and  on  it  rested  a 
lamp  having  a  pale  pink  globe  that  threw  a  subdued  light  over 
surrounding  objects.  I  thought  at  first  that  I  might  be  dreaming, 
and  said  under  my  breath,  "  Thb  comes  of  drinking  wine  at  break- 


40  NICOLO  CESL 

fast  and  then  sitting  in  the  sun ;  "  but  I  felt  my  waking  senses 
could  not  deceive  me  to  such  an  extent,  and  that  the  scene  before 
me  was  too  palpable  to  sight  to  be  anything  but  real.  The  girl, 
for  in  years  she  was  scarcely  more,  stood  watching  me  with  dilated 
eyes,  she  then  raised  one  hand  to  her  brow,  her  lips  parted,  but 
her  utterance  entirely  failed  her  for  the  moment.  I  approached 
her  deferentially,  and  uttered  in  somewhat  imperfect  Italian  an 
apology  to  "  La  signorina  '*  (as  I  concluded  her  to  be)  for  my 
intrusion,  when  she  burst  into  tears,  and  addressing  me  in  a  toneoi 
great  agitation  but  of  exquisite  sweetness,  exclaimed,  "  Do  you 
not  know  me  ?     I  am  Cesi's  wife ;  you,  Signore,  must  save  me  ! " 

I  stood  as  if  transfixed,  but  it  was  only  for  a  moment,  and  I 
returned  sympathetically, — 

**Tell  me  everything,  Signora;  for  at  present  I  know  nothing^ 
save  what  rumor  states — all  the  world  believe  you  dead." 

**Dead!*'  she  ejaculated  in  surprise.  *'No,  I  came  here  with 
Cesi,  and  have  been  detained  here  by  stratagem.  It  seems  for 
years — ages.  Oh !  for  the  blessed  sunshine."  She  rushed  past 
me  to  the  outer  room,  and  approaching  the  window  placed  her 
hands  before  her  eyes  to  exclude  the  glare  for  the  moment,  and 
kneeling  down  was  seized  with  a  fit  of  hysterical  weeping.  **  Oh, 
light !  light !  "  she  cried,  so  frantically  that  I  thought  she,  too, 
must  be  demented,  like  Cesi.  When,  however,  she  turned  her 
face  to  me  I  knew,  from  the  intelligent  expression  of  her  beautiful, 
but  sad  eyes,  that  she  was  as  sane  as  any  one. 

**  Am  I  not  right,  Signore;  this  is  the  Poet's  Hill?  and  I  have 
been  living  here  so  long,"  she  obser\'ed.  She  then  stood  quietly 
for  a  few  seconds,  looking  out  over  the  city,  evidently  lost  in 
thought ;  until,  straining  my  ears  and  hearing  the  sound  in  the  stone 
vestibule  below  of  old  Tito  returning  from  the  garden,  limping 
along  with  oranges,  I  touched  her  arm. 

**  Signora,  why  not  leave  now?     Not  an  instant  is  to  be  lost." 

I  had  scarcely  spoken  when  we  saw  Cesi  coming  through  the 
gardens  toward  the  house.  His  wife  drew  far  back,  and  wringing 
her  hands  exclaimed  rapidly,  *'  Sono  pcrduto!  He  will  kill  you  if 
he  finds  you  here.  Hide  somewhere,  quick — quick  !  and  turn  the 
key  on  me ;  Cesi  forgot  to  take  the  key  when  he  locked  the  door ; 
but,  Signore,  stay  near,  say  you  unll  save  me !  " 


Assured  her  that  I  would,  and  hurrying  her  across  the  room  to 
the  inner  chamber,  locked  her  in.  Cesi  was  by  this  time  iti  the 
stone  courtyard  outside,  and  I  looked  around  for  some  safe  retreat ; 
there  was  none  but  the  large  wardrobe,  and  slipping  behind  a  long 
cloak,  from  which,  favored  by  the  darkness  of  the  place  where  I 
was  crouched,  I  could  see  everything  that  transpired  in  the  room. 
I  held  my  breath  to  listen.  It  seemed  an  age  till  the  musician 
entered,  closely  followed  by  Tito,  bearing  a  large  tray  covered 
with  dining  requisites.  Cesi  looked  in  at  the  door  without  uttering 
a  word,  and  then  went  across  the  apartment  to  his  wife's  room,  and 
throwing  aside  the  portiere,  he  entered.  I  just  caught  one  glimpse 
of  the  interior,  and  of  Signora  Cesi's  ghastly  face  as  she  bent  over 
her  writing,  then  the  door  was  closed  on  them  and  locked  on  the 
inside.  For  a  long  while  I  could  hear  their  voices,  and  Cesi  in 
about  half-an-hour  came  out  of  the  room,  this  time  carrying 
several  large  sheets  of  manuscript  music  and  bringingthe  key  also. 

For  at  least  two  hours  the  maestro  played  divinely,  and  once  or 
twice  I  nearly  forgot  where  I  was  and  was  about  to  applaud.  Day- 
light began  to  fade  and  still  he  played  on  ;  then,  with  an  impatient 
exclamation,  he  laid  down  the  violin,  and,  after  marking  something 
on  the  manuscript,  he  merely  handed  it  back  to  his  wife,  who,  on 
being  called,  had  come  to  the  door  of  the  apartment  for  the  pur- 
pose; and  then,  locking  her  in,  he  put  on  his  hat.  took  the  violin 
case  in  his  hand  and  went  out. 

I  at  once  came  from  my  hiding  place,  and  watched  him  in  the 
purple  twilight,  going  through  the  ilex  grove,  then  I  went  and 
lifted  the  curtain  to  release  the  woman,  but  the  key  was  gone,  I 
tapped  at  the  door,  and  assured  her,  as  best  I  was  able,  that  I  would 
be  there  in  the  morning.  She  answered  me  hopefully  from  within, 
and  then,  after  losing  my  way  several  times  among  the  strange 
corridors  of  the  building.  I  at  length  stood  in  the  courtyard,  and. 
hastily  glancing  around,  hurried  back  to  the  Corso. 

I  was  due  that  night  at  the  salon  of  the  Marchese  Ruspoli ; 
therefore,  after  changing  my  attire,  I  went  early,  especially  as  Cesi 
was  to  be  there.  The  Marchese's  salon  was  the  gayest,  yet  the 
most  exclusive  in  the  city,  and,  in  faultless  evening  dress,  Cesi  stood 
at  the  end  furthest  from  the  door,  evidently  in  one  of  his  best 
moods,     La  Signorina  Lucia,  the  charming  daughter  of  my  hostess. 


42  NICOLO  CESL 

motioned  to  me  as  I  entered,  and  after  a  few  hurried  sentences  to 
her  mother,  I  passed  over  to  the  young  lady.  Cesi  was  standing 
not  far  from  us,  and  la  signorina  confided  to  me  that  the  musician 
was,  as  a  great  fayor,  to  play  one  of  his  new  rhapsodies  for  the 
violin. 

The  whole  attention  of  the  company  seemed  to  be  centred  on 
Cesi,  and  I  perceived  that  he  bore  the  homage  rendered  him  with 
the  most  perfect  insouciance,  I  had  now  the  great  satisfaction  of 
hearing  the  rhapsody  a  second  time  that  day ;  for  it  was  what  I 
had  heard  him  play,  or,  it  might  be,  rehearse,  while  I  stood  se- 
creted in  his  wardrobe.  After  Cesi,  having  received  all  kinds  of 
compliments,  sat  down,  I  approached  him,  and  made  some  obser- 
vation upon  the  transcenednt  merit  of  the  production. 

*'  It  is  my  best  yet,  I  feel  sure,"  he  said,  as  I  fancied,  with  a 
tinge  of  pride,  if  not  actual  vanity,  in  his  tone,  **  my  best,  though 
it  had  no  existence  till  this  morning.  I  had  it  barely  finished 
when  I  left  the  house." 

I  laughed  within  myself  at  his  little  fib :  for  I  had  heard  him 
practising  the  piece  for  two  good  hours.  And  then  it  was  not 
new,  either,  inasmuch  as  he  had  been  out  till  midday;  but,  of 
course,  I  made  no  observation  on  this,  and  he  continued,  medita- 
tively :  '*  Yes ;   it  will  be  much  better ;   much  better." 

**And  is  it  possible,"  I  queried,  as  if  amazed,  "that  you  only 
finished  it  before  you  left  home  ?  '* 

**  Not  only  possible,  but  it  is  true.  One  half  of  it  is  only  just 
written ;  the  other  half  is  still  to  be  composed,"  was  the  answer, 
given  with  a  look  in  which  it  was  hard  to  know  whether  pride  or 
affected  humility  had  the  greater  mastery  over  the  speaker,  as  he 
stared  steadily  at  me,  with  an  assumption  of  coolness  that  almost 
nonplussed  me,  knowing  as  much  as  I  did  of  the  whole  affair. 

"Then  it  is  what  you  call  an  improvisation?"  I  ventured  to 
interpose. 

The  idea  seemed  to  cause  him  pique ;  for  he  moved  away  as  he 
replied,  frigidly :  "  An  improvisation  !  Nay,  what  folly  !  It  cost 
me  many  days  of  incessant  thought  and  application ;  but  until  this 
evening  it  was  not  given  to  the  world." 

That  night  all  my  enthusiasm  for  Cesi  died ;  and  instead  of 
following  him  to  the  wine  shop,  as  otherwise  I  assuredly  would 


have  done,  I  went  home  to  think  of  nothing  but  his  unhappily 

placed  wife,  and  of  her  voice,  which  possessed  a  sweetness  of 
melody  that  made  one  think  of  the  cherubim. 

III. 

After  hours  spent  in  hunting  through  several  shops  in  the 
Quarter  Vespasiani  for  oM  keys,  I  went  on  tlie  following  evening 
to  the  villa  on  the  Esquiline  Hill;  and  after  having  successfully 
evaded  Ccsi,  who  passed  me  near  the  Baths  of  Trajan,  and  eluded 
the  vigilance  of  old  Tito,  I  got  safely  inside.  Luckily,  one  key, 
almost  skeleton  in  pattern,  opened  the  door  of  the  inner  room. 

Cesi's  wife  received  me,  and  I  shall  never  forget  the  look  of  re- 
lief and  of  gratitude  that  came  over  her  face,  as  she  expressed  her 
thanks,  "  Signore,  Quanta  le  sono  mai  obbUgato."  I  had,  however, 
expected  upon  meeting  her  to  find  that  she  had  made  some  prepar- 
ations for  a  hurried  departure,  but  instead,  she  seemed  to  have  done 
nothing  whatever  in  that  respect ;  and  her  nigligi  robe  of  pale  satin 
had  nothing  about  it  that  would  suggest  tlie  idea  of  an  intention 
to  leave. 

I  said  as  much  to  her,  as  I  considered  I  had  incurred  a  great 
personal  risk,  and  my  conduct  might  be  deemed  open  to  censure, 
in  penetrating  the  privacy  of  any  man's  dwelling  in  this  way.  even 
though  the  mission  I  was  on  was  dictated  by  disinterested  motives, 
by  humanity  even. 

"  Everything  but  that,  used  as  a  wrap,"  said  she,  pointing  to  a 
long-hooded  cloak,  '"has  been  taken  from  me;  so  I  must  only 
fasten  the  hood  over  my  head.  But,  Signore,  I  am  not  quite 
ready  yet.     I  have  some  work  to  do,  and  it  is  not  near  dusk." 

I  followed  her  to  the  writing  table,  and  there  lay  Cesi's  rhap- 
sody of  the  night  previous,  with  some  additions  and  variations, 
apparently  fresh-added,  the  ink  being  still  wet. 

I  started  and  inquired,  "Has  he  only  now  gone  out?"  Then 
recollecting  that  I  had  seen  him  near  the  Baths,  I  was  about  to  in- 
quire why  the  ink  was  so  fresh.  She  had,  however,  seated  herself, 
and  seemingly  paid  no  heed  to  my  presence,  for  she  was  com- 
pletely engrossed  with  her  work — feverishly  absorbed,  but  I  could 
not  avoid  trying  to  solve  the  difficulty,  and  I  therefore  ventured  to 
touch  her  lightly  on  the  arm.     She  looked  up  with  a  start,  and 


44  NICOLO  CESL 

said  incoherently,  "It  must  be  done.  Yes,  it  must; — and  before 
night,  too.  He  plays  at  the  Vatican ;  his  rival  is  to  be  there — ^Viosti. 
They  should  be  friends — they  must." 

"But  whose  composition  is  it?"  I  inquired  steadily,  looking  into 
her  eyes  as  I  spoke. 

She  flushed  under  my  gaze,  and  answered  confusedly, "  His — of 
course." 

"And  what  score  are  you  writing  now?"  I  asked. 

"Will  Signore  forgive  me  for  trying  to  deceive  him?  That  is 
the  explanation  for  my  being  kept  here.  I — I  compose  what  Cesi 
plays." 

"What!"  I  cried,  "Is  he  so  great  a  charlatan?" 

The  woman  turned  on  me  laughingly,  starting  to  her  feet  and 
throwing  down  her  pen.  "  Silence  !  "  she  exclaimed  imperiously. 
"Say  nothing  against  him.  He  is  the  greatest  violinist  the  world 
has  ever  produced, — save  one,  perhaps,  and  all  should  revere  him 
as  such.  My  poor  compositions  but  please  him  and  afford  him 
more  leisure.  He  honors,  aye,  honors  them  by  using  them ;  and 
although,  Signore,"  she  said  in  a  more  mollified  tone,  "he  has 
kept  me  here  much  against  my  will,  he  will  always  be  Nicole 
Cesi." 

I  urged  nothing  in  reply,  as  I  then  discovered  for  the  first 
time  the  reverence  entertained  by  a  pupil  for  a  great  master, 
amounting  in  this  instance  almost  to  love  itself,  had  taken  firm 
possession  of  Giulia  Cesi,  despite  the  man's  selfish  cruelty.  And 
when  I  considered  the  inexplicable  endurance  by  her  of  tyranny 
in  its  worst  manifestations  of  eccentricity  and  avarice,  the  aphor- 
ism of  Montaigne  in  reference  to  the  self-abnegating  devotion  of 
some  women,  at  once  rushed  to  my  mind,  "Hero-worship  is  the 
supplement  of  infatuation.  Where  unbounded  admiration  pre- 
dominates, every  other  sentiment  and  emotion  becomes  gradually 
extinct."  Being  careful,  therefore,  not  to  rudely  disturb  her  pre- 
dilections, nor  to  shatter  the  idol  of  her  choice,  I  remained  silent. 
For  an  hour  or  more  the  woman  worked  steadily,  occasionally  hav- 
ing recourse  to  a  violin  of  most  mellifluous  tone  which  lay  beside 
her,  I  sitting  opposite  her  the  while,  conscious  that  never  had  I 
beheld  so  perfect  a  countenance  and  form,  and  even  though  her 
face  was  pallid,  its  color  seemed  to  be  rather  the  effect  of  inces- 


bodily 


NICOLO  CESI. 


sant   intellectual   labor   and   want   of  fresh    air.    than 
weakness. 

Finally  she  ceased  writing,  and  looked  at  me  wildly,  her  large 
eyes  becoming  dilated.  "Has  my  deliverance  really  come  at 
last?"  she  half  whispered,  now  recovering  her  feet  with  difficulty. 
"Oh!  my  friend,  how  can  I  ever  thank  you  sufficiently.  It  all 
seems  so  strange  to  leave  here  and  Cesi.  But  I  cannot  die,"  she 
exclaimed  passionately.  "No,  I  am  too  young  for  that;  it  is  too 
early  for  life's  volume  to  be  closed  on  me  in  this  prison-house." 

Tears  came  to  her  relief.  She  then  said,  as  if  surmising  that  I 
was  about  to  utter  some  disparagement  of  her  hero,  "Let  us  say 
nothing  of  my  Cesi.  If  I  have  been  of  the  slightest  use  to  him,  I 
am  amply  rewarded." 

Upon  my  making  an  impatient  gesture,  for  I  felt  that  she  was 
consuming  valuable  time,  and  began  in  consequence  almost  to 
regret  the  dangerous  enterprise  I  was  engaged  in,  the  lady  folded 
the  long  cloak  around  her  form  and  pulled  the  hood  well  down 
over  the  sunny  curls,  which  the  fruit-seller  had  likened  to  sun- 
light; then,  taking  my  arm,  she  was  hurried  by  me  tlirough  the 
various  corridors  of  the  villa,  out  into  the  twilight. 

The  signora  stumbled  a  little  at  first,  and  had  to  close  her  eyes, 
but  as  we  went  down  through  the  grove,  the  perfumed  air,  fresh- 
ened as  it  was  by  the  evening  breeze,  seemed  to  revive  her,  and 
to  impart  strength  to  her  tottering  limbs.  In  a  brief  space  of 
time  I  brought  her  to  the  house  of  the  sister  of  one  of  the 
attachis  of  the  British  Legation,  with  whom,  without  disclosing 
secrets,  I  had  previously  made  arrangements  for  the  reception  of 
an  English  lady  in  whom  I  stated  I  took  an  interest;  adding  that, 
as  possibly  her  case  might  become  one  requiring  diplomatic  aid, 
secrecy  at  present  was  all  important 

Upon  reaching  my  home  I  instructed  my  aged  housekeeper, 
Marcella,  whom  1  sent  for  that  purpose,  to  see  after  the  wants  of 
xny  proligi  and  to  remain  with  her  for  a  time. 

Returning  to  my  friend's  house  in  the  course  of  half  an  hour.  I 
found  Cesi's  wife  reclining  on  a  lounge.  When  she  perceived  me 
she  hastily  extended  her  hand,  as  under  a  grateful  impulse. 

"Do  not  say  anything,  Signora,  I  entreat,"  said  I  assuringly, 
"but  take  rest  for  a  day  or  two.  All  arrangements  for  your  safe 
withdrawal  to  England  can  be  made." 


46  N I  COLO  CESL 

"But  my  husband?"  she  Inquired  hurriedly. 

"Oh !  do  not  at  present  concern  yourself  about  him.  I  go  to 
the  Vatican  this  evening  to  hear  him  and  his  rival,  and  I  shall  tell 
you  all/'  I  promised  her. 

Marcella  having  drawn  the  blinds  and  opened  the  windows  for 
her  fair  charge,  I  went  home  to  dress. 

The  Vatican  party  that  evening  was  very  small  and  select. 
Save  for  two  or  three  honored  outsider^,  the  company  numbered 
only  some  of  the  Italian  notables  and  highest  ecclesiastics. 

Viosti  came  punctually  to  time,  but  Cesi  was  so  late  that  all  had 
nearly  given  him  up,  and  were  momentarily  expecting  the  entrance 
of  one  of  the  lay  functionaries  of  the  palace,  with  a  note  of  apol- 
ogy, when  he  himself  at  length  appeared.  I  alone  was  aware  of 
the  cause  of  his  detention. 

His  clothes  were  in  disarray,  and  his  jet  black  hair  was  thrown 
back  roughly  from  his  forehead.  He  looked  around  wildly  in 
quest  of  somebody,  but  the  instant  his  eye  lighted  on  Viosti  he 
stood  at  his  full  height,  then  bowed  with  impressiveness  to  him. 

"These  two  detest  each  other,"  whispered  the  Marquise  di 
Ruspoli  in  my  ear,  "but  you  will  see  that  Cesi  beats  the  Floren- 
tine. We  shall  have  a  treat  this  evening,  for  our  Roman  is  madder 
than  ever." 

Cesi,  in  whose  mind  a  contest  appeared  to  be  raging,  judging 
from  the  variableness  of  his  demeanor,  sullenly  declined  to  lead, 
whereupon  Viosti,  with  charming  humility,  politely  produced  his 
violin.  There  could  be  no  doubt  that  the  Florentine's  playing 
was  unexceptional,  and  that,  proficient  as  he  was,  he  excelled  him- 
self on  this  occasion,  his  tone  being  the  sweetest  imaginable. 
Once,  while  he  compassed  some  extremely  difficult  passages  in 
harmonies,  we  were  struck  with  wonder  at  the  accurate  fingering 
which  he  displayed ;  even  Cesi  himself  looked  up  and  smiled,  only, 
however,  on  recollecting  himself,  to  relapse  into  sullen  gloom. 
But,  compared  with  the  captivating  beauty  and  weird  loveliness  of 
Cesi's  style  of  execution,  the  Florentine's  best  effort,  despite  its 
rare  toning  and  exquisite  smoothness,  and  its  delicacy  of  touch, 
was  completely  eclipsed.  The  other  listeners  evidently  thought  so 
too,  for  although  they  applauded  both  musicians  severally,  with 
hearty  vigor  and  enthusiasm,  their  plaudits  were  intended  in  most 


part  for  Cesi.     He  stood   for   a  few  moments  tuning  his   fourth 

string,  then  my  friend  Ruspoli  whispered  to  Viosti,  "This  is  a  new 
work  of  Cesi's,  composed  since  morning,  he  informed  me,  in 
honor  of  the  occasion,  and  the  maestro  has  dedicated  it  to  you. 
Is  it  not  so,  Maestro  ? "  he  inquired  of  Cesi. 

Cesi  looked  at  his  rival  a  moment,  then  his  face  beamed  and  a 
kindly  expression  banished  t!ie  sullenness  from  his  brow. 

"Ves,"  he  replied,  with  unwonted  gentleness  of  accent,  yet  so 
audibly  that  he  was  distinctly  heard  by  all  the  assembly,  "it  is 
dedicated  to  my  good  and  esteemed  friend  Signore  Viosti,  with  my 
sincerest  love  and  profoundest  admiration." 

A  murmur  of  approval  went  around,  and  Viosti,  who,  to  do  him 
justice,  was  a  man  of  naturally  amiable  parts,  almost  with  tears  in 
his  eyes,  and  after  the  manner  of  Italians,  publicly  embraced  Cesi, 
his  sometime  rival. 

The  first  few  bars  of  the  rhapsody  elated  us  all.  This  work  of 
"Reconciliation,"  then,  was  what  Giulietta  Cesi  had  actually  been 
engaged  on  while  I  sat  watching  and  waiting  for  her  that  day.  I 
could  not  fail  to  recognize  an  occasional  bar  here  and  there  of  the 
symphony.  Could  Cesi  himself  have  spontaneously  selected  the 
subject?  I  inquired  of  myself.  No,  such  was  most  unlikely.  It 
appeared  to  me  that  his  wife,  before  leaving  finally,  had  suggested 
it,  and  that  the  man  himself  when  he  returned  and  discovered  her 
justifiable  flight  from  slow  murder  and  found  her  composition  on 
the  desk  ready  for  him — the  last  he  knew  she  would  ever  compose 
for  him,  was  so  chastened  by  the  incident  of  her  departure,  and  so 
softened  and  subdued  by  the  joy-inspiring  strain,  that  his  sterner 
nature  had  to  yield,  not  without  reluctance,  to  the  dissolving  influ- 
ence of  the  spell  produced  by  the  work.  Besides,  too,  it  was  her 
last — her  latest  piece,  her  departing  legacy.  Was  there  in  all  this 
(Cesi  must  have  reasoned  within  himself,)  a  presentiment  of  im- 
mediate evil  which  his  superstitious  nature  coerced  him  to  avert 
by  compliance  with  what  now  seemed  to  be  his  wife's  parting 
injunction?  Was  his  better  angel  hovering  around  him,  prompt- 
ing him.  ere  it  was  too  late,  to  bury  all  animosity  toward  his 
fellow-man  ? 

We  listened  to  the  most  wonderful  passages  of  almost  insur- 
mountable difficulties,  certainly  invincible  now  to  all  but  a  Cesi, 


48  NICOLO  CESL 

passages  so  exquisitely  harmonious,  that  it  seemed  to  us — so  car- 
ried away  were  we — the  vioHnist  must  for  the  time  being  be 
imbued  with  the  divine  afflatus.  Of  the  work  itself,  each  note 
sounded  as  a  benison  upon  all  around ;  while  the  composition  was 
such  as  would  not  have  been  unworthy  of  a  place  in  the  chorus 
of  the  angelic  throng  in  their  Song  to  the  Shepherds. 

The  great  maestro, — magician  he  deserves  also  to  be  styled, 
having  concluded,  resumed  his  seat.  We  crowded  about  him,  and 
tried  to  find  words  to  express  our  delight.  His  face  had  now  com- 
pletely lost  its  oft  assumed  saturnine  expression,  and  a  smile 
wreathed  his  clear-cut  features,  while  his  wonderful  eyes  seemed  to 
have  within  them  something  not  of  this  earth. 

I  was  no  longer  amazed  at  his  wife's  adoration,  and  with  closed 
eyes  I  listened  to  him  while  he  played  again.  It  was  this  time  a 
simple  melody  he  chose,  so  drearily  sad  and  so  pathetically  ap- 
pealing, that  when  the  musician  had  finished  we  could  only  cluster 
around  him  silently  and  whisper  our  thanks.  He  understood  us, 
and  shaking  Viosti  by  the  hand,  with  a  fervently  uttered  **  Dio  la 
garde''  he  bowed  to  the  assembled  company,  and  went  out  alone. 

Before  departing,  however,  he  said  to  Ruspoli,  with  a  smile,  but 
beyond  Viosti's  hearing, "  I  am  glad  to  have  pleased  you  all.  Glad 
for  Rome's  sake." 

The  marquise  then  caught  both  his  hands  and  said  with  enthu- 
siastic delight,  "  Maestro,  Viosti  is  grand ;  Viosti  is  magnificent ; 
but  he  will  never  attain  to  the  pinnacle  on  which  our  Cesi  stands. 
Vada  con  Dio  I " 

Going  homeward  through  the  quiet  moonlit  streets,  I  speculated 
whether  Cesi  would  go  to  his  old  haunt,  the  wine  shop,  and  play 
for  th^  peasants.  I  sauntered  thither,  as  it  was  yet  early,  but 
found  the  place  deserted,  and  learned  that  the  maestro  had  not 
been  there,  from  which  I  opined  that  Cesi  had  surely  taken  his 
wife's  flight  to  heart. 

As  it  was  not  very  late  by  the  time  I  returned  to  my  friend's 
house,  I  called  on  Cesi's  wife  and  informed  her  of  his  great  triumph 
of  that  night,  and  of  the  reconciliation  between  her  husband  and 
Viosti.  Her  face  flushed  with  joy,  and  she  then  asked  eagerly: 
"  And  my  music.     How  did  they  receive  it?  " 

*'  All  were  unanimous,"  replied  I,  "  that  such  music  had  never 


NICOLO  CESI.  49 

been  heard  before,  that  it  was  divine,  and  that  the  signer  acquitted 
himself  as  the  greatest  violinist  and  musical  genius  of  his  day." 

She  appeared  highly  gratified,  and  said,  as  she  clasped  her 
hands  contentedly,  "  I  am  glad,  so  very  glad,  that  I  have  been  of 
the  smallest  service  to  him,  and  even  although  my  life  was  almost 
unendurable,  still  it  has  been  all  for  /lim,*' 

I  then  bade  her  good  night  and  went  home,  but  somehow  I  felt 
restless  and  melancholy,  and  sat  smoking  at  my  window  for  hours 
before  retiring. 

IV. 

About  noon  the  next  day  old  Tito  rushed  to  the  Vatican  with 
the  tidings,  that  upon  going  to  arouse  his  master  he  found  him 
lifeless  on  his  couch.  The  news  spread  with  lightning  speed  to 
every  district  of  the  city,  for  Rome  dearly  loved  her  great  violinist. 
Messengers  from  the  nobility  were  despatched  to  Cesi*s  villa  to  as- 
certain if  the  intelligence  were  really  accurate,  but  they  found  that 
Tito  had  spoken  only  too  truly. 

All  that  day,  citizens  and  peasants  on  foot,  and  nobles  in  carriages, 
went  down  through  the  avenues  to  see  the  illustrious  dead.  I  broke 
the  news  gently  to  Giuletta,  and  after  one  wild  burst  of  bitter 
weeping  she  became  more  composed.  The  same  evening,  along 
with  Marcella,  I  accompanied  her  to  the  Esquiline  Hill  to  view 
what  remained  of  the  maestro.  He  was  lying  in  one  of  the  best 
rooms,  the  catafalque  containing  the  body  being  loaded  with 
flowers. 

Signora  Cesi,  on  entering  the  chamber,  raised  for  a  moment  the 
thick  veil  which  concealed  her  features  and  kissed  him  reverently, 
and  then  laid  a  chaplet  of  white  roses  upon  the  bier.  Amidst  the 
masses  of  gorgeous  and  rare  flowers  Giuletta  Cesi's  simple  offer- 
ing seemed  insignificant,  and  those  around  the  body,  when  she  had 
withdrawn  to  the  garden  to  hide  her  agitation,  tried  to  remove  it, 
but  I  spoke  hastily  and  almost  madly,  "  Let  it  be !  It  is  her 
offering." 

But  little  knew  they  that  the  unknown  female  who  just  then  had 
placed  there  that  unpretentious  tribute  which  they  almost  spurned, 
had  been  in  a  great  degree  the  means  of  adding  lustre  to  a  name 


50  NICOLO  CESI. 

which  Time  can  never  dim,  and  whose  brilliancy  shall  shine  through 
future  ages,  wherever  true  musical  talent  is  appreciated. 

I  went  to  where  the  signora  was  seated  outside,  and  so  incon- 
solable was  she,  it  was  only  by  the  aid  of  the  persuasion  of  Mar- 
cella  that,  toward  morning,  I  induced  her  to  return  with  us. 

The  funeral  of  the  maestro,  the  third  day  after  his  death,  passed 
along  the  Corso,  and  whilst  Giuletta  watched  the  crowds  as  they 
thronged  past  the  balcony  where  we  were  standing,  she  muttered 
once,  "  All  Rome  surely  recognizes  his  greatness." 

When  the  cortege  had  disappeared  from  view,  the  signora  re- 
paired to  my  friend's  house,  where  for  days  she  lay  too  ill  to  bear 
removal.  But  one  afternoon,  quite  unexpectedly,  she  came  and 
thanked  me  in  broken  accents. 

I  learned  now  that  more  than  three  years  had  elapsed  since  the 
time  when  Giuletta  Cesi,  then  Juliet  Brandon,  first  became  the 
pupil  of  Nicolo  Cesi.  From  her  infancy  she  had  been  an  ardent 
lover  of  music,  and  at  the  tender  age  of  eleven  she  was  regarded 
as  a  prodigy  in  that  art.  For  four  years  afterwards  she  studied 
with  assiduity  the  difficult  instrument  which  she  had  adopted  under 
t\vo  of  the  best  masters  which  London  could  produce,  for  her 
family  were  wealthy  and  spared  no  expense  on  her  musical  train- 
ing. Soon  after  the  death  of  her  father,  the  girl,  who  was  then 
scarcely  fifteen,  was  accompanied  by  her  mother  to  Italy,  where 
she  placed  herself  under  Cesi's  tuition.  A  finished  musician  him- 
self, he  at  once  recognized  the  marvellous  talent  of  Miss  Brandon, 
and  was  not  slow  to  avail  himself  of  it.  His  forte y  though  he  was 
an  adapt  in  both  departments,  lay  the  more  in  execution,  her's  in 
composition,  though  as  an  executant  it  was  conceded  that  she  was 
almost  as  perfect  as  her  teacher,  and  that  in  course  of  time,  unless 
he  by  constant  application  continued  to  keep  his  position  well  in 
advance  of  her,  the  girl  would  become  fully  his  equal.  Cesi's  age 
was  at  that  time  not  more  than  thirty,  a  period  of  life  when  a 
violinist  who  has  commenced  early  is  generally  at  his  best, — ^when 
his  brain  is  nimble,  and  the  muscles  and  nerves  obey  the  prompt- 
ings of  the  intellect.  Cesi  went  upon  several  professional  tours, 
and  it  was  then  that  his  mind,  which  lived  on  the  incense  of  adula- 
tion, gave  birth  to  the  idea  of  placing  Juliet  Brandon — his  whilom 
compeer — in  the  background,  and  of  rendering  her  subservient  to 


NICOLO  CESI. 

his  ambitious  projects;  he  himself  standing  in  the  forefront  alone, 
with  undivided  empire  ^%  par  excellence"  il  maestro."  His  manip- 
ulation of  the  bow,  exercised  as  it  was  by  him  night  and  day, 
consumed  more  of  his  time  than  allowed  of  his  devoting  uninter- 
mitted  attention  to  composing,  the  dn"^gery  of  which  moreover  he 
felt  interfered  with  his  proficiency  cuo  advancement  as  a  performer. 
Besides  all  this,  he  came  to  consider  that  his  wife — for  he  had  by 
this  time,  notwithstanding  some  objection  on  the  part  of  her 
mother,  married  his  admiring  pupil — was  his  equal  at  the  pen,  and 
that  she  by  this  time  knew,  better  than  any  one  else,  how  to  adapt 
her  style  of  composition  to  his  peculiar  method  of  playing.  Their 
tastes — her  inspiration  in  creating,  his  in  developing — ran  entirely 
in  the  same  groove,  His  rival,  Viosti,  it  is  true,  both  composed 
and  performed,  but  the  number  of  new  pieces  he  was  able  to  pro- 
duce, no  matter  how  hard  he  worked,  could  never,  Cesi  thought, 
amount  to  what  could  be  sent  forth  to  the  world  by  the  joint  ex- 
ertions of  himself  and  his  wife.  Undying  fame  was  to  be  acquired ; 
wealth  was  to  be  realized  rapidly.  In  the  domain  of  violin  music 
there  should  be  but  one  recognized  chief,  before  whom  all  others 
were  to  bow,  and  that  one  should  be — Cesi. 

It  was  under  the  influence  of  this  blending  of  vanity  with  avarice 
that  Cesi  conceived  the  notion,  after  his  last  professional  tour  with 
his  wife,  of  keeping  her  in  close  sequestration.  At  first  it  was  a 
matter  of  choice,  then  she  began  to  rebel ;  but  the  glamour  of  his 
eloquence  of  execution,  his  Timotheus-like  interpreting  into  au- 
dible numbers,  the  mute  symbols  which,  as  a  labor  of  love,  she 
committed  day  by  day  to  paper,  until  it  seemed,  while  he  played 
for  her,  that  an  ecstacy  had  subdued  and  dulled  every  feeling  save 
one  of  rapturous  enjoyment; — all  had  cast  such  a  spell  around 
her,  especially  as  he  kept  on  repeatedly  promising  that  there 
would  be  a  speedy  end  to  her  toil,  that  the  woman's  resistance  was 
enfeebled,  and  she  gradually  yielded  and  became  more  reconciled 
and  inured  to  her  lot,  although  at  times  the  longing  for  liberty 
could  not  be  controlled.  However,  in  all  other  respects  she  was 
well  treated  by  her  husband.  She  wrote,  and  wrote  daily,  and 
every  effort  was  an  indisputable  triumph.  Cesi  drew  the  Kudos  in 
public,  whilst  Giulctta.  immured  in  the  secluded  villa  on  Mons 
Esquilmus,  had,  upon  his  return  each  night,  to  be  content  with 


52  NICOLO  CESI. 

finding  solace  in   his  narration  of  how  each   work   of  hers  was 

received. 

«  «  «  «  « 

The  Secretary  of  the  Legation  at  Rome  was  to  be  despatched 
to  London  by  the  resident  Minister  on  a  diplomatic  journey,  and 
I  seized  the  fortunate  opportunity  thus  presented,  inasmuch  as 
Signora  Cesi  was  then  fit  to  travel,  of  begging  him  to  accompany 
the  lady  to  her  mother,  who  resided  in  Surrey.  Her  mother* 
since  her  return  to  England,  had,  during  her  daughter's  absence, 
contracted  a  second  marriage,  but,  nevertheless,  Juliet  was  received 
and  welcomed  most  cordially.  Cesi  had  died  very  wealthy,  and 
not  long  after  her  departure  from  Italy  Juliet  received  through  the 
Public  Administrator  the  proceeds  of  his  large  personal  estate  in 
money  and  jewels,  besides  the  amount  realized  by  the  sale  of  his 
villa  and  its  valuable  belongings.  She  retained  merely  one  violin 
for  her  own  use,  her  favorite  instrument,  a  genuine  Stradivarius. 

«  «  «  «  « 

It  is  now  better  than  six  short  months  since  I  placed  my  neck 
within  the  matrimonial  noose, — free  and  careless  bachelor  as  I  had 
been ;  but  my  bonds  are  worn  with  the  greatest  equanimity,  for 
never,  to  the  present,  have  I  regretted — nor  do  I  believe  I  ever 
shall  regrcf,  the  hour  when  I  wedded  Giuletta  Cesi. 


A   NOTABLE  FAMILY. 


A   NOTABLE    FAMILY. 
BY  EDWIN  HURD. 


In  turning  over  the  pages  of  history  and  biography  the  curious 
reader  is  often  struck  by  a  singular  fact,  and  one  for  which  he  is 
puzzled  to  account, — that  intellectual  ability  runs  in  certain  families, 
and  that  peculiar  qualities  of  mind  and  character  are  sometimes 
handed  down  from  generation  to  generation,  so  that  the  character- 
istics of  an  ancestor  of  a  hundred  years  ago  may  be  exactly  repro- 
duced in  the  lineal  descendant  of  to-day.  The  laws  of  heredity  are 
as  yet  imperfectly  understood,  but  the  fact  seems  to  prove  one 
thing, — that  the  vital,  spiritual,  or  mental  element  or  force,  which- 
ever and  whatever  it  may  be.  is  of  a  purer  and  stronger  quality  in 
some  families  than  that  which  exists  in  certain  other  families. 
There  are  names  which  were  famous  in  Europe  centuries  ago,  borne 
by  men  in  America  to-day,  whose  strong  traits  of  character  still 
keep  them  a  head  and  shoulders  above  their  fellows,  and  make 
them  leaders  among  men.  A  notable  example  of  this  is  the 
family  of  which  we  arc  about  to  speak, — the  P'iowers  of  Kngland 
and  America. 

So  long  ago  as  the  days  of  Queen  Mary,  one  of  the  name,  the 
Rev.  William  Flower,  stood  forth  at  the  risk  of  his  life,  as  the 
champion  of  the  people  for  religious  freedom.  Fox,  in  his  Book 
of  Martyrs,  tells  the  thrilling  story  of  his  persecution  and  martyr- 
dom. Standing  at  the  stake,  and  surrounded  by  the  fagots  ready 
to  be  fired,  he  refused  to  recant,  saying  to  the  priest  who  stood  by 
him,  "  Sir,  I  beseech  you  for  God's  sake  to  be  contented ;  for  what 
I  have  said  I  have  said  ;  and  I  have  been  of  this  faith  from  the  be- 
ginning, and  I  trust  the  living  God  will  give  me  his  holy  spirit  to 
so  continue  unto  the  end." 

This  spirit  of  dauntless  independence  and  of  high  moral  prin- 
ciple, backed  by  untiring  energy  and  keen  intellectual  ability,  has 
always  been  a  characteristic  of  the  family.  It  was  strongly  exem- 
plified in  George  Flower,  a  young  and  wealthy  Englishman,  who 
came  to  this  country  in  1816,  and  made  a  horseback  tour  of 
Pennsylvania,  Ohio,  Kentucky  and  Virginia,  which  was  afterwards 


54  A  NOTABLE  FAMILY. 

described  in  a  published  volume.  He  brought  letters  of  introduc- 
tion from  distinguished  persons  abroad,  among  them  one  from 
Lafayette  to  ex-President  Jefferson.  He  was  invited  to  Monticello, 
where  he  spent  several  weeks  on  terms  of  intimate  friendship  with 
the  President,  who,  after  the  close  of  his  public  service  in  1809,  had 
been  living  there  in  retirement. 

In  1 8 1 7  he  was  the  leader  of  a  little  band  of  English  settlers,  all 
of  whom  were  his  personal  friends,  and  one  of  whom,  a  Miss  Eliza 
Julia  Andrews,  he  married.  They  started  west^^ard  without  any 
definite  locality  in  view,  and  halted  at  what  is  now  Edwards  county, 
Illinois,  charmed  by  the  beautiful  and  luxuriant  scenery  and 
fertility  of  the  soil.  Once  settled,  Mr.  Flower  turned  his  attention 
to  improvements  in  .the  old-fashioned,  conventional  methods  of 
farming.  He  imported  stock  and  sheep  of  choice  breeds  from 
England,  the  results  of  which  are  found  to-day,  not  only  in  Illinois 
but  on  countless  farms  of  other  States  of  the  West. 

It  was  hardly  more  than  ^\q.  years  after  the  little  settlement  had 
taken  root  when  the  attempt  was  made  to  carry  slavery  into  Illi- 
nois. The  old  spirit  of  his  martyr-ancestor  at  once  blazed  up,  and 
with  voice  and  vote  he  fought  against  the  machinations  of  the 
slaveholders,  his  fire  and  earnestness  making  hundreds  of  converts, 
and  rendering  invaluable  aid  in  keeping  Illinois  a  free  State.  Mr. 
Flower  originated  the  plan  for  the  colonization  of  free  negroes  in 
Hayti,  which,  owing  to  a  variety  of  causes,  was  only  partially  suc- 
cessful. But  the  attempt  showed  his  living  and  practical  sympathy 
with  the  oppressed  and  unfortunate,  and  stamped  him  as  a  genuine 
benefactor. 

Mr.  Flower  was  a  keen  and  incisive  writer  on  subjects  of  public 
polity,  and  numbered  among  his  correspondents  the  famous  William 
Cobbett,  of  England,  Count  Lasteyni,  of  France,  Gen.  Lafayette, 
-^nd  President  Jefferson. 

A  brother,  Edward  Fordham  Flower,  of  Stratford-on-Avon, 
England,  early  became  a  member  of  the  colony,  and  took  active 
part  with  his  brother  in  the  anti-slavery  campaign  in  Southern 
Illinois.  His  fearless  denunciations  of  the  slave  power  made  him 
many  enemies  in  the  opposing  party,  and  his  life  was  frequently 
in  danger.  After  a  five-years'  residence  in  America,  he  returned 
to  England,  and  later  became  Mayor  of  Stratford.     He  made  his 


56  A  NOTABLE  FAMILY, 

name  famous  by  his  deeds  of  generosity,  and  the  active  interest 
he  exhibited  in  ameliorating  the  condition  of  the  poor.  During 
his  life  he  retained  his  regard  for  America.  His  doors  were  al- 
ways open  ;  and  Moncure  Conway  once  wrote :  "  More  prominent 
Americans  have  been  entertained  by  Mr.  Flower  than  by  any 
other  person  in  Great  Britain.*'  Shortly  before  his  death,  he  con- 
ceived the  idea  of  erecting  a  theatre  which  should  represent  as 
nearly  as  possible  the  theatre  of  the  days  of  Shakspeare.  This 
plan  was  successfully  carried  out.  It  is  not  too  much  to  say  that 
he  did  more  to  restore  and  preserve  the  relics  of  the  great  poet 
and  of  his  times  than  all  the  town  officials  who  went  before  or  who 
have  followed  him. 

Besides  the  construction  of  the  theatre,  he  caused  the  rehabili- 
tation of  Shakspeare's  house,  and  established  a  Shakspearian  lib- 
rary and  museum.  His  son,  William  Henry  Flower,  F.  R.  S.,  is 
one  of  the  most  eminent  living  English  surgeons,  and  the  author 
of  several  important  works.  For  twenty-five  years  he  has  held 
the  important  position  of  Conservator  of  the  Museum  of  the  Royal 
College  of  Surgeons,  in  London.  Since  the  death  of  Edward  Ford- 
ham  Flower,  his  son  Charles,  a  gentleman  as  eminent  as  his  father 
for  his  benevolence  and  social  qualities,  has  filled  his  place,  carry- 
ing on  his  projected  plans,  and  keeping  up  the  monuments  estab- 
lished by  his  father.  He  is  a  liberal  entertainer.  General  Grant 
was  his  guest  during  his  visit  to  England  on  his  trip  around  the 
world ;  and  there  are  few  eminent  Americans  who  have  visited 
Stratford  but  have  shared  his  hospitality. 

Another  member  of  ihe  English  Flower  family,  whose  name 
has  become  a  household  word  through  her  exquisite  hymn, 
"Nearer,  my  God  to  thre,"  is  Sarah  Flower  Adams,  the  daughter 
of  Benjamin  FMowcr,  a  prominent  citizen  of  Cambridge,  England, 
and  a  cousin  of  Grorgc  and  luhvard  Flower. 

One  of  the  sons  of  (ii-orge  Mower  was  the  Rev.  Alfred  Flower, 
who  was  for  years  a  ilistin^^uished  preacher  of  the  "  Disciples,"  or 
"Christian  Church,"  in  Illinois.  Like  most  of  the  Western  clergy- 
men in  the  i-aily  days,  his  life  was  one  long  self-sacrifice.  He 
knew  the  value  of  edueation,  and  his  chililren  were  given  every  ad- 
vantage possible,  a  private  teacher  being  engaged  to  live  in  the 
family  and   direct   their  studies.     C)ne  of  these  children  was  the 


now  famous  Dr.  Richard  C.  Flower.  At  that  time  it  was  impos- 
sible to  secure  competent  teachers  irt  the  higher  and  classical 
studies  in  that  part  of  the  country,  and  the  young  lad,  who  thirsted 
for  knowledge  which  could  not  be  obtained  at  home,  was  sent  to 
an  educational  institution  in  Indianapolis.  He  was  then  only  thir- 
teen— a  frail,  delicate  boy — but  he  was  full  of  that  indomitable 
pluck  which  was  characteristic  of  his  ancestors,  and  which  has 
been  the  secret  of  his  success  in  whatever  he  has  undertaken  since. 
He  was  bound  to  succeed,  and  to  succeed  fairly.  His  father  had 
met  with  reverses,  and  from  him  he  could  expect  but  little  help. 
His  money  capital  when  he  reached  Indianapolis  was  but  a  trifle 
over  three  dollars.  What  was  to  be  done  he  knew  and  felt  had  to 
be  done  by  himself.  For  the  next  ten  years  his  path  was  not  an 
easy  one,  but  one  by  one  all  obstacles  were  surmounted.  The  boy 
had  grown  into  the  man ;  a  foundation  for  the  future  had  been 
laid,  and  his  struggle  with  the  world  for  bread  and  for  a  place 
begun. 

He  had  studied  law,  a  profession  for  which  he  felt  himself  speci- 
ally fitted,  and  in  which  he  would,  doubtless,  have  made  his  mark ; 
but  owing  to  family  influences  and  the  advice  of  friends  he  relin- 
quished his  plans,  and  entered  the  ministry.  In  this  field  he 
achieved  remarkable  success,  preaching  in  Illinois,  Indiana  and 
Kentucky.  His  last  call  was  to  the  city  of  Alliance,  Ohio,  in  De- 
cember, 1875,  His  reputation  had  preceded  him.  and  he  drew 
large  audiences.  But  it  was  soon  seen  that  he  believed  in  progres- 
sive religion,  and  refused  to  be  held  by  the  cast-iron  creed  of  his 
denomination.  He  was  accused  of  heresy,  but  no  trial  was  ever 
held.  He  withdrew,  however,  from  the  Society,  and  the  members 
of  the  congregation  which  followed  him  built  a  magnificent 
church,  on  an  independent  basis,  in  which  the  doctrines  "were  as 
broad  as  the  wants  of  man." 

During  his  whole  life,  Dr.  Flower  had  always  had  a  strong  incli- 
nation to  the  study  of  medicine,  and  he  now  left  the  pulpit  to  turn 
his  attention  in  that  direction.  The  result  showed  the  wisdom  of 
his  determination.  He  went  through  a  long  and  thorough  course 
of  study  with  Dr.  Stone  of  Troy,  N.Y.,  a  noted  physician  of  the 
regular  school,  and  afterwards  graduated  from  the  American 
Health   College,  at  Cincinnati.     In   his  early  practice  his  success 


58  PICTURES  OF  ALGIERS. 

waH  phenomenal.  He  built  up  an  enormous  practice  in  Philadel- 
phia and  New  York,  having  his  residence  in  the  latter  city.  Four 
years  ago  he  removed  to  Boston,  where  the  same  remarkable  suc- 
cess has  attended  him.  His  reputation  is  by  no  means  colifined 
ti)  the  large  cities  of  the  East.  He  is  known  throughout  the  entire 
country,  and  his  patients  are  numbered  in  all  parts  of  the  world, 
ilis  spacious  offices  at  the  corner  of  Washington  street  and 
Chester  Park  are  constantly  crowded  with  those  seeking  his  aid, 
some  of  them  coming  from  long  distances.  He  lives  with  his 
family  on  Commonwealth  avenue,  in  one  of  the  finest  residences 
in  the  city. 


PICTURES  OF  ALGIERS. 

BY    HUGHNG    KHLLNER. 

How  like  a  dream  to  Siiunter  through  the  street, 
AValUxl  in  bv  terraces  where  jasmine  vine 
Auvl  cactus  clasp  beak-tlowered  columbine ; 
riie  rich  jxTtume  so  delicately  sweet, 

Setrms  t;>  irake  dreaming  all  the  nK">re  complete. 
Now  iu  sv>me  inai:res<|ue  hall  where  soft  lights 
We  see  a  fair  A!c^*rian  maul  recline 
1'r.vu  her  velvet  divan  white  as  sleet. 

l^ut  !"o:re  we  ^>* — the  vivinv;  sun  now  frets 

NV::h  <:o!d  azxl  c:itr:o:T,  wo\en  .:ke  point  Licef 
V'"e  oM  ivoscue's  alabaster  nr::*arets 

That  wudlv  s:and  I  ke  k*r^$  in  rvalms  of  scace.— 
A 1 1  I  •  :?>cr  ea  :r  s  v;  ^:  *  c  k  ly  pa  s$ ;  even  mine  forg 
ThjLC  Uir  tona  priso*x\i  in  i»  rich  c:sgr:tce* 


ISMS. 

I.— CHRISTIAN   SCIENCE   MIND   HEALING. 

BY  REV.  WILLIAM  I.  GILL,  A.  M. 

The  subject  of  Mind  Healing  rises  in  recognized  importance 
with  the  progress  of  human  intelligence.  But  among  some  of 
the  lower  conditions  of  our  race,  "  medicine  men  "  have  a  place  of 
power;  and  it  is  a  striking  verifiable  fact  that  their  methods  are 
largely  mental.  They  operate  on  the  imagination  and  on  the, 
hope  and  fear  of  their  patients.  Their  method  has  generally  been 
curtly  disposed  of  as  an  appeal  to  superstition;  and  so  the  intrin- 
sic mentality  of  the  curative  (and  sometimes  destructive)  action 
has  been  overlooked.  From  the  beginning,  the  curative  action 
has  been  mental,  even  when  men  knew  it  not;  but  a  scientific 
analysis  and  exposition  of  this  was  impossible  before  the  dawn  of 
modern  science  and  of  our  own  day. 

Mind-healing  has  been  an  element  more  or  less  prominent  in 
nearly  all  religions;  and  in  the  noblest  of  them  all  it  is  the  most 
conspicuous,  until  in  Jesus  and  his  most  eminent  apostles  it 
becomes  the  very  atmosphere  on  which  is  borne  their  historic 
name  and  fame ;  and  their  wonders  in  mind-healing  seem  to  be 
the  fragrant  and  incorruptible  spices  in  which  all  their  other 
excellencies  arc  embalmed  and  preserved  to  subsequent  ages. 
The  Christian  Church  Catholic  has  always  claimed  a  special 
endowment  of  mind-healing  virtue  as  her  perpetual  heritage  from 
the  Lord,  though  many  Protestant  divines,  from  sectarian 
impulses,  have  denied  the  claim  to  all  but  the  apostolic  Church  or 
to  the  times  not  much  later. 

In  modern  times,  the  question  has  been  carried  outside  the 
pale  of  the  Church  and  divested  of  its  supernatural  aspect 
Admitting  the  frequent  recurrence  of  certain  wonderful  phe- 
nomena, the  new  question  has  been  raised,  whether  we  cannot 
reduce  them  to  the  operation  of  known  laws  of  mind  or  of  organ- 
ized matter?  We  shall  then  widen,  they  say,  our  knowledge  and 
divest   miracles   of  their   specially  marvellous  element;    and   by 


60  ISMS. 

some  it  was  supposed  that  we  shall  extrude  God,  as  well  as  all 
supernaturalism,  from  the  sphere  of  the  knowable  and  even  of  the 
conceivable. 

The  initial  essays  of  what  may  be  called  the  modern  movement 
|were  crude  and  crass.  The  sense  rules  and  makes  experiments 
and  decrees  for  spirit.  At  first  Mr.  Mesmer  thought  the  healing 
agent  was  magnetic ;  and  so  he  used  magnetic  iron  tractors  which 
he  applied  to  persons  and  traced  over  their  bodies.  Seeing  the 
Tyrolese  priest,  Gasner,  achieve  the  same  results  by  manipulation, 
he  conceived  the  cause  to  be  in  his  body,  and  hence  the  supposed 
cause  came  to  be  called  animal  magnetism,  alias  Mesmerism,  alias 
electro-biology  or  vital  electricity.  Finally  our  savants,  like  Car- 
penter and  Braid,  and  a  few  others,  have  found  it  all  out  and 
resolved  it  into  the  effect  of  mental  concentration  and  expectant 
attention,  and  hypnotism.  Well,  this  indicates  mental  progfress. 
The  alleged  cause  and  agent  is  thus  declared  to  be  wholly  mental. 
This  explanation  is  far  the  most  rational  of  all  those  which  exclude 
the  direct  agency  of  God,  though  for  that  reason,  being  wrong, 
they  are  the  most  pernicious.  As  hypnotism,  it  is  a  repression  of 
thought ;  and  as  expectant  attention,  it  is  a  mental  surrender  to 
error  by  surrender  to  the  expected. 

This  conclusion  may  be  reached  by  those  who  hold  to  the  exist- 
ence of  two  substances  which  are  the  opposite  of  each  other  in 
every  quality,  called  matter  and  mind.  The  next  step  is  the  denial 
of  Dualism,  and  the  affirmation  of  intellectual  Monism,  that  there 
is  but  one  kind  of  substance — Mind.  This  may  be  imperfectly 
and  grossly  conceived,  chiefly  in  its  humanistic  and  sense  relations 
and  aspect ;  and  the  action  of  Spirit  may  be  degraded  mainly  to 
material  forms  and  motions  and  effects.  This  seems  to  be  the 
way  of  some  who  claim  theoretically  to  be  spiritual  monists. 
Their  teaching  and  practice  cannot  be  either  elevating  or  healthy. 
The  "mind-cure"  of  such  people  exhibits  but  little  of  mind,  pure 
and  simple.  It  is  but  a  name  falsely  used  to  denote  sensible 
experience,  aims,  and  processes. 

Here  Christian  Science  comes  within  the  view  at  an  immense 
elevation  above  us.  At  least,  so  it  appears  to  all  its  earnest 
adherents.  They  always  speak  to  the  world,  as  from  the  high  van- 
tage ground  of  a  strong  conviction,  that  they  are  in  possession  of 


/SMS. 


a  truth  of  peculiar  and  supreme  worth  and  importance,  which 
justly  demands  that  it  be  capitaUzed  and  prefixed  with  the  definite 
article,  as  l/i£  Truili,  the  very  Deity  himself. 

Christian  Science  is  emphatically  monistic,  and  its  monism  is 
purely  and  severely  spiritual.  It  affirms  that  all  is  Mind  :  and  it 
emphasizes  this  to  the  utmost  by  further  affirming  that  there  is 
only  one  Mind.  This,  to  some,  may  wear  the  aspect  of  panthe- 
ism, or,  at  least,  of  panheisenism,  simply  thus  contemplated.  Be 
it  so;  all  must  allow  it  to  be,  notwithstanding,  a  theory  of  the 
loftiest  order.  Its  God  is  absolutely  Infinite.  He  does  not  divide 
his  existence  and  powers  and  honors  with  a  material  universe. 
He  does  not  ask  of  that  universe  the  favor  of  a  shelter  and 
home  and  organ,  as  a  condition  of  his  existence  and  action  and 
comfort.  He  is  God,  and  besides  himself  there  is  naught  else. 
As  Infinite,  he  can  be  subject  to  no  external  conditions.  As  pure 
Spirit,  he  can  have  no  relations  to  space. 

Here  our  old  metaphysicians  attempt  to  describe,  on  the  track 
of  this  doctrine,  Charybdis  and  Scylla  so  close  together  that 
there  can  be  no  sailing  between  them.  If  there  is  no  matter,  then 
the  sensible  universe,  it  is  argued,  must  be  spirit,  or  spirit  is  sen- 
sible and  material;  so  that  God  is  still  identified  with  the  sensible 
universe,  since  he  is  identified  with  all.  and  the  distinction  between 
the  material  and  spiritual  monists  is  destroyed.  It  is  thought  we 
cannot  escape  either  the  identification  of  the  material  universe 
with  God  or  of  God  with  the  material  universe.  But  Christian 
Science  is  not  hence  led  to  reef  a  sail  or  make  a  single  tack,  how- 
ever slight.  Steady  and  firm,  as  if  chained,  she  keeps  her  rudder, 
and  boldly  drives  the  prow  of  her  vessel  right  through  the  dread 
obstruction,  and  proves  that  it  is  nothing  but  illusion,  a  transient 
phenomena!  and  unsubstantial  evolution  or  projection  of  erring 
mortal  mind.  As  a  deception  and  unreality,  it  cannot  be  God; 
and  it  cannot  be  a  constituent  of  the  Infinite  when  it  is  ever  less 
than  the  finite.  Only  the  true  is  the  Real,  and  the  Good  and  the 
Eternal  are  wedded  to  the  true ;  so  that  the  evil  and  evanescent 
thing  called  matter  is  not  a  real  thing  and  substance,  but  only  a 
resemblance,  the  very  essence  of  unreality. 

It  is  from  these  two  contrasted  conceptions  of  matter  and  spirit 
(God),  that  Christian  science  derives  its  peculiar  and  exalted  doc- 


62  ISMS. 

trine  of  Mind-healing.  God,  as  the  Infinite  Good,  comprises  all 
reality,  and,  therefore,  all  evil  is  unreal.  It  is  an  error  to  conceive 
it  otherwise,  and  to  conceive  it  as  a  reality  is  the  only  evil ;  for  it 
can  have  no  power  over  those  to  whom  it  is  as  nothing.  Deny  its 
reality,  affirm  its  nothingness,  realize  this  thoroughly  in  your  whole 
mental  action,  and  its  utter  annihilation  is  for  you  achieved.  The 
True,  the  Real,  the  one  only  Mind  has  attained  in  you  its  due 
conscious  action.  You  are  a  nothing  without  this ;  and  with  it  you 
are  a  divine  Idea,  an  individual  existence  in  the  image  of  God^ 
and  you  show  His  glory,  while  you  also  share  it  in  your  every 
thought  and  action. 

Christian  science   is,  therefore,  eminently  religious,  devout  and 
holy.     It  connects  all  good  with  God ;  and  it  makes  all  real  power 
and  blessing  to  consist  in  the  development  of  the  God-conscious- 
ness, and  in  the  life  which  is  truly  divine  in  its  impulse  and  action 
and  end.     It  is  hence  that  Christian  science  Mind-healing  is  infi- 
nitely and  eternally  effective.     It  is  the  holy  and  divine  agency. 
As  this  is  the  only  good,  and  as,  conversely,  all  other  action,  or 
supposed  action,  is  evil,  it  follows  that  all  apparent  healing  through 
the  action  of  mere  human  thought  is  only  apparent,  and  is  essen- 
tially evil.     To  the  sense  it  may  seem  a  good ;   but  it  is  a  lie,  and 
the   lie  must,  some  where  and  some  time,  be  made  manifest,  that 
it  may  be  destroyed  and  truth  reign  in  its  stead.     Now,  its  falsity 
discerned  is  the  discernment  of  it  as  evil ;   and,  hence,  to  feel  it  as 
disease  and  self-punishment.    Thus,  again,  we  reach  the  logical  con- 
clusion that  the  divine  healing  unfolded  by  Christian  science  is  the 
only  real  healing.     The   method,  therefore,  or  the   doctrine    of 
Christian  science,  is  one  of  vital  importance  to  the  world's  welfare* 
It  justifies  and  enjoins  the  utmost  strenuousness  and  zeal.     It  can- 
not account  the  difference  slight  and  insignificant  between  itself 
and  other  mental  healers.     It  cannot  suffer  itself  to  be  classed  or 
confounded  with  them ;   nor  can  it  extend  to  them  the  hand  of  fel- 
lowship.    With  all  the  fervor  of  an  enlightened  love,  it  must  pro- 
test against  their  errors,  even    at  the  risk   of  being  sometimes 
considered  somewhat  fanatical.    It  is  a  religion  as  well  as  a  science ; 
and,  therefore,  it  should  be  earnest  and  staunch  and  stern.    It  is  a 
science  as  well  as  a  religion,  and,  therefore,  its  religion  is  the  dearer 
and  the  more  important,  as  being  the  better  based  and  the  more 
thoroughly  understood — being  forever  demonstrable. 


ISMS. 


All  will  allow  that  perfect,  subjective  harmony  is   necessary  to 

our  perfect  well-being.  It  is  equally  clear  that  so  long  as  our  nature 
is  conceived  and  felt  as  a  duality,  whose  two  parts  are  in  every  in- 
trinsic quality  and  action  opposite  to  each  otiier,  this  perfect,  sub- 
jective harmony  is  impossible.  The  conflict  between  the  parts 
is  necessarily  unceasing  and  perpetual.  "  The  flesh  lusteth  against 
the  spirit,  and  the  spirit  against  the  flesh."  This  harmony  demands 
that  matter  shall  change  its  essential  quality,  and  become  one  with 
spirit,  instead  of  being  its  opposite.  Such  transmutation  would  be 
the  equivalent  of  the  annihilation  of  matter,  so  that  spirit  only  is 
left  as  the  sole  substance  and  agent.  This  brings  us  onto  the 
ground  of  Christian  science. 

But  it  does  not,  necessarily,  give  us  perfect  control  of  the  entire 
territory.  We  may  be,  as  yet,  only  on  the  disputed  border-land, 
where  we  have  to  fight  every  day  for  standing  room.  This  is  the 
present  condition  of  most  Christian  scientists;  and  many  of  its 
professors  are  frequently  carried  captive  over  the  line,  and  know 
it  not,  and  are  unwittingly  serving  the  enemy;  while  others  serve 
him.  too,  consciously  and  freely,  through  earthly  fear  and  favor 
and  selfish  interest. 

Knowledge  is  power.  True  intelligence  is  power;  and,  there- 
fore, the  Infinite  Intelligence  and  I'ower  are  one.  Hence,  we  are 
truly  spiritual  and  genuine  Christian  scientists,  indeed,  only  so  far 
as  what  we  call  our  body  and  matter  are  absolutely  subject  to  the 
control  of  our  confessedly  spiritual  nature,  our  intellect  and  our 
moral  judgment,  and  so  far  as  they  are  unresistingly  submissive  to 
all  the  higher  ends  of  these  higher  powers ;  so  that  these  powers 
speak,  and  it  is  done ;  command,  and  it  stands  fast  This  is  what 
the  true  intelligence,  so  far  as  it  is  developed,  achieves  now  and 
always.  This  is  why  it  is  always  a  healing  agent.  It  destroys  the 
inharmony  of  disease  by  the  destruction  of  the  false  supposition 
of  a  substance  and  power  other  than,  and  opposite  to,  itself. 

This  habit  of  absolute-  power  without  any  subjective  resistance 
or  difficulty  is  the  true  heaven.  It  is  begun  now  and  here ;  and  in 
Jesus  it  seems  to  have  reached  perfection,  so  that  it  carried  him 
entirely  out  of  our  gross,  sensible  sphere.  He  exemplified  it,  ac- 
cording to  the  Gospels,  not  only  in  securing  organic  soundness  for 
himself  and   many  others,  but  also    in    making  the  body  wholly 


U  ISMS. 

obedient  to  his  holy  purposes.  Compared  with  him  and  our 
proper  moral  condition,  which  he  thus  exemplified,  the  best  of 
Christian  Scientists  are  the  veriest  neophytes.  To  do  a  good  deal 
of  healing  is  a  very  small  thing,  so  long  as  our  body  needs  food^ 
and  clothing,  and  rest,  and  shelter,  and  protection  against  weather 
or  gravitation,  or  any  other  so-called  material  agent, — so  long,  in 
short,  as  it  is  not  realized  as  wholly  fed  and  supported  by  spirit, 
directly,  and  directly  and  absolutely  conformed  to  the  higher  laws 
of  spirit.  This  is  to  be  our  aim  and  goal,  and  the  end  of  all  en- 
deavor. Till  then,  our  progress  is  toward  perfect  spiritual 
harmony;  and  after  that  an  everlasting  progress  in  spiritual 
harmony. 

We  will  now  give  a  brief  account  of  the  origin  of  this  theory, 
so  far  as  it  is  peculiar,  and  of  its  progress  and  present  power  and 
prospects. 

The  theory  of  Christian  Science  Mind-healings  originated  with 
Rev.  Mrs.  Mary  Baker  G.  Eddy.  She  was  for  many  years  an  ex- 
treme sufferer  from  chronic  disease,  and  finally,  by  a  fall,  she 
received,  what  the  physicians  pronounced,  a  fatal  injury,  and  she 
was  given  up  by  them  and  her  family  and  friends  to  die.  They 
gave  her  what  they  supposed  were  to  be  to  her  their  last  words. 

In  the  meanwhile  her  thoughts  had  been  nobly  busy,  and  grad- 
ually rising  to  a  lofty  pitch  of  power,  so  that  she  had  reached  the 
conclusion  that  she  would  not  then  die,  but  be  speedily  and  thor- 
oughly healed.  This  conviction  she  announced  to  them  in  response 
to  their  farewells.  It  was  Sunday  morning,  and  the  doctor  and 
her  pastor  predicted  that  she  would  be  gone  before  noon ;  she 
replied  that  she  would  be  well  then.  Her  pastor  called  again  after 
service,  and  found  her  busy  about  the  house,  like  any  other 
healthy  person.  She  knew  that  she  was  healed  by  the  direct  and 
gracious  exercise  of  the  Divine  Power ;  but  she  was  indisposed  to 
make  an  old-time  miracle  of  it.  She  was  assured  that  it  was  done 
in  accordance  with  spiritual  law,  and  exemplified  a  general  truth, 
which  ought  to  be  known  and  formulated.  She  pondered  the  sub- 
ject for  three  years  before  her  mental  sky  became  clear.  Then 
she  commenced  to  put  her  thoughts  on  paper,  and  to  teach  others, 
ijmong  whom  she  circulated  her  manuscripts — from  1866  to  1875 
— ^when  she  printed  the  first  edition  of  her  "  Science  and  Health/' 


/SMS. 


which  has  since  passed  through  twenty-three  editions,  of  a  thou- 
sand each. 

Her  theory  has  been  demonstrated  by  facts  in  healing ;   and  this 

has  multiplied  converts,  till  scores  of  thousands  in  all  parts  of  the 
world  are  counted  as  her  disciples,  in  varying  degrees  of  purity  and 
thoroughness.  They  have  numerous  Associations  all  through  the 
land,  which  meet  at  stated  times  for  mutual  instruction.  Churches 
are  also  springing  up  in  different  places,  and  calling  for  pastors  to 
lead  them.  The  parent  Church  was  organized  in  Boston  in  1883, 
of  which  Mrs.  Eddy  was  ordained  pastor,  which  position  she  still 
retains.  In  September  last  Rev,  Wm.  I.  Gill,  A.M.,  was  made 
associate  pastor,  and  he  regularly  ministers  to  the  Church,  which 
meets  on  Sundays  in  Chickering  Hall.  Boston,  which  the  congrega- 
tion well  fills.    This  meeting  is  held  at  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon. 

Within  the  year,  also,  a  new  Church  has  been  organized  at 
Lawrence,  Mass.,  and  to  this  body,  which  is  very  flourishing,  Rev. 
Mr.  Gill  preaches  every  Sunday  evening. 

Rev.  Mrs.  Eddy,  also,  in  1S82,  began  to  issue  TAe  Christian 
Science  Journal,  now  edited  by  Wm.  I.  Gill,  A.M.,  which  has  now 
attained  a  circulation  of  five  thousand,  published  every  month.  It 
exchanges  with  our  leading  newspapers  and  magazines,  and  there 
are  clear  signs  that  its  influence  is  growing  with  its  circulation. 
Its  leading  article  for  this  month  is  also  issued,  at  the  same  time, 
in  a  prominent  New  York  monthly,  The  Medical  Advocate. 

In  view  of  these  facts  and  of  the  exposition  we  have  furnished, 
it  surely  is  not  too  much  to  hope  that  our  readers  will  not  consider 
it  unreasonably  sanguine  in  Christian  scientists  to  believe,  that  their 
movement  is  not  a  transiant  "  craze,"  but  a  movement  which  has 
in  it  the  elements  of  a  high  and  permanent  destiny,  and  that  it  is  the 
culmination  of  all  the  lines  of  human  progress.  It  is  certain  that 
progress  is  always  in  the  direction  of  greater  mentality  and  spirit- 
uahty,  and  that  in  the  higher  circles  of  thought  materialism  and 
dualism  have  surrendered  to  subjective  idealism,  which  is  the  pre- 
supposition of  Christian  science;  so  that  whoever  despises  this 
foundation  ought  to  despise  himself,  as  inappreciative  of  the 
deepest  thought  of  mankind.  From  these  Christian  science  ap- 
peals to  the  competent — to  those  who  are  equally  philosophical 
and  devout. 


86  THE  MASSACHUSETTS    CAPITOL. 


THE  MASSACHUSETTS  CAPITOL. 

BY  GEORGE  J.  VARNEY. 

There  are  few  cities  of  considerable  extent  which  present  to 
distant  view  so  eminent  an  object  as  the  State  House  in  Boston. 
The  uniformity  of  surface  in  the  land  generally  renders  it  difficult 
for  any  single  building  to  make  itself  distinguishable  at  a  distance. 
There  are,  however,  a  few  cities  which,  like  our  State  capital,  are 
built  upon  hills,  thus  bringing  into  view  of  the  suburbs  the  struc- 
tures that  surmount  them. 

The  very  city  which  was  the  birthplace  of  the  term  "  suburbs/' 
is  an  instance  of  such  a  conformation  of  land,; — Rome,  that  "sat 
on  seven  hills."  But  here  are  too  many  hills,  and  the  attention  is 
too  much  distracted,  while  the  dome  of  Saint  Peter's  is  too  low  and 
far  from  the  centre  of  the  city  to  bring  the  mass  of  structures  into 
unity  with  itself. 

Edinburgh  offers  an  example  of  a  central  hill  crowned  by 
massive  edifices,  but  this  lifts  itself  so  steeply,  like  the  royalty  of 
which  it  was  an  adjunct,  that  its  structures  are  evidently  separate 
from  the  mass  of  the  town  below. 

It  remained  for  Boston  to  fulfil  all  the  conditions;  offering  its 
bright  apex  to  the  gaze  of  the  traveler  from  whatever  direction  it 
is  approached, — whether  from  the  sea,  or  the  shore,  or  from  the 
direction  of  the  sunset  whose  glory  lights  up  the  golden  dome. 
Then  the  proximity  of  the  Common,  with  its  noble  park,  renders 
it  practically  an  adjunct — and  a  very  suitable  one — of  the  terraces 
of  the  Capitol.  The  architectural  relations  of  the  building,  espe- 
cially of  the  dome  and  cupola,  to  the  structures  on  Beacon  Hill^ 
give  the  mass  a  marked  unity ;  the  gleaming  dome  seeming,  at  a 
distance,  to  belong  to  the  hill  rather  than  to  any  particular  edifice. 
Neither  is  it  less  effective  when  seen  near  at  hand,  especially  from 
Park  street,  which  affords  the  best  view-point  in  the  season  of  leaf- 
age. Its  symmetrical  proportions,  together  with  its  situation^ 
make  it  one  of  the  most  effective  of  public  buildings,  though  many 
surpass  it  in  dimensions  and  cost. 


THE    MASSACHUSETTS    CAPITOL. 


67 


Its  present  form  is  the  growth  of  almost  a  century,  for  its  con- 
struction was  begun  in  1795,  and  completed  two  years  later.  In 
each  of  the  four  years,  1853-4-5  ^^'^  6>  extensive  improvements 
were  made,  and  a  "new  part"  was  added,  extending  back  to 
Mount  Vernon  street.  Again,  in  1867  changes  were  made  in  the 
interior  of  the  old  part,  by  which  greater  height  in  several  of  the 
larger  rooms  were  obtained,  and  the  Legislative  halls  and  the 
apartments  of  the  executive  were  made  more  commodious.  By 
reconstruction  of  the  old  part,  and  the  finishing  of  rooms  in  the 
new,  upwards  of  thirty  apartments  were  added,  and  an  increase 
of  space  had  been  gained  from  one  hundred  and  three  thousand  to 
about  two  hundred  and  sixty-five  thousand  cubic  feet,  a  net  gain 
of  one  hundred  and  sixty-two  thousand  cubic  feet. 

The  exterior  improvements  connected  with  these  changes  con- 
sisted in  the  removal  of  a  large  number  of  chimneys, —  a  feature 
which  will  be  remembered  by  old  residents  —  which  had  before 
marred  and  concealed  the  original  proportions  of  the  upper  por- 
tion of  the  edifice;  this  diminution  of  chimneys  being  permitted 
by  the  introduction  of  steam  for  heating  purposes. 

At  this  time  two  new  galleries  were  added  to  the  Representa- 
tives' Hall,  and  its  finish,  as  well  as  that  of  the  Senate  Chamber 
was  improved,  though  the  general  proportions  of  the  rooms  were 
retained. 

The  Council  Chamber  had  its  ceiling  frescoed,  but  the  form  of 
its  ancient  finish  still  remains  unchanged.  The  Governor's  room 
was  enlarged  laterally,  and  its  height  increased  by  adding  to  it  the 
old  "  green  room."  which  was  directly  above.  A  new  "  green 
room"  was  constructed,  more  spacious,  elegantly  finished,  and 
well-lighted  and  ventilated.  The  ceiling  of  Doric  Hall  was  raised 
two  feet,  and  finished  in  panels ;  and  its  floors  were  laid  with  mar- 
ble tile.  Openings  were  made  in  both  wings  between  the  main 
building  and  the  addition  at  the  back,  by  which  spacious  corridors 
were  secured,  leading  directly  to  the  Mount  Vernon  entrance. 
Warm,  fresh,  hydrated  air  for  ventilation  is  now  supplied  to  every 
room  by  a  fan  propelled  by  a  steam  engine,  which  at  the  same 
time  runs  an  exhaust-fan,  removing  the  foul  air  from  the  halls  and 
principal  rooms.  A  steam  pump  forces  water  to  the  upper  part 
of  the  building  through  a  system  of  pipes  to  which  are  attached 


68  THE   MASSACHUSETTS    CAPITOL, 

in  the  several  stories  more  than  a  thousand  feet  of  hose,  by  which 
every  room  may  be  drenched  in  case  of  fire.  In  i88i  the  drainage 
was  improved,  and  the  basement  space  increased ;  the  excavations 
being  carried  under  the  front  steps  of  the  building,  which  afforded 
space  for  the  kitchen  of  a  convenient  restaurant.  On  the  west  side 
the  excavations  were  carried  under  the  yard,  affording  space  for 
boilers  and  storage  room  for  five  hundred  tons  of  coal.  The  en- 
trances on  the  east  and  west  ends  were  added  at  this  time. 

The  cost  of  the  original  structure  was  about  $133 ,.000.  The 
improvements  in  the  five  years,  beginning  in  1853,  made  an  ex- 
pense to  the  State  Treasury  of  upwards  of  $170,000, —  including 
additions  of  furniture, — $250,000.  In  1868  about  $6,600  was 
appropriated  to  the  improvement  of  the  Senate  Chamber  and 
Representatives'  Hall;  and  the  work  of  1881  was  accomplished 
at  a  cost  of  above  $45,000.  This  foots  up  to  the  sum  of  $354,- 
600,  as  a  minimum  of  the  cost  of  the  Massachusetts  capitol,  up 
to  the  date  of  the  introduction  of  elevators  in  1885. 

The  land  upon  which  the  State  House  is  built  was  purchased  of 
the  heirs  of  John  Hancock  (first  governor  of  the  State  under  the 
Constitution)  by  the  town  of  Boston,  for  the  sum  of  $4,000,  and 
conveyed  by  the  town  to  the  Commonwealth  on  May  2,  1795. 
The  Commissioners  on  the  part  of  the  town  to  convey  the  "  Gov- 
ernor's Pasture"  (as  it  was  called)  to  the  Commonwealth  were 
William  Tudor,  Charles  Jarvis,  John  Coffin  Jones,  William  Eustis, 
William  Little,  Thomas  Dawes,  Joseph  Russell,  Harrison  Gray 
Otis  and  Perez  Morton.  The  agents  of  the  Commonwealth  for 
constructing  the  edifice  were  named  in  the  deed,  as  follows: 
Thomas  Dawes,  Edward  Hutchinson  Robbins,  and  Charles  Bui- 
finch.  The  latter,  a  citizen  of  Boston,  was  practically  the  architect. 
The  later  interior  improvements  were  made  under  the  direction  of 
Washburn  &  Son. 

The  cornerstone  was  laid  July  4,  1795,  by  Governor  Samuel 
Adams,  who  was  assisted  by  Paul  Revere,  Master  of  the  Grand 
Lodge  of  Masons.  The  stone  was  drawn  to  the  spot  by  fifteen 
white  horses,  representing  the  number  of  States  of  the  Union  at 
the  time.  The  frontage  of  the  building  is  173  feet,  with  a  present 
depth  of  61  feet.  The  height  of  the  edifice,  including  the  dome 
is  no  feet,  while  its  foundation  is  about  the  same  height  above  the 


REMEMBERED    MORNINGS.  69 

waters  of  the  bay,  giving  the  lantern  an  elevation  of  220  feet  above 
sea  level.  The  dome  is  fifty-three  feet  in  diameter,  and  thirty-five 
feet  high.  Governor  Banks  suggested  the  idea,  which  in  1874  led 
to  its  being  gilded ;  and  not  a  little  does  this  decoration  aid  in 
sustaining  the  dignity  which  Dr.  Holmes  has  conferred  upon  it 
in  facetiously  styling  it  the  **  Hub  of  the  Universe." 

The  ancient  codfish,  formerly  performing  its  gyrations  beneath 
the  ceiling  of  the  old  **  State  House,"  occupies  a  somewhat  retired 
position  in  the  Representatives'  Hall  of  the  new  one, — indicating 
that  other  and  stronger  interest  than  the  fisheries  of  which  it  was 
the  emblem,  have  gained  the  ascendancy  in  the  capital  of  the 
Commonwealth. 

Several  times  plans  have  been  prepared  and  presented  to  the 
legislators  for  the  erection  of  a  new  State  House,  but  the  repre- 
sentatives of  Massachusetts  have  thus  far  been  prudent  enough  to 
prefer  the  old  house  in  the  accustomed  place.  It  is  to  be  hoped, 
that,  if  in  the  course  of  time  a  third  State  House  shall  arise  (as 
doubtless  there  will)  the  second  may  be  cherished  as  the  first 
capitol  has  been. 


«^ 


REMEMBERED    MORNINGS. 

BY    ISRAEL  JORDAN. 

Slender  golden-rod  is  rocking 

Bees  along  the  lane — 
Honey-bees  ;  'tis  here  they  gather 
Sweets  ;  but  ah  !  my  heart  must  rather 

Sorrow's  dark  cup  drain, — 

Bitter  chalice  drain, 
For  remembered  mornings,  flocking, 

Pass,  a  princely  train  ; 
While  the  golden-rod  keeps  rocking 

Bees  along  the  lane. 


70  LUCY   KEYES. 


LUCY  KEYES: 

A  STORY  OF  MOUNT  WACHUSETT. 
BY  A.  P.  MARBLE. 

II. 

THE   CONFESSION. 

To  the  Postmaster  of  Westminster y  in  the  State  of  Massachusetts  .• 

I,  Tilly  Littlejohn,  am  now  an  old  man,  hard  on  to  ninety.  Six 
weeks  I  have  been  sick,  and  three  days  I  have  been  dying.  The 
doctor  gave  me  up  day  before  yesterday;  but  I  cannot  die  till  I 
tell  the  true  story  of  Lucy  Keyes. 

I  once  had  a  farm  in  Westminster,  east  of  Wachusett,  and 
Robert  Keyes's  joined  mine.  We  quarrelled  about  the  line  fence, 
and  the  referees  decided  against  me.  After  that  I  hated  Keyes, 
and  would  have  nothing  to  do  with  him.  He  had  a  happy  family ; 
and  from  my  home  I  could  hear  their  shouts  of  laughter;  and 
Keycs  was  happy.  This  made  me  hate  him  the  more ;  for  I  was 
unmarried  and  alone.  To  this  I  trace  the  ruin  of  that  family  and 
of  my  life.  If  I  had  boldly  sought  and  wed — before  she  chose 
another — the  girl  whom  in  my  youth  I  loved  !  But  I  cannot  tell 
that  story — I  am  too  far  gone.  I  only  wish  the  young  to  be  warned 
by  me.  My  desolate  way  of  living  made  me  a  terror  to  all  chil- 
dren.    I  hated  them,  and  they  feared  me. 

One  summer  afternoon,  in  the  year  1755,  or  thereabouts,  I  was 
crossing  the  path  to  the  lake,  near  Keyes's  field,  when  I  saw  the 
child,  Lucy.  She  saw  me,  and  appeared  frightened,  as  if  I  were  a 
wild  beast.  She  began  to  run  away.  My  anger  was  aroused. 
The  injury  Keyes  had  done  me,  in  robbing  me  of  part  of  my  land ; 
his  prosperity  and  his  happiness,  with  wife  and  children,  and  their 
loathing  of  me — all  this  rushed  into  my  mind,  and  made  me  a 
demon  of  hate.  I  gave  vent  to  my  spite  in  a  heavy  cuff  on  the 
side  of  the  child's  head.  I  did  not  mean  to  kill  her.  I  was  mad, 
and  did  not  know  how  hard  I  struck.     She  fell,  quivering,  at  my 


LUCY    KEYES. 


71 


feet,  and  without  a  groan.  Then  1  thought:  "Here  is  more 
trouble  for  me  on  account  of  that  hateful  Keyes.  If  she  lives, 
they  will  know  it  all,  and  I  shall  be  punished ;  and  she  may  not 
live  —  for  she  now  lay  still  at  my  feet.  I  will  despatch  her."  Mad 
with  hate  and  fear,  I  struck  her  three  heavy  blows  on  the  head 
with  a  stone.  1  then  hid  the  body  in  a  hollow  log,  and  went  to  my 
house.  That  night  Mr.  Keyes  came  to  ask  me  to  help  search  for 
the  child.  I  did  so.  to  prevent  suspicion;  but  1  told  him  that  I 
bad  seen  a  band  of  Indians  the  day  before  on  the  mountain,  and 
that  they  had  probably  stolen  her.  When  I  saw  how  earnest  and 
thorough  they  were  in  the  search,  I  knew  the  body  would  be 
found;  so  I  took  it  from  the  log  and  buried  it  near  the  roots  of  a 
fallen  tree,  scraping  the  earth  from  the  roots  into  the  hollow,  and 
piling  stones  and  rotted  leaves  with  the  earth  above  the  body. 
This  was  lale  in  the  evening.  I  then  built  a  fire  above  the  grave, 
to  conceal  the  place  where  earth  had  been  moved. 

While  I  was  piling  wood  on  the  fire,  the  family  all  came;  and, 
before  long,  men  came  from  Princeton  and  Westminster;  and,  the 
next  day,  from  Lanca.'ster.  When  the  first  ones  came,  I  thought 
they  had  found  me  out;  but  I  kept  on  adding  wood  to  the  fire, 
and  said  nothing.  1  was  so  busy  with  burying  the  child  and  con- 
cealing the  evidence  of  it.  that  I  did  not  think  that  the  bonfire 
would  call  people  together,  though  this  was  always  the  signal — 
so  much  was  I  beside  myself.  But  when  Mr.  Keyes  took  my  si- 
lence as  the  natural  thing  for  me,  and  asked  me  where  the  child 
was  found,  I  saw  that  no  one  suspected  me;  and  their  faces  filled 
me  with  terror,  lest  the  truth  should  be  discovered.  I,  therefore 
told  them  she  was  not  found ;  and  I  made  plans  for  a  more  thor- 
ough search.  I  kept  them  searching  till  they  all  thought  that  the 
Indians  had,  without  doubt,  stolen  the  child.  My  fears  were  then 
at  rest. 

Itwas  a  natural  thing  for  Indians  to  steal  a  child.  Nobody  sus- 
pected me;  and  I  was  safe.  Then  I  went  home,  feeling  free  once 
more.  But  at  sunset  I  heard  the  cry  of  Mrs.  Keyes,  calling  for 
Lucy ;  and  "  Lucy  ! "  "  Lucy  !  "  would  be  repeated  from  the  moun- 
tain, and  then  from  the  hill,  and  then  again  and  again  from  farther 
and  farther  away.  It  seemed  as  if  all  the  spirits  of  the  air  were 
calling  on  me  for  Lucy.     And  then  at  night  I  would  dream  that 


72  LUCY   KEYES. 

Lucy  was  under  my  feet,  and  when  I  went  to  step  upon  her,  in 
hate  of  her  father,  I  would  fall  into  a  deep  pit.  This  would 
awaken  me ;  and  as  the  misty  light  streamed  through  the  trees,  or 
into  the  room,  I  would  seem  to  see  her  before  my  eyes  as  she 
looked  after  that  first  blow.  And  every  night  at  sundown  I  used 
to  hear  the  frantic  mother  calling  for  her  little  girl ;  and  the  echoes 
answered  back  the  call.  The  nights  were  made  hideous  by  my 
dreams. 

I  could  not  stand  it.  And  so,  disposing  of  my  farm,  I  travelled 
to  the  Far  West,  and  took  land  on  the  Mohawk  river,  in  the 
State  of  New  York.  My  home  is  in  Deerfield,  opposite  Utica. 
Here  I  built  me  a  cabin,  and  here  I  have  lived.  The  region  is 
now  full  of  people.  The  great  West  is  now  on  the  shore  of  the 
Mississippi.  Traffic  flows  through  this  valley;  and  all  around  me 
are  fruitful  farms  and  happy  homes.  But  I  have  lived  alone.  The 
neighbors  have  not  known  me.  The  shadow  of  my  dark  deed 
has  hung  over  me.  The  sunset-cry  of  Mrs.  Keyes,  calling  for 
Lucy,  has  been  in  my  ears ;  and  in  dreams  the  child  has  appeared 
to  me,  here,  with  the  sad,  stunned  face.  I  have  longed  for  death 
to  take  me ;  but  death  would  not  come.  Even  with  the  weight  of 
ninety  years  upon  me,  he  will  not  take  me  with  this  burden  of 
guilt  upon  my  soul.  I  want  this  story  to  be  told  to  Robert  Keyesr 
that  I  may  die  and  be  free  from  the  apparition  of  this  innocent 
child,  and  the  haunting  of  the  mother's  voice,  and  the  memory 
of  my  crime. 

(Signed)  TiLLY  LiTTLEJOHN. 

Accompanying  this  confession  was  the  following: — 

Statement  of  Mrs.  Peters. 

Deerfield,  N.  Y.,  August  12,  1815. 
Respected  Sir, — 

I  have  written  the  enclosed  confession,  and  it  is  signed  in  the 
tremulous  hand,  as  you  may  see,  of  Mr.  Littlejohn.  You  will  like 
to  know  the  circumstances.  I  am  a  widow  of  more  than  twenty- 
years,  and  my  children  are  all  dead.  With  my  younger  sister,  her- 
self rising  sixty,  I  have  kept  house  for  Mr.  Littlejohn  these  ten 
years.     He  was  a  neighbor  of  ours  and  lived  alone.     After  my 


husband  died  from  the  effects  of  drink,  my  little  ones  all  having 
died  before,  I  was  living  alone  with  sister  in  the  house,  when  on  a 
summer  night  it  was  burned  with  all  that  we  had.  My  husband's 
habits  had  left  me  deeply  in  debt,  so  that  we  could  keep  the  farm 
no  longer.  I  was  destitute  and  homeless.  In  the  midst  of  the  fire, 
when  we  had  but  just  escaped  from  the  burning  house  with  our 
lives,  Mr.  Littlejohn  appeared  and  began  to  pile  wood  upon  the 
flames.  He  seemed  to  be  out  of  his  head;  and  he  would  say 
nothing  to  us,  but  kept  talking  to  himself  about  Lucy,  He  would 
say,  '■  Lucy  is  not  here;  the  Indians  have  her;  go  and  hunt  for 
the  trail."  Relapsing  into  silence  he  would  pile  on  the  fuel.  When 
the  conflagration  was  over  he  had  disappeared.  The  next  day 
he  came  over  to  find  us.  He  said  that  his  home  and  his  heart 
were  burned  out  more  than  fifty  years  before.  He  was  alone,  and 
we  had  no  home.  He  wanted  us  to  come  and  live  with  him.  We 
went ;  and  since  then  he  has  spared  no  pains  to  make  us  comfort- 
able and  happy. 

We  had  known  him  as  the  Hermit  of  the  Mohawk.  He  had 
avoided  society,  and  had  no  company  but  his  dogs.  He  now  be- 
came more  cheerful  in  the  thought  that  he  was  helping  the  home- 
less. But  every  evening  as  the  sun  went  down,  he  would  hide 
himself  in  his  bed-room ;  and  when  curiosity  led  us  to  peep  in  and 
see  what  he  did  there,  we  saw  him  with  his  face  buried  in  the 
pillow  and  his  hands  stopping  his  ears.  He  must  have  fancied 
that  he  heard  the  mother's  call  for  Lucy — or  was  he  seeking 
pardon  from  on  high?  Perhaps,  both.  For  two  months  past  he 
has  been  growing  feeble,  and  lately  he  has  not  left  his  room.  The 
doctor  said,  two  days  ago,  that  he  was  dying  and  no  medicine 
could  help  him.  Since  then  he  has  taken  no  food.  We  expected 
to  see  him  breathe  his  last  every  hour,  but  he  lingered  on.  Last 
night  he  sat  up  in  his  bed  and  called  me,  He  told  me  to  get  pen 
and  paper  quickly ;  and  then  he  told  me  this  frightful  story  quicker 
than  I  could  write.  When  it  was  done  he  grasped  the  pen  and 
affixed  that  tremulous  name.  He  then  lay  back  on  his  pillow  and 
said  to  me,  "  Don't  hate  me ;  I  did  not  mean  to  do  it.  Stay  with 
me.  I  have  suffered  enough."  I  said,  "  You  have  been  good  to 
us,  we  will  not  leave  you."  He  immediately  expired;  and  we 
shall  bury  him  as  he  had  asked  us  to  do,  in  the  garden  at  the  foot 


74  LUCY  KEYES. 

of  a  large  elm,  which  he  called  Lucy's  tree,  and  there  he  used  to 
sit  for  hours  in  the  sunny  afternoons. 

Yours  truly, 

Elizabeth  Peters. 

P.  S, — Mr.  Littlejohn  deeded  his  farm  to  me  and  my  sister ;  but 
on  learning  this  sad  story,  we  wish  to  share  it  with  any  poor  re- 
latives of  Mr.  Keyes's.  It  would  be  the  wish  of  the  poor  man  now 
gone.     We  hope  to  hear  from  you  all  about  that  family. 

E.  P. 

The  Postmaster  to  Mrs.  Peters. 

Westminster,  Mass.,  August  25,  1815. 
Dear  Madam^ — 

Your  letter  with  its  strange  contents  is  at  hand.  I  can  not  find 
any  trace  of  the  family  you  mention  in  this  town.  It  is  reported, 
however,  that  a  family  named  Keyes  lived,  some  fifty  or  seventy- 
five  years  ago,  in  the  edge  of  Princeton ;  and  they  lost  a  child, 
stolen,  as  was  reported,  by  the  Indians.  Mr.  Littlejohn  lived  near 
them,  and  joined  in  the  search  for  the  child.  He  disappeared  soon 
after,  and  nothing  has  since  been  heard  of  him. 

The  traditions  of  the  loss  of  Lucy  Keyes  all  correspond  with 
what  you  wrote  from  Mr.  Littlejohn's  own  lips; — all  except  what 
he  alone  knew.  I  will  advertise  for  some  one  of  the  family  and 
inform  you  of  any  success. 

I  am,  very  truly,  yours, 

,  P.  M. 

Advertisement. 

[From  the  Boston  Journal  oi  Kw^,  26-31,  181 5.] 

Wanted. — Information  concerning  any   descendant  of  Robert  Keyes,  who 
settled  in  Princeton  about  the  year  1755.     I  have  news  of  interest  to  them. 

Address, ,  P.  M., 

Westminster,  Mass. 

In  response  to  this  notice,  came  a  letter  from  Nehemiah  Parker, 
an  old  man  of  about  seventy  years,  who  lived  in  Princeton  two  or 
three  miles  south  of  Mt.  Wachusett.  He  knew  the  story  about  the 
loss  of  the  child ;  and  his  grandmother  was  a  distant  relative  of 
Mr.  Keyes.     On  seeing  the  postmaster  and  reading  the  confession 


LUCY  KEYES.  75 

he  said  that  he  did  not  wish  any  part  of  Mr.  Littlejohn's  property, 
even  if  he  could  claim  it,  which  was  doubtful;  but  if  no  nearer 
relative  appeared  he  wanted  to  keep  the  letter. 

After  waiting  several  months  and  hearing  from  no  one  else,  the 
Postmaster  wrote,  as  above,  to  Mrs.  Peters,  and  sent  her  letter  and 
the  confession  to  Mr.  Parker.  It  was  seen  in  his  hands,  as  related 
above,  by  Mrs.  Smith,  now  living  on  the  very  farm  which  Robert 
Keyes  first  settled.  The  remains  of  the  old  forge  are  still  to  be 
seen;  and  the  spot  where  Lucy's  home  stood  is  pointed  out. 
Towards  the  mountain  are  also  to  be  seen  the  hollow  where  was 
the  cellar  of  the  Littlejohn  cabin  and  the  well  which  he  had  digged. 
The  way  to  the  lake  and  the  white  sand  on  the  shore  can  be  seen; 
and  the  place  near  the  mountain  road  where  the  bonfire  was  kindled 
to  cover  Lucy's  grave  can  easily  be  imagined.  This  is  all  that  is 
known  of  that  ill-fated  little  girl.  But  she  lived  again  in  memory, 
as  we  shall  see. 

The  vicinity  of  Mt.  Wachusett  has  now  become  a  beautiful 
summer  resort.  The  air  is  pure  and  bracing,  and  on  the  hills 
around  are  built  hotels  and  cottages,  where,  in  summer,  the  weary 
dwellers  in  cities  find  quiet  and  rest.  On  the  south  and  on  the 
north,  railroads  approach  within  a  few  miles,  and  furnish  easy 
communication  with  the  city.  From  the  summit  of  Mt.  Wachu- 
sett, the  view  embraces  parts  of  each  of  the  New  England  States, 
in  a  radius  of  forty-five  or  fifty  miles.  On  the  north  looms  the 
majestic  form  of  Mt.  Monadnock ;  and  farther  to  the  east,  and 
more  distant,  the  grand  summit  of  Mt.  Washington.  Bunker  Hill 
Monument  and  the  gilded  dome  of  the  State  House  are  seen  to 
the  east.  Towards  the  north  the  city  of  Worcester  peeps  out 
from  among  her  cordon  of  hills,  and  the  Norman  clock-tower  of 
the  Union  Passenger  Station  is  plainly  visible:  while  on  all  sides 
are  villages  with  their  white  church  spires,  farms  with  green  fields, 
hills  with  the  darker  green  of  the  forests,  meadows  and  upland, 
lakes  and  streams.  Locomotives  twenty  or  thirty  miles  away  flash 
their  bright-hued  lights  on  the  night  air;  and  the  smoke  from  tall 
chimneys  or  burning  brush,  is  in  sight  by  day,  over  a  circuit  of 
ninety  miles.  In  the  heart  of  Massachusetts  is  a  prospect  broader 
and  more  restful  because  cultivated,  than  any  view  from  Mt.  Wash- 
ington or  the  Alps,  Those  are  peaks  in  the  midst  of  mountains. 
This  is  a  mountain  in  the  midst  of  plains. 


76  LUCY  KEYES. 

On  the  southern  slope  of  Mt.  Wachusett,  and  twelve  hundred 
feet  below  the  summit,  which  is  only  three-fourths  of  a  mile  dis- 
tant, stands  the  Mountain  House,  kept  the  last  quarter  of  a  century 
by  Mr.  M.  H.  Bullard. 

To  this  house  one  afternoon  in  the  summer  of  1880,  drew  a 
single  carriage,  from  which  a  lady  and  gentleman  alighted.  They 
were  Rev.  and  Mrs.  Robert  Keyes,  of  Iowa.  After  dinner  he  made 
inquiries  of  the  host  about  his  ancestor  who  bore  the  same  name ; 
for  it  appeared  that  he  was  a  descendant  of  one  of  the  sons  of 
Robert  Keyes,  who  had  removed  to  Ohio,  and  then  his  sons  had 
gone  to  Iowa.  Lucy  was  aunt  to  his  father,  a  great-aunt  to  this 
Robert  Keyes.  He  knew  the  history  so  far  as  the  traditions  of  the 
family  had  it,  but  the  confession  of  Mr.  Littlejohn  he  now  heard 
for  the  first  time.  He  ordered  his  horse  and  drove  away ;  and  at 
nightfall  he  stood  on  the  spot  where  his  great-grandmother  had 
worn  out  her  life,  vainly  calling  her  lost  daughter,  and  then  he 
went  to  search  for  the  yellow  and  worn-out  paper  which  told  the 
tale.  But  Nehemiah  Parker  had  long  since  passed  away,  and  so 
far  as  we  know,  the  paper,  like  little   Lucy,  eluded  all  efforts   to 

find  it. 

•  ••••• 

But  the  dead  are  not  gone  forever ;  and  the  lost  and  forgotten 
live  again  in  the  lives  of  those  who  survive  them.  There  is  some- 
thing above  a  human  life,  however  brief,  which  is  immortal  even 
here.  In  some  hearts  the  little  sojourner  has  set  vibrating  chords 
whose  tones,  soft  and  sweetly  musical,  have  cheered  the  mourners 
for  years  and  years,  amidst  the  turmoils  of  life,  and  in  the  daily 
toil  and  care, — or  those  chords  wrenched  and  out  of  tune,  may  have 
sounded  naught  but  woe,  like  the  long  lament  of  Mrs.  Keyes,  or 
discord  like  the  life  of  Mr.  Littlejohn.  And  such  an  influence  is 
not  to  be  traced ;  it  is  lost  to  sight  like  a  golden  thread  in  some 
gorgeous  tapestry,  to  reappear  in  the  composition  of  another  fig- 
ure ;  or,  if  of  a  darker  shade,  to  form  the  background,  without 
which  the  coloring  loses  its  eflect.  Even  the  early  leaves,  rudely 
scattered  by  the  wind,  and  blighted  buds  are  not  without  their 
fruit,  for  they  have  helped  to  form  the  mold  from  which  the  forest 
is  nourished,  and  in  the  very  production  of  these  frost-bitten  buds, 
the  trees  have  gained  strength  by  the  exertion  of  their  natural  and 
healthy  activity. 


LUCY  KEYES. 


•  •  •     "  But  see  again, 
How  in  the  faltering  footsteps  of  decay 
Youth  crosses,  ever  gay  and  beautiful  youth 

In  all  its  beautiful  forms."  •  •  • 

•  ■  ■     u  o,  there  is  not  lost 
One  of  earth's  charms  ;  upon  her  bosom  yet, 
After  the  flight  of  untold  centuries, 
The  freshness  of  her  far  beginning  lies, 
And  yet  shall  lie  ;    Life  marks  the  idle  hate 
Of  his  arch-enemy.  Death,  yet  seats  himself 
Upon  the  tyrant's  throne,  the  sepulchre. 
And  of  the  triumphs  of  his  ghastly  foe 
Makes  his  own  nourishment." 

It  is,  as  an  illustration  of  this  truth,  that  the  final  part  of  the 
story  of  Lucy  is  the  most  interesting.  In  that  same  summer  of 
1880,  I  was  spending  a  brief  vacation  at  the  Mountain  House,  and 
on  the  summit  1  chancei^  to  fall  in  with  the  Rev,  Robert  Keyes. 
who  had  just  returned  from  his  search  for  the  yellow  paper,  with 
the  above  story  fresh  in  his  mind.  He  gave  it  to  me  as  it  is  here 
related;  and  it  had  for  me  a  strange  fascination,  I  visited  the 
place  where  the  house  had  stood,  and  looked  upon  the  scene 
where  the  little  girl's  life  had  so  soon  been  blotted  out,  one  hun- 
dred and  twenty-five  years  before.  Of  course  the  story  found 
currency  among  the  guests,  who  whiled  away  the  hours  in  the 
cool  shadow  of  the  mountain  and  the  trees,  or  on  the  broad  hotel 
piazza,  which  overlooks  the  county  of  Middlesex,  and  a  large 
part  of  Worcester. 

Among  these  guests  were  two  young  people  who  had  met  here 
for  the  first  time,  though  their  families  were  known  to  each  other. 
Harry  Kensington,  the  son  of  one  of  our  most  distinguished  public 
men,  had  only  the  year  before  entered  the  profession  of  the  law; 
and  he  now  began  to  feel  that  assurance  of  success  which  gave 
him  confidence.  Mina  Holt  was  the  daughter  of  a  prosperous 
merchant,  just  from  school.  They  had  made  one  of  those  chance 
acquaintances  which  sometimes  begin  in  the  unconventional  asso- 
ciation of  those  summer  resorts  where  fashion  does  not  reign  su- 
preme and  banish  all  comfort.  These  acquaintances  occasionally 
begin  with  the  trifling  circumstance  of  some  little  politeness  shown 


78  LUCY  KEYES. 

— the  rescuing  of  a  hat  carried  off  by  the  wind,  or  the  slight  help 
given  when  a  lady  happens  to  slip  on  the  rocks,  with  no  other  es- 
cort near ;  even  the  occupying  of  a  seat  in  a  crowded  coach  or  at 
table,  where  to  be  glum  and  silent  seems  rude,  and  a  word  or  two 
of  conversation  is  appropriate,  in  recognition,  merely,  of  their 
common  humanity.  Of  course  the  when,  and  the  who,  and  the 
how  in  any  such  chance  acquaintance  determines  its  character ; 
and  the  good  sense  which  guides  the  parties  in  it  is  not  less  con- 
spicuous than  the  same  fine  quality  and  good  breeding  in  any 
other  circumstances. 

Harry  Kensington  and  Mina  Holt  had  formed  one  of  these 
casual  acquaintances;  and  there  was  between  them  enough  of 
that  mutual  attraction  which  mothers  and  chaperones  watch  Mrith 
interest,  to  have  already  exhausted  the  weather  and  the  scenery 
as  subjects  of  conversation,  when  the  story  of  Lucy  Keyes  was 
first  told  at  the  hotel.  In  relating  that  story,  Harry  found  his 
first  chance  to  hold  a  prolonged  conversation  with  Mina.  It  was 
on  a  sultry  afternoon  when  he  came  upon  her,  writing  letters  in 
the  breezy  shade,  on  a  hill  behind  the  house ;  while  her  friend,  the 
schoolmistress,  given  to  the  study  of  Art,  sat  near,  absorbed  in 
reading  Ruskin.  The  spot  is  in  sight  of  the  old  Keyes  farm.  The 
story  was  much  amplified  by  Harry ;  for  he  became  eloquent  in 
its  recital,  through  the  interest  reflected  in  Mina's  face.  It  often 
happens  so :  the  trifling  becomes  important  from  its  surroundings. 
The  story  of  Lucy  Keyes  had  become  the  telephone  through 
which  two  hearts  were  to  find  expression,  and  the  spot  where  she 
had  dwelt,  the  bridge  on  which  Love  crossed.  This  story  had 
served  to  give  the  acquaintance  sufficient  character  for  it  to  be 
recognized.  Once  born,  the  intimacy  grew  rapidly.  There  was 
the  climb  to  the  summit,  when  Harry  acted  as  escort  to  the  young 
ladies ;  and  while  the  teacher  was  absorbed  in  the  beauty  of  the 
blue  lakes,  the  fleecy  clouds,  and  the  color  of  the  landscape, 
Harry  was  still  more  absorbed  in  the  liquid  blue  of  Mina's  eyes, 
the  soft  white  of  her  throat,  and  the  changing  color  of  her  cheeks. 
It  is  not  necessary  to  relate  that  the  ascent  was  made  more  than 
once,  and  that  the  path  down  the  eastern  slope  of  the  mountain, 
which  led  to  the  Keyes  house,  was  sometimes  preferred,  because  it 
furnished  a  longer  walk  home ;  nor  need  it  be  mentioned  that  the 


LUCY  KEYES.  79 

teacher  would  sit  many  a  half-hour  in  the  shadow  of  the  moun- 
tain, with  her  portfolio,  sketching,  while  Harry  and  Mina  sat  apart 
on  a  rocky  ledge  and — did  not  sketch.  It  will  readily  be  seen  that 
these  two  had  fine  excuses  for  carriage  drives  in  visiting  Redemp- 
tion Rock,  Wachusett  Lake,  the  Parker  Place,  and  the  Mountain 
Road — all  to  learn  about  Lucy  Keyes.  Who  but  they  ever  sup- 
posed that  to  be  the  attraction  ? 

Soon  that  delightful  summer  had  gone;  and  I  lost  sight  of 
Harry  and  Mina,  and  no  longer  thought  of  the  story  of  Lucy 
Keyes.  But  on  my  return,  this  year,  I  find  the  lost  and  the  for- 
gotten may  live  through  the  influence  that  goes  out  from  their 
existence,  while  the  living  may  produce  no  perceptible  effect. 
What  Mr.  Keyes  did  we  do  not  know.  The  influence  of  the  little 
child,  dead  more  than  a  century,  appeared  before  me ;  and  two 
people,  unrelated  to  her,  and  to  whom  she  was  unknown,  had  re- 
turned here  to  bless  her  memory,  in  contemplation  of  which  the 
tender  passion  first  awoke  which  made  them  one. 

On  the  hotel  register  I  saw  this : 


"  Harry  Kensington,  wife,  child,  and  nurse. 
They  had  named  the  little  girl  Lucy  Keyes. 


it 


[Conclusion.] 


80  EDITORS   TABLE. 


EDITOR'S    TABLE, 

An  unwholesome  as  well  as  an  unforeseen  combination  of  circum- 
stances, whose  recital  would  in  no  sense  be  profitable  to  the  readers  of 
the  New  England  Magazine,  compelled  a  suspension  of  its  issue  at 
the  close  of  the  last  volume,  and  has  prolonged  that  suspension  much 
beyond  the  expectations  of  the  publishers.  They  have  only  unaffected 
regrets  to  offer  for  so  unpromising  an  occurrence,  accompanied,  how- 
ever, by  the  consciousness  that  nothing  was  left  unattempted  by  them 
to  secure  the  earliest  possible  extrication  from  the  temporary  embarass- 
ment.  It  has  only  come  now,  but  the  delay  has  also  served  to  make  a 
repetition  of  such  an  experience  impossible.  So  far  as  the  public  is 
interested  in  this  statement,  or  has  a  right  to  be  informed  in  relation  to 
the  details  it  implies,  the  present  proprietors  are  prepared  to  give  the 
best  practical  satisfaction  in  the  assurance  that  the  Magazine  will  hence- 
forth proceed  without  further  interruption,  apprehended  or  contingent, 
and  that  all  subscribers  will  receive  the  full  number  of  issues  for  which 
they  have  already  paid  or  shall  pay. 

November  is  Thanksgiving  month,  and  this  is  therefore  the  Thanks- 
giving number.  The  Governor  of  Massachusetts  took  the  lead  and 
appointed  the  25th  for  the  observance  of  the  dear  old  domestic  festival. 
It  used  to  snow,  and  the  ground  was  generally  hard  frozen,  when 
Thanksgiving  came  round  ;  but  the  times  are  changed,  and  we  along 
with  them.  Nevertheless,  the  strongly  distinct  flavor  of  the  old  family- 
holiday  remains  yet,  and  an  unknown  posterity  continues  a  custom 
whose  prolonged  honor  its  originators  could  hardly  have  foreseen.  If 
this  annual  event  possessed  no  other  meaning  and  instructed  in  no  other 
lesson,  it  would  be  enough  that  it  served  to  draw  together  in  a  restored 
circle  the  scattered  members  of  the  family,  and  to  revive  in  their  hearts 
tlie  tender  memories  and  endeared  associations  of  Home.  Family- 
separations  are  far  more  complete  in  the  present  day  than  they  were 
before  railroads  rent  the  country  asunder  even  while  they  were  binding 
it  more  closely  together.  The  Thanksgiving  reunions,  therefore,  are 
correspondingly  incomplete.  But  the  hallowed  institution  nevertheless 
survives  in  all  its  vigor  under  confessed  change  of  conditions,  and  no 
day  in  the  vear  so  warms  the  heart  and  illuminates  the  home  as  the  one 
that  is  at  hand. 


EDITOR'S  TABLE,  «1 

The  labor  problem  is  by  no  means  one  of  ready  solution  by  either 
side  on  the  question  involved.  Grave  difficulties  and  wearisome  de- 
lays are  to  be  encountered  before  that  solution  shall  be  even  approxi- 
mately furnished.  The  vociferous  debate  over  it  suggests  the  story  of  the 
Tower  of  Babel  to  thoughtful  minds.  Rather  than  concentrate  so  much 
study  on  the  purely  superficial  phases  and  fleeting  features  of  the  matter, 
it  would  appear  to  be  far  more  consistent  with  a  professedly  high  civili- 
zation, like  our  own,  to  direct  all  our  corrective  efforts  at  the  recognized 
root  of  the  whole  matter.  Of  what  avail  is  it  to  consider  present  dis- 
turbances of  the  mutual  relation  of  labor  and  capital  from  standpoints 
wholly  devoid  of  sense,  logic,  or  any  penetrative  knowledge  of  their 
real  cause.'*  Go  to  the  bottom  of  the  matter,  and  see  if  the  whole  of 
that  and  all  the  rest  of  existing  inharmony  of  relation  does  not  spring 
from  the  ruling  desire  for  material  acquisition,  which,  from  long  habit, 
has  both  stunted  and  obstructed  the  growth  and  activity  of  the  higher 
and  the  immortal  qualities  of  man,  his  only  real  being. 

It  is  thoroughly  gratifying  to  note  the  fact  that  the  study  of  history 
in  its  various  departments  is  on  the  rapid  increase.  By  the  help  of 
such  a  pursuit  we  are  guided  more  securely  in  the  uncertain  path  of  the 
future  of  all  our  explorations.  It  is  the  earnest  purpose  of  this  Maga- 
zine to  popularize  history,  to  bring  it  close  to  all  persons'  apprehension 
and  appreciation.  Heretofore,  historical  publications  have  tended 
decidedly  to  dry,  prosy  biography  and  the  petty  detail  of  data  of  inter- 
est too  exclusively  local.  The  New  England  Magazine  is  a  pioneer 
in  the  great  work  of  clothing  instructive  and  valuable  historic  facts  in  a 
dress  as  attractive  and  as  full  of  present  interest  as  will  prove  valuable 
for  the  future  historian,  and  for  posterity  at  large. 

Well  may  an  intelligent  and  thoughtful  person,  who  has  not  yet 
forgotten  the  mandate,  "Man,  know  thyself,"  —  who  is  likewise 
alive  to  the  everlasting  truth  of  progression,  ask,  What  is  Christianity.'* 
Is  there  more  than  one  theology,  namely,  that  taught  of  Christ.'*  and, 
whither  have  we  drifted.'*  Never  did  it  appear  more  plain  that  history 
continues  to  repeat  itself,  and  that  this  age  of  ours  was  never  surpassed 
by  any  preceding  one  in  genuine  idolatry.  The  difference  is  merely 
one  of  custom,  form,  and  degree.  In  point  of  fact,  a  far  larger  per- 
centage of  aim,  effort,  and  devotion  is  given  in  this  day  to  matters  of 
materiality,  to  superficial  selfishness,  than  to  the  things  which  pertain 
to  immortal  life.      The  sooner,  therefore,  the  soul  —  each  individual 


82  EDITOR'S  TABLE, 

person  —  reverses  the  current  and  prevailing  rule  of  life,  which  covet- 
ously exacts  at  least  nine-tenths  of  its  mortal  existence  as  a  tribute  to 
what  is  purely  temporal  and  passing,  and  indifferently  gives  the  remain- 
ing tenth  to  what  have  become  not  much  more  than  blind  and  passive 
longings  of  the  soul,  the  sooner  life  will  begin  in  earnest  and  with  ' 
substantial  hope  of  happiness. 

The  objections  which  refined  and  sensitive  natures  entertain  to  a  life 
in  the  country  are,  after  all,  quite  as  much  sensuous  as  spiritual.  They 
are  shocked,  as  it  were,  with  the  common  gossip  that  thickens  tlie 
social  atmosphere,  when  the  truth  is  that  they  only  demand  gossip  of  a 
better  quality.  Their  objections,  too,  are  social,  and  not  fundamental. 
They  crave  the  warmth  of  a  clear  atmosphere,  though  it  is  at  the 
expense  of  the  oxygen  for  the  health  of  their  spirit's  lungs.  The  ideal 
mind  that  takes  note  of  what  passes  in  country  life  only  reports  what 
are  the  capabilities  of  that  life  ;  poi  trays  its  interior  significance  ;  shows 
what  spirit  of  beauty  lies  slumbering  in  its  external  form  and  fibre  ;  and 
paints  the  sort  of  life  which  so  many  of  its  large  and  free  features  sug- 
gest. 

The  Family  being  the  Unit  of  the  State,  it  is  essential  that  it  be 
kept  an  integer  throughout.  Society  exists  only  on  the  basis  of  its 
individual  elements,  which  again,  in  classification  and  stratification, 
form  its  component  parts.  As  we  cannot  conceive  of  our  relation  to 
the  human  mass  except  as  we  are  first  conscious  of  our  individuality,  so 
we  are  unable  to  recognize  our  relation  to  society  and  the  State  but 
through  our  existence  in  families.  People  are  set  apart  in  this  way  that 
they  may  the  better  feel  the  call  of  social  necessity.  In  a  lump,  there 
could  be  no  such  thing  as  Society.  Nor  could  we  successfully  compass 
it  as  individuals.  It  is  the  grouping  process  that  takes  us  separately 
and  fits  us  into  our  place  in  the  social  state.  And  this  is  no  chance 
mercl}',  but  inflexible  law,  which  we  cannot  disregard  or  disobey, 
because  it  lias  its  roots  in  the  very  instincts  of  our  nature.  Thus  much 
for  the  philosophy  of  the  matter,  which  will  readily  occur  to  the  com- 
monest reflection. 

The  entries  of  fresh  students  in  our  New  England  Colleges,  this  fall, 
are  noticeably  large,  in  almost  all,  if  not  in  all,  instances  showing  a  de- 
cided numerical  increase.  College  education  is  something  that  has  been 
believed  in,  in  this  eastern  section  of  tlie  country,  from  the  beginning  of 


EDITOR'S  TABLE.  83 

its  settlement.  Many  a  father  has  said  to  his  son,  "  I  can  leave  you 
nothing  but  a  good  name  and  example,  but  I  will  equip  you  with  an 
education. "  That  has  been  the  spirit  down  to  this  day,  and  that  is 
why  our  Colleges  are  all  of  them  so  well  sustained  and  flourishing. 
They  teach  sound  morals  as  well  as  train  the  intellectual  faculties,  and 
thus  send  forth  into  the  life  of  the  world  men  of  character  as  well  as 
capacity.  The  College  in  our  country  will  not  easily  be  superseded  by 
the  University,  for  it  answers  as  completely  as  any  educational  method 
can  to  the  actual  and  immediate  wants  of  the  social  life  of  the  time  we 
chance  to  illustrate. 

The  simple  secret  of  Youth  is  the  making  of  the  world  into,  though 
not  out  of  the  Present.  We  need  not  be  oppressed,  cither,  with  any 
fear  of  changing  our  views  continually.  It  is  the  idolatry  of  consistency 
that  dries  up  the  fountain.  We  have  by  no  means  yet  seen  so  much  of 
life  as  to  feel  warranted  in  drooping  our  lids  and  declaring  that  they 
take  in  all.  No  man  can  put  faith  in  immortality,  and  not  believe,  to 
the  extent  and  measure  of  that  faith,  in  immortal  youth.  Life,  here  or 
elsewhere,  is  but  a  perpetual  present.  It  is  God's  own  creation  every 
moment,  as  much  so  as  when  time  began  ;  and  when  we  catch  but 
glimpses  of  that  fact  we  become  illuminated.  Why  should  not  the  rose 
refuse  to  blow  because  it  must  fade  and  fall?  The  spirit  of  the  rose 
would  not  be  there,  if  the  faintest  visible  shadow  crossed  the  joy  of  its 
swelling  heart.  It  is  that  very  spirit  which  creates  the  rose,  and  will 
continue  the  work  of  creation. 

Although  the  weather  was  very  unpropitious  for  the  ceremonies 
attending  the  inauguration  of  the  Bartholdi  Statue  of  Liberty,  on  Bed- 
loe's  Island,  in  New  York  harbor,  the  occasion  was  nevertheless  made 
memorable  by  an  imposing  popular  demonstration,  including  a  mili- 
tary pageant  and  a  naval  display  such  as  is  rarely  witnessed  on  the 
American  continent.  The  statue  that  has  been  erected  there  is  of 
colossal  size,  and  bears  an  uplifted  torch,  whose  highest  point  is  305 
feet  above  the  ocean  level.  The  motto  that  goes  descriptively  with  the 
statue,  is  —  "  Liberty  Enlightening  the  World,  "  and  the  noble  verses 
of  the  poet  Whittier  best  convey  its  full  significance  to  the  mind  of  the 
beholder.  The  conception  of  such  a  colossal  work  of  art  dates  back 
twenty  years,  and  soon  afterwards  its  now  famous  creator,  Bartholdi, 
selected  with  his  own  eyes  the  fitting  place  for  its  final  erection.  It 
symbolizes  the  spirit  of  liberty  for  all  nations,  the  two  which  first  pro- 


84  EDITOR'S  TABLE, 

claimed  it  as  the  inspiration  and  life  of  the  governing  law  being  the 
ones  directly  concerned  in  the  construction  and  placing  of  the  massive 
and  magnificent  symbol. 

In  the  midst  of  our  modern  materialism,  which  compels  pursuits  less 
and  less  calculated  to  kindle  lofty  sentiments  of  any  description,  an 
event  like  the  erection  of  this  noble  statue,  the  visible  embodiment  of  so 
much  that  is  exalted  and  pure  and  free,  comes  like  a  providential  epi- 
sode to  break  the  tyranny  of  self-seeking  and  the  cruelty  of  pride,  and 
to  invite  the  popular  thought  away  from  the  bogs  of  greed  and  conceit 
to  the  healthy  hills  where  the  human  spirit  can  breathe  tlie  pure  and 
bracing  airs  of  worshipful  freedom  and  a  larger  life.  It  becomes  far 
more  than  a  permanent  token,  always  worthy  of  a  reverential  regard,  of 
the  exemplary  friendship  of  France  and  America  at  a  period  of  national 
unrest  and  convulsion  ;  for  it  stands  as  the  recognized  sentinel  of 
liberty  on  the  bulwarks  of  civilization,  flinging  the  free  rays  of  its 
lighted  torch  out  into  the  gloom  of  the  world's  continuous  contentions, 
warning  the  enemies  of  human  freedom  against  further  conspiracies 
for  its  suppression,  and  defending  the  ground  it  has  already  won  for  the 
enjoyment  of  the  human  race  under  divinely  favored  conditions. 


HISTORICAL    RECORD. 

The  earthquake  that  so  nearly  destroyed  Charleston,  S.  C.,on  the 
night  of  August  31st,  and  excited  such  terror  over  a  large  extent  of 
country,  has  returned   for  briefer  and  more  gentle  visits  a  number  or 
times  since,  making  itself  felt,  however,  only  at  the  place  of  its  origin. 
The  various  theories  respecting  its  cause  continue  conspicuous  for  their 
disagreement,  no  explanation  yet  advanced  being  of  a  satisfactory  char- 
acter to  all   sides.     It  is  well  known  that  a  similar  disturbance  of  the 
earth's  crust  occurred  in  Greece,  the  Ionian  Islands,  and  other  lands  of 
the  Mediterranean  Sea,  on  the  29th  of  August.     Some  60,000  houses 
were   destroyed  and  several  hundred  persons  killed,  from  overturn  by 
earthquake  of  four  considerable  towns  and  a  large  number  of  villages 
in  the  Southwestern  Peloponnesus.     And  an  eruption  of  ]Mt.  Vesuvius 
occurred  about  the  same  time. 

The  meeting  of  the  Board  for  tr}ing  the  charges  of  heresy  brought 
against  five  Professors  in  the  Andover  Theological  Seminary  took  place 
at  the  United  States  Hotel,  in  Boston,  on  the  iSth  of  October,  eminent 
legal  counsel  appearing  for  both  sides. 


HISTORICAL   RECORD.  85 

October  abounded  in  the  annual  agricultural  fairs,  from  one  end  of 
New  England  to  the  other.  The  New  England  Society,  united  with 
the  Eastern  Maine,  held  a  week's  most  successful  exhibition  of  agri- 
culture at  Bangor  on  the  ist  of  September,  while  the  young  Bay  State 
Agricultural  Society  gave  a  truly  brilliant  one  in  Mechanics*  Building, 
Boston,  continuing  an  entire  week. 

Centennial  town  celebrations  have  been  what  may  almost  be  called 
plentiful,  all  the  summer  and  into  the  autumn.  Old  Dedham  cele- 
brated its  250th  anniversary  in  September ;  and  the  town  of  Woodstock, 
Conn.,  commemorated  its  200th  anniversary  on  the  2Sth  of  August. 
Other  New  England  towns  indulged  in  similar  public  observances, 
which  are  of  great  efficiency  in  concentrating  local  sentiment  and  cul- 
tivating the  local  historic  spirit. 

«  * 

A  more  than  interesting  dispute  has  grown  out  of  a  reported  conver- 
sation between  ex-Minister  James  Russell  Lowell  and  Mr.  Julian 
Hawthorne,  the  substance  of  which  was  published  by  the  latter  in  the 
New  York  World,  The  interview  was  held  at  the  house  of  Mr. 
Lowell's  daughter,  Mrs.  Burnett,  at  Southboro',  Mass.  It  was  made 
to  yield  an  unusual  amount  of  opinion  on  English  topics,  professedly 
given  by  the  ex-Minister,  whose  opportunities  for  forming  them  must 
be  pronounced  exceptionally  good.  Mr.  Lowell  repudiates  almost  all 
of  it,  and  protests  that  he  had  not  the  remotest  suspicion  of  being  sub- 
jected to  the  interviewer's  operation  ;  while  Mr.  Hawthorne  expresses 
equal  surprise  at  being  told  that  Mr.  Lowell  was  unaware  of  the  pur- 
pose of  the  conversation.  The  dispute  is  one  that  is  quite  likely  to 
enlist  the  sympathies  of  the  personal  and  family  friends  of  both  gentle- 
men, and  thus  to  lead  to  private  contention,  if  not  positive  alienation. 

• 
«  * 

The  discovered  defalcations  of  William  Gray,  Jr.,  who  immediately 
committed  suicide,  and  of  Samuel  G.  Snelling,  who  has  pleaded  guilty 
and  been  sentenced  to  a  seven-years*  term  of  imprisonment  in  the 
Charlestown  State  prison,  both  treasurers  of  large  manufacturing  cor- 
porations, with  offices  in  Boston ;  also  of  George  M.  Bartholomew  of 
Hartford,  Conn.,  the  president  of  a  number  of  rich  corporations,  and 
of  Cashier  Gould  of  the  National  Bank  in  Portland,  Me., — all  four  be- 
ing men  of  the  highest  social  and  financial  standing  previous  to  their 
downfall,  and  their  cases  coming  out  to  the  public  almost  simultaneously 


86  HISTORICAL  RECORD. 

and  within  the  past  few  months,  caused  a  sudden  explosion  of  fears  in 
business  circles  that  at  first  threatened  a  panic  ;  but  the  banking  institu- 
tions stood  steady  all  through  the  exciting  confusion  of  financial  and 
popular  sentiment,  and  thus  helped  to  cool  the  general  view  of  the 
situation  and  hasten  the  restoration  of  public  confidence.  Such  a  closely 
connected  series  of  episodes  in  business  and  financial  history  is  very 
remarkable,  but  it  is  still  doubtful  if  it  leaves  behind  it  the  plain  lesson 
of  business  honesty,  which  is  to  be  learned  anew  by  the  age  that  has 
trifled  with  it  so  recklessly. 

The  long  drought  that  has  prevailed  throughout  New  England  since 
last  summer,  and  which  even  the  regular  recurrence  of  the  autumnal 
equinox  was  unable  to  interrupt,  was  finally  ended  by  the  northeast 
storm  which  set  in  on  the  27th  of  October,  and  continued  for  several 
days.  The  apprehension  was  being  wide  spread  that  winter  might  set 
in  before  the  natural  springs  in  the  earth  were  fed  by  seasonable  rains  ; 
and  the  farmers  of  New  England,  who  depend  directly  upon  these,  ex- 
perienced deep  sensations  of  relief  at  the  welcome  return  of  the  rain. 

« 

The  Methodist  Ministerial  Association  of  Maine,  at  their  meeting- 
held  iit  Goodwin  Falls,  adopted  a  resolution  in  disapproval  of  the  action 
of  the  Old  Orchard  Camp-Meeting  Association  in  extending  an  invita- 
tion to  Rev.  Dr.  Simpson  to  hold  a  Faith  Convention  at  Old  Orchard 

next  summer. 

« 
•  « 

The  Massachusetts  team  was  formally  presented  with  the  Creedmoor 
prizes  for  marksmanship,  which  were  won  by  them  with  such  general 
applause  some  months  ago, — the  value  of  one  of  them  being  $3,500  and 
of  the  other  $500. 

«  « 

At  the  first  meeting  and  dinner  of  the  Liberal  Union  Club  of  Boston, 
at  Young's  Hotel  on  October  31st,  Dr.  Samuel  Kneeland  of  the  Mas- 
sachusetts Institute  of  Technology,  discoursed  in  a  most  instructive 
manner  on  the  nature,  causes,  and  effects  of  earthquakes. 

« 
«  « 

General  Francis  A.  Walker,  President  of  the  Massachusetts  Institute 
of  Technology,  is  at  present  engaged  in  writing  for  publication  his 
personal  reminiscences  of  the  late  civil  war. 


NECROLOGY.  87 

The  commemoration  of  the  250th  anniversary  of  the  founding  of 
Harvard  College  is  to  take  place  this  month,  on  the  5th,  and  the  cere- 
monies will  continue  four  days.  The  second  or  under-graduates*  day  is 
expected  to  be  the  liveliest  of  the  four.  The  fourth  day  will  be  Alumni 
Day,  when  James  Russell  Lowell  is  to  deliver  an  address,  and  Oliver 
Wendell  Holmes  will  read  a  poem,  and  honorary  degrees  will  be  con- 
ferred. 

«  « 

Alfred  Russell  Wallace,  LL.D.,  one  of  the  most  distinguished  of 
British  scientists,  and  the  conceded  discoverer  of  the  idea  which  Dar- 
win more  fully  developed,  lectures  on  "Darwinism,"  at  the  Lowell 
Institute  in  Boston,  during  the  current  month,  giving  a  course  of  eight 
lectures. 


NECROLOGY. 

Colonel  Joseph  Selden  died  in  Norwich,  Conn.,  on  the  tenth  of 
March  last,  at  the  age  of  63  years.  He  was  born  in  Lyme,  Conn.,  in 
1822,  and  represented  both  that  town  and  the  city  of  Norwich  in  the 
Legislature,  and  earned  his  military  title  by  honorable  service  during 
the  war  with  the  South.  He  was  United  States  Internal  Revenue  Col- 
lector in  his  district  from  1869  to  1885.  Col.  Selden  was  a  lineal  de- 
scendant of  Thomas  Selden,  who  settled  in  Hartford  in  1635,  through 
his  son  Joseph,  who  settled  in  Lyme. 

«  « 

Sylvester  Gilderslbbve  died  at  Portland  Centre,  Conn.,  March 
15,  at  the  advanced  age  of  91  years  and  17  days.  He  was  a  grandson 
of  Obadiah  Gildersleeve,  who  came  from  Sag  Harbor,  L.  I.,  and 
established  the  Gildersleeve  shipyard  in  1776.  To  the  business  his  son 
Philip  succeeded,  and  Sylvester  took  it  from  his  father.  The  latter  was 
bom  in  Portland,  Conn.,  February  25,  1795.  When  but  twenty  years 
of  age  he  went  to  Sackett's  Harbor,  N.  Y.,  to  superintend  the  building 
of  a  one-hundred-gun  ship  for  the  Government,  but  whose  completion 
was  stopped  by  the  closing  of  the  war  with  England.  In  his  day  he 
built  more  than  one  hundred  vessels,  one  of  which  was  destroyed  by 
the  Confederate  cruiser  Alabama. 


Mr.  Oliver  Swain,  the  oldest  Freemason  in  New  Bedford,  Mass., 
died  October  26,  at  the  age  of  90.  He  kept  the  first  shoe  store  in  New 
Bedford,  and  continued  in  the  business  for  over  fifty  years. 


«8  NECROLOGY. 

Mr.  Israel  K.  Jewett,  of  Ipswich,  Mass.,  died  suddenly  on  the 
26th  of  October.  Mr..  Jewett  was  eighty-seven  years  old.  He  had 
been  engaged  in  the  grocery  business  in  Ipswich  for  more  than  sixty- 
two  years,  and  occupied  the  same  store  during  the  whole  of  that  time. 

«  « 

Attorney-General  Mason  W.  Tappan  died  at  his  home  in 
Bradford,  N.  H.,  on  the  25th  of  October,  from  the  effects  of  apoplexy, 
with  which  he  was  stricken  on  the  ist  of  the  month.  He  was  a  man  of 
State  distinction.  His  funeral  was  attended  by  citizens  from  every  part 
of  New  Hampshire  as  well  as  from  other  States.  His  age  was  sixty- 
nine. 

Jami:s  a.  Dupee,  a  well-known  financial  agent  in  Boston,  and  for 
some  years  past  treasurer  of  the  Appleton  and  Hamilton  Manufacturing 
Companies  of  Lowell,  died  suddenly  in  that  city  on  a  late  day  in 
October,  at  the  age  of  67  years. 

*  « 

IIox.  J.  B.  Clark,  of  Manchester,  N.  H.,  died  by  his  own  hand  in 
the  latter  part  of  October,  the  cause  being  ascribed  to  chagrin  over 
political  disappointment.  Mr.  Clark  was  one  of  the  best  known 
citizens  of  New  Hampshire,  as  he  was  one  of  the  most  public  spirited. 

Mr.  Nathan  Prince,  of  Danvers,  ^lass.,  died  on  the  29th  of 
October,  at  the  age  of  nearly  90  years.  He  was  a  member  of  the 
Massachusetts  Charitable  Mechanics*  Association,  a  master  builder  by 
profession,  and  in  his  prime  one  of  the  most  active  in  Boston. 

«  * 

Miss  Mary  Orne  Pickering,  of  Salem,  Mass.,  grand-daughter  of 
the  late  Col.  Timothy  Pickering,  the  eminent  jurist  and  officer  of  the 
Revolutionary  Army,  died  in  October.  She  came  of  sterling  Salem 
stock.  Her  ancestry  is  among  the  most  honored  in  the  old  colonial 
city.  Her  father,  Hon.  John  Pickering,  was  a  leader  of  the  bar  and  a 
noted  oriental  and  classical  scholar.  She  was  distinguished  for  her 
high  literary  culture,  and  inherited  the  talents  of  her  father. 

« 
«  « 

C01-.  CiiARi-ES  Gordon  Greene,  the  founder  of  the  Boston  Posi^ 
<licd  on  the  25th  of  September,  at  his  residence  in  Boston.  Col.  Greene 
was  widely  known  among  newspaper  men  in  his  day  and  in  the  coun- 


1 


NECROLOGY.  S9 

■cils  and  active  work  of  the  Democratic  party,  to  which  he  belonged, 
and  in  his  time  the  Post  ^aB  one  of  the  most  popular  papers  of  the 
country.     His  age  was  Sz. 

Hon.  Thomas  Parsons  died  in  Brookline  in  October.  A  well- 
known  public  man  and  a  sterling  citizen.  His  funeral  was  largely  at- 
tended, Governor  Robinson  and  other  Stale  officials  being  present,  the 
Stale  Board  of  Prison  Commissioners,  of  which  the  deceased  was  chair- 
man, being  represented,  the  Beard  of  Selectmen  of  Brookline,  and  the 
Brookline  Public  Library  and  School  Committee. 


Miss  Luchktia  Crocker,  a  member  of  the  Boston  Board  of  Sup- 
ervisors of  Public  Schools,  and  prominently  connected  with  educational 
matters  in  Boston  for  the  past  twelve  years,  died  last  month  at  the  age 
of  about  55  years.  Miss  Crocker  was  born  in  Barnstable,  and  was  the 
eldest  daughter  of  the  late  Hon.  Henry  Crocker,  at  one  time  sherifT  of 
Suffolk  county.  She  had  been  a  teacher  at  the  State  Normal  School  at 
West  Newton,  in  private  schools  at  Framingham  and  in  Boston,  and  at 
Antioch  College,  O.,  under  Horace  Mann.  She  and  five  other  ladies 
were  the  first  of  their  sex  lo  sit  on  the  Boston  School  Board.  She  was 
the  only  ^oman  to  be  chosen  a  member  of  the  Board  of  School  Super- 


Mr.  Ebenezer  C.  Blackmer,  the  oldest  Mason  in  Strafford  county, 
N.  H.,  died  in  October  aged  87.  He  had  been  a  Mason  fifty-seven 
years,  and  had  taken  thirty-two  degrees. 

Deacon  Thomas  Ghiggs,  the  oldest  resident  of  Brookline,  Mass., 
died  in  October  at  the  age  ot  98.  He  was  bom  in  the  town  in  which 
he  died  and  in  which  he  had  been  a  resident  all  his  life.  He  was 
captain  of  militia  when  the  war  of  1812  broke  out,  but  was  not  called 
into  active  service.  He  became  identified  with  the  Baptist  Church  in 
early  life,  in  which  he  acquired  his  title  of  Deacon.  He  had  held 
several  town  offices,  and  had  represented  the  town  in  the  Legislature. 

Mrs.  Nancy  Mead  Holland  died  suddenly  at  Walpole,  N.  H., 
aged  89  years.  She  was  the  widow  of  Ephraim  Holland,  a  pensioner 
of  the  war  of  iSi  2,  who  died  many  years  ago,  and  was  once  proprietress 


90  NECROLOGY. 

of  the  Pemberton  House,  Boston,  and  afterwards  of  the  old  Cheshire 
House  at  Keene,  N.  H.  She  used  to  drive  her  cows  to  pasture  on 
Boston  Common  in  the  olden  days. 

Col.  Charles  C.  Whittlesy^  the  distinguished  geologist  and 
scholar,  died  in  Cleveland,  O.,  last  month.  He  was  born  in  South- 
ington,  Conn.,  in  iSoS,  and  after  scning  in  the  legal  and  journalistic 
callings  turned  his  attention  to  engineering  pursuits,  and  was  em- 
ployed on  the  geological  surveys  of  Ohio  and  Wisconsin.  He  con- 
ducted the  mineralogical  surveys  of  Michigan,  Minnesota,  and  Wis- 
consin. 

«  • 

James  Collins  died  at  Lawrence,  Mass.,  last  month,  at  the  reputed 
age  of  113  years.  He  was  a  native  of  County  Cork,  Ireland,  and  came 
to  this  country  when  93  years  old,  and  engaged  in  laboring  work  until 
1876,  when  he  took  to  choring  and  garden  work  until  last  year. 

*  * 

Austin  T.  Pike,  United  States  Senator  for  New  Hampshire,  dropped 
dead  on  his  farm  at  noonday,  near  Franklin  Falls,  N.  H.,  last  month. 
He  was  67  years  of  age.  Besides  holding  many  important  State  offices, 
he  was  a  member  of  Congress  from  1872  to  1874,  and  was  elected 
United  States  Senator  in  1SS3. 

« 

Mrs.  Eunice  M.  Fiske,  widow  of  Emery  Fiske,  died  in  October  at 
Wellesley  Hills,  Mass.,  aged  87.  She  taught  school  in  her  early  days> 
in  Natick,  and  had  among  her  pupils  Judge  Bacon,  of  the  Massachusetts 
Superior  Court,  the  late  Judge  Morse,  and  Rev.  Daniel  Wight. 

« 

*  « 

Mrs.  Francis  F.  Dwight,  of  Stockbridge,  Mass.,  died  last  month 
at  the  age  of  89  years.  She  was  a  woman  distinguished  for  those  fine 
qualities  which  marked  the  generation  she  had  survived.  Her  husband 
was  Col.  Henry  W.  Dwight,  who  represented  the  old  Berkshire  district 
in  Congress  for  ten  years,  from  182 1,  and  her  early  married  life  wa» 
passed  in  Washington.  She  possessed  a  queenly  bearing,  was  intel- 
lectual, hospitable,  charitable,  and  had  a  winning  personality. 


INDEX   Of  MAGAZINE    UTERATURE. 


INDEX  TO  MAGAZINE   LITERATURE. 
i,OCTOBEIi,   1886.) 

Art,  AacHiTECTunE.  Mussulman  Art,  D.  G.  /fnhbiirit.  jo.  —  Artietic  Hints 
in  Amateur  Photographj-.  Sylvester  Baxl-r.  7.  —  Send  back  the  Obcirsk. 
Cias.  Chailli  I^ong.    4. 

Biography,  Gknhalogv.  Joel  Bartow.  Erntsl  WkitHcy.  11. — John  WeUh, 
E.  S.  Nadal.  9.— A  ScottiBh  Mystic.  Miss  AffHes  Maule  Macliar.  3,—  A  mad 
Monarch  (Ludwig  11.)  £.  P.  Evani.  c— A  Litcrarj'  Athlete  (John  Wilson). 
Ed-aiard  F.  Hayviard.  11.  —  An  American  Queen  tMra.  Bannister).  Gail 
Hamilton.     4. 

Civfl.  War.  The  National  Home  for  Disabled  Volunteer  Soldiers.  Maria 
Barrtll  Butter.  2.— Corinth.  Gea.  W.  S.  Rosecrans.  1.— Stonewall  Jack- 
son's Last  Battle.  Capt.  yames  P.  Smith.  1.  — Personal  Reminiscences  of 
Stonewall  Jackson.      Margaret  J.  Preston,      i. 

Descriptios,  Travels,  Ad  vesture.  The  Story  of  Tanis.  Amelia  B. 
Edwards.  3. — <jlouce8ter  Fishers.  FrankliH  If.  North,  i. — A  Norwegian 
Poefs  Home.  H.  L.  Bra-kstad.  i.— American  Explorers  in  Abbos.  F.  H. 
Bacen.  i. — The  Biographers  of  Lincoln.  Clarence  King.  1. — Europe  on 
Nothing  Certain  a  Year.  Mary  Weatierbee.  i.— Around  the  World  on  a. 
Bicycle.  XIII.  Thomas  Stevens.  7.— The  Sunset  Land.  VIII  and  IX.  Caft. 
Edward  Keaneys,  Jr.     7.— The  Last  Voyage  of  the  Surprise.     VI.     7. 

EdITCatioK.  How  I  Was  Educated.  Pres't  %  R.  Ktndriek.  14.— The 
Necessity  for  Moral  and  Industrial  Training  in  the  Public  Schools.  George  R. 
Stetson.  3.— Hand-CraR  and  Rede-Craa.  Pres.  D.  C.  Gilman.  ».— Common 
Schools  Ahroad.  Matlhciu  Arnold.  1. — The  Rise  of  Arabian  Learning. 
Ed-ward  Hungcrford.     11. 

History.  The  Ursulinca  of  Quebec.  Charles  de  Kay.  i.— History  of 
American  Yachting.  Capt.  Roland  F.  Coffin.  7.— The  Rise  of  Arabian  Learn- 
ing.    Edward  Hnngerford.      11. 

LlTERATURB.  Americanisms  in  England.  Bishop  A.  C.  Coxe.  14. — The 
Oldest  German  Romance.  Prof.  E.  P.  Evani.  !O.^Sweetnesa  and  Light. 
At'eric  Slandisk  Franeii.  30. — Shakspere's  Julius  Caisar.  Ernest  Whitney. 
3t.— How  to  Choose  a  Library.  F.  N.  Zabriskie.  9.— The  Author  who 
Could  not  Help  it.  Geo.  P.  Lathrop.  o.  —  The  History  of  James.  Grant 
Allen.  9. —The  Spiritual  Element  in  Modern  Literature.  Hamilton  W. 
Mabie.     3.— A  Literary  Athlete  CJohn  Wilson).     Ed-ward F.  Hayward.      it. 

MiBCBLLANBOus.  The  Home  Acre.  Part  Vlll.  E.  P.  Roe.  I. —The 
Witches  of  Venice.      Elizabeth  Rabins  Fennell.      11. 

Politics,  Economics,  Public  Affaire.  The  Heart  of  Speculation,  yohii  F. 
Hume.  14.  — The  KishcrieB  Dispute.  W.  C.  Ford.  14-— The  Tramp  and  the 
Law,  Samuel  I^avitt.  14. —  Are  Women  Fairly  Paid?  LUlie  Drvermx  Blalie 
Prof.  Van  Buren  Drnslo-a:  14.  — The  States  General  of  France.  Francis  W 
Kelsey.  21. — The  Future  of  Reform.  21. —  Friction  between  Labor  and  Cap- 
ital. George  May  Powell.  9.  —  United  State*  Naval  Artillery.  Rear-Admirat 
Ed-aard  Simpson,  U.  S.  A.  i.- Race  Prejudices.  N.  S.  Shaler.  it.—f 
trstion.  Prof.  Richard  T.  Ely.  4.  — Silver  and  Savings  Banks.  Willi 
Paine,  Z.Z..  2>.  4.  —  Labor  in  Pennsylvania.  Henry  George.  4.  —  Woman 
Suffrage.  Mrs.  Livermore.  4.  —  Prohibition.  Petroleum  V.  Nasty.  4.  - 
Blaine  on  the  Tariff.     Prof.   W-  G.  Samner.    4- 

Rbcreatios,  Sports.  College  Athletic  Sports.  Prof.  C.  A,  Touug.  14. — 
Experiences  of  a  Base -Ball  Umpire.  Joe.  y.  Ellick.  9. —  History  of  American 
Yachting.     Capt.  Roland  F.  Coffin.     7. 

Religion,  Morals.  Shall  Sunday  be  Preserved?  Prof.  Nraman  Smyth. 
14.  —  Religion  its  own  Evidence.     Rrv.  George  Batchelor.     10. — The  Eucharis- 


92 


LITERATURE   AND   ART. 


W.  H.  Mallock.     14.  — 

Rev.  S.  /?.  Calikrop, 

21. — The  Monist   and 

DeV,   Greeley.     21. — 


tic  Service.  Edward  Hungerford.  21. — Cremation  and  Christianity.  Allen 
G.  Bigclow.     4. 

Science,  Natural  History,  Discovery,  Ijtv'extions.     The  Keely  Motor. 
W.  II.  Babcock.     9. — Autumn    in    England.     Lucy   C.  Lillie.     2. — My  Real 
Estate.     Bradford  Torrey.     11. — Earthquake  Probabilities.     Richard  A.  Proc- 
tor.    4. 

Theology,  Polemics.     The  Convalescence  of  Faith. 
Confessions  of  a  Unitarian.     14.  —  Israel's  Last  Word. 
20. — The   Eucharistic   Service.     Edivard  Ilungcrford. 
the  Scotist  View-point  in  Relation  to    Satisfaction.     C. 

Theism  and  Evolution.  Prof.  W.  R.  Benedict.  3.  —  Buddhism's  Best  Gospel. 
Rex>.  jM.  L.  Gordon.  3.  —  liosea's  Testimony  to  the  Pentateuch.  Prof.  Wil" 
Ham  Henry  Greene. 

1  The  Century. 

2  Harder  5  ^fonthly. 

3  A  ftaorer  Re^'ieiv. 

4  North  American  Rer'tew. 
b  Popular  Science  Monthly. 
♦'»  Magazine  of  Am.  History. 

7  Outing. 

8  Education. 

9  Lippincott's  Magazine. 

10  Overland  Mont/ily. 

11  Atlantic  Monthly. 

12  New  England  Historical  and  Genealogical 

Register. 


13  Rhode  Island  Historical  Magatine. 

14  The  Forum. 

16  New  Princeton  Rrvievj. 
10  The  Brooklyn  Magazine. 

17  The  Southern  Bix'ouac. 

18  The  Citizen. 

1 9  Political  Science  Quarterly. 

20  Unitarian  Revieto. 

21  New  Englander. 

22  Magazine  of  A  rt. 

23  Nc7v  England  Magazine. 

24  Nrw-ycrusalem  Magazine. 


LITERATURE  AND  ART. 


T/ic  Cyclorama  of  the  Battles  of  \'icksburg^  located  on  55th 
Street  and  7th  Avenue,  New  York,  is  still  a  great  attraction  to  visiting^ 
strangers.  Those  who  never  participated  in  battle  can  form  a  better 
conception  ot  the  vicissitudes  and  horrors  of  war  by  one  glance  at  this 
great  picture  than  by  the  portrayal  by  book,  however  graphic. 


«  « 


The  earlier  portion  of  the  history  of  this  nation  is  made  up  so  largely 
of  the  history  of  Massachusetts*  that  we  are  apt  to  lose  sight  of  the  fact 
that  there  is  much  in  the  Commonwealth  which  does  not  appear  in 
a  national  history;  and  are  not  there  given  the  attention  as  to 
details  and  effect  that  would  be  very  useful  to  a  citizen  of  New  England. 
But  the  later  hislorv  is  scarcely  found  in  these  at  all.  It  is  believed 
that  the  present  volume  is  the  first  published  attempt  yet  made  to 
trace  the  history  of  the  vState  since  the  year  1S20.  The  period  inter- 
vening has  witnessed  the  growth  of  many  conflicting  opinions,  the 
rise  and  development  ot  new  parties,  the  sudden  outburst  of  passions 
which  had  long  been  dormant,  and  our  whole  part  in  the  war  of  the 
Slave-holders'  Rebellion.  Students  will  wish  that  the  dates  were  a  little 
more  readily  apparent ;  neither  is  there  desirable  fulness  in  respect  to 
occurrences  that  aflect  the  commercial,  industrial  and  social  interests 
of  the  people  rather  than  the  political ;  yet  this  addition  would  have 
swelled  the  volume  to  inconvenient  size.  The  paper  is  of  good  qual- 
ity and  the  type  is  large  and  clear. 

[*The  lli^rniy  of  MnttAnchusert:*,  fmm  the  T^ndinir  nf  the  Pilgrims  to  the  present 
By  Ueorge  Lowell  Austin ;  pp.  6W.    Ikistou ;  U.  B.  Russell.] 


New  England  Magazine 


BAY   STATE  MONTHLY. 


Vol.  V.  No.  2.  December,   i8S6.  Whole  No.  26. 


ART  IN   BOOK    ILLUSTRATION.— II.* 


nV  CHARLES  EDWIN  HURD, 


With  the  recurrence  of  the  Christmas  hoHdays  comes  the 
customary  flood  of  illustrated  books  which,  for  the  time,  crowds 
out  everything  of  a  more  solid  and  thoughtful  character.  In  the 
preparation  of  these  innumerable  volumes  every  possible  branch 
of  art  is  represented,  from  the  costly  reproductions  of  drawings 
and  paintings  by  photogravure,  phototype  and  heliotype  to  the 
plainest  woodcuts;  the  former  representing  a  means  of  illustra- 
tion which  is  too  expensive  to  ever  become  popular,  and  the 
latter  the  method  which,  in  its  various  degrees  of  excellence,  will 
for  many  years  to  come  serve  as  the  most  available  means  of 
artistic  pictorial  expression. 

•No.  I.  InlhiiietiesiMspiiblishedin  VoLlV.,  No.  I.  of  The  New  Enclawd  MAGAiihB. 

OxiTTlf  U,  1M«,  Iv  ArUuir  P.  Sndf^    AU  rlfkU  HMmd. 


iHSr^  BOOK  ILLUSTRATION. 

■ji^av-ing  has  reached  what  may  be  conSt 

U  is  difficult  to  understand  how  it  can  be 

■  ■:  may  be  made  to  produce  better  results 

■V  of  such  engravers  as  Linton,  Closson, 

•\     .;.  KrucU,  Johnson,  Cole  and  others.     It 

-  :■  ..-  of  producing  almost  every  possible  effect, 

v.- ■-:.-..>  .iilvantage,  it  will   be   difficult   Co   supplant 


.*  *V  ^  v^lher  method  which,  however  admirable  in  its  way, 
■  .  tv<won  of  mechanical  processes,  to  work  along   a 

M^tnition, 

I  u  viic,  uomc  of  the  best  and  most  effective  work  yet 

^**  (t^».  C^Hinlry  has  been  done  by  Boston  houses,  for  ex- 

^^^inj  j|l  jVti"  edition  of  "  Lalla  Rookh,"  issued  a  year  or  two 

*  W   tiwTs  Return,"  just  published;    "Heroines  of  the 

^  ^Kh  «»d  pastorals,"  and  "  Youth  in  Twelve  Centuries," 

\  Mvwl  U)  some  admirabie  work  in  this  line  done  in  New 


ART  LV  BOOK  ILLUSTRATION. 


97 


York  and  Philadelphia,  but  the  references  made  will  be  sufficient 
to  illustrate  what  we  have  been  saying.  The  photogravure  is  cap- 
able of  exquisite  softness  and  of  an  infinite  variety  of  tones  and 
tints,  but  the  process  has  not  been  sufficiently  developed  to  pro- 
duce a  strong  and  vigorous  picture  with  clearness  in  the  shadows. 
In  fact,  none  of  the  methods  in  which  photography  bears  a  part 
can  be  absolutely  depended  on  to  secure  exact  results.  The  diffi- 
culties are  not  insurmountable,  however,  and  the  ma 
workers  who    are    continually   expcrimentini;   to    ovcrc 


special  obstacles,  must  sooner  or  later,  by  direct  attempt  or  ac- 
cident, discover  the  secret  and  place  the  art  on  an  absolutely 
certain  foundation. 

Another  line  of  reproductive  art,  closely  allied  to  photogravure, 
is  the  phototype,  which  gives  excellent  effects  in  black  and  white, 
and  which  has  been  used  in  the  illustration  of  a  number  of  expen- 
sive art  books. 

The  capacities  of  the  heliotype  and  Albert-type  have  been  long 
known,  and  they  undoubtedly  have  a  wider  practical  value  than 
cither  the  photogravure  or  phototype.  There  is,  however,  a  flat- 
ness and  poverty  of  tone  about  both  that  prevents  their  extensive 


I 


,98  ART  IN  BOOK  ILLUSTRATION. 

use  in  fine  art  illustration.  For  reproductions  for  business  pur- 
poses, architectural  views,  and  ordinary  book  illustration  they 
serve  an  excellent  purpose. 

But  to  come  back  to  wood  engraving.  To  compare  the  work  of 
the  present  year  with  that  of  the  last  in  the  same  line,  we  select 
half  a  dozen  volumes  which  have  been  issued  by  our  local  pub- 


»  RUSTIC  REST 


[F.on 


lishers.  Reference  has  already  been  made  to  the"  Earl's  Return," 
That  volume  is  illustrated  both  by  photogravures  and  wood  en- 
gravings. Turning  over  its  pages  we  find  a  number  of  plates 
which  are  charming  in  drawing  and  general  character,  and  which 
are  remarkable  for  the  truth  and  accuracy  with  which  the  en- 
graver has  preserved  the  feeling  and  characteristics  of  the 
artist.  Here,  for  instance,  is  one  illustrating  the  lini 
poem: 

"  Sometimes  she  sat  'twixt  the  mildewy  beds 
Of  the  sea-singed  flowers  in  the  pleasaunce  garden," — 


ART  IN  BOOK  ILLUSTRATION. 


a  bit  as  fine,  in  its  way,  as  anything  we  have  seen  in  any  gift-book 
for  the  year.      Equally  good  in  execution,  but    less  interesting 


bjcct    is  the  moonlight    view,    where    the    landscape 

"  Steeped  pale  in  the  light 
Of  the  stars,  when  the  bells  and  the  clocks 
Had  ceased  in  Uie  tower." 


Tom  Hood's  sweet  little  lyric,  "  Fair  Inez,"  contains  a  dozen  or 


ART  IN  BOOK  ILLUSTRATION. 


niori;    charminy    pictures,    two    of    which   wc    reproduce. 

are    fairly  representative    of    the    illustrations    as    a    whole,    and 


while    the  engraver  stands    between    the    reader    and  the    artist, 
one  can   feel   the   individuality  of    the  latter  behind  the  work. 


I 


ART  IX  HOOK  ILLUSTRATION. 
.  accompanies  the  closing  stanza  nT  the  poem- 

■'  Farewell,  farewell,  fair  Inez  \ 

Thai  vessel  never  bore 

So  fair  a  lady  on  ils  deck, 

Nor  danced  so  tight  before,—  " 


is  especially  good,  snd  is  another  instance  where  the  engraver  has 
(lone  hi)i  work  in  sympathy  with  the  artist. 

We  give  two  wood-cuts  from  Joseph  Pcnneil's  new  book.  '-Two 
Pilgrims"  Progress,"  which  show  a  totally  diflTercnt  and  yet  verj- 
effective  method  of  illustration.  They  are  evidence  of  how  much 
can  be  done  with  a  few  tines.  They  suggest  much  more  than 
many  elaborate  pictures,  and  it  requires  really  as  much  artistic 
knowledge  and  skill  to  do  what  a  crilie  would  consider  acceptable 


A  series  of  full-page  engravings  in  a  holiday  edition  of 
Wordsworth's  "Ode  on  the  Intimations  of  Immortality,"  affords 
bome  excellent  examples  of  the  wood  engraver's  art,  and  one  may 
turn  over  in  the  investigation  of  this  subject  scores  of  volumes  on 
any  bookseller's  counter  and  draw  his  own  conclusions  as  to  the 
advance  made  in  book  illustration  during  the  past  twelve  months, 
if  there  has  really  been  such  advance. 

We  have  been  speaking  particularly  of  methods.  But  there  is 
something  more  to  be  considered  than  the  mere  mechanical  way 


I  of  doing  things.     We  have  an  already  large  and  constantly  increas- 

H  ing  school  of  young  American  draughtsmen,  many  of  whom  have 

B  studied  abroad,  and  have  brought  home  with  them  some  of  that 

I  inventive  quickness  and  skill  in  the  art  of  drawing  that  have  made 

H  the  French  and  Germans  masters  in  that  branch  of  art.     They  not 

I  only  draw  well,  but  they  have  learned  the  importance  of  proper 

I  grouping,  of  contrast,  and  of  composition,  while  the  engraver  has 

H  learned  that  his  work  requires  him  to  be  as  much  of  an  artist  as 

■  the  draughtsman  himself.     The  designer  no  longer  occupies  an  in- 

H  feiior  position.     In  his  department  he  holds  as  important  a  place 


COMPLETENESS. 


los 


as  docs  the  painter  in  his  especial  domain.  He  is  as  much  of  a 
creator;  and  the  fact  that  he  often  draws  his  inspiration  from  the 
works  he  is  called  upon  to  illustrate  does  not  cause  him  to  rank 
any  lower  than  the  artist  who  evolves  his  pictures  from  his  own 
P  imagination  or  is  inspired  by  the  living  subject. 


COMPLETENESS. 

BY   JAMES   G.    CLARK- 

O  love  that  all  my  being  warms ! 
O  love  that  shields  my  life  from  storms ! 
O  love  that  every  impulse  wills, 
And  everj'  flitting  fancy  fills  ! 

0  love  tliat  shines  through  all  my  dreams 
Like  starlight  through  the  summer  strearr.s 
That  thrills  with  melody  my  days. 

And  rounds  all  discord  into  praise  ! — 

1  lean  my  face  upon  thy  breast 
As  bends  the  noon-ray  to  the  west, 
And  calmly,  in  my  open  boat, 

I  floating  sing  and  singing  float. 
I  wait  no  more  by  wayside  lakes. 
To  dally  with  the  reeds  and  brakes; 
Behind  me  fade  the  mountain  snows. 
And  in  my  face  the  June  wind  blows, 
While  strong  and  wide  the  cunents  sweep 
Toward  the  ever-calling  deep. 

0  love  that  rocks  me  in  its  arms. 
And  makes  me  brave  amidst  alarms  ! 

1  know  not  where  thy  stream  mav  lead, 
Through  rocky  pass  or  flowerj'  mead, 

I  only  feel  that  I  am  blest ; 
I  only  know  I  am  at  rest. 


THE  CIVIL  WAR  IN  1862. 


THE    CIVIL    WAR    IN     186a. 
A  CAMPAIGN  OF  CONTRASTS. 


By  general  HENRY  B.  CARRINGTON,  LL.  D.« 

The  year  1861  closed  with  enormous  preparations  on  the  part  of 
the  North  to  operate  the  succeeding  campaign  upon  each  of  the 
three  great  military  zones.     The  country  beyond  the  Mississippi  . 
river  constituted  the  right  zone,  while  that  east  of  the  Blue  Ridge 
mountains,  as  far  south  as  the  Savannah  river,  marked  the  It-ftzone.    . 
The  centre  zone  was  between    these,  but  bounded  at  its  lower 
left  by  the  Savannah  river  and  the  Atlantic  ocean,  with  the  Gulf  ^  1 
of  Mexico  as  its  southern  limit.     This  zone  contained  a  semi- 
neutral  region,  not  quadrangular  in  form,  but  so  disposed  that   -■ 
upon  three  faces  there  were  offensive  elements  which  suppressed 
local  union  sentiment,  prevented  its  concentration,  and  developed 
a  guerilla  warfare  wholly  repugnant  to  the  methods  of  civilized 
war.     The  Kanawha  river  on  the  east  and  the  Tennessee  river  on 
the  south  and  west  bounded  this  tract,  while  the  railroad  from 
Richmond,  Va.,  to  Memphis,  via  Lynchburg,  Cleveland,  Chatta- 
nooga, Decatur  and  Corinth,  and  running  behind  the  Cumberland 
mountains,    represented   an    interior  line  of  quick  transit  which 
greatly  aided  Confederate  movements.     Divisions  of  troops  alter- 
nately fought  near  Richmond,  and  at  the  west,  while  the  ultimate 
transfer  of  the  Federal  Qlh  and  nth  corps  from  the  Potomac  to 
Tennessee,  involved  a  long  detour,  via  Columbus,  Ohio,  and  In-    , 
dianapolis,  Indiana. 

The  campaign  of  1862  opened. 

The  nation  was  earnest  in  recruiting  regiments,  manufacturing 
arms,  and  forcing  all  resources  and  activities  into  service.  Botli 
army  and  navy  had  been  created  almost  from  nothing,  each  eager 
for  the  conflict.  The  fear  of  foreign  intervention  called  out  by  . 
the  Trent  affair  had  subsided,  and  the  chief  actors  in  the  gre^t 
drama  were  giving  the  last  touches  to  preparations  and  armaments^ 
which  were  to  be  hurled  against  the  Confederacy,     Fleets  had  < 

•Author  of  "BBttlH  of  the 


THE  CIVIL  WAR  IN  1862.  107 

taken  the  lead,  and  the  blockade  of  southern  harbors  was  becom- 
ing practical  and  stringent. 

Up  to  the  middle  of  January  nothing  of  importance  had  taken 
place.  Skirmishing,  reconnoitering  and  foraging  were  the  order 
of  the  day,  until  January  I2th,  when  the  campaign  was  opened 
by  the  start  of  General  Burnside.  with  four  brigades,  numerous 
transports  and  gun-boats,  from  Fortress  Monroe,  with  sealed 
orders. 

The  West  took  up  its  march.  Concentration  of  troops  had 
taken  place  in  Missouri,  in  Illinois,  near  Cairo,  and  in  northern 
Kentucky,  on  the  Louisville  and  Nashville  railroad. 

Iron-clad  gun-boats  had  been  built  and  placed  on  the  Ohio  and 
Mississippi  rivers. 

On  the  19th  of  January  the  first  clang  of  arms  resounded  from 
Kentucky,  and  the  first  Federal  victory  was  gained  by  General 
Lorenzo  H.  Thomas,  over  General  Zollikofier,  at  Mill  Springs,  Ky 
1  he  navy  responded  by  a  brilliant  exploit  on  the  Tennessee  river, 
where  Admiral  Foote.  February  6th,  captured  Fort  Henry. 

In  Missouri.  General  Curtis  advanced  to  Springfield,  against 
Price.  General  Grant  moved  toward  Fort  Donalson,  along  the 
peninsula  formed  by  the  Cumberland  and  Tennessee  rivers.  Gen- 
eral Buel  crowded  the  Confederates  back  upon  Bouling  Green, 
Ky.,  while  smaller  corps  took  the  direction  of  Cumberland  Gap. 
The  whole  west,  for  600  miles,  was  alive,  and  felt  the  onward 
spur,  Fort  Donalson,  on  the  Cumberland,  below  Dover,  fell 
February  15th.  aftera  severe  fight,  yielding  nearly  15,000  prison- 
ers, as  well  as  great  material  of  war.  Pressed  in  front  at  Bowling 
Green,  outflanked  b/  the  gun-boats  and  General  Grant's  army, 
the  Confederate  troops  in  Kentucky  found  their  communications 
endangered,  and  General  Duel's  army  occupied  Nashville. 

Crowded  by  General  Grant,  Columbus,  one  of  the  strongest  bar- 
riers to  the  passage  of  the  Mississippi,  was  evacuated,  and  New 
Madrid  and  Island  No.  10  fell,  aft::r  such  marvels  of  engineering 
as  few  wars  have  developed.  The  upper  Mississippi  was  re-opened 
to  northern  navigation. 

In  Missouri,  again,  important  events  rapidly  took  place,  until 
Price  retreated  to  Arkansas,  and  Springfield  was  occupied  by 
Federal  troops,  But  Price,  rc-inforced  by  Arkansas  and  Texas 
auxiliaries  and  nearly  six  thousand  Indians,  making  about  thirty 


THE  CIVIL   WAR  IX  1S62.  109 

thousand  men,  all  under  Van  Dorn,  advanced  from  Fayctteviile 
against  General  Curtis,  who  concentrated  his  army  at  Fca  Ridge, 

The  confederates  left  iJie  main  road,  gained  the  same  latitude 
with  the  Federal  army,  turned  their  position,  and  forced  them  to 
fnce  north-east,  in  the  engagement  that  ensued.  On  the  8th  of 
March  the  battle  was  fought,  and  by  a  skillful  flank  movement 
of  General  Siegel,  the  Confederates  were  dislodged  and  forced  to 
retreat. 

General  Grant  had  already  moved  his  army  to  the  left  bank  of 
the  Tennessee  and  encamped  near  Shiloh,  at  Pittsburg  Landing, 
The  divisions  of  Sherman,  Ilurlburt,  McClerland.  Prentiss.  Smith 
and  Lew  Wallace,  were  combined.  Beauregard,  joined  by  the 
troops  coming  from  Columbus,  under  General  Folk,  and  by  a 
corps  from  Mobile  under  General  Bragg,  took  position  near 
Corinth  and  concluded  an  arrangement  with  General  Johnson  at 
Murfreesborough,  by  which  they  expected  to  unite  all  their  forces 
and  defeat  General  Grant  before  he  could  be  supported  by  Gen- 
eral Buel,  from  Nashville. 

This  well  digested  plan  was  put  in  execution  by  means  of  the 
Charleston  and  Memphis  railroad.  Bad  weather  and  unexpected 
incidents,  so  peculiar  in  war,  postponed  the  attack  for  nearly  three 
days,  and  by  that  time  General  Buel  was  en  route  from  Nashville, 
to  support  General  Grant, 

On  the  6th  of  April  the  battle  was  fought.  The  Union  army- 
was  partly  taken  by  surprise;  but  rallied,  with  a  firm  resistance 
which  lasted  until  it  was  obliged  to  take  shelter  undercover  of  the 
gun-boats.  Buel  arrived  at  night,  took  active  part  in  the  battle  of 
the  7th,  when  the  rebels  fell  back,  with  a  loss  of  nearly  10,000, 
but  holding  many  prisoners ;  and  the  exhausted  Federal  army  did 
not  improve  their  victory  by  pursuit.  Beauregard  fortified  Corinth. 
Halleck  assumed  command  of  the  Federal  army,  and  on  the  30ih 
if  May,  after  preparations  for  an  advance  were  perfected,  it  was 
found  that  llie  enemy  had  retreated  and  left  iheir  entrenchments 
for  occupation  by  their  enemy.  Then  followed  the  occupation  of 
Corinth,  Memphis,  and  all  the  country  between  the  Tennessee  and 
Mississippi  rivers. 

On  the  latter  river  naval  engagements  became  frequent,  and  on 
the  29th  of  April,  Admiral  Foote  commenced  the  bombardment  of 
Fort  Jackson  and  St.  Philip,  below  New  Orleans,  and  forced  that 


no  THE  CIVIL   WAR  IN  1862, 

city  to  surrender  on  the  28th.  Vicksburgh  was  unsuccessfully  at- 
tacked by  the  Federal  fleet  and  the  siege  was  raised  July  25th. 
Then  followed  Bragg's  invasion  of  Kentucky, — ^which  promised, 
for  a  while,  to  open  up  the  whole  northern  border  to  inroad  and 
disaster,  but  resulted  in  his  retreat  from  the  State. 

In  the  left  zone,  the  opening  of  the  campaign  was  hardly  less 
satisfactory.  General  Burnside,  who  left  Fortress  Monroe  January 
1 2th,  attacked  Roanoke  Island,  February  8th,  and  took  many 
prisoners.  On  the  20th,  Minton,  on  the  Chowan  river,  was  taken  ; 
on  the  2 1st,  Washington,  on  Pamlico  river;  and  on  the  23d, 
Morchcad  was  entered  by  General  Parks. 

Not  less  fruitful  of  success  were  the  operations  in  the  more 
southern  theatre  of  war,  at  the  outset  of  the  campaign.  The  force 
at  Port  Royal,  S.  C,  bombarded  and  reduced  Fort  Pulaski  on  the 
iith  of  April.  Jacksonville  and  Pensacola,  Florida,  were  also 
occupied.  An  attack  upon  Charleston,  June  19th,  failed,  and  after 
a  repulse  on  James  Island,  a  portion  of  the  troops  returned  to 
Fortress  Monroe. 

While  the  armies  of  the  west,  centre  and  south  were  thus  enliv- 
ened and  vigorous,  the  Anuy  of  the  Potomac  was  not  idle. 

On  the  7th  of  February,  Romney,  West  Virginia,  was  entered 
by  Lander,  and  on  the  24th,  operations  began  in  the  Shenandoah 
Valley.  Harper's  Ferry  was  occupied  as  well  as  Charleston,  Mar- 
tinsburg,  and  Bunker  Hill.  On  the  8th  of  March,  Gearey  moved 
to  Leesburg,  and  on  the  12th  General  Banks  entered  Winchester 
and  Berryville.  At  Winchester  the  Confederates  under  Jackson 
were  repulsed  and  the  Federal  troops  entered  Sharpsburg,  March 
23d,  and  Woodstock,  on  the  1st  of  April, 

On  the  17th  of  March  the  Army  of  the  Potomac  embarked  for 
Fortress  Monroe. 

At  this  juncture  occurred  one  of  the  most  startling  episodes  of 
the  war,  and  one  which  revolutionized  maritime  methods  of  con* 
flict  throughout  the  world.  On  the  8th  of  March  the  Merrimac 
steamed  from  Norfolk,  cut  into  the  frigate  Cumberland  and  burned 
the  Congress.  In  the  evening,  the  modest  little  Monitor  arrived 
from  the  north,  boldly  asserted  her  new  and  untried  pretensions, 
and  the  next  morning,  the  Merrimac,  baffled  and  beaten,  inglori-* 
ously  returned  to  the  harbor  from  which  her  departure  had  been 
so  auspicious  and  promising. 


THE  CIVIL    WAR  IN  1S62.  \  1 1 

In  the  midst  of  thcRe  exciting  scenes,  the  Army  of  the  Potomac, 
nearly  one  hundred  thousand  strong,  began  to  arrive  at  Fortress 
Monroe,  occupying  from  March  1 7th  to  April  1  si  in  the  movement. 
On  the  5th  of  April  the  advance  toward  Yorktown  began. 
Swampy  ground  in  front,  the  blockade  of  the  James  river  by  the 
Mcrrimac.  and  other  causes,  induced  preparations  for  a  regular 
siege. 

Meanwhile,  Fremont  was  in  the  mountains  west  of  the  Shenan- 
doah. Banks  was  in  the  Valley  and  McDowell  in  the  country  east 
j^r  the  Blue  Ridge,  On  the  19th  of  April  Fredericksburg  was 
occupied  by  the  latter. 

The  siege  of  Yorktown  advanced.  All  was  ready  for  the  final 
blow,  when,  on  the  4th  of  May,  it  was  learned  that  the  Confeder- 
ates had  abandoned  their  works,  repeating  the  strategic  movement 
which  Beauregard  executed  at  Corinth.  May  i6th  the  army 
reached  the  Chickahominy,  and  on  the  31st  and  June  1st  was 
fought  the  Battle  ofFair  Oaks,  A  terrific  thunder  storm  raged  on 
the  30th.  The  rising  of  the  Chickahominy  was  expected  by  the 
Confederates.  The  four  Federal  divisions  of  the  left  wing  were 
on  the  lower  side,  and  the  attack  began  on  this  part  of  their  lines. 
At  the  same  time,  a  Confederate  column  moved  to  seize  Bottom 
Bridge,  thus  to  force  the  four  Federal  divisions  into  White  Oak 
Swamp,  where  their  destruction  would  have  been  certain.  This 
flanking  column  had  nearly  reached  its  destination  when  it  was  it- 
self attacked  in  flank,  by  General  Sumner,  whose  corps  debouched 
over  a  bridge  of  their  own  construction  before  the  creek  had  risen 
to  its  maximum  height.  The  Confederates  were  in  turn  disap- 
pointed. General  Johnson  was  severely  wounded  in  striving  to 
retrieve  the  day,  and  night  stopped  the  fight.  Nearly  eight  thous- 
and were  killed  or  wounded  on  each  side.  The  creek  rose  rapidly, 
carrying  away  even  General  Sumner's  bridge,  and  but  for  the 
timely  close  of  the  first  day's  action,  the  Federal  army  would 
have  been  in  imminent  peril.  Until  the  14th  the  time  was  spent  in 
building  bridges  and  establishing  communications  between  the 
right  and  left  wings  of  the  army.  On  the  14th  a  cavalry  raid  in 
the  rear  of  the  Federal  lines  gave  such  a  start  to  the  army  as  ulti- 
mately to  induce  a  change  of  base  to  James  river.  The  Confeder- 
ates, however,  crossed  at  Mcchanicsville  and  Meadow  Bridge,  and 
advanced  upon  the  right  wing  commanded  by  General  Fitz-John 


112  THE  Civil.   WAR  IN  1862. 

Porter.  The  line  was  formed  in  front  of  Gaines'  Mills,  and  the 
army  received  orders  to  pass  the  bridge  on  the  evening  of  the 
27th,  in  order  to  execute  a  grand  movement  through  White  Oak 
Swamp,  toward  James  river.  During  that  evening  the  Confeder- 
ates pushed  forward  with  the  utmost  determination.  The  divisions 
of  Slocum  and  Richardson  were  sent  to  the  support  of  the  right 
wing.  The  fight  became  so  intense  that  all  the  reserves  of  that 
wing  were  successfully  engaged  ;  but  the  Confederates,  having  the 
last  reserve  to  bring  into  action,  carried  the  day.  The  left  wing, 
formed  of  General  McCall's  troops  was  entirely  broken,  and  the 
disorder  reached  even  to  the  center.  Happily,  night  came,  and 
with  it  the  fresh  commands  of  Meagher  and  French,  so  that  further 
pursuit  was  stopped.  Another  critical  issue  was  over.  That  night 
the  whole  of  the  right  wing  crossed  the  Chickahominy.  Their 
bridges  were  at  once  destroyed,  and  on  the  28th  the  entire  Federal 
army  was  on  the  right  of  the  creek.  This  same  creek,  which  on 
June  1st,  had  nearly  caused  the  ruin  of  the  army  now  became  its 
salvation.  On  the  27th  an  attack  had  been  made  upon  the  left 
wing  to  prevent  its  reinforcement  of  the  right  wing. 

On  the  29th  the  Confederates  made  their  unsuccessful  attacks,  and 
on  the  30th  the  Federal  army  retreated,  passed  through  White 
Oak  Swamp,  and  the  advance  guard,  under  Generals  Keys  and 
Porter,  reached  James  river.  The  final  attack  was  made  against 
the  whole  Union  army,  united  on  Malvern  Hill,  and  covered  by 
three  hundred  pieces  of  artillery;  but  the  Confederates  were 
repulsed,  and  the  Army  of  the  Potomac  emerged  from  the  swamps, 
to  find  itself  at  Harrison's  Landing,  having  water  communication 
with  its  distant  base. 

Sickness  and  the  sword  had  done  their  work.  The  Confeder- 
ates had  taken  the  oficnsivc.  A  Cc.Il  for  three  hundred  thousand 
volunteers  went  out  from  the  nation's  capital  and  then  a  call  for 
three  hundred  thousand  drafted  men.  Stevens  was  recalled  from 
Port  Royal  and  Burnside  was  withdrawn  from  North  Carolina. 

The  enthusiasm  of  the  opening  campaign  had  given  place  to 
the  stern  exactions  of  necessity  in  view  of  contingent  disasters. 

On  the  1 2th  of  August,  the  Army  of  the  Potomac,  not  strong 
enough  to  take  the  oficnsivc,  began  its  retreat  by  crossing  the 
Chickahominy  near  its  mouth.  Hardly  had  its  return  been  accom- 
plished, when,  in  front  of  VVa.shington,  it  encountered  the  same 


THE  CIVIL    WAR  IN  1S62.  113 

divisions  which  it  left  in  front  of  Richmond,  On  the  29th  the 
Confederate  army,  between  Centreville  and  Haymarket,  was 
attacked  by  the  entire  Union  army,  under  General  Pope;  but 
without  result.  On  the  30th,  the  Confederates,  reinforced  by  the 
residue  of  General  Lee's  army,  renewed  the  fight,  and  at  noon  the 
left  wing  cf  the  Federal  army,  under  Porter  and  McDowell,  broke. 
and  the  whole  army  fell  back  beyond  Bull  Run.  The  loss  in 
killed,  wounded,  missing,  and  guns,  was  heavy. 

On  the  1st  of  September  the  Confederates  turned  General 
Pope's  (lank  again,  and  pushed  a  column  as  far  as  Fairfax  Court 
House.  Generals  Reno  and  Kearney  were  ordered  to  drive  these 
out,  and  here,  at  the  moment  of  success,  General  Kearney  lost  his 
life. 

Pope  made  good  his  retreat  and  took  shelter  under  the  guns  of 
Washington.  Burnside  evacuated  Fredericksburg  and  joined  the 
Army  of  the  Potomac, 

Such,  briefly,  was  the  memorable  campaign  in  Virginia,  com- 
menced by  the  Confederates  on  the  defensive  and  ending  in  a 
brilliant  offensive,  throwing  the  Federal  forces  back  in  disorder 
upon  their  original  base. 

But  not  alone  in  Virginia  had  the  Confederates  taken  the  offen- 
sive. Through  the  whole  theatre  of  war  their  armies  moved, — 
everywhere  to  attack. 

We  left  the  western  armies  after  the  evacuation  of  Corinth  and 
the  surrender  of  New  Orleans.  On  the  19th  of  July,  General  Hal- 
leek  was  summoned  from  the  West  to  take  command  in  chief  of 
all  the  United  States  forces.  The  mamcnt  was  critical,  and  the 
President  decided  that  the  selection  of  some  one  to  be  responsible 
for  combined  operations  in  the  three  zones  of  operation  was  vital 
to  success.  There  was  no  magic  in  the  assignment  sufficient  to 
stem  the  persistent  pressure  from  the  eager  Confederacy.  On  the 
26lh  of  August  General  Kirby  Smith  entered  Kentucky,  On  the 
29th  General  Nelson  was  utterly  routed  near  Richmond.  Kentucky. 
Indiana  regiments  which  had  been  mustered  and  armed  the  week 
previous  by  the  writer  of  this  sketch  went  into  that  battle  with 
unflinching  nerve,  only  to  be  enrolled  at  its  close  as  prisoners  of 
war.  Covington,  Cincinnati  and  Louisville  were  threatened. 
General  Bragg  moved  to  Sparta,  Tennessee,  threatening  Bucl's 
communications  with   Nashville,   attacked  Mumfordville,  and  on 


114  THE  CIVIL   WAR  IN  1862. 

the  19th  of  September  captured  its  garrison  of  nearly  four  thou- 
sand men,  commanded  by  Colonel  Wilder. 

At  luka  General  Price  had  a  sharp  conflict  with  General  Rose- 
crans,  and  Rains,  with  Hindman,  left  Arkansas  to  invade  Missouri. 

General  Buel  was  forced  to  return  to  Louisville  to  rescue  his 
base  and  save  the  States  north  of  the  Ohio  river  from  actual  invasion, 
and,  after  a  hot  race  with  Bragg,  crossed  Salt  river  and  entered 
Louisville  September  24.  Already  the  United  States  army  stores 
had  been  ferried  to  the  Indiana  shore,  and  heavy  guns  were 
planted  to  command  the  river,  then  at  low  water.  Breckenridge 
invested  Nashville.  On  the  17th  of  September  General  Morgan 
(Federal)  evacuated  Cumberland  Gap.  On  the  8th  of  October 
General  McCook  was  defeated  at  Perryville.  On  the  i8th,  General 
Morgan  (Confederate)  entered  Lexington  in  the  rear  of  Bucl's 
army,  marched  to  Versailles,  Laurenceburg  and  Bardstown,  cap- 
tured several  works,  made  the  entire  circuit  of  the  Federal  army, 
and  left  Kentucky,  October  29th,  with  comparatively  small  loss. 

At  the  close  of  the  month.  General  Buel  was  relieved  by  General 
Rosecrans;  but  the  Confederates,  under  General  Bragg,  escaped 
through  Cumberland  Gap  and  took  position  at  Murfreesborough. 
The  Army  of  the  Ohio,  giving  up  pursuit,  marched  to  Nashville, 
where  it  began  to  arrive  on  the  8th  of  November,  General  Rose- 
crans reaching  that  city  on  the  13th. 

At  the  East,  active  movements  on  the  part  of  the  Confederate 
forces  were  hardly  less  significant.  Harper's  Ferry  was  surren^ 
dered,  September  15th,  with  twelve  thousand  men,  and  General 
Jackson  had  hardly  paroled  the  captives  when  he  was  summoned 
to  join  General  Lee,  who  was  then  at  Sharpsburg,  on  Antietam 
Creek,  awaiting  opportunity  to  give  battle. 

On  the  1 6th,  General  McClellan*s  army  arrived  near  the  creek 
and  confronted  the  Confederates.  General  Hooker,  with  his  own 
corps,  crossed  the  creek  during  the  afternoon  and  had  a  preliminary 
engagement,  but  on  the  1 7th  the  whole  army  advanced  to  attack. 

Hooker,  Sumner,  and  Franklin,  with  their  respective  corps,  suc- 
cessively attacked  the  left  wing  of  the  Confederates,  which,  how- 
ever, held  firm  after  first  losing  some  ground.  Their  right  wing 
was  assailed  by  Burnside,  but  he  in  turn  was  thrown  back  to  the 
bridge  over  which  he  at  first  debouched.  Night  closed  in,  and  no 
decisive  result  had  been  gained  on  eithrr  side. 


THE  CIVIL    WAR  IN  1862.  115 

On  the  iSth  the  armies  were  in  line,  vis  &  vis,  each  so  worn-out 
by  marching  and  the  previous  day  of  conflict,  that,  as  if  by  some 
tacit  courtesy,  or  sympathy,  even  picket  firing  ceased  between  the 
lines.  During  the  day  the  Federal  troops  were  re-inforced,  but 
during  the  night  the  Confederates  withdrew  in  good  order  and 
great  silence,  across  the  Potomac,  Again,  as  before  at  Corinth 
and  Yorktown,  the  weaker  force  was  saved  by  the  good  strategy 
of  its  commander.  An  attempt  to  follow  the  Confederates  on  the 
20th,  and  to  cross  directly  in  iheir  front,  failed,  a  part  of  the  troops 
which  actually  crossed  being  repulsed  with  loss. 

On  the  8th  of  October,  Burnside  relieved  McClellan. 

On  the  I2lh  of  November  the  Federal  army  forced  a  passage 
of  the  Rappahannock.  On  the  1 3th  it  was  defeated  on  the  heights, 
with  a  loss  of  twelve  thousand  men,  and  compelled  to  recross  the 
river,  the  Confederates  advancing  in  column,  by  divisions,  with 
crushing  force. 

In  North  Carolina,  General  Foster  took  Kingston,  and  Genera! 
Banks  succeeded  General  Butler  at  New  Orleans. 

We  left  General  Grant  in  Mississippi,  taking  the  offensive.  On 
the  3d  of  December  he  advanced  toward  Holly  Springs,  where  a 
vigorous  action  took  place;  but  the  Confederates  changed  their 
course  and  secured  their  retreat. 

General  Sherman  attacked  Vicksburg,  suffered  great  loss,  and 
was  compelled  to  rai.se  the  siege.  In  Tennessee  we  left  the  Army 
of  the  Ohio  at  Nashville,  under  command  of  General  Rosecrans. 
The  Confederates  had  concentrated  at  Murfreesbo rough  under 
General  Bragg.  On  the  6th  of  December  a  Federal  brigade  was 
attacked  and  forced  to  surrender.  General  Rosecrans  at  once 
advanced  with  nearly  fifty  thousand  men.  An  engagement  en- 
sued, lasting  several  daj's.  At  first  the  Federal  army  received  a 
check,  the  "Battle  in  the  Cedars"  of  the  first  day  being  fought  so 
nearly  in  the  rear  of  the  Federal  right  that  Rousseau's  batteries 
-were  worked  with  Murfreesborough  at  their  rear.  On  the  3d  of 
January,  at  night,  the  Confederates  evacuated  Murfreesborough 
and  retreated  in  good  order,  not  seriously  molested,  in  the  direc- 
tion of  Tullahoma.  'I/ius,  for  the  Jonrlli  time,  during  1862,  a 
Confederate  army  eluded  its  adversary,  when  a  desperate  issue 
was  at  its  crisis. 

On  the  8th  of  December  a  battle  was  fought  in  the  right  zone  of 


ii6  THE  CIVIL  WAR  IN  1862, 

operations  between  General  Hindman  (Confederate)  and  Gener- 
als Blunt  and  Herron,  in  which  the  Confederates  were  defeated. 
Surely  the  year  was  eventful  in  its  contrasts;  and  in  view  of  the 
large  geographical  area  through  which  hostile  operations  were 
carried  on,  we  are  astonished  at  the  activity  of  such  large  armies 
and  the  changing  relations  which  they  sustained  to  each  other. 

A  brief  review  from  the  starting  point  is  suggestive.  Curtis  and 
Pope  in  Missouri,  Grant  and  Buel  in  Kentucky,  Banks  at  Win- 
chester, the  Army  of  the  Potomac  at  Washington,  Burnside  at 
Roanoke,  Hunter  at  Port  Royal,  Butler  planning  his  expedi- 
tion against  New  Orleans,  represent  not  less  than  ten  armies, 
and  as  many  lines  of  operation,  acting  on  a  more  or  less  concen- 
tric direction  toward  the  interior  of  the  grand  theatre  of  war.  No 
one  of  their  armies  was  so  strong  that  the  Confederates  could  not 
have  concentrated  a  stronger  against  it. 

The  plan  of  campaign  for  the  right  zone,  framed  separately,  so 
far  as  judged  by  actual  operations,  was  very  simple.  General 
Curtis  was  to  clear  Missouri  and  penetrate  Arkansas.  General  Pope 
was  to  move  down  the  Mississippi  and  open  the  river  to  the  gun- 
boats,— which,  by  ascending  the  rivers  of  Arkansas  would  divide 
that  State  into  parts,  cut  communications  between  different  Con- 
federate corps,  and  facilitate  the  operations  of  General  Curtis  by 
furnishing  him  protection  and  supplies.  General  Curtis  and  Gen- 
eral Pope  each  had  an  army  sufficient  to  fight,  single-handed, 
any  four  which  the  Confedeiates  of  that  section  could  concentrate 
for  resistance.  Price  retreated  before  the  superior  force  of  Curtis ; 
but  immediately  upon  reaching  Arkansas,  not  being  pursued,  they 
concentrated  and  passed  from  defensive  to  offensive  action.  Gen- 
eral Van  Dorn  executed  a  movement  which  reflects  great  credit 
on  his  boldness  and  his  confidence  in  his  troops.  He  turned  the 
Federal  army  with  his  whole  force,  seized  its  communications  and 
forced  it  to  fight  when  cut  off  from  its  base.  The  battles  of 
Marengo,  Ulm,  Jena  and  Avcrstadt  were  fought  under  similar  con- 
ditions. Van  Dorn  was  beaten  because  he  tried  the  movement 
against  an  army  superior  in  men  and  armament;  but  the  Federal 
army  did  not  follow  up  the  advantage  seemingly  within  its  grasp. 

The  operations  of  the  center  zone  are  not  less  instructive.  The 
Ohio  River,  being  the  only  line  separating  the  nominal  jurisdiction 
of  the  opposing  forces,  becomes  practically  a  base-line  for  the 


Federal  troops.  Not  less  than  three  or  four  armies  advance  from 
this  base.  Pope,  along  the  Mississippi;  Giant,  along  the  Ten- 
nessee; Buel,  along  the  Louisville  and  Nashville  Railroad,  and 
smaller  corps  toward  Cumberland  Gap,  represent  the  movement. 
•  This  attempt  at  occupation  involved  division  of  force,  and  the 
more  it  was  attempted  the  more  frequently  were  small  commands 
beaten,  in  detail.  The  rout  of  Nelson ;  the  surrender  of  Mum- 
fordsville;  the  capture  of  a  brigade  near  Murfreesboro,  arc  ex- 
amples in  point.  The  premature  and  senseless  cry  of  "  On  to 
Richmond  "  affected  all  operations  in  the  left  sotie,  until  at  last 
Richmond  was  abandoned,  without  a  battle  for  its  retention. 
Washington  City  was  a  legitimate  objective  for  a  Confederate 
force,  as  its  occupation  would  have  assured  the  recognition  by 
foreign  states  of  a  de  facto  government,  while  thus  occupied  by 
the  Confederates;  but  Richmond  was  not  so  material  an  objective 
to  the  Federals  as  to  crush  opposing  armies. 

In  the  Seven-years' War  Russia  took  Berlin,  but  at  once  left  it. 
After  Salamanca,  Wellington  ventured  to  occupy  Madrid  ;  but  was 
happy  quickly  to  escape  by  Portugal.  In  1S05  and  1809  the  oc- 
cupation of  Vienna  by  Napoleon  was  declined,  as  not  tending  to 
finish  the  war.  It  was  Austcrlitz  and  Wagram  that  settled  the 
contest.  In  1812  the  possession  of  Moscow  assured  the  downfall 
of  Napoleon.  Washington  himself  could  not  be  drawn  by  Howe  into 
a  contest  for  Philadelphia.  To  keep  his  army  in  hand  and  wear 
out  the  army  of  his  adversary  was  more  hopeful  of  success  than  to 
hold  any  city. 

It  is  worthy  of  note,  that  during  the  campaign  of  1862,  one  of 
the  most  eventful  on  record,  the  military  genius,  sagacity  and 
scholarship  of  the  Confederate  leaders  were  signally  conspicuous ; 
while  the  National  cause  was  more  than  once  at  loss  where  to  find 
the  controlling  soldier  whose  policy  and  presence  might  utilize 
such  abundant  resources  and  effect  a  thorough  concentration  of  all 
armies,  in  all  zones,  so  as  to  crush,  at  the  same  time,  all  resistance. 

It  was  one  of  the  most  trying  hours  in  the  life  of  Mr.  Lincoln 
when,  still  believing  that  victory  could  be  secured  without  the 
formal  abolition  of  slavery,  he  awaited  the  arrival  of  Generals 
Halleck  and  Pope,  who  had  been  summoned  from  the  West,  in  the 
hope  that  a  man  had  been  found  equal  to  the  emergency.  General 
Pope  arrived  at  midnight  and  General  Halleck  at  four  o'clock  in 


ii8  TO  A  CHICKADEE. 

the  morning.  Secretary  Chase,  only  the  afternoon  before,  an- 
nounced his  intention  to  surrender  his  portfolio  unless  General 
McClellan  were  relieved  and  the  entire  army  placed  under  some 
other  and  some  controlling  mind.  The  change  was  made.  The 
year  wore  out  its  hours,  and  \yith  its  approaching  close  the  con- 
viction deepened  in  the  mind  of  the  President  that  the  conflict  be- 
tween such  vast  hosts  of  brave  men,  of  the  same  blood,  would  not 
end  until  the  chief  factor  in  the  original  conflict  was  removed,  and 
the  slave  set  free. 

The  campaign  of  1862  closed  gloomily  enough;  for  the  vortex 
of  war  seemed  only  to  swallow  up  the  hundreds  of  thousands  who 
had  been  summoned  to  the  front,  with  very  meager  returns  for  the 
blood  and  treasure  expended ;  but  its  twelve  months  of  vicissitude 
were  full  of  assurance  that  a  people  who  could  survive  such  vicis- 
situdes must,  re-united,  and  in  a  just  cause,  be  invincible  s^ainst 
the  world. 


TO  A  CHICKADEE. 

BY  HENRY  W.  AUSTIN. 

Blithe  bird,  to  whom  yon  dead  tree  near  the  marsh — 

Yon  saj^lcss,  hapless  trunk  —  a  casllc  seems, 

TIiou  rcckest  not  though  winter  winds  be  harsh 

And  hush  up  the  gay  gossip  of  the  streams ; 

Gayer  than  that  thy  sparkling  song  flics  forth, 

An  ultimatum  of  defiance  clear 

Unto  the  great  white  deserts  of  our  North, — 

For  in  thy  heart  is  summer  all  the  year ! 

Brave  little  fellow, — fain  to  choose  thy  nest 

When  snows  are  deep,  as  doth  the  Great  Homed  Owl, 

How  well  thou  matchest  that  fantastic  fowl ! 

Since,  if  his  owlship,  as  of  eld,  seem  best 

For  wisdom's  high-priest  to  the  feathered  laity, 

Thou,  surely,  art  the  type  of  wit  and  winged  gay^ty. 


HISTORIC  NEW  LONDON.  119 


HISTORIC  NEW  LONDON. 

The    John    Winthrop    Family  — The    Winthrop    Homestead  —  Other    Old 
Houses  —  Ancient  Elms  —  The  First  Burying  Ground. 

BY  CHARLES  MOLYNEUX  HOLLOWAY. 

New  London  has  so  long  been  celebrated  for  the  possession  of 
one  of  the  finest  harbors  in  the  United  States,  that  strangers,  hear- 
ing its  citizens  dilate  upon  their  pet  hobby,  may  well  be  pardoned 
for  concluding  that  New  London's  chief  claim  upon  their  admir- 
ing regard  is  a  watery  one.  No  greater  mistake  could  be  made. 
Few  cities  have  more  right  to  command  the  admiration  of  the 
lover  of  the  beautiful  and  the  historic.  Were  it  the  province  of 
this  article  to  dwell  upon  the  natural  beauties  of  the  place,  pages 
could  easily  be  filled  where  now  paragraphs  must  suffice. 

The  town  is  built  upon  aslope  gradually  rising  from  the  Thames 
to  an  elevated  ridge  in  the  northwest,  from  which  a  superb  view 
can  be  had  of  the  river  in  its  ribbon-like  course  twisting  around 
the  bold  promontory  on  the  east,  thence  flowing  calmly  on  to 
mingle  in  the  waters  of  the  Sound, — whose  broad  surface  stretches 
away  to  the  south  like  a  sea  of  silver.  On  the  opposite  bank  lies 
the  village  of  Groton,  its  level  fields  of  gold-tasseled  corn,  its 
scattered  farm  houses  and  lofty  green  hills  forming  a  gladsome 
sight  beneath  the  strong  glare  of  the  August  sun  ;  yet  the  monu- 
ment to  the  victims  of  the  Fort  Griswold  massacre,  looming  up — a 
grim,  untiring  sentinel,  silently  voicing  the  tale  of  man's  passion 
and  patriotism,  baseness  and  nobility — eloquently  tells  how  once 
yonder  fair  scene  was  darkened  by  murder  most  foul  and  treach- 
erous. 

On  the  north  the  landscape  becomes  exceedingly  diversified 
and  rugged.  Beyond  the  upper  portion,  a  high  elevation  seems 
to  wall  off  further  advance,  and  well  justifies  the  name  bestowed 
upon  it  in  the  early  colonial  days  by  a  homesick  settler,  who 
called  it ''  The  mountain  from  which  he  could  see  his  dear  England." 
Between  this  part  of  New  London  and  the  river  is  a  noble  wood 
of  forest  trees,  abounding  in  hills  and  hollows,  and  containing  oaks 
which  have  withstood  the  storms  of  centuries. 


I20  HISTORIC  NEW  LONDON. 

The  walks  and  drives  about  the  town  in  any  direction  afford  the 
lover  of  **  nature  adorned  by  man  *'  a  fair  chance  to  go  into  ecstasies 
of  cither  joy  or  grief,  and  make  the  critical  stickler  for  architec- 
tural principles  a  little  perplexed  to  find  names  for  thre  varied 
styles  which  will  be  sure  to  attract  his  attention.  Some  of  the 
private  residences  bear  convincing  testimony  to  their  owners*  taste. 
Few  cities  can  show  a  more  simply  elegant  mansion  than  the  Mt, 
Vernon  house,  built  by  General  Jedediah  Huntington,  the  first  Col- 
lector of  the  port  under  the  Federal  Government,  —  now  owned 
and  occupied  by  E.  L.  Palmer,  who  has  renovated  and  beautified 
the  place  without  marring  its  harmonious  simplicity. 

It  is  a  curious  evidence  of  the  jealousy  with  which  the  higher 
powers  regarded  any  aspiring  settlement,  to  find  that  it  was  only 
after  a  long  and  obstinate  struggle  that  the  dwellers  on  the  bank 
of  the  river  they  had  christened  ** Thames"  were  able  to  get  the 
authorities  to  consent  to  call  their  plantation  "New  London." 
The  name  first  given,  *'Namceug,"  was  not  to  the  liking  of  the 
home-loving  settlers,  as  we  find  from  the  records : — 

22  Feb.,  1648.  —  The  same  day  the  inhabitants  did  consent  and  desier  that  the 
plantation  maj  be  called  London. 

The  General  Court,  however,  did  not  approve  their  choice,  for, 
under  date  of  May,  1649,  it  is  recorded  that  "the  Court  com- 
mends the  name  of  Faire  Harbour  to  them,  for  to  be  the  name  of 
their  Towne." 

That  the  inhabitants  did  not  follow  the  advice  of  the  General 
Court  is  shown  by  the  town  records,  viz. : 

Aupj.   29th.  — The  Towne  have  sent   to   the   Court  by  there  deputjrs,  Huf^h 
Calkin  &  Thomas  Mynor,  that  the  Towne*s  name  may  be  caUed  London. 

The  Court  was  obdurate.  In  enlarging  the  town's  bounds  to 
Paukatuck  River,  the  ensuing  September,  it  refers  to  the  presump- 
tuous settlement  as  "Nameagc."  The  people  of  "Nameage"  were 
just  as  obstinate  as  the  Court, — which  finally  yielded  gracefully , — 
as  witness  this  entry  in  its  records:  — 

Mar.  24,  1658.  —  This  Court,  considering  that  there  hath  yet  no  place  in  any 
of  the  colonies  been  named  in  honor  of  the  city  of  London,  there  being  a  new 
plantation  within  this  jurisdiction  of  Connecticut,  settled  upon  the  fair  river  of 
Monhegin,  in  the  Pequot  country,  it  being  an  excellent  harbour  and  a  fit  and 
convenient  place  for  future  trade,  it  being  also  the  only  place  which  the  English 
of  these  parts  have  possessed  by  conquest,  and  that  by  a  very  just  war,  upon  that 
great  and  warlike  people,  the  Pequots,  that  therefore,  they  might  thereby  leave 
to  posterity  the  memory  of  that  renowned  city  of  I^ondon,  from  whence  we  had 


HlSrOKfC   .\/i\r   LONDON. 


our  Iransportalion,  have   thought   fit,  in   liunoiir  In  ihat  fjimons  dtv,         lall    (he 
said  plantation  New  Lonpok.     [Conn.  Col.  Rec.  Vol.  I.] 

It  is  a  somewhat  curious  comment  upon  the  ingratitude  of  towns, 
to  find  so  little  preserved  in  New  London  commemorative  of  the 
man  who  did  so  much  for  the  town  and  for  Connecticut.  Tliat 
Connecticut  must  have  been  colonized  in  time  admits  of  no  doubt. 
That  it  would  ever  have  enjoyed  the  remarkable  advantages  which 
contributed  so  much  to  its  growth  without  the  aid  of  John  Win- 
throp  is  highly  improbable. 

John  Wintlirop,  the  younger,  Governor  and  chief  founder  of 
Connecticut,  was  the  eldest  son  of  the  leader  of  the  second  Puritan 
emigration,  which  was  really  the  foundation  of  the  Massachusetts 
colony.  He  was  born  February  1 2,  1 605.  The  Winthrops  were  an 
ancient  and  honorable  family  of  Groton,  in  Suffolk,  and  could  well 
bestow  upon  him  the  rare  advantages  he  received.  After  leaving 
the  University  of  Dublin,  he  was  at  the  siege  of  Rochelle  with  the 
Duke  cf  Buckingham,  but  probably  left  that  nobleman's  service 
before  his  assassination.  The  courtly  training  Winthrop  thus 
gained  served  Connecticut  well  in  after  years.  It  did  not,  how- 
ever, attach  him  to  the  court  of  the  Stuarts;  for,  in  163 1,  he 
came  with  his  wife  to  Massachusetts.  This  lady,  after  fourteen 
years  in  wedlock,  died  childless;  and  a  year  later,  Winthrop,  then 
in  England,  married  lillizabeth  Read,  of  Essex,  and  with  her  and 
her  step-father,  Hugh  Peters  (the  celebrated  Puritan  divine  who 
wanted  to  have  Charles  I.  listen  to  his  prayers  the  night  before 
his  execution)  returned  to  America  in  16S5. 

Impressed  by  the  energy,  education  and  enterprise  of  Winthrop, 
the  patentees  of  Connecticut  commissioned  him  to  begin  the  Say- 
brook  settlement.  He  immediately  despatched  an  advance  guard 
of  twenty,  who  left  Boston,  November  3d.  and  succeeded  in  prevent- 
ing the  Dutch  from  taking  possession,  but  did  nothing  until  spring ; 
when  Winthrop  set  Lion  Gardiner,  the  engineer,  to  building  forti- 
fications. He  himself  was  not  satisfied  with  the  limits  set  down 
in  his  instructions,  and  followed  along  the  coast  till  he  came  to 
Pequot  Harbor.  It  needed  not  a  second  glance  to  convince  his 
far-seeing  mind  of  the  magnificent  possibilities,  which  both  he  and 
Stoughton  pointed  out  to  their  superiors.  He  had  already  settled 
upon  Fyshcr's  Island  for  his  own ;  and,  ambitious  to  establish  a 
baronial  estate,  early  determined  to  locate  at  Pequot, 


i?2  HISTORIC  NEW  LONDON, 

But  the  Pequot  war  arose  almost  immediately.  The  conflict 
between  the  natives  and  the  whites  ended  with  an  act  of  the  most 
atrocious  cruelty.  In  June,  1637,  about  one  hundred  prisoners 
were  taken  in  the  Pine  Swamp,  Groton ;  the  men,  thirty  in  num- 
ber, were  brought  out  into  the  middle  of  the  river  and  drowned ; 
the  women  and  children  were  sold  into  captivity. 

Although  deferred,  Winthrop's  determination  had  not  decreased. 
In  the  interim  he  had  gained  the  favor  of  Sashious,  sachem  of 
the  Nahantics,  and  obtained  from  him  the  grant  of  a  considerable 
portion  of  his  territory.  In  1640,  he  received  from  the  General 
Court  of  Massachusetts  the  grant  of  Fysher's  Island  and  this 
grant  was  confirmed  by  the  Court  of  Connecticut,  as  witnesseth 
this  extract: — 

April  9,  1641.  — Upon  Mr.  Winthrop's  motion  to  the  Court  for  Fisher's 
Island,  it  is  the  mind  of  the  Court  that  so  far  as  it  hinders  not  the  public  good 
of  the  country,  either  for  fortifving,  for  defence  or  for  setting  up  a  trade  for  fish- 
ini^,  or  salt  and  such  like,  he  shall  have  liberty  to  proceed  therein.  [Col.  Rec 
Conn.  Vol.  I.] 

Winthrop's  application  for  Fyshcr's  Island  was  but  the  precursor 
of  his  settlement  on  the  island  and  at  Namcag.  On  his  return 
from  Eni;land  in  1643,  he  was  engaged  for  some  time  in  salt 
works.  In  i645,Winthrop  and  Thomas  Peters,  an  ejected  Puritan 
clergyman  of  Cornwall,  England,  were  the  principal  directors  in 
the  work  of  settling  Pequot  Harbor.  The  mistake  in  dating  the 
natal  day  of  New  London,  May  6,  1646,  is  owing  to  the  fact  that 
this  was  the  day  the  following  commission  was  issued: — 

At  a  General  Court  held  at  Boston,  6th  of  May,  i6»6.  Whereas,  Mr.  John  Winthrop,  Jan.,  ftnd 
some  others  have,  by  allowance  of  this  Court,  bL'gun  a  plantation  in  the  Pequot  country,  which 
appertains  to  this  jurisdiction,  as  pait  c  f  our  proportion  of  the  conquered  country;  and,  wherean, . 
this  Court  is  informed  that  £omc  Indians  who  arc  nrw  planted  rprn  the  p^ace  where  the  said 
plantation  is  begun,  arc  willing  to  remove  from  their  planting  groimd  for  the  more  qntet  and  con- 
venient settlement  cf  the  Ilnglish  there,  so  that  they  may  have  another  convenient  place.  It  Is 
therefore  ordered  that  Mr.  John  Winthrrp  may  appoint  unto  si:ch  Indians  as  are  willing  to  remove 
their  lands  on  the  other  side,  that  !•<,  en  the  cast  side  ef  the  Great  River  cf  the  Pequot  country,  or 
some  other  place  for  their  convenient  planting  and  subsistence,  which  may  be  to  the  go^d  liking 
and  satisfaction  of  the  said  Indians,  and  likewise  to  such  of  the  Pequot  Indians  as  shall  derirv  to 
live  there,  submitting  themselves  to  the  English  Government,  e'.c. 

And,  whereas,  Mr.  Thomas  Peters  is  intended  to  inhabtt  in  the  said  plantation— tihb Court dofh 
think  fit  to  join  him  to  assi^t  the  said  Mr.  Winthrc  p,  frr  the  better  carrying  on  the  work  of  —M 
plantation.    A  true  copy.     [New  London  Kec.  Book  VI.] 

But  Winthrop  had  commenced  the  plantation  in  the  previous 
year,  as  a  letter  from  Roger  Williams  to  him  bears  the  inscrip- 
tion: —  "For   his   honored   kind  friend,  Mr.  John  Winthrop,  at 


HISTORIC   NEW   LONDON. 


"3 


L 


Pequot — Tiiese — Narragaiiset.  32iid  June,  1645."  In  the  letter 
Williams  sends  his  "  loving  salutes  to  your  dearest  and  kind 
sister",  Mrs,  Margaret  Lake,  who  came  with  Winthrop  and  Peters 
to  the  infant  settlement,  and  who  was  the  first  white  woman  who 
trod  upon  New  London  soil. 

In  October,  1646,  \Vinthrop  removed  his  family  from  Boston  to 
Fyshcr's  Island,  his  brother  Deanc  accompanying  them ;  and  in 
the  following  summer,  the  house  at  Nameag  being  completed, 
they  came  thither.  The  Winthrop  household  consisted  of  his  wife, 
Elizabeth,  also,  for  a  time,  Mrs.  Margaret  Lake,  and  his  children, 
Elizabeth,  Wait  Still,  Mary.  Lucy,  Fitz-John  and  Margaret. 
Martha  and  Anne  were  born  in  Pequot,  as  the  place  was  first 
called. 

It  is  impossible  to  glean  much  information  from  the  early  town 
records,  which  were  very  loosely  kept.  Miss  Caulkins,  in  her 
admirable  History  of  New  London,  says  the  first  records  were 
made  in  a  stitched  book,  which  some  considerate  scribe  labeled: 
"The  Antientest  Book  for  1648-49-50."  This  "Antientest  Book" 
and  its  successors  show  that  Winthrop  was  held  in  high  honor  by 
his  fellow  townsmen.  In  January.  1649,  it  was  "agreed  by  the 
townsmen  of  Namcjg  that  Mr.  John  Winthrop  is  granted  to  setup 
a  were,  and  to  make  huse  of  the  river  at  Poquamiick  at  the  uper 
end  of  the  plainc  for  to  take  from,  and  so  to  make  improvement 
of  it.  to  him  and  to  his  heirs  and  asignes."  He  is  never  men- 
tioned save  as  "Mr.  or  Esquire," — titles  very  charily  used.  In 
1650,  "Mr.  John  Winthrop"  and  "Mr.  Johnathan  Brewster" 
were  made  freemen  of  the  Connecticut  Colony.  The  next  meet- 
ing, in  February,  1649,  displays  the  growth  of  a  democratic  spirit ; 
for,  instead  of  having  sole  authority,  Mr.  Winthrop  is  granted  four 
associates. 

A  very  pretty  incident  was  associated  with  the  early  history  of 
New  London,  and  may  properly  be  brought  in  here.  It  was  re- 
lated by  Winthrop  himself  in  1672  in  testifying  concerning  the 
boundaries  in  one  of  the  suits  with  its  neighbors,  which  the  litig- 
ious and  ambitious  town  was  constantly  maintaining. 

In  1646-47,  Jonathan  Rudd,  a  Saybrook  colonist,  was  very 
desirous  to  marry  his  afhanccd  bride.  All  had  been  prepared  for 
the  ceremony,  but  a  heavy  snow-storm  prevented  the  minister  en- 
gaged from  coming.     !n  this  extremity  he  applied  to  Winthrop. 


124 


HISTORIC  NEW  LONDON. 


The  latter,  while  eager  to  aid  the  lovers,  was  not  legally  empowered 
to  officiate  in  Connecticut  jurisdiction,  holding,  as  he  did,  his 
authority  from  Massachusetts.  He  solved  the  difficulty  by  pro- 
posing that  the  bridal  company  come  to  "Bride  Brook,"  then 
called  **  Sunkipaug,"  two  miles  west  of  Niantic  Bay,  and  the  limit 
of  the  plantation.  The  proposition  was  accepted ;  and,  beside  the 
ice-covered  brook,  with  the  crisp  snow  crackling  beneath  their 
feet,  and  the  bare  branches  of  the  trees  intercepting  none  of  the 
feeble  rays  of  the  winter  sun,  was  performed  a  marriage  rite  un- 
paralleled in  romance,  and  yet  vouched  for  in  history. 

Winthrop,  Coit,  Shaw,  Perkins,  Hempstead,  Deshon,  Hallam, 
Mynor,  Brooks,  Chapman,  Christophers,  Prentis,  Brewster, — all 
names  known  in  New  London  history,  —  have  achieved  more 
than  local  fame ;  but  it  is  of  the  branch  of  the  great  Winthrop 
family,  intimately  associated  with  New  London's  fortunes,  that  we 
shall  at  this  time  treat. 


Like  Lion  Gardiner,  Winthrop  was  ambitious  to  found  in  the 
New  World  a  baronial  estate,  which  should  equal  in  fertility  and 
extent  the  grandest  held  by  English  peer  or  commoner.  But  un- 
like Lion  Gardiner,  the  wise  and  politic  Winthrop  never  wished 
to  have  a  realm  **  where  none  but  barbarians  would  visit  him  with- 
out an  invitation."    Winthrop,  above  all  things,  desired  to  have 


HISTORIC  NEW  LOXDON. 


125 


his  name  ravered  by  postL-rity  for  tlie  y;ood  wruii[fht  by  its  owner, 
to  have  generation  after  generation  of  Wiiitlirops  follow  in  inherit- 
ance of  the  noble  manor  lands  left  by  their  illustrious  ancestor. 

The  General  Courts  of  Massachusetts  and  Connecticut  and  the 
inhabitants  of  Nameag  proved  most  complaisant  in  the  furtherance 
of  his  desires.  In  the  division  of  land  he  was  always  allowed  first 
choice,  while  the  others  had  to  abide  by  lots.  He  selected  for  his 
home  lot  the  neck  of  land  (comprising  200  acres)  which  now 
bears  his  name  in  the  memory  of  the  older  inhabitants ;  and  these 
resent  the  presumption  which  has  led  the  residents  to  sacrifice 
historical  association  to  pride  of  city  association,  by  christening 
their  section  "  East  New  London." 

Winthrop's  Fisher's  Island  grant  has  already  been  described.  In 
addition,  he  had  on  the  east  side  of  the  river  a  tract  three  miles 
in  length  from  north  to  south,  averaging  perhaps  a  mile  in  breadth, 
lying  between  Poquonock  Creek  and  Mumford's  Cove,  washed  by 
the  Sound  on  the  south  and  intersected  by  inlets  of  salt  water,  and 
containing  forests,  meadows,  uplands,  pastures,  and  salt-marsh. 
His  river  lot  on  the  Groton  side  (so  called  in  compliment  to 
Groton,  the  Winthrop  family  seat  in  England)  was  eight  score 
pole  in  length,  the  same  in  width.  Beside  these  he  had  the  Mill 
Pond  Farm,  3CK)  acres;  Mystic,  Lanthorn  Hill,  Goat  Island,  and 
some  10,000  acres  in  Voluntown,  Plainfield,  Canterbury,  Wood- 
stock, Saybrook  and  Black-lead-mine  Hill  in  Massachusetts  Bay, 
10  miles  in  circumference.  Many  a  European  prince  might  have 
coveted  such  a  sovereignty.  In  March,  1649,  Roger  Williams 
writes  to  congratulate  him  on  his  possessions  at  Paukatuck. 

Winthrop  was  a  man  of  ceaseless  activitj-.  No  sooner  had  he 
accomplished  one  enterprise  than  he  turned  to  another.  While 
freely  serving  the  colony  in  every  public  capacity,  he  was  engaged 
in  salt,  iron,  and  fishing  enterprises;  he  traded,  farmed, botanized, 
quarried,  mineralized, — sending  specimens  to  Sir  Hans  Sloane, — 
raised  goats  and  sheep,  and  setup  mills  and  forges.  He  continued 
in  the  magistracy  till  made  governor ;  he  was  a  member  of  a  special 
court  of  three  who  decided  suits  too  important  to  bring  before  the 
General  Court;  was  the  personal  friend  and  adviser  of  every  man 
in  the  colony,  and  performed  all  marriages  in  the  early  days,  and 
often  administered  medicine.  He  was  thoroughly  identified  with 
New  London,  which  he  had  resolved  should  be  his  home;   and 


;2^>  H/HTORIC  XEW  LOS  DOS, 

Ah^n,  in  I'CS/,  the  r.eTt-7.  came  that  he  had  been  chosen  Governor, 
rh^:  =iOrrow  of  hi-.  f':'.lo'Jv-to'An.-:men  nearly  overpowered  their  pride 
and  \>V-/*x%\\ui  at  th^;  r';co;;nit:on  of  hi-s  worth. 

It  •^'.as  nrc^:-.-.arv  for  the  chief  magi-strate  to  remove  to  Hartford, 
S';r  thotj^^h  he  contin'jcd  in  the  office  of  Governor  from  1657  to 
i^//^/,  \\*:  always  cr,n\vU:r^A  Pequot,  or  New  Lxjndon,  as  his  home. 
Ifjs  \\fprur  .tf:;if\  he  had  previously  be-itowed  upon  Edward  Palmes 
of  Sf\».'  Ffjiven,  uho  had  married  hi.s  daughter  Lucy.  Winthrop 
^l"verih'>  this  in  hi-,  \vill,  a-  follow-:  — 

"  '[  he  stone  hoii  v:,  formerly  my  dwcIIinj;-house,  in  New  London, 
with  '/arrlen  anrl  orchard,  as  formcrlv  convcved  to  said  Palmes 
,\\\(\  in  hi  i  ir^e  anrl  po-^session,  with  the  land  lying  to  the  north  of 
the  sai^I  hou  ,e  Uy  join  with  James  Rogers.  Also,  a  lot  of  six  acres 
lyin^;  ea-.t  of  the-  house,  bounded  north  by  the  oxe-pasture  and 
<  a-.l  f)y  tlu-  ^ireat  Kiver,  and  having  two  great  oak  trees  near  the 
rentf-r  linr," 

'['he  stone-  house  thus  bequeathed  to  Palmes  was  the  house 
rrftrrl  in  164S  by  Winthrop  for  his  own  occupancy.  It  was  a 
ino  .t  stately  c!w(-lling,  and  one  of  the  three  stone  houses  then  in 
\\\i-  ( oWuiy.  The  stc>ne  from  which  it  was  built  had  been  quarried 
a  mile  from  the  town  and  brought  to  the  "Neck"  with  great 
ttoublc. 

"  I  he  Neck,"  as  Winthrop's  manor  lot  was  called,  was  a  bold 
ru^^»;ed  point  jutting  out  into  the  river,  remarkable  for  its  stern  and 
lofty  beiuity  and  its  jagged  and  picturesque  outline.  Winthrop 
built  his  mansion  at  the  head  of  the  cove  on  the  east  side,  where  it 
stood  for  more  than  a  century,  shaded  by  gigantic  oaks, — the  only 
house  on  the  whoh'  point.  Its  noble  avenue  of  oaks,  its  wide 
lawn*.,  its  j;ardens  of  (lowers  and  fruit,  and  its  magnificent  parks  of 
.uuienl  forest  trees,  with  sheep  and  deer  gambolling  beneath  their 
mij;hty  branehes,  or  reposing  in  their  shade,  formed  an  estate  well 
eah'ulated  to  swell  the  owner's  heart  with  pardonable  pride. 

It  was  the  intention  of  Winthrop  that,  while  his  daughter  Lucy 
should  have  this  mansii>n  and  land,  all  his  possessions,  at  the  time 
of  his  death,  .^hould  bo  held  jointly  by  his  two  sons, — his  four 
other  daughters  having  been  portioned,  as  well  as  Lucy. 

The  contrary  realization  of  Winthrop's  dreams  show  how  God 
disposes  of  what  man  proposes.  Of  all  the  vast  area  bearing  the 
name  i>f  Winthrop,  but  one  small  section  remains,  and  even  that 


HISTORIC  NEW  LONDON. 


127 


L 


-wishes  to  discard  the  name  which  Connecticut  has  such  reason  to 
revere. 

Lucy  Winthrop  Palmes  died  the  year  following  her  father's 
demise,  She  left  one  daughter,  Lucy,  who  inherited  the  manor  in 
1712.  Though  twice  married  she  died  childless,  and  bequeathed 
the  Winthrop  manor  to  her  step-brothers,  Guy  and  Andrew 
Palmes.      In  1740  it  was  sold  to  John  Plumbc. 

When  Arnold  burned  New  London,  September  6,  1781,  the 
Plumbe  house  was  the  first  fired  oftho.se  upon  Winthrops  Neck. 

The  two  sons  of  Governor  Winthrop,  Fltz-John  and  Wait  Still, 
adhered  scrupulously  to  their  father's  will.  Both  were  men  of 
great  prominence  in  the  Connecticut  colony,  but  neither  circum- 
stances nor  character  enabled  them  to  excel  their  father  in  services, 
though  they  were  worthy  scions  of  the  name.  Wait  Winthrop 
succeeded  his  brother  John  as  major  of  the  county  regiment,  and 
some  ten  or  hvelve  years  later  took  up  his  abode  in  Boston. 

John  Winthrop  fulfilled  much  the  same  duties  as  his  father,  but 
had  a  far  greater  share  of  military  service.  When  King  Phihp's 
War  broke  out  in  1675,  John  Winthrop.  then  the  highest  military 
commander  in  the  country,  was  very  ill,  and  his  brother.  Captain 
Wait  Winthrop,  was  dispatched  at  the  head  of  the  New  London 
contingent.  It  is  worthy  of  note  that  New  London  always  re- 
sponded generously  to  any  appeal  to  her  patriotism. 

In  1690,  during  King  William's  War,  Major-General  Fitz-John 
Winthrop  was  commander-in-chief  of  the  forces  of  New  York  and 
New  England,  and  made  an  expedition  into  the  Canadian  territory, 
intending  to  attack  Montreal.  The  Indians,  who  were  to  cooperate, 
failed  to  appear ;  Winthrop  was  beset  with  difRculties,  and  only  by 
the  exercise  of  the  utmost  strategy  succeeded  in  reaching  Albany, 
where  the  New  York  Government,  professing  to  lay  the  defeat  at 
his  door,  were  prevented  from  sacrificing  him  to  popular  indigna- 
tion only  by  the  boldness  of  friendly  Mohawks,  who  gallantly 
rescued  their  beloved  commander,  and  brought  him  back  from 
prison  to  his  own  camp. 

From  this  expedition  General  Winthrop  brought  back  to  New 
London  nothing  but  a  fame  untarnished — after  the  most  severe 
scrutiny  by  the  legislature  of  the  colony.  His  daughter  and  only 
child,  Mary,  however,  had  reason  to  rejoice  at  its  disastrous  ter- 
mination, as  it  was  the  direct  cause  of  her  meeting  and  wedding 


HISTORIC   NEW  LONDON. 

the  brave  Captain  (Colonel)  Livingston,  whci  was  one  of  the  New 
York  officers  who  took  refuge  with  Winthrop  until  the  senseless 
indignation  of  his  government  should  give  place  to  reason.  But 
he  never  returned  to  New  York.  He  became  interested  in  some 
of  the  numerous  projects  of  his  father-in-law.  After  Mary's  death 
he  married  Elizabeth,  daughter  of  Mrs.  Sarah  Knight,  and  died  in 
England  in  1720  while  transacting  business. 

Fitz-John  Winthrop  never  had  the  strength  and  endurance  so 
beneficcnlly  bestowed  upon  the  early  colonists.  From  1697  to 
1707,  while  Governor,  he  had  been  away  from  New  London  nearly 
all  the  time,  but  had  given  it  many  tokens  of  his  affectionate 
regard,  so  that  it  was  with  sincere  regret  that  the  inhabitants  learned 
of  his  death  at  Boston,  whither  he  had  gone  for  medical  aid.  The 
Boston  News  Letter,  the  first  newspaper  published  in  North 
America,  begun  in  1704,  contained  this  death  notice: 

Boston,  Nov.  l^t'h,  1707.  —  About  4  o'clotk  this  mortiing  Ihe  Honorable  John 
Winthrop.  Esq.,  Governor  ofllis  Majeitys  Colony  of  Connecticut,  departed  this 
life  in  the  69th  year  of  his  age.  Being-born  at  Ipsn-ich,  in  New  Enginnd,  March 
14th,  anno  1638; — Whose  bodj  is  to  be  interred  here  on  Thursday  next,  the  4th 
of  December. 

He  was  buried  with  his  father  and  grandfather  in  King's  Chapel. 

Fitz-John  had  married  Elizabeth  Tongc.  daughter  of  George  and 
Margery  Tongc,  keepers  of  the  public  inn.     She  survived  him  till 
1731.  living  in  her  father's  house.     Her  only  child,  Mary  Winthrop    . 
Livingston,  died  January  1712;   of  her  burial  place  there  is  not 
the  slightest  trace. 

In  their  endeavor  to  keep  the  estate  as  their  father  had  desired, 
the  Winthrop  brothers  had  a  long  and  vexatious  lawsuit  with 
Major  Edward  I'almes.  husband  of  their  dead  sister  Lucy.  He 
was  defeated  in  the  colonial  courts,  and  fared  no  better  in  England, 
whither  he  had  appealed  it.  Wait  Still  Winthrop  had  a  son  John, 
whom  Fitz-John  and  he  had  agreed  should  be  sole  heir  of  their 
joint  possessions,  but,  curiously  enough,  the  younger  John  Win- 
throp had  also  to  establish  his  claims  to  the  undivided  possessions 
of  his  father  and  uncle  by  a  lawsuit, — Mrs.  Thomas  Lechmerc,  of 
Boston,  his  only  sister,  claiming  her  portion.  Joseph  Dudley,  his 
father-in-law,  testified  before  the  colonial  courts  that  Governor 
Fitz-John  Winthrop  had  meant  to  have  his  nephew  his  sole  heir, 
but  the  courts,  recognizing  that  the  acknowledgment  of  Winthrop's 
claims  would  be  admitting  that  the  English  law  of  primogeniture 


HISTORIC  NEW  LONDON. 


129 


had  force  in  the  colonies,  decided  against  him.  He  was  naturally 
very  indignant  and  appealed  to  the  king,  who  confirmed  him  in 
possession  of  his  cstatts. 

He  was  as  dissatisfied  with  the  colonists  as  they  with  him,  and 
for  twenty-one  years  he  remained  abroad  ;  but  his  wife  and  family 
made  New  London  their  home,  and  his  cldtist  son,  John  Still 
VVinlhrop.  went  to  London  in  1741,  and  remained  with  his  father 
till  the  latter's  death,  August  1,  1747. 

Mention  has  been  made  of  the  lot  sold  by  the  first  Governor 
Winthrop  to  James  Rogers,  a  baker,  who  furnished  bread  to  the 
colonial  troops.  Winthrop "s  transfer  of  this  portion  of  his  estate 
was  afterwards  the  source  of  the  greatest  annoyance  to  his  heirs, 
a.s  they  were  continually  in  litigation  with  Rogers  over  the  water 
privileges.  Madam  Winthrop  re-purchased  the  lot,  which,  a 
century  after  the  first  Winthrop  sold  it,  thus  became  again  a  part 
of  the  Winthrop  estate,  Upon  it  now  stands  the  stately  mansion 
built  by  John  Still  Winthrop  (great  grandson  of  the  learned,  wise 
and  gentle  John  Winthrop)  in  1747,  just  a  century  after  his  great 
ancestor  built  the  Winthrop  manor  on  his  "  home  lot." 

A  grand  old  relic  it  is  of  a  grand  old  family.  It  stands  at  the 
very  head  of  the  cove,  separated  from  it  by  a  narrow  street,  bord- 
ered on  one  side  by  gigantic  English  elms  and  a  meadow  beyond. 
In  front  of  it  stretches  away  "The  Neck,"  with  its  bridges,  its 
workshops,  its  railroads,  its  neat  dwellings, — a  busy,  bustling  min- 
iature city;  and  here  and  there  towers  up  a  stately  old  tree,  cast- 
ing the  shade  of  antiquity  over  the  modern  glare.  Afar  oiT  pulses 
the  Thames, — its  sun-kissed  waves  gleaming  and  sparkling.  To 
'  the  left  a  modest  little  church  nestles  under  the  steep  hill,  which 
ri.ws  up  abruptly,  and  with  its  overhanging  boulders,  gnarly 
stumps  and  stunted  cedars,  forms  a  wild  and  forbidding  prelude  to 
the  beautiful  forest  beyond  it. 

The  Winthrop  manor  is  a  very  old  stately  house,  built  in  the  solid 
elegance  which  characterized  the  English  country  houses  of  the 
seventeenth  century,  provided  with  an  abundance  of  roomy 
porches  and  balconies.  A  high  stone  wall,  surmounted  by  a 
palisade-like  fence,  encloses  the  front  lawn.  Passing  through  the 
massive  gales,  one  comes  upon  lawns  and  gardens,  once  the 
pride  of  the  gardener's  heart.  Rare  roses  run  riot,  English  shrub- 
bery, brought  thither   by  Consul    General  Stewart,  form  tangled 


Dio  HISTORIC  SEW  LOXimX. 

*2&Qnjt  tonstt:  inaKDC  ttSitt:  ILastt  fenmihr  Ikft  ttflwr  nmiamffiWMii,  ftt  fecanf  tdine 
oanipincss:  €jf  flftegikctL  Solffiiiiniig;  angMtm  ttflMr  igprannntr  gKcarttBDov  (onae  casmwrtt 
Ifacdlp  (no^DjainraB;^  nnp  TttSMXES  of  ttfiae  patstt  Msftoiry  rf  ttfioe  cM  nmoDD'Oir^ 
H«ine-  J«o>3Dim  Sttii!13  WiiimtlSnincif)  iiM  aimd  w:2ltc2D«f«fl  ttEocc  garr  pcrannn^  ptecf^ 

K^sms:  rf  ttHae  g3iind«Q  jujcrliks  laiiiDelii  wrfjnt  iiO)  ptoponllar  inn  tduc  (oM  ttamaejL 

pmstSy  onaaiSd  ^rJk:  ifonrlii  to  k>£^  a  m^slL 

ttiiCDces  Hemps^teadi..  is-Ia^c^fie:  c!h.2lir^%  ^z-^^'^y  diainr  kzt?  l»e«n  a  ;gfo»d- 
A©d  aa  aii-tr  y<eairK.  m:bt3  tbt  Slxartf  3D<f]d  ineugn. — GeiC)r^,  W-Tl- 

liaJli  of  libe  WinliiT.C'p^  rescJiDODdtd  wiiii  y-ooar  aiDteinry  laingtator  aud 
rsv  itsti--- — eTi'tii  ■"  Aazni"'"  AmeHv,  Ibe  •***  eclDiiwS  "^  cook — mia-cisc  f^onS 
*tec--nned  bo'isnd  rp  in  ber  pasirje?  a:i$d  piD-ddin^-?^  —  w^O'^aM  ka^~c  lacjr 
laik  .aud  gazf  after  •'"de  y<:>a2i3g  tfolksts'"  as  ih^  departed  tape® 
M.':nrc  -ajld  oTCuic.  An^d  deaf  ajnd  dximb  Oaik-id  BcJks^iihe  c.oumttcT- 
p.Lrt  'cf  lilt  anxioais  Majliia  -cf  the  Biblf:,  lie  m^jor  difm.c'^  l3»e 
aia-fi:]  dragon  -abo  piresSded  ovct  lije  red  and  gC'ld  appks, — vCtob 
be  -aorld  v5e]d  iiis  cSa-oicest  treasnies  nilii  alacrin'  to  Isabella  <sr 
Acne, 

Ob  !  old  boxLse,  grim  mitSa  ibe  s:3envOC  of  HoueHiaesf,  wbal  a  tale 
cc^nld'st  tboia  tell  if  ih}'  Trails  gave  back  the  words  tbeii-*  have  ofrcan 
druu]-: !  Wlaat  woiald  :ts  tenor  be?  Wc^nld  h  be  a  ooraedv,  foil 
of  ligbl,  tie  vmkli-ng  of  ronsk,  tbe  npple  of  laiaghler,  ibe  wbir  tof 
dancing  feet, — "srould  tbeie  be  angbt  <:>f  darkness  or  gioom? 

A  Ytry  jolly  set  were  tbe  Slewans, — the  consul,  gra^-e  and 
quiet,  much  pre-occupied  Tiilh  his  duties,  and  absorbed  in  his  bus- 
iness, a  press-naill  which  was  run  on  the  spot  where  the  Albert^Mi 
foundiy  now  stands,  yet  ne\'er  negk-cting  the  calls  c>f  hospitality; 
and  Mr«=-  Stewart,  a  ty^  of  the  English  lady,  much  given  to  rid- 


HISTORIC  NEW  LONDON. 


131 


ing,  hunting,  partying,  dressing  and  dancing.  The  older  people 
of  New  London  still  treasure  in  their  memory  the  famous  Stewart 
balls  and  skating  parties,  to  which  it  was  high  honor  to  be  a  guest. 

Speaking  of  skating  reminds  one  that  the  famous  mill-pond  of 
Governor  VVinthrop  must  be  included  in  this  estate,  and  we  incon- 
tinently desert  the  manor —  after  having  lingered  for  the  regula- 
tion time,  absorbed  in  admiration  of  the  great  drawing-room  with 
its  rare  panels  and  scriptural  tiles.  Out  through  the  porte- 
coch^rc,  fighting  one's  way  through  tall  Orange  lilies — commemor- 
ating the  memory  of  pious  William — into  the  damp,  dark  avenue. 
The  writer  was  prepared  to  give  allowances  for  the  ravages  of 
time  and  neglect,  —  but  can  this  reedy,  sedgy  little  triangle  be  the 
famous  pond  which  provoked  so  much  litigation?  Was  it  from 
this  that  the  whalers  used  to  fill  their  barrels?  Was  it  over 
this  surface  the  swan-s  majestically  floated, — where  the  Stewarts 
rowed  in  summer  and  skated  in  winter?  Yes,  for  there  is  boat- 
house  and  ice-house,  and  the  littio  bridge  "which  spans  its  rapid 
flow."  Though  one  may  be  disappointed  in  its  size,  one  cannot 
avoid  being  struck  by  its  calm,  lethargic  beauty.  Its  centre  is 
perfectly  clear  and  motionless,  of  a  peculiar  greenish  hue.  The 
northern  and  western  sides  arc  a  mass  of  water-lilies  in  bloom, — 
their  glossy  green  leaves,  spread  out  upon  the  water,  tenderly  hold 
up  the  flowers;  at  the  upper  end  a  wall  of  wild  roses,  dwarf 
maples,  wild  clematis  and  elder  bushes,  forms  a  dense  thicket;  at 
one  side  a  broken  hawthorn  hedge  strives  lo  cover  the  obtrusive 
ugliness  of  an  old  stone  wall,  which  defiantly  refuses  to  be  hidden, 
and  a  solitary  weeping  willow  drops  its  tears  upon  the  placid  sur- 
face; near  by,  a  vigorous  young  oak  proudly  flings  out  its  sturdy 
branches  as  though  the  sluggish  decay  about  it  made  it  rejoice  in 
its  full  life.  A  woodpecker  darts  at  its  trunk ;  a  catbird  emits  a 
quavering  cry;  a  chipmunk,  leaping  along  the  stone  wall,  pauses 
to  regard  us  with  unrestrained,  enquiring  astonishment;  then  a 
robin  dips  his  beak  into  the  water,  and  a  curious  little  fish  comes 
up  to  take  a  peep. 

The  rays  of  the   August    sun    are   most   delightfully   tempered. 
one  almost  succumbs  to  a  Kip  Van  Winkle  drowsiness,  when  the 
jingle,  jingle  of  the  city  'bus,  watering  its  horses  at  a  neighboring  • 
trough,  prove  a  most  eflicacious  antidote. 

Going  down  the  avenue,  the  first  thing  which  impresses  us  is 


132  HISTORIC  NEW   LONDON. 

the  time-defying  character  of  the  stables,  which  seem  to  have 
been  built  to  shelter  a  whole  troop  of  horses;  one  building, — a 
long,  narrow  structure,  with  arched  doors  and  tiny  panel  win- 
dows—  is  surmounted  by  an  empty  belfry;  it  strongly  suggests  a 
guard  house. 

Judging  from  the  present  umbrageous  features  of  the  estate, 
the  former  owners  must  have  derived  immense  "pleasure  in  the 
pathless  woods,*'  for  here  are  oak,  maple,  pine,  poplar,  elm, 
spruce,  ash,  the  "light,  quivering  aspen,"  the  noisome  ailanthus, 
butternut  and  mulberry.  If  they  had  designed  to  give  evidence  of 
their  abilities  in  arboriculture,  they  could  not  have  better  succeeded. 

But  if  the  old  Winthrop  house  is  redolent  of  antiquity,  what  can 
be  said  of  its  neighbor,  —  modestly  hiding  under  the  shadow  of  its 
eaves,  as  it  were  —  the  old  mill,  built  in  165 1  by  the  first  settlers  at 
Pequot? 

Miss  Caulkins'  History  of  New  London  says:  ** The  establish- 
ment of  a  mill  was  an  object  of  prime  importance.  It  was  decided 
in  town  meeting,  the  loth  of  November,  1650,  that  all  the  inhab- 
itants should  co-operate  with  Mr.  Winthrop  in  building  the  mill ; 
and  that, — 

"Further,  it  is  agreed  that  no  person  or  persons  shall  setup  any 
other  mill  to  grind  corn  for  the  town  of  Pequett  within  the  limits 
of  the  town,  cither  for  the  present,  nor  for  the  future,  so  long  as 
Mr.  John  Winthrop  or  his  heirs,  do  uphold  a  milne  to  'grind  the 
town  corn.'" 

The  town  faithfully  adhered  to  its  agreement,  though  the  heirs 
of  Winthrop  did  not;  and  it  was  not  till  1709  that  another  was 
built  at  Jordan. 

Well  tjiey  wrought, — those  men  of  steel !  To-day  the  stones 
of  the  dam  are  as  firmly  set,  as  when  —  the  last  one  placed — the 
weary  laborers  drew  back  with  proud  satisfaction  from  their  task. 

Salvator  Rosa  never  had  better  subject  than  the  old  mill  affords. 
Its  long  sloping  roof  nearly  descends  to  the  door,  over  which  it 
projects,  forming  a  portico  supported  by  the  self-same  knotty, 
gnarly,  twisted  cedar  posts  cut  by  a  Brewster,  or  a  Latham,  two 
hundred  and  thirty-five  years  ago.  The  door,  of  massive  planks 
crossed  by  huge  iron  bars,  opens  in  upper  and  lower  halves;  a 
precaution  needed  in  the  days  when  not  over-peaceable  or  honest 
Indians  were  frequent  visitors.     The  small  windows  have  doubtless 


HISTORIC    XliW  LONDON. 


133 


served  for  loopholes  for  muskets.  The  cellar  must  have  been  de- 
signed for  a  dungeon.  Within  the  massive  rafters  almost  touch 
one's  head ;  its  semi-darkness  and  a  feeHng  of  awe  make  the 
intruder  glad  to  breathe  again  the  fresh  air. 

But  the  old  mill  has  other  than  musty  memories.  Over  its 
threshold  has  stepped  many  a  fair  girl-bride;  within  its  walls 
many  a  happy  family  were  reared.  The  old  portion,  set  off  for 
the  miller's  family,  is  stiH  in  perfect  preservation.  The  last  miller, 
Giles  Perkins,  spent  his  first  years  of  married  life  beneath  its  roof. 
At  the  side  opening,  on  Winthrop  avenue,  is  a  little  door,  upon 
whose  step  the  miller's  wife  often  sat,  surrounded  by  her  children, 
and  watched  the  doings  of  the  great  house. 

Dame  Nature  was  at  her  wildest  when  she  planned  the  little 
glen  in  which  the  mill  is  situated.  Nothing  but  an  earthquake 
could  have  produced  such  a  magnificent  confusion  of  rocks,  small, 
medium,  large, —  rocks  worn  into  basins  by  the  constant  flow  of 
the  water  which  dashes  from  one  to  another  down  the  steep  in- 
cline, lashing  itself  with  foam,  throwing  up  spray  and  roaring  like 
a  Niagara  on  a  very  small  scale;  rocks  completely  covered  with 
gray  moss,  and  rocks  from  whose  split  hearts  a  lofty  tree  has 
arisen.  The  profusion  of  rocks  is  only  equalled  by  that  of  the 
trees.  They  grow  in  all  directions,  in  all  shapes,  of  all  sizes,  at 
all  angles.  Wherever  a  blade  of  grass  has  found  foothold,  up  it 
springs,  of  a  marvellous  freshness  and  greenness,  which  would  do 
credit  to  the  Emerald  Isle.  And  such  ferns !  They  would  make 
the  puny  pet  of  the  conservatory  wilt  away  in  mortification. 

Silent  and  desolate  is  the  old  mill  now, — seeming  to  have  gained 
a  deeper  lonesomencss  since  the  death  of  the  last  miilcr,  a  short 
lime  since.  The  old  overshot  wheel  hangs  dry  and  motionless, 
never  again  to  feel  the  maiitery  of  the  hand  which  for  forty  years 
set  its  busy,  cheery  clatter  agoing. 

Placid,  gentle,  guileless  old  Giles  Perkins!  How  fitting  would 
it  have  been  for  mill  and  miller  to  have  ceased  their  usefulness 
together. 

Main  street  (Town,  in  the  old  time,)  is  the  oldest  street  after 
Bank  and  Beach  (Water.)  "When  Arnold  burnt  the  town,"  he 
left  very  few  dwellings  upon  its  length.  The  dwelling  house-  at 
present  occupied  by  judge  John  P.  C.  Mather  —  may  not  have 
any  historic  recollections  associated  with  it,  but  the  many  admir- 


134  HJbKMiC  ShW  LOykBOX. 

^"t-vfctttiitti  JJ'cAk  7  .  Wart,  win  j^'-^bai^lhr  ^-tl  inakt:  it  xbe  -cinficl  -of  a 

*ixK  livutit  <^  OtjAitin  <itnr  Kadbards.  crtscasd  inr  iiim  in  BJB^u  Saul 

■J3ik</tik^  i<^  liit:  ]:ift  </  tikt  caj/Lain'-B  dangfal^r.  lai)©  Tiras  dan^ir- 
'<^Wb1r  riJJ  <^  fcrtrr.  7  lit  XMract  hcti**  <>f  inttrcKt  if  l3ie  iacMse  €m  liht 
^^^w-r  <^  M-iii©  ;icod  Siiaj^k-)'  *^t?t-t*^.  .cnriMjd  In'  W_  D-  Pratt  ixho 

1]^^  k-^-yt  it  at>  v/t^y  its  pf>^5bltr  in  its  old  fc^rao-     It  -s^s  Iwaik  ia 

vr}^/v«r  ^/'yrXf^X  m  tJitr  fajuaJy  gallt-n-  sbcjirf  !>«-  to  be  a  £air,  sm^esd- 
Ciivyj  -cljj  W  ''/f  fifvt^-T}.  At  h^"  marriage  -mitii  l3>e  y-ooaig  CcKOgr^^a- 
i^ff^  swn')h^:r^  Kphraiin  Wof.^dbrSdge.  i^be  becaaihe  im^ticss  of  dst- 
:}j^yUi>»r  J/udJt  an-d  f\irr/i\ht'4  by  litrr  ialber.  Tbe  happy  'visSoais  of 
iix^:  y</u«'>{  pair  ar<-  vhown  by  th-e  ]ine?  ftill  -en  the  window  pa3»e, 
*r«$^ray<r''5  by  tb<r  br3d<rj^r<x>na  on  bis  bridal  naora : 

KPHKAJM   wrXiDBRIDGE- 
11*31  Jia^^r  <3bi» V !  liif:  fairet-t  i^mti  tliat  <n-«-  ro«e- 

tUii  th^fr  bla/ck  cJoud  of  death  soon  obscured  his  sun.  Scarcely 
ux  y^.ar^,  ;ir\*i  pretty  Polly  Shaw  and  her  husband  lay  together  in 
iUt^  i^/iiy*%      \\\s  epitaph  says: 

'*  Zion  mav  in  hU  full  bemoan. 
A  Bcautv  and  a  Pillar  ^onc." 

On  tlKr  eabt  ^idc  of  Main  street  is  a  long,  low,  rambling  browTi 
liou>,<%  wfio»>e  closed  shutters  and  general  somnolent  air  would 
n'  V*  r  fnake  the  observer  believe  that  it  could  have  been  the  fam- 
on>,  old  I'ox  tavern,  celebrated  for  its  "  entertainment  for  man  and 
h'ii^J/'  Diagonally  opposite  is  the  old  Episcopal  parsonage. 
t  tt  (it'd  in  1745,  and  occupied  by  the  ministers  of  that  faith  for 
ns/tr  one  hundred  years.  Its  venerable  neighbor  on  the  right 
lookn  like  what  it  is,  an  old  Puritan  homestead,  which  counts  its 
birthdayH  up  to  one  hundred  and  fifty,  and  rigidly  refuses  to  adorn 
itnelf  with  any  modern  ornaments.  Just  in  front  are  three  mighty 
elmn  which  must  reckon  their  ages  by  centuries. 

A  legend  is  told  of  one  of  the  Burbeck  family  which  well  illus- 
t rates  the  fearlessness  with  which  a  bold  son  of  New  London  will 


HISTORIC  NEW  LONDON,  135 

defend  his  rights.  It  appears  that  the  sapient  selectmen  of  the 
town  had  taken  it  into  their  heads  that  the  beauty  of  the  thorough- 
fare demanded  the  sacrifice  of  one  of  the  elms,  while  the  owner  of 
the  elms,  Brig.-General  Burbeck,  had  an  opposite  opinion.  The 
selectmen  sent  him  their  commands  repeatedly,  but  the  General 
received  them  with  increasing  contempt.  At  length  the  crisis 
came.  The  selectmen  felt  that  they  must  avenge  the  outraged 
majesty  of  law  and  order,  or  remain  forever  despised.  The  gen- 
eral felt  that  to  consent  to  the  destruction  of  his  hamadryades 
would  be  to  tarnish  all  his  glory.  The  selectmen  armed  them- 
selves with  axes  and  copies  of  the -law  defining  their  powers.  The 
general  girded  himself  for  the  conflict.  It  is  doubtful  if  that  soul- 
stirring  poem,  not  infrequently  recited  by  school  boys,  "Wood- 
man, spare  that  tree,"  had  yet  been  evolved ;  it  is  pretty  certain 
that,  even  if  it  had  been,  the  general  would  have  scorned  to  waste 
its  pathos  on  the  selectmen.  He  placed  himself  in  front  of  his 
trees,  brought  his  gun  into  position,  and  as  he  ran  his  eye  along 
the  sight,  said  in  trumpet  tones : 

'*  The  first  man  that  touches  a  tree  I  will  shoot  like  a  dog !  " 

Silence  so  heavy  that  it  would  have  outweighed  boarding-house 
bread  fell  on  the  vandal  host.  The  selectmen  saw  not  the  out- 
raged majesty  of  law,  they  saw  not  the  gibing  faces  of  their  towns- 
men ;  but  they  did  sec  the  muzzle  of  the  gun,  the  gleam  of  the 
general's  eye, —  and,  realizing  that  discretion  was  far  better  than 
valor,  they  stood  not  upon  the  order  of  their  going,  but  fled  in- 
gloriously.     The  elms  still  stand. 

It  would  be  well  for  the  picturesque  beauty  of  New  London  if 
more  of  the  present  generation  were  imbued  with  some  of  the 
Burbeck  spirit.  The  elms  which  shade  sections  of  State  and 
Huntington  streets  are  glorious  trees ;  and  it  would  send  a  New 
Havener  into  spasms  of  envy  merely  to  gaze  upon  their  magnifi- 
cence of  girth  and  height;  yet  every  day  some  Goth  with  a  tune- 
less soul  arms  himself  with  his  little  hatchet,  and  in  an  hour  ruins 
what  a  hundred  years  scarce  serve  to  form. 

It  would  be  hard  to  recognize  the  old  court  house  of  1784  in  its 
gay  red  dress,  save  that  its  prime  Puritan  outlines  still  peep  out 
and  seem  to  refuse  to  be  modernized.  When  it  was  built,  it  was 
considered  a  very  elegant  structure.  It  is  square,  two  stories  in 
height,  and  is  surmounted  by  a  round  cupola.     It  is  utterly  guilt- 


136  HISTORIC  NEW  LONDON, 

less  of  ornament,  unless  a  vivid  imagination  interpret  the  modest 
pediments  over  the  windows  as  such. 

It  would  be  superfluous  to  call  attention  to  the  old  Hempstead 
house,  the  Shaw  mansion,  and  the  Nathan  Hale  school  house  on 
Union  street;  every  urchin  in  the  city  knows  their  location,  and 
every  visiting  stranger  has  "done"  them.  The  two  first  are  par- 
ticularly rich  in  recollections  and  souvenirs.  In  the  Hempstead 
house, —  one  of  the  oldest,  if  not  the  oldest  in  Connecticut,  having 
been  built  in  1643,  —  ^s  a  sky-blue  satin  waistcoat,  about  which  is 
told  a  pretty  story.  It  was  sacredly  treasured  by  the  family  who 
preserved  it  as  a  proud  memento  of  a  courtier  ancestor.  But  in 
the  days  when  New  London  was  a  great  resort  for  the  royal  navy, 
Patty  Hempstead,  having  vainly  teased  her  father  for  a  ball  dress, 
audaciously  took  her  scissors,  and  without  the  slightest  reverence 
for  her  departed  ancestor  adapted  his  gorgeous  finery  to  her  own 
plump  outlines,  and  thus  clad  doubtless  broke  many  a  sturdy 
Jack's  heart  before  the  night  was  half  gone. 

The  Shaw  mansion  is  a  spacious,  hospitable  mansion  of  lime- 
stone. It  fronts  Bank  street,  opposite  the  cove,  which  bears  the 
name  of  that  family,  once  the  ruling  maritime  spirits  of  New  Lon- 
don. Nearly  every  room  has  its  history  or  romance.  Both 
Washington  and  Lafayette  were  guests  of  the  manor,  and  prob- 
ably the  former  danced  at  the  lawn  party  given  in  his  honor. 

Ne.xt  the  Shaw  house  stands  one  which,  if  not  so  imposing,  is 
more  quaintly  picturesque ;  its  roof,  like  that  of  a  Swiss  chalet, 
descending  upon  cedar  posts  full  of  knots  and  spanned  by  antique 
trellises. 

Here  dwelt,  in  Revolutionary  days,  one  of  the  Christophers;  as 
stanch  a  tory  as  ever  cried  **  God  save  King  George  !  *'  He  wined 
and  dined  Benedict  Arnold  the  day  that  traitor  burned  New  Lon- 
don ;  and  scarcely  had  his  ** distinguished  guest"  departed  when 
he  saw  the  flames  rising  from  the  residence  of  his  patriot  neighbor, 
r'orgotten  were  all  differences.  Christopher  rushed  to  the  rescue. 
There  was  no  water  at  hand,  not  a  moment  to  lose.  Luckily  there 
was  a  vat  of  vinegar  in  Christopher's  out-house ;  and  with  this 
the  owner  soon  succeeded  in  subduing  the  flames.  The  Christ- 
opher house  still  bears  the  name  of  "Vinegar"  house,  from  this 
episode. 

It  would  not  be  acting  fairly  toward  one  of  New  London's  most 


HISTORIC  NEW   LONDON. 


'.V 


interesting  possessions  to  omit  a  description  of  the  burying-ground 
of  the  first  settlers. — which  stili  remains.  It  was  laid  outin  1653. 
am!  is  the  "antientc'^t"  burial  placi;  in  New  London,  and  has  been 
the  subject  of  many  times  repeated  and  minute  legislation.  It 
wa.s  solemnly  resolved  in  town  meeting,  that  "It  shall  ever  bee  for 
a  Common  Buriall  Place,  and  never  be  impropriated  by  any." 
Any  extortion  on  the  part  of  the  sexton  was  also  carefully  pro- 
vided against,  as  evinced  by  this  extract  from  the  town  records  ; 


omstock    is  chosen  to  be  gra% 
a  have  4  sliitlingB,  for  childre 


maker  for  the  town  ; 
]  shillingE  a  grave,  t 


I  be  paid  for 


hy 

"To  be  paid  for  by  survivors,"  shows  that  the  sage  council 
strongly  favored  having  the  deceased  remain  in  their  graves,  like 
decent,  well-behaved  ex-citizens,  instead  of  roaming  about,  like 
Banquo,  to  settle  up  old  scores. 

But  the  old  burial-place  did  notremain  the  sole  burying-ground, 
as  the  council  intended.  As  time  rolled  on,  and  one  after  another 
of  the  colonists  fell  beneath  its  remorseless  chariot,  they  were 
tenderly  borne  to  their  last  resting  place  almost  in  the  shadow  cast 
by  the  "meeting-house."  After  a  considerable  time  it  was  found 
to  be  too  small,  and  shortly  after  the  abandonment  of  the  old 
meeting-house,  it  was  voted  in  town  council  to  lay  out  another 
cemetery ;  but  no  action  was  taken  for  some  time.  Finally  a  sec- 
ond burial  place  was  consecrated  in  1 793,  and  thither  many  bodie'i 
were  removed  from  the  first.  In  passing,  it  may  be  said  that  this 
Second  Burying  Ground  is  about  to  be  turned  into  a  park.  The 
most  interesting  interments  within  it  were  those  of  General  Jede- 
diah  Huntington,  first  Collector  of  the  Port,  and  John  G.  C. 
Brainard,  the  poet.  No  bodies  have  been  interred  in  the  old  bury- 
ing place  for  years,  except  those  of  the  town  poor,  and  it  lias 
gradually  sunk  into  neglect;  governors,  magistrates,  ministers, 
taw-makers,  share  oblivion  alike  with  lowly  paupers, — striking 
comment  upon  the  pomp  and  pageantry  of  mortal  pride! 

The  old  cemetery  is  most  beautifully  situated  upon  an  elevated 
ridge  a  little  northwest  of  the  centre  of  the  town.  This  point  was 
selected  becau.se  it  was  ju.st  north  of  the  first  meeting-house.  An 
hour's  research  among  its  curious  memorials  to  forgotten  mortality 
would  well  repay  the  antiquarian. 

Here,  beneath  crumbling  stone  or  discolored  tablet,  repose  the 


i:,>  HISTORJC  NEW  LCKDON. 

"  f crt-eiatbers  c*f  the  baniteL.' — ^jadges,  dirm^.  mamrs.  Soaoc 
are  marked  i»-ith  an  bumble  slab  of  sandstime  jnsr  riang  fmsn 
tbe  grcFUXid,  the  iettertng^  c»f  tbe  quamr  ez>it294i  nearly  defaced ; 
others,  more  prerteutions,  ii-ith  marbk:  ceistre?  bearing  name,  date 

of  death,  and  a  few  v-rrse^ — ftrarfuZi-  and  viinderFnlhr  Tnadf . — set- 
ting  fvrdi  the  virtues  nevt-r  disccnrered  until  oeati  Im?  laid  iiis  cinD 
t*>uch  rtK>E  their  xK.*bV:'6-si'r. 

3u3.k  bek'w  the  tiirf.  half  coi-ered  vrth  "need?.,  a  ^eat  t^m 
tfarou^  its  s^iodle.  Iie^  the  c'ide^t  tonibstofne  ea?t  of  tbe  Cc«miect- 
icirt  rik er.  It  has  bravely  be^d  rts  own  a^am?t  thne's  ravages ;  for 
th^  l^rtterir-^  vf  name?,  dates  and  epitaph,  cir:  into  tbe  red 
^tvne.  :^  vtfll  le^r&k:.  as  fcUcni-s : 

CAFTAINE  RJCHAiO)  LORD,  DECEASED. 


A-^c  V-  _^  *:  truth  a  6-ie!::id  c^  r»^e«t  e?E^*l- 

T'-  Hk-^'^-ri  f7"»r2!e  a  filler  crrisrjt-nt. 
Wb.'.*  <-2.r:  "ic'-  T  to  poors  he  '■"£*  rc~t5t 

To  mirt.hiit*:*  a*  a  pa-tien:  be  mrgiit  «taad 
A-i'.  er:t--:r::iZ  danzcr*  e*-^  br  «ea  arid  Larid- 


The  hl^ly  eulogized  Richard  ift-as  captain  of  the  first  earairy 
company  organized  in  the  colony.  "Composing  paroxysms'*  is 
not  to  be  interpr'rted  as  meaning  that  he  dabbled  in  physics,  bat 
wa-  ^a^  Mi^^  Caulkins  5*jggests  K  probably  an  allusion  to  his 
happy  fa/:u!ty  of  arbitrating  disputes.  Near  the  north  end  is  tfic 
tomb  of  the  Winthrops  and  Livingstons.  The  inscription  on 
Mad^m  Winthrops  tomb  is  quite  legible.  As  is  kno^-n,  neither 
the  fir^t  or  r-econd  governors  were  buried  here.  John  Still  Win- 
throp,  grand-nephew  of  the  last  Governor  Winthrop.  died  in  1776 
at  the  beginning  of  the  revolution :  and.  as  it  was  imp>ossible  at 
that  time  to  erect  monuments,  his  body  was  placed  beneath  a 
rudf,  granite  slab  near  the  centre  of  the  ground,  beside  that  of  the 
third  minister  of  the  colony,  Simon  Bradstreet,  who  died  in  1683. 
It  was  upon  the  Winthrop  tomb  that  Arnold  viewed  the  attack 
upon  Fort  Griswold. 

The  Saltonstall  tomb,  containing  the  remains  of  Gurdon  Sakoa- 
stall,  who  abandoned  the  pulpit  for  the  gubernatorial  chair,  is  in  a 


HISTORIC  NEW  LONDON,  139 

good  state  of  preservation,  as  is  likewise  that  of  one  of  the  lords 
of  Gardiner's  Island.  There  are  innumerable  graves  of  the  Coit 
family,  though  the  writer  does  not  know  whether  the  bones  of 
Captain  Wm.  Coit  repose  in  the  old  cemetery  or  have  been 
removed.  This  brave  soldier  was  captain  of  an  independent  mili- 
tary company  organized  in  New  London  in  1775.  It  took  part  in 
the  battle  of  Bunker  Hill ;  and  Coit  soon  after  was  appointed  cap- 
tain of  the  Harrison,  a  schooner  fitted  out  in  Boston  to  cruise 
Against  the  British.  Frothingham,  in  his  ''  Siege  of  Boston,'*  says 
that  Captain  Wm.  Coit  was  **The  first  man  in  the  States  who  turned 
his  majesty's  bunting  upside  down." 

The  tomb  of  the  Brooks  family  is  sealed.  Broken,  cracked  and 
chipped  are  the  tablets  of  the  Prentis,  Deshon  (Deschamps, 
doubtless),  Avery,  and  Christophers.  More  than  two  centuries 
have  elapsed  since  the  first  of  the  proud  Christophers  was 
entombed ;  and  the  coat  of  arms  nearly  defaced,  the  sandstone 
crumbling  into  dust,  the  rank  grass  matting  itself  above  them, 
show  how  utterly  forgotten  are  the  proud  race  whose  passions 
and  pride  set  at  naught  the  ordinances  of  their  more  temperate 
fellow-citizens. 

Every  few  yards  one  stumbles  over  some  tiny  stone  marking  the 
resting  place  of  some  little  one  whom  Jesus  had  called  unto  Him- 
self ere  the  incorruptible  had  more  than  donned  the  garb  of 
corruption. 

But  some  sleep  beneath  the  sod  whose  place  of  rest  is  marked 
by  no  token  of  love  or  respect.  Perhaps  even  now  we  stand  upon 
the  grave  of  some  poor  unfortunate,  buried  with  as  little  cere- 
mony as  Tom  Hood's  pauper.  Ah,  well !  what  matters  it  to  the 
poor  wretch,  worn  out  in  the  pitiless  battle  of  life,  whether  he 
rest  at  last  beneath  **dull,  cold  marble"  in  a  minster  transept,  or 
sink,  unknellcd  and  unknown,  into  the  sleep  that  knows  not  wak- 
ing? But  Nature  hath  a  kind  remembrance.  The  few  wild  flowers, 
shedding  their  sweet  fragrance  over  their  dust,  are  a  more  touch- 
ing epitaph  than  any  hollow  mockeries  would  be,  for  those  whose 
experience  of  life  might  be  fitly  summed  up  in  the  words:  "Bub- 
ble, bubble,  toil  and  trouble." 

Verily,  the  neglect  and  desolation  of  the  place  preach  a  lesson 
of  mortality  far  more  eloquently  than  could  a  Greenwood  or  an 


I40  HISTORIC  NEW  LONDON, 

Auburn.       How  forcible  and  true  the  declaration,  "  Dust  thou  art^ 
and  unto  dust  shalt  thou  return  ! " 

From  the  cemetery  is  a  most  beautiful  view.  Behind  is  a  pla- 
teau thickly  covered  with  houses  against  a  background  of  dark, 
green  hills ;  on  the  left,  a  continuation  of  the  same  ridge,  crowned 
with  picturesque  homes ;  to  the  right  stretches  away  the  whole 
town,  with  here  and  there  a  slender  spire  rising  above  the  sur- 
rounding house-tops ;  in  front,  the  entire  slope  down  to  the  water's 
edge,  with  its  fringe  of  warehouses  and  factories,  the  noble  river 
intersecting  the  two  shores,  —  its  broad  surface  glowing  with  a 
thousand  hues  beneath  the  setting  sun ;  the  historic  hills  of  Gro- 
ton,  their  dark  green  foliage  crimsoning  with  the  first  tintings  of 
autumn,  the  grim,  gray  monument  of  brave  Ledyard  and  his  fel- 
low-martrys,  and  over  all  the  calm,  blue  sky,  flecked  with  fleecy 
white;  the  sun  sinking  slowly  behind  a  mass  of  amber  and  purple 
and  crimson  and  gold, —  all  forming  a  whole  not  easily  forgotten. 

Everything  spoke  of  peace  and  rest.  A  great  calm  seemed  to 
fall  upon  the  city  of  the  dead,  and  something  of  the  peace  which 
passeth  all  understanding  entered  into  the  troubled  heart. 

The  sun  sank  low  behind  the  western  hills,  a  black  cloud  passed 
over  it;  all  was  dark  and  cheerless.  An  instant,  and  it  burst 
forth  again  in  a  blaze  of  transcendent  splendor,  and  shed  a  halo 
of  light  over  the  old  crumbling  stones.  Slowly  the  rays  fade 
away,  lingering  tenderly  on  the  forgotten  graves,  until  the  soft 
creeping  twilight  came  and  wrapped  the  earth  in  its  clinging  gray 
mantle. 


JOHNNY  KLINE,  141 


JOHNNY  KLINE, 

THE   TUNKER   PREACHER   OF   THE   SHENANDOAH    VALLEY. —A 

STORY   OF   WAR   TIME. 

BY    ORRA    LANGHORNE. 

Old  Johnny  Kline  !  As  I  write  the  words  the  venerable 
form  of  the  Tunker  preacher  comes  before  me  as  I  have  seen  him 
a  thousand  times  in  my  childhood,  as  I  saw  him  the  day  before  he 
died. 

He  always  wore  the  blue  homespun  garments  which  are  the 
uniform  of  the  Tunker  brethren,  made  after  the  quaint  fashion  of 
their  German  forefathers,  every  piece,  from  the  flax-linen  shirt  to 
the  cut-away  coat,  spun  and  woven  by  the  thrifty  women  of  their 
orderly  community.  His  shoes,  tied  with  stout  leather  strings, 
were  home-made,  too, — probably  he  made  them  himself.  Only  the 
broad-brimmed  felt  hat,  universal  among  the  Tunkers,  but  pur- 
chased from  some  Gentile  merchant,  betrayed  the  slightest  conces- 
sion to  the  progress  of  manufactures. 

The  old  man  was  of  somewhat  thick-set  frame,  scarcely  reaching 
the  medium  height;  his  long,  white  hair,  parted  in  the  middle,  fell 
over  his  shoulders  in  silvery  locks,  his  blue  eyes  beamed  with 
kindly  intelligence,  and  there  was  altogether  about  him  an  air  of 
peace  and  serenity,  seeming  to  lift  him  above  the  world  of  strife 
in  which  ordinary  mortals  dwell,  irresistibly  reminding  one  of  the 
disciple  "  whom  Jesus  loved."  There  was  something  almost  fem- 
inine in  his  gentle  presence,  and  fierce  indeed  must  have  been  the 
nature,  which  coming  in  contact  with  him,  did  not  feel  his  calm,. 
sweet  influence. 

We  all  knew  the  little  romance  which  had  cast  its  shadow  over 
his  life,  and  sincerely  respected  the  old  man  for  the  patience  with 
which  his  heavy  burden  was  borne. 

When  quite  young,  as  is  customary  with  his  people,  he  married 
the  maiden  of  his  choice,  the  union  being  approved  by  his  friend* 
and  neighbors  as  entirely  suitable  in  every  respect. 

l*he  damsel  was  one  of  the  simple-hearted  girls  of  his  religious: 


142  70HSSY  KLINE, 

community,  near  his  own  age,  fair  to  look  upon,  and  well  endowed 
with  worldly  goods,  as  was  also  the  young  husband. 

He  had  already  felt  a  call  to  preach,  and  annually  attended  the 
gatherings  of  his  society,  which  met  in  rotation  at  some  point  in 
the  various  States  where  the  Tunkers  had  made  settlements,  ex- 
tending from  the  far  Northwest  to  Tennessee. 

Soon  after  the  young  couple  had  commenced  their  primitive 
housekeeping  on  the  rich  bottom  lands  lying  along  one  of  the 
creeks  tributary  to  the  Shenandoah,  the  Tunker  Conference  was 
appointed  to  meet  at  the  extreme  southern  settlement  of  the 
order,  and  Johnny  Kline  prepared  to  attend  the  meeting,  leaving 
his  wife  in  charge  of  the  household  gear  and  farm-stock. — a  posi- 
tion for  which  almost  every  German- American  girl  is  well-fitted 
by  her  early  training. 

Travelling  was  slow  work  fifty  years  ago,  and  this  journey, 
necessitating  a  long  separation,  seemed  a  very  serious  thing  to  the 
young  wife,  especially  as  her  spouse  announced  his  intention  of 
making  part  of  his  trip  on  the  Mississippi  steamboat,  then  but 
recently  introduced. 

At  the  appointed  time  Johnny  Kline  and  the  other  delegates 
to  the  conference  from  the  valley  churches  set  out  upon  their 
southward  journey,  brethren  from  communities  along  the  route 
from  time  to  time  joining  the  party  on  the  way. 

At  regular  intervals  letters  reached  the  anxious  young  frau  in 
her  lonely  home  telling  of  a  prosperous  journey,  and  at  last  a 
missive  from  the  absent  loved  one  stated,  that  on  a  certain  day 
near  at  hand  Johnny  Kline  and  his  fellows  would  take  the  steamer 
(the  name  of  which  was  mentioned^  at  a  landing  place  in  Ten- 
nessee. 

A  few  days  later  our  whole  district  was  startled  by  the  announce- 
ment that  the  steamer  on  which  the  Tunkers  were  to  take  passage 
had  been  blown  up  and  all  on  board  had  perished. 

Close  upon  this  evil  report  came  reliable  information  that  the 
prudent  brethren,  ever  cautious  in  their  dealings  with  men,  and 
never  disposed  to  tempt  Providence  by  a  display  of  faith  amount- 
ing to  assurance,  had  taken  counsel  together  on  the  eve  of  entering 
the  steamer,  and  decided  not  to  trust  the  swift  sailing  boat  and 
treacherous  waters,  but  to  pursue  their  way  by  land  on  the  stout 
horses  which  had  borne  them  safely  thus  far  on  the  journey. 


yOH.\'NV  KLINE. 

The  relief  of  the  whole  country-side  was  great,  for  the  worthy 
Tunkers  are  universally  respected  and  highly  valued  as  citizens, 
even  by  those  who  ridicule  their  queer  customs  and  costumes  ;  but 
to  Johnny  Kline's  fair  young  bride  the  fatal  message  had  come 
like  the  deadly  blast  which  withers  flower  and  bud.  No  word  of 
cheer  was  henceforth  to  reach  that  palsied  brain,  no  smile  of  hope 
was  ever  again  to  brighten  the  trembling  lip,  the  wandering  eye. 
of  the  maniac. 

When  Johnny  Kline,  hastily  recalled  from  the  conference, 
reached  the  home  he  had  left  so  peaceful  and  calm,  lighted  by 
the  presence  of  his  first  and  only  love,  only  the  wild  cry  of  the 
terrified  creature,  from  whom  reason  had  forever  flown,  greeted 
his  return, — only  the  senseless  chatter  of  insanity  fell  upon  his  ear 
in  place  of  the  tender  welcome  to  which  he  had  looked  forward. 

The  best  medical  advice  was  employed,  every  remedy  known  to 
science  was  tried,  but  all  was  in  vain.  The  only  glimmer  of  in- 
telligence which  ever  repaid  the  loving  care  of  the  heart  that 
mourned  its  shattered  treasure,  was  a  faint  softening  in  the  aspect 
of  wild  terror  in  the  crazed  wife,  when  her  husband,  unchanged 
in  his  gentle  bearing,  unwearied  in  his  loving  attention,  approached 


To  all  others,  she  was  from  the  moment  the  direful  tidings 
reached  her.  fierce,  wild,  uncontrollable,  but  never  wholly  so  with 
him,  and  as  soon  as  this  became  clear  to  Johnny  Kline  and  his 
friends,  the  young  man  consecrated  himself  to  his  life-work. 

All  his  advisers,  even  the  nearest  relatives  of  his  wife,  urged  that 
the  patient,  whom  the  most  skillful  pliy.sicians  pronounced  incur- 
ably insane,  should  be  removed  to  an  asylum,  and  closely  confined 
lest  she  should  injure  herself  and  others. 

Johnny  Kline,  however,  listened  to  no  such  counsellors,  but 
thenceforth  constituted  himself  his  wife's  chief  nurse  and  attendant. 
lie  employed  able  and  skilful  assistants,  and  made  every  arrange- 
ment for  the  comfort  and  care  of  the  afflicted  one,  that  intelligent 
afl'ection  could  suggest. 

Johnny  Kline's  farm  and  household  business  were  diligently 
attended  to  under  the  supervision  of  the  owner  by  the  faithful 
helpers,  who  never  seem  to  be  wanting  in  Tunker  families.  In 
such  establishments  social  distinctions  are   little   heeded,  and  the 


i 


1 44  yOHNN  V  KLINE, 

prosperous  householder  shares  with  the  humble  assistant  the  toils 
of  the  day,  the  pleasures  of  the  well-spread  board,  the  comforts  of 
the  hearthstone,  and  the  privileges  of  the  sanctuary,  never  by  word 
or  look  reminding  those  less  favored  by  fortune  than  himself  that 
between  him  and  them  a  great  gulf  lies,  only  to  be  bridged  by 
gold. 

For  more  than  thirty  years  the  sowing  and  reaping,  the  spinning^ 
and  weaving,  the  milking  and  churning  had  been  going  on  steadily 
on  Johnny  Kline's  rich  bottom  lands. 

Still  restless  and  excited,  the  maniac  paced  the  apartments 
assigned  to  her,  while,  ever  and  anon,  wild  screams  and  plaintive 
cries  from  that  storm-tossed  breast  sounded  in  strange  discord- 
ance above  the  hum  of  patient  industry  in  the  otherwise  peaceful 
abode. 

As  time  went  on,  the  Tunker  preacher  pursued  the  even  tenor 
of  his  way,  looking  carefully  to  the  ways  of  his  household,  sooth- 
ing the  unhappy  creature,  who  was  for  a  moment  calmed  into 
quietness  by  his  voice  and  touch,  visitifig  the  sick  and  distressed,, 
and  annually  attending  the  Conference  of  his  church,  whether  it 
met  amid  the  wide  prairies  of  Illinois  or  the  fertile  lands  of  Ten- 
nessee. 

As  the  years  passed  by  and  his  dark  locks  grew  silvery  white^ 
the  old  man  almost  unconsciously  to  himself,  became  a  great 
authority  among  his  people,  and  a  highly  esteemed  citizen 
throughout  the  region  where  he  was  known.  His  voice  was  ever 
for  peace,  and  his  opinion,  always  gently  given  after  due  consider- 
ation of  the  subject  in  discussion,  usually  determined  any  disputed 
question  among  the  brethren.  Gradually  he  had  come  to  practice 
medicine  in  his  simple  fashion,  relying  upon  herbs  and  household 
articles  for  remedies,  and  was  sent  for  far  and  wide  in  cases  of 
sickness  among  the  Tunkers  and  country  folk  around  him. 

When  the  war  began,  his  calm  face,  although  a  trifle  graver^ 
altered  little,  and  his  manner  displayed  no  excitement.  His  peo- 
ple were  everywhere  devoted  unionists,  but  they  were  by  faith 
non-combatants,  and  the  gentle  preacher  urged  them  constantly 
to  avoid  taking  part  in  any  way  in  the  national  struggle,  and 
advised  them  to  submit  patiently  to  inevitable  depredations  from 
soldiers  of  either  side,  who  might  be  in  possession  of  the  country. 


JOHNNY  KLINE,  I4S 

Johnny  Kline's  character  was  so  well  known  that  he  had  little 
difficulty  at  any  time  in  obtaining  permits  to  go  and  come  as  he 
chose  from  the  commanders  of  both  Federal  and  Confeder- 
ate armies,  simply  giving  his  promise  to  carry  no  information  of 
military  affairs  beyond  the  lines. 

Up  to  the  autumn  of  1864  he  had  never  failed  to  attend  the 
autumnal  gatherings  of  his  church  unmolested,  always  riding  the 
shaggy  pony  which  had  carried  its  gentle  master  twenty-five  thou- 
sand miles  in  his  journeyings,  and  was  almost  as  well  known 
among  the  Tunker  settlement  as  the  white  locks  and  serene  fea- 
tures of  its  owner. 

My  grandfather  had  been  through  a  long  life  the  legal  adviser 
of  the  Germans  of  our  district,  who  as  far  as  possible  avoid 
litigation  and  rarely  appear  in  the  courts,  unless  to  transact  the 
forms  necessary  to  the  ownership  and  conveyance  of  property. 
My  father  had  inherited  this  law  business  as  naturally  as  the 
landed  estate  bequeathed  to  him  by  will,  and  had  always  cherished 
a  strong  attachment  for  the  worthy  people  who  lived  among  us, 
but  were  not  of  us,  being  always  kindly  regarded  by  them,  and  a 
welcome  guest  in  their  quiet  homes. 

For  Johnny  Kline,  whom  he  had  known  from  his  earliest  years, 
he  had  ever  felt  respect  amounting  to  veneration.  After  the  troubles 
of  the  country  began,  many  were  the  consultations  held  between 
my  father  and  the  good  old  man  in  regard  to  the  welfare  of  his 
people,  towards  whom  he  felt  a  fatherly  interest  and  who  now 
seemed,  from  their  neutral  position,  beset  with  trials  and  difficul- 
ties on  all  sides. 

It  was  after  one  of  these  consultations,  that  my  father  went  to 
Richmond  and  procured  the  passage  of  a  bill  releasing  the  mem- 
bers of  the  Tunker  Church  from  military  duty  on  payment  of  a 
fine  of  five  hundred  dollars.  He  met  with  little  opposition  in  his 
plan,  the  Confederacy  at  that  time  being  more  in  need  of  money 
than  of  men. 

Old  Johnny  Kline  and  his  pony  were  so  familiar  in  the  sight  of 
our  household,  that  it  created  no  surprise  when  one  pleasant,  sun- 
shiny day  in  September,  1864,  the  Tunker  preacher  appeared  at 
our  gate  and  said  he  wished  to  see  father.  Papa  was  at  home  and 
cordially  welcomed  his  old  friend,  whom  he  had  not  seen  for  some 
time. 


146  JOHNNY  KLINE. 

Thoughtless  as  we  young  folks  were,  we  could  but  feel  the  con- 
trast between  this  quiet  visitor,  with  his  quaint  garments  and 
gentle  ways,  and  the  noisy  men  of  war  who  were  alwa\'s  coming 
and  going  with  their  military-  trappings  in  those  stormy  da^. 

Tlie  old  man's  countenance  beamed  with  the  peace  that  passeth 
understanding  as  he  greeted  us  all  by  our  Christian  names,  such 
being  the  custom  among  his  people.  He  inquired  kindly  after  the 
health  of  the  family  and  gave  me,  as  the  eldest  and  the  house- 
keeper, a  package  of  dried  golden-rod,  saying  he  knew  "store- 
goods  were  scarce  now  and  women-folks  liked  something  to  make 
tea  of."  Diving  into  the  depths  of  his  capacious  pockets,  he 
drew  out  a  hank  of  blue  flax  thread,  grown,  spun  and  dyed  on  his 
farm,  and  several  fine  apples — ^to  the  cultivation  of  which  he  paid 
much  attention.  These  he  offered  to  my  sisters,  and  after  a 
little  quiet  smiling  talk  with  us  he  said  he  wished  to  speak  with 
father  alone  and  we  left  them  together.  There  was  nothing  in 
our  visitor's  manner  to  excite  apprehension,  and  having  other 
interests  to  occupy  our  attention,  we  thought  no  more  of  the  old 
man,  who  remained  long  engaged  in  earnest  conversation  with 
father,  and  then  departed  as  quietly  as  he  had  come. 

Later  in  the  dav  father  told  us  Johnnv  Kline  had  come  to  warn 
him  that  the  lives  of  Union  men  were  no  longer  safe  in  that  region 
and  to  urge  him  to  go  at  once  to  the  north.  He  h;id  given  father 
the  names  of  several  men,  notorious  for  their  evil  and  reckleiB 
lives  before  the  war,  who  were  said  to  have  banded  themselves 
together  to  clear  the  country  of  Unionists.  Father  said  he  had 
told  the  old  man  that  he  did  not  consider  his  life  in  any  danger, 
as  he  believed  the  fact  of  his  havin^^  a  son-in-law  in  the  southern 
service,  as  well  as  many  other  friends  and  relatives  in  high  posi- 
tion in  the  Confederacy,  would  be  a  safe-guard  for  him.  Father 
said  he  had  in  turn  warned  his  friendly  adviser  against  going  long 
distances  from  home  alone,  and  urged  him  to  great  carefulness  in 
all  his  movements. 

The  old  man  had  said  he  felt  no  anxiety  on  his  own  account 
and  hoped  he  should  never  shrink  from  the  call  of  duty,  wherever 
the  summons  might  lead  him. 

About  noon  the  next  day,  a  young  countryman  in  Tunkcr  dras 
rode  hastih'  uj>  to  the  door,  thrust  a  paper  intf>  father's  hand,  and 


70/-f.VXy  Kf.LVE, 


rode  off  as  rapidly  as  \k  came.  Wc  were  looking  afttr  his 
retreating  form  with  some  curiosity  from  an  upper  window,  when 
we  heard  father  sobbing  and  weeping  aloud  in  the  room  below  us. 

We  all  rushed  down  stairs  and  found  father  walking  up  and 
down  the  floor  in  great  agitation,  his  breast  heaving  with  sobs,  as 
great  tears  rolled  unheeded  down  his  checks.  In  answer  to  our 
excited  questions,  father  told  us  that  information  had  been  sent 
him  that  Johnny  Kline,  while  on  his  way  to  visit  a  sick  neighbor 
that  morning,  had  been  murdered  in  cold  blood  by  four  masked 
ruffians,  who  had  galloped  off  as  soon  as  their  wicked  work  was 
done.  A  countryman,  passing  that  way,  had  come  upon  the  old 
man's  body  lying  in  the  road,  beside  his  horse,  with  four  bullet- 
holes  in  his  chest,  his  long,  white  locks  clustered  about  the  calm 
face,  which  wore  its  habitual  look  of  heavenly  peace,  a  faint  smile 
resting  upon  the  lips, — the  eyes  gently  closed,  as  if  in  sleep. 

"  A  more  cruel  murder  has  not  been  committed  since  John  the 
Baptist  was  beheaded,"  said  my  father,  as  we  all  sat  weeping  over 
the  story  so  common  in  human  annais  since  the  days  of  Abel,  of 
the  innocent  life  of  the  holy  one  taken  by  the  hands  of  evil  men, 
who  but  lack  the  bodily  form  to  make  Ihem  beasts  of  prey. 

Loving  hands  carried  the  body  of  John  Kline  to  his  home  and 
tenderly  prepared  him  for  his  last  resting-place.  In  his  pockets 
were  found  permits  signed  by  Stonewall  Jackson  and  the  officer 
then  commanding  the  Federal  forces  in  the  Valley,  for  the  old 
man  to  attend  the  meetings  of  his  religious  order,  as  he  had 
done  for  more  than  fifty  years.  Tenderly  and  reverently  his 
remains  were  committed  to  the  earth  by  the  people  of  his  com- 
munity, who,  too  true  to  the  teachings  of  their  murdered  leader  to 
cherish  thoughts  of  revenge  for  his  death,  patiently  and  with  sor- 
rowful hearts,  went  about  their  accustomed  tasks. 

After  the  funeral,  Johnny  Kline's  will  was  opened,  and  it  was 
found  that,  faithful  to  his  life-work,  he  had  made  every  possible 
arrangement  for  the  care  and  comfort  of  his  afflicted  wife.  His 
valuable  property  was  committed  to  the  brethren  of  the  Tunkcr 
church  wholly  for  her  benefit,  and  explicit  directions  given  that 
nothing  on  the  place  should  be  disturbed  during  her  life.  Careful 
directions  were  given  for  the  management  of  the  estate  and  minute 
details  entered  into  in  regard  to  caring  for  the  unfortunate  woman 


148  JO/INNY  KLINE, 

to  whom  his  life  had  been  devoted.  After  his  wife's  death,  the 
will  directed  that  the  property  should  be  equally  divided  between 
his  own  and  his  wife's  relations.  The  old  man's  will  was  faithfully 
carried  out  by  the  worthy  brethren,  and  the  afflicted  woman  lived 
for  several  years  after  the  close  of  the  war,  to  whose  bitter  pas- 
sions her  saintly  husband  had  been  sacrificed. 

Although  the  assassins  who  so  cruelly  murdered  the  innocent 
old  man  were  masked,  there  was  no  doubt  in  the  community  as  to 
the  names  of  the  ruffians  who  had  committed  the  brutal  deed. 

Indeed,  it  was  said  that  at  the  time  they  did  not  hesitate  to  boast 
of  what  they  had  done,  professing  to  believe  that  John  Kline  had 
given  information  beyond  Confederate  lines,  detrimental  to  the 
southern  cause,  then  approaching  its  death  struggle,  and  declared 
it  a  warning  to  other  Unionists  that  a  like  fate  awaited  them. 

The  murder  of  John  Kline  was  reported  at  Washington  with  the 
names  of  the  men  believed  to  be  the  murderers,  and  a  reward  of 
a  thousand  dollars  was  at  once  offered  for  their  apprehension.  A 
few  months  later  came  the  collapse  of  the  Confederacy ;  and  the 
assassins  of  John  Kline,  accused  of  many  crimes  besides  his 
death,  abhorred  by  their  neighbors  and  every  brave  man  con- 
nected with  the  cause  they  pretended  to  ser\'e  by  dark  and  cow- 
ardly deeds,  pursued  by  the  avenger  of  blood,  and  doubtless 
haunted  by  the  innocent  and  gentle  form  of  the  Tunker  preacher, 
so  cruelly  slain,  fled  from  their  native  place  and  sought  to  hide 
themselves  among  the  outlaws  of  the  frontier.  It  is  somewhat 
remarkable  that  three  of  the  ruffians  engaged  in  the  murder  of 
Johnny  Kline,  met  violent  deaths, — the  fourth  wandering  restlessly 
to  and  fro  upon  the  earth,  seeking  rest  and  finding  none.  At  last, 
weary  and  worn,  he  returned  to  his  home  in  the  fair  valley  of  Vir- 
ginia, no  longer  the  scene  of  deadly  conflict,  but  smiling  once 
more  in  peace  and  plenty,  and  resumed  his  place  among  his  kin- 
dred. As  he  had  anticipated,  no  effort  was  made  by  the  peace- 
loving  Tunkers  to  have  him  prosecuted  for  the  foul  murder  laid  to 
his  charge.  Finding  difficulty  in  securing  emplo3'ment  among  his 
former  neighbors,  he  finally  went  to  one  of  the  old  Union  men  of 
the  district,  at  that  time  holding  office  under  the  Government,  and 
expressing  deep  regret  for  his  past  life,  and  a  desire  to  live  honest- 
ly tor  the  future,  he  sought  and  obtained  occupation  as  a  deputy*- 


JOHNNY  KLINE,  149 

marshal  in  the  revenue  service,  in  which  he  was  at  last  accounts 
an  efficient  officer. 

The  industrious  and  law-abiding  Tunker  people  of  the  Shenan- 
doah Valley  suffered  greatly  in  the  sorrowful  days  of  the  civil 
war.  After  the  death  of  Johnny  Kline,  to  whom  they  looked  as 
their  guide  and  protector,  many  of  them  gathered  their  families 
and  such  movables  as  they  could  take  with  them  in  their  farm 
wagons,  and  leaving  their  well-cultivated  farms  and  comfortable 
dwellings  in  the  valley,  sought  refuge  from  the  storms'  of  war 
among  their  religious  communities,  which  included  many  of  their 
kindred  in  the  far  west.  Some  of  them  found  homes  in  that  dis- 
tant region,  but  most  of  them  returned  after  the  declaration  of 
peace  between  the  divided  sections,  to  their  Virginia  farms. 
Quietly  and  steadily  they  resumed  their  old-time  occupations, 
re-building  barns  and  fences,  and  gradually  restoring  the  appear- 
ance of  thrift  and  comfort  to  their  desolate  homesteads. 

A  memorial  to  Congress,  setting  forth  the  losses  from  Federal 
soldiers  by  a  long  list  of  loyal  citizens,  which  embraced  many  of 
the  harsh-sounding  names  of  the  German  people  of  the  valley, 
was  favorably  acted  upon,  and  the  patient  Tunkers  were  gladdened 
by  a  large  amount  of  money,  which  came  to  them  most  oppor- 
tunely. 

They  had  always  refused  to  have  anything  to  do  with  Confeder- 
ate money,  and  avoided  all  transactions  which  could  not  be 
settled  in  gold,  but  showed  no  objection  whatever  to  receiving  the 
greenbacks  offered  by  the  Government  as  indemnity  for  their 
losses  in  bellum  days. 

Among  the  Tunker  communities  throughout  the  Union  the 
memory  of  gentle  old  Johnny  Kline  will  ever  be  revered,  and  the 
example  of  his  patient,  faithful  life  will  be  held  up  for  emulation 
among  his  people.  To-day  in  all  that  region  ** Johnny  Kline**  is 
spoken  softly  as  the  household  word  —  of  one  whom  God  has 
taken. 


ISO  A  DA V'S  TRIP  TO  PL Y MOUTH, 


A  DAY'S  TRIP  TO  PLYMOUTH. 

BY  ELIZABETH  PORTER  GOULD* 

"  If  I  can  help  it,  this  summer  shall  not  pass  without  my  seeing" 
Plymouth,"  said  Mr.  Gordon  decidedly,  as  he  and  his  family  were 
talking  over  some  places  for  their  annual  summer  visit. 

*' Plymouth,  Massachusetts?*'  asked  his  wife  in  surprise. 

"Yes,  Plymouth,  Massachusetts.  Our  old  pilgrim  Plymouth. 
No  wonder  you  are  surprised  after  what  I've  said ;  but  I  don't 
mean  to  give  another  Englishman  a  chance  to  humiliate  me  as  that 
one  did  last  week.  He  looked  perfectly  astonished  when  I  said  I 
had  never  been  there,  —  and  I  a  descendant  of  a  Pilgrim,  too." 

"Why  didn't  you  invite  him  home  to  see  mother?"  merrily- 
inquired  his  daughter  Bessie. 

"  That's  so,"  cried  Tom  with  a  roguish  look  at  his  mother. 
"  She  could  have  talked  him  blind  on  the  subject,  for  she  knows- 
everything  in  the  town,  and  for  all  I  know,  has  kissed  everything 
in  Pilgrim  Hall.  I  know  she  has  kissed  the  Rock, — she  told  me 
so,"  he  added  mischievously. 

"Now,  Tom,"  replied  his  mother,  amused  at  his  keen  percep- 
tion of  what  she  herself  called  her  weakness  for  historical  things. 
"  If  there  is  a  spot  in  this  world  worthy  of  the  kiss  of  every 
American,  it  is  the  rock  which  first  felt  the  feet  of  the  noble  pion- 
eers who  sacrificed  everything  for  the  liberty  we  now  enjoy." 

"But  how  many  times  have  you  been  there,  wife?"  interrupted 
Mr.  Gordon.     "I've  forgotten." 

"None  too  many,"  she  replied.  "The  first  time,  you  remember, 
was  just  after  my  return  from  Europe.  I  wanted  you  to  go  then, 
but  you  only  laughed  at  the  idea  of  taking  so  much  trouble  to  see 
old  chairs,  tables,  shoes  and  what  not.  You  said  you'd  go  if  you 
could  see  the  men  to  whom  they  belonged.  But  I  went  to  atone 
for  my  thoughtlessness  in  going  to  see  the  chief  historical  spots 
of  foreign  lands  before  I  had  seen  the  very  first  one  of  my  own. 
Then,  several  times,  as  you  know,  I  have  entertained  guests  histor- 
ically inclined,  by  taking  this  day's  trip  with  them.       Bessie  went 

>Se€  "Ten  Days  in  Nantucket"   (VoL  III, No.  3),  and  "A  Trip  around  Cape  Ann"   (Vol. 
IV,  No.  :i). 


.4  DAVS  TRIP  TO  PLYMOUTH. 


151 


once  with  me  and  enjoyed  it,  too.  Bui,  Tom,"  looking  fondly  at 
him,  "  was  like  his  father,  and  wouldn't  turn  his  hand  over,  he  said, 
to  see  all  the  old  truck  in  the  world.     He" — 

"A  chip  of  the  old  block,"  interposed  Mr.  Gordon,  laughingly. 
"  But  go  on,  dear.     I  should  not  have  interrupted." 

"All  I  was  going  to  say,  was,"  she  continued,  "that  I  should  be 
glad  to  go  again  if  you  three  would  go  too.  1  know  the  town  so 
well  now  that  no  time  would  be  lost  in  hunting  up  places,  so  we 
could  see  much  in  a  days  trip." 

"Come,  let's  go,"  cried  Tom.     "Mother  will  be  a  boss  leader." 

"Yes,"  added  Mr.  Gordon,  emphatically.  "Tom  and  I  will  take 
back  all  we've  said  by  escorting  you  and  Bessie  to  Plymouth  the 
first  pleasant  cool  day." 

Thus  it  happened  that  on  the  beautiful  morning  of  May  18, 
1 886,  the  Gordon  family  were  on  the  8.15  train  from  Boston  on 
the  Old  Colony  road,  en  route  for  Plymouth. 

"The  old  town  is  picking  up  considerably,  I  understand,"  said 
Mr.  Gordon,  the  rather  uninteresting  country  through  which  they 
were  passing  not  holding  his  attention.  '•  I  saw  the  other  day  that 
the  production  of  its  manufactories  amounts  to  nearly  four  million 
dollars  annually,  one  million  five  hundred  thousand  of  which  is 
produced  in  cordage,  duck  and  woollen  cloth  alone.  That's  a 
pretty  good  show.  I  should  like  to  take  some  of  the  old  pilgrims 
round  with  us  to-day  and  show  them  their  old  home.  By  the  way, 
what  is  the  population  of  the  place  now?"  and  he  looked  enquir- 
ingly at  each  one  of  his  family. 

No  answer  coming  from  Tom  or  Bessie,  Mrs.  Gordon  informed 
■him  by  saying  "About  eight  thousand.  Of  course  there  are  a 
great  many  more  in  the  warm  season.  Almost  thirty  thousand 
strangers  visited  it  last  summer.  It  is  growing  more  and  more  a 
place  for  summer  residence." 

The  silence  of  the  journey  was  occasionally  broken  in  upon  by 
.some  such  general  information  concerning  the  town.  At  last  Mrs. 
Gordon  called  their  attention  to  a  pretty  seaside  on  their  left,  add- 
ing. 

"We  are  almost  at  Plymouth  now.  See  what  a  fine  view  of  the 
ocean!  Those  works  over  there  on  the  right,"  turning  to  her 
husband,  "are  those  of  the  Plymouth  Cordage  company." 

"Ah!"  he  returned.     "  They  have  a  good  reputation.     Theyare 


152  A  DA  V'S  TRIP  TO  PL  YMOUTH, 

the  larj^cst  and  most  complete  of  the  kind  in  the  land,  if  not  in 
the  world, — established  as  far  back  as  1824.** 

*'()  look  at  that!  '*  broke  in  Tom,  pointing  in  the  distance  to 
the  right.  *' There's  the  monument.  Look,  Bess,  isn't  that  fine 
though?  Just  like  that  bronze  model  in  our  church  parlor,  isn't 
it?" 

**Yes,"  replied  Bessie,  looking  over  to  it.  "What  a  beautiful 
welcome  it  gives  to  all  who  visit  the  town,  standing  as  it  does  on 
that  commanding  hill.  How  effective  that  figure  of  Faith  is  I 
When  mother  told  me  it  was  two  hundred  and  sixteen  times  life- 
size,  I  could  hardly  believe  it." 

*'I  had  to  learn  the  statistics  about  it,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Gordon, 
"to  make  me  realize  its  great  size.  It  is  said  to  be  the  largest 
stone  statue  in  the  world.  The  total  length  of  its  arm  is  nineteen 
feet  ten  and  one-half  inches,  the  wrist  is  four  feet  around  and  the 
length  of  the  finger  pointing  upwards  is  two  feet  one  inch,  and 
one  foot  eight  and  one-half  inches  around." 

"It  takes  mother  to  remember  facts,"  rejoined  Tom.  "Come, 
don't  stop  yet,"  and  he  smiled  roguishly  at  her. 

•*I  wish  I  could  remember  them  as  she  does,"  added  Bessie, 
"All  I  can  remember  is  that  it  is  thirty-six  feet  high." 

"Now  it's  your  turn,  pa,"  continued  Tom.  "What  do  you 
remember?     What  is  your  contribution?" 

"I  was  thinking/'  slowly  answered  Mr.  Gordon,  "what  a  splen- 
did monument  it  was  for  Oliver  Ames ;  better  than  any  he  could 
have  had  over  his  grave,  for  it  casts  a  blessing  over  the  whole 
nation.  That  was  a  splendid  gift,"  he  continued,  meditatively.  "A 
good  thirty  thousand  dollars — that  cost.  He  honored  his  native 
riymouth  by  such  an  act»  as  well  as  Easton,  his  adopted  home." 

"  Hut,  hero  we  are  at  the  stcition,"  said  Mrs.  Gordon.  "We've 
boon  about  an  hour  and  a  half  coming  from  Boston.  If  we  take 
the  3.30  train  back,  as  I  plan  to  do,  we  will  have  a  good  five  hours 
and  a  half  to  look  around," 

•'  Now,  where  shall  we  go  first?"  enquired  Mr.  Gordon,  as  they 
all  loft  iho  station.  " Come,  wife,**  he  added  merrily,  "you're  boss 
t^vdav.     We  will  all  follow  vou." 

"  I  wish  first,"  answered  she,  "to  go  through  this  little  park  to  thq 
Samoset  1  louse." 


A  DAY'S  TRIP  TO  PLYMOUTH.  153 

**  I  suppose  you  take  to  that  house  because  of  its  name/'  said 
Tom. 

**  The  name  did  attract  me,  I  confess,"  she  replied.  "  It  always 
attracts  those  who  are  interested  in  our  Indian  history.  I  have 
always  felt  grateful  to  the  Old  Colony  corporation  for  naming  it 
so  when  they  built  it,  forty-one  years  ago.  But  then  it's  a  good 
hotel  aside  from  its  name.  Only  last  week  I  came  across  a  letter 
of  William  Cullen  Bryant's,  in  which  he  speaks  of  stopping  at 
this  same  house  in  August,  1874,  calling  it  a  **very  nice  hotel." 
He  also  said  —  what  I  had  never  known  before,  —  that  it  was  at 
Plymouth  he  was  admitted  to  the  practice  of  law  some  fifty-nine 
years  before.  Speaking  of  him  reminds  me  that  you'll  find 
the  names  of  many  prominent  people  registered  on  the  hotel 
books.  I  looked  over  some  of  them  when  I  was  here  last.  All 
of  the  books  have  been  saved  except  the  first  year's." 

'*  I  was  with  you  then,"  interrupted  Bessie.  "  I  remember  see- 
ing the  names  of  Daniel  Webster,  Edward  Everett,  N.  P.  Willis^ 
Prescott,  and  others." 

"Daniel  Webster  often  came  over  from  Marshfield,"  said  Mrs. 
Gordon.  "But  here  we  are  at  the  hotel,  where  we  will  go  in  and 
rest  a  minute  or  two.  After  we  have  seen  all  there  is  in  one  end 
of  the  town  (and  that  includes  all  but  the  monument),  we  will 
come  back  here,  say,  not  later  than  two  o'clock,  perhaps  before, 
for  our  dinner,  and  after  that  we  will  visit  the  monument.  There 
will  then  be  just  time  enough  left  to  catch  the  train  I  spoke  of." 

Acting  upon  this  plan  they  started  presently  on  their  sight-see- 
ing, going  first  to  Pilgrim  Hall  on  Court  street,  only  a  few  minute's 
walk  from  the  hotel. 

The  heraldic  curtains  of  the  iron  fence  on  the  northerly  side  of 
the  building,  containing  the  names  of  the  forty-one  signers  of  the 
Compact,  so  interested  Tom  that  he  was  led  to  read,  on  the  stone 
slab  which  the  fence  enclosed,  the  text  of  the  Compact  itself.  He 
quietly  acknowledged  to  Bessie  that  it  was  more  interesting  than 
he  thought  it  would  be. 

Upon  entering  the  building  they  paused  with  their  father  to 
read  the  inscription  upon  the  tablet  of  Tennessee  marble  which 
guards  the  entrance.     It  was  as  follows : 


154  A  VAV'S  TRIP  70  PLYMOUTH. 


PILGRIM  HALL. 


BlILT   A.    D..    1824, 
BY    THE 

PILGRIM  SOCIETY, 
IN  MEMORY  OF  THE  FOREFATHERS. 


RE-BIILT    A-    1)..    1880. 
BY 

JOS.  HENRY  STICKNEY, 

OF   BALTIMORE,    MD. 

*•  Forefathers  I  "  ejaculated  Bessie.  '*\Vhy  didn't  they  say  Pil- 
grims ;   that  would  have  included  the  heroic  women." 

**They  might  have  added  foremothers/'  said  Tom,  slyly. 

**  O,  that  is  perfectly  horrid,*'  responded  Bessie.  "  I  hate  both 
words.  But  I  never  did  think  enough  was  made  of  the  brave  wo- 
men who  suffered  so  much.  They  are  not  included  in  the  fore- 
fathers." she  added  emphatically.  **They  had  a  separate  life  and 
work.     Thevwerc" — 

**  Look  at  this,  children,"  called  Mrs.  Gordon  from  the  aote^ 
room, — "  this  tall  clock  in  the  corner.  This  was  owned  by 
Governor  Hancock. — and.  although  over  one  hundred  and  ei^^ 
years  old,  it  is  still  keeping  correct  time.'* 

"  But  this  framed  commission  on  parchment  hanging  here  is  more 
interesting."  suggested  Mr.  Gordon,  who  stood  before  Oliver 
Cromwell's  commission  to  Governor  Winslow.  **  See  the  date, 
April  19,  1654.  Look  at  that  pen  and  ink  sketch  of  Cromwell  in 
the  corner."     And  they  all  found  pleasure  in  e.\.amining  it. 

When  they  had  registered  their  names  they  passed  into  the 
main  hall.  This  was  a  room  forty-six  by  thirty-nine  feet,  with 
walls  twenty-two  feet  high,  and  lighted  entirely  from  tlie  roof. 

The  tirst  thing  which  seemed  to  attract  tliem  all  was  Charles 
Lucy's  large  and  valuable  painting  of  tlie  Departure  of  the  Pil- 
grims, which  hangs  on  the  north  side  of  tlie  hall. 

**  That  was  e.x-governor  Rice's  tine  gift."  said  Mrs.  Gordon; 
'*  At  a  prize  e.xhibition  in  England  it  took  the  first  premium  of  a 
thousand  guineas.     See  how  different  in  tone  and   color  it  is  from 


.-/   DAYS   TRIP  TO  PLYMOUTH. 

the  other  large  paintings  hanging  here.  Look  at  the  face  of  Wm. 
Bradford,  in  the  foreground,  also  John  Robinson,  and  the  children 
of  Elder  Brewster,  gazing  up  at  him."  Mrs.  Gordon's  enthusiasm 
imparted  itself  to  such  an  extent,  that  they  paused  to  study  the 
picture  with  the  aid  of  the  chart  provided,  and  then  passed  on  to 
"'The  Landing,"  a  painting  thirteen  by  sixteen  feet,  hanging  on 
the  east  side  of  the  hail. 

■'  Halloa !  there's  Samoset.  mother,"  cried  Tom.  ■'  He's  greeting 
the  Pilgrims  —  one,  two,  three there  are  over  twenty  fig- 
ures in  this." 

"  I  like  this  one  better,"  said  Mrs.  (iordon  passing  aruund  to  the 
south  wall.  ■'  I  thought  it  looked  natural.  It  is  a  copy  of  one  in 
the  rotunda  of  the  Capitol  at  Washington, — Wier's  '  Embarkation 
from  Delft  Haven.'" 

■'  The  women  couldn't  have  been  so  elaborately  dressed  as  that, 
1  know,"  said  Bessie,  looking  at  it. 

"  That's  a  picture,  Bess ;  'tisn't  real  life,"  suggested  Tom  blandly. 
■' Here,  ma, —  you  know.  Were  these  our  foremothers,  dressed 
up  like  this  to  go  to  sea?  "  and  the  boy  laughed  heartily  over  what 
seemed  to   him    his    facetious   humor. 

"Foremothers!"  cried  Be.ss.  '"You  shan't  so  malign  them. 
They  were   noble,  heroic  women." 

"  I'm  not  maligning  them.  *  It  is  the  truth,  the  whole  truth 
and  nothing  but  the  tiuth,'"  rejoined  the  boy.  "  If  the  men  were 
forefathers,  then  of  course  the  women  were  foremothers,  you  can't 
get  away  from  it." 

"  Time  is  short,  children,"  again  broke  in  Mrs.  Gordon,  who 
was  often  obliged  to  check  Tom  and  Bessie's  discussions,  espe- 
cially those  pertaining  to  the  woman  question.  "  There  is  much 
to  sec  here.  Don't  stop  to  argue.  Here  is  Miles  Standish's  Da- 
mascus sword,  which  dates  back  two  or  three  centuries  bcfort- 
Christ.  When  General  Grant  was  here  in  1880,  he  found  great 
pleasure  in  handling  it.  I  suppose  nothing  here  was  more  inter- 
esting to  him.  Look  at  those  Arabic  inscriptions  on  the  blade. 
They  are  very  ancient.  Their  meaning  only  became  known  to  us 
five  years  ago,  when  Professor  Rosedale,  of  Jerusalem,  an  excel- 
lent linguist,  translated  them.  He  said  that  the  inscriptions  and 
emblems  showed  clearly  that  this  very  sword  fell  into  the  hands  of 
the  Saracens  at  the  time  of  the  defeat  of  the   Persian   tyrant  war- 


15^)  A  DAY'S  TRIP  TO  PLYMOUTH, 

rior  Kozoroi,  when  Jerusalem  was  wrenched  from  him  by  the 
KahdiffOmar  ist,  in  A.  D.  637.  See  what  he  says  about  it.  And 
thty  lingered  to  read  the  short,  interesting  account  of  the  sword, 
which  Professor  Rosedale  published  after  his  examination  of  it. 

'*  If  that  is  genuine,  that  alone  is  worth  coming  to  Plymouth  to 
SCO,"  said  Mr.  Gordon,  decidedly,  looking  at  it  with  great  interest 

*'  (itMUiinc  !  "  exclaimed  his  wife.  "  Of  course  it  is.  How  can 
you  doubt  it  with  all  this  evidence.  I  do  believe  men  are  born 
d()u!)tcrs,*'  she  added,  looking  fondly  at  him,  only  to  meet  a  little 
tantalizing  smile.  "Yes,  born  doubters,'*  she  repeated.  "But 
here  is  something  not  even  a  fool  could  doubt." 

**  Do  show  us  the  wonder,"  he  replied.  And  she  pointed  into  a 
glass  case  in  which  lay  the  oldest  state  paper  in  existence  in  the 
Ihiitotl  States. — the  first  Plymouth  patent,  granted  June  1,1631. 

This  and  other  interesting  documents  held  their  attention  for 
sonu*  time.  Tom  was  amused  while  reading  the  lines  of  an  open 
copy  of  Bradford's  History  of  Plymouth  Plantation  (1602— 1646) 
to  SCO  the  peculiar  manner  in  which  it  was  written.  Bessie  found 
nu>re  pleasure  in  reading  some  of  the  verses  in  John  Alden's  Bible 
printeil  in  16 JO,  and  brought  over  in  the  Mayflower.  She  expressed 
a  wish  that  she  knew  enough  to  read  those  in  John  Eliot's  Indian 
Hibk\  which  also  lay  open  before  them.  When  Mr.  Gordon  learned 
that  the  portrait  of  Governor  Edward  Winslow  was  the  only  one 
known  of  any  person  who  came  over  in  the  Mayflower,  he  b^ged 
his  wife  for  some  of  her  emotion  with  which  to  view  it. 

**  That/'  said  he»  **  is  something  like  it.  It  gives  me  some  idea  of 
the  men.  It  is  next  to  seeing  the  originals."  *'  It  is  no  more 
indtxxK  1  think  it  isn*t  as  much."  returned  Mrs.  Gordon,  **  as  to  see 
the  fruits  of  their  minds. — these  documents,  etc." 

**  IK>Uvx\.  here  is  the  old  Go\t:mor*s  table. — ^homely  old  thing,  if 
it  was  his."  he  s^iid  lausrhinirlv.  "  Here's  his  chair,  too;"  and  when 
Mrii.  (torvlon  wus  in  the  Iibrar\'-rvH>m  adjoining,  he  actually  sat 
down  in  the  chiiir  in  memorj*  of  Go\xmor  Winslow.  Later*  lie 
s>>nfe>yicvl  to  her  that  if  Elder  Brewster's  and  Governor  Canrer^s 
chairs  wcrt^  not  in  glass  cases,  he  might  find  it  a  pleasure  to  sit  in 
them  a  moment,  in  honor  of  such  worthies. 

"'■  A  mv>ment  ?"  interpo!:<<rd  hcs  wife.   *"  I  should  like  to  sit  in 
jm  hv^ur.  and  think  owr  all  their  Irv^Ww'* 


A  DAVS  TRIP  TO  PLYMOUTH. 


157 


"  And  rock  that  Mayflower  cradle  in  which  Fereg;rine  White  was 
rocked."  suggested  Tom  with   a  twinkle  in  his  eye. 

"  That  is  a  curiosity  anyway,"  she  replied.  "  Governor  Wiiislow 
brought  that  over.  Did  you  see  it?  But  we  must  not  stay  licrc 
too  long.  Wc  must  be  going.  We've  seen  the  most  important 
things." 

And  so  they  had.  Before  leaving,  however,  they  obtained  a 
general  idea  of  the  relics  in  the  lower  hal!. 

From  the  Pilgrim  Hall  they  walked  southward  on  the  same 
street,  a  short  distance  to  the  Plymouth  County  court-house. 
Here  they  were  kindly  shown  some  of  the  valuable  ancient  docu- 
ments, preserved  in  glass-covered  drawers.  They  enjoyed  par- 
ticularly the  original  patent  of  the  Old  Colony,  yellow  with  age, 
granted  in  1629,  and  signed  by  the  Earl  of  Warwick.  Much  to 
his  mother's  gratification,  Tom  was  much  delighted  when  he  was 
privileged  to  handle  the  great  wax  seal  engraved  for  and  once  at- 
tached to  the  charter. 

Mr.  Gordon  did  not  say  much,  but  his  wife  noticed  that  he 
lingered  some  time  over  the  original  order,  in  Governor  Bradford's 
handwriting,  establishing  trial  by  jury  in  1623  ;  also,  Miles  Stand- 
ish's  will  and  the  laying  out  of  the  first  street  in  town,  now  bearing 
the  name  of  Lcyden. 

"These  are  valuable,"  he  said,  "and  growing  more  so  every 
year,  These  rules  laid  down  for  the  colony  are  sensible  and  wise. 
I  always  was  more  interested  in  the  Pilgrims  than  in  the  Puritans. 
Weren't  you,  Bess?" 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  Bess  replied.  "  People  are  beginning  to  make 
the  right  distinction  between  them,  and  I  am  glad.  The  Pilgrims 
never  would  have  done  what  the  Puritans  did." 

"  Come,  we  can't  stop,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Gordon,  "  we  must  be 
going.  Save  your  philosophy  for  home-talk.  This  is  the  time 
for  seeing.     We've  seen  the  essentials  here.     Now  for  the  Rock." 

"  Yes,  now  for  the  Rock,"  echoed  Tom. 

While  they  were  taking  the  short  walk  thither  Tom  all  at  once 
broke  a  long  silence  by  repeating  aloud  in  a  solemn  manner — 
"The  breaking  waves  dashed  high, 
On  a  stern  and  rock-boimil  coast." 

"  You  won't  find  it  very  rock-bound,"  said  Bessie.  "  That  was 
the  great  surprise  to  me  when  I   first  saw  it.     I  expected  to  see 


158  A  DAY'S  TRIP  TO  PLYMOUTH. 

something  like  our  Manchester  rocks.     By  the  way,  did  you  see 
the  original  manuscript  of  that  poem  in  Pilgrim  Hall?" 

**  Yes,  and  also  Bryant's  22nd  of  December  poem.  But,  Bess, 
do  you  really  believe  that  it  is  the  same  rock.  I  don't  Ma  thinks 
so  though.  But  then  she  would  believe  anything  they  told  her 
about  history." 

**  I  wish  you  had  some  of  her  historic  imagination.  It  is  not  to. 
be  laughed  at, —  her  reverence  for  the  past,  with  all  its  sacred  as- 
sociations. You  are  altogether  too  flippant.  If  mother  wasn't  the 
best  naturcd  woman  in  the  world  and  didn't  love  you  so  she  would 
get  provoked  with  you." 

**  O,  Bess,  don't  chafe.  I  do  it  partly  in  fu;i,  and  she  knows  it. 
That's  why  she  is  so  good-natured  about  it.  But,  really,  do  you 
believe  that  is  the  genuine  rock?" 

"  Certainly  I  do.  It  has  been  fully  proved  to  be  the  identical 
rock.  The  fact  has  been  handed  down  through  generation  after 
generation  from  the  very  first  settlers.  It  now  occupies  its  original 
site,  the  change  having  been  to  raise  it  up  at  different  times  on  its 
shore-bed.    There's  the  pretty  canopy  now.    Isn't  it  symmetrical?" 

**  It  was  designed  by  Hammatt  Billings,"  said  Mrs.  Gordon  as 
they  approached  it.  '*  I  do  reverence  this  rock,  I  assure  you," 
she  added.  *'  It  rests  me  to  sit  on  it."  And  as  she  said  this  she 
threw  herself  down  upon  it. 

"  Kiss  it,  mother,"  said  Tom  roguishly. 

**  It's  nothing  to  make  light  of,  my  boy,"  she  returned,  earnestly. 
**  No  nation  on  the  globe  has  a  more  solid  or  sacred  foundation. 
It  represents  a  strength  and  stability  which,  if  fully  appreciated  and 
realized,  will  make  our  nation  the  strongest  and  most  lasting 
of  all  that  have  ever  lived.  If  you  will  stop  to  think  over  what  was 
enacted  here  you  will  find  no  cause  for  bantering,  only  for  a  pro- 
found reverence  and  gratitude.  There  is  Cole's  Hill  up  there — 
where  the  Pilgrims  buried,  during  that  first  hard  winter,  half  of 
their  little  band.  No  one  who  forgets  to  take  into  account  all  that 
suffering,  sickness  and  death  can  fully  appreciate  what  this  rock 
commemorates  and  what  we  owe  to  it.  In  order  that  the  Indians 
might  not  know  how  many  they  had  lost,  they  leveled  the  graves, 
and  when  spring  came  planted  corn  above  them.  Just  think  of 
that !  At  four  different  times  the  remains  of  those  buried  have 
been  discovered ;    so  that    ^'^-v  that  hill  is  set  apart  as  the  first 


A  DAY'S  TRIP  TO  PLYMOUTH,  159 

burying  ground.     It  is  marked  by  a  slab  which  we  shall  see  upon 
going  up  those  steps." 

Mrs.  Gordon's  earnestness  in  telling  of  these  early  days  made 
her  hearers  instinctively  feel  that  the  possession  of  an  historic  im- 
agination did  tend  to  broaden  one's  sympathy  and  elevate  one's 
mind. 

A  few  minutes  later  they  were  reading  the  names  on  the  slab 
commemorative  of  the  dead,  and  taking  in  the  fine  view  which  the 
sacred  place  afforded  them. 

From  Cole's  Hill  they  went  by  way  of  Leyden  Street — ^where 
were  the  sites  of  the  first  house  and  the  first  church  of  the  town — 
to  Burial  Hill. 

*'  Here  were  buried  those  who  survived  the  first  winter,"  said 
Mrs.  Gordon,  upon  reaching  its  top.  **  This  is  where  they  had 
their  fort  and  watch-tower.     Here  are  signs  of  them." 

*•  I  wonder  which  engrossed  their  thoughts  most,  the  Indians  or 
this  splendid  view,"  remarked  Mr.  Gordon,  sitting  down  to  enjoy 
the  panorama  before  them. 

*'  Poor  things,"  sighed  Mrs.  Gordon,  '*  I  don't  suppose  they  had 
much  chance  to  sit  and  enjoy  this  view  as  we  are  now  doing.  They 
had  to  plan  and  work  every  minute  to  keep  themselves  alive.  That 
is  what  it  is  to  be  a  pioneer.  Over  there  is  Clark's  Island,  where 
they  spent  their  first  Sabbath." 

**  All  of  those  hills  are  historic,"  added  Bessie.  "  Being  here 
makes  Massasoit  and  his  treaty  seem  more  real  and  interesting, 
doesn't  it?" 

*'  You'll  have  to  read  that  to  us  when  we  get  home,  Bess,"  re- 
sponded her  father.  '*  It  is  so  long  since  I  ever  thought  of  that 
Indian  that  I  can't  recall  much  anyway  of  what  he  did.  It  is  a 
shame  to  us  Americans  to  be  so  engrossed  in  business  that  we  can't 
know  more  of  our  own  history.  It's  all  money-making,  money- 
getting,  money " 

**  I've  found  the  oldest  stone  on  the  hill,  erected  in  1681,"  broke 
in  Tom,  coming  to  them  from  his  explorations  by  himself.  "  It  is 
so  old  that  all  but  one  side  of  it  is  encased  in  tin." 

**  Sixteen  eighty-one,"  repeated  Mr.  Gordon.  "That  wasn't  a 
Pilgrim's  was  it?" 

"  Poor  Pilgrims,"  replied  his  wife  sympathetically.  "  They  had 
other  things  to  do  than  to  erect  grave-stones  to  their  dead.     Too 


i6o  A  DAY'S  TRIP  TO  PLYMOUTH. 

bad,  though,  they  couldn't  have  done  it.  We  should  have  had 
older  stones  than  this  of  Mr.  Gray's.  He  was  one  of  the  wealthiest 
men  of  the  colony.  The  monument  to  Governor  Bradford — over 
there  —  was  not  erected  until  as  late  as  1825.  That  has  on  it  a 
text  in  Hebrew  which  nobody  seems  to  know  anything  about. 
The  Latin  one,  though,  is  good  for  something.  Let's  go  and  see 
it;  "  and  they  found  their  way  to  the  monument.  **  Freely  trans- 
lated," she  continued,  *'  it  says :  *  Do  not  basely  relinquish  what 
the  fathers  with  difliculty  attained.' " 

**  And  mothers,  too,"  added  Tom  mischievously  looking  at 
Bessie.     **  Doesn't  it  .say  that?  " 

"Th.it  is  always  understood,  of  course,"  answered  his  mother. 

**  Hess  doesn't  think  so."  replied  the  boy.  '*  She  believes  ia 
'  individuality,'  *  ecjual ' " 

*'  But  we  must  hurry,"  interrupted  his  mother.  "  It  is  get- 
ting on  to  two  o'clock," 

**  We  always  have  to  hurry  if  I  refer  to  Bess's  hobby,"  muttered 
Tom.     "  It's  been  so  three  times  to-day." 

At  this  they  all  laughed  so  spontaneously  that  Tom  could  not^ 
if  he  chose,  remain  in  a  sulky  mood. 

Before  returning  to  the  Samoset  House  they  spent  a  few  mo- 
ments in  looking  around  the  older  part  of  the  town.  Some  old 
houses  on  Sandwich  street,  particularly  the  one  which  is  said  to  be 
the  only  structure  in  existence  associated  with  the  Mayflower 
Pilgrims,  claimed  their  attention. 

**  I  glanced  at  the  old  houses,"  said  Tom,  on  their  return  to  the 
hotel,  **just  to  please  mother;  but  I  gazed  at  the  soldiers* monu- 
ment to  please  myself.     That  was  worth  the  whole  of  them." 

"  Our  dinner  just  now  is  worth  more  than  anything,"  added  Mrs. 
Gordon,  inwardly  amused  at  Tom*s  attempt  to  discriminate.  "We 
arc  back  in  good  time,  and  must  be  very  hungrj'." 

After  dinner  they  started  to  walk  to  the  monument. 

"  I  wish  they  would  hurry  up  and  finish  the  whole  thing,"  said 
Bessie  as  they  came  in  sight  of  it.  "  This  delay  is  not  compli* 
mentary  to  those  who  have  worked  so  hard  and  done  so  much  for 
it;' 

••  If  that  Minister  Harding  had  lived  it  would  have  been  done  by 
this  time,  I  believe,"  said  Mr.  Gordon,  as  a  picture  of  that  enter- 


A  DAVS  TRIP  TO  PLYMOUTH. 

prising  laborer  in  the  cause  came  before  his  vision.  "  He  was  full 
of  the  work." 

"  But  thanks  to  e\-governor  Long  and  Senator  Hoar,"  in- 
terposed his  wife,  ■'  Congress  has  appropriated  a  sum  for  the 
third  statue,  Liberty,  and  its  accompanying  panel.  There  is  only 
one  more  to  gel — Law — and  it  has  been  hinted  that  the  lawyeisof 
the  land  will  give  that." 

"Who  gave  the  others?"  enquired  Tom.  "'The  whole  thing  is 
kind  of  a  medley,  isn't  it?  " 

"A  medley!  "  exclaimed  his  mother.  "What  an  idea.  Why, 
Tom,  it  is  all  the  more  valuable  for  having  been  the  offering  of 
many  hearts  and  hands." 

"  Didn't  our  Massachusetts  legislature  appropriate  something?" 
asked  Bessie. 

"Yes;  ten  thousand  dollars  towards  the  figure  of  Morality. 
Then  the  State  of  Connecticut  gave  that  beautiful  piece  of  marble 
sculpture,  the  tablet  of  the  Departure  from  Delft  liaven.  You 
must  examine  that.  It  was  a  Connecticut  man.  too, —  Roland 
Mather,  Esq., — who  gave  the  figure  of  Education,  and  the  demi- 
relief  of  the  Signing  of  the  Compact  on  the  west  buttress.  That 
is  also  beautiful.  The  figure  of  Education  alone  weighs  twenty- 
three  tons.     Just  think  of  that." 

"The  conception  of  such  a  national  monument,"  said  Mr. 
Gordon,  as  they  approached  its  base,  "  is  worthy  of  the  Pilgrims 
whom  it  commemorates.     This  situation  is  unsurpassed," 

"When  it  is  all  completed,"  added  his  wife,  "and  these  nine 
acres  of  ground  are  laid  out  according  to  the  plan,  it  will  be  a  fit 
shrine  for  the  American  people  to  vi.sit.  I  can't  be  contented  until 
it  is  all  done." 

"  You'll  have  to  come  to  Plymouth  again  when  it  is,"  said  Tom, 
archly. 

"  Of  course  1  shall,  my  boy  ;   and  I  hope  you  all  will,  too." 

Half  an  hour  later  they  were  on  the  train  bound  for  Boston. 
What  ihcy  had  seen  became  the  chief  topic  of  conversation  for 
several  days.  Bessie  re-read  her  history  of  the  Pilgrims.  andTom 
even  begged  her  to  tell  him  of  Samoset.  Much  to  Mrs.  Gordon's 
surprise  and  delight,  both  he  and  his  father  soon  began  to  make 
inquiries  as  to  another  old  historical  place  they  could  visit  before 
the  summer  was  over. 


i62  EARLY  TRANSCENDENTALISM. 


ISMS. 

II.— EARLY  TRANSCENDENTALISM  IN  NEW  ENGLAND. 

BY    ANNIE    WALL. 

In  considering  very  briefly  the  remarkable  movement  in  religious 
and  philosophic  thought  which  occurred  in  New  England  in  the 
early  part  of  this  century,  and  which  bears  the  name  of  Tran- 
scendentalism, it  may  be  useful  to  speak  first  of  its  development 
in  Germany  and  of  the  principles  upon  which  it  was  based,  re- 
membering that  in  its  passage  across  the  Atlantic  it  "  suffered  a 
sea-change  "  and  underwent  some  striking  modifications. 

There  existed  during  the  Middle  Ages,  as  perhaps  there  always 
have  been  and  always  will  be  existing,  two  great  schools  of  phil- 
osophy, the  Nominalists  and  the  Realists.  The  first  maintain  that 
the  terms  used  to  express  abstract  ideas,  such  as  duty,  truth  and 
love,  are  mere  names,  corresponding  to  no  actually  existing  things ; 
the  others  assert  that  these  terms  describe  real,  though  bodiless, 
entities ;  not  things  which  are  visible  to  our  eyes,  but  the  types  of 
such ;  in  this  they  follow  Plato's  theory  of  ideas,  which  declares 
that  everything,  concrete  or  abstract,  that  appears  but  incomplete 
here,  has  elsewhere  its  perfect  archetype,  its  divine  idea. 

These  schools  are  mainly  represented  to-day  by  the  Sensation- 
alists and  the  Idealists  ;  to  the  first,  as  one  of  its  earliest  expositors, 
belongs  John  Locke,  who  sought  to  define  the  capacity  cf  the 
understanding,  and  to  mark  the  limits  within  which  it  can  push  its 
investigations;  while  Kant,  as  the  founder  cf  the  second  school, 
reviewing  and  dissenting  from  Locke's  stand-point,  asserted  meta- 
physical theories,  which  have  become  known  as  Transcendentalism, 

The  term  itself,  signifying  what  goes  bcyondy  had  already  been 
used  by  the  schoolmen  to  denote  those  ideas  which  lay  outside  the 
Categories  of  Aristotle;  viz.,  truth,  unity,  goodness,  being;  but 
Kant  employed  the  phrase  to  signify  those  fundamental  concep- 
tions which  transcend  experience,  and  may  be  held  to  impose  the 
conditions  which  render  experience  tributary  to  knowledge;  all 
cognition    being  termed  transcendental,  which  is  concerned  less 


EARLY  TRANSCENDENTAUSM. 


163 


with  objects  themselves  than  with  our  method  of  cognizing  them, 
as  far  as  possible,  a  priori. 

In  accordance  with  Kant's  analysis,  we  find  that  Mind  and 
Matter,  Subject  and  Object,  Ego  and  Non-Ego,  are  opposed  to 
one  another ;  that  Mind  is  conscious  of  its  own  operations  only, — 
the  subject-receptive  of  impressions  made  by  outward  things,  all 
falling  within  the  limits  of  time  and  space,  which  arc  to  be  held  as 
pre-established  forms  of  sensibility,  primeval  facts  of  consciousness. 
The  Mind,  classifying  material  furnished  by  the  senses,  transforms 
sensation  into  conception,  and  impression  into  thought,  and  finds 
that  all  judgment  must  conform  to  four  conditions, — Quantity, 
Quality,  Relation  2nd  Modality.  Having  thus  arrived  at  concep- 
tions, thoughts  and  judgments,  we  see  that  another  faculty,  the 
Reason,  links  thoughts  together,  draws  inferences,  finds  conclu- 
sions, and  arrives  at  length  at  ultimate  principles,  supplying  the 
final  generalization,  and  reaching  the  idea  of  a  divine  unity,  which 
gathers  up  into  itself  all  other  ideas,  that  perfect,  infinite  and 
eternal  unity,  that  we  call  God. 

The  fidelity  of  the  Mind  to  itself  is  Kant's  corner-stone  of  faith  ; 
the  law  of  Duty  is  imperative  whether  there  be  a  God  or  no ;  and 
he  took  firm  held  of  speculative  truth  and  the  obligations  of  the 
moral  law,  while  opposed  to  the  dogmatic  theology  of  his  day. 
Beyond  these  limits  no  one,  lie  declares,  can  pass :  but  Jacobi, 
following  him,  proclainn.d  faith  to  he  the  power  by  which  man  ar- 
rives at  essential  truth,  and  declared  God,  Duty  and  Immortality 
to  be  actualities,  and  that  through  intuitions  the  Mind  may  enter 
into  a  world  of  divine  realities. 

This  mystical  thought,  received  a  yet  greater  impulse  from 
Fichte.  who  declared  the  facts  of  consciousness  to  be  solid  and 
substantial,  the  only  things,  indeed,  that  we  really  know  to  be 
such;  the  outward  world,  it  may  be,  being  only  phenomenal, — ^the 
reflection  of  our  own  thought. 

Ideas  alone  are  fixed  and  sure,  and  the  visible  universe  may  be 
but  "such  stuff  as  dreams  are  made  of,"  The  soul  must,  therefore, 
rest  satisfied  with  its  own  realm,  the  world  of  thought  and  of  ideas ; 
and  of  these  ideas  the  chief  are  God  and  the  Immortal  Life.  If 
they  are  more  than  that  we  cannot  know;  the  Infinite  is  not 
something  to  be  attained  hereafter,  it  surrounds  us  here,  and  man, 


1 64  EARLY  TRANSCENDENTALISM. 

with  his  mind's  eye,  beholds  God,  while  he  feels  within  his  breast 
the  workings  of  the  Divine  will. 

In  the  religious  world  of  Germany  the  touch  of  the  new  philos- 
ophy was  deeply  felt;  Schleiermacher  asserted  religion  to  be  an 
inward  experience,  a  sense  of  divine  things  within  the  soul ;  and 
this  sense  to  be  based,  not  upon  knowledge  or  action,  on  theology 
or  morality,  but  upon  aspiration,  dependence,  love;  a  doctrine 
which  seems  to  have  proved  especially  grateful  to  the  liberal 
orthodox. 

Hence  there  grew  up  in  New  England  a  great  sympathy  with 
those  who  separated  religion  from  dogma ;  but  Schleiermacher, 
who  had  written  for  the  purpose  of  opposing  rationalism,  had 
made  it  possible  to  retain  the  essential  spirit  without  the  formal 
creed  of  the  Evangelical  party,  and  thereby  encouraged  a  neglect 
of  the  very  system  of  theology  he  had  designed  to  support.  In 
England,  Coleridge  became  prominent  as  the  leader  of  the  new 
school  of  thought,  and  aimed  to  construct  a  system,  which,  based 
upon  the  teachings  of  Christianity,  should  substitute  spiritual 
ideas  in  place  of  traditional  authority. 

This  influence  became  one  of  the  most  important  factors  in  the 
movement  in  New  England,  where  his  influence  was  great;  and 
Wordsworth's  poetry  opened  a  yet  wider  vision  in  the  same  direc- 
tion,— the  noble  "  Ode  to  Immortality,*'  with  its  Platonic  remin- 
iscences, being  most  highly  prized  of  all. 

Nor  was  French  philosophy  wholly  passed  by ;  the  writer  who 
seems  to  have  been  most  regarded  being  Cousin,  a  disciple  of  the 
Eclectic  School,  who  supposed  himself  to  have  fixed  upon  sure 
foundations  the  system  of  idealism. 

No  where  else  did  the  new  theories  so  affect  life  in  all  its  social 
aspects  as  they  did  in  New  England,  where  they  influenced  every 
form  of  thought,  and  where  prejudices  and  traditions  were  less 
fixed,  and  the  forms  of  society  less  rigid  than  in  Europe. 

All  were  excited  by  the  sense  of  individual  freedom,  and  a 
strong  intellectual  vitality  was  aroused,  which  seized  upon  and 
appropriated  all  that  was  fresh  and  novel  in  the  Old  World 
thought. 

Ideas,  said  they,  must  conform  to  life ;  and  since  New  England 
had  broken,  or  for  the  moment  fancied  that  she  had,  with  political 
and  social  traditions,  why  should  she  not  fling  aside  the  philosophy 


EARL  Y  TRANSCENDENTALISM. 


■  65 


I 


■of  experience  altogether,  and,  starting  afresh  for  herself,  base  a 
new  system  upon  the  study  of  the  human  mind  to-day?  "  Happy," 
says  a  recent  essayist,  "  is  the  philosophy  that  can  support  Its  own 
larger  creed  upon  the  instincts  of  duty  inherited  from  many  a 
generation  of  narrow  uprightness,  of  unquestioned  law."  No 
where  could  this  be  more  truly  exemplified  than  in  New  England, 
where  the  prevailing  Puritanism  had  constituted  a  religion  of  a 
highly  intellectual  type,  transmitted  throughalongseries  of  strong 
and  lofty  lives.  The  early  Puritans,  who  were,  when  they  left  the 
Mother  Country,  still  within  the  lines  of  the  Anglican  Church 
soon  became,  when  separated  by  the  ocean  and  by  wide  differences 
of  opinion,  Corigregationalists. — for  the  most  part,  adopting  a  sys- 
tem which  favoured  that  freedom  of  thought  and  action  which 
developed  individualism  of  character  and  opinion.  The  prevalent 
theology  also  trained  their  minds  in  speculative  questions,  and 
often  manifested  a  highly  spiritual  phase,  based  upon  Platonism, 
as  contrasted  with  the  more  dogmatic  system,  which  induced,  and 
yielded  to  the  Unitarian  Movement. 

The  Unitarians,  at  first  certainly,  were  not  Platonists ;  they  were 
seekers  after  positive  knowledge,  clear  in  thought  and  argument, 
practical,  averse  to  mysticism  and  extravagance,  lovers  of  good 
taste,  friends  of  free  thought  and  eager  for  truth,  without  a  creed, 
or  the  philosophy  on  which  to  erect  one ;  they  asserted  the  absolute 
freedom  of  the  human  mind,  and  "  building  better  than  they 
knew,"  they  helped  the  growth  in  their  own  camp,  as  Luther  did. 
of  theories  that  would  have  amazed  the  leaders. 

The  new  philosophy  came  to  us  first  at  second  hand,  through 
French  or  English  expositors,  then  by  direct  translations  from  the 
German,  and  it  found  a  congenial  soil  in  a  community  where  ideal- 
ism had  long  since  taken  firm  root.  Attention  has  been  drawn  to 
a  certain  coincidence  between  the  new  teaching  and  the  Quaker 
doctrine  of  the  '■Inner  Light,"  but  the  resemblance  is  more  strik- 
ing in  appearance  than  in  reality,  since  George  Fox  attributed  this 
light  to  the  direct  influence  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  while  iheTranscen- 
dentalists  averred  it  to  be  a  natural  possession  of  the  human  soul. 

In  1834  the  Rev.  James  Walker  made  the  assertion  that  those 
spiritual  faculties  and  capacities  which  are  assumed  as  the  founda- 
tion of  religion  in  the  soul  are  attested  by  the  relations  of  con- 
sciousness, and  expressed  the  hope  that  the  new  philosophy  might 


ir.6  EARLY  TRANSCENDENTALISM. 

niniiui  us  of  our  relations  lo  the  spiritual  world.  Two  years  later, 
Ralph  Waldo  Kmcrson.  the  unquestioned  master  of  the  new  move- 
ment, published  his  essay  on  **  Nature/'  wherein  he  makes  the 
nu>st  uncompromising:^  assertion  of  idealistic  thought,  and  declares 
Iiloalism  to  ho  **an  hypothesis  to  account  for  Nature  by  other 
principles  than  those  of  carpentry  and  chemistr>\  The  world  is  a 
divine  ilream  from  which  we  may  presently  awake  to  the  glories 
and  uncertainties  of  day.'* 

In  1840  came  Theodore  Parker's  declaration  that  "the  germs  of 
religion  must  be  I  orn  in  man  ;  the  existence  of  God  is  a  fact,  given 
in  our  nature ;  as  the  sensation  of  hunger  presupposes  food  to 
satisfy  it,  so  the  sense  of  dependence  on  God  presupposes  his  ex- 
istence and  character."  In  the  next  year  came  his  great  sermon 
on  '*rhe  Transient  iuui  Permanent  in  Christianitv/'  which  had  the 
effect  of  causing  a  division  in  the  Unitarian  body,  between  those 
who  stilt  cluni:  to  authority  ;md  the  historic  evidences  of  faith,  and 
those  who,  carrvinv;  out  cntirelv  the  doctrine  of  Transcendentalism, 
atnrmed  that  the  best  proof  of  the  truth  of  Christian  teachii^ 
was  to  b<.*  found  in  the  response  which  they  a\\-akened  in  the  hu- 
man soul. 

Nor  was  it  on  thtvlog>-  alone,  or  on  Unitarian  theologians  solcI]r» 
that  the  iiitiuence  of  the  new  philosophy  was  exerted;  art*  litera- 
ture and  science  were  stirred  bv  i:s  i respiration,  which  found  its 
tulle:>:  literary  e\pres:>ioti  in  the  paji:es  cf  the  "  Dial/"  a  magazine^ 
conducted  by  Margaret  Fuller  ajrtd  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson*  which 
numbered  amon^  it<  cxmtributors  many  tainou5  New  FngTanMii 
orators. 

The  'rran:>cendentaJist  Movement  i5  by  no  meajas  to  be  regarded 
x>  a  n!c  re  reac ::o  n  a-^^a i  t r.st  Fu  r i  tan : :>m .  w  h  i ch .  >p  i te  o  f  its  bardnessv 
bore,  hidden  :n  iis  heart,  a  j^ruin  cf  pure  idealisni;  it  was^  rather^ 
an  asi^ertion  of  the  inalienable  vverth  of  man.  and  a  declorotijoii: 
that  in  his  natural  constitution  are  to  be  feu  no  the  attributes  of  the 
>uijer!iatural.  Nor  were  its  followers  dreamers  merely,  thougjh 
supine  there  were,  n^  doubt,  who  shrank  from  ojnrijctwitli  tbi;  outtcir 
world,  js\^  S4."»u^hc  refu'j^e  from  its  strui^gies  aiid  temptations  ia  t&r 
quiet  cf  their  libraries,  as  of  oid  tiie  Christian  hermitis  lied  into 
desert  wastes  ajid  lonely  caverns.  But  for  tlie  most  part tiiey  woe 
strenuous  workers,  wrestling  with  oil  problems,  social,  political' ami 
relij^ious,  that  beset  tile  mind  of  man  ;    they  suuy^it  to  draw  souift 


EARLY  TRANSCENDENTALISM,  167 

onward  by  drawing  them  upward  through  spiritual  attraction,  and 
if  they  sometimes  fell  into  error  they  most  certainly  strove  man- 
fully by  noble  means  to  reach  to  noble  ends. 

Our  age  is  possibly  somewhat  too  much  given  to  the  belief  that 
nature  never  moves  with  a  leap,  that  all  progress  is  gradual  and 
continuous,  that  in  the  long  run  the  tortoise  always  wins  the  race. 
This  assumption,  however,  seems  to  be  disapproved  both  in  natural 
and  political  history.  Nature  certainly  does  sometimes  make 
very  long  strides,  at  any  rate ;  and  the  story  of  Transcendentalism 
has  shown  that  a  thought  may  have  vital  force  enough  to  send 
the  human  mind  over  vast  space  at  a  bound,  as  the  hare,  by  one 
inspired  effort,  may  win  the  goal  towards  which  the  patient  tortoise 
is  still  painfully  plodding.  That  active  work  must  be  the  visible 
result  of  such  aspirations,  we  are  forced  to  believe,  and  events 
proved  that  to  be  true. 

Another  charge  sometimes  urged  against  Transcendentalism  is 
that  it  makes  self-culture  too  prominent,  thus  conducing  to  egoism 
and  selfishness ;  and  the  perpetually  adduced  example  of  the  truth 
of  this  charge  is  Goethe.  In  this  instance  the  charge  may  be 
somewhat  difficult  to  refute,  although  it  is  hard  to  see  that  Goethe 
was  any  more  selfish  with  his  culture  than  he  would  have  been 
without  it,  or  than  a  great  many  other  men  who  certainly  never 
have  made  any  kind  of  culture  a  prominent  aim  in  life;  but  it  is 
by  no  means  true  of  his  countryman,  Fichtc,  who  abandoned  the 
lecturer's  desk  to  fight  against  the  French  in  defence  of  the  Father- 
land; nor  of  Emerson,  or  Parker,  who  risked,  with  many  another 
heroic  soul,  worldly  honors,  happiness,  life  itself,  at  the  call  of 
duty. 

A  system  deserves  to  be  judged  by  its  best  results. 

Nothing  seemed  to  escape  the  transcendental  eye,  and  even  food 
became  a  subject  for  the  idealizing  tendency.  Mr.  Alcott,  pre- 
ferring Pythagoras  to  Plato  as  his  master,  declared  himself  a  vehe- 
ment advocate  of  a  purely  vegetarian  diet,  and,  forgetting  that  by 
many  "  death  and  all  our  woes  "  have  been  referred  to  the  eating 
of  an  apple,  asserted  that  only  by  a  return  to  that  primitive 
nutriment  could  man  '*  work  out  the  beast,'*  which  he  believed  to 
have  entered  into  human  nature  through  the  eating  of  flesh. 

In  Brook  Farm  we  have  an  attempt  at  the  formation  of  a  perfect 
society  upon  Socialistic  principles ;   an  attempt,  foredoomed  in  its 


1 68  EARLY  TRANSCENDENTALISM. 

very  essence  to  failure,  and  justly  so ;  but  whose  high  moral  tone 
and  exalted  thought  saved  it  from  failure  as  a  spiritual  influence. 
After  all,  every  man  can  do  some  one  thing  better  than  others, 
and  whatever  may  be  our  estimate  of  the  elevating  influence  of 
house-work  or  farming,  we  can  not  help  feeling  that  Hawthorne 
was  more  truly  fulfilling  his  mission  when  writing  "The  Scarlet 
Letter  "  or  "  The  Marble  Faun,"  than  when  with  fear  and  trembling 
he  milked  the  Brook  Farm  cows  or  brandished  the  Brook  Farm 
pitch-fork. 

To  religious  ideas  Transcendentalism  was  peculiarly  adapted 
and,  from  the  nature  of  the  case,  most  suitable. 

Professing  to  deal  with  matters  beyond  the  domain  of  exper- 
ience, it  entered  into  the  realm  of  the  absolute  and  the  eternal,  and 
made  them  the  objects  of  its  contemplation  and  investigation. 
Religion  had  been  so  generally  presented  in  a  dogmatic  form,  had 
been  so  made  to  depend  upon  authority  and  upon  assent  to  certain 
doctrinal  ideas,  that  ever  since  the  establishment  of  the  Baconian 
school  of  thought  there  had  set  in  a  sceptical  feeling  in  regard  to 
it  among  those  who  found  themselves  unable  to  accept,  either 
wholly  or  in  part,  the  proofs  adduced  in  support  of  church  author- 
ity, or  the  supernatural  arguments  in  favor  of  church  doctrines. 

Nor  was  it  special  doctrines  only  which  had  lost  ground  through 
this  scepticism ;  faith  had  grown  less  in  the  nobler  aspirations  of 
spiritual  thought,  and  in  France  especially  the  tone  of  the  literary 
classes  had  been  sensibly  lowered  thereby.  In  Germany,  however, 
the  tendency  toward  free  thought  came  from  the  idealistic  philos- 
ophy, which  gave  an  impulse  to  the  naturalistic  or  historic  school, 
the  influence  of  which  is  so  widely  felt  to-day,  and  which  preserves 
the  spiritual  nobleness  and  beauty  of  the  gospel  teachings,  while 
depriving  them  of  their  miraculous  character. 

Transcendentalism  asserted  plainly  that  there  is  in  the  soul  of 
man  an  intuitive  perception  of  God,  as  a  Being  infinite  in  power, 
wisdom  and  goodness,  and  that  this  perception  is  a  half-latent  fact 
of  consciousness.  This  faith  was  declared  to  be  ineradicably  im- 
planted in  the  human  heart,  and  to  be  discoverable  in  all  religions, 
under  the  darkest  symbols  and  in  the  meanest  shrines.  Thus, 
while  the  sceptic  doubted  of  immortality  as  unproven,  and  the  or- 
thodox accepted  it  on  the  authority  of  revelation,  transcendental 
thinkers  declared  the  belief  in  it  to  be  a  portion  of  the  mind  itself. 


EARL  V  TRANSCENDENTALISM. 


169 


that  it  needs  no  proof,  but  is  a  fact  of  consciousness.  The  other 
life  is  but  an  extension  of  this,  into  which,  in  the  words  of  the 
quaint  English  poet, 

'  •  We  go 
As  from  one  room  lo  another ;  " 
and  in  place  of  the  hope  of  heaven  and  the  fear  of  hell,  was  substi- 
tuted a  longingafter  spiritual  perfection  and  freedom,  and  a  declara- 
tion that  the  soul  is.  and  must  be,  immortal  purely  by  virtue  of  its 
essential  qualities.  All  seeds  of  truth  are  contained  within  the 
soul,  ready  to  expand  into  beauty  when  touched  by  the  light  from 
heaven,  and  all  religions  are  the  effort  of  the  soul  at  self- 
expression. 

Many  transcendcntalists  believed  in  miracles,  since  they  declare 
that  man  was  himself  a  supernatural  being,  and  the  powers  of  the 
illuminated  soul  were  sometimes  spoken  of  in  strains  of  rapture, 
which  the  profane  were  fond  of  likening  to  the  ecstasies  of  the 
revivalist.  Every  man,  it  was  asserted,  is  born  with  a  moral 
faculty,  which,  being  developed,  creates  in  him  the  ideas  of  right 
and  wrong. 

As  a  system  of  philosophy,  Transcendentalism  may  be  said  to 
be  based  upon  what  have  not  been  proven  to  be  facts ;  and  it  has 
been  well  declared  that  it  should  rather  be  called  a  Gospel.  Its 
data  are  hidden  in  the  recesses  of  consciousness,  its  utterances  are 
delivered  ex  catltcdray  its  greatest  exponents  have  been  preachers 
and  seers.  It  deals  with  divine  things  and  eternal,  with  essential 
causes,  with  spiritual  laws,  with  ideas  of  goodness,  truth  and 
beauty,  and,  above  ail,  with  the  possibilities  of  the  soul.  It  is 
fascinating  to  the  imagination,  and  readily  bends  itself  to  acts  of 
worship. 

The  greatest  of  its  preachers,  Theodore  Parker,  declared  the 
three  cardinal  facts  of  human  consciousness  to  be  an  absolute  God, 
the  Moral  Law,  and  the  Immortal  Life;  and  upon  these  declara- 
tions he  took  his  stand.  The  great  work  which  it  was  the  part  of 
Transcendentalism  to  accomplish  was  to  present  to  the  world  pure 
and  lofty  ideas,  illustrated  by  noble  lives;  to  awaken  to  fresh 
vigor  all  true  and  ardent  souls,  and  to  teach,  in  a  material  age,  the 
beauty  and  worthiness  of  those  things  which  are  pure  and  lovely 
and  of  good  report. 

It  exalted  all  that   it    touched,   am!   proclaimed   the   truth   that 


170  EARLY  TRANSCENDENTALISM. 

within  the  humblest,  lowliest  and  most  ignorant  soul  may  bum 
the  divine  spark  that  allies  it  with  the  infinite  light.  And  since  it 
asserts  man's  kinship  with  the  Divine,  it  must  believe  in  the  con- 
tinual upward  progress  of  the  soul  when  the  body  perishes ;  nor 
can  wc,  perhaps,  better  illustrate  that  faith,  than  by  turning  back- 
ward to  the  days  before  Christianity  was  born  into  the  world  and 
quoting  the  words  of  the  purest  and  noblest  of  Latin  poets,  white- 
souled  Virgil,  who,  living  on  the  boundary  line  between  the  old 
world  and  the  new,  may  connect  the  hope  of  the  one  with  the  faith 
of  the  other : 

"  Then  since  from  God  these  lesser  lights  began, 
And  th*  cnger  spirits  entered  into  man, 
To  God  again  the  enfranchised  soul  must  tend. 
He  is  her  home, — her  author  is  her  end  ; 
No  death  is  hcr's,  \vhen  earthly  eyes  grow  dim, 
Star-like  she  soars,  and  God-like  melts  in  Him  ! "  * 


*■  Virgil :  translation  of  F.  \V.  H.  Myers. 


SISTER   AGNES.  171 


SISTER    AGNES. 

A  STORY  OF  THE  SHAKERS. 
BY  O.  A.  BIERSTADT. 

A  New  England  village  on  Sunday  is  about  as  quiet  a  place 
as  any  in  the  world,  and  the  little  Shaker  settlement  of  Hancock, 
in  the  westernmost  county  of  Massachusetts,  was  no  exception  to 
this  rule  one  Sunday  morning  in  August,  many  years  ago.  It  was 
a  very  hot  day,  and  all  nature  seemed  to  be  lazily  content  with 
the  fullness  of  its  own  development.  The  hard,  dustless  road  lead- 
ing through  the  town  was  bordered  by  green  grass  and  stone 
walls,  so  compactly  built  that  even  the  chipmunks  could  find  no 
refuge  in  them,  and  on  either  side  the  Shaker  farm  appeared  most 
flourishing.  The  high  Indian  corn  waved  its  tassels  over  the  huge 
yellow  pumpkins,  nestling  snugly  upon  the  ground  in  its  shadow ; 
the  ripening  wheat  and  oats  glfstened  in  the  brilliant  sunlight;  an 
acre  of  buckwheat  diffused  a  subtle  and  penetrating  odor ;  and  the 
trees  of  the  orchard  groaned  comfortably  under  the  burden  of 
abundant  fruit.  The  great  buildings,  which  the  Shakers  always 
find  necessary  for  their  peculiar  social  arrangements,  showed  not 
a  sign  of  life  for  some  hours.  Severely  plain  in  architecture,  they 
were  only  redeemed  from  ugliness  by  the  characteristic  Shaker 
neatness,  which  was  happily  indicated  by  a  broom  hanging  out- 
side every  door,  and  warning  all  to  brush  their  boots  before  enter- 
ing. 

But  the  deathly  stillness,  brooding  over  the  works  of  nature  and 
of  man,  was  broken  at  last.  A  capacious  wagon,  drawn  by  a  pair 
of  horses,  rattled  noisily  down  a  back  lane,  and  up  to  the  door  of 
one  of  the  largest  houses,  and  its  Shaker  driver,  without  quitting 
his  reins,  shouted  in  stentorian  tones, —  **  All  aboard  for  meetin'!'* 

At  once  it  became  evident  that  at  least  this  house  was  inhabited. 
Several  staid  old  Shakeresses  glided  forth  from  it,  looked  approv- 
ingly up  at  the  cloudless,  blue  sky,  and  then  scrupulously  held 
their  skirts  well  off  from  the  wheels  as  they  got  into  the  wagon. 
When  they  were  fairly  seated,  they  gave  a  final  twitch  to  their 


172  '  SISTER  AGNES, 

stiff  white  caps  and  the  scoop-Hke  Shaker  bonnets  that  completely 
concealed  their  heads ;  then  they  ran  their  hands  over  the  white 
silk  handkerchiefs,  thrown  around  their  shoulders  and  crossed  on 
the  breast;  and  after  smoothing  the  numberless  plaits  of  their 
lilac,  neutral,  and  subdued-mouse-colored  skirts,  they  folded  their 
shawls  about  them,  though  the  heat  was  fast  growing  oppressive, 
and  silently  awaited  what  was  to  follow.  Two  decrepit  old  breth- 
ren next  appeared,  bent  almost  double  over  their  stout  canes,  with 
their  broad-brimmed  hats  thrust  down  on  their  ears,  so  as  to  dis- 
play their  banged  hair  in  front  and  their  flowing  locks  behind,  and 
with  long-tailed  coats  flapping  around  their  legs  and  making  it 
difficult  for  them  to  mount  to  their  seats.  Last  came  a  bevy  of 
young  girls,  whose  bright  eyes  and  fair  complexions  were  wonder- 
fully well  set  off  by  the  quaint  primness  of  the  Shaker  costume. 
They  were  laughing  and  talking,  as  if  bound  for  a  picnic,  and 
nothing  near  or  far  escaped  their  keen  vision. 

'*  Oh !  how  clear  Greylock  is  today !  I  wish  we  were  going 
there  instead  of  to  meeting,"  said  one  girl,  pointing  to  the  distant 
mountain,  the  highest  of  the  Berkshires,  looming  up  on  the  ho- 
rizon. 

"  Too  bad  Agnes  isn't  here !  She  never  gets  enough  of  looking 
at  the  mountain,  when  it's  so  pleasant, "  spoke  up  another  girl. 

'*  Where  is  Agnes?  There's  room  enough  for  Agnes.  We  must 
have  Agnes  along, "  exclaimed  several  youthful  voices  in  chorus. 

"Agnes,  where  be  ye?"  roared  the  driver;  and  only  stone- 
deafness  could  excuse  not  hearing  him. 

A  young  woman  of  slender  form  and  pale  face  appeared  at  the 
open  door. 

**  Agnes!  aren't  you  going  to  meeting?"  was  the  question  put 
to  her  with  general  accord. 

**  Nay,  I  must  stay  at  home  to  look  after  Polly.  She  is  not  well 
today, "  answered  the  young  woman,  gently. 

**  Oh !  we're  so  sorry  you  can't  come, "  cried  all  the  young 
voices,  and  the  older  people,  too,  looked  a  bit  sadder,  as  the  whole 
party  drove  off. 

Several  times  the  wagon  passed  between  the  great  white  house 
and  the  greater  brick  mansion  of  the  *•  church  family, "  where 
religious  services  were  to  be  held.     The  distance  was  but  a  stoneV 


S/STER    AGNES.  f/j 

throw,  and  the  only  possible  reason  for  riding  so  short  a  space 
was  the  fear  that  the  supreme  neatness  of  the  Shaker  dress  might 
be  disordered  or  soiled  by  the  exercise  of  walking.  After  all  the 
brethren  and  sisters  had  gone  over  to  meeting,  Agnes  sat  at  the 
window  of  an  upper  room,  dividing  her  attention  between  Polly, 
dozing  fitfully  in  a  chair,  and  the  peaceful  prospect  out-of-doors. 

**  It  was  real  good  of  you  to  stay  here  with  an  old  woman  like 
me,  *'  said  Polly,  rousing  herself  somewhat  from  her  lethargy. 
**  I'm  bounden  grateful  to  you,  and  I  declare,  I  feel  smarter  and 
more  talky  right  away,  now  I'm  all  alone  with  you.  It  makes  me 
think  of  the  old  times,  when  I  used  to  tend  you,  a  helpless  little 
babe,  for  hours,  while  the  rest  of  the  sisters  were  busy  with  the 
household  work.     Do  you  remember  as  far  back  as  that  ?  " 

"  Nay,  Polly,  "  replied  the  younger  woman,  '*  I  can  only  remem^ 
ber  myself  just  as  I  am  now.  But  I  like  to  hear  about  the  past. 
Please  tell  me  all  about  it,  and  all  about  my  mother. " 

**  Yee,  yee,  child,"  said  Polly  with  the  peculiar  pronunciation  of 
the  affirmation  characteristic  of  the  Shakers.  **  It  does  seem  to 
ne  that  as  I  get  on  in  years,  I  grow  about  as  loose  of  tongue  as 
any  wicked  woman  of  the  world.  Why,  I  have  to  talk,  just  as 
much  as  I  have  to  breathe.  I  must  surely  take  up  a  cross  against 
this  bad  habit,  or  it  '11  be  the  ruination  of  me.  But  perhaps  there's 
no  harm  in  my  indulging  myself  just  this  once,  as  a  sort  of  medi- 
cine.    I'm  sure  it  '11  do  me  a  sight  of  good.  " 

**  If  talking  is  any  help  to  you,  "  interposed  Agnes,  "  you  need 
never  be  sick,  for  I  would  rather  listen  to  you  than  to  anyone  else 
in  the  world. " 

"And  I  like  to  talk  to  you  best,"  rejoined  Polly.  *'WelI, 
Agnes,  seeing  that  you  want  to  know  your  mother  better,  I  must 
say  that  she  was  the  sweetest- faced  woman  I  ever  laid  eyes  on, 
and  you  are  as  much  the  picture  of  her  as  can  be.  Before  she 
came  to  this  abode  of  the  Christ  spirit,  she  had  gone  through  a 
pretty  hard  time  of  it  in  the  big  world.  It's  no  sort  of  place  for 
innocent  angels  like  you  or  her.  Poor  thing !  she  never  smiled^ 
and  reason  enough  she  had  to  be  sad.  One  day  she  told  me  her 
story;  I  never  heard  anything  like  it  before  or  since,  —  how  your 
father,  from  being  a  good  and  honest  husband,  had  sunk  lower  and 
lower,  become  a  wreck  in  body  and  mind,  and  at  last  had  been 


174  S/STER    AGNES. 

brought  home  dead   to   her.       Oh,   how  she  did  cry,  when  ^he 
opened  her  heart  and  showed  me  its  sorrow !  " 

"  Dear,  dear  mother ;  how  I  wish  I  could  have  helped  her !  *' 
murmured  Agnes. 

"  I  think  you  did  help  her  by  giving  her  something  to  live  for," 
continued  Polly.  *'  You  weren't  more  than  a  year  old  or  so,  when 
your  mother  brought  you  here.  I  remember,  as  well  as  if  it  were 
yesterday,  her  putting  you  in  my  arms,  while  the  elders  and 
cldrcsscs  were  confessing  her  and  making  up  their  minds  to  let 
her  enter  our  novitiate  order.  I  hadn't  ever  before  seen  such  a 
little  mite  of  a  human  being,  and  I  don't  doubt  I  held  you  rather. 
awkwardly.  All  the  younger  sisters  crowded  around,  and  not  one 
of  them  but  what  wanted  to  touch  you,  just  to  be  sure  that  you 
were  alive.  You  opened  your  brown  eyes  wide,  stretched  out 
your  chubby  little  arms,  and  cooed  pleasantly  enough,  but  when 
later  you  began  crying  for  mamma, — and  it  wasn't  any  small  bit  of 
a  noise  you  made  either, — the  sisters  all  scampered  away  in  a  hurry, 
like  a  flock  of  frightened  sheep.  " 

"  I  am  afraid  I  must  have  given  you  a  good  deal  of  trouble 
then  and  ever  since,  "  said  Agnes,  regretfully. 

••  Bless  you,  child,  you  never  made  the  least  speck  of  trouble,  '* 
protested  Polly,  *'  you  were  as  quiet  and  good  a  little  kitten  as 
ever  lived,  just  like  your  dear  mother.  Well,  as  I  was  saying. 
they  let  her  come  into  the  family  as  a  novitiate,  and  then  she  tried 
hard  to  be  a  good  Shakeress.  She  worked  early  and  late,  though 
she  wasn't  any  too  strong;  she  went  to  meeting  as  regularly  as  an 
eldress,  and  what's  more,  she  wanted  to  understand  all  she  heard 
there,  but  some  of  Mother  Ann's  teachings,  I  presume,  were  not 
very  clear  to  her.  One  idea  she  got  into  her  head,  I  never  could 
tell  how,  that  it  was  a  part  of  our  Shaker  religion  to  discourage 
anything  like  love  between  mothers  and  their  children.  When  she 
felt  sure  that  she  was  expected  to  be  no  nearer  nor  dearer  to  you 
than  any  of  us  might  be,  it  quite  broke  her  heart.  She  lost  all 
hold  on  life,  took  a  quick  consumption,  and  day  by  day  she  grew 
so  pale,  thin,  and  weak,  that  it  was  distressing  to  look  at  her. 
Often  she  talked  to  me  about  her  dear  little  girl,  and  begged  me 
to  care  for  you,  so  far  as  the  rules  of  the  community  would  allow, 
which  I  was  only  too  glad  to  promise.     The  hour  appointed  for 


SISTER   AGNES.  i75 

us  all  came  at  last  to  her.  After  a  night  of  terrible  suffering,  she 
wept  and  prayed  over  you  for  a  time,  then  sent  you  out  of  the 
room,  and  soon  death  had  made  you  an  orphan. " 

**  And  so  she  died?"  asked  Agnes,  musingly,  as  if  she  had  not 
heard  the  story  a  hundred  times  before. 

"  So  she  died,  "  said  Polly.  **  It  seems  to  me,  though,  that  we're 
getting  into  a  very  sad  strain.  Hark,  what's  that  I  hear?  Are 
they  marching  in  the  meeting?" 

**  Yes, "  answered  Agnes.  **  Shall  we  join  them  from  a  dis- 
tance ?  " 

**  That  we  will  with  all  my  heart  and  soul, "  exclaimed  Polly, 
eagerly. 

The  reader  should  know  that  the  most  curious  part  of  a  Shaker 
meeting  is  the  marching ;  but  it  is  not  necessarily  ridiculous,  though 
one  might  imagine  it  to  be.  A  few  of  the  brethren  and  sisters 
form  an  oval  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  and  sing  a  rather  lively 
tunc,  while  the  rest  go  marching  briskly  round  and  round,  singing 
if  they  please,  but  invariably  holding  out  their  arms,  and  beckon- 
ing gently  with  their  hands, —  *'  gathering  a  blessing,  "  they  call 
it.  Often  some  aged  or  infirm  individual,  unable  even  to  shuffle 
along,  sits  down,  but  he  never  ceases  to  invoke  his  share  of  the 
blessing  by  the  movement  of  his  hands.  In  like  manner,  Agnes 
sang  the  familiar  marching  hymn  in  a  low  voice,  while  she  and 
Polly  both  marked  its  rhythm  with  motioning  hands,  and  much 
peace  and  comfort  this  simple  ceremony  seemed  to  bring  them. 

"Are  you  perfectly  contented,  Polly?"  asked  Agnes  with  sud- 
den emphasis,  after  a  long  pause. 

'*  Yes,  surely,  that  I  am, "  replied  Polly.  "  But  that's  a  very 
curious  question  for  you.  Aren't  you  just  as  perfectly  contented 
yourself?  " 

"  I  don't  know  whether  I  am  or  not,  "  said  Agnes.  "  I  wish  I 
only  knew.  You  always  look  so  calm,  so  occupied  with  the  pres- 
ent moment,  so  unexpected  of  anything  to  come,  that  I  often 
wonder  if  you  never  dream  of  any  other  way  of  life  than  this." 

•'Well,  I  declare,  child,"  spoke  up  Polly,  briskly,  "you're  a 
little  queer  today.  Ever  since  I  knew  a  dish  from  a  door,  I  've 
been  a  Shakeress,  and  I  've  never  dreamed  nor  wanted  to  be  any- 
thing else.     I  think  it's  the  nicest  fate  in  the  world  to  belong  to 


176  SISTER   AGNES. 

this  chosen  people,  who  set  a  divine  example  to  the  rest  of  man- 
kind by  living  together  in  a  holy  community,  like  the  angels  of 
heaven,  without  marrying  or  giving  in  marriage.      Why,  what 
greater  happiness  can  you  imagine,  I  should  like  to  know?  You're 
not  thinking  of  the  world,  I  hope. " 

"  I  do  think  of  the  world  sometimes,  "  Agnes  answered  timidly, 
"  and  wonder  what  it  is  like.  When  I  see  any  of  the  world's  peo- 
ple, I  try  to  read  in  their  faces  the  wickedness  and  misery  with 
which,  as  our  Elder  tells  us,  they  must  all  be  devoured.  But  they 
don't  always  look  so  very  unhappy.  See,  Polly,  here  come  two 
of  the  very  people  we  are  talking  about !  " 

Polly  edged  her  chair  nearer  the  window,  for  woman's  curiosity 
is  not  extinguished  by  even  a  Shakeress's  gown ;  and  with  more 
than  a  touch  of  scorn  she  soon  exclaimed, — 

"  And  a  pretty  pair  they  are,  too  !  Appears  to  me,  they  might 
find  something  a  little  more  seemly  to  do  this  hot  Sunday  than  to 
come  traipsing  miles  along  a  dusty  road.  Like  as  not  they've 
walked  all  the  way  over  here  from  Richmond." 

"  They  have  stopped  at  the  church  family's, "  said  Agnes ; 
"  they  want  to  go  to  our  meeting. " 

**  But  the  brother  on  duty  at  the  door  will  see  to  it  that  they 
don't  disturb  the  meeting, "  remarked  Polly,  with  satisfaction. 
"  Sure  enough, — he's  telling  them  now  that  our  services  are  not 
public,  and  is  warning  them  away. " 

**  Yes,  and  now  they  are  coming  this  way, "  Agnes  said,  with 
growing  interest. 

**  Laughing  and  talking,  as  if  there  weren't  any  such  thing  as 
Sunday  !  "  snapped  forth  Polly.  *'  Did  you  ever  see  the  like?  There 
they  arc  sitting  down  on  the  grass,  in  the  shade  of  the  great  tree, 
just  under  our  windows,  almost.  Should  think  they  did  need  a 
rest !  " 

•*  How  different  they  look  from  any  of  us  on  the  farms  around 
here  !  "  murmured  Agnes. 

**  Oh  !  It's  easy  to  see,  they're  from  the  cit)',"  said  Polly.  "City 
people  always  do  the  wildest  sort  of  things  when  they  come  to  the 
country.  How  thankful  I  am,  we're  not  like  unto  them.  But 
this  young  man  and  woman  are  worse  than  most  of  their  kind 


even." 


SISTER   AGNES.  177 

*'Why?"  asked  Agnes,  ''because  he  is  taking  her  hand  and 
talking  earnestly !  " 

"Wicked  people!"  Polly  answered.  "I  hope,  Agnes,  you 
could  never  have  the  heart  to  dress  yourself  up,  as  that  girl  has 
done.  Why,  there  isn't  room  on  her  straw  hat  for  another  bit  of 
ribbon,  so  she's  put  the  last  and  the  brightest  piece  around  her 
flaunting  yellow  hair.  From  head  to  foot  she's  one  mass  of  flut- 
tering flummery,  and  seems  to  me  she  might  have  been  satisfied 
without  wearing  such  a  big  bouquet  as  that  upon  her  worldly 
bosom.  The  man,  too,  doesn't  compare  with  our  good  brethren. 
I  never  could  respect  our  Elder  if  his  hair  and  his  coat  were  cut 
as  short  as  that." 

**  See,  Polly,"  said  Agnes,  "  the  young  woman  has  taken  a  flower 
from  her  bouquet  and  is  plucking  it  to  pieces.  And  the  young 
man  is  putting  his  lips  to  her's.     What  does  that  mean  ?  " 

"  It  means  that  sin  is  near  us,"  answered  Polly.  **  Come,  child, 
you  musn't  look  another  instant.  Here's  something  better  for  you 
to  do.     Read  me  a  chapter  of  the  *  Millennial  Church,'  please." 

Agnes  obediently  turned  from  the  window,  opened  the  book 
that  was  thrust  into  her  hands,  and  began  reading  aloud.  Read- 
ing is  a  most  effectual  opiate  to  many  people,  and  perhaps  Shaker 
literature  has  peculiarly  soporific  virtues  of  its  own.  A  few  pages 
sufficed  to  put  Polly  sound  asleep;  but  not  until  her  deep  and 
sonorous  breathing  gave  certain  assurance  of  her  flight  to  the  land 
of  dreams,  did  Agnes  venture  to  raise  her  eyes  from  the  profound 
compend  of  Shaker  theology.  When  she  again  glanced  out  of  the 
window  the  young  man  and  woman  of  the  world  had  disappeared, 
and  somehow  or  other  without  them  the  Shaker  maiden  found  the 
prospect  far  less  interesting.  A  sudden  fancy  seized  upon  her. 
She  wanted  one  of  the  rose  leaves  that  beautiful  city  lady  had 
plucked  and  thrown  away.  So  she  quietly  slipped  out  of  the  room 
and  down  the  stairs,  and  was  just  stepping  foot  on  the  broad  stone 
in  front  of  the  house-door,  when  she  became  aware  of  another 
human  presence.  Jacob  Small,  the  jovial  and  happy-go-lucky 
young  fellow,  hired  by  the  Shakers  as  a  farm-hand,  stood  before 
her ;  and  he  was  laughing  away,  until  the  tears  came  into  his  eyes. 

**  Well,  I  declare  to  man,"  said  Mr.  Small  between  two  bursts  of 
laughter,  **  I  didn't  have  no  idea  that  you  was  to  home  from  meet- 
in'  Sister  Agnes." 


178  SISTER   AGNES. 

"Why,  what  is  there  to  laugh  so  about,  Jacob?"  asked  Agnes, 
with  the  free  use  of  the  Christian  name,  taught  by  Shaker  custom^ 

"  I  am  almost  tickled  to  death  at  the  circus  Fve  just  had,"" 
answered  Jacob.  "  The  way  that  'ere  city  feller  did  spark  his  gaU 
right  under  my  nose,  beats  all  creation.  It  kind  of  made  me  feel 
like  doin'  something  in  that  line  myself." 

"  I  don't  understand  you,  Jacob,"  said  Agnes. 

"  I  presume  not,"  remarked  Jacob  with  a  near  approach  of 
gravity.  **  'Taint  likely  you  would  understand  such  things.  But 
if  you  Sclw  them  two  a  sittin*  there  just  now,  I'd  give  a  cookey  ta 
know  what  you  made  out  of  'em." 

"  If  you  refer  to  the  two  world's  people,  who  were  under  the 
tree,  I  don't  know  what  to  think  of  them,"  rejoined  Agnes. 

"  You  can  take  my  word  for  it,"  said  Jacob,  *'  that  them  twa 
folks  was  mighty  sweet  on  each  other.  Here's  a  leetle  rose  the 
gal  dropped.  You  can  have  it.  You  don't  see  many  such  useless 
flowers  in  them  Shaker  gardens,  and  it  '11  sort  o'  put  you  in  mind 
of  the  good  things  of  the  world  that  you've  given  up;"  and  the 
young  farm-hand  held  out  a  rose-bud,  which  his  capacious  palm 
had  hitherto  concealed. 

**  Yes,  I  should  like  the  pretty  little  flower,"  said  Agnes  with 
undisguised  earnestness.  **  But  the  good  things  of  the  world  I  do 
not  care  for,  because  I  have  never  known  what  they  are." 

"  That's  just  about  it,"  remarked  Mr.  Small.  *'  If  you  only 
knowed  what  you  was  a  given*  up,  I  guess  you'd  think  better  of  it 
and  jump  t*  other  way  mighty  soon.  'T  ain't  in  human  natur'  to 
lead  such  a  life  as  you  Shakeresses  do,  unless  you're  old  enough 
to  be  disgusted  with  the  world,  or  too  young  to  know  nothin'  about 
it.  If  it  warn't  too  presumin',  I'd  like  to  ask  whether  you  don't 
never  have  a  leetle  hankering  after  the  world." 

**  I  have  been  a  Shakeress  ever  since  I  can  remember,  and  I  ex- 
pect to  live  and  die  in  the  same  holy  order."  Agnes  spoke 
resolutely. 

"  *T  ain't  right  that  such  things  be  so,*'  said  Jacob  Small  with  a 
softening  of  his  rude  manners  and  a  tenderness  of  tone  that  would 
never  have  been  expected  from  him.  **  Here  you  are  just  a  wastin' 
your  young  life,  where  you  can't  no  how  be  happy,  and  out  in  the 
big  world   there's  many  a  poor  fellow  sinking  into  a  good-for- 


nothing  wretch  for  the  want  of  a  wife  such  as  a  goud 
you  would  make.  Oh,  it's  all  wrong!  If  only  an  angel  like  you 
would  take  me  in  hand,  I  kind  o'  think,  I  might  be  more  of  a  man. 
I  beg  your  pardon,  Sister  Agnes,  for  what  I  say  and  do ; "  and  sud- 
denly he  seized  the  Shakercss's  hand,  pressed  his  warm  lips  to  it, 
and  was  gone. 

Sister  Agnes  blushed  as  red  as  the  rose  in  her  hand,  while  she 
hastily  regained  her  room  ;  and  not  until  the  little  flower  was  hidden 
quite  away  and  the  brethren  and  sisters  began  to  come  home  from 
meeting,  did  her  ruby  cheeks  fade  to  their  usual  pallor.  Awak- 
ened by  the  sound  of  many  voices,  Polly  started  up  in  her  chair 


xlai 


What  ■ 


L 


"That  last  was  beautiful,  Agnes, 
again." 

As  the  days  and  the  summer  passed  by,  there  was  more  than  one 
occasion  for  Jacob  Small  to  exchange  a  few  words  witli  Sister 
Agnes.  But  it  was  never  more  tlian  a  very  few  words.  She  did 
not  seek  him,  but  neither  did  she  take  great  pains  to  avoid  him; 
and  he — if  be  did  not  seek  her,  it  certainly  looked  very  much  like 
it.  One  day  he  pleaded  indisposition  to  excuse  bis  leaving  the 
brethren  in  the  field;  but  when  he  saw  Sister  Agnes  carrying  a  pail 
of  water  toward  the  house,  he  recovered  at  once,  relieved  her  of 
the  pail,  and  talked  away  In  his  most  ingratiating  fashion.  One 
favorite  walk  she  used  to  take,  when  her  share  of  the  household 
work  was  done,  he  soon  found  out;  and  after  that  she  always  dis- 
covered a  pretty  little  flower,  such  as  never  grew  in  Shaker  ground, 
peeping  from  the  green  grass  and  inviting  her,  not  in  vain,  to  pick 
it  up.  If  ever  she  looked  from  her  window  in  the  evening,  she 
was  pretty  sure  to  notice  the  dark  figure  of  a  man  loitering  in  the 
shade  of  some  neighboring  building.  It  would  be  hard  to  describe 
the  growth  of  the  kindly  feeling  towards  the  young  farm-hand  that 
sprung  up  in  the  Shakeress's  heart.  Accustomed  to  work  hard, 
to  receive  no  thanks  for  it,  and  never  to  have  the  lea.st  help  offered 
her,  it  was  a  new  and  delightful  experience  to  know  that  some  one 
stood  ever  ready  to  lighten  her  labors;  and,  contrasted  with  the 
sour  visage  and  harsh  words  of  the  Shaker  brethren,  Jacob's 
smiling  countenance  and  pleasant  words  were  very  attractive. 
Briefly.  Sister  Agnes  needed   love,  and   as  Jacob  Small   was   the 


i8o  STSTER    AGNES. 

only  one  to  offer  her  even  the  semblance  of  the  tender  passion» 
love  arose  between  them.  Such  an  event  was  so  utterly  inconceiv- 
able to  the  well-regulated  Shaker  mind,  that  never  was  there  the 
slightest  suspicion  of  it,  until  one  morning  in  the  late  autumn  the 
whole  community  was  astounded  to  learn  that  Jacob  Small  and 
Sister  Agnes  had  eloped  together  during  the  preceding  night. 

Two  years  later  the  winter  was  uncommonly  severe,  and  the  oldest 
inhabitants  of  a  small  manufacturing  town,  some  five  miles  distant 
from  the  peaceful  Shaker  community,  shook  their  hoary  heads  and 
solemnly  declared  that  never  before  in  all  their  time  had  they  seen 
the  like  of  such  cold  and  stormy  weather.  It  was  a  bitter  season 
of  trial  and  suffering  for  the  poor,  and  many  of  them  paid  the 
penalty  of  their  poverty  with  their  lives,  while  those  who  survived 
long  remembered  the  terrors  of  their  struggle  for  existence.  There 
was  an  old  three-story  wooden  house,  standing  alone  by  itself  on 
the  outskirts  of  the  town,  which  looked  about  as  wretched  and 
God-forsaken  an  abode  as  ever  humanity  was  forced  to  occupy. 
Its  site  was  most  unfortunate ;  in  summer  the  stagnant  green  and 
festering  pools  around  made  it  a  nest  of  malaria;  and  in  win- 
ter it  was  so  open  and  exposed  to  icy  blasts  from  all  sides,  that  it 
was  a  wonder  man,  woman,  or  child  could  keep  from  freezing  to 
death  within  its  tumble-down  walls.  So  notorious  was  its  un- 
hcalthfulness,  that  even  the  poorest  of  the  poor  refused  to  risk 
their  lives  in  it,  and  its  owner,  without  income  from  his  invest- 
ment, would  have  been  glad  enough  to  see  his  miserable  tenement 
drop  to  pieces,  and  thus  relieve  him  of  paying  taxes  on  it.  But  it 
was  occupied  by  one  family  still.  In  a  cheerless  room  of  the 
upper  story  a  young  mother  was  trying  to  rock  her  baby  boy  to 
sleep  in  his  cradle.  An  empty  fireplace  and  an  empty  cupboard 
were  eloquent  of  cold  and  hunger,  and  the  direst  poverty  was  in- 
dicated by  the  scanty  furniture,  —  one  broken  chair  and,  in  the 
corner,  a  rickety  bed,  from  which  the  few  clothes  had  been  taken 
to  wrap  around  the  suffering  child.  The  poor  woman  wore  a 
singular  dress,  neat  though  sadly  patched,  of  a  soft  and  clinging 
lilac-colored  fabric,  with  many  plaits  in  the  skirt,  and  a  faded  silk 
handkerchief  came  over  her  shoulders  and  was  pinned  at  the 
waist,  so  that,  but  for  the  absence  of  the  stiff  white  cap,  she  would 
have  been  the  very  picture  of  a  Shakeress.     It  was  Sister  Agnes, 


SISTER    AGATES. 


two  years  older  in  actual  time,  but  twenty  years  older  in  appear- 
ance, from  the  wear  and  tear  ni  the  existence  she  had  gone 
through. 

The  day  was  dark  and  storm-threatening  and  intensely  cold  ;  a 
driving  wind  blew  savagely  around  the  old  house,  rattled  every 
window  furiously,  and  swooped  down  its  chimneys  and  through  its 
many  crevices  with  a  rush  and  a  roar  that  seemed  to  announce 
imminent  destruction.  When  now  and  then  the  blast  rose  to  a 
higher  pitch  and  shook  the  house  to  its  very  foundations,  the 
anxious  mother  trembled  with  alarm,  and  tucked  the  clothes  more 
closely  around  her  child.  She  did  not  mind  the  cold  for  herself, 
though  she  was  blue  and  quivering  with  it,  but  she  did  want  to 
keep  it  from  her  boy.  It  was  past  the  hour  of  noon,  but  as  the 
last  crusts  had  been  eaten  the  day  before,  mother  and  child  could 
only  fast  and  wait.  The  unhappy  child  uttered  a  piteous  wail 
from  time  to  time,  but  his  eyes  did  not  open,  and  he  seemed  lost 
in  that  restless  sort  of  slumber  with  which  merciful  nature  often 
dulls  hopeless  suffering. 

Sister  Agnes  sat  there  with  consciousness  of  the  present  and  all 
its  woes,  while  her  thoughts  were  busy  with  the  past.  All  the 
years  of  her  life  among  the  Shakers  rose  up  before  her  mind ;  one 
day  just  like  another  in  its  regular  round  of  easy  duties,  homely 
pleasures,  and  sincere  acts  of  worship ;  she  wondered  if  earth  had 
another  such  happy  home  as  that  neat  and  spacious  family  house 
which  was  always  so  delightfully  coo!  in  the  hottest  summer  and 
so  comfortably  warm  in  the  sharpest  winter;  and  the  rough  but 
honest  Shaker  brethren  and  the  kind  and  earnest  sisters  appeared 
to  her  now  as  angels  of  heaven,  compared  with  the  men  and  women 
of  the  world  she  had  since  met.  Why  had  she  ever  left  such  an 
earthly  paradise  ?  An  uneasy  movement  and  a  mournful  cry  from 
the  cradle  reminded  her  of  that  she  had  sought  for — love, 

Jacob  had  drawn  so  glowing  a  picture  of  the  happiness  that 
awaited  them  in  the  world  I  They  were  to  live  in  the  town,  while 
he  worked  and  saved  up  the  money  to  buy  them  a  home  and  a 
farm.  And  he  loved  her  so  much,  and  promised  to  love  her 
always  so  much,  that  her  heart  was  won.  Since  that  eventful 
night,  when  she  had  stolen  away  from  the  Shakers  to  be  united  in 
marriage  to  Jacob  Sniiill  by  the  minister  of  an  adjoining  village. 


i82  SISTER    AGNES, 

everything  had  gone  wrong.  Jacob  obtained  work  again  and 
again,  but  never  could  keep  it ;  for  his  convivial  tastes,  and  the  op- 
portunities of  indulging  them,  soon  developed  him  into  an  idle  and 
drunken  vagabond.  What  a  miserable  life  he  had  led  his  poor 
wife  !  Gladly  would  she  have  forgotten  her  sufferings  for  want  of 
the  commonest  necessities  of  life,  the  insults  and  blows  that  had 
been  heaped  upon  her,  but  she  could  not.  For  some  months  they 
had  lived  in  this  wretched  tenement,  but  as  they  had  not  yet  paid 
a  cent  of  rent,  formal  notice  had  been  sent  them  to  leave  it.  Two 
days  before,  Jacob  Small,  in  drunken  rage,  had  beaten  his  wife, 
threatened  to  kill  his  child,  and  then  had  gone  away,  declaring 
that  he  would  never  again  see  either  of  them.  Sister  Agnes  was  a 
deserted  wife. 

Between  the  sting  of  present  misery  and  the  remembrance  of 
past  happiness,  a  purpose  slowly  evolved  and  fixed  itself  in  her 
mind.  She  would  go  back  to  the  Shakers  with  her  child,  and  live 
and  die  among  them.  An  irresistible  longing  for  the  peace  of  her 
old  Shaker  home  moved  her  to  take  up  her  helpless  babe  and  fly 
from  the  world.  At  last  her  thoughts  embodied  themselves  in 
action.  She  hurriedly  put  on  her  bonnet  and  shawl,  wrapped  a 
blanket  round  her  child,  held  him  closely  to  her  breast,  and  de- 
scending the  creaking  stairs  and  stepping  out  into  the  cold  air,  she 
started  off  with  desperate  energy  to  walk  to  the  Shaker  settlement. 
The  way  was  well  enough  known  to  her,  and  she  felt  thankful  it 
did  not  go  through  the  town.  The  snow  of  past  storms  was  mod- 
erately deep  upon  the  road,  but  it  had  been  so  well  trodden  down 
by  passing  sleighs,  that  walking  was  only  excessively  tiresome,  not 
impossible.  She  walked  on,  weak  and  tired,  but  every  nerve  of 
her  body  was  strained  to  accomplish  the  task  before  her,  which 
was  to  assure  life  and  happiness  to  her  child.  The  wind  did  not 
blow  so  hard  now,  and  the  cold  was  not  so  intense,  though  the 
delicate  mother  noticed  no  improvement;  but  the  clouds  were 
shutting  down  darkly,  and  the  short  twilight  of  winter  was  evidently 
near  at  hand.  A  few  flakes  of  snow  fell,  then  they  came  thicker 
and  faster,  and  finally  their  ceaseless  energy  announced  that  an 
old-fashioned  storm  had  set  in.  The  baby  had  hitherto  been  quiet; 
now  a  flake  or  two  of  snow  upon  his  face  roused  him  and  caused 
him  to  cry  with  all  his  puny  strength.     His  mother  put  him  under 


S/STER    AGNES.  183 

her  threadbare  shawl,  where  the  snow  still  sought  and  found  him; 
she  clasped  him  more  closely  to  her  bosom ;  she  bent  down  her 
head  and  kissed  him  repeatedly ;  she  prayed  for  him ;  she  hushed 
him  and  sung  to  him  a  sad  mixture  of  lullaby  songs  and  Shaker 
hymns ;  but  he  continued  the  pitiful  cry  that  cut  her  to  the  heart, 
until  a  long  shudder  convulsed  his  little  frame,  and  he  was  still  and 
motionless.  All  the  time  Sister  Agnes  was  hurrying  on,  past  farm- 
houses, through  the  leafless  maple  woods  and  the  gloomy  pine 
forests,  and  it  was  only  marvellous  instinct  that  kept  her  from  go- 
ing astray  in  the  thick  darkness  and  the  blinding  snow.  The 
Shaker  settlement  was  reached  at  last.  She  struggled  through  the 
deepening  snow  up  to  the  great  house,  that  had  been  her  only 
home,  and  when  she  had  opened  the  door  and  entered  the  lighted 
room,  where  her  old  friend  Polly  and  the  other  Shakeresses  were 
gathered,  she  looked  down  and  saw  that  her  child  was  dead. 

For  many  years  afterwards  the  visitors  to  the  Shaker  community 
were  apt  to  carry  away  with  them  very  vivid  impressions  of  the 
school  they  had  seen  there,  and  not  a  few  of  them  wished  their 
own  children  could  attend  such  a  model  institution.  The  pupils 
of  this  school  were  neat  and  orderly  of  course,  and  they  were  re- 
markably bright  and  clever  in  their  studies,  but  most  wonderful  of 
all  was 'their  respectful  love  for  their  teacher — a  pale  and  unas- 
suming Shakeress,  answering  to  the  name  of  Sister  Agnes, — whose 
history  is  contained  in  these  few  pages. 


1 84  HORATIO  G.  KNIGHT, 


HORATIO  G.  KNIGHT. 

BY  HON.  WILLIAM  G.  BASSETT. 

In  Easthampton,  where  agriculture,  education  and  manufactures 
are  conducted  with  some  prominence,  are  located  the  mills  of 
three  companies,  which  are  the  leading  producers  of  the  several 
kinds  of  goods  they  make.  These  are  covered  buttons,  rubber 
thread,  and  suspenders  and  other  elastic  goods.  Samuel  Willis- 
ton,  the  well-known  munificent  philanthropist,  founder  of  Williston 
Seminary,  was  the  leader  in  these  enterprises. 

Horatio  G.  Knight  commenced  with  Mr.  Williston  as  a  boy. 
Expecting  to  go  at  once  into  the  store  of  his  employer,  he  was 
set  to  work  in  a  garden.  Though  a  little  disappointed  and  dis- 
satisfied, he  has  since  said  he  did  the  work  the  best  he  could. 
Mr.  Williston  had  a  purpose  to  educate  him  in  the  schools,  but  he 
at  once  became  so  useful  that  he  could  not  be  spared  for  that  pur- 
pose. But  reading,  constant  contact  with  means  of  education,  a 
study  of  and  participation  in  affairs  of  importance,  with  travel  and 
observation  in  this  country  and  in  foreign  countries,  have  made 
him  a  man  of  unusual  general  intelligence.  Thirty-nine  years  ago, 
Williston  and  Knight  established  the  button  business  in  East- 
hampton. They  remained  partners  in  business  till  Mr.  Williston's 
death. 

It  fell  to  the  lot  of  Governor  Knight  to  buy  the  first  India 
rubber  and  the  first  elastic  fabric  looms  and  braiding  machines 
there  used.  During  that  long  and  intimate  association  in  busi- 
ness, the  names  of  Samuel  Williston  and  Horatio  G.  Knight  were 
suggestive  of  successful  business  integrity  and  enterprise.  The 
manufacture  of  goods  in  their  native  town,  and  in  connection  with 
it.  a  prosperous  selling  business  in  New  York,  both  during  the  life 
of  Mr.  Williston  and  since  his  death,  have  owed  much  to  the 
intelligent  energy  and  vitalizing  contact  of  Governor  Knight. 
His  success  is  the  result  of  constant,  systematic  and  intelligent 
diligence.  He  is  an  alert  man.  He  walks  fast,  works  and  thinks 
rapidly  and  well.  His  wiiting  is  uniformly  plain,  handsome,  and 
a  strong  hand.     Every  detail  of  his  business  is  in   exact  order. 


HORATIO  G.  KNIGHT. 


Haste  is  not  allowed  to  make  waste,  thougli  the  maximum  of  work 
is  done  in  the  minimum  of  time. 

The  personal  appearance  of  this  busy  man  is  always  attractively 
neat.  The  appearance  of  his  works  and  person  alike  indicate  that  he 
never  does  a  slovenly  thing.  With  an  even  and  placid  temper,  he 
thinks  and  speaks  well  of  others.  The  idea  that  men  are  famish- 
g  wolves  that  devour  each  other  never  entered  his  mind.  Nor 
he  a  man  of  neutral  color  who  makes  no  enemies;  and  yet  he 
an  agreeable  gentleman  and  a  kind  neighbor.  In  nothing  is 
Governor  Knight  more  commendable  than  in  the  spirit  of  helpful- 
ness to  others.  Few  men,  while  making  their  own  fortune,  have 
exhibited  so  little  of  the  too  common  spirit  which  might  be  ex- 
pressed in  the  phrase,  "Thou  shait  want  ere  I  want."  His 
direct  charities  have  been  large,  numerous,  and  constant,  but  that 
better  charity  of  helping  and  inspiring  men  to  help  themselves  has 
never  been  wanting.  A  community  has  relied  on  this  neighbor 
more  than  any  other  to  help  its  sons  to  just  what  they  needed  and 
might  honorably  accept, — permanent  positions  of  usefulness  and 
profit.  The  method  of  this  has  been  characterized  with  good 
sense  and  absence  of  claim  to  recognition. 

But  the  community  for  which  he  has  done  so  much  to  make  it 
as  a  whole — and  not  simply  a  few  favorites  in  it — prosperous  and 
happy,  always  lakes  pleasure  in  cclebratinghis  distinguished  merit 
A  larger  constituency,  also,  has  thought  it  worthy  to  pay  him 
particular  attention.  As  representative  to  the  general  court.  State 
senator,  member  of  the  Governor's  council,  and  as  Lieutenant- 
Governor  of  the  Commonwealth,  he  has  served  the  public  with 
ability  and  fidelity.  During  the  four  years  he  was  Lieutenant- 
Governor,  the  contract  was  made  under  which  the  Hoosac  Tunnel 
(in  the  progress  of  which  so  many  failures  had  resulted)  was  com- 
pleted, and  his  services  in  the  achievement  were  conspicuous. 

The  Committee  on  Pardons,  while  he  was  its  chairman,  passed 
upon  no  less  than  four  hundred  applications  for  pardon.  Ap- 
pointed by  Governor  Andrew  in  t862  sole  Draft-Commissioner 
for  Hampshire  County  to  raise  soldiers  for  the  Union  army, 
instead  of  drafting  he  aided  and  promoted  enlistment, —  paying 
thousands  of  dollars  therefor  from  his  own  pocket, — so  that  a 
draft  from  his  county  was  unnecessary.  Its  quota  was  filled  by 
enlistment.       By   the    appointment   of    Governor   Washburn   he 


1 86  HORATIO  G.  KNIGHT. 

attended  the  Vienna  Exposition  in  1873  as  one  of  the  Commis- 
sioners from  Massachusetts. 

In  all  these  stations,  as  in  the  offices  of  bank  president,  semin- 
ary and  college  trustee,  member  of  the  State  Board  of  Educa- 
tion, trustee  of  charitable  institutions,  and  in  a  position  that  may 
be  described  as  that  of  leading  citizen,  punctuality  and  regularity 
in  fully  meeting  the  duties  expected  of  him,  have  characterized 
him.  He  has  travelled  hundreds  of  miles  to  attend  a  town  meet- 
ing, or  to  vote.  He  is  now  serving  as  chairman  of  the  town 
school  committee. 

That  spirit  that  takes  pleasure  in  improvement — in  making  two 
blades  of  grass  grow  where  only  one  grew  before — he  possesses. 
Having  formed  a  village  improvement  society,  knowing  that  it 
would  not  prosper  by  faith  alone,  in  its  early  days  his  tall,  lithe 
figure  served  him  well  in  lopping  unsightly  limbs;  and  he  himself 
made  bonfires  of  the  rubbish  in  the  street.  For  the  time,  village 
improvement  was  his  vocation  and  his  example. 

We  have  been  told  often  enough  that  we  in  this  country  have 
no  aristocracy.  But  we  have  leading  men  —  men  who  lead. 
"They  are  able  because  they  seem  to  be  able."  They  give  tone 
and  direction  to  affairs.  A  community  not  servile  is  yet  impress- 
ible. A  spirit  of  liberality,  a  general  live  and  let  live  policy, 
shown  in  the  life  of  one  of  these  leaders  tends  to  suppress  selfish 
meanness  and  illibcrality.  There  is  quick  contagion  in  generous 
conduct;  and,  often,  the  retroactive  influence  of  one's  business 
principles,  illustrated  in  his  business  life,  is  of  inestimable  value. 
He  builds  better  than  he  knows.  This  has  proved  true  in  the 
career  of  the  subject  of  this  brief  sketch. 

The  button  business,  which,  under  his  management,  had  been 
very  profitable,  passed  in  full  prosperity  into  other  management. 
In  1883  it  disastrously  failed,  and  proved  to  have  been  completely 
wrecked.  The  most  of  his  considerable  fortune  was  lost  and  he 
was  greatly  embarrassed  financially.  The  reorganization  of  the 
business  seemed  impossible,  and  he  was  advised  by  sagacious  men 
not  to  undertake  it.  Rising  from  a  sick  bed  with  a  comprehen- 
sive plan  to  meet  his  own  and  the  company's  indebtedness,  he 
took  the  management  upon  himself  and  went  forth  to  win.  The 
great  thing  needful  was  confidence, — that  foundation  which  under- 
lies and  upholds  all  business. 


THE  MOUNTAIN  STREAM.  187 

Was  there  confidence — business  confidence — that  he  in  his 
years  could  and  would  begin  again  and  succeed?  He  was  then 
sixty-four  years  old.  His  record  as  a  business  man  was  his  all. 
Creditors  met  him  with  his  own  spirit.  They  were  more  indul- 
gent than  he  asked.  New  capital  came  to  him  as  by  magic.  His 
reorganized  company  might  have  an  ample  capital  paid  in  to  do 
its  work  and  without  being  a  borrower.  He  eliminated  much,  and 
reorganized  on  the  old  successful  basis  with  himself  as  the 
managing  head ;  and  three  years  of  fine  prosperity  have  rewarded 
the  effort — and  that,  too,  when  business  generally  has  not  been 
profitable.  This  success  has  been  achieved  by  a  master-hand 
with  consummate  skill,  business  capacity  and  judgment.  It  was 
possible  only  by  reason  of  the  confidence  which  the  business  life 
of  this   man  of  business  had  inspired. 


THE  MOUNTAIN  STREAM. 

BY  J.  B.  M.  WRIGHT. 

Up  in  the  dell  where  dewdrops  glisten, 
Floweth  the  stream,  a  silver  thread ; 

There  in  the  hush  of  eve  we  listen, 
To  bird-song  sweet  in  the  boughs  overhead. 

A  little  more, —  its  course  is  taken, 
Out  to  the  sun  and  the  summer  air, 

Over  the  meadow,  where  flowerets  waken, 
Dotting  the  green  with  blossoms  fair. 

Onward  still  to  the  winding  river. 
Under  tl]e  boughs  where  mosses  grow, 

Reeds  are  drooping  and  rushes  quivers- 
Mirrored  green  in  the  depths  below. 


i88 


EDITOR'S  TABLE. 


EDITOR'S  TABLE. 


Boston  has  become  famous  for  its  clubs,  as  much  so  in  its  way  as 
Paris  was  in  the  latter  days  of  Louis  Philippe.  They  are  all  of  them 
Saturday  afternoon  institutions,  and  range  in  their  scope  from  farming 
to  politics,  and  from  personal  devotion  to  the  pursuit  of  pleasure  for  its 
own  unadulterated  sake.  It  would  be  interesting  to  go  through  a  re- 
cital of  them.  As  a  rule,  tijcy  are  not  organized  in  a  clannish  spirit, 
and  still  there  is  an  undeniable  coloring  of  cHqueishness  in  them.  Per- 
haps it  could  not  very  well  be  otherwise.  Men  are  human  still,  and 
are  li4cely  long  to  remain  so.  At  every  meeting  of  these  clubs  there  are 
invited  guests  and  at  least  one  set  speech  or  elaborate  essay.  Generally 
it  is  on  somebody's  candidacy  for  public  office,  or  on  afiairs  of  State  or 
National  Government,  and  more  generally  somebody  feels  sure  that  the 
eflbrt  liits  him  higher  in  the  esteem,  if  not  of  those  who  listen,  yet  of 
those  who  read  him  as  reported.  There  is  no  harm  in  exercises  of  such 
a  character,  while  the  expression  of  views  on  many  subjects  becomes 
very  much  aerated. 

The  sociability  of  these  clubs  might  no  doubt  be  greatly  intensified, 
if  the  limits  of  the  topics  habitually  discussed  at  them  were  not  so  re- 
stricted. We  have  all  the  party  politics  we  require  already  ;  how  much 
it  were  to  be  wished  that  we  could  import  new  matter  into  our  wonted 
social  talk,  that  would  enlarge  instead  of  narrow  the  prevailing  feeling, 
and  call  out  the  best  and  freest  of  men's  inner  selves.  Not  politics 
wholly,  nor  business  wholly,  nor  literature  wholly,  nor  any  one  of  the 
staple  industries  wholly,  is  capable  of  filling  the  requirements  of  the 
time  ;  nevertheless,  the  mingling  experiences  of  men  variously  employed 
ought  to  yield  topics  enough  for  genuinely  social  and  intellectual  fruc- 
tification. At  present,  men  are  too  much  absorbed  in  the  purely  mate- 
rial ;  and  if,  now  and  then,  a  chord  is  struck  that  responds  with  a  dif- 
ferent sound,  it  is  still  very  apt  to  suggest  too  strongly  the  prolessional, 
if  not  the  pedantic.  So  we  go,  however,  all  the  same.  Evolution, 
with  its  mechanical  and  mysterious  processes  combined,  will  certainly 
help  us  out,  but  our  clubbable  days  may  by  that  time  all  be  over. 


The  President's  brief  speech  at  the  banquet  given  at  the  time  of  die 
memorial  celebration  of  Harvard  College  was  acknowledged  to  be  in 
the  most  fitting  phrase  and  admirable  spirit.  Under  the  circumstancetf 
it  was  not  an  easy  matter  for  him  to  decide  what  to  say,  more  tlMU| 


served  as  n  i 
>  argument  I 
Jucation  in  ^ 


EDITOR'S  TABLE.  189 

wh»t  is  generally  Gaid,  in  response  I0  the  customary  lua&l  oflVred  in  sin- 
cere  complitnent  to  hia  high  office.  Naturally  he  recogni;!ed,  first,  the 
occasion  to  which  he  had  willingly  lent  his  official  presence,  and  finely 
remarked,  in  a  half-putliclic  strain  for  such  as  cotdd  so  see  it,  that  there 
exists  for  him  nowhere  an  alma  mater,  which  excited  in  him  a  feeling' 
of  ivgret  only  tempered  by  the  reassuring  kindliness  of  his  reception  ;_ 
and  he  recited  the  not  ton  familiar  fact  that  but  twelve  of  the  twenty- 
one  of  his  predecessors  had  the  advantage  of  a  collegiate  education. 
The  fact,  however,  he  reminded  his  collegiate  hcareis,  only  s 
proof  of  the  "  democratic  sense  of  our  people, 

"  against  the  supreme  value  of  the  best  and  most  liberal  education  i 
high  public  position." 

The  tribute  he  candidly  paid  to  learning  was  thoroughly  timely,  and 
in  excellent  taste  as  well.  "  The  disinclination" — said  lie — "  of  our 
best  men  of  education  to  mingle  in  political  matters,  thus  consequently 
leaving  all  political  activity  in  the  hands  of  those  who  have  hut  little 
respect  for  the  student  and  the  scholar  in  politics,  are  not  the  most 
favorable  conditions  under  a  government  such  as  ours."  He  thought  be 
"  saw  indications  that  in  the  future  the  thought  and  the  learning  of  the 
country  will  be  more  plainly  heard  in  the  expression  of  the  popular 
will."  Coming,  next,  to  the  more  salient  features  of  our  sjsttm  of 
government,  he  referred  to  his  own  office  to  illuslnite  most  slvikingly 
the  fact  of  the  nearness  of  the  people  to  their  President  and  all  their 
<ither  high  officials.  This  close  view  of  the  conduct  and  character  of 
those  to  whom  they  have  cntmstcd  their  interests  serves  as  a  regulator 
and  check  upon  the  pressure  and  temptation  in  official  place,  and 
teaches  "  that  diligence  and  faithfulness  are  the  true  measure  of  public 
duly."  This  topic  easily  led  the  President  to  the  comment  in  which  he 
indulged  on  a  slanderous  press. 

And  here  appeared  the  first  opening  for  criticism  on  his  speech. 
Some  thought  he  descended  from  the  dignity  of  his  position  to  indulge 
in  remarks  on  such  a  theme  at  all.  Some  considered  that  the  occasion 
warranted  no  such  exhibition  of  icelJng,  however  de6c^^'ed  his  criti- 
cism itseif  might  be.  Veiy  many  could  not  help  thinking,  whether 
ihcy  said  it  or  not,  that  such  a  concentrated  charge  of  denunciatory 
phrase  as  be  proceeded  to  bring  against  "certain  newspapers"  had  bet- 
ter be  brought,  if  at  all,  by  somebody  else  at  another  time.  We  do  not 
hesitate  to  say  that  the  precise  language  of  the  President  docs  not  make 
pleasant  reading  aller  Ihc  warmth  of  the  speaking  itself  is  abated.  It 
was  a  clouded  spot  on  a  speech  from  the  highest  official  in  the  land, 
made  on  as  august  an  occasion  as  could  occur  in  our  present  civiliza- 
tion, which  otherwise  would  have  been  accounted  the  perfection  of  pro-- 


Kjo  EI) [TOR'S   TABLE. 

prietv,  equipoise  and  impressiveness.  The  closing  portion  of  the 
lulflress  only  served  to  impurt  to  this  judgment  all  the  more  justice  and 
tbrce  from  the  fact  that  it  was  all  that  could  have  been  looked  fior  from 
a  man  of  the  highest  education. 


The  subject  of  "  Isms  " — supposed  to  be  indigenous  to  New  Eng*- 
Lmd —  is  continued  in  the  present  number  of  this  Magazine,  and  will 
proceed  in  due  course  through  the  entire  series.  Those  who  thought- 
fully read  the  analytic  ard  descriptive  paper  in  the  last  issue  could  not 
have  failed  to  become  freshly  interested  in  a  subject  of  which  it  may 
perhaps  be  said  that,  if  it  had  no  beginning,  neither  is  it  certain  to  have 
any  end.  Of  course  it  is  not  meant  by  this  that  there  is  likely  to  be  no 
limit  to  the  series  of  papers  themselves,  which  must  finally  come  in 
tiight ;  but  it  is  a  truth  that  there  can  be  no  end  to  the  speculations  of 
tlie  human  spirit,  and  as  fast  as  they  become  fashioned  into  schools. 
systems,  projects,  and  other  embodied  shapes,  they  challenge  the  com- 
mon attention  newly  and  enlist  concerted  action  in  different  degrees. 

The  papers  descriptive  of  the  differing  phases  of  "  Isms"  which  are 
making  their  appearance  in  these  pages  may  each  and  all  be  received 
:  s  the  exposition  of  genuine  experts  in  relation  to  them.  As  a  class. 
or  a  group,  they  cluster  like  ripening  fruit  on  the  boughs  of  the  vigor- 
ous tree  of  Transcendentalism,  transplanted  long  ago  to  our  receptive 
New  England  soil  and  atmosphere,  and  flourishing  nowhere  as  for  a 
time  it  flourished  at  philosophic  Concord.  The  nam.es  of  the  noble 
men  and  vvr.men  who  became  early  disciples  of  Transcendentalism  have 
long  since  become  a  part  of  the  permanent  record  of  American  thought. 
They  were  brave  men  and  women,  too,  possessed  of  the  full  courage  of 
their  convictions.  They  lived,  they  wrought,  they  sacrificed,  in  obedi- 
ence to  the  clearer  light  with  which  thev  becam.e  illuminated.  The 
Dial  was  the  exponent  of  their  thinking  ;  Brock  Farm  was  die  embodi- 
ment cf  their  life  and  activity.  Both  may  be  pronounced  failures,  but 
that  all  depends  on  the  angle  cf  vision  occupied  by  the  beholder.  If  we 
believe,  as  we  certainlv  must,  that  neither  in  human  thought  nor  human 
etfort  is  anything  ever  lost,  then  we  are  bound  to  accept  the  appearance 
of  the  transcendental  spirit  amongst  us  with  gratitude  as  well  as 
wonder. 

While  the  whole  subject  of  mind-healing,  for  example,  may  be  re- 
fused hospitality  in  the  thoughts  of  those  who  either  will  not  reflect  or 
have  no  time  to  do  so,  it  is  certain  that  it  is  finding  lodgment  none  the 
less  in  other  minds,  and  for  some  unannounced  good.  At  any  rate,  so 
far  as  that,  or  the  faith-ciire,  or  any  other  Ism  tends  to  lift  people  out  of 
the  mire  of  materialism  up  to  the  leveb  of  spiritual  life,  it  cannot  but 


EDITOR'S  TABLE. 


191 


be  accounted  an  active  blessing,  come  in  what  guise  it  mny.  If  life  here 
has  any  meaning  which  it  is  worth  our  whiie  to  try  to  grasp,  it  must  be 
that  the  constant  struggle  phiced  before  us  as  its  naain  condition  is  one 
between  the  lower  and  the  higher  natures,  and  not  for  the  absolute  con- 
(]ucst  of  either  but  for  the  temporal  harmonization  of  both-  Yet  always 
for  the  spirit's  good,  else  there  would  be  no  higher  and  lower,  no  supe- 
rior and  subordinate.  If  we  may  not  too  rashly  embark  on  a  stream 
whose  flow  is  to  conduct  us  to  the  unknown  shores  of  an  unseen  life,  it 
is  still  permitted  us  to  throw  off,  in  the  gradations  of  our  experience, 
that  servitude  to  the  lower  nature  which  is  the  aim  and  end  of  our 
earthly  discipline. 


The  welcome  return  of  the  Christmas  Holidays  never  fails  to  set  all 
hearts  tingling  with  fresh  emotions  of  pleasure.  It  is  a  season  crowded 
with  social  delights  and  the  satisfactions  of  true  friendship.  Though 
necessarily  an  imported  observance,  it  is  hardly  the  less  indigenous  be- 
cause it  is  a  natural  outgrowth  of  the  observances  of  the  Christian  re- 
ligion. Wherever  that  goes,  Christmas  and  its  joys  go  with  it.  The 
religious  sentiment  born  of  Christmas  has  come  to  bear  many  kinds  of 
fruit,  but  all  aweet  and  wholesome.  Dedicated  as  it  instinctively  is  to 
childhood,  in  sacred  commemoration  of  Him  who  lay  in  a  manger,  it 
has  come  to  represent  all  fresh  and  new-born  feelings,  as  if  to  impress 
us  all  with  the  divine  fact  that  it  is  a  fitting  memorial  time  for  every  one 
to  be  born  i  nto  the  life  of  love  again.  And  so  innocent  and  merry  greet- 
ings are  given,  and  gifts  are  freely  exchanged,  and  hearts  that  were 
growing  cold  beat  warmly  again,  and  homes  and  churches  are  decorated 
with  living  green,  and  tables  groan  with  the  bounties  of  the  year  for  the 
happy  circles  that  sit  around,  and  the  bells  proclaim  "peace  and  good- 
will lo  man." 

There  is  a  commercial  side  to  the  picture,  too,  the  very  natund  evo- 
lution of  the  habit  of  gift-making  at  tliis  season.  It  breaks  out  in  all 
our  large  cities,  making  the  streets  suddenly  populous,  lighting  up  the 
showy  shop  windows  with  a  holiday  display,  and  pouring  fresh  currents 
of  life  into  the  channels  of  tntde.  All  this  imparts  an  unwonted 
vivacity  to  the  passing  season,  and  signalizes  it  as  something  wholly 
different,  and  always  pleasingly  so,  from  the  rest  of  the  year.  The 
dealers  in  all  sorts  of  manufactured  things,  from  ingenious  toys  to 
splendidly  illustrated  volumes,  and  from  seasonable  garments  to  bril- 
liants in  exquisite  settings,  come  foi'ward  to  announce  in  preternatural 
typography  the  abundance  of  the  riches  they  have  in  store  for  gratifying 
the  sentiments  of  the  gift-givers.  It  is  high  carnival  for  both  parties  to 
the  delicious  evcilement,  and  they  celebrate  its  Beeting  hours  with  a 


r- 


192  EDITOR'S  TABLE, 

zest  that  is  marked  with  an  annual  renewal.  And  this  is  the  Holiday 
Season  that  is  just  at  hand.  Let  none  of  us  fail  to  greet  its  welcome 
coming  with  all  the  sincerity  of  childhood  itself,  to  whose  innocent  en^ 
joyment  it  is  confessedly  dedicated. 

It  may  be  said  without  coloring  it  at  all  that  Dr.  McCosh's  conduct 
at  the  Harvard  anniversary  celebration  was  a  Jiasco.  He  abruptly  left 
the  commemorating  company  because  he  fancied  Princeton  College  to 
have  been  purposely  slighted  in  the  distribution  of  honorary  titles,  and 
his  recognized  friends  are  willing  to  add  that  he  felt  hardly  less  af- 
fronted by  the  allusion  made  to  Princeton  by  the  venerable  Dr.  Holmes 
in  his  poetic  address.  Without  venturing  to  enter  upon  any  discussion 
of  the  points  of  the  case  at  all,  it  ought  certainly  to  be  enough  to 
remark  that  other  men,  of  not  less  merit  and  distinction  than  himself, 
sat  patiently  and  good-humoredly  by  and  saw  their  idols  one  by  one 
dethroned,  without  a  thought  of  wiping  the  dust  from  their  shoes  at  the 
door  of  exit,  and  filled  only  with  admiration  for  the  courteous  courage 
with  which  the  men  of  Harvard  have  long  since  learned  to  give  free 
utterance  to  their  opinions.  The  daily  journals  are  making  much  of 
this  unseemly  display  of  what  at  least  may  be  called  hasty  temper,  and 
the  more  they  work  at  explanation  the  more  ridiculous  the  whole  mat- 
ter is  made  to  appear. 


The  dissolution  of  the  present  Canadian  federation  is  believed  to  be 
impending.  There  are  numerous  causes  for  such  an  event,  which  taken 
together  would  seem  to  be  suflficient.  The  confederation  bonds  at  best 
have  always  been  light  and  fragile.  It  has  long  been  a  notorious  fact 
that  a  number  of  the  provinces  have  been  weary  of  the  existing  union, 
and  impatient  of  the  yoke  of  the  one-man  power  and  the  mockery  of  a 
court  which  it  imposed.  There  are,  in  fact,  two  distinct  nationalities 
in  Canada,  whose  political  blending  must  always  prove  as  difficult  as 
that  of  their  social  and  religious  unity.  Then  the  economic  views  of 
the  different  component  provinces  are  irreconcilably  variant.  The  pro- 
tective interests  openly  clash  with  those  of  a  freer  trade  with  our  own 
and  other  countries.  One  section  is  purely  commercial  and  devoted  to 
navigation  and  fishing,  while  another  is  given  up  to  farming.  The 
outlet  for  the  great  railway  line  which  traverses  the  Dominion  is  another 
standing  cause  of  contention.  And  an  intestine  war  of  races  may  be 
counted  on  with  almost  perfect  certainty.  So  that,  taken  in  all  its 
aspects,  the  case  of  the  Canadian  federation  may  be  thought  an  un- 
promising one  indeed. 


HISTORICAL  RECORD,  193 

There  will  always  be  histories  and  histories.  The  reason  why 
reflective  readers  of  history  like  to  have  large  groups  of  facts,  and 
lengthened  arcs  of  people's  conduct,  and  wider  relations  of  events  pre- 
sented to  them,  is  that  they  grow  tired  of  this  habitual  short-sighted- 
ness in  looking  at  things,  and  long  to  be  taken  to  an  elevated  position 
where  they  can  escape  from  the  perpetual  present  and  see  some  of  its 
relations  to  the  past  and  future.  It  is  for  just  such  a  reason  that  history 
writing  will  never  cease  while  man  inhabits  the  planet.  If  Macaulay 
was  inspired  with  a  love  of  details  and  what  was  popular,  Guizot  pre- 
sented human  actions  philosophically.  The  one  painted,  the  other  was 
a  sculptor.  And  so  this  historian  takes  us  into  a  gallery,  and  that  one 
makes  us  look  down  a  vista ;  one  is  an  advocate,  another  is  a  judge. 
All  are  useful,  each  in  his  chosen  way ;  but  it  is  the  one  who  classifies 
human  experience,  and  brings  all  things  under  rule,  and  threads  events 
on  a  recognized  and  visible  law,  that  keeps  the  field  longest.  He  is 
the  century-living  oak  among  the  lindens,  and  birches,  and  willows. 
He  clears  up  the  confusion  and  establishes  order.  The  reader  is  able 
for  the  first  time  to  discern  the  connection  of  epochs  and  ages.  The 
sketch,  however,  must  be  no  mere  outline,  without  clothing  or  color, 
but  cosmic;  bringing  events  into  logical  as  well  as  living  relations;  a 
picture  of  progress  by  the  course  of  regular  development ;  philosophy, 
in  fact,  opening  its  storehouse  of  examples. 


HISTORICAL    RECORD. 

Rev.  George  E.  Ellis,  D.  D.,  LL.  D.  ,  the  President  of  the  Massa- 
chusetts Historical  Society,  delivered  the  annual  address  before  the  New 
York  Historical  Society,  on  the  occasion  of  its  82d  anniversary,  on  the 
evening  of  November  16.  Among  the  men  of  note  present  were  Gen- 
eral W.T  .  Sherman,  Rev.  Dr.  CoUyer,  and  Hon.  John  Jay. 

An  old  $50  five  per  cent.  United  States  bond,  issued  under  the  act  of 
March  3d,  1864,  has  just  been  presented  for  redemption  at  the  Treasury 
Department.  The  wording  of  the  bond  provides  that  all  bonds  of  the 
same  issue  shall  be  payable  forty  years  after  date,  with  an  option  to  the 
Government  of  redemption  any  time  after  the  expiration  of  two  years. 
The  bond  in  question  was  embraced  in  a  call  made  in  1879,  and  has 
now  been  presented  with  all  the  coupons  detached.  It  is  decided  by 
the  comptroller  that,  as  the  nominal  value  of  the  unmatured  detached 
coupons  is  greater  than  the  face  value  of  the  bond  itself,  the  bond  can- 
not be  redeemed  until  such  coupons  shall  have  been  presented. 


194  HISTORICAL  RECORD, 

At  the  last  monthly  meeting  of  the  Massachusetts  Historical  Society^ 
over  which  President  George  E.  Ellis,  D.  D.,  presided,  Hon.  George 
F.  Hoar  was  elected  a  resident  member  of  the  Society,  and  Prof.  Alex- 
ander Johnson  of  the  College  of  New  Jersey  was  chosen  a  correspond 
ing  member.  Judge  Chamberlain  presented  a  diary  of  Capt.  Henry 
Dearborn,  extending  from  July  25,  1776  to  June  16,  1778,  being  a  con* 
tinuation  of  his  journal  during  the  Quebec  expedition  of  1775,  the 
original  of  which  is  preserved  in  the  Boston  Public  Library.  Mr. 
Deane  exhibited  the  original  will  of  Peregrine  White,  who  was  bom  on 
board  the  Mayflower  in  Cape  Cod  harbor,  in  November,  1620,  and  to 
whom  the  Court  granted,  in  1665,  two  hundred  acres  of  land  "  in  re- 
spect that  he  was  the  first  of  the  English  bom  in  these  parts."  The 
will  is  in  a  fine  state  of  preservation,  and  bears  the  date  of  July  14^ 
1704. 

Mr.  A.  B.  Ellis  read  a  paper  on  Sharples's  portraits  of  Washington^ 
the  circumstances  of  the  painting  of  which  were  recited  in  detail,  and. 
which  are  of  extreme  interest.  These  two  portraits  of  Washington 
and  Martha  Washington  are  asserted  to  perpetuate  a  truer  likeness  of 
their  subjects. than  the  better  known  portraits  by  Gilbert  Stuart.  They 
were  both  on  exhibition  at  the  gallery  of  Williams  &  Everett  in  this 
city,  where  they  were  inspected  by  throngs  of  interested  visitors.  The 
portrait  of  Mary,  the  mother  of  Washington,  was  exhibited  with  them.. 

Dr.  Ellis,  the  President  of  the  society,  spoke  of  the  recent  commem- 
oration of  the  250th  anniversary  of  the  founding  of  Harvard  College, 
saying  that  the  society  took  no  second  place  in  welcoming  and  in  shar- 
ing, through  its  members,  the  delightful  observances  of  the  occasion. 
Three-fourths  of  the  members  of  the  society  are  graduates  in  its  classes. 
The  society  loaned  to  the  college  for  the  occasion  the  President  of  the 
University,  the  Orator  and  the  Poet,  the  President  of  the  Association  of 
the  Alumni,  the  cliief  marshal  and  many  of  his  aids.  He  also  alluded 
eulogist ically  to  the  presence  of  Hon.  Robert  C.  Winthrop  at  the  com- 
memoration, and  pronounced  it  to  be  especially  fitting  that  the  Chief 
Magistrate  of  the  nation  should  have  come  to  see  and  hear  and  share  in 
the  grateful  and  elevating  influences  of  the  occasion.  Dr.  Ellis  made 
descriptive  reference  to  the  Washington  portraits  then  in  the  city,  and 
discussed  their  claims  to  supersede  the  hitherto  universally  accepted 
portraits  of  Washington  by  Stuart. 

The  250th  anniversary  of  the  foundation  of  Harvard  College  waa 
commemorated   in  an  elaborate  manner  on  the  5th,  6th,  7th  and  Stfa 


NECROLOGY.  195 

days  of  November.  All  graduates  of  Harvard  were  invited,  besides 
the  Presidents  of  other  Colleges,  and  the  President  of  the  United  States 
and  his  Cabinet  Nearly  2500  graduates  registered  as  present  and  re- 
sponding. The  first  day  was  given  up  to  a  general  meeting  of  the 
Harvard  Law  School  Association,  the  members  of  which  listened  to  an 
oration  by  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes,  Jr.,  and  afterwards  sat  down  to 
dinner  together.  The  second  day,  Saturday,  was  under-graduates*  day. 
It  was  celebrated  with  a  morning  boat-race,  literary  exercises  in  Sanders 
Theatre,  a  game  of  football,  and  a  torch-light  parade  in  the  evening 
with  supplementary  fireworks.  College  characteristics  and  unique  cos- 
tumes formed  the  features  of  the  parade.  Former  students  of  the 
Lawrence  Scientific  School  likewise  held  a  reunion,  and  the  Observa- 
tory was  open  to  public  view.  Sunday,  the  third  day,  was  celebrated 
as  the  anniversary  of  the  actual  foundation  day.  Commemorative  ex- 
ercises were  held  in  Appleton  Chapel,  morning  and  evening.  A  num- 
ber of  distinguished  men  of  Han-ard  and  other  colleges  participated. 
Monday,  the  fourth  day,  was  Alumni  day.  Graduates  and  invited 
guests,  the  President  ot  the  United  States  being  among  the  latter,  list- 
ened to  an  address  by  James  Russell  Lowell  and  a  poem  by  Oliver  Wen- 
dell Holmes,  after  which  honorary  degrees  were  conferred  by  the 
University.  A  collation  was  subsequently  served  in  Memorial  Hall,  at 
which  the  President  made  a  speech,  elsewhere  noted.  The  Museum 
of  Comparative  Zoology,  the  Pcahody  Museum  of  American  Arch- 
jEology  and  Ethnology,  and  the  \So\  Iston  Hall  mineral  cabinet  were 
opened  to  visitors  during  the  four  days  of  commemoration.  The 
programme  was  successfully  carried  out  to  its  end. 


NECROLOGY. 


Ex-President  Chester  Alan  Arthur  died  at  his  residence  in  New 
York  City  on  the  morning  of  November  18,  aged  56  years.  For  some 
time  past  he  had  been  suffering  from  a  complication  of  diseases,  chiefly 
kidney  affection.  After  having  passed  the  Summer  at  a  watering  place 
on  Long  Island  Sound,  he  was  considered  improved  in  health,  yet  his 
family  and  intimate  friends  were  apprehensive  of  his  demise  in  case  of 
any  sudden  assertion  of  the  rallying  force  of  his  complaint.  He  finally 
died  of  cerebral  apoplexy,  after  being  a  whole  day  and  night  in  a  state 
of  unconsciousness.  President  Arthur  was  born  in  Fairfield,  Vt., 
October  5,  1830,  his  father  being  a  Baptist  clergyman.  He  was  a 
graduate  of  Union  College,  and  subsequently  went  to  New  York  and 
entered  the  law  office  of  Judge  Culver,  whose  partner  he  afterwards 


196  NECROLOGY, 

became.  He  was  appointed  quartermaster-general  in  New  York  City 
at  the  opening  of  the  war,  and  General  Grant,  on  becoming  President, 
app  >inted  him  collector  of  the  port  of  New  York,  in  which  office  he 
continued  for  eight  years.  In  iSSo  he  was  nominated  by  the  national 
convention  of  his  party  on  the  same  presidential  ticket  with  General 
Garfield,  as  Vice-President,' and  was  elected.  The  assassination  of 
President  Garfield  raised  him  to  the  presidential  chair,  and  he  adminis- 
tered the  afiaiis  of  the  government  with  dignity  and  grace,  although  his 
administration  was  marked  by  no  executive  acts  of  special  note  and  was 
free  from  any  of  those  events  which  had  excited  die  hopes  and  feelings 
of  tlie  countn'.  The  remains  of  the  late  ex-President  were  interred  in 
Rural  Cemeten',  between  Albany  and  Troy. 

Charles  Francis  Adams  died  at  his  winter  residence  in  Boston  on  the 
morning  of  November  2ist,  in  the  Soth  year  of  his  age.  He  was  the 
third  iiow  of  John  Qiiincy  Adams,  and  the  grandson  of  John  Adams, 
lx)th  of  whom  were  Presidents  of  the  United  States.  He  lived  abroad 
in  his  youth  with  his  father,  and  on  coming  home  pursued  his  studies 
ur.til  he  became  a  graduate  cf  Harvard  College  in  1825.  He  subse- 
<|ucnlly  studied  law,  but  never  entered  on  its  practice.  He  was  at  one 
time  a  member  of  the  Massachusetts  Legislature,  after  several  jears  a 
member  of  Congress,  and  was  appoi:itcd  minister  t  j  England  by  Presi- 
dent Lincoln  in  1S61.  In  this  important  iX)sition  he  performed  service 
for  his  country  which  will  ever  remain  a  part  of  its  histor\'.  His  ad- 
mirable judgement,  tact,  coolness,  and  ability',  reenforced  by  his 
watchfulness,  without  doubt  prevented  the  open  support  of  the  cause  of 
the  Southern  Confederacy  by  Great  Britiin.  After  his  return  from 
England  he  was  made  one  of  the  board  of  arbitration  for  the  settlement 
of  the  Alabama  claims.  He  ran  as  a  candidate  for  Govenor  of  Massa- 
chusetts in  1S75.  He  was  in  the  best  sense  a  statesman,  for  which  he 
was  eminently  qualified  by  his  habitual  studies  and  pursuits. 


Judge  George  L.  RuflBn  died  in  Boston  November  19.  He  was  a 
colored  man,  born  of  free  parents  in  Richmond,  Va.  His  mother 
brousrht  her  ei^jht  children  to  Massachusetts  to  educate  them.  After  a 
time  Judge  RuflBn  studied  law,  and  was  a  well-known  practitioner  at 
the  Suffolk  Bar.  He  was  apjK)inted  judge  of  the  municipal  court  in 
Charlestown,  and  was  the  first  colored  judge  in  Massachusetts. 


Dr.  Luther  Parks  died  at  Pau,  France,  November  19,  at  the  age  of 
i^ixty-three.  He  had  been  a  Boston  physician,  having  been  bom  in  this 
cit>\  and  graduated  at  Harvard  College,  in  1S43. 


NECROLOGY.  197 

Joseph  Peabody  died  November  21st,  at  Lowell.  He  was  a  native  of 
Middleton,  Mass.,  scholar  of  Phillips  Academy,  Andover,  a  school 
teacher  in  Lynn  for  fifteen  years,  and  subsequendy  the  principal  of  the 
Moody  School,  Lowell,  for  twenty-five  years. 

• 

Hon.  Charles  B.  Hoard,  of  West  Virginia,  died  November  20th,  at 
the  age  of  81  years.  He  was  a  native  of  Springfield,  Vt.,  and  a  mem- 
ber of  tlie  35th  and  36th  Congresses  from  the  23d  district  of  New 
York. 

• 

Hon.  Thomas  W.  Gillis  died  in  Milford,  N.  H.,  November  20th, 
aged  80 years  and  8  months.  He  was  born  in  Deering,  N.  H.,  but  went 
to  Nashua  in  early  life,  where  he  rose  to  be  agent  of  the  Nashua  Manu- 
facturing Company,  and  so  continued  for  18  years.  He  held  various 
positions  of  trust  and  honor. 

Major  liEwis  Allen  died  at  Peabody,  Mass.,  on  the  i6th  of  Nov- 
ember, aged  82  years  and  5  months.  He  was  born  in  Weston,  Mass., 
and  went  to  South  Dan  vers  in  1817,  and  engaged  in  the  manufacture  of 
shoes.  When  but  nineteen  years  old  he  saw  by  chance  a  pair  of  pegged 
shoes,  and  on  returning  home  made  a  pair,  whittling  out  each  peg  he 
drove  into  them.  Four  days  after  he  became  21  years  old,  ho  began 
business  for  himself  on  a  capital  of  only  fifty  dollars.  For  over  forty 
years  he  was  president  of  Warren  Bank,  and  one  of  the  oldest  Masons 
in  town. 

« 

Hon.  Russell  B.  Wiggin  died  on  Sunday,  November  14th,  at  his 
home  in  Maiden,  Mass.  He  was  a  native  of  Dover,  N.  H.,  and  a 
member  at  one  time  of  the  New  Hampshire  Legislature ;  also  a  mem- 
ber of  the  Masonic  Lodge  and  Royal  Arch  Chapter,  in  Dover.  He 
established  the  extensive  flint  and  sandpaper  manufactory  at  Edge- 
worth,  Mass.,  the  firm  of  Wiggins  &  Stevens  being  well-known 
throughout  the  country. 

« 

Duty  Place,  the  oldest  man  in  Gloucester,  Mass.,  farmer  and 
business  man,  died  November  13th,  at  the  age  of  102  years,  11 
months,  and  13  days. 

• 

Mr.  John  Dougherty,  the  inventor  of  the  portable  iron  section 
boat,  and  the  suggestor  of  the  route  of  the  Pennsylvania  railroad,  died 
at  Pittsburg,  Pa.,  November  12th.  He  had  been  a  millionaire,  but 
died  poor  at  last. 


198  NECROLOGY, 

Judge  William  Ritchie  Whitaker,  a  native  of  Boston,  and  fom- 

eriy  of  New  Orleans,  La.,  died  at  Monticello,  Wis.,  November  13th. 

lie  had  l)een  collector  and  sub- treasurer  in  New  Orleans,  and  judge  of 

the  superior  court,  and  been  prominent  in  journalism.     He  was  an 

active  Freemason.     His  remains  are  to  be  interred  in  Boston. 

•  « 
« 

Dr.  James  O.  Moore,  a  native  of  Parsonsfield,  Me.,  died  at  his 
residence  in  Haverhill,  Mass.,  November  i6th.  He  became  a  homceop- 
athist  in  1S49,  '^"^  settled  at  Saco,  Me.  After  the  breaking  out  of  the 
civil  war  he  was  app<^)inted  surp^eon  of  the  TwentA--second  regiment 
United  States  colored  troops  in  1864.  He  was  a  member  of  the  Massa- 
chusetts HonKropathic  Medical  Society,  and  for  many  years  a  mem- 
ber of  the  school  board. 

«   • 
• 

William  H.  Loni;,  formerly  master  of  the-  Dearborn  Skhool,  Rox- 
bury,  Mass.,  died  i;t  his  home  in  Roxbury,  November  5,  at  the  age  of 
seventy -three.  He  was  a  native  of  Hopkinton,  N.  H.,  a  graduate  of 
Yale  College  in  1840,  and  subsequently  studied  theology-.  Owing  to  a 
vocal  difficulty  he  never  preached,  but  entered  on  the  profession  of 
teaching  in  the  old  Washington  School  of  Roxbury,  and  took  charge 
of  the  Dearlx)rn  School  in  1S52,  continuing  to  hold  the  master's  posi- 
tion for  thirtv  vears,  resijrninj:  it  in  1SS2.  Thirtv  of  the  teachers  who 
have  bjen  associated  with  him  at  different  periods  are  stiil  in  active 
6er\ice  in  Roxburv. 


Capt.  Frank  C.  Homer,  of  the  Boston  and  Bangor  Steamship 
Company,  died  in  early  November.  He  had  l)een  a  steamboat  man 
thirty-five  years,  and  was  last  captain  of  the  steamer  Katahdin. 


*   « 
« 


Mr.  Washix(;tox  H.  Amsden,  a  prominent  citizen  of  Athol,  Mass., 
died  November  3.  He  was  born  in  Dana,  Mass.,  in  1S25,  and  spent 
his  life  as  a  public  ser\'ant. 


«   • 


Capt.  Thomas  Ferxkv,  a  native  of  Nantucket,  Mass.,  and  a  mem- 
ber of  the  United  States  Coast  Sur\ey  Ser\ice,  died  in  Washington, D, 
C,  November  loth.  He  had  ]>een  in  command  of  government  vessels 
since  the  rebellion. 

Samuel  H.  Colby  died  at  Weare.  N.  H.,  on  the  loth  of  November, 
at  the  age  of  ninety-two  years.  He  had  been  a  representative  in  the 
State  I-egislature  during  his  life. 


LITERATURE  AND  ART.  199 

Deacon  Charles  Drew,  of  Fairhaven,  Mass.,  died  on  the  loth  of 
November,  at  the  age  of  eighty-five.  He  was  a  native  of  Fairhaven, 
and  had  been  educated  for  the  ministry,  but  owing  to  ill-health  he 
entered  on  a  business  life  in  Boston.  He  subsequently  returned  to  his 
native  town,  and  succeeded  his  father  as  postmaster.  He  likewise 
represented  the  town  in  the  Legislature,  and  for  thirty  years  was  clerk 
and  treasurer  of  the  Fairhaven  Institution  for  Savings. 


LITERATURE   AND   ART. 

In  the  set  of  16  mo.  volumes  entitled  Humorous  Masterpieces  from 
American  Literature,^  we  have  a  collection  of  the  most  amusing  liter- 
ary efforts  of  our  American  authors.  The  three  volumes  include  selec- 
tions from  nearly  all  our  eminent  authors  —  from  Washington  Irving  to 
Frank  Stockton  —  the  broad  absurdities  of  Artemus  Ward  and  the 
polished  shafts  of  Burdette,  with  pieces  from  the  more  dignified 
writers  —  doubly  effective  when  they  relax  into  humor;  also  many  ex- 
amples from  feminine  authors,  whose  buds  of  delicate  wit  sometimes 
bloom  into  pieces  of  humor  most  demure  and  excellent.  Here  arc 
selections  suited  to  parlor  reading  or  to  public  recitation,  —  for  profes- 
sional elocutionist,  and  for  school  girls  and  boys ;  while  the  silent 
reader  will  find  in  any  portion  of  the  volumes  matter  both  entertaining 
and  restful. 

Cassell's  National  Library,  edited  by  Professor  Henry  Morley, 
is  being  increased  by  Shakspeare's  plays,  of  which  the  familiar 
Macbeth-  (constituting  No.  39 of  Vol.  I.),  lies  before  us.  Though  small 
enough  for  the  average  pocket,  this,  like  the  other  volumes,  is  printed 
in  type  of  medium  size  on  good  paper. 

A  HALF-DOZEN  obloug  little  volumcs.  Called  "The  Pearl  Series,*'' 
bound  in  blue  floriated  cloth  with  gilt  lettering  and  enclosed  in  a 
neat  box  of  gold-surfaced  paper,  constitute  a  pretty  and  convenient 
librar}'  of  choice  selections  in  prose  and  verse,  under  the  heads,  for 
the  several  volumes,  of  Reflection,  Wit  and  Humor,  Fancy,  Faith, 
Hope   and    Charity,    Love,    and   the    Poet's  Garden. 

1  New  York ;  G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons  ;  I3.75. 

2  Cassell  &  Company,  New  York  ;  paper,  pp.  192 ;  I3  a  year ;  single  number,  10  cents. 

3  G.  r.  Putnam's  Sons,  New  York. 


200  LITERATURE  AND  ART, 

Of  St.  Nicholas*  the  London  Times  has  said,  "  We  have  nothing 
like  it  on  this  side."  Some  leading  features  of  this  popular  juvenile  for 
1SS6-7  are  several  stories  by  Louisa  M.  Alcott  and  Frank  Stockton ;  a 
short  serial  story  by  Mrs.  Burnett ;  a  story  of  Mexican  Life,  by  Frances 
Courtenay  Baylor ;  war  stories  for  boys  and  girls,  by  Gen.  Adam 
Badeau  ;  also  numerous  short  stories  from  old  and  new  contributors. 

*  * 
* 

The  design  on  the  front  cover  of  Wide  Awake,"  showing  rosy  leaves 
falling,  would  indicate  the  season  of  the  year  without  the  imprint, 
November.  This  number  has  a  fine  historical  article  relating  to  Poca- 
hontas and  the  Rolfes  of  Heacham  Hall,  England, — illustrated  by  an 
engraving  from  a  painting  of  that  Indian  Princess  and  her  little  son. 
Besides  the  three  serial  stories,  which  are  concluded  in  this  number,  it 
contains  some  delightful  short  stories  and  poems,  while  there  are 
numerous  attractive  illustrations. 

The  suplement  to  The  Atlantic  Monthly*^  for  December  greatly  en- 
hances the  value  of  the  number,  as  it  contains  Dr.  Holmes'  poem  and 
Mr.  LowelTs  oration,  delivered  on  the  occasion  of  the  250th  anniver- 
sary of  Harvard  University.  In  the  regular  pages  are  "' The  Strange 
Slor^'  of  Pragtina," — the  most  interesting  study  of  Eastern  occult  sci- 
et.cti  that  has  appeared  lately ;  a  paper  by  the  late  Elisha  Mulford  on 
*••  The  object  of  a  University  ;"  an  amusing  yet  careful  criticism  of 
*'  The  Church  of  England  Novel,"  by  Miss  Harriet  W.  Preston ;  *'  Up 
the  Neva  to  SchlUsselburg," —  a  travel  paper  of  much  interest,  by 
Edmund  Noble  ;  a  paper  by  Maria  Louise  Henr}'  on  Mazzini,  and  a 
political  article  on  ''"  The  Dream  of  Russia."  There  are  poems  by 
Helen  Gray  Cone,  Louise  Imogen  Guiney  and  Julia  C.  R.  Dorr. 
Miss  Murfree's  "'  In  the  Clouds"  and  Mr.  Bishop's  '*  Golden  Justice" 
are  brousrht  to  a  conclusion.     The  number  is  an  attractive  one. 


*  * 
* 


The  collapse  of  the  recent  projected  invasion  of  Mexico  by  a  pack 
of  desperadoes  incited  by  a  contemptible  schemer  cannot  fail  to  gratify 
ever)r'  good  citizen  ;  but  the  subject  of  the  volume  before  us,*  as  it  was 
a  movement  of  larger  views  by  a  leader  of  elevated  p>ersonal  char- 
acter and  splendid  courage,  will  command  a  degree  of  admiration  at 

1  St.  Nicholas.  The  Century  Co.,  New  York,  Yearly  subMrription,  ^3;  single  number,  sscenta. 

2  D.  Lothrop  &  Co.  publishers ;  I3  a  year,  single  number  25  cents. 

3  Boston  ;  Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Co.  54  00  a  year  ;  single  number  35  cents. 

4  Reminiscences  of  the  "Filibuster"  War  in  Nicaragua,  by  C.  W.  Doubleday.  New  York  and 
London;  G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons:  I1.25. 


UTERA-lVkli  AND  ART. 


01 


the  same  time  that  it  meets  with  our  ilecicleJ  disapproval.  A  large 
number  of  readers  hesidt;  those  affected  by  Walker's  filibustering  opera- 
tions will  be  interested  in  the  narrative  of  those  in  Nicaragua,  from  the 
pen  of  C.  W.  Doubleday,  —  who  was  personally  associated  with  Gen- 
eral Walker  in  the  early  part  of  this  in^ 


The  Magazine  of  Art'  for  December  opens  the  new  volume,  and 
makes  an  advance  from  its  former  excellence.  In  turning  over  the 
pages  one  is  surprised  at  the  amount  of  color  and  variety  of  form  which 
meet  the  eye  in  its  illustrations.  The  chief  articles  are  on  Van 
Haanen  and  his  art,  an  Outside  View  of  the  South  Kensington 
Museum,  Old  Blue  and  White  Nankeen  China,  Some  Historic  Gloves, 
the  National  Art  Exhibition,  Art  in  New  Zealand,  Art  Notes,  etc. 
There  are  five  fulbpage  engravings,  and  a  total  of  thirty-three  illustra- 
tions, exclusive  of  vignettes,  etc. 


Another  new  theory  of  the  creation  comes  to  us  in  Professor  Vail's 
book  on  the  Earth's  Annular  Sysieiii.''  The  author  admits  that  the 
reader  must  first  divest  himself  of  pre-conceived  opinions.  At  the 
very  start  he  will  be  struck  with  the  originality  of  the  whole  theory. 
The  thought  that  the  earth  existed  for  ages  under  the  influence  of  a  sys- 
tem of  perpetually  declining,  saturn-like  rings  is  a  fascinating  one.  In 
brief,  the  claims  are  set  forth  that  the  earth,  from  the  earliest  time  to 
the  close  of  the  Noachian  deluge,  was  surrounded  by  rings  of  aqueous 
vapors,  commingled  with  much  of  the  solid  matter  now  composing  its 
crust;  that  the  coal  and  many  other  formations  of  the  entire  earth  fell 
to  its  surface  from  these  rings  ;  that  mountain  upheavals  occurred  imme- 
diately after  such  baptisms  ;  that  the  falling  of  these  rings  to  the  earth 
somewhat  weakened  the  attraction  of  (he  moon,  which  therefore  re- 
ceded from  the  earth  ;  that  the  downfall  of  these  rings  of  aqueous 
vapor  necessarily  took  place  chiefly  in  the  polar  regions,  and  falling 
there  as  snow  caused  all  the  glacial  periods  of  geologic  times.  It 
would  be  strange  if  the  finite  powers  of  man  should  already  have 
constructed  a  faultless  cosmology  from  the  crude  materials  at  hand,  pre- 
vious to  the  recent  years  which  have  been  so  fmitful  in  the  practical 
knowledge  of  the  physical  forces  of  the  universe  ;  but  the  true  theory 
exists  in  nature,  written  by  the  Creator  himself,  and  we  may  trust  that 
sooner  or  later  the  being  made  in  His  image  will  decipher  the  record. 
It  is  claimed  that  the  theory  of  Professor  Vail  explains  the  numerous 

I  l-heMapuincDf  A: 


202  INDEX  TO  MAGAZINE  LITERATURE. 

blind  passages  in  Genesis  relating  to  the  creation, —  but  how  certain 
parts  of  the  theory  can  be  explained,  is  a  problem  that  remains  to  ex- 
ercise the  reader. 

BOOKS  RECEIVED. 

The  Story  of  Carthage;  by  Alfred  J.  Church,  M  A.,  with  Arthur  Gilman, 
M.  A.     New  York:  G.  P   Putnam'8  Sons.     Cloth,  8  vo.  pp.  309.     $1.50. 

The  Story  cf  Spain;  by  Edward  Everett  Hale,  and  Susan  Hale.  New  York: 
G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons.     Cloth,  8  vo.  pp.  407.     $1  50. 

Hearts*  Own;  verses  by  Edwin  R.  Champlin.  Chicago:  Chas  H.  Kerr& 
Co.     Cloth,  8  vo.  pp.  69. 

The  Bravo  cf  Venice;  published  by  Cassell  and  Company,  New  York.  Gas- 
sell's  Natirnal  Library.    Vol.  i.  No.  43.     Paper;  32  mo.  pp.  192.     $3  co  a  year; 

single  number  10  cents. 

Science  and  Health;  by  Mrs.  Glover  Eddy.  Boston:  Published  by  the 
Author.     Cloth,  8  vo.  pp.  590.     Price  $3  00. 

Old  Thf.ology.  For  the  Healing  of  the  Sick  By  E.  J.  Arens  Boston, 
2^"^  Union  Park:  Published  by  the  Author.     Cloth,  12  mo.  pp.  318.     Price  $1.50. 

TiiK  Story  of  THE  Saracfns;  with  maps.  By  Arthur  Gilman,  M  A  New 
York  and  London  :  G.  P.  Putnam's  Son.s.     Cloth,  8  vo.  pp.  493.     Price  $1.50. 

American  Literature,  Vol.  i.  The  Dtvclo^mcnt  of  American  Tbouf^hi, 
By  Chas.,F.  Richardson.  New  York  and  London  :  G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons.  Cloth, 
8  vo.  pp,  535. 


INDEX  TO  MAGAZINE    LITERATURE. 

(NOVEMBER,  tSSb.) 

Art,  Architectl're. 

Biography,  Genealogy.  Chevreul  at  a  Hundred.  W.  II.  Larrabee,  5.— - 
Sketch  of  Edward  S  Holden.  11.  C.  IVt'nlock.  5.  — Bey sch lag's  Life  of  Christ 
Prof.  B.  li'rtss  3.  —  Ludwij^  of  Bavaria,  /.rtt'  Vanderpool.  9  — The  Gene- 
alogy   of   Christ.      Wm.  Denovun.      24.  —  Robert   Burns  as  Poet  and  Person. 

Walt  Whitman.  4.  —  Gov.  Thomas  Pownal.  Robert  Ludto-v  Fo' vie r,  8. — The 
Hermitage,  Burgwin's  Seat,  yames  G.  Burr.  6. —  The  First  American  Anarch- 
ist. Arthu,  D.  Vinton.  6. — Distinctive  Traitsof  John  B.  Gough.  Prof. 
Ed-wards  A.  Park,  D.  D.  23. — Joseph  Robinson  Bodwell,  (Governor-elect  of 
Maine  )  Capt.  Chas.  E.  Nash.  23  — A  Notable  Family.  Edwim  Ilwrd, 
23.  —  Paul  Louis  Courier,  yamcs  Ilutton.  25.  —  Chief  Justice  Peter  Oliver. 
(Concluded.)  Thomas  Weston,  Jr.  12.  —  Church  Records  of  Farmington, 
Conn.      Juiius    Gay.       12. — John    Harvard  and     His   Ancestry.      Henry    F, 

Waters.  12. — Lord  Timothy  Dexter  of  Newburyport.  Wm.  C.Todd.  12. 
Soldiers  in  King  Phillip's  War,  XVI.     Rev.  Geo.  AI.  Bod^e.     12. 

Civil  War.  Some  Unpublished  War  Letters.  Generals  Grant,  Halleck^ 
Burnside^  Brags^,  and  Admiral  Porter;  addressed  to  General  W.  T.  SJier^ 
man.  4.  —  From  Cedar  Mountain  to  Chantilly,  HI,  Groveton.  Alfred £.  Z^v. 
6.  —  General  Pope  Again.     Professor  W.  Allan.     6. 

Description,  Travels,  Adnt^ntires.  Tombstone,  Arizona,  y.  H.  Yonng. 
10. — Saturday  Night  in  London.  Mary  WetAerbie.  10. — Life  in  an  Ex- 
Daimios*  Home.  Helen  II.  S.  Thomp9»n.  10. — The  Sunset  Land,  X.  Capt* 
Ed-vi'ard  Kernys^  yr.  7.  —  After  Geronimo.  Lieut,  yokn  Bigelow^  yr.  10. — 
The  Last  Vovage  of  the  Surprise,  VH.  10. — Around  the  World  on  a  Bicycle, 
XIV.     Thomas  Stevens.      10  —The  Cities  of  Italy.     ''Ouida.**    4  —The  Iler- 


INDEX  TO  MAGAZINE  LITERATURE.  203 

mitage,  Burgu'in's  Seat.      James  G.  Burr.      6. — The  Wayside  Inn,  Sudbury. 
H^llacc  Dotutics.      23. — The  Massachusetts  Capitol.      Geo.  y,  Varney.      23. — 
A  Visit  to  Some  Austrian  Monasteries.     St.  George  Mivart,     25.  —  Rural  Tus- 
cany.    Leopold  Katscher,     25.  —  Coincidences?    25. 

Education.  The  Study  of  American  Institutions  in  Schools.  Francis  N. 
Thorpe^  Ph.D.  8. — The  Present  German  School  System.  Professor  John  K. 
Lord.  8.  —  History  in  Amherst  College.  H.  B.  Adamsy  Ph.D.  8.  —  Manual 
Training  in  Education.  May  Mackintosh.  8.  —  Old  and  New  Methods  of  Teach- 
ing. 8  — Some  Outlines  from  the  History  of  Education,  III.  Professor  W.  /c*. 
Benedict.  5.  —  Shall  the  Negro  be  Educated.^  Edmund  Kirke.  4. — 
The  Power  of  a  Modern  Book.     26, 

History.  The  Romans  in  Ancient  Britain.  Rev,  H.  Hewitt.  8.  —  History 
of  American  Yachting,  VI.  Capt.  Poland  F.  Coffin.  10. — Six  Unpublished 
Letters.  Geonre  Washington.  4. — Governor  Tnomas  Pownal.  Robert  L. 
Fozvlcr.  6. — The  Hermitage,  Burgwin's  Seat.  James  G.  Burr.  6.  —  Brad- 
dock's  Defeat.  T.  J.  Chapman^  A.  M.  6. — Virginia's  Conquest.  J.  C. 
Wells.  6. — The  Split  at  Charleston  in  i860.  A.  W.  Clason.  6. — Margery 
Corbin — poem.  .  George  Houghton.  6  — The  Enlistment  of  Lafayette,  1776. 
Bayard  Tuckcrman.      15. —  The  Massachusetts  Capitol.     George  J.  Varney.    23, 

—  History  of  Amherst  College.     //.  B.  Adamsj  Ph,  D.     8. 

Literature.  The  Leips'c  Book- Trade.  Wm.  C.  Dreher.  3.  —  Beyschlag's 
Life  of  Christ.  Professor  B.  Weiss.  3.  —  Newspaperism.  Conde  Benoist  Pat- 
ten. 9.  —  My  Journalistic  Experiences.  Jennctte  L.  Gilder.  9  — How  I  Be- 
came a  Funny  Man.  y.  H.  Williams.  9  — Some  Editors  and  Others.  Em^ly. 
9.  —  Robert  Burns  as  Poet  and  Person.  Walt  Whitman  4  — The  Modern 
Novel.  T.  S.  Perry.  15  — The  Resurrection  cf  Buried  Languages.  Francis 
Broivn.  15.  —  International  Copyright.  Calvert  Wilson.  23. — Egyptian 
Divine  Myths.  Audreiv  Lang.  25  — Mr.  Swinburne's  Poetry.  P.  Anderson 
Graham.  25  — Some  Aspects  of  Heine.  Coulson  Kernahan.  25. — The  Power 
of  a  Modern  Book.     26  —  School  of  Library  Economy.-    26. 

Miscellaneous.     Reflections  and  Recollections.   George  Alfred  Townsend.  9. 

Politics,  Economics,  Public  Affairs.  Woman  Suffrage.  F.  E.  Spar- 
haz^'k.  8. — Origin  and  Results  of  Sundav  Legislation.  Rev.  A.  H.  Lewis, 
D.  D.  5. — Trade  Distinctions  in  Alcoholic  Liquors.  W.  E.  Bradley.  5. — 
The  Labor  Qiiestion.  A.  S.  Wheeler,  Esq.  3. — The  Leipsic  Book-Trade. 
Wm.  C.  Dreher.  3. — Newspaperism.  Conde  Benoist  Pallcn.  9. — The  Silver 
Qiiest'on.  yohn  //.  Boalt.  10.  —  A  Primitive  Sabbath,  yames  Park.  24  — 
How  Shall  the  Negro  be  Educated.'*  Edmund  Kirke.  4.  — The  Indian  Policy  of 
the  United  States,  yefferson  Davis  4.  —  A  Slave-Trader's  Letter-Book.  4. — 
Railway  Legislation.  Frank  S.  Bond.  4.  —  The  Study  of  American  Institu- 
tions in  Schools.  Francis  Neiv ton  Thorpe.  Ph.  D.  8. — Woman  Suffrage.  F. 
C.  Sparha-Kvk  8.  —  Railroad  Abuses  at  Home  and  Abroad.  Arthur  T.  Hadlcy. 
15  — Sham  Legislation.     15. — International  Copyright.      Calvert  Wilson.     23. 

—  Russia  and  England.  (Batoum  and  Cyprus.)  Samuel  W.  Baker  and  Armn- 
ius  Vambery.  25. — Prospects  of  Home  Rule.  E.  A.  Freeman.  25. — The 
Future  Supremacy  of  Women  E.Lynn.  25.  —  Panslavism.  25. —  Inter-State 
Notification  in  Infectious  Diseases.     27. —  Women  in  Libraries.     26. 

Recreation,  Sports.  History  of  American  Yachting.  Capt.  Roland  F. 
Co  fin.  10.  —  Mayflower  and  Galatea  Races  of  1886.  Chas.  E.  Clay.  7. —  The 
Great  Canoe  Meet.  10  — The  International  Canoe  Race.  10. — The  Croquet 
Tournament  of  1886.     10. 

Religion,  Morals.  Origin  and  Results  of  Sunday  Legislation.  Rev.  A.  H. 
Leivis,  D.  D.  5  — A  Decade  of  Ethics.  F.  H.  Hyslop.  3. — Beyschlag's  Life 
of  Christ.  Professor  B.  Weiss.  3. —  Christianity  and  its  Modern  Competitors. 
3. — A  Harmony  of  the  Resurrection  Accounts.  Rev.  S.  B.  Goodenow.  3. — 
Swedenborg's  Spiritual  Home.  Francis  Phelps.  24. — Development  in  the  One 
and  the  Many.  Wm  Bruce.  24.  — The  Genealogy  of  Christ.  Wm.  Denovan. 
24  — A  Primitive  Sabbath,  yames  Park,  24. — The  Holy  Spirit  yames  E. 
Mills.  24. — Isms,  I :  Christian  Science  Mind  Healing.  Rev.  William  I.  Gilt. 
23.  —  Egyptian  Divine  Myths.     Andrew  Lang.    25.  —  Evil  Unselfishness.    25. 

Science,  Natural  History,    Discovery,    Inventions.     North  America  in 


204 


INDEX  TO  MAGAZINE  LITERATURE. 


the  Ice  Period.  Professor  y.  S,  Navberry.  5.  — The  Mental  Faculties  of  Mon* 
keys.  Afme.  Ch  mence  Roycr.  5.  —  Recent  Advances  in  Solar  AatronAnjr. 
Professor  C  A.  Toung.  5. — Geology  of  the  Atlantic  Ocean.  Sir  WUliatm 
Dawson.  5  — Comte  and  Spencer,  on  Sociology.  Leon  MetehHikof.  5  —The 
Hickory  Nuts  of  North  America,  y.  F.  James.  5  — The  Hygienic  Treatment 
of  Consumption.  Dr.  lienj.  Ward  Richardson^  F.  R.  S.  5  —Thirties.  Grant 
Allen.  5. — Inebriate  Maniacs.  T.  D.  Crotkers^  M  D.  5.  —  Our  Earthquake. 
helix  L.  Osxvald.  9.  —  Photography  the  Servant  of  Astronomy  Edward  S. 
II olden.  10 — Realism  yames  McCosh.  15.  —  A  Boquet  of  Weeds.  By  the 
Auf/torof*'//omespufi."  23. — Isms,  I:  Christian  Science  Mind  Healing.  Rev, 
William  I.  Gill.  23.  —  Revolution  and  Evolution.  Leon  Mete knikoff,  25. — 
Coincidences .=>  25.  —  Winds  of  Heaven.  Richard  yefferies  25. — Water 
Analysis.  Surgeon  Charles  Smart y  U.  S.  A.  27. —  The  Influence  of  Ground- 
water on  Health.  Baldwin  Latham.  27. —  Increase  of  the  Duration  and  Eco- 
nomical Value  of  Life.  Sir  Spencer  Wells.  27. —  The  Treatment  of  Sewage. 
C.  Wymott  Tidy,  M.  D.  27.— Health  of  the  U.  S.  Army.  Beni'.  F.  Pope, 
Surgeon^  U.S.  A.  27. —  Six  Years'  Sanitary  Work  in  Memphis.  C?.  B.  Thoru' 
ton,  M.  D.  27.— The  Albuminoids  in  Milk.  27. —  Ozone,  Relative  Value  of 
Observations  of.     A   W  Nicholson,  M.  D.     27. 

Theology,  Pol  emics.  A  Harmony  of  the  Resurrection  Accounts.  Rev.  S, 
B.  (joodenoiu.  3. — The  Holy  Spirit',  yames  E.Mills,  24.  —  Swedenborg's 
Spiritual  Heme  Francis  Phelps.  24. — Developments  in  the  One  and  the 
Man  v.  William  Bruce.  24.  —  Whv  I  am  a  Churchman,  l^hc  Bishop  of  Kem^ 
tucky  4.  —  The  Holy  Spirit,  yames  E.  Mills.  24  —  The  Bible  or  the  Creed? 
B.  F.  Barrett.     24.  —  Egyptian  Divine  Myths.     Andrew  Lang,    25. 


1  Thf  Ccniitrv. 

2  H a  rprr's  Magazine. 

3  A  luiiK'rr  Kn'irtv. 

4  Srrth  American  Rrr'ifw. 

5  I'-'^iiiar  Science  Klonthly. 

0  Magazine  0/ A  Aerican  History. 

7  Ontiug. 

8  K.iucation. 

g  Lippincott's  Magazine. 

10  Ch'er land  Monthly. 

11  Atlantic  Monthly. 

\l  N.  E.  Hist,  and  Gen* l^l Register. 

13  Rhode  Island  Hist.  Magatine. 

14  The  Forum. 


t 


•VfTc  Princeton  Rrt'iew. 
The  Brooklyn  Magazine. 

17  The  Southern  Bi7'onac. 

18  The  Citizen. 

19  Political  Science  Quarterly. 

20  Unitarian  Rrt'icw. 
JS/'ew  Englander. 
Magazine  0/  A  rt. 
AVw  England  Maguzine. 
Neva  Jerusalem  Stagazime. 

25   The  Eclectic  Magazine. 
20  Library  Notes. 
27  The  Sanitarian. 


21 
22 

23 
24 

2 


New  England  Magazine 

BAY   STATE  MONTHLY. 
Vol.  V.  No.  3.  JANUARY,   1887.  Whole  No.  27. 

SMITH  COLLEGE. 

Bv  M.  A.  JORDAN. 

The  attempt  to  give  an  account  of  Smith  College  meets  at 
once  a  difficulty  like  that  suggested  by  Fielding's  heading  to  one 
of  the  cliapters  in  Tom  Jones :   "  A  brief  history  of  Europe ;   and 


I 


EAR  AND  CAMPUS, 


a  curious  discourse  between  Mr.  Jones  and  the  Man  of  the  Hill." 
The  higher  education  bears  so  close  a  relation  to  its  various 
embodiments   that  the  wider  subject  besets  the  historian  of  any 


0>ii7><lt>u.  19H1.  bj  Xntmr  F.  IhHjp.    All  rifbti  rs 


208 


SMITH  COLLEGE. 


one  College  as   persistently  as  the  sense  of  a  subtle  connection  \ 
between   civil  history  and    biography  did  the  satirical  romancer. 
Fifteen  years  ago  the  public  faith  and  practice,  as  touching  educa- 
tion, showed  a  marked  advance  when  compared  with  the  items  ia  | 
the  complaint  of  good  old   Roger  Ascham.  uttered   some  three  I 
hundred  further  back:   "A  child  that  is  still,  silent,  constant  and  I 
somewhat  dull  of  wit,  is   either  never  chosen  by  the  father  to  be  | 
made  a  scholar,  or  else,  when  he  cometh  to  the   school,  he  is 
smally  regarded,  little  looked  into;  he  lacketh  teaching,  he  lack- 
eth    encouraging,  he   lacketh   all    things,  only  he   never   lacketh   i 
berating,  nor  any  word  that  may  move  him  to  hate  learning,  nor    1 
any  deed  that  may  drive  him   from   Icariiini,'  lo  any  other  kind  of  | 


living."  They  showed,  too,  sometliing  done  toward  making  good 
the  criticism  of  Milton  that  "  We  do  amiss  to  spend  seven  or  eight 
years  merely  in  scraping  togething  so  much  miserable  Latin  and 
Greek  as  might  be  learned  otherwise  easily  and  delightfully  m  the 
year." 

But  all  that  had  been  done  was  apparently  emphasizing  the  need 
of  still  further  effort.     As  long  as  the  struggle  for  the  mere  main- 


SMITH  COLLEGE. 


209 


tenance  of  schools  and  colleges  had  been  diPRcult  and  when  many 
of  them  were  kept  in  operation  from  year  to  year  by  appeals  for 
money  made  from  the  pulpit  and  by  systematic  begging  expedi- 
tions, the  people  who  gave  and  the  people  who  received  were  at 
once  too  much  interested  and  too  anxious  to  be  very  critical  about 
methods  of  study.     College  was  simply  an  incalculable  good,  or 


H'h^hl:. 

-~^:4d^ 

T^ 

r^^^ 

t 

SI 

\ 

^^Hk  . 

\ 

"^1 

p' 

T 

Jk 

K^ 

V      ^B^ 

^^"^ 

Wp^^^> 

vague  in  everything  except  the  effort  necessary  to  get  there  and 
stay  there.  Some  of  us  can  still  remember  the  vivid  interest  we 
felt  in  the  young  Soldiers  of  the  Cross  whom  our  mothers  were 
helping  through  college  by  weekly  meetings  of  the  Dime  Society, 
and  some  of  us  wonder  now  whether  the  colleges  do  not  lose 
■something  in  the  withdrawal  of  this  intimate  sympathy  on  the 
part  of  the  general  public  in  favor  of  the  comparatively  few  who 
individually  possess  the  requisite  money  or  influence.  At  all 
events,  this  change  brought  others  in  its  train ;  and  the  opportunitj- 
that  paid  large  sums  of  money  in  adding  to  the  equipment  of 
institutions  brought  to  light  unsuspected  weakness  in  their  original 
plans  and  rapidly  taught  the  public  that  two  things  were  needed 
in  tlie  successful  outlay  of  money  for  schools  of  the  higher  cduca- 


3IO  SMITH  COLLEGE. 

tion,  —  the  first,  the  definite  adjustment  of  means  to  ends,  made 
possible  only  by  a  course  of  study  founded  upon  a  thorough- 
going psychology. —  the  second,  an  elasticity  in  the  curriculum 
itself  which  would  secure  the  greatest  possible  individual  devel- 
opment. 

Three  lessons  were  being  taught  and  learned  at  the  same  time; 
that  women  were  making  their  claim  to  wider  opportunities  for 
training  than  had  been  granted  to  them  in  the  past,  and  it  was 
consequcnUy  in  a  sensitive  condition  of  public  attention  that  the 
first  experiments  in  women's  education  were  tried.  As  a  result, 
the  colleges  for  women  have  no  such  vicissitudes  to  chronicle  as 
marked   the  history  of  infant  V;ile  and    Il,ir\-,-ird.      Smith  College 


I 


has  not  needed  reconstruction  or  revolution,  and  tins  is  a  great  ad*  I 
vantage ;   but  on  the  other  hand,  the  college  has  been  worlcii^  at  WnX 
problem  whose  equations  had  lost  or  were  fast  losing  the  iotereafe,! 
of  noveltj'.  and  were  passing   into    truisms  without  ever  goiogl 
through    the  stage  of  ascertained   fact.     Obcrlin  and  Vassarhad;! 
been   pioneers;   it  became   necessary  for  Smith  College  to  devote 
much  careful  experiment  to  the  task  of  reasserting  truisms  intelli- 
gcnlly.     These    are   conditions    intrinsically   unfavorable   to    the 
production  of  a  sudden  sensation,  but  exactly  those   required  for 
the  steady  growth  of  a  reputation   founded  on  the  application  of 
ascertained  principles. 


212  SMITH  COLLEGE. 

Something  more  than  economic  interest  attaches  to  the  history 
of  large  sums  of  money,  especially  when  the  student  begins  to 
investigate  the  motives  which  aided  their  accumulation  and  deter- 


mined their  use.  The  fortune  now  represented  by  Smith  Collegi 
is  one  of  two  amassed  by  the  shrewdness  and  industry  of  an  uncl^ 
and  nephew  living  in  the  quiet  Massachusetts  town  of  Hatfield: 
Curiously  enough,  Northampton  has  profited  by  both.  The  uncle, 
Alvin  Smith,  founded  the  Smith  charities  to  encourage  m 
by  offering  |)ortiiiH'^  tn  wnrthy  vniing  men  and  wnmen  who  would 


MUSIC  HALL 


Otherwise  be  unable  to  marry.  A  sum  now  amounting  to  a 
million  dollars  was  thus  laid  out  by  a  man  who  lived  and  died  a 
bachelor.     The  nephew,   Austin  Smith,  died  without   organizing 


SMITH  COLLEGE, 


213 


any  scheme  of  benevolence  for  the  use  of  his  careful  store,  but 
left  it  to  his  sister  Sophia ;  who,  unmarried,  like  her  brother  and 
uncle,  had  reached  the  age  of  sixty-five,  to  be,  perhaps,  unusually^ 
impressed  by  the  value  of  intellectual  resources,  as  her  own  edu^ 
cation  had  been  limited  to  the  primary  schools  of  Hatfield,  and 
her  experience,  from  the  time  she  was  forty  years  old,  painfully 
conditioned  by  deafness. 

Miss  Smith  sought  the  advice  of  her  pastor,  the  Rev.  John  M. 
Green,  and  counselled  undoubtedly  by  the  repressed  activities  of 
her  own  life,  thus  stated  the  object  for  which  she  wished  her  money 
used :  **  The  establishment  and  maintenance  of  an  institution  for 
the  higher  education  of  young  women,  with  the  design  to  furnish 


them  means  and  facilities  for  education  equal  to  those  which  are 
afforded  in  our  colleges  for  young  men."  The  formal  wording' 
hardly  tells  the  story  of  self-denial,  painful  industry,  common- 
place restriction  and  isolation  that  lies  behind  it  in  the  lives  of 
this  brother  and  sister;  it  could  as  little  prophesy  the  successful 
realization  of  the  generous  project  it  made  possible.  But  time 
and  work  make  history  out  of  generous  dreams  and  impartial 
conjecture  alike.  Miss  Smith  chose  the  location  of  the  college,, 
appointed  a  Board  of  Trustees  to  carry  out  the  provisions  of  her 
will,  and  until  her  death,  June  12,  1870,  did  everything  in  her 
power  to  insure  the  success  of  her  undertaking  by  enlisting^ 
talent  and  integrity  in  its  service. 


214  SMITH  COLLEGE, 

In  1 87 1,  the  Commonwealth  of  Massachusetts  issued  a  charter 
to  Smith  College,  with  full  power  "to  grant  such  honorary  testi- 
monials, and  confer  such  honors,  degrees  and  diplomas,  as  are 
granted  or  conferred  by  any  university,  college  or  seminary  in  the 
United  States."  This  charter  was  the  first  of  its  kind  ever  granted 
to  women  in  Massachusetts. 

Wealth,  like  the  value  of  a  vulgar  fraction,  is  a  matter  of  rela- 
tion rather  than  of  the  absolute  size  of  the  sums  involved,  and  by 
a  wise  provision  of  Miss  Smith's  will,  a  financial  policy  was  indi- 
cated that  secured  to  the  new  college  many  advantages  not  always 
accompanying  the  control  of  much  larger  sums.  Only  one-half 
the  $387,468  bequethed  by  Miss  Smith  was  to  be  expended  in 
buildings  and  grounds,  so  that  the  opening  years  of  this  educa- 
tional experiment  were  free  from  the  embarrassments  due  to 
holding  more  real  estate  and  apparatus  than  there  is  patronage  to 
support.  The  trustees  have  ever  since  tried  to  keep  all  the 
expenses  of  the  college  within  the  income  of  the  property.  The 
sum  of  $25,000  was  given  by  Northampton  in  fulfillment  of  a  con- 
dition concerning  the  location  of  the  college. 

There  is  a  popular  delusion  that  the  pious  wishes  of  good  men 
and  women  serve  as  an  antiseptic  to  preserve  their  project  and 
undertakings  for  the  benefit  of  the  world.  The  first  stage  of  the 
history  of  the  college  was  doubtless  successfully  accomplished 
when  its  charter  committed  it  to  the  higher  education,  when  the 
wish  of  its  founder  indicated  an  equality  of  opportuniy  with  those 
offered  to  young  men,  and  when  it  was  furnished  with  a  board  of 
trustees  interested  in  accomplishing  these  ends.  But  all  this  car- 
ried the  purpose  of  Miss  Smith  hardly  further  than  the  idea. 
Here  was  admirable  equilibrium,  and  the  popular  delusion  would 
have  us  believe  that  this  was  enough, —  that  contact  with  the 
original  idea  would  in  time  produce  motion;  but  there  is  no 
antiseptic  for  the  idea  of  a  college  like  a  live  President ;  no  motor 
like  a  man ;  and,  fortunately  for  Smith,  in  1873,  L.  Clark  Seelye, 
D,  D.,  (at  that  time  a  Professor  in  Amherst  College,)  was  elected 
its  head.  He  had  no  small  task  before  him  in  the  work  of  gather- 
ing together  a  faculty  and  students,  determining  a  course  of  study, 
putting  up  buildings  and  creating  esprit  du  corps  on  the  money 
basis  of  something  less  than  half  a  million  dollars. 

The  homestead  of  Judge  Dewey,  on  Elm  street,  Northampton, 


SMITH  COLLEGE.  215 

was  bought  for  the  site  of  the  college,  the  old  house  with  its  high 
pillared  porch  was  made  into  a  dwelling  house,  where  such  of  the 
coming  first  class  as  did  not  care  to  board  in  the  hospitiable  homes 
of  the  towns  people  should  find  a  home  instead  of  a  dormitory. 
A  stately  and  refined  woman  was  put  at  the  head  of  the  house  to 
direct  its  machinery,  and  stand  to  the  young  women  in  the  place 
of  counsellor,  friend  and  social  superior.  Any  one  having  the 
least  knowledge  of  the  so-called  dormitory  system  as  carried  out 
in  our  large  schools  or  colleges  for  girls,  will  at  once  see  the 
subtle  but  complete*  revolution  worked  by  the  adoption  of  this 
arrangement.  It  removes  much  of  the  necessity  for  routine  and 
minute  regulation  and  secures  the  quiet  orderliness  and  circum- 
spection of  family  life  by  the  creation  of  an  atmosphere,  instead  of 
by  lectures  on  propriety  of  conduct  and  the  iteration  of  the  old 
assertion,  "Such  things  do  not  become  a  young  woman."  The 
talent  for  administration  shown  by  the  first  lady  who  held  one  of 
these  positions  at  once  commanded  the  respect  of  the  students ; 
and  a  longer  acquaintance  with  her  only  served  to  change  this 
feeling  into  admiration  and  love. 

The  recitation  rooms,  offices  and  public  rooms  of  the  college 
were  provided  for  in  a  central  building  of  brick  and  freestone, 
admirably  constructed  for  the  purpose.  The  college  walls  and 
tower  can  never  be  without  their  share  of  romantic  association, 
too,  to  those  who  have  seen  the  icy  points  touched  into  glittering 
silver  by  a  winter  moon,  or  who  have  walked  in  their  deep 
shadows  through  the  long  summer  evenings.  Here,  for  the  time 
being,  were  sheltered  the  art  gallery  and  the  science  laboratories. 

Something  of  the  distinctive  character  of  the  college  had  already 
been  shown  in  the  adoption  of  the  cottage  system.  At  the  open- 
ing of  the  college  in  1875,  the  principles  of  its  course  of  study 
were  outlined  by  President  Seelye  in  his  inaugural  address.  In 
the  first  place,  the  college  was  to  be  free  from  the  manifold  evils 
of  a  preparatory  course  of  study  carried  on  at  the  same  time  as 
the  collegiate  work.  By  this  action  President  Seelye  secured  for 
his  students  the  homogeneous  conditions,  the  freedom  from  irk- 
some restraint,  the  methods  of  teaching  and  study,  which  are  the 
right  of  college  students,  but  which  are  impossible  whea  the  needs 
of  younger  and  less  disciplined  students  must  also  be  considered. 
President  Seelye  made  substantially  the  same  requirements  for 


2l6 


SMITH  COLLEGE. 


admission  to  the  first  class  as  are  made  in  the  best  American  col- 
leges for  men.  This  was  done  under  the  definite  belief  that  girls 
do  not  lose  their  womanliness  by  what  they  study  so  much  as  by 
the  way  in  which  they  study;  and  he  emphasized  the  claims  of 
Greek,  Latin  and  mathematics  in  the  education  of  girls  all  the 
more  that  he  was  fuily  alive  to  the  need  of  greater  attention 
to  modern  languages  and  art  in  the  courses  of  study  prescribed 
for  boys.  Generous  recognition  of  the  liberalizing  effect  of  art 
study  was  made  by  its  admission  to  the  curriculum  on  the  same 
terms  as  any  other  elective  study.  Time  has  only  proved  the 
wisdom  of  this  as  of  most  of  the  other  departures  of  the  college 


from  the  ordinary  methods.  Art,  undertaken  with  the  reaponsi-^ 
bilities  of  serious  work,  proves  of  high  disciplinary  value  at  ihC  | 
same  time  that  it  offers  immediate  rewards. 

The  first  class  of  a  young  college  has  memories  that  cannot  I 
shared  with  any  later  ones.  The  worst  pessimist  cannot  proval 
our  human  nature  so  fallen  that  its  response  to  an  appeal  to  its  ] 
innate  generosity  is  not  made  with  an  ardor  that  adorns  its  owa  J 
service  with  the  charm  of  serious  and  tender  association.  This'*] 
perhaps  is  explanation  of  the  fact  that  although  few  first  claj 
see  their  Alma  Mater  at  her  best,  there  are  likewise  few  who  love  J 


SMITH  COLLEGE.  217 

Tier  better.  The  twelve  young  women  who  graduated  in  1879 
have  also  a  store  of  less  serious  tradition.  They  were  among  the 
first  of  many  to  explore  the  part  of  Mill  River  Valley,  known  as 
''Paradise,"  making  a  new  calendar  by  their  spoils.  The  exact 
site  of  the  house  in  Old  Hadley  where  the  regicide  judges  were 
concealed  seemed  to  them  so  attractive  a  subject  for  investigation 
that  they  were  as  sorry  as  any  of  their  successors  to  dismiss  it  as 
an  unanswerable  conundrum.  Descriptions  of  the  Edwards  elm 
and  sonnets  on  Round  Hill  were  written  then  as  now.  The  hint 
of  what  were  after\vard  to  be  the  "house-rattles"  organizations  in 
the  Washburn  and  Hubbard  houses  for  social  enjoyment  and 
recreation,  was  to  be  found  in  the  informal  charades  and  tableaux 
of  the  Dewey  House  evenings. 

The  college  grew  at  a  rate  hardly  to  be  foreseen.  In  1876  it 
had  two  classes,  thirty  students  in  all ;  in  1879,  the  official  circular 
ranks  202  students  in  four  collegiate  classes.  Its  public  also  was 
enlarging.  The  class  of  1879  graduated  not  a  student  living  further 
west  or  south  than  the  state  of  New  York.  In  the  same  year,  the 
junior  class  had  two  students  out  of  thirty-eight,  who  lived  west  of 
the  middle  states ;  the  second  class  had  twelve  out  of  sixty-two, 
and  the  entering  class  for  that  year,  eleven  from  the  west  and  one 
from  Virginia,  out  of  a  total  of  ninety-tvvo.  For  the  accommoda- 
tion of  these  students  three  dwelling  houses  had  been  built,  and  in 
1879  the  old  Dewey  House  stood  the  centre  of  an  attractive  and 
convenient  group  —  the  Hatfield,  the  Washburn  and  the  Hubbard. 

The  work  of  the  students  in  Music  under  the  direction  of  Doctor 
Benjamin  C.  Blodgett  had  reached  such  proportions  and  importance 
in  1 88 1  that  the  President  and  Trustees  felt  justified  in  building  a 
Music  Hall. for  the  use  of  the  department,  providing  it  with  ample 
lecture  and  practice  rooms  as  well  as  with  a  hall  of  admirable 
acoustic  properties  for  use  in  the  public  exercises  of  the  school 
itself  or  of  the  college. 

In  the  same  year  Mr.  Winthrop  Hillyer  gave  money  for  an  Art 
Gallery.  It  was  built  in  the  same  general  style  of  secular  gothic 
as  the  main  building  and  music  hall.  Mr.  Hillyer's  generosity  also 
provided  for  its  endowment,  and  the  work  was  at  once  begun  of 
gathering  together  what  is  now  the  finest  collection  of  casts  in  this 
country.  The  paintings  owned  by  the  college  are  for  the  most 
j)art  works  of  representative  American  artists. 


2i8  SMITH  COLLEGE, 

So  high  a  standard  of  health  had  been  maintained  in  the  college 
community  there  it  was  not  until  the  fall  term  of  1885  that  a  student 
died  during  the  session.  And  even  then  the  student  had  not  been 
living  in  one  of  the  college  houses,  but  with  her  parents  in  town. 
The  students  of  Smith  College  at  that  time  well  remember  that  in 
addition  to  their  heart-felt  sorrow  at  the  loss  of  a  singularly  lovely 
companion,  there  was  over  them  all  almost  awe-stricken  gloom  at 
the  breaking  of  what  had  seemed  a  spell.  The  natural  healthfulness 
of  Northampton  is  doubtless  responsible  for  something  in  this 
extraordinary  record,  but  the  regular  life,  habits  of  exercise  and 
gymnastic  practice  so  strongly  insisted  upon,  count  for  much 

In  1885  the  demand  for  rooms  in  the  college  became  greater 
than  the  houses  already  built  could  satisfy.  During  the  summer 
vacation,  President  Seclye  directed  the  refitting  of  a  frame  house 
on  the  opposite  side  of  Elm  street,  and  for  some  time  the  property 
of  the  college,  to  meet  this  pressure.  The  Stoddard  House,  with 
its  old-fashioned,  low  ceiled,  square  rooms  and  its  wide  fireplaces, 
bids  fair  to  rival  in  attractiveness  the  houses  on  the  campus. 

Meantime  the  main  building  had  been  feeling  the  need  of  more 
room,  for  the  growing  numbers  and  expanding  work.  The  science 
laboratories,  in  particular,  were  daily  more  inadequate,  spite  of  the 
space-saving  inventions  of  the  professor  of  Physics  and  the  tem- 
porary housing  of  the  biological  work-rooms  in  the  music  building. 
The  students  of  Astronomy  depended  upon  the  observatory  and 
telescopes  of  Amherst  College  for  illustration  of  text-book  de- 
scriptions. This  arrangement  was  made  in  the  utmost  generosity 
by  Amherst  and  accepted  with  gratitude  by  Smith ;  but  not  even 
this  cordial  feeling  could  materially  shorten  the  miles  of  sandy^ 
road  in  summer  and  of  snow-drifts  in  winter  that  lie  between  the 
two  colleges. 

The  needs  of  two  of  the  departments  were  met  by  the  gift  of 
Alfred  Theodore  Lilly,  of  Florence,  whose  beautiful  Hall  of  Science 
was  dedicated  during  the  commencement  exercises  of  1878.  The 
visitor  who  listened  to  the  explanatory  remarks  of  President  Seelye, 
or  of  Mr.  Lilly  himself,  at  that  time,  might  have  caught  a  glimpse, 
through  the  wide  windows,  of  the  scaffolding  still  hugging  the  walls 
of  the  new  observatory.  The  names  of  the  two  donors  of  the 
Observatory  are  as  yet  unknown  to  the  public. 

These  appliances,-  however,  are  but  tools ;   and  the  critic  will  at 


SMITH  COLLEGE.  219 

once  wish  to  know  the  theory  of  education  behind  all  this.  And 
indeed  there  is  a  closer  connection  than  is  sometimes  admitted 
between  the  material  prosperity  of  an  institution  and  its  organizing, 
vitalizing  power  in  matters  of  the  intellect.  The  history  of  the 
course  of  study  of  Smith  College  has  been  marked  by  a  conscien- 
tious independence  of  tradition  and  by  an  equally  conscientious 
deference  to  the  needs  of  the  students  as  they  developed  under  its 
care.  The  college  began  by  demanding  Greek  of  its  entering 
students,  and  at  the  same  time  allowing  some  elective  work  among 
►  the  studies  of  the  first  year.  Its  care  for  the  health  of  the  students 
led  to  the  establishment  of  a  maximum  and  minimum  of  hours  of 
work, —  at  once  affording  a  check  to  undue  ambition  and  protect- 
ing the  class-room  against  shirks.  Under  this  system,  it  has  seen 
no  reason  for  dispensing  with  the  disciplinary  influence  of  pre- 
scribed studies  or  for  caring  to  avail  itself  of  the  incentive  offered 
by  elective  work.  Experience  shows  that  properly  conducted 
elective  study  enjoys  the  strongest  kind  of  prescription-^ that  of 
individual  taste  and  interest.  The  emphasis  placed  upon  Greek  as 
a  prime  factor  in  the  formal  Arts  course  has  been  continued,  but 
the  growth  of  the  college  has  brought  it  into  contact  with  an  in- 
creasing number  of  individuals  who  do  not  acknowledge  any  special 
value  in  Greek,  but  whose  earnest  purpose  and  definite  attainments 
merit  recognition. 

The  disadvantage  of  requiring  this  body  of  students  to  carry  on 
a  four  year's  course  of  study  without  the  moral  support  or  pre- 
sumable relations  that  come  from  organization  was  more  and  more 
evident.  There  was  besides  a  definite  waste  of  force  in  retaining 
these  students,  subject  to  no  obligations  except  individual  ones, 
when  they  might  be  positive  factors  in  the  aggressive  intellectual 
life  of  the  college.  The  treatment  of  such  students  as  exceptions 
or  as  being  in  some  way  outside  the  pale  that  surrounds  the  stu- 
dents for  a  degree  is  almost  unavoidable,  and  yet  such  treatment 
involves  the  loss  of  nearly  all  the  benefit  from  the  presence  of 
persons  carrying  on  specialized  lines  of  work.  Considerations  like 
these  led  to  the  publication,  in  connection  with  the  official  circular 
for  1885,  of  \yNO  courses  of  study  parallel  with  that  of  Arts. 
These  courses,  tentative  as  yet,  require  the  presentation  of  an 
amount  of  work  in  literature  or  science  fully  equal  to  the  Greek  of 


220 


SMITH  COLLEGE. 


the  other,  and  are  so  adjusted  as  to  provide  consistently  developed 
systems  of  study. 

Hut  even  the  most  superficial  account  of  Smith  College  would 
be  inadequate  if  it  ignored  the  name  and  work  of  M.  Stuart 
rhelps.  Professor  of  Philosophy,  whose  counsels  availed  so  much 
in  the  formation  years  of  the  college,  and  whose  tragic  death  in 
the  summer  of  1883  has  been  so  deeply  felt.     The  great  personal 


magnetism  of  Professor  Phe!])S  made  him  a  power  in  the  classroom 
and  enabled  him  to  lio  much  toward  the  creation  of  that  enthusi- 
asm fur  sustained  individual  effort  which  is  his  best  memorial  in 
11,0  clk-Kc. 

Smith  College  is  still  young.  Mr.  Gilders'  poem,  Mors  Triumph- 
tHis,  read  last  June,  marked  onh'  its  eighth  annual  Commencement. 
Its  history  thus  far  indicates  the  spirit  in  which  the  increasingly 
foniplieated  problems  of  the  future  will  be  solved. 


SAMUEL  MAVERICK.  221 


SAMUEL  MAVERICK. 
By  ELBRIDGE  H.  GOSS. 

Contrast  the  Boston  of  today,  with  its  hundreds  of  thousands 
of  people,  its  teeming  industries,  and  its  commercial  activities, 
with  the  picture  of  almost  utter  solitude  suggested  in  "Wonder- 
working Providence,"  by  Edward  Johnson,  who  came  over  with 
Gov.  Winthrop's  colony:  "The  planters  in  Massachusetts  bay  at 
this  time  [1629]  were  William  Blackstone  at  Shawmut,  Thomas 
Walford  at  Mishawum,  Samuel  Maverick  at  Noddles  Island,  and 
David  Thompson  att  Thompson's  island,  near  Dorchester.  How 
or  when  they  came  there  is  not  known."  Until  recently  the 
exact  year  of  Maverick's  advent  upon  our  shores  has  not  been 
known.  Various  dates  ranging  from  1625  to  1629  have  been 
given.  Whether  he  came  in  one  of  the  fishing  shallops  which 
cruised  along  the  coast  soon  after  the  settlement  of  Plymouth, 
or  how,  is  not  known,  but  the  actual  year  of  his  settlement  has 
been  now  authoritatively  fixed.  ^ 

That  delver  in  American  antiquities,  Mr.  Henry  Fitz-Gilbert 
Waters,  of  Salem,  now  resident  in  London,  has  proven  that  this 
**  one  of  the  first  white  men  who  ever  settled  on  the  shores  of  Mass- 
achusetts Bay,"  this  one  of  the  "old  planters  whom  Gov.  Win- 
throp  found  here,"  came  as  early  as  1624.  Plymouth  had  been 
founded;  Wessagusset  had  commenced  its  career;  Weston's  col- 
ony had  come  and  gone.  Mr.  Waters  has  found  among  other 
important  things,  notably  the  Winthrop  map,  Maverick's  **A  Briefe 
Discription  of  New  England,  and  the  Several  Townes  therein,  to- 
gether with  the  present  Government  thereof,"  wherein  he  says : 
*'Now  before  I  come  to  speak  of  Hudson's  River,  I  shall  most 
humbly  desire  the  Hon^^®  Councill  to  take  it  in  consideration 
the  great  benefits  and  profitts,  which  may  redound  to  the  English 
by  these  Westerne  Colonies  if  well  managed.     Of  their  present 

i"Whencc  these  people  came,  what  brought  them  to  the  shores  of  Boston  Bay,  and  when  they 
set  themselves  down  there,  have  been  enigmas  which  the  antiquaries,  after  exhausting  conjecture, 
have  generally  dismissed  with  the  remark  that  they  will  probably  never  be  solved"  Charles  Francis 
Adams,  Jr.,  in  "Old  Planters  About  Boston  Harbor."  Proceedings  Mass.  Hist.  Soc  for  June, 
1878. 


222  SAMUEL  MAVERICK. 

m 

condition  I  have  given  a  briefe  accompt  in  my  foregoing  Relation^ 
being  my  observations  which  for  severall  years  I  have  spent  in 
America,  even  from  the  year  1624  till  within  these  two  years 
last  past."  This  **  Discription  "  was  written,  probably,  in  the  year 
1660,  to  Sir  Edward  Hyde,  then  King  Charles  the  Second's  Lord 
High  Chancellor,  and  shows  that  Maverick  had  travelled  over  New 
England,  and  the  adjacent  territory,  extensively,  and  was  well  ac- 
quainted with  the  locality  and  products  of  the  various  places  in 
New  England  of  which  he  speaks, — some  fifty  or  more  of  them. 
Some  of  his  observations  are  curious  and  instructive:  "In  the 
yeare  1626  or  thereabouts  there  was  not  a  Neat  Beast  Horse  or 
sheepe  in  the  Countrey  and  a  very  few  Goats  or  hoggs,  and  now 
it  is  a  wonder  to  see  the  great  herds  of  Catle  belonging  to  every 
Towne  I  have  mentioned ;  The  braue  Flockes  of  sheepe.  The 
great  number  of  Horses  besides  those  many  sent  to  Barbados 
and  the  other  Carribe  Islands.  And  withall  to  consider  how 
many  thousand  Neatc  Beasts  and  Hoggs  are  yearly  killed,  and 
soe  have  been  for  many  yeares  past  for  provision  In  Countrey 
and  sent  abroad  to  supply  Newfoundland,  Barbados,  Jamaica,  and 
other  places.  As  also  to  victuall  in  whole  or  in  part  most  shipes 
which  comes  there."  And  of  Boston:  "And  the  place  in  which 
Boston  (the  Metropolis)  is  seated,  I  knew  then  for  some  yeares 
to  be  a  Swamp  and  Pound,  now  a  great  Towne,  two  Churches, 
a  Gallant  Statehouse  &  more  to  make  it  compleate  than  can  be 
expected  in  a  place  so  late  a  wilderness." 

It  has  generally  been  considered  than  when  Winthrop's  colony 
arrived  in  Boston  Harbor,  in  July,  1630,  Maverick's  residence  was 
on  Noddle's  Island,  now  East  Boston.  The  sole  authority  for  this 
statement,  says  Hon.  Mellcn  Chamberlain  in  his  "Samuel  Maver- 
ick's Palisade  House  of  1630,"  and  the  one  which  all  historians 
have  followed,  is  Edward  Johnson,  in  his  "Wonder- Working  Provi- 
dence," published  in  1654,  who  says,  "On  the  north  side  of 
Charles  River,  they  landed  near  a  small  Island,  called  Noddel's 
Island,  where  one  Mr.  Samuel  Maverick  was  then  living,  a  man 
of  a  very  loving  and  courteous  behavior,  very  ready  to  entertain 
strangers,  yet  an  enemy  to  the  Reformation  in  hand,  being  strong 
for  the  lordly  prelatical  power.  [Like  Blackstone,  Walford,  Thomp- 
son, and  others,  Maverick  was  an  Episcopalian.]  On  this  Island  he 


SAMUEL  MAVERICK.  223 

had  built  a  small  Fort  with  the  help  of  one  Mr.  David  Thompson, 
placing  therein  four  murtherers  to  protect  him  from  the  Indians."^ 

Untrustworthy  as  Mr.  Chamberlain  proves  many  of  Johnson's 
statements  to  be,  it  is  to  be  noticed  that,  although  he  says  "on  this 
island  he  had  built  him  a  small  Fort,"  he  previously  says  they  landed 
near  a  small  island,  called  '*  Noddels  Island ;"  and  that  he  did  land 
near  that  island,  at  Winnisimmet,  and  that  he  there  built  a  house, 
'*the  first  permanent  house  in  the  Bay  Colony," — which  stood  as 
late  as  1660 — is  now  satisfactorily  proved  by  Maverick's  own 
"  Discription,"  which  says:  "Winnisime. — Two  miles  South  from 
Rumney  Marsh  on  the  North  side  of  Mistick  River  is  Winnisime 
which  though  but  a  few  houses  on  it,  yet  deserves  to  be  mencond. 
One  house  yet  standing  there  which  is  the  Antientest  house  in  the 
Massachusetts  Goverment.  a  house  which  in  the  yeare  1625  I  for- 
tified with  a  Pillizado  and  fflankers  and  gunnes  both  belowe  and 
above  in  them  which  awed  the  Indians  who  at  that  time  had  a 
mind  to  Cutt  off  the  English.  They  once  faced  it  but  receiveing  a 
repulse  never  attempted  it  more  although  (asnowthey  confessc; 
they  repented  it  when  about  2  yeares  after  they  saw  so  many 
English  come  over."  And  that  he  was  living  in  Winnisimmet 
(Chelsea)  as  late  as  1633,  is  confirmed  by  Winthrop,  who  says, 
under  date  of  Dec.  5th  of  that  year,  while  speaking  of  the  ravages 
of  the  small-pox  among  the  Indians:  "above  thirty  buried  by  Mr. 
Maverick  of  Winesemett  in  one  day ;"  "  only  two  families  took  any 
infection  by  it.  Among  others,  Mr.  Maverick  of  Winesemett  is 
worthy  of  a  perpetual  remembrance.  Himself,  his  wife,  and  ser- 
vants, went  daily  to  them,  ministered  to  their  necessities,  and 
buried  their  dead,  and  took  home  many  of  their  children.  So  did 
others  of  their  neighbors."  This  was  none  other  than  Samuel 
Maverick,  as  Mr.  Chamberlain  says :  "Uniformly  and  without  ex- 
ception, both  in  the  Colony  Records  and  in  Winthrop's  Journal, 
Samuel  Maverick  is  called  *Mr.  Maverick.'" 

This  "  Manor  of  Winnesimett,"  as  it  came  to  be  called,  and  the 
land  belonging,  in  which  a  John  Blackleach  seems  to  have  been  a 
part  owner,  and  the  **fferry  att  Wynysemet  graunted  to  Mr.  Sam'^^ 

•Phillips'  "  New  World  of  Words,  or  Universal  Dictionary,"  printed  in  1706,  defines  "  Murder- 
ers, or  Murdering:  Pieces,"  as  "  small  cannon,  cither  of  brass  or  iron,  having  a  Chamber  or  Charge 
consisting  of  Nails,  old  Iron,  &c.,  put  in  at  their  Breech.  They  are  chiefly  used  in  the  Forecastle, 
Half  Deck,  or  Steerage  of  a  Ship,  to  clear  the  Decks,  when  boarded  by  an  Enemy;  and  such  shot 
is  called  a  Murdering  Shot." 


224  SAMUEL  MAVERICK. 

Mauacke"  by  the  General  Court,  were  sold  to  Richard  Bellingham, 
F'eb.  27,  1634,  soon  after  he  arrived  from  England.' 

Another  mention  of  Mr.  Maverick's  property  is  as  follows : 
**  Mystic  Side"  was  granted  to  Charlestown,  July  2,  1633,  when  it 
was  ordered  that  the  **  ground  lyeing  betwixte  the  North  [Maiden] 
Ryv""  &  the  creeke  on  the  north  side  of  Mr.  Mauacks  &  soe  vpp 
into  the  country,  shall  belong  to  the  inhabitants  of  Charlton.** 
The  year  before  Oct.  2,  1632,  he  had  been  admitted  a  freeman. 
Noddle's  Island  having  been  granted  to  Maverick  April  i,  1633. 
by  the  General  Court,^  and  he  having  sold  his  Winnisimmet  house, 
he  built  him  a  house  on  his  new  island  home,  probably  during  the 
year  1634,  or  spring  of  1635,  for  although  he  was  absent  in  Vir- 
ginia from  May  1635  ^o  May  1636,  his  wife  wrote  a  letter  dated 
**Nottcirs  Hand  in  Massachusetts  Bay,  the  20th  November,  1635  j'* 
and  it  is  clearly  indicated  also  by  the  Court  records.  Here  he 
lived  for  many  years,  dispensing  his  hospitality  on  many  and  di- 
vers occasions  as  is  witnessed  by  Josselyn,^  who  made  a  voyage  to 
this  country  in  1638,  and  other  early  travellers.  Other  grants  of 
land  were  made  to  Maverick;  one  of  600  acres  and  one  of  400 
acres;  the  latter  being  located  in  "the  upper  parts  of  Monotocot 

1  In  the  "  Boston  Town  Records,"  vol.  2,  p.  27,  on  "  The  last  day  of  the  9th  moneth,  1640,"  this 
pn  pcrty  is  thus  described:  "  The  lands  of  Mr.  Rich.  Bellingham's,  lieingat  Winnissixnett, bekmgr- 
ing  to  the  towne  of  Boston,  are  bounded  with  the  land  of  William  Steedsonne,  of  Charles  towne, 
and  with  Charles  towne  lands,  limitted  by  fences  and  marsh  towards  the  ncrewest,  with  a  winter 
fresh  water  ninnell  and  pouder  home  Creeke,  parting  betweene  the  land  of  Mr.  Bellinghame  and 
Mr.  Nicholas  Parker,  of  Boston,  towards  the  north  East,  with  the  salt  water  on  all  other  parts 
towards  the  east,  and  south  and  west ;  all  the  lands  within  the  said  Limitts  and  bounds  bdongr  to 
the  the  said  Mr.  Richard  Bellingham."  Mr.  Bellingharo  at  once  took  a  prominent  position  in  our 
Colonial  affairs,  dying  in  1672,  while  Governor,  aud  still  owning  this  Chelsea  property.  Here  are 
some  receipts  for  rental  given  during  the  last  years  of  his  life  copied  from  the  manuscript  in 
session  of  Artemas  Barrett,  Esq.,  of  Melrose,  Mass. 

Rec.  of  Jeremiah  Belcher  and  Sarah  his  wife  ten  pounds  in  fifty  bushells  ) 
of  Barley  &  it  is  for  the  rent  of  the  Farme  wh  nowe  they  live  in  19. 1. 1667.  { lo-o-o 

Ri.  Bellingkam, 

Reed,  of  Jeremiah  Belcher  and  Sarah  his  wife  ten  pounds  by  30  bush  of 
mault  —  by  ferryige  — 60  rodd  wh  a  stone  wall  — by  a  latt  Hoppc. 
17.  1. 68  Ri.  Bellingkam, 

69 
Rec  of  Jeremiah  Belcher  and  Sarah  his  wife  ten  pounds  for  the  yeare 
1671  now  past.    This  account  made  1672  Mar.  25. 

Ri,  Bellingkam. 

2 1633,  I  ApriL  Noddles  Ileland  is  graunted  to  Mr.  Samll.  Mafiocke,  to  enjoy  to  him  &  his  hdres 
for  ever,  yeilding  &  paycing  ycarely  att  the  Gcnall  Court,  to  the  Gottnr  for  the  time  being  dtiier  a 
fatt  weather,  a  fatt  hopg.  or  x  Is  in  money,  &  shall  give  leave  to  Boston  &  Charles  Towne  to  itSSKSSk, 
word  contynually,  as  their  necde  requires  from  the  Southeme  pte  of  the  sd  ileland. 

3 "The  only  hospitable  man  in  all  the  countrey,  giving  entertainment  to  all  Comers gimtiib"* 
Josselyn's  Account,  p.  12,  vMass.  Hist.  Coll.  vol.  iii,  p.  220). 


SAMUEL  MAVERICK.  225 

River,  neere  Taunton  Path,"  which  he  assigned  to  Edward  Bendall 
in  1643.  He  was  one  of  the  patentees  of  lands  in  Maine,  owning 
land  on  the  banks  of  the  "  Agamenticus "  in  Maine,  as  early  as 
1 63 1,  as  is  witnessed  by  a  deed  found  in  the  York  County  records. 

If  not  the  earliest,  Maverick  was  one  of  the  earliest  slavehold- 
ers in  Massachusetts,  having  purchased  one  or  more  slaves  of  Capt. 
William  Pierce,  who  brought  some  from  Tortugas  in  1638.  Slav- 
ery was  always  repugnant  to  the  feelings  of  our  Puritan  fathers, 
and  from  this  fact,  and  the  Episcopacy  of  Maverick,  there  was 
gradually  engendered  an  ill-feeling  between  him  and  the  govern- 
ment, which  began  to  show  itself  as  early  as  March,  1635,  when 
the  Court  ordered  Maverick  to  leave  Noddle's  Island  by  the  fol- 
lowing December,  and  take  up  his  abode  in  Boston,  and,  in  the 
*'  meantyme  "  not  give  *'  entertainment  to  any  strangers  for  a  longer 
tyme  than  one  night  without  leave  from  some  Assistant,  and  all 
this  to  be  done  under  the  penalty  of  ;^ioo."*  This,  for  fear 
that  he  might  aid  in  some  way,  an  anticipated  and  threatened 
change  in  New  England  affairs,  to  uproot  Puritanism  and  establish 
Episcopacy;  a  plan  concerted  in  England,  but  which  came  to 
naught.  This  injunction  upon  Maverick  was  repealed  before 
December  arrived.  This  was  but  one  of  many  similar  controver- 
sies which  sprang  up  between  Maverick  and  the  government. 
Sumner,  in  his  ** History  of  East  Boston,"  says:  "His  hospitable 
disposition  subjected  him  to  numerous  fines,  which,  however,  were 
frequently  remitted ;  indeed,  he  seems  generally  to  have  been  at 
war  with  the  government."  ^ 

Notwithstanding  all  this,  he  was  frequently  entrusted  by  the 
colonial  government  with  more  or  less  of  the  public  affairs,  as  is 
abundantly  witnessed  by  the  records,  although  he  held  no  public 
office.  He  seems  to  have  been  a  man  holding  the  goodwill  and 
respect  of  all  who  came  in  contact  with  him ;  but,  owing  to  his 
religious  opinions,  was  involved  in  these  difficulties  with  the  gov- 
ernment. These  ecclesiastical  troubles  resulted  in  harsh  and 
oppressive  acts,  on  the  part  of  the  government,  towards  all  who 
were  members  of  the  Church  of  England  and  who  were  simply 
contending  for  their  rights.  In  1646,  a  petition  signed  by  "Robt 
Child,  Thorn.  Burton,  John  Smith,  John  Daniel,  Thomas  Fowle, 

I  Massachusetts  Archives,  vol.  i,  p.  140. 


226  SAMUEL  MA  VERICK. 

David  Yale  [and]  Samm :  Maverick,"  was  addressed  to  the  Gen- 
eral Court,  setting  forth  what  they  considered  their  grievances. 
For  this  a  fine  was  imposed.  Then  the  petitioners  claimed  the 
right  of  appeal  to  the  commissioners  for  plantations,  in  England, 
which  was  not  allowed;  nevertheless,  they  appealed  to  Parlia- 
ment. The  signers  of  this  appeal  were  treated  with  much  indig- 
nation; and  May  26,  1647,  ^^  Court  passed  sentence  upon 
them  as  follows:  "The  Courte  having  taken  into  serious  consider- 
ation the  crimes  charged  on  Doc*  Rob*  Child,  M^  John  Smith, 
M'  Thomas  Burton,  M'  John  David  &  M'  Samuel!  Mavericke,  & 
whereof  they  have  been  found  guilty  upon  full  evidence  by  the 
former  judgement  of  this  Courte,  have  agreed  upon  y®  sentence 
here  ensewing  respectively  decreed  to  each  of  them."  Mr.  Mav- 
erick's fine  was  ;^I50,  a  half  of  which  was  finally  remitted  after 
several  petitions  from  Maverick,  the  first  of  which  was  as  follows : 

"I  Samuell  Mavericke  humbly  request  that  wereas,  at  a 
Co'te  held  in  May  &  June,  1647  there  was  layd  to  my  charge 
conspiracy  for  w®^  I  was  fined  1 50;^,  no  witnes  appearing  either 
viva  voce  or  by  writinge,  but  was  refered  to  the  records  for  suffi- 
cient testimony  to  convince  me,  w*^^  records  I  could  not  obtaine  in 
thirteen  weekes,  in  the  space  of  one  month  after  sentence  I 
yielded  myself  prisonner  according  to  the  order  of  the  Co'te,  & 
after  my  abode  there  12  dayes  paid  the  fines,  &  so  was  discharged, 
w*^**  time  haveing  gotten  coppies  of  the  records,  and  finding  noth- 
ing materiall  against  me,  whereby  I  may,  (as  I  conceive)  be  ren- 
dered guilty,  so  as  to  deserve  so  great  a  fine,  or  to  lye  under  so 
great  disparagement  upon  record. 

I  therefore  humbly  desire  this  honored  Courte,  that  my  fine 
may  be  repaid,  and  my  Credit  repaired,  by  recording  my  inno- 
cency,  if  such  testimony  do  not  further  appeare,  as  may  render 
me  guilty. 

8,  (3),  1649.  SAMUEL  MAUERICKE."i 

Additional  evidence  that  Maverick  was  incarcerated  during 
these  troubles  is  given  in  a  petition  to  Sir  Edmund  Andros,  Feb- 
ruary 13,  1687,  by  Mary  Hookc,  his  daughter,  who  first  married 
John  Palsgrave,  and  then  Francis  Hooke,  in  which  she  says  her 
father  was  "  imprisoned  for  a  long  season."     By  this  same  petition 

I  Massachusetts  Archives,  Vol.  38  B,  p.  228. 


SAMUEL  MAVERICK.  227 

of  his  daughter  it  is  evident  that  for  a  while  he  became  dispos- 
sessed of  his  home  on  Noddle's  Island  in  a  rather  dishonorable 
and  unfilial  manner.  She  says,  after  referring  to  the  above  fine : 
**  Which  sume  he  resolveing  not  to  pay,  and  fearing  the  s**  Island 
would  be  seized  to  make  payment  of  itt,  he  made  a  deede  of  Gift 
of  the  s**  Island  to  his  Eldest  sonne,  not  w^  any  designe  to  deliver 
the  s*  Deede  to  him,  onely  to  p'^vent  the  seizure  of  itt.  But  yo' 
Peticon"  s^  Eldest  Brother  heareing  of  itt,  by  a  Crafty  Wile  con- 
trary to  his  Father's  knowledge  gott  the  s*  deede  into  his  custo- 
dy. But  whether  he  sold  it,  or  how  he  disposed  of  itt  yo'  Peti- 
con*^  canot  sett  forth,  soe  that  yo'^  Peticon"  s*  Father  in  his  life 
tyme  and  yo*^  Peticon'^  since  his  decease  hath  been  debarred  of 
their  just  right,  and  partly  by  the  Massathusetts  Government  con- 
tinuing soe  long,  and  yo*^  Peticon"  Father  being  one  of  the  King's 
Comiss"  sent  with  Collon"  Nicolls,  Gen.  S*"  Rob*  Carr  &  Collonll 
Cartwright  to  settle  the  affaires  in  New  York  &  New  England  but 
were  interrupted  at  Boston  w^^  sound  of  the  Trumpett." 

But  by  deed  recorded  in  Suffolk  Registry  of  Deeds,  Lib.  i,  fol. 
122,  it  seems  that  matters  were  adjusted  only  a  few  years  after 
these  troubles,  for,  in  1650,  the  Island  was  sold  to  "Capt. 
George  Briggs  of  the  Island  of  Barbados,  in  the  West  In- 
dies, Esq.,"  b/  Samuel  Maverick  and  his  wife,  Amias,  their  son 
Nathaniel, — ^"the  Peticon"  s^  Eldest  Brother,"  above  referred  to, — 
*'for  divers  good  causes  &  valuable  considerations  vs  hereunto 
moveing,  especially  for  &  in  the  consideration  of  fourty  thousand 
pounds  of  good  white  sugar,  double  clayed,"  '*giue  grant  bargaine 
sell  alien  convey  enfeoffe  assure  confirmevnto  thes^  Capt.  Georg. 
Briggs  a  certain  p  cell  of  land  or  an  Island  comonly  called  or 
knowne  by  the  name  of  Nodles  Island  lying  and  being  in  the  Bay 
of  Massachusetts  in  New  Engl,  aforesaid,  together  w*^  the  Mansion 
house  millhouse  &  niill,  bakehouse  &  all  other  of  the  houses  out- 
houses barnes  stables  edifices  buildings,  water  privileges  ease- 
ments commodities  advantages  immunities  &  emoluments  whatso- 
ever." There  were  some  subsequent  conveyances,  but  in  1656,  the 
same  parties,  Maverick,  wife  and  eldest  son,  made  a  final  deed  to 
one  Col.  John  Burch,  as  "S^  Samuell  hath  Received  full  satisfac- 
tion of  the  s*^  £700  Stirling  menconed  in  the  aboue  order  made  at 
the  Generall  Court  aforesayed." 

Referring  to  the  troubles  that  resulted  in  thus  driving  Mr.  Mav- 


228  SAMUEL  MAVERICK. 

erick  away  from  Boston,  Drake  says :  "It  may  appear  strange  that 
Mr.  Maverick  should  submit  to  so  many  indignities  as  from  time  to 
time  it  has  been  seen  that  he  did ;  a  man  that  Boston  could  not  do 
without.  He  was  a  gentleman  of  wealth  and  great  liberality.  A 
few  pages  back,  291,  we  have  seen  how  much  the  town  was  in- 
debted to  him  for  help  to  rebuilt  the  fort  on  Castle  Island.  He 
may  have  looked  upon  these  and  other  proceedings  against  him  as 
petty  annoyances,  to  which  it  was  best  quietly  to  submit,  not  wish- 
ing to  set  an  example  of  opposition  to  the  government,  or,  having 
a  large  property  at  stake,  he  might  not  wish  to  jeopardize  it."^ 

Certain  it  is  that  he  now  left  his  home  on  Noddle's  Island ;  and 
his  subsequent  life  shows  him  to  have  been  a  royalist,  true  to 
Episcopalianism  and  to  the  King;  and  upon  the  restoration  of 
Charles  II.  he  went  to  England  to  complain  to  the  King;  and  was 
two  or  three  years  soliciting  that  commissioners  might  be  ap- 
pointed who  should  visit  New  England  with  authority  to  settle  all  dif- 
ficultics.2  In  this  he  succeeded ;  and  April  23,  1664,  the  King  ap- 
pointed four  commissioners,  *' Colonel  Richard  Nichols,  Sir  Robert 
Carre,  Knt.  George  Cartwright,  Esq.,  and  Samuel  Maverick, 
Esq.,"  *' to  visit  all  and  every  of  the  same  colonies  aforesaid,  and 
also  full  power  and  authority  to  hear  and  receive,  and  to  examine 
and  determine,  all  complaints  and  appeales  in  all  causes  and  mat- 
ters, as  well  military  as  criminal  and  civil,  and  to  proceed  in  all 
things  for  the  providing  for  and  settling  the  peace  and  security  of 
the  said  country."  Upon  the  arrival  of  the  Commissioners  in 
this  country  there  commenced  a  controversy  and  a  conflict  between 
their  authority  and  that  of  the  colonial  government,  particularly 
that  of  Massachusetts  Bay,  which  was  persistent  and  determined, 
^lany  letters  passed  between  them ;  reports  were  made  by  the 
Commissioners  to  the  Lord  Chancellor;  and  only  with  the  recall 
of  the  Commissioners  did  anything  like  peace  reign,  and  that  but 
temporarily.  An  extended  and  interesting  account  of  this  contro* 
versy,  together  with  many  of  the  documents  passing  between  the 
parties,  is  given  by  Gen.  William  H.  Sumner,  in  his  "History  of 
East  Boston,"  chap.  VI.,  pp.  127-160. 

Just  when  and  where  Maverick  died  is  not  known,  but  it  is  gen- 
erally thought  that  at  the  time  of  his  death  he  was  living  in  Neir 

1.  History  of  Boston,  p.  296. 

2.  Sumncrs  East  Boston,  p.  127. 


SAMUEL  MAVERICK.  229 

York,  probably  in  Broadway,  in  a  house  presented  him  by  the 
Duke  of  York  for  his  fidelity  to  the  King.  **  During  the  early 
years  of  his  residence  in  the  colony,  upon  Noddle's  Island,  he  was 
distinguished  for  his  hospitality,  public  spirit,  and  hearty  coopera- 
tion in  efforts  for  the  welfare  of  the  province ;  and  if  in  subsequent 
years,  he  manifested  feelings  different  from  these,  they  can  only  be 
considered  as  the  natural  result  of  the  harsh  treatment  he  had  re- 
ceived. Like  all  men,  he  had  his  faults ;  but  they  were  so  small 
in  comparison  with  his  traits  of  character  as  a  man,  citizen,  and 
public  officer,  that,  in  spite  of  all  opposition  he  rose  to  stations  of 
high  importance,  enjoyed  the  confidence  of  his  sovereign,  and 
identified  himself  with  the  efforts  to  establish  religious  freedom  in 
the  colony.*'* 

This  sketch  of  one  of  our  very  earliest  Bay  settlers,  whom 
Adams  pronounces  **  a  man  of  education  and  refinement,"  and  **  a 
man  of  substance,"  cannot  be  better  closed  than  by  giving  a  few 
words  of  John  Ward  Dean's  introduction  to  Maverick's  **  Discrip- 
tion  "  which  was  printed  in  the  **  Historical  and  Genealogical  Reg- 
ister" for  January,  1885.  Speaking  of  this  account  of  New  Eng- 
land, his  letter  to  the  Earl  of  Clarendon,  printed  in  the  Collections 
of  the  New  York  Historical  Society,  for  1869,  p.  19,  and  his  letters 
printed  in  the  third  volume  of  the  New  York  Colonial  Documents, 
he  says:  ** They  show  the  persistency  displayed  by  Maverick  in 
his  efforts  to  deprive  New  I^ngland,  and  particularly  Massachusetts, 
of  the  right  of  self-government  which  had  so  long  been  enjoyed 
here.  .  .  .  The  death  of  Maverick,  which  occurred  between 
October  15,  1669  and  May  15,  1676,  did  not  bring  repose  to  the 
people  of  Massachusetts.  In  the  latter  year  a  new  assailant  of 
their  charter  appeared  in  the  person  of  Edward  Randolph,  whose 
assaults  on  their  liberties  did  not  cease  till  the  charter  was  wrested 
from  them,  and  the  government  under  it  came  to  an  end  May  20, 
1686." 

f  History  of  East  Boston,  p.  160. 


230  RELIGIOUS  DENOMINATIONS. 


RELIGIOUS  DENOMINATIONS. 

I.  — THE    CONGREGATIONAL    CHURCHES. 
By   rev.  henry  M.  DEXTER,  D.  D.* 

Congregationalism  is  the  democratic  form  of  church  order.  It 
has  its  name  because — under  Christ — it  vests  all  church  power  in 
the  Congregations  of  Christian  believers ;  at  the  same  time  recog- 
nizing a  fraternal  and  equal  active  fellowship  between  them  —  by 
%vhich  it  is  differenced  from  strict  Independency. 

Its  fundamental  principle  is  that  the  Bible,  adequately  interpre- 
ted, is  the  only  authority  in  the  practice,  as  in  the  faith,  of  Chris- 
tianity ;  so  that,  while  tradition  may  sometimes  aid  in  that  interpre- 
tation, it  can  neither  control,  nor  determinately  supplement,  the 
Scriptures. 

rVoni  the  Bible  expounded  in  accordance  with  this  principle, 
the  following  subordinate  positions  are  deduced,  viz: 

1.  Any  company  of  persons  believing  themselves  to  be  Chris- 
tians, and  confessing  themselves  to  be  such  through  association  by 
covenant  for  purposes  of  Christian  worship  and  work,  thus  be- 
comes a  true  church  of  Christ. 

2.  Such  a  church  should,  as  the  rule,  include  only  so  many  as 
may  conveniently  meet  together  in  one  place,  and  easily  know, 
watch  over,  and  work  with,  each  other. 

3.  Every  member  of  such  a  body — save  for  some  special 
abridgement  in  the  case  of  females  and  minors — is  equal  in  right, 
power,  and  privilege,  to  every  other. 

4.  By  majority  vote — absolute  unanimity  always  being  sought— 
the  members  of  such  a  church  have  the  right  and  duty  of  admit- 
ting, dismissing  and  disciplining  members;  of  choosing — and  of 
deposing — all  scriptural  and  needful  officers;  and  of  doing  all 
business  appropriate  to  a  Christian  Church. 

5.  Every  such  local  body  of  believers  associated  by  covenant 
■  is  independent  of  all  earthly  jurisdiction  or  control, — is  on  a  level 
.of  equality  of  genuineness,  privilege  and  duty,  with  every  like 

body;  all  being  amenable  solely  to  Him  who  is  "the  Head;"  yet 
;all  such,  being  equal  sisters  of  the  one  great  family  of  Christ,  owe 

-•■[Editor  of  Tht  CongregmiioMalist^ 


RELIGIOUS  DENOMINATIONS.  231 

to  each  other  sisterly  esteem,  fellowship,  and  cooperation  in  their 
common  work  for  Him. 

6.  Such  fellowship  —  in  addition  to  formal  cooperation  for  pur- 
poses of  benevolence,  and  the  like — finds  wise  expression  and  use- 
ful service  through  coming  together  by  delegation  in  ecclesiastical 
council ;  when  a  new  church  desires  admission  to  the  sisterhood, 
when  a  pastor  is  to  begin  or  close  his  labors,  or  when  some  trouble 
perplexes  a  church  with  which  it  feels  its  incompetence  to  deal 
alone ;  the  result  of  such  a  council,  however,  being  purely  in  the 
nature  of  advice,  and  having  only  so  much  of  force  as  there  may 
be  force  in  the  reason  of  it. 

7.  Should,  in  any  case,  such  advice  seem  to  be  unreasonably 
neglected,  and  scandal  follow,  sister  churches  may  purify  their 
fellowship  and  bear  emphatic  testimony  against  disorder  and  sin, 
by  suspending  the  mutual  relation  until  what  is  wrong  has  been 
set  right. 

8.  The  New  Testament  assigns  to  such  churches  two,  and  only 
two,  classes  of  permanent  officers ;  the  first — indifferently  called 
bishops,  elders,  evangelists,  angels  of  the  churches,  pastors,  and 
teachers — for  its  spiritual  oversight  and  training ;  the  second — 
called  deacons,  or  helpers — for  the  care  of  its  temporal  concerns, 
and  the  administration  of  its  charities. 

Reducing  these  principles  to  their  simplest  form  we  get  the  two 
germ-elements  of  the  New  Testament  polity,  viz. :  the  independ- 
ent self-completeness  —  humanly  speaking — of  local  churches, 
which  is  their  aittonomy;  and  their  equal  sisterhood,  which-  is  their 
adclpliity. 

The  confidence  which  Congregationalists  feel  that  theirs  is  the 
church  system  of  the  New  Testament,  is  founded  upon  the  two 
conclusions,  that  whatever  system  Gospels,  Acts  and  Epistles,  by 
precept  and  practice  set  forth,  must  be  divinely  favored ;  and  that 
the  Congregational  is  that  system.  They  hold  it  impossible  for  an 
intelligent  and  candid  mind  to  study  critically  all  passages  of  the 
Word  which  bear  upon  the  subject,  and  relying  upon  Scripture 
alone  without  coloring  from  tradition  or  patristic  teaching,  reduce 
them  to  a  reasonable  harmony,  without  reaching  that  conclusion. 

But  three  systems — the  democracy  of  Congregationalism,  the 
aristocracy  of  Presbyterianism,  and  the  monarchy  of  the  Episco- 
pacy, the  Patriarchate,  or  the  Papacy — are  possible.    Combination 


232  RELIGIOUS  DENOMINATIONS. 

of  any  two  would  furnish  a  hybridity  necessarily  unfertile  and 
temporary.  No  confusing  similarity  exists  between  them.  So 
that,  so  far  as  the  new  Testament  touches  that  subject — ^whether, 
by  implication  in  setting  forth  church  methods,  or  by  suggestion,  or 
command — serious  doubt  as  to  which  system  it  has  in  mind  be- 
comes to  the  last  degree  unlikely.  Our  Saviour  gave  but  one 
precept  on  the  subject — to  the  effect  that  if  trespass  arise  between 
brethren  and  the  trouble  cannot  be  settled  by  the  parties,  not  even 
with  the  intervention  of  one  or  two  friends,  the  aggrieved  "  tell  it  to 
'the  church."  This  "church"  even  Dean  Alford  admitted  "cannot 
mean  the  church  as  represented  by  her  rulers."  It  follows  that  by- 
enacting  as  its  permanent  law  of  discipline  one  which  can  be  legally 
carried  out  neither  under  Papacy,  Episcopacy,  Methodism  nor 
Presbyterianism  —  in  point  of  fact  nowhere  but  in  Congregational- 
ism— our  Saviour  did,  for  substance,  ordain  the  democratic  polity 
for  His  church.  So,  further,  Congregationalists  have  not  failed  to 
note  how  subsequent  important  utterances  of  Christ  harmonize  with 
the  same  view.  No  other  polity,  it  seems  safe  to  say,  so  fully  accords 
with,  and  tends  to  promote,  that  loving  oneness,  and  perfect 
brotherhood  of  his  disciples  for  which  He  prayed.  His  last  com- 
mand, addressed  not  to  any  hierarch  or  bench  of  bishops,  but  to 
the  equal  fraternity  of  His  followers,  whom  He  commanded  to  "go 
preach,"  befits  the  Congregational  system  better  than  any  other; 
while  Congregational  churches  surely  have  the  advantage  of 
their  hierarchal  brethren  in  that  they  are  able,  with  verbal  accuracy 
and  perfect  naturalness,  to  copy  in  the  administration  of  the  Lord's 
supper  the  words,  and  acts,  of  its  first  institution  as  Inspiration 
has  preserved  them  "  for  our  learning." 

Passing  on  now  into  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles,  Congregationalists 
find  there  their  system  in  practical  operation.  Even  Chrysostom 
declared  that  an  apostle  was  chosen  in  place  of  Judas  by  popular 
suffrage  of  the  whole  one  hundred  and  twenty  members  of  the 
church,  and  not  by  the  remaining  eleven.  The  gift  of  the  Holy 
Spirit  descended  not  upon  apostles  or  disciples  alone,  but  upon 
every  member.  When  Peter  and  John  were  released  from  their 
imprisonment  they  reported  to  the  whole  church,  and  "  great  grace 
was  upon  them  all."  The  mass  of  the  church  selected  Stephen 
and  his  six  associate  deacons.  When  persecution  scattered  these- 
believers  they  went  about  "  preaching  the  word;"  which,  if  they 


RELIGIOUS  DENOMINATIONS.  233 

-were  substantially  Congregationalists,  was  a  natural,  and,  as  one 
might  say,  necessary  record,  but  would  be  not  merely  abnormal, 
but  amazing,  on  any  other  theory. 

The  brethren,  and  not  the  apostles,  sent  Paul,  after  his  conver- 
sion, to  Tarsus.  Peter  did  not  himself  baptize  Cornelius,  but  left 
it  to  be  done  apparently  by  some  of  the  **  certain  brethren  from 
Joppa.*'  The  whole  church  appears  to  have  considered  and  dcr 
cided  upon  Peter's  defence  for  having  eaten  with  men  uncircum- 
cised.  The  whole  church  sent  Barnabas  to  Antioch.  The  whole 
church  of  Antioch  moved  in  the  matter,  when,  because  of  the 
great  famine  in  the  days  of  Claudius,  aid  was  needed  in  Judea ;  and 
they  sent  it  not  to  the  bishop,  but  "unto  the  brethren."  The  whole 
church  of  Antioch  sent  out  Barnabas  and  Saul  upon  a  foreign 
mission,  and  laid  hands  on  them  in  consecration ;  and  when  these 
missionaries  returned,  they  **  gathered  the  church  together,"  to 
make  to  them  their  report.  When  Antioch  wanted  advice  from 
Jerusalem,  that  advice  was  sent  '*by  the  apostles,  and  elders,  with 
tlic  whole  church."  The  "brethren" — not  the  bishop — wrote  the 
letter  of  commendation  which  Apollos  carried  to  Ephesus.  When 
Paul — since  it  was  impossible  for  the  whole  church  at  Ephesus  to 
journey  thirty  miles  to  Miletus  to  meet  him — sent  for  the  elders 
(or  pastors)  of  that  church,  he  called  them  "bishops,"  showing 
that,  to  his  mind,  a  bishop  was  simply  a  pastor,  and  a  pastor  a 
bishop.  So  he  was  "  brought  on  his  way"  to  Jerusalem  not  by  any 
church  officer  but  by  "the  brethren ;"  he  saluted  not  any  hierarch 
at  Ptolemais,  but  "the  brethren;"  when  he  reached  his 
journey's  end  it  was  neither  the  bishop,  nor  the  rector,  but "  the 
brethren  "  whg  received  him  gladly.  So,  Ir^ter,  on  his  way  to  Rome 
he  found  "brethren"  at  Puteoli,  and  the  "brethren"  from  Rome 
went  out  as  far  as  "the  Market  of  Appius,"  and  "the  Three  Tav- 
erns," to  meet  him,  and  his  company. 

This  usage  of  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles  prevails,  as  well,  through 
the  Epistles.  In  more  than  fifty  cases  in  them  the  word  "church" 
clearly  has  the  Congregational  sense  of  a  single  congregation  of 
believers.  Cenchrea  was  the  port  of  Corinth,  yet  there  were 
churches  in  both  places.  The  five  churches  of  Hierapolis,  Lao- 
dicea,  Colosse,  and  those  in  the  houses  of  Nymphas  and  Philemon 
were  all,  apparently,  within  eye-shot  of  each  other;  yet  each  was 
recognized  as  having  an  identity  of  its  own.    There  are  also  many 


2?4  frEU^^rOrr.  DE.VOMLVATrOyS. 

p^w^sf^^i*  ^A  *h«»  hy.^y*^.^  which  incidentail/  iujg^st  a  Coagrega- 
ti<rn»i  '•//n^tJ^-'i^nr/.  Amon<y  th<tv;  ar^  the  sai-ratorv  texts,  never 
nAAr^/^'^^A  V/  ;»riy  j/TM^trt'i  r.f  tl.e  churches,  but  ainiost  always  to 
fh^/y^  ^/r''/h^r^''/-'/^!>  *hrrriv:;lv',^.  That  to  the  Philiooians  ia  sent  "to 
;ii)  *W^  ^'A\h^^  ir#  ^,hr!vt  J'':vi^  which  ar-*  at  Phiiippi,  with  the  bishops 
nrA  ^]';i/'y/r)%/'  ■vhi/'li  v;^.m%  to  >how  two  things;  first,  that  it  was 
fioi  T^fi  r^p/;-vo;/;il  ^h'ir^h  having  but  one  bishop,  and,  second,  that 
in  f'iiiii'-;  'y.^  f.h^  ^hur^h  v/a^  b<;fore  xti  officers.  So  the  direct 
f/.f/  f/  f,/./'4  f/,  rhfir-'.h  offic/:r^  ftcatt/orcd  through  the  Epistles  cstab- 
li'.fi  tf,"  ^  •/./  rifi;i|  ^  ori;/r'';;/;ition;ili=".rn  of  churches  in  that  only  two 
ffft\f  f",  f,t  Of'  rfnrf\^Uy  ?ir';  «vpokr-n  of  while  the  same  qualifications 
«f''  t]f  iff'.trtflf  f]  fft  j/;i«>tor^,  f^;K,h^T?>,  (:\(\f:T^  and  bishops;  the  same 
/Iffti'  ;  ;ir'-  ;!■;'•; it{r»'-^J  to  ^jkJi  ;  ;ind  ;ill  ar':  spoken  of  interchangeably. 
'Ill'  f  i;  ff't  ;i  |;;i«;<t;ij;''  ifi  fh'r  Now  'I cstamcnt  which  requires,  as- 
^/•ff ;,  or  jii*.»iri'^  flK  /i'-;';''rtion  f;f,  any  superior  function  on  the  part 
of  M-.Iiop';  ov  f  |;;nto»'4.  I'tirlhcrrnorc,  Paul  says  that  Titus  was 
rtfipoinl//)  "liy  fh'"  Mmrrh'';"  to  accompany  him  in  his  journey. 
!!»•  *  ;ilh  him  iu\f\  \\v'  nrinamr.d  brother  who  was  with  him,  the 
"  fiM  c;';iMjM  n  'if  fh'*  (  hiiK  hcfl."  Paul  directed  Titus  to  put  the 
lifrihi'  M  in  minil  In  i(jr»  t  "  a  factious  man  after  a  first  and  second. 
nehimiiilinii ;"  and  he*  c  har|M's  the  (lorinthian  brethren  to  "put 
n\\:iv  hnin  ainiHij;  ycuiiM  Ivcs"  ;ui  impcMiilent  yross  oficnder;  and, 
milv.i  tph  nils ,  nlniini;  hai  U  to  th(?  same  case,  and  to  their  com- 
pli.im  '•  wiih  hi*  i  nininand,  h(*  says  (so  on rlCpiscopal friends Cony- 
bi.ni  .\\\\\  I  l«»\v;oiHianNl.iir  in  liuo\,  '*  I'^or  the  ofl'ender  himself, 
thi'^  pnm  ihnii-nl.  \\ln»  h  has  .ihtMdy  hivn  inflicted  on  him  by  tlie^ 
\f;//r  V. /  f7  t\i-  v/j,vf//i',  j.,  Midi^irnt,  without  increasing  it." 

r^  ■.-.»  il  b\  \\\v^  iiinarkal>lo  C'oni^ivj^ationahsm  of  the  written 
W'lMil.  \W  t  \m\w  h.v;  Wcw  niado  that  thvMV  must  have  been  much 
in';lnhtion  avtovhin^h  j;o\viiunont  which  was  never  put  upon 
thi  »iiiMil,  that,  nuK\\l,  a  considv^ablc  portion  of  the  "other 
thin;  ■;  whi^h  h '^us  Jid."  thv^  w  litin;^  vUnxn  of  which  (John  suiiJiests 
\\\  l.«  .Mil  t  tioi^u.^  c\.\;:;>M.\;ion.>  \\o;:lvl  more  than  nil  the  world 
Um  ;i  w  ith  bo, On-..  r,i.n  h.Uv^  Iwa  i-.^trisv^ions  tVom  has  lips  favoring 
tb,  \  pi  .,  ,^^^.^,  \  '  U^^\IMvh  i:^.:;v;";io;;s  thv^^ry  il  SvVras  quite  suf- 
ti^  1*511  to  rx;N!\ .  \\\.\\,  iV.a^i'.n;:  o;:r  S.^n  o;ir  t.^  b.avc  L-^i''t  oral 
v-tNurN  X-  v^n  \\w  vi;bu\  ;  ot  |\^;.t\  wl'.ic!^  wviv  :ievv^r  written  doxiTi^ 
.v\'  tb.x  ::  y\\\\\\  to  Oiii  oNn'.io.-^vW  s;iii.  i'.r.wr-.itv^a  rK"*ach:ng;s  which 
!v\i   ;'^.     \  N^^;lvv   .rv;   t'lv   ■  v'o-^\c:;-  :,^  .-^v^:   ;:;^o?    Conctvca-i»>'^nal 


RELIGIOUS  DENOMINATIONS.  235 

principles — as  both  Acts  and  Epistles  show  that  they  uniformly 
did  act —  must  have  been  Congregational  in  their  tenor.  So  that, 
if  this  argument  have  any  value  it  enforces  the  democratic,  rather 
than  the  hierarchic  system. 

Congregationalists,  therefore,  claim  that  theirs  is  the  Church 
polity  of  the  new  Testament,  in  accordance  with  which,  in  the 
beginning  Christian  Churches  were  organized.  They  concede 
that  in  the  second  century  this  original  democratic  polity  faded, 
and  began  to  vanish,  before  ambitious  influences  by  which,  for 
wise  purposes,  the  Great  Head  of  the  Church  allowed  it  for  a 
time  to  be  overcome.  The  converts  of  those  early  generations 
were  comparatively  uncultured,  so  that  clerical  ambition  and 
assumption,  enforced  by  the  forgeries  of  the  Ignatian  Epistles 
and  otherwise,  easily  invaded  the  Christian  liberty  of  the  masses, 
and  subverted  and  hardened  their  simple  government  into  a  hier- 
archy. 

Thirteen  or  fourteen  centuries  passed.  The  dark  ages  settled 
down  upon  the  Church  and  the  world.  The  Word  of  God  was 
withdrawn  from  His  children.  There  was  no  open  vision  of  a 
Saviour.  The  Gospel  was  degraded  into  another  Gospel,  which 
was  not  another.  Except  for  a  man  —  however  thoughtful  and 
fervid — to  trudge,  wearily  obedient,  his  treadmill  round  of  daily 
idolatries,  led  by  ecclesiastics  whom  he  often  felt  to  be  bad,  in  an 
ecciesiasticism  which  he  could  seldom  feel  to  be  good,  there  was 
no  resource. 

Then  came  the  reformers,  each  with  his  own  coal  for  the  com- 
mon fire; — simple,  honest  Grossteste,  pre-Puritan  Wyclif,  severe 
Savonarola,  benign  erudite  Erasmus,  pure  and  self-sacrificing  John 
Colct,  Luther,  Zwingli,  Latimer,  Hooper,  Ridley,  Calvin — one 
after  another  feeding  the  kindling  blaze.  The  immediate  pressure, 
however,  for  something  better  in  religion,  regarded  spiritual  life 
more  than  Church  form;  while,  as  the  existing  hierarchies  were 
so  everywhere  identified  with  the  State,  reform  in  polity  became 
rebellion,  and  so  could  be  looked  for  only  under  a  vigor  of 
thought,  and  a  stress  of  conscience,  which  would  justify  martyrdom. 
Luther  —  who  was  a  man  of  the  people  —  came  near  indeed  to 
the  conception,  if  not  the  reproduction,  of  the  original  Congrega- 
tional way;  yet,  in  his  intense  feeling  of  doctrinal  needs,  he 
under-estimated  the  importance  of  the  relation  of  churc!i-form  to 


2j6  RELIGIOUS  DENOMINATIONS. 

spiritual  life;  while  the  current  of  circumstances  in  which  he 
wrouj^ht  swept  him  almost  irresistibly  along  toward  ecclesiastical 
:  rrangcments  in  which  princes  should  lead,  and  the  people  follow. 
Calvin  —  so  to  speak  for  definition  and  not  for  reproach  —  was  a 
born  aristocrat,  and,  called  suddenly  to  nominate  government  both 
for  Church  and  State  in  Geneva,  it  was  not  to  be  expected  that  in 
Ihose  days,  he  should  evolve  democracy  from  the  acts  of  the 
Apostles.  He  sincerely  believed  aristocracy  to  be  a  better  form 
ior  civil  government  than  either  a  monarchy  or  a  republic,  and 
he  chose  that  for  the  Church ;  confessing,  however,  [Epis.  54] 
that  the  eldership  was  a  feature  of  polity  to  which  he  was  driven 
—  tempontm  iiifirmitas  —  by  the  stress  of  circumstances. 

And  now  we  come  over  into  the  land  of  our  fathers,  where, 
about  as  the  sixteenth  century  was  entering  its  last  quarter,  we  see 
Travcrs  and  Cartwrit^ht  diligently  endeavoring,  with  as  much 
c>i>i'nncss  as  roigning  severity  permitted,  to  bring  in  from  Switzer- 
luul  this  now  Prosbyterianism*of  Calvin,  as  the  specific  for  all  the  ill 
uiulor  which  the  nominally  Reformed  Church  had  long  been  groan- 
iuj'.  in  I'ni^land.  \Vc  fiuvl  not  a  fow  grievously  dissatisfied  with  the 
I'stablishniont,  who,  after  gravest  consideration  of  Traverses  "  Full 
aiul  riaine  Declaration  of  Ecclosiasticall  Discipline  owt  off  the 
Word  otV  Ciod,  etc.,"  and  Cartwright's  **  Admonition  to  Parlia- 
ment," with  his  writings  in  answer  to  Whitgift,  still  felt  insur- 
nunintable  objoctions  against  the  Prcsbytorian  plan.  In  its 
relation  to  the  State  they  not  only  distrusted,  but  despaired  of  it, 
since  the  theory  was  that  the  Oueen  must  substitute  it  for  the 
remnant  l^piseopacy.  and  that,  when  established  in  place  of  that, 
it  shouM  remaMi  substantially  under  civil  control.  And,  in  itself, 
it  seeuK'd  to  thorn  ossontially  unscriptural,  in  that  it  proposed  to 
imitate  tlio  system  it  was  seeking  to  displace  by  taking  into  the 
(.^hureh  tl^.e  eiuire  bapti^'cd  population,  relying  upon  Church  dis- 
eipliiie  to  maintain  i^eneral  purity;  and  because  it  contemplated 
an  oriMuie  utiitv  between  all  its  eo:iL:rei:ati'.^ns,  one  etfect  of  which 
wo-,:!J  be  to  rerard  those  most  advanced  until  all  laggards  could 
keep  sto[>  w.f.i  t.':o::i. 

Six  yoar^  after  Calvir.'s  death,  and  cote mpo ran eou sly  with  the 
i>s::o  ot'  a;i  i:iiii:iot'or.  to  the  "cLTi^ie" — ordorini::  them  not  to 
take  l::hv>  tl^om  "to  expounde  a::y  Scripture  or  matter  of  doctrine 
1  V  uav  of  exhortation  or  otherwi-o."  unless  duly  licensed  so  to  do; 


RELIGIOUS  DENOMINA  TIONS.  237 

•and  to  Church-wardens  to  present  for  discipline  the  names  of  any 
in  the  parish  who  **  wilfully  and  obstinately  defende  or  maintaine 
any  heresies,  or  false  doctrine,"  a  young  man  of  about  twenty 
years  of  age,  of  gentle  blood,  name  Robert  Browne,  went  up  from 
Rutlandshire  to  Cambridge.  His  studies  were  intermitted  by 
teaching,  and  by  the  plague,  but  were  resumed  at  a  later  date. 
He  became  a  member  of  the  family  of  the  devout  Richard  Green- 
ham  of  Dry  Drayton,  and  studied  theology  with  him.  His  tutor 
encouraged  him  to  preach,  and  he  proved  himself  acceptable,  not 
merely  to  rural  assemblies,  but  in  Bcnet  Church,  in  Cambridge, 
under  the  shadow  of  the  University  itself.  One  of  the  Cambridge 
churches  pressed  him  to  accept  its  pulpit,  but,  after  some  months 
of  mental  and  spiritual  conflict,  he  "  did  both  send  back  the  monie 
thci  would  have  given  him,  and  also  give  them  warning  of  his  de- 
parture." He  could  not  take  ordination  from  the  bishops,  and  his 
mind  was  so  exercised  by  that  **  wofull  state  of  Cambridge  whcre- 
into  those  wicked  prelats  &  doctors  of  divinitic  had  brought  it," 
that  he  "  fell  soare  sick."  When  recovered  *'  he  took  counscll 
still  &  had  no  rest,  What  he  might  do  for  the  name  &  kingdom 
of  God.  He  often  complained  of  these  cvill  daies  &  with  manie 
teares  sought  where  to  find  the  righteous  which  glorified  God, 
with  whom  he  might  live  &  rcioise  together,  that  thci  putt  awaie 
abominations."  While  thus  mournfully  studying  the  Bible  and  his 
duty,  it  flashed  upon  him  that  genuine  spiritual  reformation  "was 
not  to  be  begun  by  whole  parishes,  but  rather  off  [by]  the  worthiest, 
were  they  never  so  fewe."  This  idea  he  found  the  Scripture 
to  sustain.  It  was  the  seminal  principle  of  the  original  Congrega- 
tionalism. As  such,  it  started  him  upon  a  new  track  of  thought, 
which  grew  luminous  day  by  day.  Hearing  that  there  were  those 
in  Norwich  who  were  warm  with  a  kindred  desire  for  reform,  he 
went  thither,  and  there,  after  a  few  months  of  prayer  and  medita- 
tion over  the  Scriptures,  he  came  at  length  into  the  clear  convic- 
tion that  believers  in  any  place  who  wish  to  walk  with  God  and 
with  each  other,  need  not  wait  for  authorization  from  Queen  or 
Prelate,  but  separate  themselves  from  the  world,  and  embody  in 
local  companies,  each  of  which  —  being  properly  confederate  — 
becomes  a  true  Church  of  Christ,  competent  to  choose  and  ordain 
one  of  its  own  members  as  its  pastor,  and,  in  suitable,  practical 
union  with  other  like  bodies,  competent  to  every  Christian  word 


238  RELIGIOUS  DENOMINATIONS. 

and  work.     At  some  time  in   1580,  with  a  few  associates  who 
thought  and  felt  with  him,  he  formed  in  Norwich,  by  mutual  cove- 
nant, what  I  believe  to  have  been  the  first  Congregational  Church 
since  the  last  of  those  which  had  been  founded  in  Apostolic  days» 
yielded  its  life  under  the  intolerable  pressure  —  the  peine  forte  ct 
dure — of  the  superincumbent  weight  of  an  intolerable  hierarchy. 
He  thoroughly  elaborated  his  system.     It  resulted  in  practical 
democracy,  inasmuch  as  although  Browne  had  no  notion  of  in- 
herent  individual   rights,  he   held   that  each  believer  is  a  vice* 
gcrcnt  of  Christ,  through  whom  Christ  reigns.     This  system  was 
Brownism,  but,  contrary  to  the  popular  conception,  it  recognized 
fellowship  by  council.     He  was  persecuted,  as  everybody  was  in 
those  days  who  dared  to  think  for  himself.     His  little  company 
emigrated  in  a  body  to  Middelberg,  in  Zealand.     There  for  a  time 
they  flourished,  and  Browne  published  several  treatises  ably  ex- 
pounding and  defending  his  system.     But  all  his  people  were  mis- 
erably poor  and  most  were  uneducated,  and  they  had  taken  too 
large  a  contract  to  keep  each  other  in  order ;   so  that,  unfit,  at 
once,  to  bear  responsibilities,  to  which  their  preparation  and  cir- 
cumstances were  inadequate,  their  company  before  long  went  to 
pieces — Browne  retreating  to  Scotland,  and  then  to  England.     To 
make  bad  matters  as  much  worse  as  might  be,  he  himself,  under 
the  pressure  and  patronage  of  his  noble  kinsman  Lord  Burghley, 
went   back  to  the  Establishment,  and  took  the  petty  living  of 
Achurch-cum-Thorpe;  so   that  all  which  can  save  his  subsequent 
forty  years  from  censure,  and  rescue  his  earlier  career  from  the 
ignominy  of  presumed    hypocrisy,  or  admitted  apostasy,  is  the 
conviction,  for  which  there  is  much  reasonable  evidence,  that^ 
always  in  poor  health,  he  became  so  diseased  in  mind  as  to  be,  in 
this  latter  portion  of  his  life,  always  on  the  borders  of  insanity^ 
sometimes    passing   over  into    clear    irresponsibility.      There    is 
neither  hypocrisy  nor  disorder  of  reason  about  his  books;  and 
they  with  great  power  set  forth  the  theories  which,  when  he  wrote 
them,  he  surely  sincerely  held.     How  much  influence  they  had 
over  the  minds  of  Barrow  and  Greenwood,  who  came  into  notice  as 
Separatists  a  few  years  after,  it  is  impossible  to  say;    but  they 
adopted  his  system,  so  far  as  the  duty  of  separation  from  the  State 
Church,  the  right  of  forming  local  churches  by  covenant,  and 
kindred  features,  were  concerned.     They  seem,  however,  to  have 


RELIGIOUS  DENOMINATIONS.  239 

reasoned  that  the  collapse  of  the  Middelberg  endeavor  was  due  to 
its  practical  democracy ;  to  avoid  which  it  seemed  to  them  wiser 
to  entrust  the  government  of  the  church  to  a  few  of  its  wisest  and 
most  experienced  members.  Their  system  thus  became  an  amal- 
gamation of  Congregationalism  with  one  feature  of  the  new  Pres- 
byterianism.  It  was  Congregational  in  that  it  advocated  local 
churches,  each  confederated  by  covenant,  with  officers  chosen  by 
itself,  independent  of  earthly  control,  yet  recognizing  obligations 
of  fellowship  to  all  bodies  of  like  faith  and  order ;  it  was  Presby- 
terian in  that  it  would  have  each  of  these  churches  governed  by  a 
session  of  lay  ruling  elders,  which  the  membership  were  first  to 
elect,  and  then  to  obey  in  the  Lord. 

This  was  Barrowism,  which,  by  1592,  had  a  Church,  under 
difficulties,  fully  organized  in  London.  After  the  martyrdom  of 
Barrow,  Greenwood  and  Perry,  that  portion  of  the  Church  largely 
made  its  way  to  Holland,  where  it  remained  for  four  years  without 
its  pastor,  and  for  a  considerable  period  without  the  sacraments ; 
and  not  until  1597  were  all  its  emigrating  officers  and  members  — 
escaping  from  various  jails  and  banishments  —  able  to  commence 
together  its  Amsterdam  life  of  troubles.  Nine  years  after  John 
Smyth  and  his  little  Church  from  Gainsborough-on-Trcnt  settled 
at  their  side ;  and,  two  years  later  still,  came  John  Robinson  and 
his  company  from  Scrooby  — the  next  year  to  remove  to  Leyden. 
There  is  not  here  space  to  describe  how  this  attempt  to  run  a 
Congregational  Church  on  a  Presbyterian  plan  fared  so  ill  that 
neither  the  High-Church  Barrowism  of  Francis' Johnson,  the  Low- 
Church  Barrowism  of  Henry  Ainsworth,  nor  the  Broad-Church 
Barrowism  of  John  Robinson,  proved  equal  to  any  permanently 
satisfactory  solution  of  the  problem  how  a  body,  under  Christ, 
controlled  by  its  members,  can  also  and  especially,  under  Christ, 
be  controlled  by  its  Elders.  Robinson  achieved  practical  com- 
fort under  it  by  having  but  one  Elder;  by  never  filling  the  vacant 
place  after  his  occasions  led  Brewster  across  the  sea;  and  by 
undertaking  no  control  beyond  what  belongs  to  intelligent  moral 
influence. 

A  fragment  of  the  church  which  under  Francis  Johnson  be- 
came the  **  Ancient  English  church  in  Amsterdam,"  appears 
never  to  have  left  London.  There  is  some  evidence  that  it  main- 
tained there  a  secluded  and  precarious  life  for  three-and-twenty 


240  RELIGIOUS  DENOMINATIONS. 

years  or  more  under  one  "Mr.  Lee,'*  until,  after  his  death,  it  joined 
itself  to  a  small  company  organized  in  Southwark  by  Henry  Jacob 
returning  from  Leyden ;  the  two  together  constituting  the  mother 
Congregational  church  of  England.  As  the  ferment  of  the  civil 
war  came  on,  Separatism  made  sudden  expansion ;  until,  under 
favor  of  Cromwell,  it  acquired  force  enough  to  send  two  hundred 
delegates  to  a  Synod,  in  1658,  which  adjusted  the  Westminster 
Confession  to  Congregational  needs  as  the  Savoy  Declaration,  and 
consolidated  a  denomination  of  Christians  in  England,  which,  in 
spite  of  vigorous  and  unrelenting  legal  persecution  and  through 
more  than  two  hundred  years  of  social  ostracism,  has  steadily  and 
solidly  advanced  until  to-day  it  numbers  more  than  4000  churches 
and  exerts,  in  a  thousand  ways,  even  around  the  world,  a  wide  and 
beneficent  influence. 

The  Leyden-Plymouth  company  which  founded  the  "Old 
Colony,'*  was  left  there  for  nearly  ten  years  without  a  pastor  on 
the  ^;round.  This  force  of  circumstance  added  to  the  tone  of 
Mr.  Robinson's  previous  influence,  developed  the  rresbyterian 
clement  out  of  their  theoretical  Barrowism,  until  it  became,  in  prac- 
tice, little  more  than  Brownism  itself  The  Nonconformity  which 
the  Massachusetts  immigrants  brought  over  was  of  the  crudest  de- 
scription—  to  the  extent  even  of  imagining  some  sort  of  connec- 
tion with  the  church  of  I'jigland  still  —  but  matters  soon  changed 
at  home,  and  the  influence  of  the  Plymouth  men  combined  with 
the  inevitable  effect  of  circumstances,  to  consolidate  the  colonizing 
forces  of  New  England  into  essential  Congregationalism.  Cotton, 
Davenport  and  Hooker,  however,  could  not  forget  that  Browne 
had  just  died  the  death  of  a  renegade  in  Northampton  jail.  They 
had  probably  never  seen  any  of  his  books,  which  the  blaze  fed  by 
the  h.angman  had  made  among  the  scarcest  of  all  the  Separatist 
literature;  and  their  language  shows  that  they  gravely  misunder- 
stood his  systc!m,  of  which  it  was  then  the  fashion  to  speak  in  con-  • 
temptuous  disparagement.  So,  led  largely  on  by  too  close  an 
interpretation  of  a  few  i)assages  [like  Rom.  xii:  6-8,  I  Cor.  xii: 
28,  and  I  Tim.  v:  17]  they  established  Barrowism  as  the  type  of 
New  lingland  Congrei;ationalism.  As  such  it  shaped  and  colored 
the  Cambridge  Platform,  and  gave  rise  to  that  enigma  of  Congre- 
gational Ruling  Elders,  which  has  i)uzzled  the  generations  since, 
and  of  which,  at  any  time  for  near  two  hundred  years,  the  angel  of 


RELIGIOUS  DENOMINA I  IONS,  24 1 

truth  might  have  said,  as  the  Revelator  did  to  the  church  in  Sardis : 
"thou  hast  a  name  that  thou  livest,  and  thou  art  dead."  New 
England  never  took  to  it, — never  even  fairly  tried  it.  Not,  after  many 
years  of  vague  unrest,  until  the  days  of  the  great  John  Wise  of 
Ipswich,  and,  two  generations  later,  of  the  acute  Nathaniel  Em- 
mons of  Franklin,  was  that  alien  clement  of  the  polity  thoroughly 
sloughed  off,  and  the  demonstration  made  that  democracy  is  not 
only  a  secure,  but  the  best,  government,  whether  for  church  or 
state.  And  so  —  after  almost  three  centuries — those  votes  which 
the  members  of  Robert  Browne's  little  church  at  Middelberg  indi- 
vidually gave  —  not  as  by  birth  entitled,  but  as  vicegerents  of 
Christ,  American  Congregationalists  now  cast — under  deep  sense 
of  obligation  to  the  Master,  indeed,  and  with  chief  desire  to  please 
him  —  humbly  as  of  their  own  right,  as  intelligent  and  responsible 
members  of  a  spiritual  republic. 

It  would,  no  doubt,  have  been  an  extraordinary  thing  if  the 
early  New  England  Congregationalists  had  not  brought  with  them 
the  ideas  into  which  they  had  been  born,  and  had  not  gone  on,  as 
they  were  bred,  to  ally  church  and  state.  It  would  have  been 
more  extraordinary,  if,  as  the  world  was  advancing,  especially  on 
this  side  of  the  sea,  they  had  not  suffered  for  this.  It  is,  possibly, 
most  extraordinary  that  their  descendants  should  in  all  misunder- 
stand and  theli  misjudge  them,  as  if  they  held,  and  violated,  a 
theory  of  liberty  of  conscience,  and  because  under  singular  diffi- 
culties they  did  not  by  two  hundred  years  outgrow  their  con- 
temporaries. 

Before  the  coming  in  of  the  19th  century.  Congregational 
Churches  scarcely  existed  out  of  New  England.  And  the  first 
generation  of  this  century  had  nearly  passed  before  New  England 
Congregationalists  emigrating  to  newer  parts  of  the  land  became 
aware  that  Presbyterianism  is  not  the  same  thing  under  another 
name,  and  made  serious  inquiry  why  what  had  worked  so  well  in 
the  East  was  not  at  least  worthy  of  being  tried  as  an  experiment 
in  the  West.  That  experiment  has  been  tried  with  the  result  that, 
on  January  last,  there  were,  in  five-and-twenty  States  and  Terri- 
tories west  of  the  Ohio  and  the  Mississippi,  reported  2196  Congre- 
gational Churches,  to  1484  in  New  England  —  to  4170  in  all; 
although  New  England  still  retained  a  small  supremacy  of  mem- 


242  RELIGIOUS  DENOMINA  TIONS. 

bership,  having  214,108  members,  the  other  forty-one  States  and 
Territories  reporting  204,456. 

These  figures,  it  will  of  course  be  understood,  refer  to  those 
^'Orthodox"  Congregationalists,  who,  since  1871,  have  been  con- 
federated in  the  National  Council,  which,  without  authority,  but 
for  purposes  of  fellowship,  mutual  acquaintance  and  cooperation 
in  denominational  work,  by  delegation  from  the  Churches  meets 
once  in  three  years.  As,  in  strictness,  Congregationalism  is 
purely  a  form  of  Church  government.  Churches  of  widely  different 
faiths  may  hold  and  practise  it.  Thus,  111  a  sense,  Baptists,  Uni- 
tarians and  Univcrsalists  are  Congregationalists  —  together  making 
in  this  country  an  aggregate  of  over  30,000  bodies  of  Christian 
believers  who  differ  among  themselves  as  to  various  points  of 
faith,  yet  agree  to  practise  the  democratic  polity  in  distinction 
from  the  aristocracy  of  Prcsbytcrianism,  or  the  more  or  less 
limited  monarchy  of  the  various  forms  of  Episcopacy.  With  the 
exception  that  the  Unitarian  Churches,  which  had  their  genesis  by 
a  separation  from  the  old  Churches  of  New  England  because  of 
the  growth  of  divergent  views  as  to  the  Trinity,  the  nature  of 
Christ,  and  related  doctrines,  often  retain  the  Congregational 
name,  it  is  uniformity  understood,  however,  to  designate  those 
who  retain,  for  substance,  the  faith  of  their  fathers. 

Church  life  stands  upon,  and  Church  work  grows  out  of,  some 
doctrinal  conviction,  and  the  revived  Congregationalism  of  Eng- 
land rested  upon,  and  gained  its  value  to  those  who  professed  it, 
from  its  distinct  and  earnest  dogmatic  character.  It  was  because 
Robert  Browne  could  not  see  a  straight  road  to  Heaven  through 
any  other  polity,  that  his  mind  found  rest  in  this.  All  the  early 
symbols  of  Congregationalism  therefore,  naturally,  with  great 
exactness  set  forth  the  ancient  faith.  The  formal  adoption  by 
English  Congregationalists  of  the  Westminster  Confession,  and  by 
New  Englanders  of  the  Savoy  Declaration,  establishes  the  es- 
sential Calvinism  of  the  Congregational  Churches  of  that  day. 
And,  while  large  liberty  has  obtained  among  Congregationalists 
in  the  interpretation  of  the  ancient  symbols,  every  successive 
utterance — as  of  the  Boston  Council  of  1865,  of  the  Oberlin 
Council  of  1 87 1,  and  of  the  Creed  Commission  of  1883 — h«^ 
substantially  reaffirmed  them  in  distinction  from  their  opposites. 
The  National  Council  incorporated  into  its  organic  law  the  decla- 


RELIGIOUS  DENOMINATIONS.  243 

ration  that  the  Churches  constituting  it  *'  agree  in  belief  that  the 
Holy  Scriptures  are  the  sufficient  and  only  infallible  rule  of 
religious  faith  and  practice ;  their  interpretation  thereof  being  in 
substantial  accordance  with  the  great  doctrines  of  the  Christian 
faith  commonly  called  Evangelical,  held  in  our  Churches  from  the 
early  times,  and  sufficiently  set  forth  by  former  General  Councils." 
So  that  it  may  earnestly  be  doubted  whether  it  be  an  act  of  good 
faith  becoming  holy  things,  for  either  Church  or  minister,  who 
has  ill  any  essential  degree  departed  from  the  Evangelical  faith,  as 
Congregationa.lists  have  been  wont  to  interpret  it,  to  continue  to 
-seek  to  be  called  by  their  distinctive  name. 

It  was  a  chief  reason  why,  down  to  the  time  of  the  Rebellion, 
Congregationalism  advanced  so  slowly,  that  the  South  was  inhos- 
pitable to  it.  Edmund  Burke  said  of  our  New  England  fathers  in 
his  place  in  Parliament,  that  their  "mode  of  professing  religion" 
was  the  **main  cause"  of  their  "fierce  spirit  of  liberty."  A 
Congregational  Church  suggested  to  Thomas  Jefferson  the  idea 
that  itS  **  pure  democracy  would  provide  the  best  plan  of  govern- 
ment for  the  nation."  The  natural  training  which  such  a  Church 
gives  its  members  is  as  much  more  kindly  than  that  of  other 
polities  in  fitting  them  for  good  use  and  work  in  a  democratic 
commonwealth,  as  a  merchant  ship  is  better  than' a  machine-shop 
in  training  sailors  for  service  on  board  of  a  man-of-war.  To  say, 
as  has  again  and  again  been  urged,  that  the  aristocratic  or  mon- 
archic polities  especially  befit  the  American  idea  of  the  State,  is 
to  avow  that  grapes  may  grow  on  thorns,  and  to  promise  figs 
from  thistles. 


244  7///:'  WILD  GLEN  RIVER. 


THE  WILD  GLEN  RIVER. 

By  J.  K.   LUDLUM. 

"  I  don't  care,  auntie,  I'll  not  go !  " 

**  Why  not.  Pen  ?  " 

**  Because  I've  another  engagement.  Norman  Leslie  can  wait 
until  to-morrow  if  he  wishes  me  to  drive  with  him ;  if  not,  he  can 
get  some  one  else.  I  think  poor  old  Dinah  needs  her  rheumatism 
medicine  far  more  than  Mr.  Leslie  needs  this  pleasure-drive." 

**  But,  child," — Mrs.  Hunter  said,  impatiently,  **  Dinah  can  ga 
without  her  medicine  for  one  day,  or  one  of  the  servants  can 
carry  it  to  her  if  it  must  go,  rather  than  for  you  to  offend  this  rich 
Mr.  Leslie.  Why,  Penelope  Grey,  he  has  more  gold  than  you 
ever  thought  of  possessing,  and  you  know  you  can  have  it  for  the 
taking !  " 

"But  there's  an  incumbrance  goes  with  it,  auntie;  you  forget 
that?" 

**  What  incumbrance?"  demands  Mrs.  Hunter,  sharply. 

*'  Why,  the  man  himself,  of  course  !  "  answered  Pen,  laughing, 
though  her  checks  were  red  as  roses.  "  Besides  he  hasn't  yet 
asked  me,  auntie !  " 

"  But  he  would  if  you'd  only  give  him  the  chance,  child ;  you 
know  that ;  and  this  drive  will  be  such  a  splendid  opportunity  !  " 

"It  won't,"  retorted  Pen,  decidedly, — "that  is,  not  to-day^ 
auntie.    Dinah  needs  her  medicine  and  she  shall  have  it  I  " 

**  But  one  of  the  servants  can  take  it  just  as  well.  Pen." 

"  No,  she  couldn't,  auntie,  for  Dinah  always  likes  to  have  me 
read  to  her  and  talk  to  her  of  mother,  and  would  be  disappointed 
if  I  didn't  go,  although  she'd  never  say  so.  She  was  so  faithful 
to  mother  always,  auntie,  why,"  —  and  the  girl  laughed  softly  again 
— "  I  wouldn't  disappoint  aunt  Dinah  for  any  fine  cavalier  in  the 
whole  wide  world!  If  it  hadn't  been  for  the  terrible  rain  we've 
had  for  the  last  three  days,  and  the  breaking  up  of  the  ice  and 
snow,  I  would  have  gone  long  ago.  So,  when  Mr.  Norman  Leslie 
calls,  you  may  tell  him  to  come  again  or  anything  you  choose^ 
except  that  I  am  anxious  to  have  his  money !  " 


THE  WILD  GLEN  RIVER.  245 

**  Then,  if  you  are  bound  to  go,  you  must  take  the  carriage. 
Pen.  It  isn't  fit  for  you  to  walk.  You'll  be  sure  to  go  over  the 
bridge,  and  it  isn't  at  all  safe." 

**  Not  a  bit  of  it !  "  Penelope  called  back  gaily,  as  she  ran  up 
stairs  to  prepare  for  her  trip.  **  I  wouldn't  be  hired  to  ride  to  day,, 
auntie.  A  walk  will  do  me  good  after  these  stupid  dzys  rain- 
bound  in  the  house  !  " 

The  afternoon  was  beautiful  overhead  as  Pen  sallied  forth,  but 
the  rain  and  thaw  made  walking  unpleasant,  and  the  girl  had  ta 
pick  her  way  carefully  along  the  dripping  paths  across  the  mead- 
ows, smiling  to  herself  as  she  thought  over  the  past  conversation 
in  regard  to  Mr.  Leslie,  '*the  catch"  in  Parkhurst  village,  who  had 
devoted  himself  to  her  since  first  she  came  to  spend  the  winter 
with  her  mother's  sister. 

As  she  walked  down  between  the  hills  her  ears  were  filled  with 
the  roar  of  wat<:rs  where  paths  were  brooks,  tiny  brooks  were  little 
rivers,  and  cataracts  dashed,  foaming,  over  the  rocks  and  fallen 
trees.  Crossing  Glen  River  bridge,  she  paused  and  looked  up 
toward  the  western  hills,  laughing  aloud  in  a  gleeful  way  to  see 
the  waters  dashing  down  and  sweeping  away  under  her  feet  with 
a  sullen  roar  that  boded  ill  had  she  but  known  it. 

Unconscious,  however,  of  any  danger,  she  went  on  her  way  to- 
wards the  tiny  brown  house  where  Dinah  lived  alone  with  her  cat 
and  rheumatism,  her  form  bent  with  age  and  pain,  though  her  dark 
face  held  a  gleam  of  light  in  it.  As  Penelope  entered  she  actually 
beamed  upon  her  till  the  girl  felt  she  had  been  blest,  she  scarcely 
knew  how. 

*'  Bress  yo'  fo'  comin'  honey?  "  the  old  woman  said  in  a  tremb- 
ling voice,  as  Pen  went  up  to  the  fire  where  she  sat  rocking  to  and 
fro,  her  cat  on  her  knee.  "  A  sight  ob  yo'  bright  face  is  better'n 
a  heap  o'  med'cine !  Whar  'd  yo'  git  all  dose  roses  in  yo' 
cheeks,  chile?" 

Pen  laughed. 

"  Oh,  aunt  Dinah,  how  the  river  does  wash  and  roar !  I  believe 
there  are  water-nymphs  up  in  the  hills,  they  are  so  full  of  gurg- 
ling, silvery  laughter  and  shouts  and  mumurs !  And  how  it 
rushes  under  the  bridge  like  an  avalanche  foaming  and  whirling,- 
as  though  driven  by  a  legion  of  Dante's  demons  !  " 

"Yo*   didn't  cross   de    bridge,    honey?"    gasped    Dinah,   her 


246  THE  WILD  GLEN  RIVER. 

wrinkled  face  whitening  with  terror.  "Why,  chile,  *twant  long  *go 
dat  de  old  one  was  swcp'  away !  Yo'  mustn't  go  back  dat  way. 
Miss  Pen, — promise  ole  auntie  yo*  won't!  '* 

"  I'm  not  afraid ! "  said  the  girl,  cheerily.  "Where's  your  Bible 
auntie.     Shan't  I  read  to  you  a  while?" 

To  which  the  old  woman  answered : 

**  Brcss  yo'  bright  face,  chile !  But  you  mustn't  go  ober  dc 
bridge  *gain ! " 

The  sun  sank  low  down  among  the  hills  ere  Penelope  left  the 
old  woman,  smiling  peacefully  over  the  words  to  which  she  had 
listened,  and  started  out  for  home. 

"  Lor'  bress  yo'  chile,  for  de  comfort  yo'  ob  giv'  dis  ole  nigger  I 
But,  pray,  Mis'  Pcnl'pe,  don'  go  ober  de  Glen  Bridge ! " 

"Why,"  Pen  answered,  gaily;  "don't  worry  about  me,  aunt 
Dinah !     The  bridge  is  safe  enough,  you  know !     Good-bye,  111 


come  again  soon." 


And  she  was  gone  before  Dinah  could  offer  further  objections. 

"  Of  course  it's  safe  enough  !  "  said  Pen  to  herself,  as  she  sprang 
lightly  from  rock  to  rock  on  her  way  down  the  hillside.  "  Still  it 
docs  make  an  awful  time  about  it?"  and  her  laughter  rang  out 
clear  as  silver  bells  on  the  cool  air.  Then  she  burst  out  in  a  stray 
bit  of  song,  her  heart  glad  and  free  from  fear,  just  for  all  the  world 
like  a  little  brown  song-sparrow, —  the  words  of  her  song  floating 
away  on  the  winds,  to  mingle  witli  the  mad  roaring  of  the  river, 

"  All  dawn  the  loose-wcllcd  lanes  in  arc/tin*  breezes^ 
The  barbery  droops  ils  slrittgs  of  golden  Jlo-xerSy 
Whose  shrinlin*  hearts  the  school  gals  love  to  try 
With  pins ^ — they  II  ivorry  yours  io^  boys^  bime-by!** 

But  as  she  turned  a  sharp  ledge  and  came  suddenly  out  on  the 
overflowed  banks  of  the  river,  her  blithe  song  died  away  and  she 
paused  a  moment  to  consider  the  situation. 

Should,  or  should  she  not,  cross  the  bridge?  If  she  did  not 
slic  in-wist  retrace  her  steps  to  the  road,  The  sun  was  setting;  it 
would  be  dark  before  she  reached  home  if  she  went  back.  No» 
slie  would  keep  on.  Tlie  bridge  must  be  safe  enough,  even  tliough 
tlic  foam-tipped  waves,  black  as  night,  surged  up  and  over  it 

She  had  taken  off  her  hat  and  it  hung  by  its  broad  ribboris  on 
her  arm ;  the  winds  had  tossed  and  tumbled  her  hair  till  the  heavy 


THE  WILD  GLEN  RIVER.  247 

coil  loosened  and  fell  in  a  mass  of  wavy  gold  down  to  her  waist» 
while  the  roses  still  hid  in  her  cheeks. 

Half  way  across  the  bridge  she  stopped  to  watch  the  rushing 
rivers.  How  the  waters  roared !  How  cold  as  death  were  the 
black  waves  that  swept  under  her  feet !  How  the  heavy  bridge 
swayed  and  trembled  and  cracked !  Tliere  I  One  plank  had 
gone  !  Suppose  the  one  she  was  on  should  give  way !  She  had 
not  thought  of  that.  Some  way  she  had  an  idea  if  the  bridge 
went  at  all,  it  would  go  at  once  in  a  mass.  What  if,  after  all,  it 
proved  too  weak  to  resist  the  mad  rush  of  waters. 

The  whirling  waves  were  like  a  horrible,  yawning  grave — ^black, 
resistless — with  only  the  swaying  bridge  between.  She  must 
hurry  and  get  off  as  soon  as  possible.  What  would  Dinah  say  if 
she  knew?  What  would  aunt  Mary  say?  That  she  should  not 
have  gone,  of  course.  And  Norman  Leslie — Did  he  call  for  her, 
and  was  he  vexed  that  she  was  gone?  After  all,  did  he  really  care 
for  her  as  aunt  Mary  said? 

With  a  faint  smile  she  turned  to  cross,  but  a  great  dizziness 
swept  over  her,  and  she  caught  at  the  railing  for  support. 

How  the  bridge  swayed  and  groaned?  How  the  black  waters 
surged  around  her?  The  hills  were  filled  with  voices,  with  shouts 
and  wild  laughter  and  wailing!  She  grew  white  as  death.  Was 
she  losing  her  senses,  she  wondered, — ^was  she  going  mad?  Were 
there  mermaids  up  there  in  the  rocky  caverns  mingling  their  elfin 
laughter  with  the  wailing  of  their  victims?  How  the  winds  caught 
up  the  sounds  and  tossed  them  to  and  fro  among  the  rocks  and 
leaping  waters ! 

The  rays  of  the  setting  sun  struck  through  the  swaying  mist 
among  the  hills,  touching  the  mad  river  waves  to  greenish  foam, 
lighting  up  the  fair,  sweet  face  of  the  girl  on  the  swaying  bridge — 
falling  across  her  warm  golden  hair  and  casting  deep  gleams  of 
red  through  it, —  while  the  long  silken  lashes  shadowing  her  soft 
brown  eyes  were  like  fringes  of  gold. 

Suddenly,  above  the  tumult  and  roar,  she  caught  the  shout — 

"  Be  quick,  for  your  life  1      T/ie  bridge  is  going  /  " 

Instinctively  she  tried  to  obey,  her  ears  ringing  with  the  wild 
echoes  among  the  hills,  a  terrible  blackness  before  her  eyes,  a  feel- 
ing as  though  the  waters  of  death  were  dashing  over  her  feet;  and 


248  THE  WILD  GLEN  RIVER. 

staggering  back  she  clung  to  the  iron  pillars  nearest  her  with  a 
last  desperate  effort. 

The  tumult  increased.  Down  from  the  hills,  around  the  bend^ 
came  a  great  wall  of  waters  sweeping  toward  the  bridge  with  a 
roar  that  was  deafening. 

At  the  same  instant  swift  horsehoofs  thundered  along  the 
bridge,  and  the  fainting,  terrified  girl  was  caught  up  in  strong, 
manly  arms  and  borne  beyond  danger. 

There  was  a  rush  and  roar,  a  crash  and  rumble  as  of  thunder,, 
and  a  whirling,  seething  mass  of  twisted  and  broken  iron  and  steel 
and  timber  swept  down  the  triumphant  river. 

Penelope,  grown  brave  again  as  soon  as  she  felt  the  strong  arms 
about  her,  looked  up  into  her  preserver's  face  with  misty  eyes  and 
trembling,  pallid  lips. 

**  Mr.  Leslie,"  she  said,  so  low  and  soft  he  had  to  bend  his  head 
to  her,  "  how  did  you  know — " 

"Your  aunt  told  me  you  came  this  way,"  he  answered,  drawing 
her  closer  to  him,  his  face  strangely  grave  and  noble  in  the  fading 
light ;  **  and  I  knew  it  was  not  safe,  so  I  left  my  horses  at  Mrs. 
Hunter's  gate  and  took  the  best  saddle  horse  they  had  in  the 
stable.  Pen,  you  would  not  givi  me  the  opportunity  I  sought,  so 
I  take  it  whether  or  no.  Will  you  let  me — ^will  you  give  me  the 
right  to  hold  you — so — all  our  lives,  dear  little  Pen?" 

What  she  answered  does  not  matter  to  any  one  but  themselves^ 
and  the  river,  shouting  its  jubilate,  had  never  a  moment  to  listen; 
but  the  dying  glow  of  the  sunset  deepened  the  wild  roses  in  the 
cheeks  of  Penelope  Grey  as  she  answered  Norman  Leslie  down 
by  the  wild  Glen  River. 


TRANSCENDENTALISM  OF  THE  AGES.         249 


ISMS. 

IIL— TRANSCENDENTALISM  OF  THE  AOBS. 
By  rev.  WM.  I.  GILL,  A.  M. 

Much,  but  far  too  little,  have  we  heard  of  the  Transcendentalism 
of  New  England.  It  has  been  viewed  all  too  narrowly,  as  if  it 
were  but  a  very  slim  shaft  of  trap-rock  shot  up  from  the  abyss, 
instead  of  being  considered,  as  it  is,  in  fact,  only  a  slight  upward 
curve  in  the  great  back-bone  of  all  human  thought  and  life.  It  has 
been  traced  back  to  Kant  as  its  supposed  source  and  anterior  end. 
But  on  this  matter  Kant  had  nothing  new  but  the  name  and  a 
peculiar  method  of  exposition.  At  the  best,  he  was  but  a  branch 
on  the  trunk  of  the  world's  intellectual  life. 

The  Kantian  form  of  transcendentalism  was  the  result  of  an 
•effort  to  rebut  the  skepticism  of  Hume;  who,  he  tells  us,  "  broke 
the  dogmatic  slumbers"  in  which  he  was  indulging.  Hume  had 
shown  that  the  logical  consequence  of  the  philosophical  specula- 
tions of  Descartes,  Locke  and  Berkeley  is,  that  we  know  nothing 
but  **  impressions  and  ideas."  The  justice  of  this  conclusion  Kant 
could  not  deny ;  nor  could  he  deny  that  it  is  strictly  true ;  and  he 
-was  obliged  to  acquiesce  in  the  modern  doctrine  that  man  knows 
nothing  beyond  the  phenomena  of  feeling  and  thought  and  pur- 
pose. Man  is  thus  shut  up  to  himself  as  the  subject  of  these 
experiences,  which  he  can  never  transcend  by  direct  speculative 
cognition. 

What  then  ?  Shall  we  throw  philosophy  overboard  as  an  ulti- 
mate intellectual  satisfaction,  and  then  be  content  with  a  pure 
empiricism  based  on  sensible  experience,  like  Hume?  Kant 
answered  in  the  affirmative  to  the  first  part  of  the  question,  but  not 
the  latter  part.  He  confessed  with  Hume  that  a  perfect  and  ulti- 
mate speculative  philosophy  is  impossible;  but  otherwise,  in  spite 
of  this,  by  a  peculiar  method  he  reached  a  far  nobler  conclusion 
than  that  of  Hume — not  an  earth-born  empiricism,  but  a  celestial 
transcendentalism.  By  a  moral  stair-case  abutting  on  conscience 
he  mounts  as  on  wings  to  the  skies  and  to  God. 


250         TRANSCENDENTALISM  OF  THE  AGES. 

rt  IS  true,  he  said,  the  universe  is  only  our  own  complex  sub- 
jective state,  the  sensible  modus  of  our  own  mind,  so  that  directly 
we  know  nothing  but  impressions  and  ideas;  but  then  that  is  all 
we  need  to  know.  That  knowledge  involves  regjulative  principles 
or  psychological  laws,  which  carry  with  them  a  self-elucidating 
light.  We  thence  see  that  the  human  mind  is  constructed  on  a 
rational  plan  and  that  its  limitations  result  from  the  action  of  laws 
which  are  the  manifest  expression  of  intelligence.  These  laws 
serve  to  regulate  all  our  sensible  action  and  life.  Hence  in  this 
system  they  are  termed  regulative  ideas,  or  laws,  or  principles. 
These  are  all  that  is  necessary  for  the  due  action  of  the  sense  life,, 
and  for  this  they  are  effective. 

Even  here  we  are  avast  distance  above  the  empiricism  of  Hume. 
We  are  in  a  world  of  psychological  law,  the  necessity  of  which  we 
can,  a  priori,  understand. 

But  right  in  the  midst  of  this  a-priori-sense-universe  we  find 
the  soul  and  creative  spirit  of  another  universe  which  is  still  in- 
finitely grander  —  the  moral  and  religious  universe.  This  is  found 
to  consist  in  the  moral  intuition,  or  as  Rant  calls  it,  the  pra':tical 
reason.  As  the  regulative  laws  of  space  and  time  govern  all  our 
mundane  life,  so  conscience  or  practical  reason  overtops  all  times 
and  spaces,  and  governs  all  life  absolutely  in  the  interests  of  right 
and  duty,  and  goodness  and  love,  which  the  moral  intuition  pro- 
nounces to  be  the  supreme  quality  and  supreme  end. 

As  the  speculative  or  pure  reason  in  the  regulative  laws  of  our 
mundane  system  points  to  a  rational  force,  transcending  these 
laws,  whence  they  spring  and  which  they  represent,  we  have 
hence  a  speculative  transcendentalism.  So  also  here,  the  practical 
reason  finds  not  its  end  and  adequate  scope  in  this  form  of  life, 
and  it  therefore  points  to  a  power  and  a  sphere  which  are  perfect 
and  infinite.  Thus  all  the  real  scope  and  force  and  end,  or  issue 
of  this  life  are  transcendental  to  this  life.  A  world  of  involuntary 
subjective  states,  generated  by  the  action  of  these  subjective  regu- 
lative laws,  furnishes  a  sphere  for  all  practical  action  in  the  ex- 
pression and  development  of  all  the  moral  and  spiritual  life,  and 
of  all  other  powers  which  are  subsidiary  thereto,  and  thence  for 
the  attainment  of  highest  transcendental  ends. 

This  transcendental  moral  issue  is  precisely  the  essential  quality 
of  all  lofty  religious  thought  and  feeling  in  all  ages  and  countries.. 


TRANSCENDENTALISM  OF  THE  AGES.         251 

The  difference  is  only  in  a  part  of  the  route  by  which  the  goal  has 
been  reached.  Most  other  great  souls  have  reached  it  without 
going  through  the  submarine  tunnel  of  idealism,  and  without 
elaborating  Kant's  ponderous  scheme  of  a-priori  exposition  and 
proof.  Their  practical  reason  has  been  shot  through  with  the 
light  which  comes  from  the  eternal  and  central  sun  of  the  uni- 
verse. They  have  ascended  to  their  lofty  position  by  no  circling 
back  stairs  of  questionable  a-priori  logic.  Spontaneously  and 
inevitably,  they  have  risen  by  the  law  of  a  celestial  attraction,  and 
become  the  eternal  satellites  of  the  infinite.  They  may  have  been 
vulgar  dualists  in  philosophy,  but  they  were  none  the  less  exalted 
as  moral  and  spiritual  transccndcntalists.  Thus  Gautama  and 
Confucius  were  here  quite  as  transcendental  as  Kant  or  Emer- 
son ;  and  in  this  spirit  Jesus  constantly  appealed  to  the  highest 
form  of  thought  and  moral  incentive,  transcending  all  mortal 
motives  and  interests.  He  exclaims  with  vehemence,  "Why  do 
ye  not  even  of  yourselves  judge  what  is  Right?"  Paul  also  said 
that  he  *' commended  the  truth  to  every  man's  conscience  in  the 
sight  of  God."  Here  is  the  direct  recognition  of  the  supremacy 
and  transcendentalism  of  the  practical  reason.  This  is  the  trend 
of  all  serious  and  deep  thinking,  the  goal  of  all  earnest  and  honest 
practical  purpose,  and  the  day-star  of  all  man's  noblest  hope. 

In  Jacobi  we  see  this  in  close  connection  with  the  special  think- 
ing of  Kant.  With  this  thinking  Jacobi  was  deeply  imbued ;  and 
yet  he  cared  little  for  its  speculative  clement  and  form,  which,  to 
his  mind,  obscured  the  practical ;  and  so,  rather  as  an  opponent 
of  Kant,  he  pleaded  and  advocated  with  eloquence  and  spiritual 
feeling  for  the  practical  transcendentalism  which  was  the  chief 
outcome  and  final  object  of  all  Kant's  labors.  Jacobi's  faith  was 
spiritual  intuition,  and  nothing  else  than  Kant's  practical  reason. 
In  Fichte  we  see  a  stronger  and  sterner  intellect  than  Jacobi's 
and  a  spirit  of  far  greater  fervor  working  for  the  same  end  till 
speedily  self-consumed,  while  he  is  still  more  thorough  than 
Kant  himself  in  the  doctrine  that  we  directly  know  only  our  own 
subjective  states. 

While  others  than  speculative  idealists  have  lived  in  this  lofty 
region,  it  cannot  be  intelligently  questioned  that  idealism,  well 
conceived,  does  elevate  the  mind,  does  most  profoundly  impress 
"the    categorical  imperative, "  does  bring   into  bolder  relief   the 


2 52        TRANSCENDENTALISM  OF  THE  AGES. 

grand  realities  of  the  moral  and  spiritual  universe  as  the  only 
proper  and  ultimate  reality.  This,  if  not  suffused  with  an  element 
of  common  sense,  may  result  in  fantastic  courses  and  schemes 
like  the  whilom  "  Brook  Farm  "  of  New  England  transcendenal- 
ism;  but,  even  then,  it  is  far  better  and  wiser  than  dualistic 
transcendentalism  as  seen  in  Fourier  and  Owen  and  others. 

We  are  thus  led  to  see  that  all  the  advanced  practical  life  and 
thought  of  the  world  is  transcendentalism  in  one  form  or  another. 
It  transcends  the  average  ideas  and  aims  of  mankind.  It  tran- 
scends, in  its  ultimate  motive  and  object  the  low-born  enjoyments 
with  which  they  are  disposed  to  be  satisfied.  It  impresses  moral 
and  spiritual  ideas  as  intrinsically  regnant  and  as  of  limitless 
authority  and  as  despising  all  the  bounds  of  spaces  and  times. 
It  thus  lives  in  a  transcendental  world  as  its  native  sphere  and 
home.     It  ever  sings : 

Before  the  starry  threshold  of  Jove's  court 
My  mansion  is,  where  those  immortal  shapes 
Of  bright  aerial  spirits  are  insphered 
In  regions  mild,  of  calm  and  serene  air 
Above  the  smoke  and  stir  of  this  dim  spot. 
Which  men  call  Earth. 

Idealism,  or  transcendentalism,  is  of  two  kinds,  the  speculative 
and  the  practical.  That  of  Kant  was  both,  but  the  speculative 
was  far  the  most  conspicuous.  That  of  Emerson  and  his  New 
England  confreres  made  the  practical  supremely  paramount.  In 
him  the  speculative  idealism  was  quite  well  developed,  while  in 
Geo.  VVm.  Curtis,  Nathaniel  Hawthorne  and  the  rest  of  the  brother- 
hood, it  was  only  very  inchoative.  They  were  in  the  main 
dualists  of  the  modern"  phase,  or,  if  monists,  their  monism  was  of 
a  very  undefined  character.  On  the  whole,  it  was  the  transcen- 
dentalism of  the  practical  reason  which  formed  their  governing 
and  characteristic  clement.  It  is  thus  that  they  are  seen  to  be 
essentially  one  with  the  superior  souls  of  all  ages  who  have 
developed  well  and  followed  faithfully  their  highest  spiritual  light; 
while  they  enjoy  at  the  same  time  the  distinction  of  constituting 
a  peculiarly  lofty  intellectual  type,  more  or  less  inspired  and 
molded  by  the  speculative  transcendentalism  of  Kant. 


OLD  TIME  EPITAPHS.  253 


OLD   TIME   EPITAPHS. 
By  CLARA   SPALDING  BROWN. 

During  a  visit  to  the  good  old  New  England  States  in  a  recent 
summer,  I  became  interested  in  the  "grave-yard  literature"  of  the 
-quiet  country  towns;  those  staid  and  eminently  respectable 
villages  which  have  pursued  the  even  tenor  of  their  ways  with 
little  change  in  some  respects  since  the  pioneer  days  that  now 
belong  to  "Auld  Lang  Syne."  Fresh  from  the  bustling,  progres- 
sive West,  it  almost  seemed  to  me  that  these  communities  had 
been  indulging  in  a  Rip  Van  Winkle  slumber;  yet  now  and  then 
something  of  a  modern  nature  would  manifest  itself,  side  by  side 
with  relics  of  a  by-gone  age,  reminding  the  observer  that  although 
the  old  traditions  and  customs  were  not  altogether  discarded,  the 
fashionable  encroachments  of  this  presumably  enlightened  period 
were  gradually  gaining  a  foothold. 

Perhaps  the  change  in  popular  taste  and  education  was  nowhere 
more  conspicuous  than  in  the  burial  places  of  the  dead.  To  me, 
at  least,  it  appeared  very  significant.  We  no  longer  select  the 
most  desolate  spot  in  all  the  country  side  in  which  to  lay  the 
bodies  of  our  departed  friends ;  nor  do  we,  as  a  rule,  leave  these 
sacred  enclosures  in  a  state  of  perpetual  neglect.  Our  "  Mt. 
Hopes"  and  "Evergreens"  are  a  delight  to  the  eye  and  a  solace 
to  the  heart.  The  surroundings  harmonize  with  the  tender  mem- 
ories of  our  cherished  dead ;  we  leave  their  mortal  part  resignedly 
among  the  beautiful  flowers  and  trailing  vines,  the  thick  foliage, 
and  sparkling  waters,  which  combine  to  dispel  the  grewsomeness 
of  the  last  sleep  ordained  for  all  humanity. 

This  advance  in  refinement,  and  triumph  over  superstition,  is 
evident  also  in  the  character  of  the  stones  and  their  inscriptions 
now  in  vogue.  With  the  exception  of  an  occasional  showy  monu- 
ment, chasteness  of  design,  faith  in  a  loving  Creator,  and  an  ab- 
sence of  ostentation,  are  the  noticeable  characteristics  of  tomb- 
stones now-a-days.  Indeed,  to  such  an  extent  is  the  penchant  for 
simplicity  carried  that  a  century  hence  those  who  walk  amid  the 
graves  of  the  present  generation  will  find  little  to  attract  attention 


254  01.D  TIME  EPITAPHS. 

in  the  plain  white  stones  of  small  size  but  artistic  design  upoi> 
which  will  be  seen  only  the  simple  word  "  Mother, "  "  Hus- 
band,""  Mary, "  or  "John," — but  how  fraught  with  meaning! 
But  an  hundred  years  ago  an  epitaph  was  the  almost  unfailing 
accessory  of  a  tombstone,  however  humble,  and  its  perusal  at  the 
present  time  gives  some  insight  into  the  religious  beliefs  oftliat 
bygone  people. 

The  following  inscriptions  were  jotted  down  while  loitering  in 
the  mid-summer  sunshine  among  the  matted  grass  and  tangle  of 
briars  that  almost  concealed  rows  of  unadorned  graves  that  never 
knew  fostering  care.  The  slabs  of  slate  that  marked  them  were  in 
many  cases  so  covered  with  a  clinging  moss  that  nothing  could  be 
deciphered,  others  lay  prostrate  upon  the  ground,  and  others 
were  broken  and  disfigured  beyond  reparation.  Nothing  but  the 
awful  fact  of  death  was  present,  and  the  nature  of  many  of  the 
epitaphs  was  calculated  to  inspire  terror  among  the  living,  if  not 
reverence  for  the  occupants  of  the  graves  in  question,  who  though 
dead,  yet  speak.     For  instance,  this  under  date  of  1805  : 

Sur\'iving  friends,  behold  in  me 

The  emblem  cf  vour  vanity, 

Mj*  bed  it  is  a  lonesome  fjrave 

And  you  sucli  dwelling  place  will  have. 

And  this,  over  tlie  grave  of  an  eleven-year-old  girl,  who  died  in 
1804: 

Ye  thoughtless  youths,  come  view  the  grave 
Where  you  must  shortly  lay: 
Your  ruby  lips  and  active  limbs 
Must  mingle  with  my  clay. 

The  next,  bearing  date  of  181 3,  appears  to  have  been  a  favor- 
ite composition  of  more  than  local  fame,  as  I  found  it,  with  slight 
variations,  on  a  number  of  stones  in  each  yard  visited : 

Behold,  my  friend,  as  you  pass  by. 
As  vou  are  now,  so  once  \vas  I; 
As  I  am  now  so  vou  must  be, — 
Prepare  for  death  and  follow  me. 

To  this  rather  self-complacent  verse  was  added  in  some 
instances  another: 


OLD  TIME  EPITAPHS.  255 

Wliilc  I  was  musing  on  my  end, 
In  health,  I  told  it  to  a  friend;— 
Lay  here  my  bones,  their  last  abode. 
To  wait  the  order  of  tlieir  God. 

The  above  was  found  on  five  or  six  stones  in  a  row  at  one 
place. 

One  stone  of  1796  pertinently  declares: 

Tlio,  not  till  ninety  some  retire, 
Yet  monuments  around  declare 
How  vast  the  number  who  expire. 

It  will  be  observed  that  whereas  the  occasional  epitaphs  of  the 
present  day  arc  invariably  in  the  third  person  —  eulogistic 
of  the  departed  one's  traits  of  character,  or  expressing  confidence 
in  a  blissful  eternity  for  the  same  —  the  old-time  inscriptions  are 
veritable  voices  from  the  tombs,  and  often  savor  strongly  of  a 
self-satisfaction  which  ill  comports  with  the  humility  of  true 
Christianity.  Doubtless  most  of  them  are  written  by  friends  of 
the  deceased,  but  the  effect  of  personality  is  produced. 

Here  is  one  of  1S16: 

My  friends,  farewell,  for  I  shall  dwell 

In  scenes  of  living  bliss; 
Then  I  shall  sec  as  I  am  seen 

And  dwell  where  Jesus  is. 

O,  will  you  rend  and  not  take  heed, 

But  on  your  way  pursue, 
My  God  dolli  know  jour  thoughts  also. 

And  has  a  place  for  you. 

And  the  following  bespeaks  unwavering  confidence  in  the  life 
beyond  the  gates : 

FarcAvcll,  my  dear  Brethren,  my  Lord  bids  me  come. 
Farewell,  my  Sisters,  I  am  now  going  home; 
Bright  angels  are  whispering  so  sweet  in  my  ear, 
Away  to  my  Saviour  my  spirit  to  bear. 

Less  blissful,  but  in  a  spirit  of  resignation,  is  tlie  following^ 
framed  in  1 800 : 

Great  God,  I  own  my  sentence  just 

Ti)at  yields  v^y  body  to  the  dust. 
Yet  by  grace  I  hope  to  rise, 

And  dwell  vvith  Christ  above  the  skies. 


:2$6  OLD  TIME  EPITAPHS. 

Some  conjectures  regarding  that  mysterious  property  of  man^ 
the  soul  are  betokened  by  this  of  1801 : 

Swifl  flies  the  soul,  perhaps  'tis  gone 

A  thousand  leagues  beyond  the  sun, 
Or  twice  ten  thousand  more  twice  told 

Ere  the  forsaken  day  is  cold. 

In  1 76 1  some  worthy  body  left  this  testimonial: 

Dear  friends,  for  me  pray  do  not  weep, 
I  am  not  dead  but  here  do  sleep. 
Within  this  Solid  lump  of  clay 
Until  the  Resurrection  day, 
And  here  Inded  I  must  Remain 
Till  Christ  shall  Rais  me  up  again. 

A  man  killed  by  a  falling  tree,  in  1 798,  left  a  warning,  as 
follows : 

Watch  ye  that  live,  for  you  don't  know. 

How  near  you  are  to  death. 
Or  what  may  give  the  fatal  blow  ' 

To  stop  your  fleeting  breath. 

Another  victim  of  accidental  death  says, 

That  sovereign  God  who  set  my  bounds. 

Saw  fit  to  take  my  breath, 
Be  ready,  then,  each  hour  you  live 

To  meet  an  instant  death. 

A  good  rule  for  us  all  to  live  by,  if  it  can  be  done  without 
unduly  marring  the  inno/:ent  pleasures  of  everyday  existence 
through  a  morbid  sense  of  the  uncertainty  and  unimportance  of 
earthly  life. 

Here  is  a  literary  curiosity  of  1760: 

Shoon  as  the  silver  cord  was  loosed 

The  Golden  bool  did  break. 

This  youth  he  in  the  grave  must  sleep 

Till  Christ  shall  him  a-wake. 

The  Glorious  Sound  shall  rend  the  Sky, 

And  pears  the  darktom  Cave, 

This  youth  he  then  shall  hear  the  sound 

And  leave  tlie  rotting  grave. 

A  sublime  indifference  to  grammar  is  herein  displayed,  date  of 
1 801 : 

No  more,  my  friends,  don't  weep  for  me, 
Fm  gone  into  eternity! 
The  Avay  to  death  you  all  must  tread 
And  sleep  with  me  among  tlie  dead. 


OLD  TIM^  EPITAPHS,  257 

This  is  another  inscription  that  has  many  duplicates  in  Nevir 
England  church-yards : 

Friends  and  physicians  could  not  save 

My  mortal  body  from  the  grave, 
Nor  can  yc  grave  confine  me  here 

When  Christ  shall  call  me  to  appear. 

The  oldest  one  in  my  collection  chronicles  a  death  in  1755.  At 
the  top  of  the  large  black  slab  was  the  hideous  skull  and  cross- 
bones  with  which  many  of  the  stones  were  bedecked,  surmounted 
by  the  words,  "  Memento  Mori."  Down  the  sides  was  arranged 
as  follows,  the  axiom : 

From  Age 

Death's  U 

arrest  Free 

In  the  centre  was  the  name,  age,  etc.,  of  the  deceased,  in 
script. 

The  same  burial-ground  —  in  a  "banner"  New  Hampshire 
town  —  contains  a  stone  of  which  I  heard  much  comment.     It 

"  Commemorates  the  memory  of  Mrs.  Joanna  Farley.  She 
was  a  woman  eminent  for  industry,  usefulness  and  piety.  Having 
lived  80  years  and  having  been  the  natural  parent  of  200  off- 
spring.    She  died  20th  Aug.,  1797." 

Below  is  this : 

Stay,  Passenger,  though  dead  I  speak, 

You  know  the  word  conveyed 
A  thousand  calls  like  this  youVe  heard, 

But  have  you  one  obcy'd  ? 

In  the  town  above  mentioned  there  lived  a  quaint  character 
named  Doctor  Jones,  whose  droll  sayings  are  still  repeated  by  the 
old  residents.  His  once  fine  mind  had  become  what  the  country 
people  called  "  cracked,"  and  his  memory  is  perpetuated  in  the 
old  burying  ground  back  of  the  church  by  this  aspiring  flight 
into  the  realms  of  poesy : 

In  youth  he  was  a  scholar  bright 
In  learning  he  took  great  delight, 
He  was  a  major's  only  son, 
It  was  for  love  he  was  undone. 

Close  by  is  the  following  ambiguous  stanza: 


258  OLD  TIME  EPITAPHS. 

Benjamin  Parker,  near  cightj-three* 
Respectable  j'ou  once  did  see, 
His  grandson  now  lies  over  him. 
We  all  must  feel  the  cfTcct  of  sin. 

As  late  as  1820  this  flowery  production  was  placed  above  tlic 
grave  of  a  girl  of  seventeen : 

In  faith  she  died,  in  dust  she  lies. 
But  faith  forsces  that  dust  shall  rise. 
When  Jesus  calls,  while  Hope  assumes 
And  boasts  her  joy  among  the  tombs* 

The  following  is  a  tribute  to  a  young  lady  who  departed  this 
life  in  182 1: 

Could  j'outh  evade  dcth*s  secret  hour 

Or  beauty  stem  his  tide. 
Or  virtue  charm  his  fatal  po%ver, 

Then  Rachel  had  not  died. 

In  1 83 1,  some  thoughtful  husband  comforted  his  widow  thus: 

My  partner  dear,  as  you  draw  near. 
Your  husband*s  grave  you  see, 
Not  long  ago  I  was  with  you. 
But  soon  you*ll  be  with  me. 

Tlie  most  elaborate  epitaph  of  all  I  discovered  on  an  immense 
piece  of  slate,  half  hidden  by  a  scraggly  rose-bush.  Beginning 
with  the  usual  "  Memento  mori,"  of  that  date — 1796 — and  adding, 
**Timc,  how  short!  eternity,  how  long!"  the  announcement 
was  made  that  here  lay  the  remains  of  an  **  amiable  consort," 
t\venty-five  years  of  age,  and  her  **  inocent  babe."  The  afflicted 
husband  evidently  wished  to  pay  the  greatest  possible  respect  to 
the  departed  one,  and  covered  the  stone  with  praises  that  surely 
would  have  caused  the  angelic  spirit  to  sing  for  joy  could  it  have 
been  permitted  to  behold  the  loving  words.  And  who  shall  say 
that  this  is  impossible  for  denizens  of  the  **  spirit  land?" 

Here  the  fair  j'outh,  who  ever  promise  gave. 
Sheds  her  sweet  blossoms  in  the  silent  grave. 
True,  mutual  love  had  softened  every  care 
When  mournful  death  divorced  the  happy  pair. 
Blest  with  mild  temper  and  of  soul  so  even. 
She  seemed  a  copy  of  the  saints  in  heaven. 
How  lov'd,  she  liv*d,  how  much  lamented  fell. 
None  but  her  husband's  sorrowing  heart  can  telL 
And  thou,  sweet  Babe,  too  innocent  for  Earth, 


OLD  TIME  EPITAPHS,  259 

Gave  HER  immortal  jo^'s  wlio  gave  Ihce  birth« 

Come,  ye  virgins  fair,  your  charms  survey, 

She  was  whatever  your  lender  hearts  could  say; 

Let  the  green  lurft  receive  your  trickling  tear. 

To  this  sad  place  your  earliest  garlands  bring 

And  deck  her  grave  wiih  firstlings  of  the  spring. 

Let  opening  roses,  ilrooping  lilies  tell, 

Like  ihose  her  virtues  blooniM,  alas!  like  these  she  fell. 

Round  her,  ye  graces,  constant  vigils  keep, 

And  guard,  fair  innocent,  her  sacred  sleep. 

Till  that  bright  morn  shall  \v;ike  the  virtuous  clay. 

To  bloom  and  triumph  in  eternal  day. 

But  I  thought  the  cHmax  in  curious  inscriptions  was  reached  by 
a  severely  plain  white  stone,  dated  1838,  among  rows  of  black 
slabs  of  all  sizes,  in  the  most  central — and  therefore  most  fre- 
quented— of  all  the  burial  grounds  in  a  thriving  New  Hampshire 
town.  On  reading  the  inscription  that,  in  large  letters,  covered 
every  spare  inch  of  space,  I  marvelled  that  some  vandal  had  not 
long  ago  destroyed  the  too  palpable  evidence  of  serious  church 
dissension  in  times  past.     Here  it  is : 

Here  lies  the  body  of  Caroline  IL,  wife  of  Calvin  Cutter,  M.D., 
at.  33.  LIurdcrcd  by  the  Baptist  ministry  and  Baptist  churches,  as 
follows : 

She  was  accused  of  Lying  in  Church  Meeting  by  the  Rev.  D.  D. 

Pratt  and  Done.  Albert  Adams — wns  condemned  by  the  Church  un- 
heard.    She  was  reduced  to  poverty  by  Dcac.  W'm.  Wallace.    When 

an  cxpartc  council  was  asked  of  the  Baptist  church,  by  the 

advice  of  their  cominittcc,  they  voted  not  to  receive  any  communication 
upon  the  subject.  The  Rev.  Mark  Carpenter  said  he  thought,  as  the 
good  old  Deac.  Pearson  said,  "  we  have  got  Cutter  down  and  it  is  best 
to  keep  him  down."  The  intentional  and  rnallcious  destruction  of  her 
character  and  happiness,  as  above  described,  destroyed  her  life.  Her 
last  words  upon  the  subject  were,  ''  tell  the  truth  and  the  iniquity  will 
come  out." 

Before  leaving  this  not  very  cheerful  subject,  I  would  like  to 
mention  a  phenomenon  that  I  witnessed  in  a  little  enclosure  at 
Bass  Harbor,  Mt.  Desert,  where  a  strong  vein  of  superstition  still 
exists  among  some  of  the  inhabitants.  While  at  Southwest  Har- 
bor, I  was  by  several  parties  urged  not  to  **go  away  without  seeing 
the  face  on  the  grave-stone;"  and,  after  listening  to  a  history  of 
the  strange  appearance,  was  filled  with  conjecture  as  to  how  much 
of  the  vision  was  attributable  to  imagination  and  how  much  to  in- 


26o  OLD  TIME  EPITAPHS. 

disputable  fact.  So  one  beautiful,  breezy  day  an  excursion  was 
made  to  the  mooted  spot,  on  one  of  those  exhilarating  buckboards 
which  once  enjoyed  are  never  to  be  forgotten. 

Never  was  there  a  more  incredulous  mortal  than  the  writer,  for  there 
is  not  one  grain  of  superstition  in  her  nature,  nor  any  knowledge  of 
the  mysteries  accounted  for  by  spiritualism.  I  did  not  expect  veri- 
fication of  the  islanders'  reports — but  it  was  there  1  Even  my  short- 
sighted eyes  beheld  it  while  I  was  yet  quite  a  distance  from  the 
large  marble  slab.  Upon  it  was  plainly  seen  the  likeness  of  a  gray- 
haired  man,  with  long  flowing  beard,  and  eyes  upturned  in  suppli- 
cation and  a  clearly-marked  crown  upon  the  brow,  which — it  had 
been  asserted  to  me— would  appear  outlined  upon  the  stone. 

How  did  it  come  there  ?  What  made  it !  Questions  none  of  us 
could  answer, — though  we  were  sure  there  was  nothing  supernatu- 
ral about  it.  Still  it  could  not  be  the  work  of  human  hands.  We 
observed  a  discoloration  on  the  other  side  of  the  marble,  but  no- 
traces  of  a  physiognomy.  The  most  satisfactory  conclusion  of  the 
party  was  that  in  some  inexplicable  manner  the  action  of  wind  and 
weather  was  responsible  for  the  remarkable  appearance.  Turning; 
our  attention  to  the  companion  stone,  sacred  to  the  memory  of  the 
faithful  partner  of  this  materialized  man's  joys  and  sorrows,  who 
died  some  years  later,  we  were  still  further  astonished  to  perceive 
the  beginning  upon  that  of  a  similar  phenomenon.  One  side  of  a 
face  was  visible,  with  one  eye,  and  indications  of  a  growing  photo- 
graphic effect.  This  was  as  patent  to  one  of  us  as  to  another,  refuting; 
any  suspicion  among  skeptics  that  we  were  victims  of  an  illu- 
sion. A  resident  of  the  island  whose  veracity  is  as  unquestioned 
as  her  intelligence,  informed  us  that  singularly  enough  the  portrait 
was  afac-simile  of  the  man  who  was  buried  beneath  the  stone ;  that 
he  was  "  a  pillar  of  the  church,"  and  frequently  remarked  in  the 
prayer  meetings  that  he  had  borne  the  cross  in  his  earthly  pilgrim- 
age and  expected  to  wear  the  crown  in  the  hereafter.  The  natives 
at  the  time  of  our  visit  had  not  discovered  the  second  portrait  I 
often  wonder  if  it  has  become  more  complete,  and  what  would  be 
the  scientific  explanation  of  the  curiosity. 


THE  POETRY  OF  FORM  AND  COLOR.  261 


THE  POETRY  OF  FORM  AND  COLOR- 

By  FLETCHER  REEDE. 

"Painting,"  said  Simonides,  the  Greek  Voltaire,  "is  dumb  poe- 
try." To  say  of  sculpture  that  it  is  "  poetry  turned  to  stone,"  and  of 
architecture  that  it  is  the  poetry  of  harmonious  lines  yearning 
upward  toward  the  sky  through  lifted  spire  and  dome  and  archi- 
trave, would  be  equally  true,  and,  when  taken  broadly,  'equally 
deceptive ;  for  neither  painting  nor  sculpture  nor  architecture  is- 
in  itself  poetry  in  any  other  sense  than  that  in  which  all  language"* 
is  poetry, —  being,  like  language,  simply  a  medium  of  expression. 

But  we  will  not  quarrel  with  our  text.  If  Simonides  had  told-' 
the  whole  truth  as  regards  either  poetry  or  painting,  he  would-- 
have  written  a  folio  and  spoiled  an  epigram.  It  serves  the  pur- 
pose of  a  text  in  suggesting  a  few  thoughts  concerning  the  poets* 
whose  visions  were  revealed  through  form,  and  the  poems  tUatt 
have  been  painted  instead  of  sung.  Between  the  poets  and  the? 
prose  masters  of  painting  there  exists  a  distinction  as  broad  as 
that  between  the  poet  and  the  essayist  of  literature.  If  Tenny- 
son had  used  a  palette  and  brush  instead  of  a  pen,  he  would  have 
painted  the  self-same  tender  Idylls  of  the  King.  A  Gerard  Dow,  if 
he  had  turned  his  attention  to  literature,  would  have  occupied 
himself  with  statistics,  mainly  of  brooms.  A  Claude  would  have 
written  pastorals,  and  Orcagna  would  have  thundered  sermons. 

Poetry  is  self-existent,  and  independent  of  material  or  fornp. 
Whether  using  the  language  of  verse,  or  speaking  in  more  sen- 
suous fashion  through  the  inarticulate  speech  of  painted  canvas 
and  chiselled  marble,  it  remains  essentially  the  same.  Revealing 
itself  through  the  sweeping  outlines  of  the  hills,  and  in  the  colors 
with  which  God  has  painted  the  earth  for  our  delight  and  the 
heavens  for  our  deeper  joy  and  inspiration,  it  is  —  whether  in 
nature  or  in  art — what  the  soul  is  to  the  body.  It  is  the  spirit 
that  makes  alive.  To  the  poet  it  is  the  essence  of  all  life,  the 
attar  of  an  inward  experience  and  vision. 

Among  the  ancients,  prose  and  poetry  arc  represented  by 
nations  rather    than   by  individuals, —  the  Greeks  embodying  the 


262  THE  POETRY  OF  FORM  AND  COLOR. 

poetry,  the  Etruscans  the  prose  element,  both  in  art  and  life. 
To  the  Greek,  beauty  was  both  inspiration  and  reward.  It  meant, 
not  only  physical  happiness,  health  and  harmony,  but  immortality 
as  well.  The  Theseus  of  antiquity  is  a  fellow-being  far  on  his 
4vay  toward?  divinity.  But  beauty  was  divine  onl)'  because  it  rep- 
resented  one  form  of  perfectness, — and  the  aspirations  of  the  Greeks 
reached  out  in  every  direction  for  the  most  perfect  thing  possible 
rundcr  the  heavens. 

Greek  art  attempted  to  deify  and  idealize  the  human ;  mediaeval 
^nd  modern  Christian  art  to  humanize  and  realize  the  divine.  For 
the  Greeks,  life  itself  was  divine,  existence  a  living  poem ;  and  so 
it  came  to  pass  that  Homer  sang  of  heroes  and  heroic,  but  quite 
liuman,  gods,  while  Phidias  and  Praxiteles  wrought  in  "  marble 
colored  like  a  morning  cloud  "  the  heroic  forms  inspired  by  Greek 
life  and  aspiration.  The  Etruscans,  on  the  contrary,  endeavored 
only  to  reproduce  with  undiscriminating  impartiality,  as  to  beautv 
and  nobility  or  ugliness  of  form,  whatever  nature  offered  to 
view.  The  Greek  was  an  artist  and  a  poet ;  the  Etruscan  a  photo- 
grapher and  a  man  of  affairs.  The  art  of  the  one  has  the  power 
and  repose  of  the  ideal ;  that  of  the  other  has  the  force,  the  hon- 
esty and  vitality  of  all  true  reah'sm. 

"Why  should  I  paint  you?'*  said  a  Greek  painter  to  a  mis- 
shapen man  ;  **  no  one  wishes  to  look  at  you." 

An  Etruscan  would  have  said,  "The  man  is  one  of  Nature's 
facts ;  let  us  record  him  with  the  •-•est." 

So  the  Etruscans  wrought,  on  tomb  and  on  statue,  the  history 
of  their  daily  lives,  while  the  Greeks  painted  and  chiselled  poems 
which  "gently  creep  into  our  study  of  imagination,"  and  teach  us 
still  something  of  their  high  art  of  dreaming.  Greek  life  was 
manly,  many-sided,  artistic ;  the  Etruscan,  narrow,  intense  and 
;prosaic, — the  vigorous  realism  of  its  art  degenerating  at  length  into 
•the  gross  and  common-place,  and  sinking  finally  into  the  un- 
.natural  stiffness  of  Byzantine  art. 

;Whcn  Byzantine  art  was  born»  a  new  element  had  crept  in.  In 
'Greece,  Christianity  had  become  a  fact  and  a  force,  routing  the 
happy  old  gods  and  sending  them  into  the  fastnesses  of  the  hills. 
The  feeling',  noble  in  its  essence,  which  dignified  pain  and  sorrow, 
became  in  its  perversion  ignoble  and  abnormal.  Denying  the  old 
<jreek  theory  tliat  man  should  find  delight  in  a  noble  and  virtuous 


THE  POETRY  OF  FORM  AND  COLOR.  .263 

life,  it  renounced  all  hopes  and  expectations  of  joy,  and  believed 
that  if  a  man  suffered  in  doing  dght  he  became,  by  that  measure 
of  suffering,  the  more  virtuous.  As  a  result  of  this  spirit  of  morti- 
fication, there  came  into  existence  a  long  line  of  pallid  saints  and 
madonnas,  effigies  of  womanhood,  whose  only  glory  is  in  the 
golden  phylacteries  of  ttieir  garments. 

Christian  art,  according  to  Ruskin,  may  be  divided  into  two 
great  masses.  These  masses,  he  calls  symbolic  and  imitative;  the 
symbolic  reaching  from  the  earliest  ages  to  the  close  of  the  14th 
century,  the  imitative,  from  that  period  until  the  present  time. 
This  division,  although  convenient,  takes  note  only  of  the  manner 
and  not  at  all  of  the  essential  character  of  the  art  which  expressed 
itself  in  these  tVo  different  forms.  Early  Christian  art  occupied 
itself  with  theologica;l  subjects  aione  and  was  the  outgrowth  of 
theological  thought;  it  was  therefore  symbolic;  for  the  truths 
they  tried  to  represent  could  be  portrayed  only  through  symbols. 
The  art  of  what  is  popularly  called  the  Renaissance  was  poetic 
or  sensitive  art,  both  imitative  and  ideal ;  while  the  art  of  later 
times  has  been  for  the  greater  part  imitative  merely,  and  therefore 
prosaic. 

The  painters  of  the  first  thirteen  centuries  were  teachers  rather 
than  poets.  It  was  their  mission  to  illustrate  certain  accepted 
facts  of  Christianity,  —  as  that  Christ  was  a  prophet,  priest  or  king, 
—  to  convey  through  the  medium  of  painted  canvas  certain  theo- 
logical ideas. 

**VVhen  an  artist  prefers  ideas  to  sensations"  says  a  recent 
French  critic,  "  he  falls  inevitably  into  allegory.  Art  becomes  a 
mass  of  symbols,  hieroglyphics,  even  mystifications."  This  is 
what  happened  to  the  art  of  mediaeval  Christianity.  Searching,  if  so 
they  might  find  out  Him  whose  name  is  written  in  living  charac- 
ters of  light,  these  early  painters  made  of  their  pictures,  treatises 
and  sermons  rather  than  poems ;  groping  after  the  invisible  and 
unattainable  instead  of  apprehending  with  passionate  delight  the 
knowledge  and  beauty  written  upon  the  lifted  hills  and  in  the 
creeping  valley  grass;  failing  to  recognize  through  His  countless 
revelations  the  one  ineffable  artist  of  whom  the  whole  green  world 
and  blue  dome  of  sky  is  one  vast  sign  and  symbol. 

Not  until  the  time  of  Giotto,  the  poet-painter  of  Assisi,  do  we 
discover  a  new  influence  and  spirit.      In  Giotto  art  again  becomes 


264  THE  POETRY  OF  FORM  AND  COLOR 

human,  —  human  enough  to  touch  us,  as  well  as  divine  enough  to 
lift  us  through  the  human  to  that  which  is  infinitely  aboveit.  As 
painter,  poet  and  architect,  he  won  the  love  and  reverent  worship 
of  Florentine  noble  and  peasant,  reaching  out  too,  through  the 
dim  ages  to  speak  to  us  in  subtle  rhyme  and  rhythm  of  colored 
fresco  and  in  the  lifted  spire  of  the  Campanile,  —  "a  poem 
wrought  in  marble." 

Forty-five  and  fifty  years  after  the  death  of  Giotto,  there  were 
born  in  Florence,  two  men  whose  destiny  it  was  to  introduce  into 
sculpture  the  same  influence  and  impulse  which  Giotto  had  already 
exercised  in  painting.  The  names  of  these  two  were  Lorenzo 
Ghiberti  and  Donatello,  representatives  of  a  class  of  artists  who 
might  be  called  pictorial  sculptors 

Ghiberti  was,  in  fact,  a  painter  in  bronze, — aiming  to  unite  to  the 
solidity  of  bas-relief  the  perspective  of  painting  It  was  because 
Ghiherti  looked  not  only  at,  but  through  nature  to  her  methods,  that 
he  discovered  her  secrets ;  while  Donatello  (called  somewhat  un- 
justly, the  pagan  sculptor — from  his  love  of  the  antique)  strove  to 
learn  her  mysteries  from  the  ancients.  But  the  antique  was  to  him 
not  so  much  a  model  as  a  glass  through  which  he  looked  to  see 
what  manner  of  men  they  were  who  had  acquired  such  power  of 
thought  and  such  perfection  of  skill.  He  was  pagan  only  as 
nature  is  pagan ;  in  art  and  in  life  he  was  Chiistian. 

This  fifteenth  centur>'  of  Ghiberti  and  Donatello  was  the  mid- 
summer of  poetic  art  in  Italy  England  too,  had  burst  into  sud- 
den bloom  and  blossom  c!  artistic  activity,  but  among  the  colder 
and  less  sensuous  people  of  the  Ncrth  art  was  dramatic  and  in- 
tellectual ;  in  the  South  it  was  pictorial  oi  plastic,  appealing  ta 
man's  delight  in  form  and  color  as  well  as  in  action  and  idea. 

There  is  not  only  the  parallelism  of  time  in  the  development 
of  the  artistic  instinct  in  these  two  peoples,  but  a  likeness,  fanciful 
perhaps,  but  not  wholly  unwarranted  between  the  poet-painters  of 
Italy  and  the  lyric  and  dramatic  poets  of  England  in  the  fifteenth 
and  sixteenth  centuries.  Angelico.  the  George  Herbert  of  re- 
ligious thought,  painted  quaintly  bca*jtiful  hymns  instead  of  singing 
them.  Mantegna,  a  man  of  intellect  and  extraordinary  skill, 
rather  than  feeling,  is  not  unlike  Ben  Johnson,  with  his  immense 
abilitv.  his  learninc:  and  his  love  of  the  classic. 

Botticelli   and    Ghirlandajo   are  a   Beaumont   and   Fletcher  of 


THE  POETRY  OF  FORM  AND  COLOR.  265 

•most  exquisite  beauty ;  and  Signorelli,  a  very  Webster  in  dramatic 
'energy  and  intensity.  But  the  comparison,  like  all  comparisons, 
runs  at  length  into  differences  instead  of  likenesses.  In  the  year 
1483,  Raphael  was  born, — the  man  whom  Schlegel  calls  the 
Shakespeare  of  painting.  Raphael's  genius,  like  Shakespeare's, 
was  both  lyric  arid  dramatic ;  and  it  would  be  interesting  to  trace 
the  development  of  the  many-sided  natures  of  these  two  great 
masters,  from  the  Venus  and  Adonis  of  Shakespeare  and  the 
softly  smiling  Madonnas  of  Raphael's  earlier  period,  to  the  trage- 
dies of  the  one  and  the  violent  dramatic  action  displayed  in  the 
later  works  of  the  other. 

In  the  year  1506  Raphael  went  to  Florence.  Michael  Angelo 
liad  just  completed  his  design  of  **  Soldiers  Bathing  in  the  Arno"; 
and  the  year  before,  Leonardo  da  Vinci  had  finished  his  famous 
cartoon.  These  works  had  an  immense  influence  upon  the  devel- 
opment of  his  genius.  During  Raphael's  life  in  Rome,  where  he 
was  more  immediately  under  the  influence  of  Michael  Angelo,  he 
abandoned  what  might  be  called  lyric  painting  and  became  a 
dramatist.  Action  as  well  as  beauty  became  a  dominant  and  con- 
trolling influence. 

After  Shakespeare  and  Raphael  came  Milton  and  Michael 
Angelo,  the  English  and  Italian  masters  of  the  epic ;  for,  although 
Michael  Angelo  was  born  before  Raphael  much  of  his  most  sig- 
nificant work  was  performed  after  the  death  of  his  rival.  His  life 
and  work  form  an  epoch  in  the  history  of  art.  Pindemonte  calls  / 
him  the  man  of  four  souls;  and  in  none  of  the  manifestations  of 
this  four-fold  genius  does  he  appear  greater  or  more  inexplicable 
than  in  sculpture.  Whether  his  marbles  slumber  like  the  Night, 
or  turn  their  faces  toward  us  in  shadowy  indistmctness,  like  the 
Day,  \vc  feel  in  them  a  power  like  the  power  of  untamed  Nature. 
We  seem  to  be  standing  in  the  presence-chamber  of  a  gieat  and, 
at  times,  a  baffle-l  intellect.  The  vagueness  and  incompleteness  of 
his  works  touch  us  like  the  hush  of  a  mysterious  silence.  It  is  as 
if  the  vastness  of  the  vision  had  made  the  poet  dumb,  as  if  the 
grandeur  of  the  thought  had  stilled  the  heart  and  the  hand. 

Of  the  Venetian  painters,  with  all  the  wonderful  glow  of  light 
and  color,  in  which  their  sympathetic,  world-loving  natures 
revelled,  it  is  impossible  to  speak  at  length.  Yet  they  too,  were 
;poets.     Whatever  the  thought,—  tender  or  strong;  worshipful  or 


266  LOVE'S  PREFERENCE. 

passionate, — Titian,  Tintoretto  and  the  rest  always  sung  it,  so  far 
as  harmonious  and  splendid  color  can  sing ;  making  of  their  pic- 
tures, poems  both  lyric  and  dramatic,  and  painting  for  the  world 
of  Venice  its  captivating  vers  de  societe. 

In  illustrating  thus  imperfectly  the  poetic  side  of  painting,  we 
have  attempted  only  a  broad  and  general  classification  which 
naturally  divides  itself  into  the  religious,  the  lyric,  the  dramatic, 
and  the  epic. 

To  the  faith  and  hope  in  the  future  we  leave  the  fulfilment  of 
the  prophecies  of  the  past ;  for  that  art  alone  is  supremely  great 
which  recognizes    *  the  divinity  that  shapes  our  lives,*  and  per- 
ceives likewise  the  divine  clement  in  life  which  makes  possible  a 
reverent  apprehension  of  all  that  is  above,  below  and  around  us. 


LOVE'S  PREFERENCE. 

By    FRANCIS    STERNE    PALMER. 

Love  likes  not  laucjhtcr  all  the  day, 
Nor  woukl  one  like  the  year  all  May ; 
For  pensive  looks  oft  Love  doth  crave, 
And  likes  his  mistress  sometimes  grave ; 
And  though  it  dim  a  lovely  eye. 
He  chides  her  not  if  she  do  cry. 
Love  likes  to  soothe  a  trembling  maid 
Until  her  sobs  jlncl  tears  arc  st:iicl ; 
For  then  he  tlnnks  she's  not  all  art, 
Bi;t  hidden  keeps  a  gentle  heart. 


THE  WOMAN  OF  IT.  267 


THE  WOMAN  OF  IT. 

By  EGBERT  L.  BANGS. 

**  As  unto  the  bow  the  cord  is, 
So  unto  the  man  is  woman  : 
Though  she  bends  him,  she  obeys  him, 
Though  she  draws  him,  jet  she  follows, 
Useless  each  without  the  other." 

Did  Longfellow  ever  hear  the  old  saying,  **he  has  two  strings  to- 
his  bow  "  applied  to  a  young  man  who  was  trifling  with  two  girls 
at  once?  And  did  that  same  old  saying  suggest  to  him  the  splen- 
did lines  with  which  he  begins  the  story  of  Hiawatha's  wooing? 
Or  did  the  tales  of  Robin  Hood  and  his  merry  men,  who,  with 
their  long  bows  and  arrows,  shot  down  the  King's  deer  in  Sher- 
wood forest,  put  him  on  track  of  the  beautiful  comparison  in 
verse  wherein  he  tells  us  that  man  and  woman  are  just  such 
counterparts  as  bow  and  bowstring?  Be  that  as  it  may,  the  cord 
works  in  one  way,  the  bow  in  another ;  and  it  is  only  by  their 
united  opposition,  to  speak  paradoxically,  that  the  feathered  arrow- 
is  ever  sent  whizzing  through  the  air.  It  takes  a  man  and  it  takes 
a  woman  to  make  a  home,  as  surely  as  it  takes  two  persons  to 
make  a  quarrel.  But  in  a  home,  made  by  two  congenial  spirits^ 
you  shall  often  see  things  done  in  such  a  peculiar,  unexpected^ 
original  and  saint-like  way,  by  the  cord  side  of  the  copartnership,, 
that  you  can  only  account  for  what  you  see  by  saying  '* That's  the 
woman  of  it." 

It  was  a  pleasant  evening  in  the  latter  part  of  October.  The 
day  had  been  one  of  those  bright,  clear  ones  that  set  the 
squirrels  in  the  woods  to  dancing  and  frisking,  and  the  ladies  iii: 
town  calling  on  all  their  friends.  As  you  pass  along  the  streets 
about  8  o'clock  in  the  evening,  glance  in  through  the  window  of  a 
certain  house  in  a  certain  town  that  shall  be  nameless.  You  will 
see  —  or  might  have  seen,  on  the  night  referred  to  —  a  man  sitting 
all  alone.  Like  Alexander  Selkirk,  he  was  **  monarch  of  all  he 
surveyed."  But  he  was  monarch  only  a  part  of  the  time,  for  he 
was  a  married  man.  On  that  particular  occasion  his  wife  had 
gone  out  to  spend  the  evening.     She  had  not  gone  alone,  though 


268  THE  WOMAN  OF  IT. 

she  had  left  him  alone.  With  her  there  was  the  quaintest,  best, 
brightest  and  most  nearly  perfect  specimen  of  the  Yankee  school- 
mistress that  ever  **  boarded  round  "  before  that  abominable 
system  was  superseded  by  the  modern  improvement,  which  admits 
an  educational  force  into  a  family  as  a  boarder  for  less  than  the 
usual  rates,  for  the  sake  of  her  excellent  company. 

All  alone  that  man  his  *  lonely  watch  was  keeping ; '  but  he 
ought  not  to  have  been  very  lonely,  for  he  was  sitting  right  before 
an  open  fire-place.  It  was  a  new  altar  to  the  god  of  fire ;  for  ah 
open  fire  was  the  one  thing  that  two  hearts  had  been  set  on  having 
for  some  time,  and  it  had  all  the  charms  of  a  new  acquisition.  As 
I  he  Hames  danced  and  rose  and  fell,  the  solitaire  looked  from  time  to 
time  from  the  book  he  was  reading  to  the  bright  fire,  as  if  he 
found  it  hard  to  decide  which  should  receive  the  honor  of  his 
attention.  There  was  a  lamp  on  the  centre  table,  and  an 
unlighted  hanging  lamp  over  it.  Soon  he  settled  down  to  the 
book,  as  a  bee  settles  upon  a  clover  blossom,  intent  to  gather  all 
its  honey, —  or  —  to  quote  the  terse  but  somewhat  rural  compari- 
son of  the  schoolmistress  —  "like  a  chicken  on  a  crumb."  It 
must  have  been  a  very  interesting  book,  for  in  a  short  time  he 
was  completely  absorbed  in  its  pages. 

That  man  was  capable  of  meeting  the  emergencies  of  life' in  a 
very  creditable  manner.  He  had  any  amount  of  moral  courage, 
and  could  unflinchingly  champion  an  unpopular  cause  if  he 
believed  with  his  whole  soul  that  it  was  right  If  the  good  name 
of  a  friend  was  assailed,  he  was  always  ready  to  put  lance  in  rest 
and  defend  it.  Had  a  burglar  put  in  an  appearance  in  the  dead- 
est hour  of  the  night,  he  would  have  quietly  drawn  a  revolver 
irom  under  his  pillow  and  shot  at  the  rascal  with  entire  self-pos- 
session. His  presence  of  mind  in  the  midst  of  nocturnal  alarms 
was  wonderful,  and  it  was  once  severely  tested.  He  entered  his 
bed  room  one  night  without  a  light,  and  as  a  muff  supported  by 
four  velvet  paws  leaped  from  the  bed,'  he  illustrated  the  meaning 
of  Longfellow's  famous  line,  "  Useless  each  without  the  other/' 
by  very  emphatically  exclaiming, 

'*Katc!  Kate!  there's  a  big  cat  in  our  room  !  What  shall  wt 
do?" 

And  yet  if  called  on  at  a  moment's  notice  by  anything  human 
for  an  off-hand  speech,  he  always  rose  to  the  occasion  and  said 


THE  WOMAN  OF  IT.  269 

his  say  without  boring  the  audience  or  making  himself  ridiculous 
hy  uttering  fifth-class  witticisms  that  had  been  repeated  a  hundred 
times  before  by  other  men. 

Just  as  he  was  in  the  midst  of  a  most  interesting  chapter  there 
<:amc  a  quick  snap,  followed  by  the  downfall  of  a  lamp  chimney, 
and  an  immediate  out-pouring  of  smoke.  Now  the  breakage  of 
chimneys  in  that  family  the  preceding  winter  had  been  unprece- 
dented. A  new  chimney  seemed  like  a  lover's  promise,  made 
only  to  be  broken.  At  last  a  new  style  of  chimney  came  into 
market.     They  were  called  the  non-breakables.     Pleasing  name  ! 

"  But  wo'nt  they  break?  " 

"  Let  me  show  you,  **  said  the  smiling  deceiver  behind  the 
counter. 

And  then  he  took  one  and  threw  it  half  across  the  room.  It 
fell  on  the  bare  floor  with  a  ringing  whack,  and  then  rolled  under 
the  stove,  unbroken. 

**  You  could  use  that  chimney  to  play  base  ball  with,"  said  the 
seller. 

"  It  is  naught;  it  is  naught,"  saith  Solomon's  buyer,  "  but  when 
he  goeth  his  way  he  boasteth,"  —  probably  over  his  wonderful 
bargain. 

This  time  the  seller  did  the  boasting  and  the  buyer  believed. 

He  took  the  **  non-breakable"  home.  The  next  morning  he  com- 
plained of  his  wife's  carelessness  in  leaving  needles  and  pins  on  the 
floor  for  him  to  step  on  with  his  bare  feet.  Poor  man  !  he  had  not 
yet  learned  to  distinguish  a  needle  from  a  bit  of  broken  glass. 
Had  Hamlet  boarded  in  his  family  instead  of  the  pretty  school- 
mistress, he  would  have  said,  **  Frailty,  thy  name  is  lamp  chimney." 
He  never  would  have  made  frailty  the  characteristic  of  woman. 

**  Mistress  of  herself,  though  China  fall,"  is  a  proverb  that 
applies  to  the  perfectly  self-possessed  woman;  for  there  are 
women  who  are  perfectly  self-possessed  and  delightfully  amiable 
under  all  the  little  annoyances  that  sometimes  bristle  upon  the 
duties  of  a  day,  *' like  quills  upon  the  fretful  porcupine."  But 
when  such  things  happen  to  a  man,  even  to  a  good  man,  he  is  not 
the  fretful  porcupine,  but  the  fretful  man ;  and  the  porcupine 
would  be  the  more  agreeable  companion  of  the  two.  It  did  not 
occur  to  our  friend  that  his  long  coveted  fireplace,  in  all  the  glory 
of  maple  wood    in    full  blaze,  really  showed    off"  to  'better  ad- 


270  THE  WOMAN  OF  IT, 

vantage  without  the  rival  of  a  brighter  light.  Neither  did 
he  call  to  mind  the  great  men  who  have  laid  the  foundation 
of  their  greatness  in  the  chimney-corner,  courting  science  by 
the  blaze  of  pine  knots, — while  some  country  bumpkin  was 
courting  their  elder  sister  in  the  front  room  by  the  light  of  a  tal- 
low dip.  Our  friend  was  irritated  just  a  little, — yes,  just  a  good 
deal ;  and  as  he  was  alone — and  so  had  no  quick-witted  wife  to 
suggest  what  a  man  cannot  see  when  it  is  right  before  his  eyes  — 
he  did  not  at  first  know  what  to  do.  Previous  breakages  coming 
thick  and  fast  had  robbed  nearly  all  the  lamps  in  the  house  of 
their  crystal  crowns. 

But  over  the  table  there  was  a  hanging  lamp  with  a  large  porce- 
lain shade.  That  lamp  could  be  taken  out  and  placed  upon  the 
table.  Wonderful  discovery !  Brilliant  idea,  to  be  originated  by 
a  man  at  his  own  fireside.  Yes,  there  was  hope  now.  Be  it 
remembered  that  when  that  lamp  was  in  the  socket  it  just  balanced 
a  heavy  weight  that  ran  on  pulleys  and  chains.  Poor  man  !  how 
little  he  thought  of  the  law  of  balances  as  he  took  the  lamp  out 
and  stupidly  let  go  his  hold  of  the  frame.  Of  course  it  went  up 
like  a  balloon,  and  then  there  came  a  grand  crash,  taking  a  large 
piece  right  out  of  the  porcelain  shade. 

*' Confound  it!"  exclaimed  he,  **the  very  d 1  is  to  pay  to- 
night !  What  will  she  say?  And  that  irrepressible  school  ma'am 
— what  will  she  say?  Very  likely  she  will  want  to  air  her  Latin, 
and  will  trot  out  Virgil's  horrcntibus  nmbris,  and  then  ask  if  I  ever 
saw  the  solemn  shades,  or  the  horrid  shades,  or  something  else 
that  will  be  aggravating." 

There  was  another  drop  of  poison  in  the  cup  that  poor  fellow 
had  to  drink.  Only  a  few  weeks  before,  his  good  wife  had  allowed 
the  same  upward  tendency  in  the  balancing  power  of  that  lamp  to 
display  itself  to  the  utter  ruin  of  a  magnificent  porcelain  shade, 
and  he well,  he  did  not  scold ;  he  never  does ;  but  he  won- 
dered—  aloud  —  how  she  could  have  done  it.     Now  he  knew. 

But  what  does  he  hear?  There  is  the  rattle  of  a  key  in  the 
night  lock,  and  his  wife  and  the  pretty  schoolma'am  have  re- 
turned.    A  beautiful  state  of  mind  he  is  in  to  receive  them. 

**  Why,  my  dear!  what  is  the  matter?*'  asked  his  wife,  as  she 
entered  the  room  fresh  and  radiant  after  a  pleasant  evening  with 
the  history  class. 


THE  WOMAN  OF  IT,  271 

"Matter?  why,  matter  enough  to  make  a  saint  use  profane 
language.  What  an  infernal  swindle  these  lamp  chimneys  are ! 
You  can't  even  look  coldly  on  one  without  smashing  it  into  a 
thousand  pieces." 

"  Don't  fret  your  poor  soul,  my  good  husband,  over  so  small  a 
matter.  ** 

**  But  confound  it !  that  is'nt  all.  Look  at  that  porcelain  shade, 
will  you  ?  " 

The  schoolma'am  took  the  situation  in,  and  gave,  first,  a  look 
at  the  broken  shade  and  then  a  prolonged  whistle,  —  for  whistling 
in  every  variety  of  pucker  is  one  of  her  accomplishments.  Her 
whistle  was  so  peculiarly  significant,  as  she  kept  looking  up,  that 
his  lordship  asked  her  what  in  the  world  she  meant. 

"Oh,  nothing,  nothing  at  all,"  said  she,  as  innocently  as  if  she 
had  been  one  of  the  innocents  who  went  abroad  with  Mark  Twain. 
"Only,"  continued  she,  "I  thought  I  would  whistle  *  Down  Brakes' 
before  we  have  another  smash  up  that  will  send  us  all  to  the 
shades." 

The  malicious  ingenuity  of  that  far-fetched  remark  had  the 
effect  of  a  counter-irritant.  His  lordship  thought  she  had  made  a 
worse  mess  than  he  had,  and  became  civil. 

"How  did  I  do  it?"  said  he. 

"Oh,  after  the  chimney  fell  from  grace,  I  went  to  takedown  the 
lamp  that  hangs  over  the  table;  but,  like  a  fool,  I  forgot  to  hold 
on,  and  so  of  course  it  went  up  about  as  you  went  down  the  first 
and  the  last  time  you  ever  tried  to  skate.  I  do  declare,"  said 
Bruin,  "the  makers  of  such  detestable  chimneys  ought  to  live  in 
glass  houses  as  brittle  as  their  own  wares,  and  I'd  like  to  be  the 
one  to  cast  the  first  stone  at  them.     It  would  be  no  sin  to  do  it." 

Isn't  it  strange  how  a  man,  one  of  the  lords  of  creation,  can  rave 
and  tear  his  hair  over  what  one  of  the  ladies  of  creation  can  remedy 
before  he  has  had  time  to  cool  off? 

Behold  the  man  of  it  and  the  woman  of  it !  For  while  the  Bear 
was  growling,  the  baroness  had  applied  to  the  broken  piece  some 
kind  of  a  **stickum-together  compound,"  bought  of  a  wandering 
retailer,  God  bless  him  !  for  the  small  sum  of  ten  cents.  That 
broken  piece  had  narrowly  escaped  the  fate  of  Shadrach,  Mesch- 
ech  and  Abednego, —  it  is  a  great  wonder  that  the  Bear  did  not 
pitch  it  into  the  fire.     In  less  time  than  it  has  taken  to  record  the 


1l^2  THE  WOMAN  OF  IT. 

breakage  the  shade  was  as  good  as  ever, — not  a  bit  worse  cracked 
than  you  would  have  considered  the  Lord  of  the  Manor  five  min- 
utes before  the  mending  was  accomplished. 

The  next  day  the  porcelain  shade  was  adorned  with  a  band  of 
gilt  paper  that  completely  covered  the  crack,  and  was  a  positive 
addition  to  the  beauty  of  the  hanging  lamp.  It  was  not  Aladin's 
lamp,  and  it  revealed  no  enchanted  cave,  with  trees  bearing  fruits 
that  were  diamonds  and  rubies,  but  it  did  bring  to  light  the  gem  of 
a  woman's  character,  viz.,  tact  and  patience,  where  a  man  would 
think  he  did  well  if  he  kept  from  swearing. 

The  pretty  schoolma'am  with  deflected  eyes  is  reappointed  every 
year,  for  no  board  of  trustees  would  venture  to  drop  her  from  the 
faculty.  It  is  quite  amusing  to  see  how  she  always  agrees  with  the 
opinions  of  her  ladyship  who  mended  the  lamp  shade  so  deftly. 
She  takes  her  part  in  all  matters  wherein  the  good  lady  differs  from 
her  husband,  and  woe  be  to  any  other  individual  who  dares  insinu- 
ate aught  against  her.  She  believes  in  her  absolute  perfection  as 
completely  as  the  Englishman  believes  the  old  common  law 
doctrine  that  "  the  king  can  do  no  wrong." 

The  schoolmistress  is  more  and  more  disposed  to  ask  round- 
about questions  concerning  the  ways  of  men,  and  how  to  manage 
them.  She  stubbornly  refuses  to  tell  who  gave  her  the  ring  she 
wears  on  her  forefinger,  but  is  sure  that  if  Iter  lamp  chimney  ever 
breaks  in  her  house  she  shall  know  just  how  to  treat  the  case. 
Whenever  some  new  triumph  of  patience  or  of  womanly  tact  is 
brought  out  in  the  home  circle  where  lamp  chimneys  even  now 
sometimes  crack  and  fall  to  pieces,  she  says  to  the  little  woman  at 
the  head  of  the  household, 

"  How  in  the  world  do  you  accomplish  all  these  results  and 
never  get  out  of  joint  with  things  generally?" 

The  invariable  answer  might  be,  "That's  the  woman  of  it." 

The  pretty  schoolma'am  is  making  a  desperate  effort  just  now  to 
commit  to  memory  the  names  and  wonderful  sayings  of  the  seven 
wise  men  of  Greece,  to  be  recited  at  the  next  meeting  of  the  history 
class.  That  of  Bias  was,  "Most  men  are  bad."  She  claims  that 
the  reason  is  this :   the  pattern  of  most  men  is  cut  on  a  bias. 

May  she  yet  find  a  full  pattern  of  perfect  manhood  and  believe 
in  it,  and  never  be  deceived  thereby. 


TO  AN  ARCH^OLOGIST.  273 


TO  AN  ARCHiEOLOGIST. 

By  SAMUEL  V.  COLE. 

Mcthinks  yoii  have  come  rather  late,  Sir, 

Tlic  banquet  is  over.     Begin 
And  knock,  if  you  choose,  at  the  gate.  Sir, — 

I  fear  thc^  will  not  ask  you  iii. 

Listen  !  the  music  is  ended, 

Tlie  lamps  in  the  chambers  dead  ; 

Witli  silence  the  voices  have  blended, 
The  King  and  his  guests  are  abed. 

You  micrht  have  come  hither  from  Gades 
(Permit  mc  to  add)  in  the  West, 

Since  the  lords  said  good-niglit  and  the  ladies 
Went  smiling  away  to  their  rest. 

The  watchers  and  wards  of  the  towers 
Are  asleep  at  their  posts,  or  away  — 

Not  heard  there  at  least  for  some  hours  — 
O,  the  soundest  of  sleepers  are  they  ! 

But  try  if  you  will.     That  is  splendid  ! 

Knock  again  —  what?  dig  through  the  wall? 
'Tis  time  our  acquaintance  had  ended  — 

Not  a  guest,  but  a  thief,  after  all ! 

Ay,  a  bold  one  !  with  rattle  and  clatter. 
You  strike  for  the  palace  and  take 

What  pleases  your  fancy.  No  matter. 
The  owners  seem  not  to  awake. 

And  perhaps  you  are  right.     'Tis  a  pity 
That  treasures  should  stay  here  so  long 

Unused  in  their  sleepy  old  city, — 
Perhaps  you  are  doing  no  wrong. 

Yes,  come,  see,  and  conquer,  you  Cassar, 

Then  carry  your  booty  away  ; 
I  warrant  you,  Tiglath-Pilezer 

Could  give  you  the  odds  in  his  day 


274  TO  AN  ARCH^OLOGIST. 

As  a  thief!     Why,  the  arch  you  are  under 
Very  likely  was  built — if  you  choose 

To  remember  his  failings — of  plunder 
He  took  from  his  neighbors,  the  Jews. 

His  treatment  of  them  was  as  shabby 
As  yours  is  of  him,  you  discern  ; 

When  they  dig  up  your  Westminster  Abbey, 
'Twill  even  ;  we  all  have  our  turn. 

But  reflect,  as  you  dig  it  and  dump  it  — 
Your  spadeful,  I  mean  —  in  your  raids, 

How  a  blast  fiom  the  ultimate  trumpet 
Would  out-rival  a  million  of  spades  I 

This  silent  and  slumbering  nation 
In  layers  so  deep  in  the  ground, 

AH  the  pulverized  population 

Which  the  breezes  arc  blowing  around ; 

The  chariot  wheels  and  the  horses. 
The  soldiers,  the  captives,  ihe  men 

Once  Kings,  but  now  innocent  corses, 
I'm  certain  could  startle  you  then! 

Old  Assan-bonipal,  Sargon, 

Esar-haildon  — all  still  in  their  beds  — 

Whose  sj^cecii  was  that  stammering  jargon, 
Whose  business  was  —  chopping  ofl"  heads. 

Remember,  I  say,  if  you  must  keep 
At  work  at  your  pilfering  so. 

What  a  stir  there  would  be  in  your  dust  heap 
If  the  trumpet  should  happen  to  blow. 


AN  OLD-TIME  NEW  ENGLAND  PASTOR.       27s 


AN  OLD-TIME  NEW  ENGLAND  PASTOR. 

By  HARRIETTE  M.  NELSON. 

Few  of  the  New  England  colonial  pastorates  were  more  remark- 
able, both  as  regards  length  and  an  even  tenor  of  prosperity,  than 
thai  of  the  Rev.  Edward  Barnard  over  the  first  church  in  Haverhill, 
Massachusetts.  A  contemporary  diary  has  this  record:  **  April  16, 
1743.  (jfcat  snow  storm,  eleven  inches  on  a  level.  Rev.  Barnard 
ordained.'* 

The  ministry  which  opened  so  tempestuously,  continued  its  quiet 
course  upon  the  pleasant  banks  of  the  Merrimack  for  thirty-one 
years,  thus  coming  down  to  the  very  verge  of  the  great  struggle 
for  independence.  Seven  years  before  his  settlement  at  Haverhill 
Edward  Barnard  had  graduated  at  Harvard  at  the  precocious  age 
of  sixteen.  His  grandfather  and  father  before  him  were  also 
Harvard  graduates  and  ministers  of  the  gospel,  and  all  three  had 
a  high  ♦'cputation  for  learning,  eloquence  and  dignity. 

A  little  package  of  old  manuscripts  now  preserved  in  the 
pastor's  library  of  the  Center  Church  in  Haverhill  belongs  co  the 
period  of  this  early  pastorate.  Most  of  these  documents  arc 
sermons,  written  on  small  sheets  of  coarse  paper,  now  yellow  with 
age.  A  fcv/,  which  date  back  as  far  as  the  year  17 10,  are  of  the 
time  of  Rev.  Samuel  Brown,  an  earlier  pastor,  whose  crabbed 
handwriting  is  in  marked  contrast  with  the  clear  and  graceful  style 
of  that  of  his  successor,  though  in  the  case  of  both,  it  is  painfully 
and  microscopically  minute.  Several  of  these  sermons  have 
headings  which  refer  them  to  special  occasions. — as  a  "Day  of 
general  Thanksgiving,  Aug.  10,  1710," — "The  Indians  breaking 
out,  1746,"  —  "On  account  of  the  rebellion  in  Scotland,  1745.** 

But  to  an  ordinary  reader,  the  most  interesting  documents  in 
the  little  package  are  three  or  four  of  a  more  personal  character, 
which  give  us  an  insight  into  the  methodical  habits  of  good  Parson 
Barnard  and  the  generous  customs  of  the  parishes  of  a  century 
and  a  half  ago. 

Two  little  yellow  almanacs  of  the  year  1741  and  1744  contain 
■various  brief  but  quaint  memoranda,  the  first  being  made  while 


276        AN  OLD'TIME  NEW  ENGLAND  PASTOR. 

Mr.  Barnard  was  as  yet  unsettled,  and  preaching,  as  these  notes 
show,  for  his  father  in  Andover,  or  at  other  places ;  while  there 
is  an  occasional  forlorn  Sunday  entry  of  **Sat  still  at  home."  On 
April  5th  and  12th,  1741,  he  preaches  for  "Bro.  Thomas  at  New- 
bury Newtown."  On  April  9th  he  rather  sarcastically  records,  "Bro. 
Thomas  was  married  to  Mrs.  Molly  Woodbridge.  Hoh,  Hoh> 
Hoh." 

Under  date  of  July  8th,  he  records,  "Brother  Thomas  moved  to 
his  house."  A  few  months  later,  we  read,  "  Bro.  Thomas  borrowed 
of  me  one  shilling  for  shaving,  five  shillings  for  ferrying  his  chair 
and  ten  shillings  for  Mr.  Parsons*s  sermon."  During  several 
months  of  the  year  1741,  a  list  is  kept  of  "lectures  preached  by 
itinerant  preachers,"  which  ends  suddenly  with  the  entry,  "they 
come  on  so  Thick  yt.  to  write  yr.  Names  and  places  would  be 
endless." 

Being  at  last  comfortably  settled  in  his  parsonage  by  the  Merri- 
mack, Mr.  Barnard  records,  "Jan.  9th,  My  wife  came  home." 
"Mvirch  15th,  River  began  to  open."  "June  3d,  About  10  o'clock, 
terrible  Earthquake."  Then  follows  several  memoranda  of  days' 
labor  performed  by  sundry  parishioners,  and  wages  paid  to  Ruth^ 
evidently  the  maid-servant,  who,  on  March  3Tst,  "Went  to  visit 
her  Relations  with  my  Horse,"  and  "began  to  go  to  school,"  Aug. 
31st. 

For  the  ten  years,  beginni;ig  with  1 762,  we  have  two  manuscripts 
entitled  "Account  of  Benefactions,"  and  containing  a  careful  list  of 
gifts  received,  with  the  donors*  names,  many  of  which  are  still 
familiar  ones  in  this  community.  This  record  of  good  things 
makes  one's  mouth  water,  even  after  the  lapse  of  a  century  and  a 
quarter.  There  are  beef  and  veal  and  chickens  and  a  long  pro- 
cession of  "roasting  Pigs;"  while  the  return  of  spring  never  failed 
to  bring  salmon,  "Shadd"  and  "  Pickarel,"  of  the  "first  catching.** 
At  Thanksgiving  time,  it  might  be  said  of  the  good — and  gifted- 
Parson  as  of  Chaucer's  franklin,  "it  snewed  in  his  house  of  meat 
and  drink."  Then  came  turkeys,  pigeons  and  geese,  "bisket"  and 
oranges,  "  mince  pye,  crambrie  tart  and  fine  Pudding"  with  no  end 
of  "spairrib."  On  another  occasion,  there  are  sent  from  "Mrs. 
Ayer,  Lady  of  ancient  Deacon,  a  cheese  new,  part  of  an  old  cheese 
and  Diet-bread  to  assist  in  the  entertainment  of  our  Quilters/* 
Gifts  of  brandy,  rum  and  "Cyder"  show  that  the  days  of  probibi-^ 


AN  OLD-TIME  NEW  ENGLAND  PASTOR.       277 

tion   had  not  as  yet  dawned,  while  pipes  and  tobacco  go   not 
unmentioned. 

Nor  were  the  donations  confined  to  supplies  for  the  inner  man. 
One  was  after  this  wise:  "Mrs.  Sally  McHard,  genteel  Tooth- 
picks to  myself  and  Lady;"  while  one  rather  puzzling  memoran- 
dum runs  thus ;  "Mr.  Marsh,  Tutor  at  College,  half  a  ticket  to  my 
wife  — 3  dollars."  A  new  saddle  from  nine  donors  is  mentioned 
in  impressive  capitals,  but  the  smallest  favors  seem  to  be  always 
noticed,  such  as  an  orange  or  two  now  and  then,  or  "a  Mugg  from 
Mrs.  Steele  and  a  little  Mugg  to  Sally  from  her  negro  girl  Kate." 

Certain  brothers  Cary  were  evidently  the  good  geniuses  of  the 
Barnard  household.  Bro.  Richard  Cary  is  credited  on  one  occa- 
sion with  the  gift  of  six  gallons  of  Rum,  and  "Bro.  Sam*l  Cary, 
quam  plurimar  Again  there  is  a  Dollar  apiece  to  "Nedd  and 
Nath*l,"  and  a  Wigg  and  pair  Scissars  from  Bro.  Nath'l  Cary,  while 
from  Rev.  Thomas  Cary,  is  acknowledged  "a  Gown  for  my  son. 
Nedd,  one  side  fine  Plaid,  other  handsome  Calliminco."  If  we 
could  only  have  a  picture  of  Master  Ned  on  his  first  appearance 
in  that  smart  new  garment,  and  find  out  its  precise  cut ! 

It  would  seem  that  the  minister  must  have  been  well  supported 
if,  as  seems  to  have  been  the  case,  these  gifts  formed  no  part  of 
his  "sallary,"  which  is  herein  stated  as  sixty  pounds  in  1762  but 
to  have  been  increased  in  1763  to  £T%y  s6,  d3. 

Just  before  the  outbreak  of  the  Revolution,  the  records  cease 
with  a  few  entries  made  in  another  book  by  Sarah  Barnard,  the 
Sally  of  the  previous  entries. 

Whether  all  this  overflow  of  generous  plenty  was  kept  up  during 
the  hard  times  of  war,  we  have  no  means  of  knowing,  but  for  the 
ten  preceding  years,  life  at  the  parsonage  must  have  been  like  a 
continuous  donation  visit,  although  the  helter-skelter  character  of 
these  "  benefactions  "  reminds  us  strongly  of  Barkis'  offerings  of 
affection  to  Pegotty, — "a  double  set  of  pig's  trotters,  a  huge  pin 
cushion,  half  a  bushel  or  so  of  apples,  some  Spanish  onions,  a  box 
of  dominoes,  a  canary  bird  and  cage,  and  a  lot  of  pickled  pork. 


278  EDITOR'S  TABLE. 


EDITOR'S  TABLE. 

Writbrs  in  their  several  localities  in  New  England,  who  may  be 
cognizant  of  historical  events  and  traditions  of  which  such  localities 
claim  the  ownership,  will  always  find  the  pages  of  the  New  England 
Magazinb  open  to  the  records  which  they  may  be  pleased  to  submit 
ffor  publication.     There  is  a  mass  of  historical  matter  pertaining  to  the 
•  settlement  and  growth  of  this  section  of  the  country  which  has  never 
yet  been  brought  out  to  the  light.     It  is  a  quarry  that  invites  the  most 
.  diligent  working.     But  the  working  which  will  prove  most  effective  is 
'.  that  of  individuals  at  separated  points,  rather  than  that  of  a  single  and 
'  practically  isolated  mind,  that  has  to  laboriously  forage  for  facts  which 
are  so  familiar  to  others  as  to  be  thought  of  inferior  public  interest.    If 
the  genius  of  a  Scott  was  potent  enough  to  evoke  new  life  from  the 
naked  hills  and  gloomy  glens  of  barren  Scotland,  and  attract  the  civil- 
ized world  to  its  admiring  contemplation,  it  cannot  be  said  with  any 
tiTith  that  New  England  is  not  packed  with  local  traditions  and  popu- 
lous with  tales,  which,  once  reproduced  with  the  genuine  life-coloring, 
are  capable  of  charming  the  imaginations  of  the  present  generation  and 
leading  the  current  attention  captive. 

«  « 
* 

New  Year's  somehow  starts  the  blood  anew,  and  brings  us  all  back 
to  fresh  life  again.  Though  its  social  recognition  may  have  lapsed 
into  a  habit,  there  is  sentiment  enough  left  to  give  it  warmth  and  ani- 
mation, and  lift  it  wholly  out  of  perfunctory  and  routine  observances. 
Everybody  welcomes  New  Year's.  It  is  the  turning  of  a  new  leaf; 
beginning  at  the  top  of  a  clean  page ;  the  glad  contemplation  of  a 
record  that  is  yet  to  be  made ;  the  unobstructed  view  from  the  crest  of 
the  next  hill ;  a  willing  forgetfulness  temporarily  of  the  experience  that 
lies  behind,  and  an  eager  welcoming  of  all  that  is  unlimited  and  untried 
before.  Wc  all  need  such  a  day  at  least  once  in  the  course  of  the  three 
hundred  and  sixty-five.  It  is  good  for  us  as  a  help  to  self-purification. 
Did  we  never  feel  a  simultaneous  impulse  to  cut  loose  from  the  old  and 
habitual  and  reach  out  for  that  which  is  yet  unsoiled  by  our  contact,  it 
would  be  but  a  dead  life  that  we  are  leading,  and  it  might  as  well  be 
without  imagination  and  sentiment  as  not.  Therefore  the  New  Year's 
holiday  is  instinctively  held  in  true  esteem  by  the  world  of  civilization^ 
and  made  the  occasion  for  revising  the  conduct  and  renewing  the 
character. 


EDITOR'S  TABLE.  279 

Although  the  year  naturally  begins  for  all  races  of  men  with  the 
Tcturn  of  Spring,  when  the  year  is  new  indeed,  by  imperial  edict  it  has 
l>ecn  arbitrarily  set  where  it  is,  with  no  significance  beyond  that  which 
goes  with  personal  ambition.  We  observe  it  where  it  now  is  because 
we  have  observed  it,  and  for  no  otlier  reason.  But  coming  so  near 
the  mid-winter,  it  chances  that  our  facilities  for  turning  it  to  good 
social  account  are  much  superior  to  what  they  would  be  at  the  time  of 
the  early  equinox.  The  custom  of  the  country  here  is  snow  and  sleigh- 
riding,  sharp,  clear  air,  bright  eyes  and  rosy  cheeks,  gay  spirits,  good 
wishes,  and  the  exchange  of  gifts.  If  ever  during  the  twelve-month, 
this  is  the  time  to  forgive  injuries  and  advance  to  new  friendships ;  the 
time  to  reject  what  is  worthless  or  harmful  in  our  lives,  and  resolve  on 
the  steady  attainment  of  what  is  pure  and  noble,  and  enriching ;  the 
time  to  bury  old  resentments,  and  all  needless  griefs,  and  every  ob- 
structing habit  under  the  white  snows  of  the  season.  The  wish  springs 
in  every  breast  to  be  happy,  and  that  of  course  carries  with  it  the  diffu- 
sion of  happiness.  The  common  desire  is  to  discover,  each  for  him- 
self, a  fresh,  new  world.  And  that  is  why  we  all  kindly  offer,  one  to 
the  other,  the  sincere  wish  for  A  Happy  New  Year. 

» 

The  American  workingman  is  in  many  respects  a  unique  being.  Not 
only  is  he  the  special  product  of  nineteenth  century  civilization  but  of 
nineteenth  century  civilization  on  American  soil  under  the  influence  of 
American  republican  institutions,  in  the  midst  of  American  industrial 
prosperity,  and  as  an  important  and  powerful  political  factor  in  a  country 
-where  vast  mines  of  material  wealth  have  barely  begun  to  be  discovered. 
It  will  be  readily  admitted  that,  as  a  rule,  tlie  workingman  of  the  time, 
to  whatever  department  of  handicraft  or  labor  his  productive  skill  and 
energies  may  be  devoted,  is  worthy  of  the  favorable  social  and  political 
setting  in  which  he  finds  himself.  He  is,  as  a  rule,  a  man  of  observa- 
tion and  intelligence,  and  has  deliberately- formed  and  well-matured 
opinions  on  most  questions  that  concern  his  own  position,  privileges, 
rights,  duties  and  responsibilities  as  a  citizen.  He  is  industrious, 
honestly  endeavoring  to  fill  each  labor-hour  with  such  work  as  shall 
prove  a  solid  contribution  to  the  wealth  and  well-being  of  the  world. 
He  is  sober,  careful,  thrifly,  a  lover  of  family  and  home,  not  courting 
the  questionable  associations  of  the  saloon  nor  wasting  his  hard-earned 
wages  in  the  indulgence  of  sensual  and  imbruting  passions.  He  is  a 
loyal  and  law-abiding  citizen  ready  to  uphold  the  honor  of  the  flag,  and 
anxious  to  maintain  the  social  order  which  guarantees  his  own  and  his 
children's  social  well-being.  Such  a  being  must  always  be  a  felt  power 
in  any  civilized  community  and  his  opinions  must  always  claim  respect- 


EDITOR'S  TABLE,  281 

are  esteemed  good  fellows,  and  no  one  has  any  particular  objection  to 
them.  Town  meetings  elect  officers  for  what  they  know  they  will  do. 
The  result  has  generally  been  that  the  city  councils  are  composed,  to 
a  large  extent,  of  small  men,  not  to  say  bad  men,  eager  for  public  dis- 
tinction, who  will  resort  to  all  the  expedients  of  partisan  practice  to 
get  themselves  nominated  and  elected.  The  wiser  and  better  informed 
class  of  citizens  will  not  resort  to  these  schemes,  and  prefer  to  remain 
at  home,  and  so  the  field  is  left  open  to  men  who  are  not  qualified  at 
all  to  perform  public  duties  well.  The  remedy  proposed  was  to  have  a 
lar<j^er  membership  of  the  common  council.  He  would  make  twenty 
members  for  each  ward,  to  be  elected  on  a  general  ticket.  A  few  really 
able  and  strong  men  would  be  put  on  each  party  ticket  to  make  it  go  at 
the  polls.  The  people  would  have  the  benefit  of  these  few  superior 
men  from  each  ward,  whichever  party  triumphed,  whose  presence  in 
the  council  would  improve  the  tone  and  elevate  the  standard  of  public 
<lcliberative  proceedings.  The  highly  unobjectionable  men  on  either 
ticket  would  be  likely  to  be  scratched.  And  the  large  assembly  chosen 
\\  ould  perform  the  function  in  civics  that  the  town  meeting  for  two 
centuries  has  performed. 

The  labor  problem  incessantly  urges  itself  upon  the  public  attention. 
It  will  not  down  at  any  man's  bidding.  It  is  stated  in  all  its  forms  and 
with  every  circumstance  of  detail.  It  is  becoming,  in  fact,  the  question 
of  the  hour.  Labor  demands,  to  condense  the  matter,  a  larger  share 
of  the  product.  It  alleges  that  profit  is  drawn  entirely  from  that,  and 
hence  that  it  has  a  claim  to  a  larger  share.  It  challenges  the  customary 
assumption  that  it  is  paid  out  of  a  stated  wage-fund,  the  accumulation 
of  past  industry  and  saving,  and  insists  that  it  earns  its  rightful  wages 
as  it  goes  along,  and  tiiat  those  wages  come  out  of  the  product  and 
nothing  else.  This  point  conceded,  which  labor  advocates  and  main- 
tains with  all  its  ability,  the  consequent  one  is  tiiat  it  is  entitied  to  a 
proportionate  reward  of  the  product,  or,  in  other  words,  of  the  profit  of 
the  product  when  exchanged.  Labor  denies  that  with  increased  pro- 
duction wages  should  be  lower,  asserting,  on  the  other  hand,  that  they 
should  be  higher.  The  larger  the  product  the  more  there  should  be 
to  be  distributed. 

It  is  questioned,  with  the  utmost  seriousness,  whether  an  increase  of 
laborers  does  indeed  diminish  the  wage-fund,  seeing  that  that  exists 
only  in  the  product  itself  at  the  different  stages  of  its  progress.  Capi- 
tal, it  is  held  by  the  advocates  of  labor,  may  assist  in  the  work  of 
production,  and  is  chiefly  serviceable  in  storing  the  results  and  handling 
them  to  the  best  advantage,  speculatively  and  otherwise ;  but  it  is  not 
out  of  that,  but  out  of  tiie  product  of  labor  that  wages  come,  and  they 


282  EDITOR'S  TABLE. 

are  not  actually  paid  until  the  work  of  production  is  completed^ 
Hence  labor  claims  its  proportionate  share  -of  the  result,  which  it 
asserts  it  does  not  now  receive.  This  is  the  substance  of  the  claim  set 
up  on  its  behalf,  and  the  real  object  of  the  current  contention.  Yet, 
allowing  that  it  could  ultimately  succeed  in  enforcing  its  claims,  it  will 
have  to  be  remembered  that  thrift,  and  sacrifice,  and  sobriety,  and  sav- 
ing will  more  than  ever  constitute  the  plain  conditions  of  its  success, 
without  which  it  cannot  expect  to  better  itself  at  any  time.  Labor  has 
yet  to  learn  to  correct  the  habit  of  waste  in  its  many  forms  before  it 
can  hope  lo  secure  a  prosperity  either  appreciable  or  enduring. 

The  series  of  papers  on  Isms  and  Denominations  which  has  been 
projected  lor  the  pages  of  this  magazine  will  be  found  continued  in 
the  present  issue,  the  article  on  the  Congregational  Churches,  by  one- 
of  the  most  distinguished  and  learned  of  the  leaders  of  that  denomina- 
tion, being  worthy  of  the  widest  attention.  Although  the  two  subjects 
are  practically  unrelated,  they  nevertheless  run  one  into  the  other  by 
the  process  of  natural  affinity,  which  rarely  fails  to  bring  together 
tilings  habitually  kept  apart  and  not  permitted  to  be  even  mentioned 
together.  The  religious  principle  really  runs  through  all  forms  of 
belief,  so  that  it  may  be  considered  next  to  i/npossible  to  make  a  state- 
ment of  one  without  impliedly  introducing  all  the  rest.  For  the  first 
time  The  New  England  Magazine  undertakes  to  present  the  dif- 
ferent sects  and  beliefs  in  their  proper  order  and  mutual  relation,  and 
to  thoroughly  inform  the  public  mind  on  a  subject  whose  several 
branches  more  often  create  perplexity  of  thought  than  they  excite- 
sympathetic  inquiry.  These  several  papers  cannot  fail  to  prove  fully 
as  instructive  as  they  will  be  found  interesting. 

«  * 

Tiiic  overworking^  of  school-children  has  finally  grown  to  the  di- 
mensions of  a  general  complaint,  not  so  much  by  the  immediate  suf- 
ferers as  bv  tlieir  parents  and  friends,  whose  experience  is  ripe  enough 
to  satisfy  them  of  the  pernicious  folly  of  the  practice.  Studies  are 
piled  in  on  the  young  mind  that  are  not  rudimentary  nor  yet  of  any 
service  in  discipline,  tasking  only  the  memory  already  overstrained,  and 
exciting  only  the  passionate  elements  of  ambition.  The  production  of 
prodigies  on  the  one  hand,  and  the  undue  magnification  of  tlie  teacher's 
oflicc  on  the  other,  seem  to  be  the  chief  purpose  of  the  public  school 
system  which  is  supported  at  such  vast  and  increasing  cost  to  the  tax- 
payers ;  but  when  a  fresh  army  of  youth  is  annually  turned  out  upon  the 
world,  with  faculties  awakened  to  a  rather  preternatural  appreciation  of 


EDITOR'S  TABLE,  285 

their  situation  but  without  openings  anywhere  awaiting  them,  it  be- 
comes a  serious  question  to  know  wliat  to  do  with  them.  There  is  no- 
doubt  that  a  certain  amount  of  industrial  education  would  prove  a 
healthy  check  to  the  present  tendency  to  crowd  fruitless  studies  into 
unwilling  minds,  while  it  would  obviously  prepare  multitudes  for  a 
career  of  productive  usefulness  on  which  they  might  enter  almost  im- 
mediately. 

Congress  adjourned  for  a  holiday  season  of  two  weeks,  according  ta 
the  invariable  custom.  No  business  of  importance  had  been  transacted 
previous  to  the  adjournment,  but  a  number  of  measures  will  be  pressed 
to  an  issue  soon  after  the  re-assembling,  the  interstate  commerce  bill 
noticeably.  A  proposition  to  repeal  the  internal  revenue  taxes  is  pro- 
mised, but  it  is  not  thought  that  it  can  prevail.  One  of  the  most 
interesting  matters  connected  with  Congress  is  the  proposal  to  extend 
the  short  session  until  Ajwil,  to  the  date  on  which  occurs  the  anniver- 
sary of  the  original  installation  of  the  Government.  This  would  give 
more  time  for  business  to  the  second  session  of  each  Congress,  and 
tend  to  bring  it  up  to  the  level  of  practical  importance  which  attaches 
to  the  long  session.  And  the  proposed  change  in  the  day  of  inaugura- 
tion, too,  would  bring  that  universally  interesting  event  into  a  season 
that  would  naturally  invite  a  much  larger  attendance  of  the  people  from 
every  part  of  the  country. 

«  * 

The  number  of  public  libraries  in  the  United  States,  listing  about 
six  thousand,  constitutes  the  promise  and  potency  of  a  numerous 
people,  whose  destiny  it  is  to  be  thoroughly  intelligent  and  instructed 
far  above  the  average  standard  so  far  achieved  by  modern  civilization. 
These  scattered  libraries  are  like  seed  sown  broadcast  over  the  country, 
to  spring  up  and  bear  fruit,  some  twenty,  some  sixty,  and  some  an 
hundred  fold.  One  can  better  estimate  their  actual  influence  by  im- 
agining what  the  country'  would  be  without  them.  We  might,  it  is 
true,  become  the  richest  people  on  the  face  of  the  earth  in  point  of  pro- 
.ductive  power  and  its  sure  accumulations,  and  still  travel  our  weary, 
dreary  rounds  in  the  deep  straw  of  materialism,  ending  with  the  sleep 
of  satiety.  Would  that  indeed  be*  life,  or  even  approach  to  any  one  of 
its  ideals.'*  Impossible.  Let  us  not,  then,  underrate  the  continual 
companionship  of  the  public  librar}',  or  hesitate  in  rendering  it  all  the 
support  it  requires  at  our  hands.  It  contains  the  real  world  within  this 
outer  and  visible  world,  and  is  able  to  create  anew  from  the  old,  and 
thereby  dissipate  all  cares  and  lighten  the  burdens  of  sorrow  itself. 


284  EDITOR'S  TABLE. 

Index-making  for  books  is  far  nioiethan  an  art,  though  many  people 
are  satisfied  to  regard  it  as  not  much  more  tlian  an  industry.  It  tasks 
the  whole  family  of  the  faculties  of  the  maker's  mind.  There  is  hardly 
an  intellectual  quality  which  it  does  not  put  to  instant  and  continuous 
service.  The  London  Globe  estimates  it  none  too  highly  in  8a3ring 
*'that  the  index-maker  must  have  a  high  degree  of  imagination  in  the 
truest  sense  —  enough  to  put  himself  in  tlie  place  of  eveiy  possible 
student  for  every  possible  pui-pose,  so  as  to  know,  by  a  sort  of  instinct, 
what  each  would  require.  He  must  have  the  logical  faculty  that  knows 
w^hat  to  omit  as  well  as  what  to  insert ;  and  he  must  know  the  work 
he  deals  with,  not  merely  with  mechanical  precision  but  with  intelli- 
gent mastery.  Indeed,  the  ordinary  index-maker  is  in  this  unfortunate 
position — he  requires  qualities  that  would  place  him  above  his  work, 
and  yet  he  cannot  do  his  work  efficiently  without  them.  The  result  is 
that  there  is  scarcely  such  a  thing  as  a  really  good  index  in  the  world ; 
nor  will  there  be,  until  the  truth  is  recognized  of  the  fact  that  the  pro- 
duction of  more  indices  to  books,  and  not  more  books  themselves,  is 
the  most  practically  useful  work  in  which  any  trained  scholar  can  en- 
gage. A  good  and  comprehensive  index  should  be  worth,  to  its  com- 
piler, the  nunjber  of  its  words  in  gold ;  and  its  achievement  should 
imply  fame." 

The  concluding  paragraph  in  the  recent  lecture  of  Henry  George, 
delivered  in  Boston,  on  *' Moses  and  the  Land  Question,"  is  worth  re- 
petition here.  After  describing  and  defining  the  work  of  creating  a 
people  which  alone  has  made  the  name  of  Moses  the  example  for  the 
law-givers  of  all  time,  he  apostrophized  him  thus: — ''  He  was  a  leader 
and  servant  of  men  !  Law-giver  and  benefactor  I  Toiler  towards  the 
promised  land,  seen  only  by  the  eye  of  faith  !  Type  of  the  high  souls 
who  in  every  ngc  have  given  to  earth  its  heroes  and  martyrs,  whose 
<lecds  are  the  precious  possessions  of  the  race,  whose  memories  are  its 
precious  heritage  !  With  whom  among  the  founders  of  empires  shall 
we  compare  him?  To  dispute  about  the  inspiration  of  such  a  man 
were  to  dispute  about  words.  From  the  depth  of  the  unseen  such 
characters  must  draw  their  strength  ;  from  fountains  that  flow  only  for 
the  pure  in  heart  must  come  their  wisdom.  Of  something  more  real 
than  matter ;  of  something  higher  than  the  stars ;  of  a  light  that  will 
ciulurc  when  suns  arc  dead  and  dark  ;  of  a  purpose  of  which  the  phy- 
sical universe  is  but  a  passing  phase.  'No  man  knoweth  of  his 
sepulchre  unto  this  day.'  But  while  the  despoiled  tombs  of  the 
Pharaohs  mock  the  vanitv  that  reared  them,  the  name  of  the  Hebrew 
who,  revolting  from  their  tyranny,  strove  for  the  elevation  of  his  fellow- 
men,  is  a  beacon  light  to  the  world." 


HISTORICAL  RECORD.  285 

Lord  Tennyson's  "  Locksley  Hall  Sixty  Years  After  "  would  fitly 
constitute  the  dying  song  of  this  immortal  poet  of  humanity.  The  old 
man  of  eighty  is  back  where  his  ill-fated  passion  of  twenty  burned  itself 
out.  The  poem,  marvellous  in  its  music  as  in  its  sorrowful  expression, 
is  a  long  retrospect,  taking  in  the  many  changes  that  have  occurred  in 
the  world's  life  in  an  interval  of  three  'score  years.  It  reads  with  the 
profoundest  impressiveness  in  contrast  with  the  original  poem  of  which 
it  is  the  sequel,  but  can  hardly  be  appreciated  by  the  younger  as  it  will 
be  by  the  older,  and  even  the  oldest  class  of  readers.  The  dreams  and 
aspirations  of  youth  unrealized  ;  hopes  dissipated  in  illusions ;  gladness 
gone  into  the  dark  shadows  of  sorrow  ;  early  unrest  satisfied  to  confess 
itself  baffled  and  worn  out ;  questions  once  put  with  a  triumphant  pos- 
itiveness  returning  without  an  answer  to  the  aged  questioner : — it  is  but 
the  experience  of  prolonged  years,  certain  to  become  the  lot  of  all  who 
are  fortunate  or  unfortunate  enough  to  achieve  them.  The  world  has 
no  poet  now  living  who,  first  conceiving  this  sorrow,  contrast  of  time 
with  itself,  is  likewise  able  to  record  it  in  such  sadly  harmonious  syl- 
lables as  these,  the  last  from  the  wonderful  heart  and  brain  of 
Tennyson. 


HISTORICAL    RECORD. 

The  seventy-ninth  birthday  of  the  poet  John  Greenleaf  Whittier 
was  duly  observed  by  his  friends.  He  passed  the  day  at  Oak  Knoll, 
Danvers,  his  home,  receiving  numerous  visitors  besides  many  letters 
and  telegrams  of  congratulation.  But  of  them  all  he  said  he  prized 
none  more  than  the  one  from  his  venerable  and  honored  neighbor, 
Mrs.  Elizabeth  M.  Putnam,  who  had  just  entered  on  the  one  hundred 
and  third  year  of  her  life.  She  lives  very  near  the  poet  in  Danvers. 
The  Misses  Johnson,  his  relatives,  tendered  him  a  birthday  dinner,  and 
the  birthday  cake  bore  the  words  upon  it — "Sweeter  than  song  of 
birds  is  a  thankful  voice. "  Among  the  gifts  presented  him  on  the 
occasion  was  a  basket  filled  with  the  fruit  of  all  lands,  with  a  suitable 
inscription  and  note,  and  a  cane  made  from  the  wood  of  the  house  of 
Wendell  Phillips,  in  Essex  street,  Boston,  (now  removed)  gold-mounted 
and  suitably  inscribed.  The  poet  is  in  good  health,  and  stays  fast  at 
home,  having  been  in  Boston  but  once  during  the  season.  .  He  spoke 
pleasantly  of  his  old  literary  companions,  many  of  them  dead,  and  of 
the  enjoyment  of  Boston  in  the  winter  by  reason  of  its  lectures  and 
entertainments. 

Eli  AS  Polk,  a  colored  man,  the  old  body-servant  of  the  late  Presi- 
,  dent  Polk,  shook  hands  with  President  Cleveland  at  one  of  his  recent 


286  HISTORICAL  RECORD. 

public  receptions.  The  old  man  is  eightj'-one  years  old,  and  lives, 
with  the  venerable  widow  of  the  late  President  at  Nashville,  Tenn^ 
His  boast  is  that  he  has  personally  seen  ever}-  President  since  Joha 
Quincy  Adams,  the  latter  included,  and  is  determined  to  see  them  all 
while  he  lives.  He  says  his  aged  mistress,  who  is  three  years  older 
than  himself,  is  growing  very  feeble  and  does  not  wish  to  be  troubled. 

*  * 

9 

Three  of  the  most  eminent  scholars  in  the  academical  circles  of 
Switzerland  died  at  the  close  of  November —  Professor  Johannes 
Scherr,  of  Zurich,  Professor  Albert  Burkhardt,  of  Basle,  and  Professor 
Eugene  Rambert,  of  Lausanne.  They  were  stricken  down  on  suces- 
sive  days.  Scherr,  called  "  The  German  Carlyle, "  and  Rambert,  the 
poet,  novelist,  critic,  and  biographer  of  ^'inet,  had  a  reputation 
throughout  Europe. 

« 

Abram  S.  Hewitt,  the  newly  elected  mayor  of  New  York,  was- 
tendered  a  farewell  dinner  by  his  colleagues  of  the  New  York  Con- 
gressional Delegation.     There  were  but  lour  invited  guests,  including^ 

the  Speaker  of  the  House. 

»  « 

Marshal  MacMahon,  formerly  President  of  the  French  Republic, 
is  now  seventy-eight  years  old,  and  has  returned  to  Paris,  where  he  is- 
leading  a  very  quiet  life.  Two  army  officers  are  assigned  to  him  a& 
his  staff,  as  a  mark  of  continued  public  respect. 

«  « 

Senator  Voorhees,  of  Indiana,  is  this  winter  occupying  in  Wash- 
ington, the  house  occupied  by  John  Quincy  Adams,  when  the  latter 
was  nominated  and  elected  President. 

*  * 
« 

Rev.  Dr.  McGlynn  was  suspended  from  his  functions  as  pastor  of 

St.  Stephen's  Church,  New  York  City,  by  Archbishop  Corrigan,  for 

insubordination  in  persisting  in  actively  aiding  the  cause  advocated  bv 

Henry  George  after  having  been  warned  against  identifving  himself 

with  it.     Dr.  McGlvnn  has  been  summoned  to  Rome  to  answ'cr  to  the 

Pope  on  tlic  charges  preferred,  and  the  leaders  of  the  labor  movement 

await  the   final    decision   by  the  Supreme  authority  of  the  Catholic 

church,  in  his  case,  with  much  more  than  a  feeling  of  interest. 

*  « 
« 

In  consequence  of  an  interchange  of  views  between  Mr.  Gladstone 

and  his  coUeajjues  of  the  late  Liberal  Cabinet,   it  was  aj^reed,  on  the: 


*? 


NECROLOGY,  287 

reopening  of  Parliannent,  to  support  the  Government  in  all  legal  efforts 
to  suppress  the  anti-rent  campaign,  but  to  urge  the  immediate  enforce- 
ment of  some  form  of  Mr.  Parnell's  bill  for  the  suspension  of  evictions. 
The  action  of  Messrs.  Dillon  and  O'Brien  has  irritated  the  Liberal 
circle,  and  the  anti-rent  leaders  have  received  warning  that  there  is  no 
chance  that  the  cooperation  of  Mr.  Gladstone  will  continue  unless  they 
submit  to  Mr.  Pamell,  who  is  desirous  of  a  common  policy  with  Mr. 
Gladstone,  and  is  therefore  suspected  of  aiming  to  suppress  the  plan  of 
campaign.  Both  Mr.  Gladstone  and  Mr.  Pamell  are  said  to  be  no 
longer  in  accord  with  their  followers,  who,  unless  they  mend  their 
ways,  will  find  themselves,  when  Parliament  meets,  without  even  the 
rump  of  a  party. 

♦ 

Forefathers*  Day  was  widely  and  enthusiastically  celebrated  last 
month,  the  gathering  of  the  different  societies  comprising  many  men  of 
note  and  real  distinction.  A  number  of  the  principal  cities  of  the 
country  observed  it  appropriately  by  the  meeting  of  their  New  England 
societies,  and  so  did  many  cities  and  towns  in  Massachusetts  and  New 
England.  The  New  York  meeting  was  distinguished  for  the  character 
of  its  speakers  and  the  felicity  of  their  speeches.  Perhaps  the  most 
noticeable  of  all  these  commemorative  meetings  was  that  of  the  Con- 
gregational Club  of  Boston,  which  held  its  exercises  in  Music  Hall, 
many  ladies  being  present.  Probably  a  thousand  persons  were  as- 
sembled. Rev.  Dr.  Webb,  president  of  the  club,  opened  the  exercises, 
and  after  brief  remarks  introduced  Governor  Robinson,  who  made  a 
felicitous  address.  The  other  speakers  succeeding  him  were  Dr.  Ban- 
croft, President  of  Phillips  Academy,  Andover,  Professor  Heman 
Lincoln  of  the  Newton  Theological  Seminary,  President  Robinson  of 
Brown  University,  and  Hon.  James  G.  Blaine  of  Maine.  The  speech 
of  the  latter  was  the  speech  of  the  occasion,  and  called  forth  constant 
enthusiasm.  The  closing  point  made  by  Mr.  Blaine,  and  with  much 
force,  was  that  ministers  ought  to  preach  instead  of  reading  their  ser- 
mons. The  day  has  not  been  more  generally  or  more  enthusiastically 
commemorated  in  many  years. 


NECROLOGY. 


E.  Price  Greexleaf  died  in  Boston  last  month  at  the  age  of  96. 
He  was  a  native  of  Boston,  having  been  born  on  the  site  of  the  13oston 
Athenaeum,  was  educated  in  the  Latin  School,  and  early  in  life  went  to 
South  Carolina  to  engage  in  business.     He  not  long  afterwards  returned 


288  NECROLOGY, 

to  Boston,  and  entered  into  trade  in  which  he  finally  failed.  From  that 
time  he  took  up  his  residence  with  his  father  in  Quincy,  where  he  con- 
tinued to  live  for  over  fiffy  years.  He  passed  the  time  in  profound 
studies  and  working  in  the  garden  attached  to  the  house.  Latterly  he 
had  spent  his  summers  in  a  little  interior  town  in  the  State  of  New 
York,  living  in  a  little  woode]^  house  and  attended  only  by  a  trusted 
ser\'ant.  What  he  ate  he  raised  himself  in  the  little  garden  hard  by. 
When  he  arrived  at  the  age  of  sixty  he  came  into  possession  of  property 
by  the  death  of  his  father,  and  subsequently  of  his  aunt  and  sisters, 
which  he  sedulously  nursed  till,  at  the  time  of  his  death,  he  had  in- 
creased it  to  between  $400,000  and  $500,000.  Nearly  the  whole  of  his 
large  property  he  left  by  will  to  Harvard  College. 

.♦  • 

Miss  Emma  Taylor,  of  St.  Johnsbury,  Vt.,  sister  of  Dr.  Samuel 

Taylor,  president  of  Phillips*  Andover  Academy,  and  of  the  wife  of 

Governor   Fairbanks,  of  Vermont,  died  in   December.      She  was  a 

native  of  Deny,  N.  H.,  and  was  at  one  time  a  teacher  in  St.  Johnsbury 

Academy. 

« 

Col.  Isaac  Hull  Wright  died  at  his  residence  in  Dorchester  on 
the  2 2d  of  December  at  the  age  of  73  years.  He  was  a  native  of  Bos- 
ton, and  a  graduate  of  the  English  High  School  in  1829.  Educated  to 
mercantile  life,  he  took  to  the  newspaper.  He  assisted  in  raising  the 
Massachusetts  Volunteers  for  tlic  Mexican  War,  and  was  commissioned 
as  captain,  and  subsequently  as  lieutenant-colonel  when  the  regiment 
was  organized.  When  Caleb  Cushing  was  promoted  to  a  generalship 
Colonel  Wright  was  made  colonel,  and  commanded  the  regiment  to 
the  close  of  the  war.  He  subsequently  received  the  appointment  of 
navy  agent  for  Boston,  and  afterwards  was  made  superintendent  of  the 
armory  at  Springfield,  Mass.  He  was  ser\'ing  his  third  term  as  street 
commissioner  of  Boston  at  the  time  of  his  death,  and  was  chairman  of 
the  board. 

• 
«  « 

General  John  A.  Logan,  United  States  Senator  from  Illinois, 
died  at  his  residence  in  Washington,  D.  C,  on  the  26th  of  December, 
at  the  age  of  nearly  sixt}'-one  years.  The  cause  of  his  death  was  acute 
rheumatism.  The  event  was  wholly  unexpected  by  his  family  and 
friends.  Gen.  Logan  was  born  in  Jackson  County,  Illinois,  his  father 
having  emigrated  to  this  country  from  Ireland.  At  the  outbreak  of  the 
Mexican  War  Gen.  Logan  was  twenty-one  years  old,  and  volunteered 
in  the  scr\'ice  and  came  out  with  credit.     He  afterwards  studied  law. 


NECROLOGY.  289 

began  its  practice,  was  elected  to  the  legislature  of  his  native  State,  and 
henceforward  gave  himself  up  to  politics.  A  Democrat  hitherto, 
when  the  civil  war  broke  out  he  took  up  the  cause  of  the  Union,  and 
did  a  great  deal  to  turn  popular  opinion  in  Southern  Illinois.  At  the 
time  of  the  first  battle  of  Bull  Run  he  was  a  member  of  Congress,  and 
immediately  after  adjournment  returned  home,  raised  a  regiment  in  the 
face  of  powerful  local  prejudice,  and  took  the  field  with  the  volunteer 
army  of  the  Union.  His  record  during  the  war  was  a  brilliant  one. 
He  came  out  of  it  with  highest  honors.  He  was  afterwards  twice 
elected  United  States  Senator  from  Illinois,  and  was  on  the  ticket  with 
Mr.  Blaine  for  the  Presidency.  He  was  likewise,  a  probable  candidate 
for  the  Presidential  nomination  by  his  party  in  1888. 

Mr.  Benjamin  Fletcher  died  at  Auburn,  N.  Y.,  December  18, 
was  a  native  of  Peru,  Me.,  where  he  was  born  in  1818.  He  went  to 
Lowell  at  an  early  age,  and  subsequently  to  North  Chelmsford,  where 
he  had  charge  of  the  Baldwin  Company's  Worsted  Mills  during  the 
greater  part  of  his  business  career. 

Hon.  Theophilus  P.  Chandler  died  at  Brookline,  Mass.,  Decem- 
ber 21,  in  his  eightieth  year.  He  was  the  son  of  Peleg  Chandler,  and 
was  born  in  New  Gloucester,  Mc.  Before  he  had  reached  his  eight- 
eenth year  he  began  the  study  of  law  in  his  father's  oflEice,  and  was 
admitted  to  the  bar  and  began  legal  practice  at  Bangor,  afterwards  re- 
moving to  Boston,  where  he  continued  the  practice  for  forty  years  and 
more.  He  had  seven  children,  all  at  present  living  but  his  eldest  son, 
who  was  killed  in  battle,  in  Virginia,  in  1864.  Mr.  Chandler  was  for 
four  years  president  of  the  Northern  Railroad  of  New  York  ;  in  Janu- 
ary, 1861,  was  appointed  one  of  the  Peace  Commissioners  from 
Massachusetts  to  the  national  convention,  held  at  Washington  prior  to 
the  breaking  out  of  the  civil  war ;  in  June,  1863,  was  appointed 
United  States  Assistant  Treasurer  for  Boston,  and  held  that  ofl[ice  for 
five  years. 

Henry  C.  Kingsley,  Treasurer  of  Yale  College,  died  December 
19,  at  New  Haven,  from  injuries  received  four  weeks  before  by  being 
thrown  from  his  carriage.  He  was  a  graduate  of  Yale  in  the  class  of 
1834,  ^^^  ^^  ^^  Law  School  class  of  1S36.  He  was  a  son  of  the  late 
Professor  James  L.  Kingsley,  professor  of  Latin  at  Yale  for  many 
years. 

John  Edwards  died  at  Portland,  Me.,  December  23.  He  was 
born  in  Boston  eighty-five  years  ago,  and  went  to  Portland  in  1814, 


290  NECROLOGY, 

where  he  learned  the  printer's  trade  in  the  Argus  and  Advertiser 
offices,  and  finally  purchased  a  half  interest  in  the  Advertiser.  He 
was  the  oldest  printer  in  Portland.  Over  fifty  years  ago  he  was  the 
senior  partner  of  the  firm  that  began  the  publication  of  the  Portland 
Daily  Advertiser.  He  was  proprietor  and  editor  of  the  Bangor  Whig 
from  1838  to  1 84 1,  and  subsequently  became  the  publisher  of  the  Port- 
land Tribune  and  the  Bulletin. 

«  « 
« 

George  J.  Brooks  died  December  23,  He  was  a  native  of  West 
Cambridge,  Mass.  He  had  been  a  member  of  the  California  Legisla- 
ture, and  at  the  time  of  his  death  was  a  member  of  the  Vermont 
Legislature  from  Brattleboro.  He  had  recently  given  to  Brattleboro  a 
fine  new  public  library  building,  which  is  to  be  dedicated  January  12. 

« 

Captain  William  Walker  Moore  died  in  Washington,  Decem- 
ber 23,  at  the  age  of  eighty-four  years.  He  was  a  printer  in  the  office 
of  the  National  Intclh'gencer,  under  Gales  and  Seaton,  for  thirty  years 
before  the  war,  and  had  charge  of  that  paper.  He  was  frequently  with 
his  father  and  uncles  in  1814  at  Fort  McIIcniy,  when  it  was  threatened 
l)v  the  British  fleet,  and  after  its  bombardment  he  was  enrolled  with 
other  boys  of  his  age  to  prepare  ammunition  for  other  attacks. 

James  W.  Johnson  died  December  18  in  Boston,  in  his  sixty-first 
year.  He  was  born  in  Enfield,  N.  H,,  and  received  a  very  meagre 
education  in  his  youth.  He  was  a  clerk  in  a  country  store  until  he  was 
twenty-six  years  old,  when  he  began  to  trade  for  himself  in  produce 
and  cattle,  buying  droves  of  tlie  latter  in  Canada  and  northern  New 
York,  and  selling  them  to  the  New  Hampshire  farmers.  Afterwards 
he  became  a  dealer  in  wool.  In  his  boyhood  his  parents  were  in  ex- 
tremely straitened  circumstances.  He  bought  the  Quincy  House  in 
Boston,  in  1S74,  and  since  that  date  has  continued  its  proprietor.  He 
improved,  and  remodelled,  and  extended  the  old  house,  carrying  it  up 
to  the  height  of  seven  stories,  and  invested  in  it  altogether  a  million 
dollars.     His  funeral  was  largely  attended  by  men  of  public  note. 

«  « 

Captain  Jotiiam  Johnson  of  Durham,  Me.,  died  December  ijrth» 
at  the  great  age  of  I03  years.  He  was  born  on  Whaleboat  Island, 
Harpswell,  Me.,  in  1784,  and  from  the  age  of  seven  to  that  of  seventy 
he  followed  the  sea,  being  a  fisherman,  and  after  a  time  a  captain.  He 
was  a  soldier  in  the  war  of  181 2,  and  witnessed  the  fight  between  the 


LITERATURE  AND  ART.  291 

Enterprise  and  the  Boxer,  which  took  place  off  Harpswell.     He  like- 
Avise  went  on  an  expedition  to  Dover  Straits  with  General  Braddock. 

Hon.  Marshall  P.  Wilder  died  at  his  home  in  Dorchester,  Mass., 
on  the  morning  of  December  i6th,  at  the  age  of  88  years.  He  had  been 
one  of  the  most  prosperous  of  Boston  merchants  for  over  fifty  years, 
coming  from  Rindge,  N.  H.,  where  he  was  born.  He  had  good  healthy 
blood  in  his  veins,  derived  from  a  sturdy  and  distinguished  ancestry. 
^Mthough  all  his  life  a  merchant,  Mr.  Wilder  really  devoted  himself  to 
horticultural  pursuts,  in  which  he  achieved  the  widest  success  and  won 
a  most  enviable  distinction.  He  had  been  President  of  the  Massachu- 
setts Horticultural  Society,  and  was  President  of  the  American  Pomo- 
logical  Society  from  its  organization  till  the  time  of  his  death.  He 
organized  many  societies  and  assisted  in  founding  many  institutions. 
He  was  President  of  the  New  England  Historic  and  Genealogical  So- 
ciety. He  had  been  commander  of  the  Ancient  and  Honorable 
Artillery  Company,  and  was  a  Free  and  Accepted  Mason  of  the 
highest  standing.  His  funeral  was  attended  by  large  representations 
of  all  the  societies  to  which  he  had  belonged,  and  an  eloquent  and 
fitting  eulogy  was  pronounced  over  his  remains  by  Rev.  Mr.  Packard, 
the  pastor  of  the  Second  Congregational  Church  of  Dorchester,  of 
which  Col.  Wilder  had  been  an  active  and  devoted  member  for  fifty- 
three  years. 


LITERATURE  AND  ART. 

Gough,  though  dead,  yet  speaketh  in  his  new  booki,  the  latest  from 
his  pen.  The  book  is  very  interesting,  since  its  style  has  all  tlie  beauty 
and  vigor  of  Gough*s  pictorial  and  dramatic  oratory.  It  will  be  read 
with  pleasure  by  all  who  have  ever,  at  any  time,  heard  the  earnest 
\  oice  of  its  great  author,  when  alive,  pleading  the  cause  of  fallen 
humanity.  As  we  read  the  stories  and  illustrations  which  this  book 
contains  we  seem  to  behold  the  great  temperance  orator  on  the  plat- 
form again,  holding  all  spell-bound  by  .his  magnetic  eloquence,  so 
accurately  are  his  very  words  given.  The  material  of  the  book  has 
been  carefully  compiled  and  corrected  by  the  author,  and  is  his  last 
contribution  to  the  great  work  of  his  life.  It  is  well  printed,  full  of 
steel  engravings  and  pictorial  illustrations. 

I  Platform  Echoes,  by  John  B.  Gough.    New    York,  A.  I).  Worthington. 


'.-  *;  -  J^trvr  *  V   ''>>*i''i.  •    Vom  *h«  "5rn#5  Vv^n  r?.«r:a  -vo*  ^ 

'  f-  '#  'ifi'v^   r,  '^■^-     \  f    yr.tncin  v*nsiilA  ir,w-:  Yj  "he  present  ^ra.  is  ir 

/•    './^t    -i^ir*    'i;.;    -/  .r*fyrf^r.     7rom   !^«r  yazziiiaT  pruitinn  lerweea 

.X.;  . .-.,-.',  ;-v,r*h^ri  ^nri  Hr.*ifhem  Zjirr>»>5,  ;h«  .las  been  aibiecr  :d  more 

.  r  /.     . .,  ^    '.i',*' .-,/.   ;i .-,    .  -,  frtr,vit ;  r. ^  an ri  .  rr.  r^-, ran t  ri^iatic n  to  orher  weacem 


, . ' ,  -*  :,.^/,  '/"A '-I  p/^r . />: <4  ■  V ^/*r,  • ;-. c .nr^r. ;i r -^i sot  - ^>a : n  t;^ v e  .aw  tD 
'  ..'V  •  *;-,/^vj  vj*r!<»»i* 'V>nrJit>,r.^.  arri  mr»iniy  iuur  !n  rV'm  the  rest  of  die 
^'V  >:  v/  S'l/*,  P/r^^e^^  ar.ri  'h^  ,\rfvlifnmr.#an,  ihe  chj racrerfatics  which 
',:  ^♦i  ^/  ,.-k\x  ^■'c.ft  p^op»!^  r»f  Sr^^in  f'orrt  r,^her  nariorfl  ar»  'Iceplj  wmo^iit. 
;  f . . ; ','/'  ',Ay^r.  jiTir^r'Tvterl  w>h  »Jr.e  r.r/o:;:*v  '•.f  the  national  character  nnni 

'■if  ' 

♦:  .^-  ,-/  y/,^^!  <,f  *;-,#*,  ff:f*%^  **-/ c/^/Jjri'-^r.s  of  <i  >rv>ver7  and  war  hv  which  SDain 
*r;»  'r^/^/l  Jiri^'I  "//r.^i  **^;r-vj  ^/;o  ..crr.i^pr.er'!^.  we  are  almost  paxntrilly' 
'A?\i '  ♦/^/J  i»  U  ■//  ir-^.r^r^it^.r.^  s:'vr  ^'.c  arlrr.ired  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,  to 
fir, /I  f^r  Ti'AfiOr.al  ^,.\fr,ry  .  ".f.  r^/rj-jA  ^V.f,  petty  annal.i  of  court  intrigues. 
V'  *  fr'/rri  fr.r  f./.f  lir,rr.;ir,  .:.-iH\\r»r,  tc*  ?ho  collapje  of  Spar.Iah  power  in 
♦i  '  .  i%f  '/  fiti.r/  *:y;  r'-'o/'!  of  fh^it  \jfWtxAn  di^pla;*^  more  of  the  clement 
',f  r,ru'Uift.  'K;ir.  it  fouii'l  ifi  iiT.y  o^\\f:r  (j^AiTitry,  With  various  climate 
,.ri'l  i-^r'.it  v;iri^ty  ''/f  ■vurf.'K'/',  F.pain  h.'j^  always  possciised  great  natural 
;i"r .'  fl'-zn'-i ;  ;ir.''l  fK'  -i/ ,  v,  ith  th^:  rorr.riin^  of  the  massive  structures  of  the 
K'/jfi/'in'-i,  ;ir»'l  ro.i../  fir»^-  '.],*'/ ATUf:r\^  of  M''y-»ri.sh  architecture,  still  well- 
|/r'  ••;'  rv/-^l,  u\\\^'/\'  '\  v/itli  rn^my  ;iri^  i'':nt  «»tr ucturcs of  distinctively  Spanish 
^  l..ir;»/  »^r,  to  ^l.iy  ofl/  r  ;itfr;iotior»ft  to  the  tr>urist  hardly  inferior  to  those 
t,\  rifi'/  ofh'r  p;irf  of  flif  v/or)d.  Jf»  prfipfiration  for  writing  the  pleasing 
jMi'l  po|Mfl:iily  f;iiffK  i'rit  f;fory  of  Sp;iin  which  lies  l>cforc  us  the  eminent 
Mirtliorq  }i;ivr  )i;id  t)i/*  »'lv;int;i^r:  of  travel  and  residence  amid  the  scenes- 
wli'rf  thr  (nf;it  find  littlf!  vyvu\H  of  tlir:  liistory  were  enacted,  and  we 
MM  thim  iii^^iily  fiivorf'/l  hy  tJicir  ohsc^rvntions  as  well  as  their  personal 
i|iiiililir  :iliofm  [in  \\\\%  vvoik. 


•   • 


'I  \\v  irtr{Mihit  p;irHlIrIo(^r;irTi  of  l>;irn*ii  tncMiiitiiin  and  desolate  sands, 
iiilri«;|H'mri|  mid  JKiMlnrd  l»y  tnictH  of  ^rrntcr  or  less  fertility  is  the 
|ii(i|ii  I  hfiiiir  of  II  Mut\  who,  wliilr  thry  linve  not  themselves  populated 
)il)iir<;  \Mv  lilt  tiniii  tlirii  iiiitivr  soil,  hiivr  through  kindred  tribes  and 
iiiilinip;,  III  iMir  tiiiir  ni  iiiint Im'i,  t (lied  Northern  Africa  and  Southem 
Atiiii  Mini  Iniopr  Immii  the  \\a\  ot  Hisiay  and  the  Straits  of  Gibraltar  to 
llhnlimtiUi.      Into  tin*  iMily  liisloiy  of  this  people^  there  cnlers  much  oV 

I  I  hf  .Mm  V  )>f  'iniit;  h\  V\\\x.\u\  lv<Mrtt  Hair,  ami  SuMii  I  lair.    New  York:  C  P.  Putnam^ 

Stxii     I  Inlli,  H  vo  ,  |>|i.  4ii;.    #i.sit. 

t  tlti>*<iiii\  I'l  ilir  ^.u.iMMin;  l*v  Aiihiii  <;i1iii.in,  M.  A.     New  York  and  London :  G.F.  Pat». 
It.iin  ••  'm>«w      t  lutli,  K  \i>.,  )-p.  4*m.     #i.sa 


LITERATURE  AND  ART  293 

myth  and  fable*;  but,  as  they  were  in  a  degree,  countrymen  of  Abraham, 
their  religion,  in  the  main,  was  like  to  his.  But  while  to  the  direct 
descendants  of  the  Jewish  patriarch  the  acceptance  of  Mohammed  as  a 
prophet  w:is  impossible,  his  kindred  went  so  far  astray  that  even 
Mohammed's  teaching  and  leadership  was  a  benefit.  The  various  tribes 
and  nations  which  became  allied  with  the  Saracens,  though  dwelling  in 
widely  distant  regions,  were  so  generally  alike  in  their  habits  of  life  and 
consequently  in  their  modes  of  thought  that  the  religion  of  Islam  was 
easily  and  at  length  heartily  adopted  by  them.  It  proved  a  cord  that 
efibctively  bound  together  the  tribes  of  only  a  greater  or  less  degree  of 
barbarism  which  came  within  its  territorial  scope,  giving  them  the 
power  and  purpose  of  conquest  in  the  several  directions  whither  their 
cupidity  led  or  their  fanaticism  urged  them.  It  seems  scarcely  necessary 
to  say  that  wherever  ^Mohammedanism  became  the  religion  of  a  people, 
if  they  were  barbarians  before,  barbarians  they  remained. — except  as 
the  protection  of  enhanced  national  power  gave  the  communities  a 
greater  stability,  tluis  coritributinj^  to  an  increase  of  wealth,  which,  by 
a  tendency  which  is  universal,  found  expression  in  better  architectural 
constructions,  with  some  extension  of  mechanical  skill,  the  development 
of  learning,  and  the  clifiusion  of  luxury  ;  but  no  people  who  adopted  it 
were  ever  raised  tiiereby  above  the  grade  of  semi-civilization.  The 
lives  of  the  ^loslem  leaders,  specially  that  of  their  prophet,  furnish 
manv  incidents  of  strikin<^  interest,  and  the  history  of  the  wars  of  Islam 
from  the  days  of  Augustus  Cajsar  to  the  expulsion  of  the  Moors  from 
Spain,  is  full  of  stirring  episodes. —  all  the  more  impressive  from  the 
crueltv  which  was  always  a  visible  element  in  their  conduct.  The 
pastoral  and  predatory  Arab,  the  skilful,  commercial  and  withal  luxu- 
rious Persian,  each  have  their  place  in  this  history, —  which,  however, 
is  unsatisfactory,  from  its  ending  with  the  fall  of  Bagdad, —  omitting 
altogether  the  period  of  the  Crusades  and  the  Moorish  occupation  of 
Spain.  Mr.  Oilman  must  perceive  that  another  volume  is  demanded  to 
complete  the  ''  Story." 

*  * 

There  is  much  food  for  thought  and  also  means  of  spiritual  uplifting 
to  be  found  in  the  small  but  elegant  monthly  magazine,  '"  The  Christian 
Science  Journal,"  * —  the  organ  of  the  new^  religious  sect  known  as  the 
Christian  Scientists.  The  editor.  Rev.  William  I.  Gill,  A.  M.,  is  a 
clear  thinker,  an  able  and  interesting  writer,  and  a  careful  editor;  and 
no  doubt  the  fraternity  which  this  publication  represents  gain  much  bv 
his  verv  elficient  services. 

I  The  Christian  Science  Journal.  Boston,  Mass. ;  Christian  Science  Piiblisiiing  Co.    $1.00  a  year; 
single  numbers,  10  cents. 


294  INDEX  TO  MAGAZINE  LITERATURE. 

,  Philosophy,  not  theology  and  religion,  was  the  incentive  and  quest  of 
the  author  of  the  neat  and  convenient  i6mo.  volume  on  Philosophical 
Realism.^  The  work  briefly  but  searchingly  reviews  former  meta- 
physical and  philosophical  systems,  including  those  of  Darwin  and 
Spencer.  The  system  as  here  set  forth,  has  no  affinity  with  scepticism. 
The  work  is  not  mainly  negative,  but  effectively  constructive,  while  the 
treatment  of  the  topics  appears  to  be  just  and  in  remarkable  good 
temper.  The  work  is  notable  for  its  exhaustive  mention  of  metaphysi- 
cal and  philosophical  questions,  and  in  this  respect  might  prove  a  con- 
venient hand-book  for  the  studious.  Except  a  few  last  pages  and  some 
late  interpolations,  the  book  was  mainly  written  years  ago,  and  much 
of  it  printed  in  T/te  Index,,  of  Boston,  known  as  one  of  the  most 
philosophical  of  weekly  journals.  The  work,  therefore,  is  not  written 
from  the  point  of  view  of  a  Christian  Scientist  distinctively, — yet  in  the 
view  of  the  author,  his  system  constitutes  the  true  foundation  for  the 
doctrine  of  the  new  sect.  Its  great  object  is  to  show  that  there  is  no 
matter,  except  mortal  thought,  and  that  Mind  is  all.  I  lis  purpose  has 
been  to  "cover  all  the  facts,  and  be  consistent," — modestly  adding, — 
"  Our  little  scheme  may  be  wrong,  though  self-consistent ;  but,  if  not 
self-consistent,  it  is  no  system  at  all,  but  only  an  aggregation,  and  is 
certainly  wrong  somewhere."  The  work  has  of  necessity  required 
very  extended  reading  and  careful  thought  for  many  years,  and  is  thus 
the  product  of  great  labor.  , 


INDEX  TO  MAGAZINE  LITERATURE. 

[The  numerals  designate  magazines,  a  list  of  which  is  placed  at  the  close  of  this  index.  The 
date  of  the  magazines  is  that  ofthe  month  preceding  this  issue  of  the  New  England  Maigazine, 
unless  otherwise  stated.] 

Art,  Architecture  How  I  became  an  Artist's  Model.  Charlotte  Adams* 
9.  — The  Book  of  American  Figure  Painters.  G.  P.  Lathrop.  9.  — Contempo- 
rary French  Sculpture  :  Chapu  and  Dubois.  Wm.  C.  Browne/I.  i.  — La  Mere 
Venus.  George  II.  Bougkton^  A,  /?.  A.  2. —  The  Royal  Academy  of  Painting 
and  Sculpture.     Lady  Dilke.     25. 

Biography,  Genealogy.  A  Useful  Clergyman  (Heman  Dyer,  D.D.)  Rev, 
S,  F.  Ilotchkin.  29.  —  Otis  Clapp.  Samuel  II.  Worcester.  24.  —  Henry  Clay, 
Reminiscences  of,  by  his  Executor,  y.  O,  Harrison,  i.  — Abraham  Lincoln. 
A  History.  IL  Lincoln  as  Soldier,  Surveyor,  and  Politician,  yohu  G.  Nicolay 
and  John  Hay.  i. — A  Little  Millerite.  Jane  Marsh  Parker.  i. — The 
Boyhood  of  Christ.  (rcneral  Lev:  Wallace.  2.  —  Salmon  P.  Chase.  Donn 
Piatt.  4.  —  Sir  Samuel  Ferguson.  25.  —  Gustave  Flaubert,  and  George  Sand. 
Mrs.  Arthur  Kennard.  25.  —  Henry  D.  Thorcan.  //.  5.  Salt,  25. —  The 
Brewer  of  Ghent,     yames  Hutton.     25. 

I  Philosophical  Kealism,  by  Rev.  William  I.  Gill,  A.  M.,  Boston,  Mass.  Published  by  thelddex 
Association,  1886.    Cloth,  $1.50;  paper,  85  cts. 


INDEX  TO  MAGAZINE  LITERATURE.  295 

Civil  War.  The  Battle  of  Gettysburg,  II.  —The  Second  Day  of  Gettysburg. 
Gen,  Henry  J,  Hunt.  i.  —  *'  Round  Top  "  and  the  Confederate  Right  at  Gettys- 
burg. Gen.  E.  M,  La'w.  i. — Misunderstandings:  Halleck  and  Grant.  Gen, 
James  B.  Fry.     8. — From  Cedar  Mountain  to  Chantilly,  IV.     Alfred  E.  Lee, 

8.  — My  Campaign  in  East  Kentucky.    James  A,  Garfield.    4.  — Jefferson  Davis 
and  the  Mississippi  Campaign.     Gen.  Joseph  E,  Johnston,     4. 

Description,  Travel,  Adventure.  Up  the  Neva  to  Schliisselburg.  Ed- 
mund Noble.  II. — Ashland,  the  Home  of  Henry  Clay.  Charles  W.  Coleman^ 
Jr.  I.  —  Old  Chelsea,  II.  BenJ.  E,  Afar  tin.  i, — One  New  England  Thanks- 
giving. Mrs.  Martha  J.  Lamb.  6. — Ohio  as  a  Hospitable  Wilderness.  J,  H, 
Kennedy.  6. — Creole  Peculiarities.  P.  F.  de  Gournay,  6. — **The  Swamp 
Angel ;  "  The  Gun  Used  in  Firing  on  Charleston,  in  1863.  William  S.  Stryker, 
Adjt.-Gen.  of  Neiv  Jersey.  6.  — The  Last  Voyage  of  the  Surprise,  VIII.  7.— 
Around  the  World  on  a  Bicycle,  XIV.  Thomas  Stevens.  7.  —  After  Geronimo, 
X.  Lieut.  John  Bigelow,  Jr.,  U.  S.  A.  7. — A  Day's  Fishing  in  Bermuda. 
Charles  E.  Clay.  7.  —  Paddling  in  the  Winnipeg  County.  7.  —  My  Experience 
in  Ballooning.  P.  L.  Sternbergh.  7. — The  Moujiks  and  the  Russian  Democ- 
racy.    By  Stcpniak.     25. 

Education.  "  Newspaperism  "  Reviewed.  Junius  Henri  Browne,  9. — 
Women  as  School  Directors.  M.  W.  Shinn.  10. — The  Writings  of  Laura 
Bridgman.  E.  C.  Sanford.  10. — The  Object  of  a  University.  Elisha  Mul- 
ford.  II. — The  Intellectual  Mission  of  the  Saracens.  Edzvard Hungcrford, 
II.  — The  250th  Anniversary  of  Harvard  College;  The  Oration.  James  Pusseli 
Lowell.  The  Poem.  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes.  11.  —  Moral  Training  in  the 
Public  School.  Supt.  E.  E.  White,  LL.  D.  8. — The  Study  of  American 
Institutions  in  Schools.  Francis  N.  Thorpe,  Ph.  D.  8.  —  Results  of  the  Ger- 
^lan  School  System.  Prof.  John  K.  Lord.  8  — The  Old  South  Historical 
Work.  Edwin  D.  Mead.  8. — The  Teaching  of  Civics  in  the  Schools.  C.  F, 
Crehore,  M.  D,  8.  —  Educational  Methods.  George  Sand.  4.  —  Education 
Abroad      Abstract  of  Report  of  Commissioner  of  Education,     27. 

History.  The  Old  South  Historical  Work.  Edwin  D.  Mead,  8.— One 
New  England  Thanksgiving.  Mrs.  Martha  J.  Lamb.  6. — Ohio  as  a  Hospit- 
able Wilderness.     J.  H.  Kennedy.     6. —  The  Brewer  of  Ghent.     James  Hutton, 

25- 

Literature.  My  Literary  Experiences.  John  Habberton,  9.  —  Mental 
Obliquity.  Grace  H.  Peirce.  9.  —  ''  Newspaperism  "  Reviewed.  Junius  Henri 
Browne.  9.  —  How  to  Choose  a  Library.  9.  —  The  Writings  of  Laura  Bridg- 
man. E.  C.  Sanford.  10. — The  Works  of  Thomas  Middleton.  10. — The 
Church  of  England  Novel.  Harriet  W.  Preston.  11. — The  Intellectual  Mis- 
sion of  the  Saracens.  Edward  Hungcrford.  11.  —  William  Shakspeare*8 
Literary  Executor.  Appleton  Morgan.  6. — Sir  Samuel  Ferguson.  25.  Gu8- 
tave  Flaubert  and  George  Sand.  Mrs.  Arthur  Kennard.  25.  Henry  D.  Thor- 
can.     H.  S  Salt.      25.  —  Chaucer  and  Bocaccio.     E.  M,    Gierke,     25.  —  The 

Eve  of  Venus.  By  the  Earl  of  Lytton. ^The  Deuschman's  Had.    A  Legend  of 

Shetland.     25. 

Miscellaneous.     The  Presidents  as  Gastronomers.      Frank  G.  Carpenter, 

9.  —  My   Literary   Experiences.     John   Habberton,      9. — Creole  Peculiarities. 
P.  F.  de  Gourtiay.     6. 

Politics,  Economics,  Public  Affairs.  The  Beet-Sugar  Industry  in  Cali- 
fornia. E.  W.  Hil^ard.  lo-  —  The  Land  System  of  the  New  England 
Colonies.  Melville  Eglcston.  28.  —  Five  Questions  in  Socialism.  Rev.  B.  E, 
Warner.  29. — The  Dream  of  Russia.  Cyrus  Hamlin.  11. — Mazzini.  Maria 
Louise  Henry.  11. — The  Intellectual  Mission  of  the  Saracens.  Edward 
Hungcrford.  11.  —  How  Can  the  Church  best  Help  the  Old.'*  Pczk  John  God' 
dard.  24.  — Moral  Training  in  the  Public  School.  Supt.  E.  E.  White,  LL.  D. 
8.  —  The  Study  of  American  Institutions  in  Schools.  Francis  N.  Thorpe, 
Ph.D.  8. — Results  of  the  German  School  System.  Prof.  John  K.  Lord. 
8.  — The  Teaching  of  Civics  in  the  Schools.  C  F,  Crehore,  M.  D.  8.  — The 
Food  Qiiestion  in  America  and  Europe.  Edward  Atkinson,  i.  —  Labor  and 
Condensed  Labor.  Pierre  Lorillard.  4. — Lessons  of  the  New  York  Elec- 
tions; A  Symposium.  *'^  Republican,"  Rev.  Edward  Mc Glynn,  D.  D.,  and 
.S.  5.  Cox!   4.  —  Letters   to   Prominent   Persons,   No.  5.  —  To  the   President 


296 


INDEX  TO  MAGAZINE  LITERATURE. 


Arthut  Rirkmond.     4. — Recent  Reforms  in  Balloting.  Allen  Tkorndike  Rict.  4. 

—  Mralth  of  the  ('.  S.  \rTT\y.      Bcnj.  I*\  Pope,  Maj.  and  Surgeom  U.  S.  A.      27. 

—  TheKiiU'ra  of   the   Balkan^.     25. — Economic   Socialism.     Professor  Sidg^ 
ivit  k.     2^.  —  Dcmorrary  and  TaRtc.     25.  —  Europe  r$.  England.     25. 

Rf.<rkation',    Sports.       Possible    Excess    of   Amu«-ements.       Rev.    T.   F. 
Wrifrht.     24.  —  Ptniliarifirs  ofChesH  Players.     Henry  ^lhadv:ick.     7. 

KriJoioN,  Morals.  Mental  Obliquity.  drare  IJ.  Pierce.  9. — "Xcw»- 
paprri«<Tn"  Reviewed.  yuniu.t //rttri /Jro-vnc.  <j.  —  C  hristmaf.  wiih  Christ. 
lihhop  A.  (I.  ('oxe.  2*j. — The  Sign ifira nee  of  the  Nativity.  T.  B.  Hayward, 
24.  —  Public  Worship.  licv.  yavtcs  Rr.rd.  24.  —  Moral  Teaching  from  the 
Bible.  Rrv.  John  Worcr.ster.  24. — Possible  Excess  of  Amusements.  Rev,  7*. 
P\  M' right.  24.  —  I  low  Can  the  Church  best  Help  the  01d.>  Rev.  John  God- 
da  rd.  24 .  —  A  IJ  r  1 1  c  M  i  lie  ri  te .  Jane  Ma  rsh  Pa  rite  r.  i .  —  The  Boyhood  of 
Chri««t.  Gen.  J.rvj  Wallace,  2.  —  Heathendom  and  Christendom.  Gait 
Hamilton.     4. -- Mormon  Blood  Atonement.     Joseph  A.   West,     4. 

S(  iK.vcK,  Nat  i:ral  History,  Discovi.ry,  Inventions.  The  Presidents  a» 
Gnstronriinrrs.  l-'rank  (i.  Carpenter.  9  — The  Writings  of  Laura  Bridgman. 
E.  (I.  Sanford.  10.-  Our  I'VirestK.  Ahludt  Kinney.  10 — Meteorology  in  the 
Tnitrd  Slatrs.  A.  Tnlman  Smith.  8. — Wood  Notes.  Wm.  II.  Gibson.  2-— 
My  I'^xptTiciirc  in  Itallooning.  /-*.  L.  Sternbergh.  7.  —  The  Museum  of  Hv- 
gcinc.  7\  J.  Turner,  Mcdiral  Director  U.  .V.  Navy.  27.  —  Health  of  the  tJ. 
S.  Army.  lien j.  1.  Pope  ^  Maj.  wwd  Surgeon  U.  S.A.  27. — Sewage  Utiliza- 
tion by  lrri;;alion.  Dr.  Alfred  ('arpenter.  27. — The  Utilization  of  Garbage. 
7'h(t.%,  I).  Ml  Ellterrie.  27.  —  Should  Dwelling  Houses  be  Plumbed?  J.  C. 
IUtyle!t^  <:.  K.  27. —The  Analyst  and  his  Deeds.  27. — The  Gastronomic 
Value  of  Odors,     Henry  7'.  Fric'k,     25. 

SorinrofiY.     Social  Lim:.     Will  Culture  outgrow  Christianity.^    25. — Our* 
rjrandniollHTK.      lly   the    Countess   of  Jersey.      25.  —  Spookical    Research.     25. 
JCcononiic  ScK-i;iliKui.     Professor  Shlgzvich.     25. — Democracy  and  Taste.     25. 

—  Tlir  rhilosnpliy  dI'  Dancing.     25 

Tiii:cn.o<.v,  P<ii.r:.Mics.   The  Significance  of  the  Nativity.  T.  B.  Hayward.  24. 

1    The  Century.  I'l  Xt-iv  Priturton  Re^'icw. 

'1  Untf-t-t's  ylaf^rtziftr.  !<•  The  lirtH^klyn  Rtrtgazinc. 

.'t  Antti'7tr  /iVr/iTf.  17  The  Sotit/wrn  lih'ouac. 

4  Xi'tffi  Anii-n'din  tCrrrrii'.  \X  Thr  Citizen. 

n  f't>f'n,\ir  St  i'Nt  I'  A/.'n/A,'y.  1!»  J'o/itiitj/  Si  iettcr  Quarterly. 

•»  MtH'i'/nr  o/'  A  wen,  an  Histpty.  liO  {'nitarian  Re^'ieiv. 

T  Outnifi.  lil    The  New  F.uj^Uinder. 

R  /•'tinnttinn.  '.?-   The  Mtif^ai^ine  of  Art. 

1»  l.if>fnt,ott'x  M,ijin:.itte,  2.M  .\  »-:f'  ]■  tn^Irtud  Moji^zinc. 

10  (h'ttUiud  Mi'utht'v.  *•*  A".  :i'  ^ertmtietti  Slagazinf. 

11  Ati'tniti.    ,Vrntli,'v.  -•'>   /''•/■  J'./ei/ii.  .Magazine. 
\2  .\Vji'  A»/j(;/ii».i/  Ifistt^rua!  etnd  CeneaiOgii.al      2C»  I  ihrary  Xntts. 

A't  J.  / .« ^  / .  'J  7    / "//  e  Sa  n  ita  rian. 

13  Rkcde  /■  'au,i  //i.\trri,at  Maji^ai.ine.  I'H  7f»/;w  llef^kins  I'niT-ersity  StuJitt^ 

14  The  J-i^ruw.  'J'J  J  he  <  hur.h  Moj;a:,inf. 


New  England  Magazine 


BAY    STATE    MONTHLY. 


Vol.  V.  No.  4- 


February,   1887. 


Whole  No.  28. 


"THE    FATHER    OF    BOSTON," 

The  Rev.  John  Cotton. 

By  WILLIAM  GRAY  BROOKS. 

In  December,  1885,  occurred  the  ter- 
centenary of  the  birth  of  the  Rev.  John 
Cotton,  the  "Father  of  Boston,"'  as  he  is 
called,  who,  with  John  Winthrop,  first 
governor  of  the  Province  of  Massachusetts 
Bay,  laid  deep  and  strong  the  foundation 
upon  which  has  been  built  the  great  and 
powerful  Commonwealth  of  Massachu- 
setts. 

The  Rev.  John  Cotton  was  born  in 
Derby,  England,  on  Dec.  4.  1585.  The 
family  of  Cotton  has  been  one  of  impor- 
tance in  the  county  of  Cambridge  for 
many  generations,  several  of  them  being 
of  knightly  rank,  while  the  senior  line  was,  in  1641,  raised 
to  the  dignity  of  baronet.  In  Cole's  Mss.  in  the  British  Mu- 
seum, vol.  I.,  pp.  237-345.  there  is  an  account  of  the  family, 
prepared  in  1763. 

It  is  held  most  probable  that  the  family  derived  its  name  from 
Cotton  in  Kent,  but  was  settled  in  Cambridgeshire  in  1374, 
when  Sir  Henry  Cotton  married  Anne,  daughter  and  heiress  of 
Sir  Henry  L.  Fleming,  The  grandson  of  Sir  Henry  married 
Alice,  daughter  and  heiress  of  Sir  John  de  Hastings,   of  Land- 


goo  THE  FA  THER  OF  BOSTON. 

wade,  county  Cambridge,  which  manor  became  the  chief  seat 
of  the  Cottons.  These  were  direct  ancestors  of  the  Rev.  John 
Cotton,  One  of  this  family,  Sir  John  Cntton,  Bart.,  was  dis- 
tinguished for  his  loyalty  to  King  Charles  I. ;  another  was  Ad- 
miral Sir  Charles  Cotton. 

The  armorial  bearings  of  Mr,  Cotton's  family  are:  Sable,  a 
chevron  between  three  griffins'  heads,  erased,  argent ;  the  crest, 
a  griffin's  head  erased.  Great  revenues  as  well  as  gentle  blood, 
descended  in  the  line  of  this  family,  but  the  estate  was  lost 
through  fraud.  In  the  Magnalia,  Cotton  Mather  writes  of  Mr. 
Cotton:     "His  immediate  progenitors  being  by  some  injustice 


deprived  of  great  revenues,  his  father,  Mr.  Rowland  Cotton, 
had  the  education  of  a  lawyer  bestowed  by  his  friends  upon 
him,  in  hopes  of  his  being  the  better  capacitated  thereby  to 
recover  the  estate,  whereof  his  family  had  been  wronged,  and 
so  the  profession  of  a  lawyer  was  that  unto  which  this  gentle- 
man applied  himself  all  his  days."  [  Fi'rfc  Life  of  Mr,  Cotton, 
by  Cotton  Mather,  in  his  Magnalia,  vol.  I,,  p.  232,  Hartford  ed. 
1820.] 

At  the  age  of  twelve  years  Mr,  Cotton  was  admitted  to  Trin- 
ity College  in  the  University  of  Cambridge,  and  at  eighteen  he 
received  the  degree  of  Master  of  Arts.      He   soon   attained  the 


THE  FATHER  OF  BOSTON.  301 

positions  of  Fellow,  Head  Lecturer,  Dean,  and  Catechist  of 
Emmanuel  College,  Cambridge,  —  offices  of  great  honor  and 
responsibility.  His  Latin  oration  and  university  sermon  at- 
tracted great  numbers  of  literati,  as  his  Latinity  was  of  the 
purest.  His  connection  with  the  university  continued  fifteen 
years.  In  161 2  he  was  called  by  the  Mayor  and  Council  of 
Boston  to  become  the  Vicar  of  the  noble  and  venerable  church 
dedicated  to  St.  Botolph,  the  parish  church  of  Boston,  in  Lin- 
colnshire, of  which  church  he  was  Vicar  from  1612  to  1633,  a 
period  of  twenty-one  years. 

The  Church  of  St.  Botolph  was  erected  A.D.  1309,  and  is 
the  largest  without  aisles  in  the  realm  of  England,  and  the 
largest  without  transepts  in  all  Europe, — its  length  being  291 
feet,  and  its  breadth,  99  feet.  The  tower  is  291  feet  in  height, 
resembling  that  of  the  great  Cathedral  at  Antwerp,  and  forms  a 
landmark  for  a  distance  of  forty  miles.  The  extreme  length  of 
the  building  corresponds  with  the  extreme  height,  291  feet. 
The  tower  has  365  steps,  the  windows  number  fifty-two,  the 
pillars  (in  the  interior)  are  twelve  —  corresponding  with  the 
days,  weeks,  and  months  of  the  year. 

Mr.  Drake,  in  his  "  Histe«y  and  Antiquities  of  the  City  of 
Boston,"  Mass.,  quoting  from  the  ^^ Magna  Brittanica  Antiqua 
ct  Nova,''  tells  us  that  this  church,  as  there  described  (in  1720), 
'*  was  beautiful  and  large,  the  tower  of  which  is  so  very  high  as 
to  be  the  wonder  of  travellers,  and  the  guide  for  mariners  at  a 
great  distance.  It  is  looked  upon  as  the  finest  in  England." 
'*  At  the  summit  of  this  tower  is  a  beautiful  lantern,  for  a  guide 
to  seamen,  which  can  be  seen  forty  miles.  It  was  a  figurative 
saying  of  some  of  the  Pilgrims  who  settled  this  Boston,  that  the 
lamp  in  the  lantern  of  St.  Botolph's  ceased  to  burn  when  Cotton 
left  that  church  to  become  a  shining  light  in  the  wilderness  of 
New  England." 

The  chapel  attached  to  St.  Botolph's  Church  (forty  by 
eighteen  feet  in  ground  dimensions)  was  repaired  under  the 
direction  of  Mr.  Gilbert  Scott,  F.  S.  A.,  in  1857,  by  some  of  the 
descendants  of  Rev.  John  Cotton  living  in  Boston,  Massachu- 
setts, and  is  now  called  the  Cotton  Chapel.  In  it  is  a  beautiful 
tablet,  bearing  an  inscription  in  Latin  from  the  pen  of  the  late 
Hon.  Edward  Everett. 


302  THE  FATHER  OF  BOSTON. 

The  Rev.  W.  C.  Winslow,  in  a  letter  from  old  Boston,  gives 
a  fine  description  of  the  architecture  of  St.  Botolph's : — *'The 
exterior  of  the  edifice  afl!brds  a  good  example  of  the  thirteenth- 
and  fourteenth-century  style  of  architecture,  which  followed  the 
Norman.  It  is  substantial,  yet  embellished  with  Gothic  tracery 
and  outlines.  Some  of  the  niches  and  other  ornamental  work 
suffered  more  or  less  at  the  hands  of  the  iconoclasts  of  the  revo- 
lution. The  interior  is  imposing,  and  gives  you  a  sense  of 
space  without  mere  size  or  vacancy.  By  the  time  you  have 
passed  the  peal  and  also  the  chime  (the  church  has  both),  and 
stand  upon  the  top  battlements  of  the  tower,  you  think  yourself 
higher  than  three  hundred  feet  in  the  skies." 

The  name,  Boston,  is  derived  from  St.  Botolph,  a  holy  man, 
who  founded  a  monastery  at  a  place  called  Icanhoe,  by  many 
supposed  to  be  Boston,  in  Lincolnshire,  where  after  passing  a 
life  of  great  sanctity  as  abbot,  he  died  June  17,  A.D.  655,  tlie 
day  of  his  commemoration  in  the  English  calendar.  Among 
the  fifty  churches  dedicated  in  his  honor  "  there  was  a  goodly 
ancient  church  and  monastery  of  Blackfriars  erected  in  his 
honor  in  Lincolnshire,  near  to  the  seaside,  which  in  process  of 
time  growing  to  a  fayre  market  towne,  was  called  thereof 
Botolph's  toune,  and  now  by  the  corruption  of  our  language,  is 
vulgarly  knoun  by  the  name  of  Boston." 

The  name  of  Boston  was  given  to  the  embryo  metropolis  of 
New  England  on  the  shores  of  Massachusetts  Bay,  in  honor  of 
Rev.  John  Cotton,  and  to  induce  him  to  become  the  religious 
teacher  of  its  people.  In  Prince's  Chronology,  pp.  315-316 
under  date  of  Sept.  7,  1630,  is  the  following  entry :  —  **  Thus 
this  remarkable  peninsula,  about  two  miles  in  length  and  one 
in  breadth,  in  those  times  appearing  at  high  water  in  the  form 
of  two  islands,  whose  Indian  name  was  Shawmut,  but,  I  sup- 
pose, on  account  of  three  contiguous  hills  appearing  in  a  range 
to  those  at  Charlestown,  by  the  English  first  called  Trimoun- 
tain,  now  receives  the  name  of  Boston,  which  deputy  Governor 
Dudley  says  they  had  before  intended  to  call  the  place  they  first 
resolved  on,  and  Mr.  Hubbard,  that  they  gave  this  name  on  ac- 
count of  Mr.  Cotton,  the  then  famous  Puritan  minister  of  Boston 
in  England,  for  whom  they  had  the  highest  reverence,  and  of 
whose  coming  over  they  were  doubtless  in  some  hopeful  prospect." 


THE  FATHER  OF  BOSTON.  303 

In  1612  Rev.  John  Cotton,  soon  after  becoming  vicar  of  St. 
Botolph's,  married  Miss  Elizabeth  Horrocks,  an  eminently  vir- 
tuous gentlewoman,  and  sister  of  James  Horrocks,  a  famous 
minister  of  Lancashire.  Mrs.  Cotton  died  in  1630  without 
issue.  On  April  25,  1632,  Rev.  John  Cotton  married  an  esti- 
mable widow,  Mrs.  Sarah  Story,  daughter  of  Anthony  Hawk- 
ridge,  Esq.,  and  an  intimate  friend  of  his  former  wife,  '*  who 
was  well  fitted  to  fill  the  place  which  the  death  of  the  other 
had  vacated." 

Mr.  Cotton  having  been  brought  to  the  conviction  that  some 
of  the  ceremonies  of  the  Church  of  England  were  unscriptural, 
and  of  course  that  he  could  no  longer  conform  to  them,  and 
being  warned  that  Letters  Missive  had  been  issued  against  him 
to  bring  him  before  the  Court  of  High  Commission  on  account 
of  his  refusal  to  kneel  at  the  Sacrament  of  the  Holy  Commun- 
ion, he  embarked  for  New  England,  about  the  middle  of  July, 
1633.  To  this  removal  he  had  warmly  been  invited  by  Gov- 
ernor Winthrop  and  others.  He  was  accompanied  by  his  newly 
married  wife,  Thomas  Hooker,  Samuel  Stone,  and  a  number 
of  old  Boston  parishioners,  in  a  vessel  called  the  "  Griffin." 

The  other  ceremonies  of  the  Church  to  which  Mr.  Cotton 
took  exception,  were  the  use  of  the  sign  of  the  cross  in  bap- 
tism, and  the  use  of  the  ring  in  marriage.  These  were  the 
cause  of  his  leaving  his  parish  church. 

What  wonderful  devotion  to  his  convictions  of  duty,  to  relin- 
quish the  noble  Church  of  St.  Botolph,  whose  architecture  may 
justly  be  termed  a  *'  frozen  anthem,"  and  with  "  storied  panes 
that  chasten  down  the  day's  unholy  glare,"  for  the  low  hovel 
with  its  mud  walls  and  roof  covered  with  thatch,  of  the  first 
house  of  worship  in  Boston,  —  and  the  amenities  of  civilization 
for  the  privations  of  the  wilderness  of  the  New  World  1 

The  Griffin  reached  Boston,  New  England,  Sept.  3,  1633, 
after  a  passage  of  seven  weeks.  At  the  time  of  his  arrival 
Mr.  Cotton  was  about  forty-eight  years  of  age.  Within  a  fort- 
night after  his  arrival,  the  magistrates  and  other  leading  men 
designated  him  to  be  Teacher  of  the  First  Church  in  Boston, 
of  which  Rev.  John  Wilson  was  then  pastor.  On  the  tenth  of 
October,  1633,  Mr.  Cotton  was  ordained  as  colleague  of  Mr. 
Wilson,  in  the  capacity  of  teacher,  by  imposition  of  the  hands 


304  THE  FA  THER   OF  BOSTON. 

of  Mr.  Wilson  and  his  two  elders.  This  was  intended  (as 
Governor  Winthrop  has  stated  in  respect  to  the  ordination  of 
Mr.  Wilson  under  similar  circumstances),  "  only  as  a  sign  of 
election  and  conBrmation,  and  not  of  any  intent  that  he  should 
renounce  his  ministry  he  received  in  England." 

Mr.  Cotton,  prior  to  his  leaving  England,  upon  being  in- 
formed that  the  people  of  Salem  had  turned  "  Separatists"  (as 
the  followers  of  Robinson  were  then  called),  in  a  letter  to  Mr. 
Skelton,  declares  "  thatalthough  he  respects  the  New  Plymouth 
men  personally,  the  grounds  of  their  movement  do  not  satisfy 
him.*'  This  shows  Mr.  Cotton's  theological  position  at  that  time 
to  have  been  that  of  a  *'  Puritan,"  but  not  of  a  "  Separatist." 

The  influence  of  Mr.  Cotton  was  equally  powerful  in  civil,  as 
in  ecclesiastical  affairs.  We  learn  from  the  pages  of  Cotton 
Mather  and  Hutchinson  that  the  people  of  the  colony  were  dis- 
satisfied with  their  share  of  power 
in  the  government,  and  desired 
the  establishment  of  a  House  of 
Representatives,  for  which  no 
provision  had  been  made  in  the 
charter  of  the  colony.  At  last, 
Mr.  Cotton,  by  invitation  of  the 
authorities,  preached  a  sermon 
upon  the  subject,  by  which  all 
popular  discontent  was  com- 
pletely allayed.  Mrs.  Norton  compares  the  effect  of  the 
sermon  with  that  of  the  speech  of  Menenius  Agrippa  to  the 
people  of  Rome  at  the  time  of  their  secession  to  Mons  Sacer. 
[Liv.  Hist.  lib.  ii.  cap.  32.]  Mr.  Norton  says  that  shortly  after 
this  "the  Court  ....  desired  Mr.  Cotton  to  draw  an 
abstract  of  the  judicial  laws  deHvered  from  God  by  Moses,  so 
far  forth  as  they  were  of  a  moral  (/'.  c,  ol"  perpetual  and  uni- 
versal) equity."     [Norton,  Life  of  Cotton,  p.  22.] 

Mr.  Cotton's  views  of  the  relation  of  the  Church  to  the  State 
appear  in  a  letter  to  Lord  Say  and  Seal  in  1636 :  —  "It  is  very 
suitable  to  God's  all-sufficient  wisdom,  and  to  the  fullness  and 
perfection  of  Holy  Scriptures,  not  only  to  prescribe  perfect  rules 
for  the  right  ordering  of  a  private  man's  soul  to  everlasting 
blessedness  with  himself,  but  also  for  the  right  ordering  of  a 


THE  FATHER  OF  BOSTON.  305 

man's  family ;  yea,  of  the  commonwealth,  too,  so  far  as  both  of 
them  are  subordinate  to  spiritual  ends,  and  yet  avoid  both  the 
Church's  usurpation  upon  civil  jurisdiction,  in  ordine  ad  spirit- 
ualiuy  and  the  Commonwealth's  invasion  upon  ecclesiastical 
administration,  in  ordine  to  civil  peace  and  conformity  to  the 
civil  State.  God's  institutions  (such  as  the  government  of 
Church  and  Commonwealth  be)  may  be  close  and  codrdinate, 
one  to  another,  and  yet  not  confounded."  .  .  .  .  *'  It  is 
better  that  the  Commonwealth  be  fashioned  to  the  setting  forth 
of  God's  house,  which  is  his  Church,  than  to  accommodate  the 
Church  to  the  civil  State,"  [Appendix  to  Hutchinson's  History, 
vol.  i.,  p.  437.] 

Mr.  Hubbard,  in  his  History  of  New  England  [page  182], 
says  (referring  to  Mr.  Cotton)  :  —  "  Such  was  the  authority  he 
had  in  the  hearts  of  the  people,  that  whatever  he  delivered  in 
the  pulpit  was  soon  put  in  an  order  of  Court,  if  of  a  civil,  and 
set  up  as  a  practice  in  the  Church,  if  of  an  ecclesiastical  con- 
cernment." 

Thus  Mr.  Cotton  laid  the  foundations  deep  and  strong  upon 
which  the  superstructure  of  the  powerful  Commonwealth  of 
Massachusetts  has  been  built. 

It  was  a  saying  of  Dr.  Increase  Mather's  that  "  both  Bostons 
have  reason  to  honor  his  (Cotton's)  memory,  and  New  England 
Boston  most  of  all,  which  oweth  its  name  and  being  to  him  more 
than  to  any  person  in  the  world." 

Mr.  Cotton  was  not  only  a  theologian  and  statesman,  but  a 
writer  of  great  power ;  more  than  thirty  books  and  pamphlets 
are  still  extant.  In  1643  Mr.  Cotton  received  an  urgent  invita- 
tion from  "  divers  Lords  of  the  Upper  House,  and  from  some 
members  of  the  House  of  Commons,  with  some  ministers,  who 
stood  for  the  independency  of  the  churches,  '  To  attend  the 
Westminster  Assembly  of  Divines,  and  assist  in  their  delibera- 
tions.'"   [Hubbard's  History,  p.  409.] 

The  invitation  was  not  accepted  by  Mr.  Cotton. 

Mr.  Cotton's  last  illness  was  caused  by  exposure  in  crossing 
the  ferry  to  Cambridge,  where  he  went  to  preach  to  the  stu- 
dents. He  spent  the  last  days  of  his  life  in  his  study  preparing 
to  meet  death ;  and,  on  leaving  it  at  night,  he  said  to  his  wife : 
•*  I  shall  go  into  that  room  no  more."    What  wonderful  for- 


3o6  THE  FATHER   OF  BOSTON. 

titude  thus  calmly  to  meet  the  last  enemy  I  A  short  time  before 
his  death  he  desired  to  be  left  alone  to  engage  in  prayer,  and 
thus,  in  the  sixty-eighth  year  of  his  age,  surrendered  his  soul 
into  the  hands  of  his  **  faithful  creator  and  most  merciful  Sav- 
iour." 

The  djite  of  his  death  is  commonly  given  as  that  of  December 
23,  1652;  yet  the  old  copy  of  the  town  record  (of  which  it  is 
presumed  no  original  has  been  known  for  one  hundred  and 
fifty  years)  has  it  Dec.  15,  1652.  On  December  28th  he*was 
buried,  says  a  historian,  **with  the  most  numerous  concourse  of 
people,  and  most  grievous  lamentation  that  was  ever  known, 
perhaps,  on  the  American  strand."  *'He  was  borne  on  the 
shoulders  of  his  brother  ministers  to  his  last  resting  place,  a 
tomb  of  brick,  in  what  is  called  the  '  chapel  burying  ground.'" 

In  tliis  burying  ground,  connected  with  King's  Chapel,  at 
Ihe  corner  of  Tremont  and  School  streets,  Boston,  Mass.,  on  a 
simple  headstone  of  slate  is  the  following  inscription: 

'*  Here  lies  interred  the  Bodjes  of  the 

Famous,   Reverend,  and  Learned  Pastors 

of  the    P'irst  Church  of  Xt.    in  Boston,  viz.  : 

Mr.  John  Cotton,  Aged  67  Years. 

Died,  December  the  23d,  1652." 

Of  Mr.  Cotton's  personal  appearance,  Cotton  Mather  says, 
**fle  was  of  a  clear,  fair,  sanguine  complexion,  and  like 
David,  of  a  ruddy  countenance.  Fie  was  rather  long  than  tall, 
rather  fat  than  lean,  but  of  a  becoming  mediocrity.  In  his 
younger  years  his  hair  was  brown,  but  in  his  latter  years,  as 
white  as  the  driven  snow.  In  his  countenance  there  was  an 
inexpressible  sort  of  majesty  which  commanded  reverence  from 
all  that  approached  him." 

Mr.  Cotton  was  a  great  scholar,  having  a  profound  knowl- 
edge of  Hebrew,  Greek  and  Latin.  The  latter  he  wrote  and 
spoke  with  great  elegance ;  and  he  was  a  powerful  logician  as 
well  as  linguist. 

The  Kev.  John  Cotton  had  six  children  by  his  second  wife, 
Sarah. 

I.  Seaborn,  (so  called  from  the  circumstances  of  his 
hirlh),  born  Aug.   12,  1633;  Minister  of  Hampton,  N.  H.,  in 


THE  FATHER  OF  BOSTON.  307 

1660;  died  April  19  or  20,  1686.  He  was  ancestor  on  the 
maternal  side  of  the  late  Hon.  Caleb  Gushing,  of  Newburyport, 
Mass.  * 

2.  Sarah,  born  Sept.  20,  1635  ;  died  Jan.  20,  1650. 

3.  Elizabeth,  born  Dec.  10,  (16),  1637;  married  Jeremiah 
Egginton. 

4.  John,  born  in  Boston,  Mass.,  Mar.  15,  1640;  ordained 
pastor  of  the  church  in  Plymouth,  Mass.,  June  30,  1669;  dis- 
missed, Oct.  18,  1698;  died  at  Charleston,  S.  C,  Sept.  18, 
1699. 

5.  Maria  or  Mary,  born  Feb.  15,  (16,)  1641,  (1642)  ;  died 
at  Boston,  Mass.,  Apr.  4,  1714;  married  Mar.  6,  1662,  Rev. 
Increase  Mather,  D.D.,  (born  June  21,  1639;   ordained  May 

27,  1669;  president  of  Harvard  College,  1685  — 1701 ;  agent 
of  the  Colony  in  England;  died  Aug.  23,  1723;  tomb  in 
Copp's  Hill).  Mrs.  Mather's  mother  (the  widow  of  the  elder 
Rev.  John  Cotton)  married  Aug.  26,  1656,  Rev.  Richard 
Mather,  of  Dorchester,  (the  father  of  her  son-in-law,  to  whom 
she  became  a  parent  by  a  double  affinity)  ;  died  May  27,  1676. 

6.  Rowland,  born  Dec.  1643  ;  died  Feb.  29,  1650. 

The  son  of  Rev.  John  Cotton,  Jr.,  of  Plymouth,  Rev.  Rou- 
land  Cotton,  was  the  chief  "ornament  and  glory  of  the  Cotton 
family."  He  was  born  in  Plymouth,  Mass.,  Dec.  27,  1667; 
was  minister  at  Sandwich,  Mass.,  where  he  was  ordained  Nov. 

28,  1694.  In  1702,  the  town  gave  to  him  "all  such  drift  whales, 
as  shall  during  the  time  of  his  ministry  in  Sandwich,  be  driven 
or  cast  ashore  within  the  limits  of  the  town,  being  such  as  shall 
not  be  killed  with  hands!"  Rev.  Rouland  married  Sept.  22, 
1692,  Elizabeth,  widow  of  the  Rev.  John  Dennison,  and 
daughter  of  the  Hon.  Nathaniel  Saltonstall  of  Haverhill,  Mass., 
the  famous  judge  of  the  Oyer  and  Terminer  Court,  who  at  the 
risk  of  the  greatest  personal  danger  refused  to  preside  at  the 
trial  of  the  witches.  She  was  sister  of  the  Hon.  Gurdon 
Saltonstall,  Governor  of  Connecticut,  1708  — 1724.  She  was 
born  Sept.  17,  1668,  and  died  July  8,  1726. 

From  a  son  by  this  marriage  (Rev.  John  Cotton),  the 
Hastings  family  of  Cambridge  and  Henry  Hastings,  Esq.,  of 
Medford,  are  descended. 

From   Joanna,   a   daughter   of   Rev.    Rouland   Cotton   and 


3o8 


THE  FATHER   OF  BOSTON. 


Elizabeth  Dennison,  nee  Saltonstull.  born  Aug.  i6,  1691, 
descended  the  family  of  the  late  lion.  William  Gray,  the  great 
merchant  and  a  lieutenant-governor  of  llie  Commonwealth. 

The  family  of  the  Rev.  Phillips  Brooks,  D.D..  Rector  of 
Trinity  Church,  Boston,  also  descended  from  this  lady,  who 
married  Rev.  John  Brown,  of  HaveHiill,  Sept.  17,  1719- 

In  these  days  of  change,  when  so  little  of  what  is  venerable 
remains,  it  may  prove  of  interest  to  mention  an  heirloom  now 
in  the  possession  of  the  eldest  daughter  of  the  late  Henrj'  Gray, 
Esq.,  of  New  York  city  (sec- 
ond son  of  the  late  Lieutenant- 
Governor  William  Gray,  of 
Boston),  which  has  descended 
by  the  same  Christian  name  for 
two  hundred  years.  It  is  a 
"pinning"  blanket,  in  which  to 
wrap  a  child  when  baptized, 
placed  outside  the  ordinary 
clothing.  It  is  of  damask  bro- 
cade, of  a  warm  cherry  color,  with  flowers  and  leaves  in- 
wrought with  silver  thread,  and  lined  with  red  India  silk. 
It  was  presented  by  Madam  Saltousiall,  wife  of  Judge  Nathan- 
iel Saltonslall,  to  her  daughter  Elizabeth,  on  her  marriage  with 
Rev.  Rouland   Cotton. 

The  grandmother  of  Mrs.  Rouland  Cotton  was  Muriel  Gur- 
don,  a  direct  descendant  of  Anne  Planiagenet,  daughter  of 
Thomas  of  Woodstock.  Duke  of  Gloucester,  youngest  son  of 
Edward  III.,  King  of  England.  Muriel  Gurdon  was  therefore 
of  the  blood  royal  of  England.  She  married  Richard  Salton- 
slall, son  of  Sir  Richard  S.,  the  original  patentee  of  Connec- 
ticut. 


TOMB  OF   REV.   JOHN   COTTON. 


THE  EPISCOPAL    CHURCH. 


RELIGIOUS   DENOMINATIONS. 

:   IN   THE   UNITED 

BV    REV.    GEORGE    W.    SHINN,    D.D. 

That  which  is  known  now  by  the  above  title  was  originally 
known  here  as  The  Church  of  England. 

From  the  year  1607,  when  the  first  permanent  settlement  by 
English  colonists  was  made  at  Jamestown,  Virginia,  down  to 
1785,  when  the  American  Revolution  ended,  all  its  missions, 
chaplaincies  and  parishes  in  the  colonies  were  under  the  juris- 
diction of  the  Bishop  of  London,  and  conformed  to  the  same 
laws  and  requirements  as  the  Church  in  England,  so  far  as 
local  circumstances  would  permit. 

For  nearly  two  hundred  years  it  was  a  colonial  branch  of  the 
English  Church,  but  with  an  incomplete  organizatloD,  for  it 
had  no  Bishops  of  its  own.  Some  of  the  supervisory  duties  of 
the  Episcopate  were  performed  by  Commissaries,  acting  under 
the  authority  of  the  Bishop  of  London,  but  candidates  for  con- 
firmation and  ordination  were  required  to  go  to  England. 

It  has  been  described  as  then  "a  body  without  a  head,  an 
Episcopal  Church  without  an  Episcopate,  with  an  order  of  Con- 
firmation in  its  Prayer  Book  and  no  one  authorized  to  adminis- 
ter the  rite,  an  office  of  Ordination  and  no  one  competent  to 
ordain  either  Priest  or  Deacon,  with  church  edifices  that  could 
not  be  consecrated,  and  a  discipline  that  could  not  be  adminis- 
tered." Numerous  eflbrts  were  made  to  remedy  this  defective 
organization  by  securing  the  Episcopate,  but  without  success 
until  after  the  Revolution. 

There  were  three  reasons  for  the  failure  of  these  early  efforts. 
First  of  all  the  Georgian  period  of  the  English  Church  was  not 
one  of  very  great  earnestness,  then  there  were  many  in  the 
country,  especially  in  New  England,  who  were  bitterly  opposed 
to  the  polity  of  the  Church  of  England,  and  finally  there  were 
few  then  in  either  country  who  could  see  any  way  of  separating 
the  spiritual  functions  of  the  Episcopate  from  temporal   power. 


3IO  THE  EPISCOPAL    CHURCH. 

It  was  generally  thought  that  an  Episcopate  must   involve  a 
State  Church  and  State  patronage. 

Notwithstanding  the  incompleteness  of  its  organization,  and 
the  absence  of  that  careful  supervision  which  is  necessary  to 
correct  abuses,  the  Church  not  only  lived,  but  flourished  in 
some  sections,  especially  in  the  Middle  and  Southern  States. 
It  was  greatly  aided  by  a  missionary  society  formed  in  England 
in  1701,  under  the  name  of  "The  Society  for  the  Propagation 
of  the  Gospel  in  Foreign  Parts."  Through  this  useful  agency 
clergymen  were  sent  here,  books  were  provided,  building  enter- 
prises were  helped,  and  in  many  other  ways  encouragement 
was  offered  those  who  would  labor  for  the  welfare  of  the  settlers 
and  the  natives.  The  instructions  given  their  missionaries  by 
this  Society  showed  its  noble  aims.  They  exhorted  the  clergy 
'*to  promote  the  glory  of  God  and  the  salvation  of  men  by 
propagating  the  Gospel  of  our  Lord  and  Saviour,  and  that  they 
qualify  themselves  for  this  work  by  seeking  sound  knowledge, 
by  hearty  belief  of  the  Christian  religion,  by  apostolical  zeal, 
by  fervent  charity  for  the  souls  of  men,  and  by  temperance, 
fortitude  and  constancy."  For  over  three-quarters  of  a  century 
this  society  continued  its  benefactions,  keeping  alive  an  interest 
in  religion  in  established  parishes,  and  extending  the  privileges 
of  the  Gospel  to  new  settlements. 

The  American  Revolution  was  almost  a  death  blow  to  the 
Church  of  England  in  these  colonies.  Many  of  its  members 
sided  with  the  mother  country  in  the  struggle,  others  were  at 
first  unwilling  to  sanction  armed  resistance  to  oppressions  which 
they  deprecated,  and  still  others,  hoping  that  the  authorities  in 
England  would  come  to  a  better  mind  and  grant  the  concessions 
asked  for,  held  aloof  from  the  controversies.  The  active  par- 
tizanship  of  some  for  the  side  of  the  king,  and  the  inactivity  of 
those  who  were  not  willing  to  encourage  strife,  brought  the 
Church  into  popular  disrepute  in  most  sections,  and  excited 
bitter  and  unyielding  prejudices. 

Not  all  the  membership  of  this  Church,  however,  sided  with 
the  king,  or  stood  aloof  from  the  colonists  in  the  struggle. 
There  were  many  churchmen  who  comprehended  from  the 
beginning  the  magnitude  of  the  strife,  and  whose  active  sym- 
pathies were  with  the  colonies.     Some  of  them  became  leaders. 


THE  EPISCOPAL    CHURCH.  31: 

and  it  is  to  one  of  them  that  America  is  forever  indebted  for 
that  sublime  courage  and  faith  which  had  so  much  to  do  with 
the  success  of  the  Revolution  and  the  making  of  a  new  nation. 

George  Washington  was  a  cliurchman.  His  taking  com- 
mand of  the  American  forces  in  the  Revolution  gave  a  broader 
significance  to  the  movement,  and  enabled  it  to  become  not 
merely  a  sectional  revolt,  but  the  springing  into  existence  of  a 
nation  to  achieve  a  destiny,  the  greatness  of  which  no  one  then 
could  foresee. 

The  shaping  of  the  government  of  the  new  nation,  when  the 
struggle  against  England  ended  in  the  independence  of  the 
colonies,  was  largely  aided  by  the  patriot  churchmen  who 
brought  to  the  task  broad  views  and  a  conservative  spirit,  and 
a  determination  to  lay  here  the  most  enduring  foundations  of  a 
government  which  they  trusted  would  become  a  blessing  to  the 
world. 

But  notwithstanding  the  patriotism  of  so  many  of  the 
churchmen  of  the  Revolution,  and  the  elTorts  of  those  of  the 
clergy  who  remained  at  their  posts  during  the  long  weary 
years  of  the  war.  the  termination  of  the  strife  found  this  church 
well  nigh  wrecked.  Many  of  its  parishes  had  been  abandoned 
by  priest  and  people,  its  endowments  in  lands  were  in  many 
places  confiscated,  and  the  most  bitter  hatred  toward  it  was 
manifested  by  large  numbers  of  the  people.  It  was  thought  by 
some  that  the  fires  of  the  Revolution  had  compietelj'  comsumed 
nearly  all  traces  of  the  English  Church  in  this  country  and  had 
rendered  it  impossible  that  it  should  ever  rise  from  the  ashes. 

The  indications  of  life  were  feeble  indeed.  The  first  move- 
ment was  made  in  Connecticut.  As  early  as  1783  the  clergy 
there  assembled  at  Waterbury,  and  elected  Dr.  Samuel  Sea- 
bury,  Bishop  of  Connecticut,  and  instructed  him  to  go  to  Eng- 
land and  seek  for  consecration  at  the  hands  of  the  English 
Bishops.  Failing  in  this  he  was  to  go  to  Scotland  to  secure 
the  Episcopate  from  the  non-juring  Bishops  resident  in  that 
country. 

The  English  bishops  being  hampered  by  the  then  existing 
laws,  and  for  other  reasons,  declined ;  and  so  the  succession 
was  first  secured  through  the  Scotch  bishops  A  few  years 
later,  however,  some  special  legislation  having   been  obtained. 


312  THE  EPISCOPAL    CHURCH. 

absolving  the  candidates  from  the  necessity  of  taking  the  oath 
of  allegiance  to  England ;  and  the  English  Church  having  been 
convinced  that  no  changes  from  the  standards  would  be  made 
by  the  American  Church  in  matters  of  doctrine,  Drs.  Whitti 
and  Provoost  were  consecrated  Bishops,  the  former  for  Pennsyl- 
vania and  the  latter  for  New  York. 

The  date  of  this  important  event  is  1787.  One  of  the  first 
efforts  to  adapt  the  church  to  the  new  condition  of  things  in  this 
country  was  the  putting  forth  of  a  revision  of  the  English 
Prayer  Book.  It  was  called  "The  Proposed  Book."  It  did 
not  meet  with  much  favor,  because  of  the  radical  nature  of  some 
of  the  changes  made,  and  because  of  various  omissions.  It  was 
quickly  discarded,  and  the  present  Book  of  Common  Prayer 
was  adopted  in  1789.  This  is  a  slight  revision  of  the  English 
book,  with  some  omissions  and  some  additions.  The  revisers 
distinctly  assert  in  the  preface  that  this  church  is  far  from  in- 
tending to  depart  from  the  Church  of  England  in  any  essential 
point  of  doctrine,  discipline,  or  worship,  or  further  than  local 
circumstances  require. 

The  importance  of  this  declaration  is  seen  when  it  is  remem- 
bered what  pressure  was  brought  upon  the  revisers  to  make  de- 
partures from  some  very  important  principles  which  it  had  re- 
ceived by  inheritance  from  the  Apostolic  Church,  of  which  it  is 
a  descendent.  There  were  those  who  wanted  to  see  the  church 
become  Socinian  instead  of  clinging  firmly  to  the  doctrine  of 
the  Trinity.  Others  would  have  had  it  ignore  the  Apostolic 
Succession,  and  still  others  in  their  ignorance  of  the  cardinal 
principles  of  primitive  Christianity,  and  the  usages  of  the  Apos- 
tolic Church,  urged  other  changes. 

The  leading  churchmen  here  were,  however,  learned  in  theol- 
ogy, and  firm  believers  in  the  ancient  polity  and  usages,  and  so 
the  Protestant  Episcopal  Church  remained  in  the  line  of  descent. 
It  did  not  break  away  from  the  succession  which  reaches  back 
through  the  English  Church  to  the  ancient  British  Church,  and 
still  back  to  the  very  days  of  the  Apostles.  It  claims  to  be, 
therefore,  a  true  branch  of  the  historic  church,  preserving  the 
Evangelic  Faith  and  Apostolic  Order,  holding  "the  Faith  once 
delivered  to  the  saints,"  and  clinging  to  principles  and  usages 
which  have  been  from  the  very  beginning  of  Christianity. 


THE  EPISCOPAL    CHURCH.  313 

For  nearly  fifty  years  after  the  Revolution  the  growth  of 
"  The  Episcopal  Church,"  as  it  was  generally  called,  was  very 
stow  and  in  the  face  of  many  and  bitter  prejudices.  Its  English 
origin  was  for  a  long  while  sufficient  to  repel  some  from  it, 
while  the  use  of  precomposed  forms  of  worship,  the  observance 
of  the  festivals  and  fasts  of  the  ecclesiastical  year,  the  archi- 
tecture and  adornment  of  its  houses  of  worship,  and  its  quiet 
methods  of  work,  caused  many  to  hold  aloof.  It  was  accused 
of  being  "  only  half  reformed,"  of  being  "  very  much  like  the 
Roman  Catholic  Church,"  of  being  "out  of  sympathy  with 
republican  institutions."  of  "lacking  kindly  interest  in  other 
bodies  of  Christians,"  and  of"  encouraging  formalism." 

The  prejudices  were  so  numerous  and  so  bitter  that  many 
e.\cellent  people  regarded  this  Church  as  a  disturbing  element, 
and  others  looked  confidently  forward  to  the  lime  when  it  would 
become  an  insignificant  factor  in  American  life. 

It  is  but  fair  to  refer  to  these  prejudices,  for  unless  they  are 
taken  into  account  its  present  condition  in  the  United  States 
cannot  be  understood.  Struggling  for  existence,  battling  with 
misconceptions,  it  finally  won  its  way,  and  demonstrated  not 
only  a  right  to  live,  but  also  that  i(  has  a  most  important  part  to 
lake  in  the  moulding  and  uplifting  of  the  American  people. 

And  while  it  is  true  that  prejudices  still  exist,  and  its  polity 
and  principles  are  still  combattcd.  and  while  its  membership  is 
less  than  some  other  bodies  of  Christians,  no  one  can  deny  the 
influence  for  good  it  is  exerting,  or  the  strong  hold  it  has  upon 
the  affections  of  thousands,  or  the  vigorous  life  manifested,  or 
the  wide-reaching  power  it  shows  in  defence  of  Gospel  truth 
and  in  applying  its  teachings  to  the  consciences  and  lives  of 
men. 

Very  much  of  the  history  of  the  American  Church  from  1789 
to  about  1821  may  be  summed  up  under  the  two  ht::adings, 
"Recuperation,"  and  "Consolidation,"  —  the  slow  recovery 
from  previous  disintegration  and  the  gradual  gaining  of  strength. 
About  sixty  years  ago  there  began  to  be  the  stir  of  more  vigor- 
ous life,  and  hence  a  disposition  to  engage  in  more  aggressive 
work.  The  period  for  apologizing  for  existence  seemed  to  have 
about  ended,  and  a  zeal  for  church  extension  at  home  and 
abroad  began  to  grow.     A  missionary  society  was  organized. 


314  THE  EPISCOPAL    CHURCH. 

and  missions  were  soon  established  in  Africa,  in   Greece,  in 
China,  and  in  the  Western  parts  of  this  country. 

The  interest  thus  awakened,  led  to  the  broadening  of  the 
foundation  of  the  missionary  society,  until  in  1835  ^^  princi- 
ple was  adopted  that  *•  The  Church,  as  the  Church,  is  the  great 
Missionary  Society.  The  duty  of  supporting  it  in  preaching 
the  Gospel  to  every  creature  is  one  that  rests  on  every  Chris- 
tian in  the  terms  of  his  baptismal  vows." 

To  recount  the  story  of  progress  since  that  date,  would  re- 
quire one  to  follow  the  opening  up  of  the  new  settlements  in 
the  West,  as  the  missionaries  have  followed  the  waves  of  emi- 
gration over  the  prairies  to  the  mountains,  and  then  onward  to 
the  Pacific ;  would  make  it  necessary  to  tell  of  heroic  efforts  in 
the  tropics,  and  among  strange  peoples;  and  of  stretching  out 
helping  hands  to  the  freedmen  and  the  Indians  of  our  own 
land. 

While  thus  extending  its  borders,  it  has  grown  steadily 
stronger  in  the  old  centres,  so  that  in  some  of  the  cities  it 
stands  among  the  foremost  in  the  number  of  its  parishes  and 
ministers,  in  the  aggregate  of  its  gifts  for  religious  and  benev- 
olent purposes,  and  in  the  variety  and  vigor  of  its  appliances 
for  reaching  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  men. 

The  statistics  for  1886  show  that  it  has  now  a  list  of  3*767 
ministers  and  missionaries,  4,732  parishes  and  mission  stations, 
418,329  communicants,  and  over  one  and  a  half  millions  of 
adherents.  Their  contributions  exceeded  eleven  millions  of 
dollars  last  year.  In  a  discourse  delivered  a  few  years  ago  by 
Bivshop  Clark  the  following  sentences  occur :  — 

"Of  late  years  our  Church  has  begun  to  recognize  the  fact 
that  the  sphere  in  which  it  is  called  to  work  is  bounded  by 
nothing  but  the  necessities  of  the  race  to  which  we  belong.  In 
the  establishment  of  hospitals  and  homes  of  all  sorts  for  the 
destitute,  reading  rooms  and  places  of  wholesome  resort  for  the 
floating  population,  and  free  churches  for  all  classes  and  con- 
ditions of  men,  I  think  it  may  be  said  without  vain  boasting 
that  the  Episcopal  Church  has  taken  the  lead." 

It  is  not  claimed  that  it  has  become  popular,  nor  that  it  has 
yet  taken  a  very  strong  hold  of  the  masses  of  the  American 
people.     Its  conservative  character,  its  quiet  and  orderly  meth- 


THE  EPISCOPAL    CHURCH.  315 

ods,  and  some  features  which  differentiate  it  from  other  religious 
bodies,  prevent  its  rapid  growth  in  communities  accustomed 
to  other  systems.  It  has  to  win  its  way  often  by  the  overcom- 
ing of  objections  and  always  by  giving  special  instruction  as  to 
its  system  and  aims.  Its  theory  is  that  religion  is  not  a  tran- 
sient emotion,  but  the  development  of  character. 

While  it  preaches  a  Gospel  of  Tree  salvation,  it  claims  that 
they  who  accept  the  Gospel  should  thenceforth  glorify  God  in 
their  souls  and  bodies.  While  it  emphasizes  the  responsibility 
of  the  individual,  it  makes  much  of  church  membership,  and 
encourages  the  large  use  of  the  public  means  of  grace.  And, 
while  it  would  meet  present  modern  needs,  it  regards  itself  as  a 
witness  and  keeper  of  the  truth  it  has  received  from  the  past  for 
the  future.  Believing  itself  to  be  a  branch  of  the  historic 
Church,  it  would  be  a  custodian  of  changeless  principles,  and 
the  conservator  of  ordinances  and  usages  which  are  of  perma- 
nent usefulness. 

It  is  this  belief  which  has  led  many  of  its  members  to  hope 
that  the  Episcopal  Church  may  become  a  bond  of  union  be- 
tween the  scattered  members  of  the  flock  of  Christ,  and  be  a 
centre  for  that  Christian  unity  for  which  so  many  Christian  peo- 
ple are  laboring  and  praying.  It  was  this  belief  which  led  to 
a  declaration  recently  made  by  its  Bishops,  which  contains  the 
first  definite  propositions  ever  presented  for  the  consideration  of 
the  different  communions  in  this  land.  The  bishops,  after 
speaking  of  the  evils  of  division,  set  forth  the  following  points 
as  in  their  view  essential  to  the  restoration  of  unity  among  the 
different  branches  of  Christendom. 

I.  The  Holj'  Scriptures  of  the  Old  and  New  Testaments  as 
the  revealed  Word  of  God. 

II.  The  Nicene  Creed  as  the  sufficient  statement  of  Chris- 
tian Faith. 

III.  The  two  Sacraments  —  Baptism  and  the  Supper  of  the 
Lord  —  ministered  with  the  unfailing  use  of  Christ's  words  of 
institution  and  of  the  elements  ordained  by  Him. 

IV.  The  historic  Episcopate  locally  adapted  in  the  methods 
of  its  administration  to  the  varying  needs  of  the  nations  and 
peoples  called  of  God  into  the  unity  of  His  Church. 

These  four  propositions  have  ilie  merit  of  being  simple  and 


3i6  THE  EPISCOPAL   CHURCH. 

dennite,  but  to  guard  against  misapprehension  of  their 
in  making  them,  the  bish-jps  declare  their  belief  that  aH  who 
have  been  duiv  baodzcd  wi:h  water  in  the  name  of  the  Father, 
:.-ic  Son,  and  the  Hoiv  Gh-'.-s:.  are  aireadv  members  of  the  HoIt 

»  m  rt 

Catholic  Church  :  that  v:\\<  Episc»:)pai  Church  is  ready  to  tbrega 
all  preferences  oi  its  o^n  in  any  modes  of  worship  and  disci- 
pline which  have  a  human  •■.■rdering  or  choice;  and  that  this 
Church  does  not  seek  to  absi-rb  other  communions,  but 
codneradii:^  wi:n  mem  en  the  basis  of  a  common  faith 
■jrder  :.j  di-icounrenancc  schism,  to  heal  the  wounds  of  the 
Bc'dy  ■:■[' Christ,  and  tto  promote  the  charity  which  is  the  chief  of 
Christian  ;^^races.  and  the  v::jible  manifestation  of  Christ  to  the 

This  imp'jrtan:  docTimer.:  will  doubtless  do  much  not  only  tor 
•.";.-  cause  ^-/,  C-"-rist:j.n  un::y,  but  also  tj  explain  the  broad  aad 
_*er.er:--  character  ■::'  :he  Eciscoi^ai  Church,  and  to  remove 
-•: mti  p'irular  :r.:.^apcT^:i±r.'r::n^.  Whereas  i:  has  been  th^xigfec 
I:;,  "j.-.zie  :.:>  be  eXv:^-.-:'^.r:.  j^z^i,  :.j  unchurch  uiose  not  baptized 
:r.::  ii-?  rr-embrrrshir .  ::  ii  :.ere  dccLired  tha:  all  are  members  o« 
:;.^:  \l',\'j  KL':rl:.\\z  Church  T^h:-  have  received  Christian  baj>- 
v.-m.  V/htr±a.^  ::  hj^s  reer,  :h:u:^h:  wedded  to  unchangnig 
'.'".rmi  ar.i  usa^r-rs  in  public  worship,  i:  :5  here  seen  that  there  £* 
a  rci.iir.ris  ::■  ziike  m-idifications  to  su::  existing  needs:  and 
'*'r.er-:is  i:  has  b-rTer.  -urposed  tha:  i*jr  policy  was  one  of  simple 
j.2-?.:rT::'r.  ■::'  -ither  b«:d:cs.  i:  is  disti'czlv  avowed  here  that  this 
:?  r. ::  :.'.c  ca.'^e-  T.i-r  imrlicaiion  is  :ha:  :here  can  be  Christian 
ur.::v  -.^::h  manv  divert. "ies  c:  u.5a::e  ar.d  adniinistradoa- 

Tht  r:i?:s  : :'u:::r/  fu^-^'rsttrd  ifer^  n:-  :ie-Aly  devised  tescs^oo 
-n :  d  r  n.  :. :  r.  r  ess  i :  -  ■•: :'  fi  i :.". .  a  -  d  n :  h  u  milia::ng  recanuado  a-  It 
-e:s  fin",  as  es^entiil  :he  recepu:»  :f  i-,e  Sacred  Scriptttres, 
■..\±  oli  creed  of  iie  earlv  Church,  Lie  ^acramen-s  of  Chffists 
:wn  app-i-intme-:::,  and  ihe  P':ll".y  which  existed  in  apoistolic 
■imes. 

If  Christian  'c::1t^  is  thcazh:  bv  anv  one  to  be  desirable^  licne^ 
i:  list,  is  a  5-ggest:>n  of  a  basis  upon  which  it  may  be  ooo* 

Tha:  the  Episcopal  Church  is  not  prestimptaoos  in  poiaii^ 

:':rth  \rlsi  declaradon  is  evident  when   arendcn  is  direcced  Id 

he  infuence  it  has  exerted  u?:n  other  reli^oos  bodies  in 


THE  EPISCOPAL    CHURCH.  317 

country  in  various  ways,  which  are  now  matters  of  history. 

For  example  :  —  At  one  time  it  was  peculiar  among  the  Pro- 
testant bodies  in  the  observance  of  the  seasons  of  the  ecclesias- 
tical year,  but  now  Christmas  and  Easter  are  kept  by  nearly 
all  the  denominations ;  other  festivals  also  are  observed  by 
some. 

Forms  of  prayer  were  at  one  time  gravely  objected  to,  and 
the  use  of  the  Prayer  Book  by  this  Church  was  a  standing 
objection  to  it,  but  now  responsive  readings,  precomposed 
services,  and  the  like  are  very  common. 

In  the  matter  of  architecture,  and  especially  in  the  use  of  the 
cross  to  designate  a  religious  building,  this  Church  once  was 
peculiar,  but  now  it  is  difficult  to  distinguish  its  edifices  by  their 
style  of  construction,  other  bodies  having  adopted  it.  And  in 
various  other  ways  what  were  once  features  of  the  Episcopal 
Church  have  gradually  become  adopted  by  others. 

In  addition  to  the  influence  thus  exerted  it  has  had  much  to 
do  in  quickening  the  thought,  and  in  aiding  the  social  life  of 
communities.  Always  the  friend  of  generous  culture,  it  has 
numberud  in  its  membership  those  who  have  been  distinguished 
in  the  professions,  and  as  leaders  of  thought.  It  has  always 
been  the  friend  of  sound  learning,  and  has  encouraged  refined 
and  gende  manners.  Its  schools  for  the  higher  education  of 
young  people  abound  in  all  parts  of  the  country  and  are  too 
numerous  to  name  here. 

It  has  now  eleven  Universities  and  Colleges,  as  follows:  — 
(i.)  "Trinity,"  Hartford,  Conn,;  (2.)  "  Kenyon,"  Gambler, 
Ohio:  (3.)  "Lehigh  University,"  Bethlehem,  Penn.  ;  (4.) 
"Racine,"  Racine,  Wis,;  (5.)  "  Hobart."  Geneva,  N.  Y. ; 
(6.)  "  Griswold,"  Davenport.  Ohio;  (7.)  "University  of  the 
South,"  Sewanee,  Tenn. ;  (8.)  "St.  Augustine,"  Benicia,  Cal. : 
{9.)  "St.  James."  Hagerstown.  Md, ;  (lo.)  "College  of  the 
Sisters  of  Bethany."  Topeka,  Kansas;  (ii.J  "St.  John's," 
Shanghai.  China. 

It  has  ever  aimed  to  send  forth  an  educated  ministry,  and  its 
interest  Jn  theological  training  is  shown  in  the  fact  that  it  has 
to-day  no  less  than  fifteen  institutions  for  its  candidates,  as  fol- 
lows :  — 


3i8  THE  EPISCOPAL    CHURCH. 

(i)  The  General  Theological  Seminary,  New  York;  (a)  the  Theologieal 
Seminary  of  Virginia,  near  Alexandria,  Va. ;  (3)  Theological  Seminary,  Gam- 
bier,  Ohio;  (4)  Theological  School,  Cambridge,  Mass.;  (5)  the  Divinity 
School,  Philadelphia;  (6)  Nashotah  House,  Nashotah,  Wisconsin;  (7)  the 
Western  Theological  Seminary,  Chicago,  111. ;  (8)  St.  Andrew's  Divinity 
School,  Syracuse,  N.  Y. ;  (9)  DeLancey  Divinity  School,  Geneva,  N.  Y. ;  (10) 
Ravenscroft  Training  School,  Asheville,  N.  Y. ;  (11)  Bishop  Payne  Divinity 
School,  Alexandria,  Va. ;  (12)  Seabury  Divinity  School,  Faribault,  Minn.;  (13) 
Berkeley  Divinity,  in  Middletown,  Conn. ;  (14)  Theological  Department  at  Gris- 
wold;  (15)  Theological  Department  at  the  University  of  the  South. 

Every  increase  of  earnestness  has  made  it  more  and  more 
aggressive  in  its  aims,  until  "the  time  has  now  come  when  it 
realizes  that  its  work  is  bounded  by  nothing  but  the  necessities 
of  the  race  to  which  we  belong."  The  variety  of  its  labors  is 
indicated  by  the  list  of  its  general  societies  now  in  operation, 
and  carried  on  with  considerable  degrees  of  earnestness.  They 
are  as  follows  :  — 

(i)  The  Domestic  and  Foreign  Missionary  Society;  (2)  American  Church 
Building  JFund  Commission  ;  (3)  Societies  for  the  Relief  of  Widows  and  Or- 
phans of  deceased  clergymen  and  of  aged  and  infirm  clergymen;  (4)  Bible  and 
Prayer  Book  Societies;  (5)  Societies  for  educating  Students  for  the  Ministry; 
(6)  Church  Mission  to  Deaf  Mutes ;  (7)  American  Church  Sunday  School  In- 
stitute; (8)  Church  Temperance  Society;  (9)  Free  and  Open  Church  Associa- 
tion; (10)  The  Church  Congress  for  discussion  of  leading  questions;  (11) 
Brotherhood  of  St.  Andrew  for  young  men;  (13)  The  White  Cross  Army 
against  impurity  and  profanity;  (13)  The  Church  Unity  Society  for  promot- 
ing the  Reunion  of  Christendom;  (14)  Guild  of  the  Holy  Cross,  for  interces- 
sory prayer  for  the  sick;  (i5)  Sisterhoods  for  organized  services  of  women  as 
teachers,  nurses,  etc.;  (16)  Church  Mission  to  the  Jews;  (17)  The  Girls' 
Friendly  Society;  (18)  The  Young  Men's  Friendly  Society. 

In  addition  to  these  general  organizations  there  are  local 
societies  and  institutions,  such  as  hospitals,  **  Homes'*  for  the 
aged  and  the  young,  ''  Refuges"  for  the  fallen,  day  nurseries, 
and  other  well-devised  instrumentalities  for  aiding  the  needy, 
and  doing  good  to  the  bodies  and  souls  of  others. 

Some  of  these  local  institutions,  such  as  St.  Luke's  Hospital 
in  New  York,  and  the  Episcopal  Hospital'in  Philadelphia,  have 
become  known  all  over  the  country  as  models  of  organization 
and  efficiency. 

But  it  is  manifestly  impossible  to  give  any  satisfactory  history 
of  the  Episcopal  Church  in  a  few  pages.  Its  first  period,  when 
it  was  a  branch  of  the  English  Church,  brings  to  view  import- 
ant events  and  questions  connected  with  the  settlements  in  the 


THE  EPISCOPAL    CHURCH.  319 

original  Uiirteen  colonies.  Its  second  period  during  the  strug- 
gles immediately  preceding  the  Revolution,  and  continuing  down 
to  the  establishment  of  our  country's  independence,  shows  us 
an  organization  passing  through  the  fires  and  '^&.  retaining  its 
life.  Its  third  period,  from  about  1785  to  1821,  tells  us  of  the 
slow  process  of  adapting  itself  to  the  new  condition  of  things, 
and  of  the  still  slower  process  of  winning  the  contidence  of  the 
people,  who  regarded  it  as  an  alien.  Its  fourth  period,  from 
1821  to  the  present,  abounds  with  much  that  illustrates  how  im- 
portant a  factor  it  has  become  in  the  life  of  the  American  peo- 
ple, and  how  it  is  destined  to  become  a  power  for  still  greater 
good  in  coming  years. 

Any  one  of  these  periods  presents  a  large  and  interesting 
field  for  study.  The  ground  has  been  well  traversed  by  Bishop 
Perry  in  his  "  History  of  the  American  Episcopal  Church  from 
1587  to  1883."  Other  volumes  upon  the  subject  are  Bishop 
White's  "  Memoirs  of  the  Episcopal  Church,"  Bishop  Wilber- 
force's  *'  History  of  the  Protestant  Episcopal  Church  in  Amer- 
ica." 

For  explanation  of  the  system,  the  usages  and  peculiarities  of 
ihis  Church,  such  books  and  pamphlets  as  the  following  are 
usually  accessible :  — 

Bishop  Kip's,  "Double  Witness  of  the  Church;"  Bishop 
Randall's  "Why  am  I  a  Churchman?"  Shinn's  "Questions 
about  our  Church;"  Bishop  Garrett's  "Historical  Continuity;" 
Little's  "Reasons  for  being  a  Churchman."  Among  the  most 
useful  is  "The  Church  Cyclopedia,"  edited  by  Benton,  and 
containing  under  appropriate  headings,  the  explanation  of  points 
in  history,  theology,  usage,  and  ceremony. 

These  words,  once  uttered  by  Bishop  Clarke,  are  very  appro- 
priate in  this  connection: — 

"  Being  thus  conservative  and  free,  linked  to  the  past  by  an 
indissoluble  tie,  and  in  full  sympathy  with  the  living  present," 
the  Episcopal  Church  has  before  it  a  noble  work  in  this  land. 

Its  historic  episcopate,  its  majestic  liturgy,  its  firm  grasp  of 
essential  principles,  while  allowing  wide  liberty  of  opinion  upon 
non-essential  points;  its  honoring  the  Word  of  God,  and  making 
much  of  the  fellowship  of  believers  in  the  body  of  Christ;  its 
high  regard  for  the  ordinances  and  sacraments  appointed  by 


320  THE  EPISCOPAL    CHURCH. 

the  Master  as  channels  of  grace  ;  and  its  organization,  which  is 
as  far  from  oppression  as  it  is  from  laxity, — all  are  elements  of 
its  power  and  usefulness. 

One  feature  of  this  Church  is  worthy  of  special  attention, 
the  dignified  sincerity  and  calmness  with  which  it  holds  its  way 
notwithstanding  the  objections  to  its  principles  and  usages  made 
by  prejudiced  or  uninstructed  opponents.  It  utters  no  anathemas 
against  those  who  do  not  accept  its  authority ;  it  offers  its  priv- 
ileges to  all  who  will  have  them  ;  and  it  unchurches  none  who 
have  been  baptized  in  the  name  of  the  Trinity.  At  the  same 
time  it  never  yields  the  claim  that  it  is  a  true  branch  of  the  His- 
toric Church.  It  will  not  be  considered  as  a  sect  of  modern 
origin. 

The  preface  to  the  Ordinal,  in  which  its  polity  is  set  forth, 
is  a  model  of  strength  and  courtesy  in  stating  one  of  the  points 
over  which  there  has  been  so  much  controversy  in  modern 
days.  It  declares  its  purpose  to  cling  to  the  ministry  of  three 
Orders  because  it  finds  authority  for  such  a  ministry  in  the 
Scriptures,  in  ancient  authors,  and  in  the  unbroken  continuance. 
It  retains  what  was  the  invariable  usage  of  fifteen  centuries,  and 
throws  the  burden  of  proving  the  lawfulness  of  any  other  min- 
istry upon  those  who  have  departed  from  that  which  is  historic. 
It  knows  that  its  own  Orders  are  valid ;  it  utters  no  judgment 
for  or  against  any  others. 

Recognizing  all  Christians  as  brethren  in  the  Church  of 
Christ,  it  rises  up  above  all  controversies,  and  bears  them  day 
by  day  before  the  Throne  of  Grace  in  these  matchless  words :  — 
*'  More  especially  we  pray  for  Thy  Holy  Church  Universal, 
that  it  may  be  so  guided  and  governed  by  Thy  Holy  Spirit  that 
all  who  profess  and  call  themselves  Christians  may  be  led  into 
the  way  of  truth,  and  hold  the  faith  in  unity  of  spirit,  in  the 
bond  of  peace,  and  in  righteousness  of  life.'' 


IN  TWO  ACTS. 


IN    TWO    ACTS. 

BY  J.  V.  PRICHARD. 

"  Sweet  is  revenge,  especially  lo  women." —  Byron. 

ACT  FIRST. 

1757- — All  things  considered,  young  Percy,  Lord  Vivian, 
was  "  as  pretty  a  bit  of  flesh  "  as  had  e'er  set  foot  in  the  Colo- 
nies up  to  the  middle  of  the  eighteenth  century.  Now  that  im- 
ported human  luxuries  are  drugs  in  our  market,  no  doubt  many 
his  equal  have  appeared  among  us  ;  but  previous  to  the  Revolu- 
tion young  Lord  Percy  could  easily  have  borne  away  the  palm. 
An  habitu^  of  one  of  England's  most  fastidious  courts,  he  came 
out  to  the  wilderness  in  the  very  flower  of  his  youth, — dashing 
among  men,  gallant  among  women; — in  a  word,  a  British 
Alcibiades. 

Naturally  his  departure  from  Albion  in  a  ship-of-war  provoked 
a  very  whirlwind  of  lamentation;  many  a  bright  eye  waxed 
dim.  many  a  quivering  lip  declared  him  "cruel" ;  one  especially 
stood  in  her  bower  after  his  departure  and  looked  sea-ward  with 
streaming  eyes  whose  rivulets  the  prayerfully  clasped  hands 
forgot  to  stanch.  This  was  the  Lady  Henrietta,  my  lord's  be- 
trothed.—  Ay,  it  was  a  hard  day  for  lair  England; — unkind 
Lord  Percy  I 

It  mattered  not  to  his  deplorers  that  he  had  not  the  faintest 
idea  of  bearing  arms  in  defence  of  his  country's  interest  abroad  ; 
they  quite  lost  sight  of  the  fact  that  he  had  gone  to  America 
simply  in  search  of  adventure  ;  it  was  suflicient  for  them  that  he 
had  gone  from  their  sight,  and  they  refused  to  be  consoled.  Of 
course,  to  adventurous  spirits,  the  seat  of  war,  providing  it 
coupled  some  special  charms  to  its  hazards,  was  the  site^arcA:- 
cellcnce  to  be  chosen  for  self-imposed  exile. 

A  century  ago  Lake  George  was  quite  as  attractive  in  a  way 
as  it  is  to-day.  To  be  sure,  nature  was  something  less  alloyed 
in  those  days,  but  Fort  William  Henry  bloomed  flourishingly 
upon  its  shore,  there  was  some  exceedingly  choice  imported 
Btock  in  garrison  there,  where  officers  passed  the  long  days  in 


322  IN  TWO  ACTS. 

martial 9  if  agreeable »  leisure,  despite  the  bold  assertion  of 
historians  that  **they  exhibited  nothing  but  indolence  and 
weakness."  It  was  mid-summer,  the  country  was  at  its  best, 
and  my  Lord  Percy's .  health  and  pleasure  were  of  paramount 
importance.  To  the  lovely  Horicon  district  forthwith  he  posted, 
and  in  due  time  applied  to  the  doughty  Colonel  Munroe  for 
hospitality  and  a  secretary's  post.  *' We  are  fighting  men  here, 
my  lord,"  said  Munroe,  with  a  significant  smile  addressed  to 
Vivian's  flowered  waistcoat  and  rich  laces. 

*' Never  fear,  Colonel,"  replied  my  lord,  returning  smile  for 
smile ;  **  believe  me  this  taffety  conceals  the  verj'  sinews  of  war, 
but  call  them  into  requisition." 

However,  as  the  otiosa  sedulitas  of  the  camp  continued  unin- 
terrupted during  the  balmy  weather,  the  Colonel  had  no  fault 
to  find,  my  lord  no  cause  to  complain.  Adventure,  amatory  or 
otherwise,  being  handsome  Percy's  end  in  view  in  going  abroad, 
he  was  not  long  in  discovering  that  the  trout  of  Horicon  were 
larger  than  those  of  his  native  meres,  that  the  deer  were  more 
plentiful  than  in  his  prospective  preserves,  and  that  a  certain 
pioneer-farmer's  daughter  was  somewhat  fairer  than  his  pining 
Henrietta.  The  trout  and  the  deer  he  left  unmolested  after  a 
little  ;  the  farmer's  daughter  he  molested  not  a  little.  Not  that 
for  an  instant  he  contemplated  throwing  over  the  wealthy  Lady 
Henrietta  for  the  impecunious  Dorothy  Pell ;  such  conduct 
would  be  sheer  madness;  but  pretty  Dorothy  possessed  eyes 
in  whose  limpid  depths  it  amused  him  to  read  the  secrets  of  her 
soul ;  she  had  lips  like  fresh  rose-petals  that  he  loved  to  kiss ; 
above  all,  she  was  deliciously  naive ^  which  my  Lady  Henrietta 
was  not.  Ever  an  enthusiastic  student  of  the  sex,  Vivian 
frankly  confessed — to  himself — that  though  Dorothy  was  his 
affinity,  the  missing  fraction  which  was  destined  by  heaven  to 
complete  his  integral  being,  he  preferred  to  live  and  die  in  im- 
perfect state  rather  than  run  the  risk  of  facing  the  consequen- 
ces of  so  grave  a  misalliance.  So  he  continued  to  kiss  Dorothy 
and  to  read  her  little  optical  secrets  at  his  pleasure,  while  she — 
deluded  maid  —  drank  to  the  dregs  the  cup  of  his  specious 
wooing.  And  all  the  while  Dorothy  was  doing  no  violence  to 
her  better  nature.  A  lover  she  had,  'tis  true,  a  worthy  young 
Hollander — Jan  Von  Alstyne  by  name,  as  dutiful  a  swain  as 


IN  TWO  ACTS. 


323 


ever  maiden  boasted  ;  yet  from  the  first  he  loved  in  vain.  Dor- 
othy owned  lo  a  certain  fancy  for  the  honest  lad,  that  was  all. 

"  I  like  thee  well,  Jan,"  she  was  wont  lo  say  in  answer  to 
his  almost  daily  entreaty,  "  but  I  love  thee  not." 

But  Jan  loved  on  with  the  pertinacity  of  his  race,  comforting 
himself  with  the  thought  that  "love  is  of  such  superlative 
worth,  that  it  is  more  honorable  to  be  its  victim  than  its  con- 
queror," or  assurance  to  that  effect.  Having  no  dtfined  claim, 
he  stepped  down  and  out  when  my  Lord  Percy  put  in  an  ap- 
pearance, but  he  kept  his  weather  eye  open;  he  was  too  genu- 
ine a  man  himself  not  to  recognize  your  ■petit-mditre  by  instinct. 
"  rn  save  thee  from  thyself  if  needs  be,  Dorothy,"  he  would 
often  say,  holding  her  in  his  mind's  eye. 

Thus  in  gentle  dalliance  passed  the  sweet  summer  days  for 
Vivian  and  his  lady  love.  Who  shall  blame  her  that  she  was 
ensnared  when  great  ladies  pined  for  his  return  and  sent  him 
dainty  missives  across  seas? 

Meanwhile  (the  inmates  of  Fort  William  Henry  little  dream- 
ing, in  their  dignified  repose,  of  the  gory-handed  Nemesis  who 
was  winging  her  ponderous  flight  in  their  direction),  the  vigor- 
ous Montcalm  was  despatching  his  trusty  aids  to  the  forts  at 
Crown  Point  and  Ticonderoga,  to  the  Indian  and  Canadian  es- 
tablishments, and  sharpening  his  weapons  for  that  long  pre- 
meditated coup-dc-grdcc. 

It  was  like  a  maelstrom,  with  open-mouthed  Bellona  shriek- 
ing in  the  van,  that  the  Frenchmen,  flanked  by  their  savage 
contingent,  swept  down  upon  Fort  William  Henry ;  and  it  was 
upon  the  sixth  day  of  the  valiant  defence  that  Colonel  Munroe 
appealed  to  his  lordly  secretary,  directing  him  to  ride  posthaste 
to  Fort  Edward  and  beseech  Webb  to  send  him  aid  ere  he 
perished. 

It  was  an  expedition  not  without  its  penis,  but  my  lord  laid 
aside  his  taffety  and  displayed  his  war-like  sinews.  Alas,  what 
would  my  Lady  Henrietta  and  the  grandes  dames  have  said 
could  they  have  known:*  Fortunately  for  their  sympathetic 
nerves  they  did  not  know,  but  Dorothy  Ptil  did,  and  she  inter- 
cepted the  flying  emissary  on  the  beech-clad  hill  that  com- 
manded a  view  of  the  surface  of  the  tranquil  lake  trembling 
beneath  the  roar  of  the  deep-mouthed  cannon.     Like  an  appa- 


3^4  IN  TWO  ACTS. 

rition  she  rose  in  his  pathway  and  laid  her  firm  hand  upon  the 
foam-flecked  bridle. 

**  Percy  !     You  are  going  away.** 

**Yes." 

**  For  good,**  she  added,  prophetically. 

**  No,  no,  Dorothy  ;    I  shall  return.'* 

''*  Never  \  —  Percy;  if  you  love  me,  take  me  with  you,**  she 
pleaded. 

Position  de  gSne  I  but  Vivian's  diplomacy  rose  superior  to 
the  occasion. 

*'  I  will  prove  my  love  by  coming  back  for  you,  Dorothy,"  he 
said,  with  a  glance  that  might  have  magnetized  an  empress. 

**  You  swear  it?" 

**  Ay,  by  my  knightly  word  !" 

**  So  be  it;  I  will  wait." 

She  relinquished  her  hold  upon  the  bridle,  and  laying  her 
hand  upon  the  pommel  of  his  saddle,  she  rose  upon  tiptoe  and 
presented  her  innocent  lips,  while  he  bent  above  her  to  receive 
that  kiss  of  faith. 

At  Fort  Edward  were  delayed  mails  ;  — the  Lady  Henrietta 
had  grown  impatient  and  threatened  nameless  violence  unless 
her  lover  returned  to  her  instanter. 

The  summons  produced  its  effect ;  moreover,  with  the  perspi- 
cacity of  genuine  selfishness,  Vivian  found  himself  very  well 
out  of  a  very  bad  mess  ;  he  did  not  fail  to  notice  the  reluctance 
on  General  Webb's  part  to  send  relief  to  the  besieged,  and  he 
very  wisely,  if  ungallantly,  preferred  to  intrust  his  precious 
person  to  the  mercy  of  Neptune  rather  than  venture  within  the 
doomed  walls  of  Fori  William  Henry.  For  months  thereafter 
the  valiant  Munroe  believed  that  his  secretary  had  fallen  a  vie- 
tim  to  the  enemy's  scouts,  Webb's  indisposition  to  help  lending 
color  to  the  supposition ;  whereas  my  Lord  Percy  had  duly 
reached  Englxmd,  and  made  my  Lady  Henrietta  his  bride  and 
the  happiest  of  mortals.  And  Dorothy  Pell  ?  —  Environed  by 
the  convulsions  of  her  native  land,  she  saw  her  fairy  dreams  of 
bliss  fade  one  by  one,  and  lived  to  sadly  learn  **  how  disappoint- 
ment tracks  the  steps  of  hope."  Even  her  tardy  union  with 
faithful  Jan  Van  Alstyne  failed  to  heal  the  bleeding  wound  in 
her  heart,  and  as  a  treasured  flower  fades  she  faded  within  his 


IN  TWO  ACTS.  325 

protecting  arms,  leaving  him  a  son  with  the  imprint  of  her  ser- 
aphic features  upon  his  baby  face. 

About  this  time  my  Lord  Percy  chanced  to  be  reading  aloud, 
and  came  upon  the  passage  : — 

"We  must  confess  that  life  resembles  the  banquet  of  Dam- 
ocles—  the  sword  is  ever  suspended." 

**  How  very  dreadful !  "  murmured  my  Lady  Henrietta,  with 
a  shudder,  pressing  her  first-born,  the  future  Lord  Vivian,  to 
her  breast.     *'  What  can  the  author  mean?" 

*'  He  is  a  moralist,  my  dear,"  was  the  astute  response,  **  and 
moralists  are  ever  tiresome  vapor ers." 

ACT  SECOND. 

1885. — **  She's  charming,  is  she  not?" 

'*  Oh,  yes  ;  thoroughly  so.  I  really  know  of  no  girl  one-half 
so  lovely.  And  she's  quite  a  heroine  in  a  way.  You  must 
know  that  she  has  supported  herself  since  she  was  a  mere  child, 
despite  the  insistence  of  her  relatives  and  friends,  who  are 
shocked  beyond  measure  at  her  independent  course." 

"  Not  wealthy,  then?"     • 

**  Bless  you,  no!  quite  the  reverse.  She  has  been  an  in- 
structress at  Madame  Lacourifere's  school  in  New  York  ever 
since  she  was  graduated  there.  My  daughters  are  her  pupils 
and  fairly  idolize  her." 

'*  You  interest  me.     Is  she  well  born?" 

*'  None  of  your  Southern  stock  any  better  than  hers.  Surely 
if  there  exists  such  a  thing  as  an  aristocracy  in  this  republic, 
she  belongs  to  it.  She  is  related  to  some  of  the  most  exclusive 
as  well  as  wealthy  families  in  the  North." 

"  Then  why  does  she  teach  for  a  living?" 

*' Simply  because — her  father  having  failed  in  '73,  leaving 
her  shortly  after  an  orphan  of  eight  years  —  she  prefers  not  to 
be  a  burden." 

*'  I  call  such  conduct  in  a  girl  sheer  Quixotism." 

**You  misjudge  her.  She  is  the  least  fantastic,  least  chi- 
merical young  woman  I  ever  met.  You  should  know  her  to 
appreciate  her ;  and  to  appreciate  her  is  to  worship." 

'*  High  praise,  indeed  1  But,  tell  me,  how  happens  it  that 
she  can  afford  to  be  a  guest  at  so  expensive  a  resort?" 


326  IN  TWO  ACTS. 

**  Simply  enough ;  she  is  here  at  my  wife's  invitation.'* 

**Your  wife  must  have  been  obliged  to  resort  to  positive 
genuflection  in  order  to  induce  this  high  priestess  of  independ- 
ence to  suffer  such  obligation." 

The  gentleman  addressed  arose  and  tossed  the  remnant  of 
his  cigar  over  the  balustrade  in  mock  irritation. 

*'  What  an  unbeliever  you  are  !"  he  exclaimed.  **  I  declare 
I'll  introduce  you  to  Miss  Van  Alstyne  and  leave  your  prepos- 
terous scepticism  to  mortify  you  into  rationality  !" 

Simultajieously  several  ladies  at  the  far  end  of  the  spacious 
verandah  were  expatiating  upon  the  self-same  bon  sujet^  but, 
woman-like,  with  a  trifle  more  reserve. 

^^  Of  course  she  is  beautiful ;  but  pick  her  apart,  and  I  don't 
know  that  you  would  have  such  perfect  elements." 

**No;  her  comeliness  seems  to  reside  in  the  way  those  ele- 
ments are  combined.  Her  figure  is  simply  statuesque.  I  think 
I  never  saw  fourteen  yards  of  untrimmed  white  flannel  so  grace- 
fully disposed.  Of  course,  being  so  tall,  she  must  take  a  full 
dress-pattern." 

*  *  Is  she  not  a  trifle  too  tall  ?" 

''  If  I  could  see  her  in  something  beside  rigid  black  and 
white  I  could  answer  that  question." 

**  If  she  were  to  appear  in  blue,  for  instance,  she  might,  if 
my  suspicions  are  correct,  appear  a  trifle  gawky." 

*'  Oh,  never  that!  she 's  naturally  too  svelte.^ 

'*  Well,  at  all  events,  she's  wise  enough  in  her  own  genera- 
tion to  stick  to  black  and  white ;  she's  far  too  highly  colored 
with  her  creamy  skin  and  jet-black  hair  to  wear  anything  else." 

This  somewhat  censorious  critic,  who,  by-the-by,  had  been  a 
belle  at  the  Fort  William  Henry  Hotel  for  seasons,  the  number 
of  which  it  would  be  uncharitable  to  mention,  here  indulged  in 
a  sharp  inspiration. 

''My  goodness r  she  exclaimed,  ''that  swell  Englishman 
has  gone  and  picked  up  her  handkerchief!  I  do  believe  she 
dropped  it  just  to  attract  his  attention.  I  saw  her  talking  to  the 
other  one  last  evening  —  and  they're  both  noblemen  r 

Meanwhile  the  much-canvassed  cynosure  was  deporting 
herself  with  unassailable  modesty,  strolling  about  the  ornate 
grounds  of  the  hotel,  flanked  by  two  little  girls,  whom  she  was 


IN  TWO  ACTS. 


327 


evidently  entertaining  with  some  appropriate  narration,  for  they 
walked  beside  her  in  rapt  silence.  True,  she  had  accidentally 
dropped  her  handkerchief  before  a  rustic  seat  whereon  sat  a 
gentleman,  shaded  from  the  garish  rays  of  the  setting  sun  by  a 
clump  of  the  regal  Palma  ChrisU,  that  marvel  of  tropic  foliage 
that  seems  as^eu  approprii  to  our  rude  zone  as  the  peacock  or 
the  oriole. 

"  Beg  pardon.  Miss,"'  he  said,  suddenly  starting  to  his  feet 
and  rescuing  the  dainty  scrap  of  embroidery  from  the  yellow 
dust  of  the  path,  "but  you've  dropped  j'our  handkerchief  I" 

He  spoke  with  that  respectful  assurance  and  slight  rising 
intonation  which  so  promptly  mark  the  well-bred  Englishman. 
Moreover,  he  bore  with  peculiar  charm  and  grace  that  inde- 
scribable cachet  of  his  race  so  studiously  aped  abroad,  but 
which  is  so  inimitable. 

"I  thank  jou  very  much,"  Miss  Van  Alstyne  replied,  her 
sweet  mouth  curving  into  an  apologetic  smile,  while  her  frank 
brown  eyes  added  their  share  of  gratitude ;  "I  am  very  sorry 
to  have  troubled  you,  sir." 

"Pray  don't  mention  it;  I  am  at  fault  for  interrupting  so 
interesting  a  story." 

She  smiled  again,  quite  at  her  ease  in  the  presence  of  such 
unaffected  courtesy. 

"  I  was  merely  telling  my  little  friends  the  oft-told  tale  of 
this  attractive  region,"  she  said. 

"  I  would  that  I  might  have  been  included  among  your  audi- 
tors ;  I  fear  I  am  wofully  ignorant,  even  for  a  stranger." 

"Tell  the  gentleman  the  story.  Miss  Dorothy,"  interposed 
the  elder  of  the  little  girls  ;   "  I  could  hear  it  all  over  again  T 

"  So  could  I,"  demurely  echoed  her  companion. 

For  the  first  time  a  conscious  blush  suffused  the  creamy 
velvet  of  Dorothy  Van  Alstyne's  cheek,  as  she  answered,  veil- 
ing her  lustrous  eyes : 

"The  gentleman  is  an  Englishman,  children,  atid  I  am  far 
too  patriotic  to  be  diplomatic,  I  fear." 

He  uttered  a  laugh  of  genuine  admiration  and  bonhomie. 

"  There  is  no  need  of  diplomacy,"  he  urged,  "since  we  were 
all  Englishmen  in  1757.  If,  however,  we  were  at  Ticonderoga 
or  Crown  Point,  instead  of  here  at  Fort  William  Henry,  your 


328  IN  TWO  ACTS. 

sensitive  courtesy  might  suffer  in  the  narration  of  certain  facts 
unpalatable  to  British  tastes." 

^^  Certain  British  consciences  ought  to  twinge,  even  here,'- 
thought  Miss  Dorothy,  with  a  swift  clouding  of  the  eye;  aloud 
she  rejoined  naively  : 

*'  Your  ignorance  of  American  history  seems  not  to  be  as 
woful  as  you  would  wish  it  to  appear,  sir."  Adding,  with  her 
frank  smile,  *' My  ability  as  a  racontcusc  of  hackneyed  facts 
is  only  at  its  best  in  the  presence  of  perfectly  ingenuous  au- 
diences." 

A  fond  glance  at  her  little  companions  speedily  rendered  the 
occult  sarcasm  of  her  words  one  of  those  surplices  de  Tantale 
rather  agreeable  than  otherwise  to  the  victims  of  first-sight  love. 

He  raised  his  hat  with  grave  decorum  as  she  turned  away 
along  the  sunlit  path,  though  there  was  an  undaunted  twinkle 
in  his  Saxon  blue  eyes  which  would  have  accelerated  Miss  Dor- 
othy's pulses,  had  she  seen  it,  far  more  than  had  his  significant 
attitude  during  their  brief  interview.  But  she  went  away  with 
that  innate  elegance  of  carriage  which  marks  the  unconscious 
diijnitv  of  the  ladv-born,  leaving  her  admirer  at  the  mercy  of 
his  travelling  companion,  *'  that  other  nobleman,"  who,  at  that 
moment,  chanced  along  the  path  and  dropped  languidly  upon 
the  seat  beside  him. 

'*  Jove,  dear  boy," — the  new  comer  began  in  a  tone  of  such 
utter  lingual  collapse  that  his  words  came  lispingly, —  **so 
you're  in  the  toils,  too,  eh?" 

*'  What,  .  .  .  whose  toils?"  demanded  his  friend  absently, 
his  eyes  following  the  vanishing  group,  his  corrected  use  of  the 
pronoun  betraying  his  mental  drift. 

*' Why,  of  that  brunette  siren,  you  know  ;  that  .  .  .  that  .  .  . 
a  .  .  .  how  shall  I  put  it?  —  that  nineteenth-century  Circe." 

Miss  Dorothy  had  disappeared  with  her  attendant  nymphs, 
and  the  blue  eyes  lost  something  of  their  ecstacy. 

*'  Do  you  mean  the  young  woman  with  the  children?"  he  in- 
quired. 

**  Precisely." 

**  If  you  will  be  classical,  Grassmere,  call  her  Aspasia;  the 
name  suits  her  better." 

*'Jove,  now,  Percy;  if  we  do  that,"  came  the  languid  re- 


IN   TWO  ACTS. 


339 


sponse,  "  we  shall  have  to  call  ourselves  Cyrus  and  Artaxerxes, 
don't  you  know?" 

•'  I  really  can't  see  why?" 

"Why,  don't  you  remember?  —  both  the  Persian  nabobs 
were  dead  gone  on  the  Phocian  beauty,  just  as  we  are  on — "    .   . 

"  Who  says  that  /am  smitten  by  this  American  girl?" 

"  I  do,  you  know." 

"  Speak  for  yourself,  please." 

"  I  mean  to,  dear  boy;  .  .  .  a  .  .  .  that  is,  I'm  going  to 
tell  you  what  a  fearful  roasting  she  gave  me  last  evening,  and 
put  you  on  your  guard." 

They  formed  a  singular  contrast — these  two  noble  youths  of 
Albion;  friends  from  boyhood,  they  had  grown  up  side  by  side 
as  opposite  as  it  ia  possible  for  two  natures  to  be,  yet  without 
the  slightest  tinge  of  antagonism.  Both  had  benefited  by  the 
same  educational  advantages,  but  where  they  had  tended 
to  develop  virility  in  the  one  they  had  opened  the  slippery  path 
to  sybaritism  to  the  other.  The  one  had  become  an  accom- 
plished man  of  the  world;  the  other  had  glided  by  easy  stages 
into  the  sensuous  spirituality  of  dilettanieism.  Evident  it  was 
that  when  the  inevitable  separation  should  come,  it  would  be 
the  weaker  member  of  this  boon-companionship  who  would  be 
the  sufferer. 

It  was  not  surprising,  then,  that  Lord  Percy  Vivian  should 
lend  an  almost  paternally  indulgent  ear  to  the  babble  of  the 
young  Viscount  Grassmere. 

"Well,"  he  inquired  with  his  cheery  smile,  "what  did  you 
do  to  induce  such  incendiary  proceedings  on  the  lady's  part?" 

"Absolutely  nothing!  I  found  her  standing  alone  in  the  star- 
light on  the  piazza,  I  offered  her  a  chair,  and  of  course  spoke 
to  her." 

"Reprehensible  to  begin  with.  She  was  justified  in  prepar- 
ing her  fire  inslanter. 

"I  can't  see  why.  Tou  did  materially  the  same  thing  ten 
minutes  ago  and  she  smiled  upon  you  where  she  glowered 
upon  me." 

Young  Lord  Vivian  looked  conscious,  and  tapped  the  toes  of 
his  boots  with  his  cane. 

"Besides,"  continued  Grassmere,  "I  find  Americans  speak 


330  IN  TWO  ACTS. 

to  each  other  in  places  like  this,  whether  they  are  acquainted 
or  not.  Well,  she  refused  the  chair  with  most  unnecessarily 
gelid  politeness.  This  piqued  me,  you  know,  and  I  asked  her 
if  she  would  walk  with  me  in  the  gardens. — 'No  1'  Would  she 
sail  with  me  next  day  on  the  lake? — 'No  I'  Would  she  do 
either  if  I  were  formally  presented  to  her? — *No!'  Jove,  I 
began  to  be  very  angry.  I  then  asked  her  whether  she  would 
also  object  to  my  being  presented  to  her?  She  answered  with 
the  most  fascinating  suavity,  that  as  she  already  knew  who  I 
was,  an  introduction  would  be  an  unnecessary  pain  to  her. 
Thereupon  I  demanded  an  explanation." 

'•Grassmere!  You  ill-mannered  villain  1"  exclaimed  his 
companion,  unable  longer  to  contain  his  hilarity. 

"Wait,  dear  boy,"  pursued  the  Viscount,  *' until  you  hear 
the  sequel.  I  asked  her  whether  I  was  unsightly,  not  a  gende- 
man  ?  '  Neither,'  she  replied ;  '  you  are  simply  Lord  Percy 
Vivian,'" 

*'  Great  Heavens  !  she  mistook  you  for  me  I" 

"Apparently.  .  .  .  More  piqued  than  ever,  I  inquired  if 
being  a  Vivian  was  a  sin?  *In  my  eyes,  yes,'  she  answered; 
'of  course  you  know  that  your  ancestor  once  flourished  on  this 
spot?'  I  acknowledged  that  the  fact  had  increased  my  interest 
in  visiting  this  place.  'Oh,  indeed!'  she  exclaimed;  'and 
perhaps  you  have  come  to  see  where  Miss  Dorothy  Pell  died  of 
a  broken  heart!'  .  .  .  Now,  my  dear  fellow,  I  never 
heard  of  this  Miss  Pell ;  perhaps  I'm  not  to  blame  since  her 
cardiac  fracture  must  have  occurred  one  hundred  and  twenty- 
eight  years  ago." 

Vivian  was  sorely  tempted  to  laugh,  but  he  restrained  himself. 

'*/  know  all  about  it,"  he  said ;  the  affair  was  a  blight  upon 
my  great-grandfather's  reputation  as  a  gentleman.  You  shall 
read  his  own  account  of  his  infidelity,  in  his  diary,  which  I  have 
brought  with  me  for  reference."     Grassmere  rose  with  a  yawn. 

"  Keep  your  family  secrets  to  yourself,  Percy,"  he  said  ;  '•  I 
don't  care  to  sit  in  judgment  upon  your  ancestor,  and  have  his 
ombra  Icggicra  skipping  about  my  bed  at  night  ...  I 
suppose  Miss  Pell  must  have  been  Miss  Alstyne's  great  grand- 
mother, though  I  can't  see  how  she  could  have  been  unless  she 
was  married,  in  which  case  she  must  have  patched  up  the  rent 


IN  TWO  ACTS. 


331 


in  her  heart  and  deferred  her  demise."  .  .  .  He  struck  a 
match  and  ignited  a  cigarette.  "  Believe  me,  dear  boy,  I  am 
terribly  put  out,  for  I'm  awfully  gone  on  this  goddess,  this  Ne- 
mesis of  the  Pell  family,  but  if  I  have  succeeded  in  extending 
the  span  of  your  existence  in  her  favor,  I  comfort  myself  with 
ihe  assurance  that  I  deserve  to  be  registered  among  the  immor- 
tals for  my  touching  self-abnegation." 

"Then  you  did  not  undeceive  her  as  to  your  identity?"  in- 
quired Vivian,  detaining  his  friend  as  he  turned  away. 

"  Why,  of  course  not  I"  was  the  injured  reply,  "  where  would 
have  been  the  sacrifice  if  I  had?" 

"Ten  thousand  thanks,  Grassmere  I     You  are  a  friend  indeed."' 

He  stretched  forth  his  strong  hand  and  clasped  the  Viscount's 
slender,  bejewelled  extremity. 

"Dear  me!"  murmured  the  latter,  "you're  more  ipcrdu 
d'atnour  than  I  thought  I  .  .  .  Well,  make  the  most  of 
your  opportunity,  for  be  very  sure  she'll  have  none  of  you  when 
she  discovers  that  yow  are  the  Vivian.  Dash  me,  but  I  fancy 
she  has  the  pluck  to  request  her  great- grand  mother's  spectre  to 
haunt  your  dreams  1" 

Despite  the  wholesome  warning,  Vivian  accepted  the  advice 
and  "made  the  most  of  his  opportunity."  And  the  summer 
days  fled  by  on  gilded  wing, 

The  one-sided  masqerade  continuing,  Dorothy  Van  Alstyne 
and  Vivian  were  thrown  constantly  into  each  other's  society, 
chance  favoring  this  rendezvous,  until  they  discovered  how  like 
a  charming  romance  is  love,  "  read  with  avidity  and  often  with 
such  impatience  that  many  pages  are  skipped  to  reach  the  di- 
noaemeni  sooner."  Yet  somehow  or  other,  their  particular 
dinouement  was  no  surprise  to  them ;  it  was  fully  anticipated, 
while  for  once  anticipation  concealed  no  sting  of  disappoint- 
ment. As  for  Vivian,  he  would  have  lingered  on  though  the 
picturesque  shores  of  Horicon  were  wreathed  in  snow ;  but  Dor- 
othy's hostess  was  longing  to  return  cityward,  and  in  all  proba- 
bility it  was  her_^o/  which  forced  the  bud  into  bloom. 

They  were  upon  the  lake ;  he  held  the  oars,  she  the  tiller. 
The  sun  had  set,  and  the  purple  shades  were  rushing  up  the 
steeps  from  dell  and  valley  to  quench  the  roseate  glow  that 
reigned  above. 


332  IN  TWO  ACTS. 

**What  a  pity  it  is  your  American  twilights  are  so  brief,'* 
Vivian  remarked ;  '*  they  barely  give  you  a  taste  of  what  our 
romantic  English  evenings  are." 

She  was  silent,  gazing  upward  and  westward  towards  the 
tomb  of  day ;  therefore  he  continued,  regretfully : 

''  By  another  sunset  we  shall  be  separated — perhaps  forever." 

She  lowered  her  eyes  to  his  eloquent  face,  and,  with  charac- 
teristic candor,  replied : 

"  I  shall  be  very  sorry." 

He  drew  the  oars  across  his  lap,  and,  leaning  forward,  took 
her  hand  in  his. 

'*Miss  Van  Alstyne  —  Dorothy  I  ....  May  I  plead 
some  one's  cause  before  we  part?" 

'*  Whose?"  she  asked,  wonderingly. 

'*  Lord  Percy  Vivian's." 

She  withdrew  her  hand  then,  and  her  eyes  sank,  as  her  lips 
quivered  with  a  disappointment  not  unmixed  with  irony. 

'*  You  are  a  most  devoted  friend  to  him,"  she  murmured. 

**  I  have  every  reason  to  be." 

"  I  hope  he  appreciates  you." 

*•  He  does Tell  me,  why  should  the  sins  of 

the  parents  be  visited  upon  the  children?  Can  you  not  forgive 
the  wrong,  forget  the  blight  which  rests  upon  the  name  of 
Vivian  ?" 

•'Why  should  I?" 

"  Could  you  not  forgive  and  forget  if  you  loved  a  Vivian?" 

"  But  I  do  not  love  a  Vivian  1"  she  cried  indignantly. 

'•Dorothy, —  Dorothy,  take  carel" 

Then  her  eyes  flashed  up, —  and  she  saw  it  all.  Upon  the 
ground  that  "  all  is  fair  in  love  and  war,"  he  pleaded  his  cause  ; 
he  had  inherited  the  Vivian  fascination,  and  he  pleaded  as  only 
the  confident  lover  can  plead. 

"Have  I  not  made  amends  for  the  past?"  he  demanded; 
'•has  not  Fate  enticed  me  hither,  to  the  spot  so  vividly  historic 
to  us  both^  that  I  may  redeem  Ihe  credit  of  my  name,  and  clear 
away  the  shadows  that  have  encompassed  it  for  generations  ?" 

"Would  you  have  been  so  dutiful,"  she  asked,  with  the 
faintest  of  quizzical  smiles,  "  if  you  had  not  fancied  me?  Is 
your  motive  purely  unselfish?" 


THE  BELL    OF  SCHAFFHAUSEN.  333 

"  No,"  he  answered  frankly ;  and  she  forgave  and  forgot  all 
for  his  honesty's  sake. 

Viscount  Grassmere  was  lying  upon  his  bed,  smoking,  when 
Vivian  informed  him  of  his  happiness. 

*'Yes,  I   expected  it,"  he  returned,  languidly;  "  IVe  only 
reserved  my  congratulations  from  day  to  day,  dear  boy. 
Dorothy,  Lady  Vivian  !     Quite  poetic  —  only  don't  let  her  ring 
in  the  Pell  part  of  it ;  I  don't  like  the  name,  and  her  great- 
grandmother  has  been  a  perfect  cauchemar^  at  least  to  w^." 


THE    BELL   OF  SCHAFFHAUSEN.* 

By  Charles  K.  Bolton. 

Near  the  foot  of  the  virgin  falls, 
Where  the  Rhine  enshrouds  its  walls 

In  a  veil  of  foaming  white, 
Is  the  town  which  the  German  calls 
Schaffhausen. 

In  the  golden  times  gone  by, 
In  the  belfry  built  on  high, 

There  was  once  a  bell  in  sight ; 
And  afar  men  could  descry 
The  Minster. 

And  the  ruins  on  the  hill 

Of  the  Roman  fort,  long  still. 

Looked  in  silence  on  the  town. 
Which  the  legions  never  will 
More  enter. 


*It  is  currently  stated  that  Prince  Alexander,  of  Battenburg,  late  king  of  Bulgaria,  has  recently  invest- 
ed ;^  12,000  in  the  chateau  and  park  of  Charlottenburg,  near  Schaffhausen.  The  house  was  built  some 
thirty  years  ago  by  a  wealthy  clock-maker  of  Schaffhausen.  The  long  tunnel  on  tho  railroad 
between  Schaffhausen  and  Munich  runs  under  the  grounds.  The  late  Emperor  of  Russia  once  contem- 
plated buying  the  place,  but  the  owner  choked  him  off  by  an  outrageously  fancy  price.— [Editor.] 


334  THE  BELL   OF  SCHAFFHAUSEN. 

But  in  war  and  peace  the  bell 
With  its  welcome  voice  would  tell 

To  the  peasants  plain  and  brown 
That  their  prayers  must  help  dispel 
All  evil. 

And  the  children  loved  to  play 
In  the  mellow  autumn  day 

By  the  side  of  their  iron  friend  ; 
And  their  voices  died  away 
In  echo. 

Thus  it  called  the  town  to  prayer 
In  the  early  morning  air, 

That  the  grace  of  God  descend ; 
Or  it  joyed  with  maiden  fair, 
In  marriage. 

Then  its  mission  was  to  mourn 
For  the  town's-men  sadly  borne 

To  their  long  eternity  ; 
And  the  bell  grew  old  and  worn 
With  tolling. 

But  when  forked  lightning  played 
Like  a  falchion's  gleaming  blade, 

It  resounded  merrily ; 
And  the  lightning  shaft  was  made 
By  the  pulsing  bell  to  break, 

And  its  deadly  deeds  forsake. 
And  vanish. 

So  the  bell  these  letters  bore : 
Vivos  voco^  and  this  more  : 

Mortuos  plango  (Men  must  die) 
jFulgura  frango  —  guarding  o'er 
Schaffhausen. 


FAIR  NORTHFIELD.  335 


FAIR     NORTHFIELD; 
The  Home  of  the  Evangelist  Moody. 

DwiGHT  L.  Moody  —  Thb  Young  Ladies'  Seminary — Mt.  Hermon  School 
FOR  Boys  —  Aboriginal  Names  and  Practices  —  Madame  Belding*s 
Wedding  —  An  Eccentric  Musician  —  Council  Rock  —  An  Avalanche 
OF  Earth. 

BY  MARY  WINCHESTER. 

The  old  town  of  Northfield,  Massachusetts,  is  a  worthy  sub- 
ject for  the  pen  of  the  modern  historian.  It  is  quiet,  prosper- 
ous, beautiful  — the  home  of  men  of  past  and  present  distinction, 
and  the  scene  of  struggles  in  the  early  settlement  of  our  country. 
Northfield  is  situated  on  the  east  bank  of  the  Connecticut 
River,  at  a  point  where  the  States  of  Vermont,  New  Hamp- 
shire and  Massachusetts  meet.  Wide,  sunny,  fertile  meadows, 
highly  cultivated,  reach  back  from  the  river  to  Northfield 
''Street,"  and  yield  large  crops  of  tobacco,  grain  and  the 
ordinary  farm  produce.  Machinery  is  used,  and  is  admirably 
adapted  to  these  level  fields.  The  citizens  are  well-to-do,  as 
a  rule,  and  occupy  the  comfortable  homesteads,  with  ample 
grounds,  inherited  from  their  fathers. 

Northfield,  like  some  other  old-fashioned  towns,  delights  in  a 
beautiful  street,  laid  out  when  land  was  cheap.  For  two  miles 
through  the  centre  of  the  town  it  is  ten  rods  wide,  and  is  divided 
by  four  rows  of  elms  and  maples,  which  shade  and  beautify  it. 

There  are  two  churches,  a  good  public  library,  and  district 
schools,  as  usual,  in  such  a  village.  Northfield  has  had  its 
sorrows  in  the  past,  when  a  distillery  was  in  operation,  blight- 
ing the  homes  of  the  people ;  but  the  manufacture  and  sale  of 
liquor  is  no  longer  legalized,  and  there  is  no  police  force,  lock- 
up, or  other  accompaniment  of  rum  in  its  various  disguises. 

This  fair  town  has  a  son  of  whom  it  may  well  be  proud. 
The  evangelist  of  world-wide  renown,  D.  L.  Moody,  loves  his 
native  place,  and  has  established  on  the  green  hill,  near  the  old 
homestead,  a  living  and  most  worthy  memorial  of  himself  in  the 
Young  Ladies'  Seminary.     The  principal  building  is  a  beauti- 


336  FAIR  NORTHFIELD. 

ful  modem  structure,  furnished  with  all  the  necessary  ap- 
pliances for  school  and  home.  The  view  from  this  elevation  is 
an  enchanting  one.  The  green  valley,  where  the  river  winds 
like  a  ribbon,  defined  by  its  emerald  banks ;  the  variegated 
meadows,  with  mosiac  work  of  gold,  green  and  brown ;  North- 
field  street  and  its  houses  among  the  trees ;  the  arched  railroad 
bridge  that  spans  the  river  toward  the  north ;  the  hazy  hills  in 
the  distance,  over  which  the  setting  sun  sends  his  parting  rays 
through  piled-up,  fleecy  cloud,  make  a  ncene  of  delightful,  if 
not  of  startling  beauty.  With  these  favorable  surroundings  the 
pupils  are  instructed,  not  only  in  the  usual  course  of  study  of  a 
school  of  learning,  but  to  do  housework,  both  practically  and 
theoretically,  after  the  pattern  of  Miss  Lyon's  pioneer  enterprise 
at  Mt.  Holyoke,  and  Wellesley  College  of  later  years.  The 
applications  always  far  outnumber  the  vacancies ;  and  the  same 
may  be  said  of  the  flourishing  school  for  boys  at  Mt.  Hermon, 
across  the  river,  where  a  similar  great  educational  work  is  being 
done.  The  student  lads  here  are  gathered  from  far  and  near. 
Distant  Greece  and  Japan  and  other  foreign  countries  send 
pupils,  and  our  **  Nation's  Wards,"  the  Indians  and  the  colored 
race,  are  represented.  It  is,  indeed,  a  polyglot  community; 
but  all  seem  to  be  united  in  a  common  purpose  of  improvement. 

During  the  summer  vacation  the  evangelistic  company  of 
Christian  workers,  comprising  both  ministers  and  laymen  and 
any  who  are  interested  in  unsectarian  religious  enterprise,  con- 
vene each  year  to  compare  notes  and  lay  plans  for  future  cam- 
paigns against  ignorance  and  sin.  Delegates  come  from  all 
directions  in  this  country  and  from  across  the  water,  to  attend 
these  deliberations.  The  careful,  critical  studv  of  the  Bible  is 
an  important  feature  of  the  convention.  Mr.  Moody  is  the  orig- 
inator and  leading  spirit  of  the  enterprise,  and  often  conducts 
the  sessions  with  his  rare  energy  and  inspired  sagacity. 

His  venerable  mother  is  still  living  at  an  advanced  age,  and 
occupies  the  place  of  honor  whenever  she  appears  in  these 
gatherings. 

Concerning  the  Northfield  of  the  past,  some  facts  of  interest 
may  be  gleaned  from  its  *'  History,"  now  out  of  print.  In  the 
present  craze  for  antiques,  the  Indian  appellatives  of  localities 
are  often  restored,  greatly  to  the  advantage  of  good  taste  and 


338  FAIR  NORTHFIELD. 

significance.  The  original  name  of  Northtield  is  not  especially 
euphonious,  however,  —  '*  Squakeag,"  —  also  spelled  variously 
in  ancient  documents,  Suckquakege,  Wissquawquegue,  and 
several  other  ways,  but  all  evidently  intended  to  represent  the 
same  thing,  —  '  a  spearing  place  for  salmon."  The  river  was 
called  Qiiinnehtuk  (the  river  with  long  waves),  and  the  land 
adjoining  the  stream    Qiiinneh-tuk-et. 

In  1670  the  whole  territory  was  occupied  by  the  River  In- 
dians, including  the  tribes  of  Agawams,  Nonotucks,  Squa- 
keags,  and  Pacomptocks.  The  first  settlement  was  in  the  years 
1673-5  ;  the  lands  being  purchased  at  their  full  value  from  the 
aborigines,  who  were  friendly  to  the  whites  at  this  time,  and 
subject  to  their  laws. 

The  lands  about  here  are  full  of  evidences  of  Indian  occu- 
pancy. Qj^ianlilies  of  domestic  utensils  are  found,  the  use  of 
which  is  easily  understood. 

The  ruins  of  granaries  or  underground  barns,  which  were 
dug  in  the  sloping  sides  of  a  knoll  or  bank  to  secure  dryness, 
may  yet  be  seen. 

Their  places  of  burial  have  been  discovered,  and  skeletons 
are  found  in  various  positions.  That  of  a  chief  is  placed  in  a  sit- 
ting posture  in  a  grave  about  five  feet  deep,  with  a  pile  of  stones 
above  his  head.  The- men  and  women  of  high  rank  are  found 
in  like  position,  with  a  mound  of  earth  above,  while  the  bodies 
of  the  common  people  lie  on  their  sides,  without  anything  visible 
on  the  surface  of  the  ground  to  mark  the  place  of  interment. 

These  natives  enjoyed  games  of  agility  and  strength  when 
not  burdened  with  the  more  serious  duties  of  war.  One  of  the 
meadows  is  called  Pauchaug,  — signifying  where  they  are  play- 
ing or  dancing.  Here  their  white  neighbors  joined  them  in 
their  sports,  and  exciting  trials  of  skill  took  place.  Wrestling 
was  a  favorite  pastime,  and  it  is  recorded  that  Captain  Joseph 
Stebbins  was  more  than  a  match  for  his  red  brethren ;  also, 
one  Stratton,  who  was  a  valiant  champion.  Other  games 
were  arbor-playing,  long-house  playing,  quoits,  and  foot  ball. 
Probably  the  professional  '*  Nine"  had  not  made  its  appearance 
in  that  primitive  community.  It  might  be  of  interest  to  know 
the  rules  of  these  friendly  games  between  our  forefathers  and 
their  red  playfellows. 


FAIR  NORTHFIELD.  339 

The  food  of  the  Indians  was  parched  corn,  chestnuts,  ground 
nuts,  pumpkins,  etc.,  collected  or  cultivated  by  the  squaws,  and 
game  and  fish  brought  in  by  the  men.  Traps  or  *'yank-ups" 
were  used  for  game,  and  the  fish  were  speared. 

Esquire  Seth  Field's  "old  mare"  once  strayed  into  the  woods 
and  got  into  a  trap  set  for  deer.  The  owner  was  astounded 
when  an  Indian,  breathless  from  running,  informed  him  "that 
his  squaw-horse  was  caught  in  a  yank-up." 

What  a  pity  that  these  fraternal  relations  must  cease ! 
Without  entering  into  the  causes  or  the  rights  or  wrongs  of  the 
parties  concerned,  we  record  the  fact  that  the  embryo  colony  of 
1675  was  laid  waste  by  the  Indians,  who  burned  the  houses 
outside  the  stockade,  destroyed  the  crops,  and  killed  or  drove 
away  the  inhabitants.  It  was  resettled  in  1685-90,  and  again 
destroyed;  but  was  again  settled,  and  permanently,  in  1714-23. 

The  number  of  warriors  at  the  time  of  the  destructions  was 
probably  exaggerated,  as  the  united  number  of  the  four  tribes 
is  estimated  to  have  been  1200,  of  whom  but  300  were  fight- 
ing men. 

"It  is  as  unnatural,"  it  has  been  well  said,  "for  a  right  New 
England  man  to  live  without  an  able  ministry,  as  for  a  smith  to 
work  his  irons  without  a  fire  ;"so  in  17 16  the  first  meeting-house 
was  built,  and  a  minister  engaged  to  care  for  the  spiritual  wel- 
fare of  the  colony. 

One  of  these  early  pastors,  Rev.  Benjamin  Doolittle,  was 
also  a  physician  of  large  practice.  His  services  as  surgeon 
during  the  wars  were  invaluable.  It  was  an  eventful  period  in 
military,  political  and  religious  aflfairs.  This  public-spirited 
man  kept  a  record  of  the  important  events  that  transpired  under 
his  immediate  knowledge.  The  title-page  read  thus: — A 
Short  Narrative  of  Mischief  done  by  the  French  and  Indian 
Ene7ny  on  the  Western  Frontiers  of  the  'province  of  Massachu- 
setts Bay^  etc.^  Boston^  Printed  and  sold  by  S.  Kneeland^  in 
^ueen  street^  MDCCL.  There  are  but  three  copies  of  this 
work  extant,  one  of  which  is  in  the  library  of  Harvard  College. 

After  the  death  of  Parson  Doolittle,  his  widow  married  Lieu- 
tenant Belding;  and  being  again  bereft,  she  married,  in 
advanced  life,  Japhet  Chapin. 

An  interesting  account  of  the  third  marriage  is  given  by  a 


340  FAIR  NORTHFIELD. 

great-granddaughter  of  this  lady,  which  well  sets  forth  the 
vigor  of  those  early  settlers,  and  the  primitive  customs  of  the 
times. 

''Madam  Belding  was  then  living  with  her  daughter,  Lucy, 
wife  of  Simeon  Chapin,  a  son  of  the  bridegroom,  who  also 
lived  in  the  same  family.  The  children,  on  coming  home  from 
school  one  day,  were  told  that  Gran'ther  and  Granny  were 
about  to  be  married.  They  didn't  understand  what  this  meant, 
and  as  children  in  those  days  understood  that  they  musn't  ask 
questions,  they  proceeded  to  investigate, — finding  Granny  up 
chamber,  where  their  mother  was  tying  a  purple  ribbon  to  her 
best  cap ;  while  Gran'ther  was  sitting  in  state  in  the  square- 
room  below,  where  he  was  soon  joined  by  the  minister. 

'*The  children  had  a  dim  idea  that  to  be  married  the  two 
must  be  together ;  so  they  quietly  seated  themselves  near  their 
grandfather  to  await  the  course  of  events.  In  due  time  they 
had  their  reward. 

''As  the  ceremony  proceeded  the  minister  requested  the 
bride  to  take  off  her  glove,  which,  (as  was  then  the  fashion), 
reached  above  the  elbow,  when  one  of  the  little  girls — about 
six  years  old — with  unconscious  grace,  stepped  forward  and 
took  it  from  her  hand,  and  at  the  proper  moment  handed  it 
back  again.  By  this  service  she  got  the  name  of  the  *  Little 
Bridesmaid.'" 

At  the  date  of  this  marriage  Mr.  Chapin  was  eighty-two 
years  of  age,  and  his  wife  eighty ;  yet  they  rode  on  horseback 
from  Chicopee  to  Northfield,  a  distance  of  forty  miles,  without 
fatigue ;  she  wearing  the  sky-blue  camlet  riding-hood  made  for 
the  occasion. 

Timothy  Swan,  the  composer  of  China,  Poland,  and  other 
pieces  of  sacred  music,  was  born  in  Northfield,  in  1758.  The 
thick  hedge  of  poplars  and  lilacs  that  secluded  his  house  from 
observation  was  the  home  of  a  multitude  of  blackbirds,  for 
which  he  seemed  to  have  an  especial  fancy,  taking  much  care 
to  protect  them  from  harm.  He  was  undoubtedly  very  eccen- 
tric. One  of  his  musical  compositions  was  written  in  the 
presence  of  a  dying  child  at  night.  It  is  said  that  the  well 
known  "China,"  one  of  the  most  lugubrious  of  tunes,  but 
a  great  favorite   in    old  times,    was  composed    while  he  was 


FAIR  NORTIfFIELD. 


1  or   NORTH  FIELD,   L 


HORTHnEU^  uiOKMa  a 


346      A   WINTER  CALM  IN  THE  COUTRT. 

sion  followed.  The  clouds  seemed  to  drop  into  the  upper  valley ; 
the  rush  and  roar  and  thunder  were  frightful,  and  it  was  'black 
as  night.'  A  torrent  of  water  poured  down  into  the  valley 
below,  sweeping  everything  before  it,  till  it  reached  the  Con 
necticut  river.  The  side  of  the  mountain  where  it  struck  was 
left  a  bare  rock.  Trees  were  broken  down  and  washed  away, 
and  rocks  weighing  many  tons  were  overturned  and  moved 
down  the  slope.  Such  was  the  force  of  the  rushing  mass  that 
when  it  reached  the  arable  land  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain  it 
plowed  up  the  soil  down  to  hard  pan  for  many  rods  in  width." 
But  no  such  tumult  of  nature  has  since  visited  the  place. 
The  pure  air,  the  quiet  pursuits  of  the  inhabitants,  and  the  utter 
absence  of  the  noise  and  excitement  of  the  city,  have  a  great 
charm  for  the  wearied  or  professional  business  man, —  who,  in 
such  a  spot  may  completely  relax  his  tense  nerves,  recuperate 
his  tired  brain,  and  renew  the  memories  of  his  happy  youth. 


A  WINTER   CALM   IN   THE    COUNTRY. 

BY  GEORGE  BIRDSEYE. 

Long,  dripping  icicles  hang  from  the  eaves. 

They  fringe  the  branches  with  their  jewelled  leaves, 

Like  sunlit  opals,  gleaming  with  the  souls 

Of  blossoms  dead  ;  an  icy  hand  controls 

The  whipping  willow,  and  its  lash  is  still, 

And  cuts  the  air  no  more ;  far  on  the  hill. 

In  silvery  patches  lie  the  glistening  snows, 

Thaw-glazed  and  frozen  over.     No  stream  flows 

But  the  bold  brook,  that  knows  no  idle  hours ; 

Unfailing,  scorning  Winter's  boasted  powers, 

She  independently  her  cheerful  way 

Maintains,  tho'  frost-tongues  oft  demand  her  stay,  — 

And,  fresh  and  sparklins^,  is  forever  found 

In  laughing  innocence  the  whole  year  round. 

The  stubble  fields,  in  crystal  folded,  shine, 

And  tempt  the  harvest  of  a  silver  mine. 

The  listless  fingers  of  the  rose-tree  there, 

Gloved  in  transparency,  pink,  white  and  fair. 

Seem  like  to  beauty's  own.     The  moveless  air 

Is  cold  and  biting  as  the  breath  of  care. 

All  labor  lags  ;  and  nature  stirs  not  —  still 

As  the  ice-clogg*d  wheels  of  yonder  silent  mill. 


CANOEING  IN  KENNEBEC  COUNTT.      347 


CANOEING  IN   KENNEBEC   COUNTY. 
'*A  Round  Unvarnished  Tale." 

BY  C.    S.   HIGHBORN. 

From  the  fir«t  of  May  to  the  close  of  October,  at  least,  there 
is  not  a  more  charming  spot  on  the  face  of  the  earth  than  Ken- 
nebec county,  in  the  good  state  of  Maine. 

Her  verdure-clad  hills,  her  beautiful  valleys,  her  magnificent 
lakes  and  bounding  streams,  her  bright  skies  and  pure  air, 
contribute  to  make  this  county  one  of  the  most  delightful,  as 
well  as  healthful  places  on  the  globe. 

Goodly  Kennebec !  Her  voice  has  been  potent  in  the  coun- 
cils of  the  nation ;  her  products  are  in  all  the  markets  of  the 
world ;  her  fame  is  secure.  No  humble  word  of  mine  can 
add  to  her  laurels ;  they  are  as  enduring  as  her  granite  hills. 

If  you  are  thin  of  flesh  and  pale  of  face,  if  you  are  over- 
whelmed with  cares,  and  no  rest  comes,  if  you  are  spending 
your  best  days  in  the  bad  air  of  a  half-ventilated,  half-lighted 
office, —  oh,  come  away,  come  here  and  spend  a  season  with 
gun,  and  rod,  and  paddle ! 

Learn  what  these  mean !  They  give  long  life  and  good 
flesh,  red  blood  and  a  light  heart. 

The  events  of  a  week  thus  spent,  I  have  here  chronicled ; 
not  because  it  was  a  typical  trip, —  for.it  was  not.  I  might 
write  an  account  of  a  trip  all  sunshine,  but  should  thereby  fail 
of  my  purpose.  I  want  to  urge  upon  whoever  may  take  the 
trouble  to  read  this  article,  the  necessity  of  cutting  one's  gar- 
ment according  to  the  cloth ;  in  other  words,  of  making  the 
length  of  the  trip  dependent  on  the  time  at  one's  disposal. 
Do  not  try  to  do  three  days'  work  in  one.  If  bad  weather  befall 
you,  accept  it  with  as  good  grace  as  possible,  and  let  it  shorten 
your  trip  that  much.    This  ive  did  not  do  on  the  trip  in  question. 

Bick  (for  short)  and  myself  had  long  talked  of  a  paddle  over 
some  of  the  lakes  of  western  Kennebec,  and  finally  decided 
upon  Tuesday,  Sept.  14,  as  the  time  of  starting.  We  had  a 
canvas  canoe  seventeen  and  one-half  feet  long,  and  three  feet 


348       CANOEING  IN  KENNEBEC  COt/NTT. 

beam, — the  design  and  workmanship  of  Mr.  E.  H.  Gerrish,  of 
Bangor,  a  thorough  woodsman,  and  an  excellent  guide  for  the 
sporting  grounds  of  northern  Maine.  She  was  then  new  and 
untried ;  but  we  afterwards  had  opportunities  to  test  fully  her 
sea-going  qualities,  as  this  record  will  show,  and  we  cannot 
commend  them  too  highly. 

Into  the  canoe  we  pack  bedding,  overcoats,  rubber-coats, 
blankets  and  boots,  gun,  axe,  boxes  of  food  and  dishes,  and 
at  eleven  o'clock  we  are  off  down  lake  Cobbosseecontee. 

Perhaps  nowhere  in  Maine  is  there  a  more  beautiful  lake 
than  this.  Its  extreme  length,  from  north-east  to  south-west, 
is  about  nine  miles,  and  its  broadest  part,  is,  perhaps,  two  and 
one-half  miles  wide.  Stand  in  the  pleasant  grove  at  the  upper 
end  of  this  lake  and  look  out  upon  the  broad  bay  before  you. 
Boats  of  every  description  are  dancing  over  its  billows;  groves 
of  pine,  and  birch,  and  maple  fringe  its  shore  on  every  hand ; 
green  fields  and  bountiful  orchards  bespeak  the  wonderful  fer- 
tility of  the  farms  upon  its  borders,  and  comfortable  farm 
buildings  tell  of  the  prosperity  of  their  occupants. 

There,  on  the  western  shore,  is  the  thriving  little  village 
of  Baileyville,  in  the  town  of  Winthrop,  with  its  fine  Qjiaker 
meeting-house,  its  costly  residences  and  beautiful  gardens,  Aid 
best  of  all,  its  flourishing  manufactory,  that  gives  employment 
to  many  hands,  and  turns  out  some  of  the  finest  oil-cloths  to  be 
found  in  the  market. 

Across  the  lower  part  of  this  bay,  and  occupying  the  inter- 
mediate third  of  the  l,ike.  is  a  group  of  wooded  islands:  and 
down  through  the  channels  on  either  side  thereof,  you  see  the 
high  lands  of  Monmouth  and  Litchfield.  Up  this  bay  the  south 
wind  often  blows  with  great  force,  bringing  with  it  a  heavy  sea. 
It  is  steadily  increasing  this  morning,  as  we  paddle  from 
shore.  We  hope  to  get  into  the  lee  of  the  islands  before  it  i^ioo 
heavy  1 — but  the  white  caps  soon  tell  us  that  we  hope  in  vain. 
We  paddle  into  the  lee  of  a  small  island  off  the  east  shore,  and 
take  breath.  Thinking  the  wind  far  enough  to  the  east  to 
enable  us  to  run  down  under  the  lee  of  the  west  side  of  the 
islands,  we  strike  across.  This  is  hard  work,  to  begfin  with, 
for  up  through  the  eastern  channel  the  wind  blows  hard,  and 
quite  a  sea  is  running.     By  one  o'clock  we  have  left  **  Hodg- 


CANOEING  IN  KENNEBEC   COUNTY.      349 

don's"  and  Belle  Isle  behind  us,  and  have  beached  for  dinner 
on  the  west  side  of  the  "  Horseshoe.'"  Here  we  should  remain 
till  the  wind  has  spent  its  force,  but  we  are  too  anxious  to  get 
ahead,  and  push  oft". 

Up  this  straight-away  stretch  of  five  miles  the  wind  blows 
furiously,  and  the  sea  runs  high.  It  blows  so  directly  up  the 
lake  now,  that  neither  side  offers  any  protection.  An  hour's 
steady  paddling,  with  our  whole  strength,  takes  us  ahead 
scarcely  a  half-mile.  We  attempt  to  make  land  on  the  western 
shore,  and  before  we  are  aware,  are  pounding  among  the 
breakers.  Beating  a  hasty  retreat  from  this  dangerous  quarter, 
we  safely  land  a  little  farther  down  in  the  lee  of  a  friendly  point. 
After  an  hour's  rest  we  make  another  effort  to  get  ahead,  fight- 
ing our  way,  inch  by  inch,  to  the  shelter  of  the  next  point. 
Our  muscles  are  soft,  and  this  is  taking  serious  hold  of  us. 
IMore  than  that,  it  is  not  fit  weather  for  a  canoe  to  be  out  in. 
Fully  realizing  this,  we  wait  for  a  change.  Wind  and  sun  go 
down  together,  and  in  the  deepening  twilight  we  proceed  on 
our  course  until  it  is  quite  dark,  when  we  rest  for  supper.  A 
little  later,  leaving  Cobbosseecontee  behind,  we  enter  the  Jugger- 
naut,—  the  large  stream  connecting  this  lake  with  lake  Anna- 
besscook. 

The  moon  has  been  up  an  hour,  though  obscured  by  clouds, 
when,  at  eight  o'clock,  we  reach  the  dam  at  East  Monmouth. 
We  cannot  clearly  see  our  way,  and  the  swift  shoal  water  here, 
proves  too  much  for  our  paddles.  Finding  the  water  not  over 
our  boot-legs,  we  get  out,  and  pull  the  canoe  up  through  the 
rapids  to  the  bank,  below  the  dam.  It  takes  but  a  short  time 
to  pass  boxes,  bundles  and  canoe  up  into  the  water  above  the 
dam,  repack,  and  be  again  on  our  way. 

The  trees  along  the  bank  rob  us  of  whatever  light  we  might 
otherwise  get  from  the  moon  ;  and  the  darkness,  of  course,  re- 
tards our  progress.  Many  times  we  get  out  to  drag  the  canoe 
over  shoals,  or  to  lift  her  from  some  rock,  whereon  she  has 
stuck  fast.  A  birch  would  have  been  rent  in  a  dozen  places, 
but  our  canvas  is  not  injured  in  the  least.  By  nine  o'clock  we 
turn  our  canoe  over  for  the  night,  on  the  shore  of  Annabess- 
cook.  A  hastily  pitched  tent,  and  fire  enough  to  make  a  cup 
of  tea,  are  all  we  have  time  for  to-night.     Ordinarily,  a  day's 


3SO      CAXOEIXG  AV  KEXXEBEC  COUNTr. 

trip  should  cease  an  hour  before  sundown^  that  wood  may  be 
gathered  and  tent  properly  pitched  before  dark. 

We  are  astir  at  early  morning,  and  by  nine  o'clock  we  have 
finished  breakfast,  packed  our  canoe,  and  turned  our  faces  up 
Annabesscook-  The  shores  of  this  lake  do  not  materiallv  differ 
from  those  of  Cobbosseecontee.  but  the  lake  itself  is  very  much 
smaller,  and  lacks  the  beautiful  islands.  Its  one  island,  years 
ago.  was  a  popular  picnic  ground  for  the  dwellers  in  Winthrop^ 
—  that  busy  town  at  the  head  of  the  lake,  whose  church  spires 
one  may  see  outlined  against  the  sky.  From  the  road  that  runs 
along  the  high  land  on  the  eastern  side,  one  can  look  down  on 
to  Cobbosseeconree  at  the  east  and  Annabesscook  at  the  west. 
The  waters  from  lake  Maranocook.  after  turning  the  wheels  of 
the  mil's  at  W'^inthrop.  iJow  into  this  lake  by  a  deep  and  swift- 
running  scream.  Up  this  stream  —  perhaps  an  eighth  of  a  mile 
lone*  — we  raddle  a^-i-^^t  a  three  mile  current,  till  suddenly  the 
¥ihist:e  bIo\^s.  the  gates  are  closed,  the  current  ceases,  and  we 
glide  over  the  stnjoth  water,  to  a  cotivenient  lancing  place  at 
the  rear  of  the  mills-  By  one  oVIock  we  have  hauled  ocrtrap» 
through  the  wide^-a'Aake  village  of  Winthrrp  a  v^uarter  of  a 
mile,  or  thereaSruts.  and  are  an: at  on  the  waters  of  lake  >Iarafc- 

■•  ■»«.'»■■**'•  ^  I   v"«    "*    <*""  •         ■C*"»S' 5  "*^ **""^     5""**      T.~"**  ■*    •* -k»%j      .^^   1      'C>>'''*K<_.iar**aab«kl^ii^ 


and  a  rroreller.     In  the  summer  season  thev  do  cuite   a  d 
ne>>  vjlTt^  .— ^    ^>jLmc:>  ^^    — e  ^a*.*.  .-i-  r.*. — v  itt^-"^— -cs-  — ivc  me 

etc  US  voutJ^  **  no  uncvc  us  a*rrcc?s»  **  fvetcnec.  anv  trout  r  t  ei— 
"ar  vient  ter  Tut~mer-n:  scream  t'ccher  day.  and  caught  ooe 
t'weigne*d  :ver  :l:ur  tvuni  !       Ye  kojvr  where  Tut-m«er-no  scream 

r>>.     1     >  tV.«^C  .  i     .v«'..^K.     ,.-.^.    A.     <M..<^.    >.«.   rVs>.._^;^       ^_X.«      J_C^     — feji-.^t    L^3C 

Juggernaut.     We  sc:r  :l:r  dinner  a  short  iiscansre  x>:ve.  th«i 

•  ^     ^  •  Mr-  "  •■  ••.^     "^jt      '^ii»""»       ••      •  **•.  i&  £  C  —^  mm    "^    ^    "*  ^^        •       *  '■*    ^      •■  ^*  ^      i  ^i  ~  *"Wfc 

rseath  the  railrc^d  bridge  that  here  cr,'<5555es  the  'ake.  and  Sra-cii 
^jiTC  ..n-e  ...^...  ^•--  ^-.e  «es^cm  >»ij»ire.  arvw....  «  — .r  .— . ,.-jeT  «?6i» 
This  lake  iscc-mrrsjclv,  th.'c^^  err:.ne."uslv,  c-illei  Maran  icoci, 
arsd  it  is  jc  s:r>el.ei  ^n  the  c.-unt^  mrr  in  "•  Clhv's  AtLfis  o« 
Maine,*  I  ha^x:  taken  cccas^r-n  t.^  oj-nsu't  the  writer  :if  the  h»- 
t.-ocxl  sketch  ccctained  th?rtin  —  the  c^ntlertan  "tih:  on  tbe 
r\-  -week  cocuected  m-:th  the  r^uKx-arsoc:  cc  tbe  atl&s — aiid 


CANOEING  IN  KENNEBEC   COUNTT.     351 

he  says  the  error  crept  in  by  reason  of  his  not  seeing  the  proof. 
By  a  typographical  error  a  had  been  substituted  for  o,  and  the 
proper  pronunciation  Marano'cook,  lost.  There  can  be  no 
doubt  as  to  the  correctness  of  this  latter  pronunciation.  It  is 
true  also  that  the  a,  preceding  the  suffix,  cook,  in  "  Aiina- 
bessocook  "  as  printed  in  the  atlas,  is  superfluous. 

If  you  go  camping  out,  don't  try  to  be  as  uncomfortable  as 
possible,  and  think  you're  having  a  good  time.  On  the  other 
hand,  take  all  the  clothing,  and  all  the  conveniences  you  can 
carry  without  being  burdened,  and  you'll  find  the  pleasure  of 
camping  very  much  increased. 

We  have  finished  our  supper,  wa.shed  our  dishes,  and  are 
ready  for  the  night.  The  sky  is  as  clear  as  ever  seen,  a  light 
air  comes  out  of  the  West,  the  stars  are  beginning  to  stud  the 
firmament,  and  at  7.30  the  moon,  in  peerless  splendor,  rises 
over  the  eastern  hills  that  lie  just  back  from  the  shoie  of  the 
lake,  opposite.  We  revel  in  its  glory, — regretting  that  every 
night  it  will  rise  later  and  become  smaller,  —  till  our  wearied 
bodies  forbid  us  longer  seeing  its  beauty  ;  and  after  arranging  our 
fire  for  the  night,  we  lie  down. 

The  moon  shines  full  in  to  the  doorway  of  our  lent,  our  fire, — 
burning  brightly  a  few  feet  away, — sheds  its  glow  in  upon  us, 
the  ripple  of  the  waves  upon  the  pebbled  beach  sing  us  a  lul- 
laby, and  we  yield  to  "  tired  Nature's  sweet  restorer,  balmy 
sleep." 

Thursday  Morning. —  Last  night,  when  we  went  to  sleep, 
the  sky  was  cloudless,  the  stars  bright  and  a  gentle  west  wind 
blowing,  —  all  indicating  fair  weather  on  the  morrow.  But  we 
awake  this  morning  to  the  pattering  of  rain  upon  the  tent,  and 
find  ourselves  enveloped  in  a  thick  mist.  This  makes  a  decided 
change  in  our  plans.  We  could  go  forward  in  the  rain,  but 
trouble  would  arise  when  we  came  to  pitch  tent  at  night.  Here 
we  are  dry  ;  any  where  else,  the  ground  beneath  us  would  be 
wet.     We  therefore  decide  to  remain  here  till  the  storm  is  over. 

Camping  in  a  rain-storm,  is  not,  by  any  means,  the  worst  pre- 
dicament in  which  one  can  be  placed. 

We  want  to  get  ahead,  and  hence,  do  not  readily  "  acquiesce 
in  the  inevitable" ;  but  we  endeavour  to  make  the  best  of  it. 
We  have  no  fly  to  our  tent,  but  we  stretch  a  large  canvas  and  a 


352      CANOEING  IN  KENNEBEC  COUNTY. 

rubber  blanket  above  the  front  of  it,  making  a  water-tight  awn- 
ing ;  and  beneath  this,  we  keep  comfortable  and  dry.  We  are 
not  without  sign  of  life  here,  for  just  across  the  narrow  lake  lies 
the  path  of  the  iron  horse ;  and  all  day  long,  up  and  down  the 
track,  thunder  the  trains  of  the  Maine  Central  Railroad. 

A  paddle  to  Readfield,  at  the  head  of  the  lake,  not  far  away, 
alone  breaks  the  day's  monotony.  Darkness  comes  in  upon  us, 
and  heaping  high  the  fire,  we  again  make  ourselves  comfortable 
for  the  night. 

Friday  morning  it  is  still  raining,  but  the  clouds  are  breaking 
and  the  wind  is  working  toward  the  west. 

We  came  to  work  ;  hence,  brought  no  reading  matter  with  us. 
We  cannot  even  fall  back  on  pipe  and  weed  to  help  us  while 
awaj'  the  time ;  for,  unfortunately,  (?)  neither  of  us  have  yet 
formed  the  habit.  But  the  day  wears  on  ;  by  four  o'clock  blue 
sky  appears;  and  now,  the  Ruler  of  wind  and  weather  hangs 
up  in  the  east  the  bow  of  promise.  "A  rainbow  at  night  is  the 
sailor's  delight." 

We  hesitate  as  to  what  course  to  pursue,  decide  to  strike 
tent,  and  in  half  an  hour  are  en  route  for  Readfield. 

It  is  an  easy  matter  to  procure  conveyance  —  in  shape  of  a 
hay-rack,  and  bj^  six  o'clock  we  are  on  the  road.  A  heavy 
thunder-shower,  just  out  of  the  west,  pelts  down  upon  us,  but 
rubber-coats  keep  us  dry,  while  the  inverted  canoe  protects  our 
baggage.  We  are  bound  for  Fayette  Mills,  four  miles  distant, 
on  the  stream  connecting  Crotched  Pond,  on  the  north,  with 
Lovejoy  Pond,  on  the  south. 

Under  favorable  circumstances  this  is  a  delightful  drive. 
Excellent  farms,  with  well  kept  buildings,  greet  the  eye  on 
either  side.  Here  and  there,  through  the  valleys,  one  gets 
glimpses  of  the  beautiful  ponds  that  lie  like  gems  among  the 
hills ;  and  all  around  in  the  blue  distance,  stand  the  everlasting 
mountains. 

This  verj^  long  and  very  steep  hill  up  which  we  are  drag- 
ging, is  of  wide  renown,  for  it  is  old  **  Kent's  Hill  I"  And 
here  on  its  summit,  is  the  institution  that  for  manv  decades  has 
shed  its  light  on  the  educational  world.  Kent's  Hill  and  Dr. 
Torsey !  familiar  words,  wherever  Maine's  sons  have  found  a 
home. 


CANOEING  IN  KENNEBEC   COUNTY.     353 

"Is  the  doctor  hale  in  his  old  age,"  I  said  to  our  driver. 
"  Hale,  yes  1  and  as  hearty's  a  buck.  The  greatest  fellar  to  go 
fishing  and  gunning  that  ever  ye  seed  I  He'll  crawl  through 
mud  with  only  his  head  sticking  out,  for  the  sake  of  getting  a 
duck  I" 

I  might,  in  passing,  speak  of  this  school,  but  it  is  too  well 
known  to  need  mention  from  me. 

The  shades  of  eve  are  beginning  to  fall.  Two  miles  more 
have  to  be  covered  before  we  finally  pull  up  at  Fayette  Mills. 
It  is  very  dark  by  this  time,  and  the  ground  is  saturated  with 
water.  To  pitch  tent  would  be,  to  say  the  least,  unpleasant,  if 
not  unsafe ;  for  I  have  contracted  a  severe  cold,  and  am  feeling 
its  grip  upon  my  organs  of  breathing- 
Making  inquiries  at  the  corner  store,  we  learn  tliat  there  is 
no  hotel  in  the  village.  We  must  sleep  out  or  push  on  to  the 
next  place,  when  possibly  we  can  get  shelter. 

"  Ye'd  better  stay  on  land  to-night,  young  men,"  said  the 
gentleman  whom  we  interviewed  in  regard  to  the  course  down 
the  stream.  "  It's  a  dark  night  and  ye  don't  know  the  way." 
We  disregarded  his  kindly  advice,  however ;  and  in  ten  minutes, 
by  the  light  of  matches,  we  have  piled  our  "  traps"  into  the 
canoe,  and  are  ofl"  down  the  stream.  It  is  now  eight  o'clock. 
Though  an  occasional  star  is  to  be  seen,  the  thick  clouds,  mov- 
ing out  of  the  west,  rob  us  of  the  starlight,  and  tell  us  we  must 
expect  hut  little  from  the  waning  moon,  when  that  shall  have 
risen.  We  pick  our  way  along  —  slowly,  for  these  shores  are 
strange  to  us,  and  the  stream  is  far  from  straight.  Hereabouts, 
when  the  water  is  high,  it  overflows  quite  a  broad  section,  but 
just  now  it  is  confined  to  narrower  limits.  The  banks  are  high 
and  soft,  and  all  around,  the  land,  now  uncovered,  is  compara- 
tively low  and  marshy.  Great  tufts  of  reeds,  black  with  the 
sediment  which  the  high  waters  have  deposited,  loom  up  like 
grim  sentinels  belbre  us. 

"  Another  thunder  shower  coming?" 

"No,   those  are  ducks." 

And  there  goes  another  flock,  and  another,  and  another.  —  so 
large  that  the  beating  of  their  wings,  as  they  rise  from  their 
feeding  ground  among  the  reeds,  sounds  like  the  rattle  of  distant 
thunder,  or  volleys  of  musketry.      We  carried  a  gun,  hut  the 


354      CANOEING  IN  KENNEBEC  COUNIT. 

darkness  protected  the  birds ;  nor  do  I  feel  confident  that  they 
would  have  materially  suffered  at  our  hands,  had  it  been  broad 
daylight.  Nowhere  else  on  our  trip  did  we  see,  or  hear,  such  evi- 
dence of  good  sporting  ground.  Ducks,  in  flocks  of  from  three 
to  ten,  we  frequently  saw,  but  here  they  seemed  to  be  in  scores. 

We  soon  pass  through  the  narrows  and  open  into  Lovejoy 
Pond.  We  can,  of  course,  see  but  very  little  of  this  lake,  but 
the  shore  down  which  we  paddle  is  fringed  with  a  beautiful 
growth  of  trees,  evergreen  and  deciduous  mingled,  and  the 
beach  seems  clean  and  bold.  About  half  way  down  the  lake, 
we  leave  the  shore  and  strike  for  the  outlet,  which  by  good 
luck  we  find  without  trouble.  Down  this  narrow  stream  we 
paddle  a  short  distance,  and  9.30  o'clock  finds  us  at  the  dam 
at  North  Wayne,  —  a  snug,  trim-looking  little  hamlet,  flourish- 
ing upon  an  industry — the  "North  Wayne  Tool  Company" — 
built  up  by  our  Governor  and  much-esteemed  citizen,  Hon. 
J.  R.   Bod  well. 

We  have  no  desire  to  pitch  our  tent  in  this  wet  grass,  and 
besides,  on  the  shore  of  this  stream  we  can't  find  wood  for  a  fire. 
Up  to  the  village,  a  few  rods  distant,  we  go,  in  search  of  an 
inn.  Now  ordinarily,  I  think,  one  does  not  look  upon  a  public 
house  as  a  public  convenience  and  necessity,  but  as  a  means  of 
()l)taining  a  livelihood.  But  find  yourself  in  a  strange  land, 
hite  at  night,  without  place  to  lay  your  head,  and  you  will  very 
soon  recognize  its  true  value. 

We  knock  at  the  first  house  in  which  we  see  a  light,  and, 
from  the  good  dame  who  attends  the  call,  learn  that  there  is  no 
public  house  in  town,  ad  she  don't  know  where  two  wayfarers 
can  gel  lodging. 

Wt*  suspect  that  our  personal  appearance  and  the  lateness  of 
the  hour  had  something  to  do  with  her  answer.  It  looks  as 
though  we  must  pitch  tent ;  and  we  start  back  to  the  canoe  with 
that  intention.  As  we  plod  along  in  the  darkness,  we  discover 
a  man  with  a  lantern,  looking — who  knows?  —  for  an  honest 
man.  Considering  ourselves  to  answer  that  requirement,  we 
hail  him.  The  question  with  us  now,  is  wood.  We  tell  this 
man  our  condition  and  needs,  and  he  readily  gives  us  of  his  store. 

•*  I'm  all  broken  up,  ready  to  move  in  the  morning,"  said  he, 
*'  or  I'd  ask  you  to  stay  here  to-night." 


CANOEING  IN  KENNEBEC   COUNTT. 


355 


We  thanked  him  for  his  kind  wishes,  and  taking  our  loads  of 
wood,  worked  our  way  back  to  the  boat. 

You  can't  pitch  a  tent  anywhere, —  you  must  have  ground  on 
which  one  can  lie  with  comfort;  for  rest  and  sleep  are  never 
more  necessary  than  when  cruising.  Then  we  had  no  poles 
to  which  to  fasten  our  ridge  rope,  but  depended  on  trees  for 
support.  To  find  a  spot,  in  the  darkness,  that  would  answer 
these  requirements  was  giving  us  a  good  deal  of  trouble,  when 
lol  the  raan  with  the  lantern!  "Boys,  I've  come  down  to 
invite  you  to  come  up  and  sleep  in  my  house.  We  have  but 
one  bed  set  up,  but  you  can  sleep  on  the  floor,  and  that'll  be 
better  than  this  wet  grass." 

We  sit  in  committee  of  the  whole  upon  this  proposilion  and 
forthwith  report  favorably.  We'll  not  trouble  him  to  get  us 
supper,  we  say,  but  take  our  food  up  to  his  house,  and  prepare 
our  own  meal.  This  we  dn ;  and  in  an  hour  from  that  lime, 
have  made  our  tea,  disposed  of  a  goodly  supply  of  food,  and  are 
at  full  length  upon  the  two  lounges  which  "mine  host "  has 
given  us.  At  day-break  we  are  astir.  Breakfast  over,  we  bid 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Rankin  adieu,  with  many  thanks  for  their  hos- 
pitality, and  make  ready  to  embark.  Half  an  hour's  puddling 
down  the  winding  stream,  and  we  enter  "  Wing's  Pond." 

It  is  a  beautiful  morning.  From  a  cloudless  blue,  the  sun 
shines  bright  and  warm  ;  a  breath  of  air  bestrews  the  surface  of 
the  lake  with  diamonds.  Peace  and  quiet  are  over  all.  No 
sounds  we  hear,  save  the  hoarse  cawing  of  crows  in  the  dis- 
tance, and  the  liquid  notes  of  a  trio  of  loons,  sporting  over 
yonder.  The  fertile  lands,  on  either  side,  stretch  away  to  a 
background  of  hills,  which  reaches,  iu  one  instance,  the  dignity 
of  mountain.  It  overtops,  and  watches  over  ils  lesser  brethren 
round  about  it  and  down  through  the;  valley  at  its  foot;  and. 
across  the  water,  it  keeps  watch  and  ward  over  the  quiet  little 
village  of  Wayne.  Qjiiet,  because  the  hum  of  its  woollen  mill. 
and  the  clatter  of  its  lumber  mill,  are  no  longer  heard.  In  ihe 
hurry  of  our  trip  we  do  not  learn  the  cause;  we  only  look,  and 
see  that  they  are  still. 

It  is  but  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  at  the  outside,  to  smooth  water 
below  the  dams,  but  we  learn  that  the  stream  is  shoal,  and  diffi- 
cult to  navigate.     We  have  no  idea  of  carrying  all  our  luggage 


3S6      CANOEING  IN  KENNEBEC  COUNTY. 

many  rods.  The  horse  and  drag  which  we  procure  without 
difficulty,  make  a  great  deal  better  means  of  conveyance,  and 
in  half  an  hour,  we  deposit  canoe  and  baggage  on  the  northern 
shore  of  Androscoggin  Pond.  While  one  drives  the  horse 
back,  the  other  spreads  out  the  bedding  on  the  rock,  that  wind 
—  now  piping  merrily  — and  sun  may  dry  them  ;  for  in  the  two 
days  of  rain  and  mist,  they  have  become  quite  damp.  By  ten 
o'clock  we  have  carefully  loaded  the  canoe,  and  are  off  down 
this  big  sheet  of  water. 

We  notice  a  change  in  the  face  of  the  country  bordering  this 
lake,  from  that  touching  the  waters  over  which  we  have  pre- 
viously passed.  Those  great  patches  of  yellow,  on  the  hillsides 
there  in  the  North,  in  Wayne,  and  adown  the  western  shore,  in 
the  town  of  Leeds,  Andr6scoggin  county,  looking  like  immense 
fields  of  ripened  grain,  are  nothing  but  sand  fields, — fine  dry 
sand.  The  winds  blow  it  about  at  will.  It  drifts  like  snow. 
We  have  been  told  that  in  one  case,  the  sand  has  drifted  to  the 
oaves  of  a  dwelling,  leaving  but  a  foot-path  around  that  side  of 
the  house. 

The  wind,  which  at  nine  was  but  a  merrj'  breeze,  has  now 
boci>ine  very  strong,  and  is  tVeshening  ever}-  minute.  We  work 
our  way  out  around  a  reef  of  rocks,  almost  in  its  very  teeth, 
over  the  small  bay  and  through  its  mouth,  then  square  aw^ay 
for  the  southeastern  extremity  of  the  lake. 

Whoever  plans  a  canoe  trip  should  make  liberal  allowance 
for  wind  and  weather.  Already  we  have  had  two  days  of  rain, 
and.  to  sav  nothing  of  the  first  dav,  here's  a  dav  of  wind  such 
as  no  canoeist  should  venture  out  in.  But  our  time  is  limited, 
and  we  must  go. 

Across  this  broad,  unbroken  expanse  of  water,  the  wind 
blows  with  tremendous  vigor.  The  lake  is  white  with  foam, 
and  behind  each  breaking  billow  comes  another  and  another, 
too  big  and  too  heavy  to  break,  each  vieing  with  the  other  in  a 
ceaseless  struggle  to  o'erwlielm  our  liny  bark  and  its  freight  of 
human  hearts  and  human  hopes.  One  moment  in  the  trough 
of  this  sea  and  we  are  swamped  !  There  is  but  one  course  to 
pursue,  if  we  proceed.  —  and  we  adopt  it.  We  head  her  before 
the  wind  and  go  tor  the  shore.  The  great  waves  come  rolling 
on  after  us  and  under  us.  but  not  into  us.     We  are  up  on  the 


CANOEING  IN  KENNEBEC   COUNTT.      357 

crests,  we  are  down  in  the  trough.  We  paddle  but  ligiitly 
now,  for  the  wind  is  driving  us  before  it,  and  all  our  strength 
will  be  needed  later.  The  canoe  heaves  and  surges.  It  is  a 
a  difficult  matter  to  keep  her  directly  before  the  wind.  My 
companion  is  an  experienced  canoeist,  and  all  his  skill  is 
brought  into  account.  We  are  as  near  this  rocky  shore  as  we 
dare  approach.  Now  comes  the  trial  I  We  must  come  about 
and  face  the  tempest.  Watching  for  a  favorable  chance,  we 
bend  to  the  paddles,  and  throw  the  canoe  around.  The  wind 
seems  almost  a  hurricane.  Now  and  then  a  fitful  gust  takes 
the  water  up  in  sheets  and  scatters  it  like  rain.  We  paddle 
with  our  whole  strength,  holding  to  every  inch  and  fighting  for 
more.  We  have  gone  about  as  far  as  our  muscles  can  take  us, 
and  again,  watching  our  chance,  we  again  come  about  and  put 
for  shore. 

We  have  been  able  to  "  quarter  it "  so  very  little,  that  in  the 
fifty  rods  of  surface  over  which  we  have  passed,  not  more  than 
three  to  five  rods  have  been  gained  on  the  shore.  Again  and 
again  we  repeat  these  tactics,  occasionally  making  a  gain  often 
or  twelve  rods,  from  twice  that  distance  paddling. 

By  high  noon  we  are  tired  and  hungry,  and  we  decide  to 
land  on  that  sandy  beach  ahead  and  rest. 

The  man  in  the  bow  is  ready,  and  as  we  approach  the  shore 
he  jumps  overboard,  and  seizing  the  canoe  by  the  nose,  makes 
for  dry  land  j  a  big  wave  gives  her  a  helpful  toss,  and  in  less 
time  than  it  takes  to  tell  it,  she  is  high  and  drj'  upon  the  sand. 

We  go  up  among  the  rocks  and  start  a  fire  ;  but  fire  won't 
burn  in  this  wind,  and  we  take  to  the  sheltftr  of  the  woods.  On 
the  top  of  a  pilch-pole  fence  that  extends  some  distance  off 
shore,  ray  friend  creeps  out  to  clearer  water,  and  fills  the  kettle. 
I  have  seldom  seen  a  man  in  a  more  laughable,  and  at  the  same 
lime  delicate,  position  ;  for  he  did  not  care  to  fall  into  that  angry 
and  v:ct  water.  He  safely  lands,  however,  and  the  "old 
maids"  are  soon  enjoying  their  cups  of  tea. 

As  we  sit  by  the  fire,  having  disposed  of  our  "  picked  up 
dinner,"  "Bick,"  I  say,  "I  have  a  wife  and  baby  at  home 
whom  1  warn  to  see  again,  and  I  don't  propose  to  move  from 
this  spot,  till  this  wind  and  sea  subside." 

"  And  so  have  /,  a  wife  and  three  babies  whom  /  want  to 


3S8      CANOEING  IN  KENNEBEC  COUNTY. 

see  again.  We  can't  afford  to  run  such  risk.  We'll  stay  where 
we  are  till  we  can  go  forward  with  safety." 

Shortly  after  one  o'clock  we  notice  a  sudden  lull  in  the  wind. 
The  white  caps  grow  less,  though  of  course  the  heavy  swell 
cannot  materially  diminish  so  quickly. 

Waiting  a  little  to  make,  as  we  think,  sure  of  the  change,  we 
again  embark.  Alas  !  how  deceived  !  Before  we  have  rounded 
the  rocky  point,  a  half  hour's  paddle  distant,  the  blast  comes 
down  upon  us  with  renewed  force,  and  from  here  till  we  thank- 
fully leave  these  turbulent  waters,  we  repeat  our  morning's  ex- 
perience ;  harder  now  than  then,  too,  for  little  less  than  a  half 
dozen  hours  of  this  battling  has  had  its  effect  upon  us.  Our 
seemingly  frail  craft  rides  the  water  like  a  duck.  At  every 
plunge  it  seems  she  must  go  under,  but  every  time,  this  gallant 
little  swimmer  keeps  her  nose  above  the  surface ;  practically 
every  time,  for  not  more  than  thrice,  in  all  this  combat  did  she 
ship  a  drop  of  water,  save  such  as  came  over  her  in  spray ;  and 
the  total  amount  taken  in  at  those  three  times,  did  not  amount, 
in  the  aggregate,  to  three  quarts.  By  four  o'clock  we  have 
finally  beached  the  canoe,  and  spent  some  time  walking  up  and 
down  the  road,  a  half  mile  up  from  the  shore  of  the  lake,  in  a 
fruitless  endeavor  to  find  a  man  with  some  kind  of  a  convey- 
ance to  haul  us  across  the  rough  country  that  lay  between  us 
and  Wilson  Pond,  over  to  the  east,  a  mile  distant.  Wearied 
with  searching,  we  return  to  the  beach,  aching  with  the  very 
thought  that  to  reach  Wilson  Pond  that  night,  we  must  ourselves 
make  the  carry.  If  you  lay  out  a  canoe  trip  my  friend,  bear  in 
mind  that  the  place  for  your  boat  is  underneath  you,  and  not  on 
your  shoulders.  There's  a  sort  of  fascination  about  the  word 
**  carry.''  It  sounds  well  to  talk  of  carrying  from  one  water  to 
another ;  it  is  easy  enough  to  do  it  on  paper ;  and  if  one  has 
not  too  heavy  a  load,  and  the  distance  be  not  too  long,  and  the 
way  be  smooth  and  unobstructed,  and  the  sun  shines  the  while, 
it  is  a  pleasant  feature  of  the  trip.  But  let  every  condition  be 
directly  the  opposite  of  this,  and  it  becomes  quite  a  different 
matter. 

We  have,  unfortunately,  not  less  than  two  hundred  pounds 
of  baggage,  besides  the  canoe,  which  weighed,  when  we 
started,  sixty-nine  pounds.     She  is  wet  now,  and,  of  course, 


CANOEING  IN  KENNEBEC  COUNTY.      359 

weighs  more.  To  our  credit  be  it  known  that  we  supposed  we 
could  get  hauled  across  this  place,  or  we  should  never  have 
embraced  it  within  our  route.  Our  bedding  qnd  overcoats 
make  two  packs,  each  as  large  as  one  can  carry  :  of  our  cook- 
ing utensils,  rubber  boots,  ammunition  bag,  extra  blankets, 
etc.,  etc.,  we  are  obliged  to  make  two  more  bundles;  our  three 
boxes  of  food  and  dishes  make  another  load,  and,  finally,  the 
canoe  —  all  we  both  can  manage.  It  is  half-past  four  when  we 
shoulder  our  first  load.  We  carry  this  about  twenty  rods,  drop 
it  and  return  for  another,  then  another  and  another,  till  the 
four  loads  are  brought  up. 

Already  considering  ourselves  asses,  we  harness  to  the  canoe 
in  regular  donkey  fashion.  Fastening  a  rope  around  the  for- 
ward thwart,  we  put  the  axe-handle  through  the  bight  and  drag 
the  canoe  behind  us.  No  saving  of  energy,  I  am  aware,  hut 
we  find  this  such  a  relief  to  sore  shoulders  and  lame  backs  that 
not  again  that  night  do  we  lift  the  boat  from  the  ground.  A 
few  rods  of  smooth  footing,  and  then  a  change.  Our  journey 
thus  far  has  been  hard,  but  now  begins  an  experience  before 
which  all  else  fades  into  utter  nothingness.  The  surface  of  the 
ground  here  makes  a  sudden  change  —  rocks,  and  knolls,  and 
holes,  and  bushes  —  a  difficult  place  to  walk  over,  even  in  day- 
light; but  here  we  are,  loaded  down  with  all  we  can  carry  ;  so 
leg-weary  that  we  can  scarcely  get  one  foot  before  the  other, 
and.  worse  than  all  else,  pitch  darkness  surrounding  us.  And 
seven  limes  over  this  course  we  must  go  before,  with  our 
eflecis,  we  reach  Wilson  Pond  I 

My  friend  proposes  that  we  turn  the  canoe  over  here,  l?ave 
what  of  our  goods  we  won't  need  to-night,  and  push  on  to  the 
shore  of  the  lake,  where  we  can  pitch  our  tent,  and  lie  down. 
Accordingly,  we  take  tent,  bedding  and  food,  necessitating  only 
two  trips,  and  creep  along, — creep  along,  over  the  wall,  down 
through  the  tangled  bushes,  to  the  water's  edge.  Oh,  what  a 
tramp !  Compared  with  this,  poor  Pilgrim's  path  was  strewn 
with  roses. 

We  have  been  more  than  four  hours  making  this  carry,  and 
have  walked  more  than  eight  miles  !  We  are  completely  ex- 
hausted I  Partaking  of  a  cup  of  tea  and  a  bit  of  toast,  we 
crawl  into  our  hastily  pitched  tent,  and  fall   asleep.     Oh  I  that 


36o       CANOEING  IN  KENNEBEC  COUNTT. 

was  a  refreshing  sleep  !     We  slept  because  we  could  not  help  it. 

Sabbath  morning  breaks  calm  and  clear.  The  mist,  that 
hangs  upon  the  surface  of  the  water,  soon  burns  away.  Break- 
fast over,  it  is  the  work  of  but  an  hour  to  bring  the  canoe  down, 
strike  tent  and  be  off. 

From  eighteen  to  twenty  miles  lie  between  us  and  home  : — an 
easy  journey  if  this  good  weather  prevail ;  but  the  haze,  creep- 
ing up  the  eastern  sky,  warns  us  of  a  swift-coming  change. 
On  the  stream  by  which  these  waters  flow  into  Annabesscook, 
manufactories  of  various  kinds  are  located ;  and  built  up  around 
them,  is  the  pretty  little  village  of  North  Monmouth. 

At  this  season  of  the  year,  when  the  pond  is  so  low  that  no 
water  flows  over  the  dam,  the  stream,  for  some  distance  down, 
is  too  shoal  to  navigate,  except  during  working  hours ;  then  the 
gates  are  open,  and  the  water,  pouring  through,  gives  life  and 
energy  to  spindle  and  lathe  and  trip-hammer.  But  this  is 
Sabbath  morning,  —  the  mills  are  idle,  and  the  water  held  back 
for  future  use.  There  are  no  less  than  five  dams  on  this 
stream, — five  more  than  we  propose  to  carry  around.  We 
learn,  from  the  men  and  boys  who  gather  about  us  to  admire 
the  canoe,  that  it  is  some  two  and  one-half  miles  down  to  where 
the  back  flow  from  Annabesscook  makes  good  navigable  water. 

Accepting  a  gentleman's  offer  to  take  us  across  at  ten  o'clock, 
we  bid  good  bye  to  Wilson  Pond  and  North  Monmouth,  and 
begin  our  third  and  last  trip  overland.  By  eleven  o'clock  we 
are  again  afloat,  nearing  Annabesscook.  The  sky  has  become 
dark  and  threatening,  and  the  wind  blows  strong  from  the  East. 
Of  the  flock  of  ducks  that  rise  up  before  us  we  take  no  heed, 
but  as  fast  as  lame  and  stiff*  shoulders  and  arms  will  permit,  we 
paddle  ahead.  We  open  into  Annabesscook,  skirt  across  its 
foot,  and  turn  down  the  Juggernaut. 

We  meet  with  no  obstruction  this  morning,  for  the  heavy  rain 
has  raised  the  water  a  bit.  We  carry  around  the  dam  at  East 
Monmouth,  shoot  down  the  quick  water  below,  and  on  towards 
the  lake.  The  current  grows  weaker,  the  stream  deeper.  We 
round  the  point  at  its  foot,  and  dip  our  paddles  in  the  clear 
waters  of  Cobbosseecontee. 

Grand  old  Cobbosseecontee !  Biggest  and  brightest  and 
best  of  all !      Best  to  me,  because  by  its  shores,  and  on  its 


CANOEING  IN  KENNEBEC   COUNTY.      361 

bosom,  I  have  grown  from  weakness  to  strength,  from  sickness 
to  health,  I  have  breathed  the  pure  air  of  its  pine-clad  borders  ; 
I  have  sailed  over  its  dancing  waters,  and,  day  after  day,  I 
have  cast  the  tempting  fly  upon  its  sparkling  surface.  It  has 
been  my  friend  !     I  love  it,  and  I  give  it  hearty  greeting. 

The  light  rain  that  has  been  falling  for  some  time  gives  us  no 
inconvenience,  nor  does  the  east  wind  stir  up  enough  sea  to 
offer  serious  drawback.  Straight  up  the  lake  we  go,  pausing 
anon  to  drink  in  the  matchless  beauty  of  green  isle  and  fertile 
shore  ;  then  on,  for  the  storm  is  behind  us  ! 

In  a  sheltered  cove,  on  the  eastern  side  of  the  "  Horseshoe." 
we  beach  for  dinner.  It  is  three  o'clock  when  we  push  off  for 
the  final  run. 

Over  to  the  east,  and  a  little  above  us,  is  the  head  of  Cobbos- 
seeconlee  stream,  the  connecting  link  between  this  lake  and  the 
Kennebec  River.  This  stream  is  of  great  value  to  our  manu- 
facturing interests  ;  it  turns  the  wheels  of  many  mills,  and  well 
it  may,  for  between  its  banks  flow  the  mingled  waters  of 
Greeley,  and  Maranocook,  and  Annabesscook,  and  Wilson, 
and  Cobbosseecontee. 

Our  journey  is  nearly  over.  The  wind  has  been  hauling  to 
"the  south,  and  now,  for  the  first  time,  helps  us  along  our  way. 

On  we  go,  drawing  nearer  and  nearer  to  our  cottage  in  the 
beautiful  grove  at  the  upper  end  of  the  lake.  The  sight  of 
familiar  forms  about  its  door  puts  new  life  into  our  paddles. 
Our  friends  discover  and  hurry  down  to  meet  us,  A  stroke  of 
the  paddles,  a  toss  of  a  wave  —  our  canoe  is  beached  and  our 
cruise  ended. 

A  hard  trip:  —  altogether  too  hard.  Still  we  clahu  that  our 
plans  were  not  at  fault,  save  in  one  particular,  —  that  of  not 
allowing  for  wind  and  weather.  In  six  days,  under  favorable 
circumstances,  we  could  have  gone  over  this  route  easily, — 
leisurely.  Had  we  gotten  down  Cobbossee  Tuesday  morning 
before  the  wind  came  up,  we  should  have  reached  that  night 
the  spot  on  which  we  camped  Wednesday  night;  for  the  wind 
would  have  been  behind  us  from  the  time  we  entered  the  Jug- 
gernaut. Then  came  the  two  days  of  rain,  making,  in  reality, 
a  loss  of  three  days. 

The  prudent  thing  to  have   done,  was  to  have  remained  on 


362  '  ^'WHrr'' 

the  shore  of  Maranocook  till  Friday  morning,  then  retraced  our 
course.  But  we  had  talked  of  the  trip  so  long,  that  we  felt 
it  would  be  inglorious  to  give  it  up.  We  followed  our  pride, 
rather  than  our  judgment,  and  we  paid  the  penalty. 

And  yet,  now  that  it  is  over,  we  do  not  regret  our  action. 
Some  of  our  experiences  we  shall  never  duplicate, — no^  never  I 
— ^and  as  we  sit  by  the  winter's  fire,  and  talk  of  the  past  and 
plan  for  the  future,  we  shall  refer,  I  know,  with  a  good  deal  of 
pleasure,  to  our  trip  over  the  waters  of  beautiful  Kennebec. 


*•  WH  Y?" 

From  the  German  of  Maximilian  Bern. 
By   LAURA   GARLAND   CARR. 

Why  is  it  that,  with  you  in  sight 
From  morning  till  day  closes, 

My  dreams  will  run  through  all  the  night 
On  nothing  but  wild  roses? 

And  when  I  pass  a  summer  day 

Where  those  sweet  blooms  are  teeming, 

Why  is  it,  love,  —  O  tell  me,  pray  — 
Of  you,  all  night  I'm  dreaming? 


THE  DESERTED  MEETING-HOUSE.       363 


THE    DESERTED    MEETING-HOUSE. 

BY  WILLIAM  O.    CLOUGH. 

The  old  meeting-house  of  which  I  write  is  situated  upon  a 
picturesque  plain  in  the  geographical  centre  of  a  New  England 
township,  that  is  rich  in  history  and  famous  as  the  scene  of  leg- 
ends that  give  color  to  romance  and  poetry.  In  its  background, 
ragged  mountain  ranges  rise  tier  upon  tier  against  the  Northern 
sky.  Its  foreground  slopes  to  a  rippling  brook,  and  on  either 
side  woods  stretch  to  the  farming  districts.  This  old  edifice — 
square,  stiff  and  unadorned  in  architecture,  its  shingles  and 
unpainted  clapboards  falling  off,  moss  gathering  on  its  roof  and 
wild  vines  clinging  to  its  porches — is  a  veritable  spectre  of  a 
silent  generation  of  men  and  women,  over  the  ashes  and  memo- 
ries of  which  it  maintains  solemn  and  undisturbed  vigil.  Within 
the  decaying  walls  of  this  ancient  zion  no  hymns  of  praise  are 
sung,  no  words  of  Christian  faith  and  hope  are  spoken ;  and 
from  its  desolate  altar  no  incense  rises,  no  prayers  ascend. 
Indeed,  sad  though  the  fact  may  b*e,  that  cold  word  **  deserted" 
is  everywhere  plainly  visible;  while  that  sadder  word  ** aband- 
oned" infects  the  very  atmosphere  that  surrounds  it  and  dulls 
the  enthusiasm  for  old  things  that  prompts  one  to  linger  in  its 
presence  in  contemplation  of  its  aspect  and  history. 

Behind  this  old  meeting-house  there  is  an  old  church-yard  in 
which  bushes  and  wild  grass,  and  here  and  there  a  willow  tree, 
nod  in  the  wind,  and  where  peacefully  lie  buried  the  bodies  of 
the  early  settlers  of  the  region. 

In  front  of  this  old  meeting-house  there  is  an  unfenced  com- 
mon, on  which  stand  a  dozen  or  more  untrimmed  oaks  and 
maples,  whose  gnarled  trunks  and  dead  branches  tell  the  story 
of  their  age  and  neglect.  Here  in  the  long  ago  —  in  the  good 
old  times  that  men  and  women  of  mature  years  dream  and  talk 
about — the  people  of  the  town  gathered  when  momentous 
events  were  transpiring  in  their  country's  history ;  here  the 
drums  were  beat  that  summoned  to  arms  the  patriots  of  the 
Revolution ;  here,  in  after  years,  the  farmers  rendezvoused  for 


364        THE  DESERTED  MEETING-HOUSE. 

May  and  September  training ;  and  here  the  dear  boys  played 
soldier,  and  celebrated  Independence  day.  It  was  also  here 
that  the  prospects  of  the  crops,  the  price  current,  politics,  and 
many  other  secular  subjects  were  discussed  between  the  hours 
of  Church  service ;  here  the  town-meeting  was  held,  and  on 
this  very  spot  occurred  the  happy  annual  event  of  the  neighbor- 
hood—  known  as  the  **  Cattle  Show." 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  of  a  day  during  one  summer 
vacation,  while  returning  from  a  fishing  jaunt  along  the  margin 
of  the  brook,  that  I  last  visited  the  old  meeting-house.  I  had 
hurried  thither  to  find  a  place  of  shelter  from  a  gathering  storm. 
Already  dark  and  ominous  clouds  hung  over  the  hillside ;  a 
heavy  wind,  the  forerunner  of  a  tempest,  sighed  in  the  foliage 
of  the  trees,  and  bent  like  whip-cords  the  birches  and  alders  by 
the  stream,  while  the  birds,  alarmed  by  the  distant  peals  of 
thunder  and  flashes  of  lightning,  shrieked  in  frightful  medley ; 
the  cattle  and  sheep  in  the  pastures  hurried  away  to  secluded 
places  in  the  underbrush,  and  weird  darkness,  such  as  I  had 
seldom  observed  before,  settled  on  the  scene.  Approaching  the 
deserted  old  edifice  under  these  circumstances,  a  feeling  of 
loneliness  —  something  akin  to  fear — took  possession  of  me  ; 
my  nerves  collapsed,  and  I  sat  down  upon  a  boulder  that  had 
fallen  from  the  wall. 

While  in  this  plight  a  fortunate  circumstance  attracted  my 
attention.  The  door  of  the  old  house  stood  ajar,  —  as  though 
extending  a  welcome  to  the  solitary  pilgrim,  and  bidding  him 
enter.  I  arose  mechanically,  and,  approaching  it  cautiously  — 
for  I  was  somewhat  undecided  —  hesitated  at  the  threshold.  I 
dreaded — at  least  that  was  the  excuse  I  made  to  myself — to  enter 
the  mouldy  and  dungeon-like  atmosphere  that  came  to  the  nos- 
trils, and  besides  —  for  I  may  as  well  confess  the  truth  —  I  had 
been  told  only  a  few  days  before,  that  the  place  was  haunted ; 
that  the  ghost  of  a  woman  had  been  seen  there  many  times. 
Just  then  the  storm  broke  in  fury  on  the  mountain  side.  Vivid 
flashes  of  lightning  played  in  the  horizon  that  bounded  my 
view  ;  heavy  peals  of  thunder  caused  the  earth  to  tremble  under 
my  feet,  and  rumbled  across  the  intervening  valley,  while  heav}' 
drops  of  rain,  and  a  gray  cloud  that  swept  ground-ward,  admon- 
ished me  that  I  had  best  seek  a  place  of  safety.     As  I  entered. 


THE  DESERTED  MEETING-HOUSE.        365 

a  feeling  like  that  which  must  have  possessed  the  venerable  pil- 
grim of  the  scripture  when  he  removed  the  sandals  from  his 
feet — remembering  that  the  ground  on  which  he  stood  was 
holy  ground,  —  came  over  me,  I  had  no  thought  beside  at  the 
moment,  and  hence,  without  giving  the  subject  the  slightest 
consideration,  like  one  who  follows  a  beaten  path  from  force  of 
habit,  I  sat  down  in  the  very  pew  I  had  occupied  when,  in 
youth,  we  were  well-ordered,  but  unwilling  listeners  to  long 
sermons  that  we  younger  ones  did  not  understand,  and  which 
were  not  of  the  slightest  interest  to  us. 

The  old  family  pew.  however,  has  its  silent  influence. 
Sacred  memories  cluster  about  it.  It  tells  touching  stories  of 
home  and  kindred.  "Ah!"  I  sighed,  "what  troubled  and 
anxious  hearts  have  here  found  the  peace  the  world  cannot 
give  !  What  confessions,  known  only  to  the  infinite  Father, 
have  here  been  made,  and  what  great  burdens  have  been  lifted  by 
faith  and  trust !  What  tired  fathers  and  mothers  have  here  found 
the  only  rest  and  quiet  in  passing  weeks  and  years.  How  elo- 
quent it  is  I  How,  upon  the  returning  pilgrim,  the  spirit  of  the 
old  time  steals  with  soothing  influence,  and  how  the  softened, 
chastened  sensibility  almost  feels  the  rustle  of  garments,  and 
the  touch  of  a  vanished  hand.  How  plainly  he  sees  the  fea- 
tures and  forms  of  loved  ones  who  are  no  more  in  this  life  1 

Everything  in  and  about  this  sacred  old  place  was  familiar 
to  me.  There,  before  my  very  eyes,  was  the  altar  of  our 
fathers,  its  pretentious  back  rising  to  the  beam  on  which  the 
roof  rested,  and  its  ornamental  mouldings,  carved  ornaments 
and  brackets,  telling  of  the  superior  workmanship  of  the  car- 
penters of  '  ye  olden  times.'  There  was  the  costly  drapery  that 
was  once  the  object  of  admiring  eyes,  but  which  was  now  dingy 
and  faded.  There  was  the  large  sounding-board  on  which  the 
cobwebs  now  clung,  and  the  dust  of  half  a  century  was  undis- 
turbed ;  and  the  hand-finished  sheathing,  and  the  oil  lamps  on 
each  side  of  the  pulpit.  There,  too,  were  the  high-backed 
square  pews,  with  seats  that  turned  up  like  the  modern  opera 
chair  ;  here  and  there  in  racks  were  coverless  hymnals,  on  the 
fly  leaf  of  which  were,  doubtless,  the  scrawls  of  some  boy  or 
girl.  On  the  south  wall  by  the  singer's  loft,  the  same  gilt- 
framed  clock  was  still  suspended  from   an   iron   hook.     There 


366        THE  DESERTED  MEETING-HOUSE 

was  tbt  gallta-T  far  the  tcm-D"*  poor  an  l3ic  east,  and  for  trai>- 
fiienl  people  and  farm  liaiids  on  the  "w^^st. — and  all  about  the 
church  the  fyrtv-lig'ht  windows,  cohweibbed,  dusty,  and  dark  as 
twiiigiil.  AD  these  olrjectB  iiad  Bomethin^  of  pecriliar  interest 
about  them  :  and  had  3  been  mating  a  Toluntary  risit  at  a  differ- 
ent hour  of  the  da3'.  and  under  different  circumstances,  with  a 
talkative  companion,  3  should  kare  looked  upon  them  with  a 
freer  enthusiasm  and  ^rrcater  pleasure- 
But  my  mind  wat  disturbed.  The  rain  was  now  faTHng  in 
torrent*;,  the  pealt;  of  thunder  and  the  flashes  of  lightning  were 
appalling,  and  the  place  was  quite  dark  and  altogether  dreary, 
A  gust  of  wind  closed  the  door  behind  me  i^-ith  a  startling 
report,  the  old  edifice  trembled  and  creaked  in  its  joints^  and 
the  window  shutters,  too,  rattled  on  their  loose  hinges«  The 
situation  was  indeed  dispiriting.  I  felt  like  one  at  the  parting 
of  the  war  —  at  the  border  land  between  the  real  and  the 
unreal.  Surely  it  was  not  an  hour  when  things  ideal  naturally 
liJJ  the  mind,  or  flights  of  fancy  control  the  imipulses;  and  yet 
the  place  seemed  *'  filled  with  whispers;"  and,  when  the  storm 
had  spent  its  force,  and  repose  had  in  a  measure  come  to  the 
excited  body,  strange  thoughts  and  imaginings  possessed  me. 
On  the  one  side  was  the  "visible  world  in  the  darkness  of  dond 
and  storm  :  on  the  other  side  was  the  in^-isible  world  in  the 
light  that  reflects  from  the  soul.  In  this  light  the  renerable 
clerg\'man,  whom  I  remembered  well,  was  rehabilitated  and 
before  me  in  the  sacred  desk ;  the  good  deacons,  with  austere 
deportment  significant  of  their  high  calling,  were  in  their  accus- 
tomed places  in  the  chancel  pew  in  front,  and  the  singers  in  the 
galler}'  at  the  rear,  while  the  empty  pews  were  peopled  with  a 
congregation  of  the  past. 

Few  people  can  w-onder  that  in  such  an  hour  and  in  such  a 
presence  as  this  —  with  such  associations  filling  the  e\'e  and 
such  reflections  overwhelming  the  mind — the  crowd  in  which  we 
mingle  in  the  avocations  of  life  is  forgotten.  None  can  w^onder 
that  control  of  the  nen-es  in  a  measure  ceases,  and  that,  with- 
out being  clearlj^  conscious  of  what  is  transpiring,  the  beholder 
is  compelled  to  consider  problems  that  have  never  before 
suggested  themselves  to  his  mind,  and  which  have  no  con- 
necting link  with  affairs  of  everj'-day  life  and  thought?     Surely 


THE  DESERTED  MEET/JVG~MOl/SE. 


367 


it  was  not  a  common  experience,  and,  therefore,  it  should  not 
be  a  surprise  that  I  was  a  good  deal  confused,  and  in  a  large 
measure  unaccountable  for  my  physical  weakness  and  morbid 
delusion. 

As  the  drapery  of  cloud  and  storm  which  had  veiled  the 
heavens  lifted,  and  the  light  increased,  these  preternatural 
objects  faded  from  my  vision  and  caused  me  to  realize  that  I 
had  drifted  to  the  border  of  the  supernatural.  This  old  meet- 
ing-house, I  meditated,  is  only  a  place  for  bats  and  swallows  to 
inhabit,  and  for  rats  and  mice  to  play  hide-and-seek  in.  It  is 
merely  dismal  and  lonesome  ! 

This  view  of  the  surroundings  brought  me  but  one  desire. 
That  desire  was  to  depart,  and  that  speedily.  Yet  something — 
possibly  lack  of  decision, —  caused  me  to  remain.  I  hesitated, 
lingered,  and  presently  strange  sounds  came  to  my  ears ;  weird 
imaginings  revived  the  activity  of  my  brain  and  gave  form  and 
color  to  objects  that  had  no  tangible  existence  and  were  but  the 
reflex  of  my  mental  and  physical  disturbance  through  the 
agency  of  the  eye. 

But  what  if  the  place  was  haunted?  I  had  never  believed 
that  disembodied  spirits  returned  to  the  haunts  of  men,  but  for 
all  that  it  might  be  true  that  they  do.  Might  be  true  !  And, 
as  though  timed  to  meet  the  unnatural  condition  of  my  over- 
wrought imagination,  there  was  clearly  before  me,  standing 
erect  in  the  old  pulpit,  the  form  of  a  young  woman. 

The  cold  perspiration  started  from  every  pore,  and  fear  took 
me  into  full  possession.  What  could  I  do?  What  could  I  say? 
I  catechised  myself  severely,  and  came  to  the  conclusion  thati 
was  awake,  and  that  I  was  in  an  old  meeling-house,  that  I  was 
in  a  normal  condition  of  body  and  mind.  It  seemed  that  I 
could  not  be  mistaken  that  my  menial  equilibrium  had  been 
restored,  and  I  was  consequently  half  persuaded  that  the  form 
before  me  was  only  a  strange,  and  for  the  moment,  unfath- 
omable phenomenon.  To  my  perplexity  and  discomfort,  it  did 
not  disappear.  I  tried  to  be  convinced  that  my  optical  vision 
was  defective,  that  the  light  somehow  focused  ai  the  pulpit; 
that  the  unaccountable  figure  was  only  the  shadow  of  some  ob- 
ject I  could  not  discover;  that  I  was  asleep  and  in  a  night- 
mare dream;  and,  finally,  that  it  was  all  a  hallucination.     My 


368        THE  DESERTED  MEETING-HOUSE. 

confusion  was  only  increased  by  these  violent  efforts  of  the 
mind  to  solve  the  mystery ;  for,  whatever  it  might  be,  it  would 
not  down.  It  had  animation  like  a  living  being  and  had  come 
to  stay. 

In  the  meantime  I  forced  my  moral  courage  to  its  utmost 
limit  and  discovered  that  I  could  neither  speak,  fight,  nor  run 
away.  I  looked  the  apparition  squarely  in  the.  face.  The  fea- 
tures seen  in  the  semi-darkness  were  not  like  those  I  had  seen 
in  engravings  and  paintings  representing  angels  and  ghosts ;  nor 
did  they  bear  the  slightest  resemblance  to  those  I  had  looked  upon 
at  stances.  Moreover  the  clothing  was  positive  ;  there  were  no 
indications  of  the  grave  about  it.  In  fact  unless  I  was  a  mental 
wreck,  and  totally  incapable  of  distinguishing  between  the  real 
and  the  artificial,  there  stood  before  me  a  young  woman  of 
modern  make-up,  a  being  clothed  in  a  jaunty  summer  habit, 
with  a  hat  highly  ornamented  with  flowers  and  feathers  upon 
her  head,  bangs  and  frizzles  upon  her  forehead,  and  a  flashing 
diamond  pin  in  the  ribbon  about  her  neck.  Her  contrast  with 
materialized  young  women  who  had  appeared  before  me  **once 
on  a  time''  was  so  marked  as  to  greatly  amaze  me.  Surely, 
thought  I,  the  genuine  article  has  at  last  been  discovered;  but, 
having  found  it,  I  have  no  earthly  use  for  it.  My  only  desire  was 
to  be  excused  from  further  acquaintance. 

But  what  was  it?  That  was  the  perplexing  question  I  could 
not  answer.  Sujrgestive  interrogatives  came  fast.  Was  it  an 
angel  that  had  been  **  doomed  to  walk  the  earth  a  certain 
length  of  time"  in  penance  for  the  sin  of  putting  on  airs  among 
the  majority,  and  for  vainly  imagining  herself  better  in  the  sight 
of  God  than  her  less  fortunate  sisters  !  Was  it  a  seraphim  that 
had  been  sent  to  the  neighborhood  to  gather  a  host  from  the 
city  belles  who  pose  as  the  moral,  intellectual  and  fashionable 
superiors  of  those  who  are  their  equals  in  all  things  except  the 
contents  of  their  father's  pocket-books?  More  startling  still, — 
was  it  a  messenger  with  a  summons  for  me  to  appear  in  the 
realms  of  the  ** great  majority"?  Was  it  the  phantasm  of 
dreamy  reverie,  or,  in  defiance  of  all  natural  laws,  of  all  my 
disbeliefs  and  scoffing  at  spiritualism,  a  genuine  disembodied 
spirit  that  had  returned  to  earth  and  taken  this  favorable  oppor- 
tunity to   teach   a   serious   and  solemn  lesson  concerning  the 


THE  DESERTED  MEET/NG-HOUSB. 


369 

mysteries  that  are  hidden  just  beyond  the  veil  that  separates  the 
seen  from  the  unseen?     I  could  not  answer. 

Meanwhile  the  apparition  had  given  no  evidence  of  possess- 
ing a  voice.  It  moved  noiselessly  about,  and  presently  paused 
at  the  chancel  window,  and  apparently  watched  with  interest 
the  progress  of  the  storm. 

AH  this  time  my  wonderment,  and  the  tension  upon  the  ner- 
vous system,  increased,  I  felt  that  I  was  being  punished  before 
my  time,  and  would  gladly  have  made  a  hasty  retreat,  if  I  had 
felt  sure  of  controlling  my  movements.  On  the  contrary,  I 
seemed  to  be  in  paralysis.  My  eyes  were  fixed. —  the  ghostly 
object  filling  my  vision  completely.  Was  it  mortal  or  immor- 
tal? This  was  the  question.  It  did  not  occur  lo  me  at  the  dme 
that  the  former  could  not  harm  me;  and  that  if  it  was  the 
latter  it  roust  be  shadowy,  without  substance,  and  incapable 
of  sustained  physical  struggle  with  man.  And  yet — "what 
fools  we  mortals  are  !"  My  hair  was  standing  on  end,  and  the 
blood  coursing  excitedly  through  my  veins. 

But  the  old  meeting-house  ghost  had  a  voice  like  mortals. 
Listen  I 

"  Friends :  As  the  medium  of  one  who  was  born  in  this 
mountain  range,  and  who,  for  good  and  sufficient  reasons,  can- 
not speak  for  herself,  I  propose  to  relate  to  you,  in  the  first  per- 
son, the  story  of  a  life  that  was  burdened  with  sorrow  and  made 
dark  by  unfaithfulness  to  betrothal  vows.  How  it  happened, 
aod  when  it  happened,  that  I  obtained  the  confession  {for  such 
it  is)  you  shall  never  know;  but  my  purpose  in  relating  it  I 
will  make  clear  to  you.  Briefly  stated,  —  it  is  that  those  who 
are  given  to  inconstancy,  who  hold  all  pledges  lightly,  may  be 
led  to  see  that  such  conduct  is  a  crime,  and  punishable  by  laws 
that  were  enacted  by  higher  tribunals  than  those  over  which 
men  preside.  Having  stated  the  moral  of  my  story  at  the  out- 
set. I  now  proceed  with  the  confession ;  giving,  as  nearly  as  I 
can,  the  words  in  which  I  received  it. — 'A  good  many  years 
have  come  and  gone  since  I  lived  and  suffered  among  the  peo- 
ple of  the  earth ;  and,  strange  as  it  may  seem  to  those  of  you 
who  are  happy  in  your  lot  and  to  whom  the  world  has  endless 
attractions,  i  have  never  ceased  to  rejoice  over  my  departure 
from  the  body  or  seen  an  hour  when  I  had  the  slightest  wish  to 


370        THE  DESERTED  MEETING-HOUSE. 

return.  Let  me  say  to  you  in  all  the  sincerity  I  can  command, 
that  I  found  the  world  a  cold  and  dreary  place,  peopled  for  the 
most  part  —  perhaps  I  am  a  little  too  broad  in  my  statement  — 
with  selfish,  unprincipled,  unfeeling  men  and  women.  You 
shall  judge.'" 

I  did  not  wish  to  judge,  but  to  get  out  of  the  haunted  place. 
There  was  not,  however,  strength  enough  in  my  legs  to  carry 
me  out,  and  so  I  was  compelled  to  listen. 

**  •  Unlike  my  present  pale  countenance  and  unattractive  form, 
in  raiment  not  easily  described,  I  was,  when  a  participant  in 
the  affairs  of  earth,  attractive  in  form  and  feature,  blessed  with 
robust  healih.  and  clothed  as  became  the  daughter  of  a  well-to- 
do  farmer.  The  winter  I  was  eighteen  I  became  the  teacher 
of  a  district  school.  I  also  became  the  leading  alto  singer  in  a 
meetinir-house  now  lonij  deserted.  In  that  church  choir  I  made 
the  acquaintance  of  a  young  man.  It  is  the  old,  old  story. 
Ho  was  the  ideal  beau  of  the  times.  I  admired  him.  Our 
acquaintance  ripened  into  regard,  and  found  its  fruition  in  the 
tenderest  attachments  —  on  my  part,  at  least  —  to  which  the 
human  heart  is  susceptible.  I  was  indeed  a  happy  woman. 
Weeks  and  months  of  supreme  happiness  went  by,  and  one  day 
he  asked  me  for  my  hand  in  marriage.  A  few  weeks  later  — 
he  having  visited  nie  at  my  home  and  obtained  my  parents* 
consent  to  our  union  —  we  were  engaged-  All  our  friends 
knew  it.  I  then  ihoucht — sillv  ^x\  that  I  was  —  that  I  had 
won  ail  there  was  in  the  world  worth  hax^ing :  while,  to  my 
narrow  vision,  the  future  of  my  life  seemed  secure  in  all  things 
that  zr.ir.ister  to  huniJir.  happiness. 

•  I  taught  the  scr.Lvl  the  next  summer,  and  when  autamn 
came  yas  I  was  to  be  niarried  2t  Christmas)  obtained  the  place 
for  a  schcv^lm^te.  Then  I  se:  abc^ut  ijettinij  readv  for  the  one 
ever.t  :n  a  woman's  Mfe-  My  father  L'^veJ  me,  and  made  ample 
purchases  c^f  things  I  r.eeied.  My  rrjc^ther  and  my  sister  made 
my  weeding  dre<ss  as  :i  g:f:  ::"  arecrrou,  and  my  two  breathers — 
dear«  dearb^ys  who  a  few  vtMr?  I^ter  give  their  lives  to  their 
ocwintrv  in  a  victv'^ri.'us  banle  —  were  iienerous  even  to  self 
cental  in  thetr  enjr:  tr  pve  their  sister  a  proper  outnt.  That  I 
m-as  a  iovc^us  ani  h "rrv  Hrl  \  :u  m.=.v  easilv  believe. 

ibc  latter  rvirt  ■:»:"  the  iutunr^n  niv  lover's 


THE  DESERTED  MEETING-HOUSE.        371 

came  less  frequent,  and  he  did  not  visit  me  on  Thanksgiving 
Day,  as  he  had  promised.  His  excuse  was  that  he  could  not 
spare  the  time  from  his  business.  I  received  his  excuses  in 
good  faith,  and  forgave  the  neglect,  as  in  duty  bound. 

'  The  time  fixed  for  our  marriage  came  at  last.  My  ward- 
robe and  the  many  beautiful  articles  that  my  kindred  and  friends 
had,  by  much  sacrifice,  obtained  for  me,  were  ready  for  the 
event.  The  house,  in  which  there  had  been  for  several  days  a 
busy  scene  of  cooking  and  cleaning,  was  in  order ;  the  tables 
were  spread,  the  invited  guests  were  present,  and  the  clergyman 
had  been  summoned.  The  appointed  hour  arrived,  but  the 
bridegroom  had  not  come  !  Though  greatly  distressed  I  en- 
deavored to  conceal  my  feelings  from  my  assembled  friends, 
making  to  them  all  excuses  I  could  frame  for  my  dilatory  lover. 
Perhaps  some  accident  had  befallen  him ;  perhaps  he  was  ill. 

'  An  hour  passed,  and  still  there  were  no  tidings.  My  alarm 
and  distress  became  loo  great  for  concealment.  My  friends 
looked  into  each  other's  faces  with  increasing  wonder,  and  still- 
ness as  of  a  funeral  came  over  the  company.  The  good  min- 
ister—  who  will  vouch  for  my  statement — comforted  me  as  best 
he  could  under  the  embarrassing  circumstances  ;  and  presently 
the  guests  of  the  evening,  one  by  one.  departed,  —  some  with- 
out bidding  me  good  night,  or  a  happy  issue  out  of  my  trou- 
bles.'" 

The  ghost  again  went  to  the  chancel  window :  and  as  she 
remained  there  longer  than  before,  it  gave  me  an  opportunity  to 
consider  the  situation.  Somehow  my  mind  took  a  new  track 
and  I  fell  to  criticising.  "Verily,"  I  said  to  myself,  "this  is 
all  too  natural  to  be  unreal.  Her  voice  and  manner  —  although 
the  former  is  somewhat  augmented  by  the  sounding-board, — are 
too  human  to  be  unearthly.  There  are  no  sepulchral  tones  in 
it.  It  is  a  voice  like  those  trained  in  modern  schools  of  elocu- 
tion.    It  is  unnatural  only  in  the  sense  that  it  is  affected. 

The  medium  returned  to  the  pulpit  and  continued  the  narra- 
tion, while  I  shivered  and  listened  as  before. 

"  'My  parents  and  brothers  and  sisters  were  more  than  kind  to 
me.  They  spoke  most  hopeful,  endearing,  and  comforting 
words.  They  begged  me  to  forget  all  but  them  ;  they  reminded 
me  that  I  had  a  good  home ;  they  promised  me  more  of  happi- 


372        THE  DESERTED  MEETING-HOUSE. 

ness  in  the  future  than  I  had  lost,  and  they  endeavored  to  per- 
suade me  that  the  man  who  had  won  my  heart  and  then  deceived 
me,  was  not  worthy  of  my  hand  in  marriage,  and  that  I  was 
fortunate  in  finding  it  out  before  it  was  too  late. 

*  I  passed  a  sleepless  night,  —  trying  to  look  on  the  bright 
side  and  anticipating  a  joyous  morning.  The  next  day  I  spent 
in  hysterical  weeping,  watching,  and  waiting.  Towards  its 
close  my  brother,  happening  to  be  at  the  village  post-office  and 
meeting  an  acquaintance  from  the  section  where  my  recreant 
lover  resided,  was  told  of  his  perfidy.  He  had  married  my 
schoolmate,  —  the  very  woman  to  whom  I  had  given  up  my 
school. 

The  last  fact  added  poignancy  to  my  weight  of  sorrow.  I 
had  been  humiliated  in  the  presence  of  my  friends.  I  was  now 
wounded  to  the  very  depths  of  my  soul.  Bewildered,  cast 
down,  helpless,  hopeless,  and  in  the  torture  that  leads  to  de- 
spair, I  could  no  longer  reason  with  myself.  The  point  where 
self-control  ceases  had  been  passed,  and  I  was  a  mental  wreck. 

'  My  heart  was  broken.  My  happiness  had  vanished  like 
the  imagery  of  a  dream.  My  cherished  hopes  were  destroyed. 
The  plans  that  I  had  made  for  the  future  mocked  me.  Fright- 
ful presentiments  came  up  before  me ;  and,  if  it  were  pos- 
sible to  make  my  mental  condition  worse,  passion  and  wicked 
thoughts  controlled  my  intellect,  so  that,  even  though  I  was  in 
a  good  home  with  kind  and  loving  friends,  there  was  not  a  ray 
of  light  in  the  dark  horizon  that  lowered  about  and  circum- 
scribed my  vision. 

'  In  vain  I  sought  to  discover  a  silver  lining  to  the  clouds 
that  enshrouded  me,  and  thus  to  calm  myself.  In  vain  I 
sought  to  put  away  childish  things  and  be  a  brave  girl.  Noth- 
ing seemed  clear  to  me,  except  that  I  had  parted  with  all  that 
was  dear  to  me,  —  that  I  could  never  hold  my  head  up  in  the 
community  again, — that  everybody  would  shun  me, — that  I  had 
lost  all  that  I  had  a  desire  to  live  for.  Foolish  girl  th?it  I  was, 
I  allowed  myself  to  sink  to  the  lowest  depth  of  unreasoning 
sorrow,  when  I  should  have  had  courage  and  pride  to  rise 
above  such  grovelling. 

*  A  night  of  the  bitterest  and  most  intense  sorrow  followed. 
Towards  morning  I  became  calm,  with  the  calmness  of  deeper- 


THE  DESERTED  MEETING-HOUSE. 


373 


atioD,  of  hopelessness, —  the  stolid  stupor  that  accompanies 
blasted  anticipation  and  hopeless  ambition.  The  past,  with  its 
ecstacy  of  joy,  derided  me;  the  future,  with  its  certainties  and 
uncertainties,  appalled  me.  I  imagined  that  I  had  become  the 
laughing-stock  of  the  whole  town;  that  the  thoughtless  and 
unsympathetic  would  ridicule  me;  that  those  who  envied  me 
my  beauty  and  good  home  would  now  look  upon  me  with  dis- 
dain ;  and  I  felt  that  I  could  never  regain  the  peace  which  I 
had  forfeited  in  society.  I  wished  that  I  might  die,  and  thus 
escape  from  a  world  of  trouble. 

'  Thus  my  mind  fluctuated ;  thus  I  brooded  over  my  misfor- 
tune and  disgrace,  until  brain  fever  set  in,  and  I  became  a  rav- 
ing maniac.  In  my  mad  violence  my  recreant  lover  and  his 
hated  bride  haunted  me  hour  after  hour,  and  day  after  day. 
They  were  ever,  it  seemed  to  rae,  by  my  couch, — ever  tor- 
menting me.  They  were  demons  whom  I  could  not  shake  off; 
monsters,  from  whom  I  could  not  escape.  I  cursed  them  and 
pitied  them  by  turns;  I  forgave  them  and  threatened  them  in 
the  same  breath ;  I  bade  them  go  their  way  in  peace,  and  I 
declared  that  I  would  follow  them  in  vengeance.  The  fever 
turned  at  last,  leaving  me  but  a  shadow  of  my  former  self.  My 
hair,  on  which  I  had  prided  myself,  had  fallen  from  my  head; 
my  beauty  had  vanished.     I  was  a  mental  and  physical  wreck. 

'  During  the  first  stages  of  my  hallucination  1  had  lucid  mo- 
ments. Then  I  would  realize  the  unwomanliness  of  my  con- 
duct, and,  in  contrition  and  remorse,  reproach  myself  and 
resolve  that  I  would  rise  superior  to  such  grovelling,  and.  when 
restored  to  health,  begin  life  over  again.  Then  my  friends 
would  be  encouraged  in  the  hope  that  I  would  eventually  re- 
cover. But  these  experiences  were  at  long  intervals  and  of 
short  duration.  At  each  relapse  I  lost  ground,  and  in  the  end 
I  became  a  confirmed  lunatic,  and  a  constant  care  to  my  friends. 
Despite  the  watchfulness  of  my  parents,  I  often  wandered  away, 
—  drawing  the  attention  of  curious  and  unsympathetic  eyes.  I 
often  became  frenzied,  and  was  everywhere  known  as  "Mad 
Nancy."  I  required  more  care  than  an  infant  in  its  mother's 
arms;  and  the  strangest  part  of  it  all  is  that  I  had  a  vague  and 
indistinct  knowledge  of  all  this,  knew  people, —  and  could  con- 
verse quite  intelligently  on  ordinary  subjects. 


374        'I^HE  DESERTED  MEETING-HOUSE. 

*  All  the  members  of  my  family  were  good  to  me.  My  eld- 
est sister  even  refused  an  advantageous  offer  of  marriage  be- 
cause of  her  sense  of  duty  towards  me. 

*  Whenever  I  strayed  from  home — often  with  disarranged 
hair,  torn  clothing,  and  bleeding  limbs,  —  for  I  could  not  pro- 
tect myself — thoughtless  boys  would  jeer  at  me  and  silly  girls 
laugh  at  me.  I  was  everybody's  target,  everybody's  subject  of 
ridicule ;  and  yet  I  ought  not  to  say  this,  for  there  were  a  good 
many  kind  neighbors  who  had  sympathy  for  my  misfortune, 
and  sufficient  respect  for  my  parents  to  conduct  me  home. 

*  What  became  of  my  faithless  lover?  I  will  tell  you. — His 
career  was  gloomy,  sad,  and  miserable  indeed.  Nothing  pros- 
pered at  his  hands,  and  he  had  many  burdensome  and  grievous 
crosses.  His  wife  lost  her  health,  and  became  nervous,  irasci- 
ble, and  a  bill  of  expense.  She  died  after  ten  years  of  unhappy 
married  life,  leaving  a  son,  who,  being  an  invalid,  was  a  con- 
stant care  to  the  father.  These  hardships  and  troubles  kept 
him  poor  and  made  him  prematurely  old  ;  and  so,  after  fifteen 
years  of  life  without  a  ray  of  sunshine  in  it,  in  sorrow  and  sin- 
cere contrition  for  the  wrong  he  had  done  —  a  wrong  he  would 
gladly  have  righted  after  the  death  of  his  wife,  if  it  had  been 
in  his  power  to  do  so,  he  endeavored  to  make  my  demented 
life  more  sunny  and  comfortable.  I  had  just  enough  of  reason 
left  to  realize  this ;  and,  while  I  do  not  distinctly  remember  to 
have  had  sufficient  control  of  my  mind  to  forgive  him,  I  have 
a  clear  idea  that  he  was  my  idol,  and  that  I  followed  him  about 
on  many  occasions  as  a  dumb  animal  follows  a  kind  master. 

*But  the  end  came  at  last,  and,  fortunately  for  me,  came 
before  my  parents  died.  It  came  unexpectedly,  as  the  result 
of  my  lover's  death.  He  was  killed  by  a  railroad  accident; 
and,  strange  to  say,  on  the  anniversary  of  the  night  we  were  to 
have  been  married.  This  circumstance  was  clear  to  me.  I 
was  prostrated  with  grief  that  knew  no  bounds,  which  I  have 
never  been  able  to  fathom  or  understand,  and  which  no  conso- 
lation that  friends  could  offer  was  sufficient  to  assuage.  I 
refused  food,  refused  the  care  and  comfort  that  I  had  enjoyed, 
became  violent  and  unmanageable.  One  night  I  escaped  from 
my  room  in  my  father's  house,  and,  although  immediate  search 
was  made  for  me,  was  not  discovered  till  the  next  morning. 


THE  DESERTED  MEETING-HOUSE. 


375 


My  body  was  prostrate  upon  my  lover's  grave,  and  my  spirit 
had  fled  to  the  abode  where  there  are  no  sorrows  or  sufferings 
tike  those  of  earth,  and  where  men  and  women  come  to  a  better 
understanding.' " 

The  apparition  vanished,  or,  to  be  more  particular  in  state- 
ment, deliberately  descended  the  pulpit  stairs,  walked  to  the 
chancel  door,  and  disappeared.  I  drew  a  long  breath  of  relief, 
and  for  the  moment,  was  like  a  prisoner  released  from  iron 
bonds.  Weak,  exhausted,  worn  out  by  the  tension  to  which 
my  nervous  system  had  been  subjected  for  more  than  an  hour, 
I  staggered  to  the  open  air.  My  energy  presently  revived  ;  and 
with  fish-rod  in  hand  and  empty  basket  slung  upon  my  back,  I 
turned  homeward,  like  a  worn-out  pilgrim  seeking  repose. 

On  the  following  evening  I  attended  an  amateur  entertain- 
ment at  the  town  hall  in  the  village,  given  under  the  auspices 
of  a  party  of  summer  boarders  from  the  "  back  range  "  and  for 
the  benefit  of  a  fund  with  which  to  build  a  new  fence  around 
"  Forefather's  Cemetery,"  Part  first  of  the  programme  passed, 
then  a  young  man  played  a  piano  solo  as  a  prelude  to  part 
second.  The  music  ceased,  and  a  young  woman  came  trip- 
pingly forward  from  the  right  wing  of  the  stage.  Up  to  this 
time  I  had  taken  little  note  of  the  performances,  being  occu- 
pied with  cogitations  upon  the  strange  occurrence  of  the  after- 
noon. Her  appearance  reminded  me  strongly  of  the  figure  I 
had  seen  in  the  old  church,  and  my  attention  became  at  once 
closely  engaged.  Opening  a  manuscript  upon  the  desk,  she 
commenced  lo  read  with  the  same  emphasis,  the  same  studied 
elocution,  the  same  monotonous  tones,  the  very  tale  that  I 
had  heard  in  church  in  the  dimness  and  tumult  of  the  thunder 
storm.  The  mystery  was  cleared  at  once.  I  had  simply  over- 
heard the  young  lady's  rehearsal  of  her  reading,  by  which  she 
had  sought  to  prepare  herself  for  a  better  rendering  of  her 
part  before  the  expected  audience.  The  darkness  and  noise  of 
the  storm  had  prevented  her  discovering  my  presence,  other- 
wise I  should  not  have  experienced  the  doubtful  privilege  of  the 
preliminary,  but  more  elTective  recital  of  her  instructive  stoiy. 


376  THE  BRITISH  CAKE. 


THE     BRITISH     CAKE. 
A  Reminiscence  of  the  War  of  1812. 

By  MRS.   LUTHER   KEENE. 

One  golden  September  day  not  many  years  ago,  a  family 
party  had  gathered  in  the  handsome  *'best  room"  of  a  home 
in  a  goodly  city  in  Maine.  Every  arrangement  betokened 
comfort  and  coming  festivities.  In  the  windows  were  banks  of 
blossoming  plants ;  over  the  folding  doors  climbed  a  luxuriant 
vine, —  a  living  decoration,  which  the  curious  carved  work  now 
in  fashion  among  the  rich  cannot  equal.  In  its  corner  sang  the 
mocking-bird,  and  the  family  cat  sat  on  the  hearth-rug,  blink- 
ing at  the  fire.  Three  generations  sat  about  the  bountiful 
table ;  in  number  just  double  that  which  sat  about  King 
Arthur's  "Round  Table"  of  old;  the  odd,  and  according  to 
those  ancient  legends,  dangerous  seats,  being  safely  occupied 
by  the  givers  of  the  feast,  "Uncle  Ben"  and  his  hospitable  wife. 

Her  face,  beneath  clustering  white  curls,  had  lost  none  of  its 
old-time  kindness ;  and  Uncle  Ben  had  still  the  ruddy  cheek 
and  merry  twinkling  eye  which  some  of  us  remembered  on  his 
wedding  day,  one  fine  morning  long  ago.  A  busy,  congenial, 
and  pure  life  had  left  no  chance  for  age  to  fasten  its  signs  upon 
their  faces. 

In  the  centre  of  the  table,  on  a  stand  raised  above  the  fruits 
and  salads,  cakes  and  flowers,  was  placed  a  huge  blue  platter. 
Many  a  time  had  my  childish  fingers  traced  the  curious  Chinese 
figures  upon  it,  wondering  what  could  be  going  on  in  the  funny 
blue  Pagoda,  beside  the  blue  brook  on  the  bottom  of  the  dish ! 
After  fifty  years  I  seemed  to  see  it  all,  even  through  the  savory 
pile  which  covered  it;  for  the  "British  Cake"  had  just  come 
in, —  a  crisp,  creamy  short-cake,  smothered  in  a  "dip"  made 
also  of  golden  cream.  "Oh,  Oh  I"  cried  the  third  generation, 
clapping  their  rosy  hands ;  but  a  tear  started  in  Uncle  Ben's 
eye,  and  dropped  on  the  big  silver  plate  which  was  to  hold  his 
share  of  the  feast.     The  older  ones  knew  he  was  thinking  of 


THE  BRITISH   CAKE. 


377 


ihe  childish  hands  which  had  first  made  the  cake,  and  served 
t  lo  a  weary,  worried  household. 

The  setting  sun  lay  in  broad  bands  on  floor  and  table  when 
ihe  feast  was  over,  and  Ruth,  the  "baby"  of  the  company, 
Jipping  her  hand  into  her  great-uncle's,  whispered: 
■'Please,  why  do  you  celebrate  the  fourth  of  July  in  Septem- 
■?     We  have  it  in  Connecticut  just  when  it  was  made." 
So  the  old  story  was  told  once  more  by  Uncle  Ben,  as  follows ; 
Many  years  ago,   my  Ruth,  more   than  have  passed  over 
|ny  head,  white  as  it  is,  our  first  British  Cake  was  eaten.     The 
"Story  was  told  me  so  young  and  has  been  so  often  repealed  that 
I  have  always  believed  I  was  present  on  the  occasion,  and  shall 
doubtless  put  myself  into  the  story  sometimes.      Your  grand- 
mother who  went  to  Heaven  long  before  you  came  to  us,  made 
and  named  the  cake. 

But  to  make  the  tale  plain  I  must  begin  with  a  little  history  ; 
it  is  well  sometimes  to  refresh  our  memories  by  glancing  back 
on  our  country's  early  struggles.  There  was  a  sad  war  going 
on  in  those  days,  called  the  war  of  1812.  For  years  this  war 
with  England  had  seemed  inevitable  ;  her  people  had  long  been 
in  the  habit  of  pouncing  upon  our  vessels,  taking  or  destroying 
what  they  carried,  detaining  our  sailors  and  treating  them 
truelly,  and  thousands  of  them  were  serving  in  their  ships  of 
By  both  countries  also,  private  vessels  had  been  allowed 
I  cruise  about,  annoying  trade  and  taking  the  vessels  of  the 
nemy.  Along  our  New  England  coast  the  bad  effects  of  this 
traclice  had  been  greatly  felt,  commerce  had  dwindled  away. 
Hie  fishermen  had  given  up  their  business,  and  having  no  use 
^r  their  vessels  had  drawn  them  up  on  shore.  Food  was  very 
Bcarce, — even  bread  too  dear  to  be  had  by  many.  At  one  time 
pork  was  fifty  dollars  a  barrel, — hard,  you  see,  on  us  whose 
dish  of  pride  was  "baked  beans". 

We  New  Englanders,  snugly  settled  down  on  our  farms, 
naturally  dreaded  another  war  with  that  proud  Great  Britain ; 
like  the  young  birds  out  here  in  the  orchard — satisfied  with  the 
jmall  freedom  of  their  nest,  they  don't  want  to  venture  into  the 
ride,  free  air  outside.  The  British  thought  that  we  too  were 
Bsposed  to  stay  in  our  nests,  and  let  them  take  care  of  us ;  so 
ney  offered  insult  after  insult  to  our  flag,  and  boasted  in  their 


378  THE  BRITISH  CAKE. 

newspapers  that  the  *' United  States  could  not  be  kicked  into  a 
war".  But  war  came  at  last,  whether  we  wanted  it  or  not,  and 
I  guess  they  found  us  sterling  patriots  at  the  bottom. 

In  order  to  carry  supplies  to  her  suffering  soldiers  stationed 
at  Halifax,  a  fleet  was  sent  from  England,  with  provisions ;  but 
no  sooner  was  its  errand  accomplished  than  they  began  to 
plague  us  up  along  the  shores  of  the  Penobscot.  One  Septem- 
ber day  in  1814,  part  of  their  fleet,  carrying  many  soldiers,  and 
women,  and  children,  started  up  the  coast  to  see  what  they 
could  get  that  was  good,  and  what  they  could  give  that  was 
bad.* 

The  British  anchored  for  the  night  a  few  miles  below 
Hampden.  At  the  wharf  in  this  place  lay  the  brig  Adams, 
belonging  to  the  American  navy,  undergoing  repairs.  This 
vessel  had  been  very  successful  in  her  cruising  about,  taking 
brigs,  schooners,  and  other  prizes,  and  was  getting  ready  for 
another  voyage.  Now  what  should  her  proud  captain  think 
but  that  this  fleet  had  been  despatched  to  seize  his  pet  vessel? 
Without  a  moment's  loss,  he  hoisted  the  cannon  from  his  vessel, 
planted  it  on  the  wharf  and  at  other  advantageous  points,  and 
otherwise  made  ready  for  a  fight. 

A  company  of  our  militia  was  soon  on  the  ground  to  aid  in 
the  defense  of  the  village,  and  the  plucky  captain  and  his  men 
stood  by  their  guns  all  right,  waiting  for  the  enemy  to  appear. 
It  was  a  dismal,  stormy  night,  and  no  doubt  our  honest  farmers 
and  tradesmen,  acting  the  part  of  soldiers,  had  much  trembling 
of  heart  and  many  thoughts  of  home.  In  the  early  morning, 
through  a  dense  fog,  the  dreaded  vessels  hove  in  sight.  Our 
men  fired  a  few  rounds ;  then,  without  waiting  for  orders,  broke 
and  ran  away. 

Our  stout  captain  had  also  opened  a  raking  fire  upon  the 
vessels  and  barges  full  of  soldiers,  and  nobody  knows  what 
deed  of  valor  he  might  have  done,  or  how  much  harm  we 
might  have  been  spared,  had  he  not  at  that  point  perceived  "the 
militia  running  away.  This  sight  proved  such  a  damper  upon 
his  own  courage  that  he  just  spiked  his  guns,  set  fire  to  his 

*  [This  armament  was  under  the  command  of  Sir  John  Sherbrook,  and  consisted  of  the  seventy-fonr 
gun  snips  Dragon,  Spenser  and  Bulwark,  the  frigates  Bacchante  and  Tenedos,  the  sloops  Sylph  and  Peru- 
vian, the  schooner  Pictu,  a  large  tender,  and  ten  transports.  On  board  these  were  about  four  !hi>WMmd 
troops,  under  the  command  of  General  Gerard  Gosselin. —  Editor.] 


THE  BRITISH  CAKE. 


379 


r^ood  vessel,  and  retreated  with  the  rest.     In  less  than  an  hour 

■  after  he  fired  his  first  shot,  that  little  place  was  in  full  possession 
I  of  the  enemy. 

They  treated  the  people  with  abuse,  plundered  their  homes, 
I  killed  their  cattle,  and  offered  insults  which  were  a  disgrace  to 
I  the  British  name.     No  wonder  the  quiet  people  living  along  its 

■  banks  imagined  their  peaceful  river  full  of  cruel  demons,  and 
I  that  by  the  time  they  reached  our  little  "city"  all  hearts  were 
I  terror-stricken.  Flags  of  triice  were  sent  to  meet  them,  on 
I  land  and  water.  "Unconditional  surrender"  was  the  only 
I  reply  ;  so  there  was  nothing  to  do  but  to  receive  the  incoming 
I  foe  like  welcome  guests.  The  Court  House,  school  houses, 
I  dwelling  houses,  were  opened  to  them  ;  cattle  and  sheep  made 
I  ready  ;  all  the  bread  brought  forth,  and  the  best  of  the  gardens 
fand  wine-cellars  set  out  for  our  thankless  visitors. 

In  the  river  above  were  many  of  our  beautiful  vessels, 
[  several  of  which  were  burned  by  the  enemy,  while  some  of  the 
I  best  sailed  out  of  sight  with  the  British  fleet,  when  their  force 
1  retired  to  the  mouth  of  the  river.  My  father  used  to  tell  us  that 
1  two  or  three  of  these,  after  floating  down  the  river  a  short 
I  distance,  shrank  away  from  their  new  masters  as  if  they  had 
'  something  human  about  them,  and  in  the  dusk  of  the  evening 
got  ashore.  Our  people  saw  the  flame  of  their  burning,  and 
rejoiced  that  these,  at  least,  had  been  lost  to  the  foe. 

iOur  father  was  away  with  the  soldiers  from  the  first  alarm; 
mother  and  their  liltle  flock  was  in  the  home.  Joseph,  the 
eldest  of  the  eight,  a  lad  of  sixteen,  "  full  of  tight,"  so  soon  as 
he  heard  of  the  arrival  of  the  British,  ran  down  the  road  to  the 
house  of  our  General,  and  climbed  to  the  flat  roof  to  see  the 
"  fun."  This  roof  was  visible  to  the  enemy  at  one  point,  and 
spying,  probably,  the  boyish  figure,  one  fired  as  they  sailed  by  ; 
but  the  ball  flew  harmlessly  over  his  head,  and  plowed  itself 
into  the  high  ground  in  the  rear.  The  young  patriot,  with  the 
terrible  whiz  of  the  missile  in  his  ears,  and  muttering  the  cry  of 
his  elders,  "  British  dogs,"  flew  from  the  spot  to  the  shelter  of 
home.  After  the  fight,  however,  he  went  back,  found  and  dug 
I  up  the  ball.     I  can  show  it  to  you  to-day. 

In  the  one  chamber  of  our  low-roofed  house,  where  mother 
I  had  fled  with  us  children  on  Joseph's  precipitant  return,  we  sat 


38d  the  BRITISH  CAKE. 

clinging  to  each  other  and  listening  almost  breathlessly,  hour 
after  hour;  mother  alone  venturing  now  and  then  to  take  a 
stealthy  peep  from  the  darkened  window.  About  noon,  one  of 
the  terrible  black  barges  came  sailing  leisurely  up  the  narrow 
river  from  Hampden,  passing  the  lonely  farms,  on  one  of  which 
stood  our  house.  No  monster  from  the  lower  regions  could 
have  more  effectually  paralyzed  all  hearts  with  fear.  It  came 
to  anchor  over  a  sand  bank  which  at  low  tide  was  entirely  out 
of  water.     Some  of  our  neighbors  who  were  on  the  watch  said  : 

"They  are  strangers,  and  do  not  know  their  danger.  We 
will  surprise  and  take  that  barge  when  the  tide  goes  out."  But 
some  one  must  have  turned  traitor ;  for  after  leisurely  surveying 
the  poor  surroundings,  and  sufficiently  scaring  the  unprotected 
women  and  children,  at  the  right  moment  they  started,  haughtily 
gliding  down  the  river  to  their  fleet. 

''  They  are  going,  my  children,"  cried  the  brave  mother  from 
her  post. 

"  No  ;  oh,  no  ;  they  stop  —  and  right  here  !  " 

**Hush — they  move  —  going  —  down — down  !  Thank  God, 
they  are  below  the  bridge ! "  Up  rose  soft,  glad  cries,  as  one 
and  another  fell  on  mother's  neck  in  tears  of  joy. 

Presently  it  began  to  dawn  upon  the  little  group  that  they  had 
not  tasted  a  morsel  of  food  since  the  hurried  breakfast  by 
candle-light, —  neither  was  there  anything  cooked  in  the  house- 
**  If  the  British  come,  they  shall  not  find  pies  and  cakes  in  this 
house,"  had  been  the  mother's  word.  So  the  great  oven  was 
left  unhealed,  and  the  daily  baking  undone.  Now  both  mother 
and  children  turned  to  a  slender  girl  of  less  than  a  dozen  years, 
saying,   *'  Eliza,  you    make   us   something." 

*'  Mother,  dear,  she  replied,  "  the  cows  are  still  in  the  pasture, 
and  there  is  no  bread  in  the  house;  what  can  I  do?" 

Mother  moved  baby's  cradle,  lifted  one  of  the  rough  boards, 
—  and  there,  beneath  the  floor,  stood  shining  pans  of  milk  and 
two  big  cheeses,  which  the  wise  little  woman  had  hidden  that 
morning. 

"Here,  child,  see  what  you  can  do  with  these,  —  my  head  is 
blind  with  pain.  You,  Joseph,  carry  them  to  the  buttery ;  set 
my  rocker  close  by ;  I  will  keep  you  company." 

So  the  little  willing  fingers  skimmed  the  milk,  sifted  flour,  and 


THE  BRITISH  CAKE.  381 

stirred  up  a  cake,  rolled  and  creased  it,  and  slipping  it  into  the 
great  tin  baker,  stood  it  before  the  bright  fire.  Then  the 
"spider"  was  set  on  the  coalp,  and  with  more  cream  and  eggs  a 
**dip"  was  made,  mother  now  and  then  giving  a  loving  hint. 
Soon  the  cake,  brown  and  crisp,  was  split  and  laid  square  by 
square  into  the  smoking  cream,  and  piled  upon  this  very  plat- 
ter,—rour  Thanksgiving  platter, — brought  from  dear  old  Mar- 
blehead,  on  the  wedding  journey  to  the  woods  of  Maine. 

**  Yes,  take  all  the  Thanksgiving  things,  for  we  have  received 
deliverance  from  the  Lord  whereof  we  are  glad,"  cried  mother, 
lifting  up  her  trembling  hands. 

Just  then  a  rider  was  seen  on  the  hill-top — the  horse  they 
knew. 

**  Father,"  was  the  one  cry  that  arose. 

**  They  are  gone  —  we  are  safe,"  came  the  answer. 

Lo,  in  the  sunset — as  to-day — we  ate  our  first  *' British 
Cake."  The  long,  low  kitchen  was  very  unlike  this  room, — 
with  its  bare,  uneven  floor,  white  with  much  scouring,  its  hard 
wooden  settles,  its  immense  fire-place  and  black  crane  of  ket- 
tles; but  there  was  the  same  sunshine  to  glorify  all,  the  same 
love  within,  the  same  God  overhead. 

The  dear  child  who  made  the  cake  was  the  only  one  who 
could  not  taste  it ;  nestled  down  by  father's  side,  while  his 
fearful  tale  was  told,  her  tears  for  the  first  time  fell  thick  and 
fast.  She  was  one  who,  as  a  child,  and  afterwards  as  wife 
and  mother,  could  muster  courage  to  serve  in  time  of  need, 
keeping  her  own  pain  in  her  heart,  or  showing  it  only  at  last 
when  relief  had  come.  I  grew  up  beside  her,  looking  upon 
her  as  little  less  than  an  angel ;  for,  from  the  time  I  was  old 
enough  to  know  her  voice  until  she  died,  I  do  not  recall  one 
fretful  word. 

Well,  those  fearful  memories  melted  away  in  time,  but  as 
often  as  the  day  came  round,  we  skimmed  the  milk,  made  the 
cake,  and,  gathering  about  the  table,  ate  and  thanked  God  for 
home  and  peace, —  as  we  who  are  left,  are  doing  to-day. 

Thus  Uncle  Ben  ended  his  relation  of  the  family  tradition, 
while  his  moist  eyes  and  smiling  face  attested  at  once  his 
sympathy  with  the  former  generation  and  his  happiness  with 
the  present. 


11 

■  :i 

1! 
.1 

■\ 

i    ■ 

1 ; 


■ . 


382  EDITOR'S   TABLE. 


EDITOR'S  TABLE. 

The  feeling  aroused  among  the  Roman  Catholics  of  New  York,  by 
the  suspension  of  Rev.  Dr.  McGlynn,  from  his  functions  as  the  pastor 
of  St.  Stephen's  Church,  nominally  for  refusing  obedience  to  Arch- 
bishop Corrigan,  but  really  because  of  his  active  sympathy  with  the 
land  reform  agitation,  according  to  the  new  doctrine  enunciated  with 
so  much  originality  and  logical  force  by  Mr.  Henry  George,  may  mark 
the  era  of  a  distinctly  new  departure  in  this  country,  in  reference  to 
ecclesiastical  intrusion  into  the  domain  of  citizenship.  The  command 
issued  by  his  superior  to  Dr.  McGlynn,  to  desist  altogether  from  both 
the  advocacy  and  the  support  of  the  Henry  George  views,  is  to  be  taken 
as  the  condemnation  of  those  views  by  purely  spiritual  authority.  It 
could  by  the  same  right  condemn  any  other  views  held  by  adherents  of 
the  Roman  Catholic  church,  whether  economical,  like  those  of  Mr. 
George,  or  political,  as  in  the  case  of  party  leadership.  This  position 
once  yielded,  and  we  have  the  Roman  church  in  American  politics  at 
a  single  bound.  Conceding  this  point,  all  is  conceded.  It  would  not 
alter  the  case  at  all  in  point  of  principle,  to  admit  even  that  the 
views  of  the  church  were  right,  while  those  it  opposed  were  wrong ; 
the  issue  is  simply  on  the  right  of  any  church  whatever,  now  or  in  the 
future,  to  assume  to  control  the  free  opinions  of  American  citizens,  on 
matters  strictly  political  and  economical. 

There  is  no  need  of  going  any  further  into  the  case  than  is  necessary 
for  making  so  brief  and  plain  a  statement.  There  is  no  occasion,  in 
fact,  for  any  manifestation  of  feeling,  where  the  common  determination 
is  so  fixed  as  it  is  on  this  question.  Americans  are  too  well  grounded 
in  the  first  principles  of  their  republican  system,  to  need  to  manifest 
their  belief  by  any  ebullitions,  which  tend  rather  to  cloud  an  issue 
already  sufficiently  clear.  This  is  no  merely  local  outburst  which  the 
New  York  Catholics  have  made,  but  the  energetic  statement  of  a  case 
in  which  all  Protestants  and  Agnostics,  as  well  as  Jews  and  heretics, 
are  equally  interested  with  Catholics.  Said  one  of  the  resolutions 
adopted  by  the  mammoth  meeting  in  Cooper  Institute,  —  "As  Cath- 
olics, loyal  to  our  religion,  and  in  its  highest  interests,  we  protest  most 
emphatically  against  any  attempt  to  extend  ecclesiastical  authority  into 
the  sphere  of  politics  ;  and  while  cheerfully  yielding  full  obedience  to 
the  authorities  of  the  church  in  matters  of  religion,  we  emphatically 
deny  the  right  of  the  Pope,  propaganda,  or  archbishop  to  prescribe 
for  American  Catholics,  lay  or  cleric,  what  economic  opinions  they 
shall  express,  or  what  line  of  political  action  they  shall   pursue  or 


abstain  from ;  and  we  denounce  any  attempt  to  inflict  ecclesiastical 
penalties  upon  any  American  citizen,  lay  or  cleric,  for  political  speech 
or  action,  as  a  dragging  of  religion  into  politics  that  is  both  scandalous 
to  the  Church  and  dangerous  to  the  principles  of  American  freedom." 
This  is  good  doctrine  and  sound,  on  the  score  of  free  citizenship  ;  and 
no  pretended  exigency  of  ecclesiastical  authority  can  set  it  aside.  It  is. 
not  a  question  of  soundness  of  opinion,  but  of  the  right  to  hold  and  ex- 
press political  opinions  at  all.  The  next  step  to  suppressing  them,  is 
directing  them,  after  which  it  would  matter  but  little  what  opinions 
are  held  by  any  one  save*  by  the  ruling  sacerdotal  power. 


All  communication  between  man  and  man  is  telepathy  and  indirect 
mind-reading.  No  mind  ever  directly  knows  any  other  mind.  Modern 
psychology  is  unanimous  in  the  verdict  that  we  never  directly  know 
aught  but  our  own  subjective  states.  The  phenomena  of  the  recog- 
nized senses  are  only  so  many  various  feelings,  from  some  of  which 
we  draw  inferences  concerning  the  disposition  and  action  of  other 
minds.  ''Telepathy"  and  "mind-reading"  are  the  same  process 
carried  beyond  these  recognized  senses.  They  are,  therefore,  not 
abnormal,  and  are  worthy  of  scientific  attention  and  study. 


The  fisheries  dispute,  made  all  but  insufferably  intense  of  late  by 
the  studied  action  of  the  Canadian  government,  is  at  present  assuming 
proportions  of  a  decidedly  serious  nature.  The  careful  treatment  of  it 
in  the  President's  annual  message  to  Congress,  hardly  excited  the  ex- 
pectation that  it  would  so  soon  form  the  topic  of  an  unusual  communi- 
cation from  the  Secretary  of  the  Treasury  to  the  same  body,  the  very 
determined  and  outspoken  report  of  a  joint  committee,  and  the  intro- 
duction of  a  retaliatory  measure  in  the  House  of  Representatives. 
Nevertheless,  all  this  has  happened,  and  it  appears  to  have  come  pretty 
nearly  together.  The  defiant  spirit  manifested  by  Canada  in  relation 
to  all  United  States  fishing  vessels  entering  Canadian  waters,  endorsed 
and  approved  as  it  has  been  by  the  home  government,  could  not  be 
suffered  to  proceed  without  challenging  serious  attention  on  the  part  of 
our  government.  A  spirit  has  at  last  been  aroused  that  will  not  down 
again  short  of  a  settlement  of  this  issue  on  the  broad  and  lasting  basis 
of  equity  and  neighborhood  comity.  As  it  is  going,  Canada  is  study- 
ing the  most  effective  methods  of  offering  us  insult. 

Congress  has  placed  authority  in  the  President's  hands  to  exact  re- 
prisals of  Canada  for  her  persistent  injustice  and  hostile  spirit,  and  it  is 
understood  that  public  proclamation  of  such  a  purpose  will  not  be  long 
delayed.     If  American  vessels  are  to  be  denied  rights  in  British  North 


I 

I 
1 

li 
;i 

I 


EDITOR'S  TABLE.  383  !'! 


I-; 


■       \ 


384  EDITOR'S   TABLE. 

American  ports  or  adjacent  waters,  to  which  they  are  entitled  by  treaty 
or  by  the  law  of  natioit^,  then  the  President  is  by  proclamation  to  prohibit 
vessels  bearing  the  British  flag  and  coming  from  such  ports  from  enter- 
ing the  ports  of  the  United  States,  under  penalty  of  seizure  and  forfeit- 
ure entire.  It  is  further  proposed  to  forbid  the  entrance  into  the  United 
States  of  all  merchandise  coming  by  land  from  the  provinces  of  British 
North  America,  as  well  as  of  the  cars,  engines  and  other  rolling  stock 
of  any  railway  company  of  the  same  provinces.  This  would  obviously 
amount  to  non-intercourse,  but  it  would  be  willingly  undertaken  in 
defence  of  rights  that  plainly  belong  to  the  United  States  by  treaty  and 
by  the  law  of  nations.  It  would  be  far  better  than  war,  for  it  would 
work  all  the  desired  efl^ects  of  war,  without  its  devastation.  If  it  is 
domestic  politics  in  Canada  that  furnish  the  excuse  for  her  present 
otherwise  unaccountable  conduct  toward  us,  their  governing  motive  is 
likely  soon  to  undergo  a  change. 

• 
Some  people  say  they  like  winter  in  the  season  of  winter,  and  these 
are  the  ones  who  cannot  complain  of  the  past  month's  experience. 
Any  description  of  it  would  but  heighten  the  difficulty  of  appreciating 
the  reality.  It  is  rare  to  get  caught  here  in  New  England  in  a  temper- 
ature ranging  from  ten  to  thirty  degrees  below  zero.  Coming  at  the 
end  of  a  series  of  experiments  in  sudden  weather  changes,  it  was  a  fit- 
ting climax  for  the  nondescript  whole,  and  opened  the  eyes  of  people 
wider  than  they  had  been  opened  before.  At  best,  all  speculations  on 
the  possible  weather  of  peninsular  New  England  are  worse  than  idle, 
and  prophecies  are  wholly  out  of  the  question ;  we  are  placed  in  a 
corner  of  the  continent,  seaward,  where  the  winds  that  race  across  the 
continent  from  the  vast  atmospheric  gulf  of  the  northwest,  are  in  a 
state  of  continual  conflict  with  the  winds  blowing  in  from  the  Atlantic, 
and  contradictory  cross-currents,  with  attendant  sudden  changes,  form 
the  staple  of  a  climate  that  is  the  despair  of  all  students  of  the  atmos- 
pheric envelope.  Still,  no  part  of  the  continent  is  a  more  desirable 
place  of  residence  for  at  least  five  months  of  the  year,  while  it  is  no 
small  crumb  of  consolation  to  think  there  is  still  a  populous  latitude  to 
the  north  of  us. 


A  WRITER  in  a  local  contemporary  seriously  suggests  a  new  and 
worthy  study  for  women,  *'not  perhaps  so  classical  as  Shakespeare,  nor 
so  fashionable  as  Browning," —  the  study  o{  local  history.  Wonder  is 
expressed  that  with  the  American  appreciation  of  local  color,  and  of 
the  value  to  the  present  of  the  background  of  a  rich  past,  this  most 
attractive  of  studies  has  not  been  more  generally  pursued.     No  matter 


EDITOR'S   TABLE.  385 

if  every  student  of  local  history  is  not  able  to  give  literary  form  to  the 
result  of  her  investigations,  they  would  be  none  tKe  less  worth  making 
for  that  reason.  Everything  is  of  real  interest  that  touches  the  life  of 
the  people.  The  devoted  historian  prizes  above  all  others,  the  glimpses 
of  the  social  conditions  of  past  days,  which  can  be  had  only  by  the 
painstaking  researches  of  those  who  engage  in  them  from  the  real  love 
of  it.  The  true  story  of  every  town  with  a  history  is  worth  telling,  even 
though  each  hand  in  it  completes  but  a  short  chapter.  There  are  char- 
acters and  incidents  in  abundance  all  over  New  England  history,  that 
await  resurrection  and  the  glorification  of  a  new  life,  at  the  hands  of 
those  who  are  not  easy  to  be  appalled  with  an  opening  quarry  of 
minute  details.  The  New  England  Magazine  keeps  its  pages  at  all 
times  open  to  the  contributions  of  just  such  historic  delvers  in  our  na- 
tive soil,  and  promises  them  a  hearty  hospitality. 

«  « 
« 

Some  of  the  professors  of  the  Andover  Theological  Seminary  have 
been  formally  and  elaborately  prosecuted  for  heresy  ;  and  the  accused 
have  defended  themselves  with  equal  care,  to  show  that  they  are  sub- 
stantially orthodox,  or  at  the  least  in  accord  with  the  spirit  of  the 
Andover  creed.  The  contest  is  a  specimen  of  the  antagonistic  work- 
ings of  progressive  and  conservative  minds,  the  world  over,  but 
especially  marking,  perhaps,  our  own  age.  Men  are  trying  every- 
where to  gradually  widen,  improve,  and  reform  old  institutions  from 
within.  They  do  not  wish  to  step  down  and  out  from  their  seats  of 
power,  or  their  theatres  of  influence.  For  this  feeling,  and  the  course 
of  action  to  which  it  prompts  them,  they  have  good  reasons,  personal 
and  public.  They  may  well  consider  that  for  every  man  to  cut  his  old 
acquaintance  as  soon  as  he  gets  an  advanced  idea,  would  be  very 
foolish  and 'Very  injurious ;  and  for  any  educational  and  church  con- 
nections to  follow  the  same  course,  it  is  none  the  less  unwise.  They 
are  justified  in  reflecting  that  for  advanced  and  advancing  minds  to 
leave  old  institutions  of  wealth,  and  dignity,  and  influence,  is  only  to 
leave  them  to  be  controlled  by  the  narrow,  the  superficial,  the  ignorant, 
and  the  intellectually  unprincipled,  if  not  morally  unprincipled.  Lest, 
therefore,  they  leave  the  mightiest  agencies  in  the  most  incompetent 
hands,  it  behooves  them  to  retain  their  hold  upon  this  agency  as 
long  as  they  can  with  honor,  that  they  may  direct  them  well  and 
wisely,  and  for  the  public  good,  and  in  a  track  of  continued  and 
prospective  progress.  Just  as  a  competent  engineer  ought  not  to 
abandon  his  engine  to  an  unskilled  man,  and  endanger  the  lives  of  the 
people  on  the  train,  so  neither  should  they  abandon  the  great  enginery 
of  public  institutions  to  those  who  hate  knowledge  and    despise  ad- 


386  WEBSTER  HISTORICAL   SOCIETY. 

vancing  thought.  It  is  doubtless  manifest  that  a  train  of  thinking 
somewhat  like  this,  influences  the  minds  of  these  professors  in  the  posi- 
tion which  they  still  occupy  and  attempt  to  hold,  with  the  views 
which,  as  to  their  form,  whatever  may  be  said  of  their  spirit,  are  not 
in  clear  accord  with  the  creed  which  they  have  subscribed  to,  nor  at 
all  in  accord  with  the  known  views  of  these  who  made  the  creed,  at 
the  time  they  made  it. 

The  main  line  of  defence  followed  by  the  defendants  was  that  they 
are  substantially  orthodox,  that  their  deviation  from  the  standards  are 
only  such  as  should  be  considered  compatible  with  essential  unity. 
The  main  points  of  alleged  heterodoxy  concerned  the  condition  of  the 
heathen,  future  probation,  and  the  nature  of  the  atoning  work  of 
Christ.  The  last,  however,  was  of  too  vague  and  indeflnite  a  charac- 
ter to  steadily  and  strongly  flx  attention,  and  so  it  was  allowed  to  slide. 
It  was  argued  that  future  probation  is  morally  necessary  for  those  who 
have  not  enjoyed  the  privilege  of  hearing  the  gospel  in  this  life.  The 
defendants  were  definite  and  firm  in  its  advocacy,  adducing  to  the 
moral  arguments  in  its  favor,  and  showing  that  on  these  points  the 
creed  was  less  definite  than  on  most  others  by  the  omission  of  terms 
and  phrases  that  should  have  been  in,  had  the  framers  of  the  creed 
been  positive  and  fixed  gainst  the  doctrine  now  advocated  by  the 
defendants,  while  some  positive  terms  are  used  which  seem  to  indicate 
that  there  was  a  thought  and  feeling  of  flexibility  and  liberality  on  the 
subject. 

The  court  has  adjourned,  but  no  sentence  has  yet  been  published. 

This  contest  is  one  of  the  most  conspicuous  heresy  trials  of  our  age, 
and  is  destined  to  be  repeated  in  various  forms  and  various  connec- 
tions, and,  we  may  add,  doubtless,  with  similar  results.  It  is  every- 
where and  always  an  effort  on  the  part  of  the  advancing  minds  to  show 
how  little  they  advance,  and  on  the  part  of  their  opponents  to  show 
that  they  advance  too  much,  and  on  dangerous  ground,  and  must  be 
prosecuted  for  trespass. 

But  the  weight  of  favor  on  the  part  of  the  public  will  be  for  the  pro- 
fessors ;  and  sentences  will  be  comparatively  light,  indefinite,  and  in- 
effective ;  and  this  will  make  truth  advance  by  stealth  and  connivance, 
and  by  conquered  opposition,  as  it  always  does. 

WEBSTER   HISTORICAL   SOCIETY. 

The  founding  of  the  Webster  Historical  Society  commenced  a  new 
era  in  the  teaching  of  political  science  in  the  United  States.  Although 
suggested  by  Daniel  Webster  himself  about  three  years  before  his 
death,  when  he  pointed  out  the  principles  that   should  govern   the 


WEBSTER  HISTORICAL   SOCIETY. 


387 


general   teaching  of   political    economy,  the    Society  itself   was    not 
formed  until  nine  years  ago,  when  the  preliminary  meeting  was  held 

at  Marshfield  —  the  late  Ashburlon  Webster  presiding.  At  a  subse- 
quent meeting  in  Boston  the  articles  of  association  were  adopted, 
Stephen  M.  Allen  was  chosen  President,  and  John  D.  Long,  Albert 
Palmer,  and  Albert  E.  Pillsbury  were  chosen  a  committee  on  by-laws 
and  for  framing  a  platform  of  principles  to  be  adopted  for  the  govern- 
ment of  the  Society.  Subsequently  a  charter  was  obtained  under  the 
laws  of  the  State  of  Massac hii setts,  and  Thomas  W.  Ladd  became 
Corporation  Secretary,  Thomas  W.  Cummings,  Corresponding  Secre- 
tary, and  Francis  M.  Boutwell  was  chosen  Treasurer.  The  Centen- 
nial Celebration,  in  which  the  State  of  Massachusetts,  together  with 
the  city  of  Boston,  took  a  large  interest,  was  held  in  October,  iSSj. 
The  demonstration  in  Boston  and  Marshfieid  was  one  of  the  greatest 
r  made  in  either  place.  The  President  of  the  United  States,  with  a 
I  number  of  his  Cabinet,  the  governors  of  New  England  and  United 
States  Senators,  members  of  Congress,  and  the  whole  military  of  the 
'  State  participated  in  the  celebration. 

Governor  Long  succeeded  Mr.  Allen  as  President,  who  in  turn  was 
succeeded  by  Governor  Bell,  of  New  Hampshire,  who  was  followed 
by  Governor  Chamberlain,  of  Maine,  who  still  retains  the  office.     The 
membership  at  present  is  about  twelve  hundred  of  the  most  influential 
citizens  of  the  United  States,  chosen  from  all  political  parties  and  from 
all  religious  denominations  —  the  principles  of  the  Society  being  non- 
L  partisan  and  non-sectarian.     The  objects,  as  suggested  by  Mr.  Webster 
iseir,  were  to  teach  political  principles  of  the  highest  order  to  the 
I  young;  such,  in  fact,  as  would  be  suited  to  any  probable  party  that 
f  might  afterwards  arise,  and  not  be  repugnant  to  the  social  or  religious 
convictions  of  the  American  people.     In  addition  to  this,  the  teachings 
f  were  to  be  suited  to  the  highest  present  statesmanship,  that  the  voting 
1    citizens  of  our  country  might  awaken   to  a  full  realization  of  their 
duties  as  American  citizens,  and  for  the  development  of  rising  poli- 
ticians into  that  type  of  true  statesmanship  which  shall  ever  meet  the 
I  great  moral,  social,  economic,  and  political  issues  of  the  day,  rather 
1  than  the  hot.   blind,  unreasonable,   and   unreasoning  partizanship  of 
I  party.     Since  the  formation  of  the  Society,  like  movements  have  been 
•  made  in  various  States,  and  many  working  societies  have  been  formed. 
One  of  these,  a  most  gigantic  effort,  may  be  found  in  the  American 
Institute  of  Civics,  whose  associations  now   extend  into  most  every 
State  of  the  Union.     It    is    the    purpose   of  the  Webster   Historical 
Society  now  to  meet  the  live  issues  of  the  day  more  earnestly  than  in 
the  past,  by  allowing  discussions,  both  pro  and  con,  upon  such  matters 
I  as  strongly  exercise  the  public  mind,  giving  both  sides  an  opportunity 


388  WEBSTER  HISTORICAL   S0CIET7. 

to  discuss  their  principles  in  public.  It  was  proposed  by  the  officers 
of  the  Society  to  keep  the  expenses  at  first  within  the  moderate  limit 
of  a  contribution  of  one  dollar  each  by  resident  members,  and  keep 
within  these  bounds  of  expenditure  until  a  much  more  liberal  outlay 
should  be  finally  fixed  upon  by  the  Finance  Committee.  The  late 
Mr.  Henry  P.  Kidder  had  plans  of  establishing  a  much  larger  source 
of  revenue  for  the  Society,  which  have  been  interrupted  by  his  death. 
But  the  many  wealthy  members  are  now  developing  plans  for  a  more 
enlarged  usefulness  of  the  Society  than  ever,  which,  it  is  hoped,  may 
hereafter  be  realized,  and  at  an  early  day. 

Annual  Meeting,  Election  of  Officers  and  Appointment  of 

Committees. 


At  the  annual  election  of  officers  of  the  Webster  Historical  Society, 
held  in  Boston,  on  the  afternoon  of  January  i8,  the  following  gentle- 
men were  unanimously  chosen  :  — 

President,  the  Hon.  Joshua  L.  Chamberlain  of  Maine ;  vice-presi- 
dents, the  Hon.  Alexander  H.  Rice,  Massachusetts ;  the  Hon.  George 
F.  Edmunds,  Vermont ;  the  Rev.  Noah  Porter,  Connecticut ;  the  Hon. 
Henry  Howard,  Rhode  Island  ;  the  Hon.  George  W.  Nesmith  ;  the 
Hon.  James  G.  Blaine,  Maine  ;  the  Hon.  Thomas  F.  Bayard,  Dela- 
ware ;  the  Hon.  William  M.  Evarts,  New  York  ;  the  Hon.  J.  Henry 
Stickney,  Maryland ;  the  Hon.  D.  W.  Manchester,  Ohio ;  the  Hon. 
John  Wentworth,  Illinois ;  the  Hon.  Lucius  F.  Hubbard,  Minnesota ; 
the  Hon.  J.  C.  Welling,  District  of  Columbia  ;  the  Hon.  George  C. 
Ludlow,  New  Jersey ;  General  William  T.  Sherman,  Missouri;  Dr. 
Edward  W.  Jenks,  Michigan  ;  Captain  Clinton  B.  Sears,  Tennessee ; 
the  Hon.  Joseph  B.  Young,  Iowa ;  the  Hon.  Horace  Noyes,  West 
Virginia;  the  Hon.  James  H.  Campbell,  Pennsylvania;  the  Hon. 
William  H.  Baker,  New  Mexico;  the  Rev.  Charles  M.  Blake,  Cali- 
fornia ;  executive  committee,  the  Hon.  Stephen  M.  Allen,  N.  F.  Saf- 
ford,  Nathaniel  W.  Ladd,  the  Hon.  Edmund  H.  Bennett,  the  Hon. 
M.  Chamberlain ;  finance  committee,  the  Hon.  Nathaniel  F.  Safford, 
William  B.  Wood,  F.  M.  Boutwell,  Edward  F.  Thayer,  the  Hon. 
Alexander  H.  Rice;  historiographers,  the  Rev.  William  C.  Winslow, 
Thomas  H.  Cummings,  the  Rev.  Thomas  A.  Hyde;  committee  on 
future  work,  the  Hon.  Nathaniel  F.  Safibrd,  the  Hon.  E.  S.  Tobey, 
Stillman  B.  Allen,  the  Hon.  Mellen  Chamberlain,  Thomas  H.  Cum- 
mings ;  treasurer,  S.  M.  Allen  ;  recording  clerk,  Nathaniel  W.  Ladd ; 
corresponding  secretary,  Thomas  H.  Cummings. 

The  adjournment  of  the  society  was  taken  until  the  second  Wednes- 
day in  April  next.  It  is  intended  to  hold  then,  at  the  Old  South 
Church,  a  general  meeting  of  the  society,  and  to  have  present  many  of 
the  most  distinguished  members  from  other  States.  The  president  of 
the  society,  the  Hon.  Joshua  L.  Chamberlain  of  Maine,  is  expected  to 
preside. 


HISTORICAL   RECORD.  389 


HISTORICAL   RECORD. 

One  hundred  and  8ix  years  ago  last  autumn,  the  first  General  Court 
of  Massachusetts,  organized  under  its  new  constitution,  met  in  the  Old 
State  House,  at  the  corner  of  Washington  and  State  streets.  Since 
1797  the  sessions  have  been  held  in  the  building  on  Beacon  Hill,  com- 
pleted in  that  year.  On  Wednesday,  the  5th  day  of  January,  1887, 
Governor  Robinson,  in  the  presence  of  his  Council,  administered  the 
oath  of  office  to  the  members-elect  of  the  Legislature  for  the  current 
year.  The  House  of  Representatives  organized  by  the  unanimous 
election  .of  Hon.  Charles  J.  Noyes,  as  Speaker,  and  the  Senate,  by  the 
choice  of  Hon.  Halsey  J.  Boardman  as  president.  Mr.  E.  Herbert 
Clapp  was  unanimously  re-elected  clerk  of  the  Senate,  and  Mr. 
Edward  A.  McLaughlin,  clerk  of  the  House.  Rev.  Edmund  Dowse, 
D.  D.,  of  Sherborn,  was  chosen  chaplain  of  the  Senate,  and  Rev. 
D.  W.  Waldron  to  the  similar  office  in  the  House  of  Representatives, 
— each  for  the  eighth  time,  and  by  acclamation. 

*  * 
« 

On  the   19th  of  January,  the   Legislature  of  Massachusetts   made 

choice  of  Hon.  Henry  L.  Dawes  as  his  own  successor  to  a  seat  in  the 

United  States  Senate,  for  the  term  of  six  years,  commencing  on  the 

4th  of  March,  next.  X 

* 
The  Troy  and  Greenfield  Railroad,  forty-four  miles  in  length  —  in- 
cluding the  Hoosac  Tunnel, —  has  been  sold  by  the  State  of  Massachu- 
setts to  the  Fitchburg  Railroad  Company  for  $5,000,000  in  bonds 
and  $5,000,000  in  s^ock.  The  consolidation  of  these  roads  takes  place 
February  i,  1887.  The  capital  stock  of  the  Fitchburg  Company  will 
then  be  put  at  $12,048,800,  of  which  $5,000,000  is  to  be  common 
stock  and  the  rest  preferred  stock.  The  State  is  to  own  the  common 
stock  and  have  its  pro  rata  share  of  surplus  dividends,  after  the  pre- 
ferred stock  has  received  four  per  cent.  The  bonds  are  to  run  fifty 
years,  and  bear  interest  at  three  per  cent,  for  five  years,  three  and  a 
half  for  the  next  five,  and  four  per  cent,  thereafter. 

Forefather's  Day  was  celebrated  Wednesday  night,  December  22, 
at  Washington,  D.  C,  in  All  Souls'  Church.  Hon.  George  B.  Lor- 
ing  presided,  and  made  the  opening  address.  Speeches  were  made  by 
Hon.  George  S.  Boutwell,  Senator  Sherman,  Representative  Long  of 
Maas^husetts,  and  Lieutenant  Greely,  the  Arctic  explorer. 


390  HISTORICAL  RECORD. 

As  NOTED  in  our  January  issue,  the  New  England  Society  of  New 
York,  held  on  Wednesday  night,  December  22d,  at  Delmonico's,  its 
eighty-first  annual  supper.  Three  hundred  members  and  invited 
guests  were  present.  Ex- Judge  Horace  Russell,  the  president  of  the 
society,  presided,  and  Cornelius  N.  Bliss  acted  as  master  of  ceremonies. 
After  the  supper  Judge  Russell  made  an  address,  in  the  course  of 
which  he  paid  an  eloquent  tribute  to  the  late  President  Arthur.  The 
toast  to  Forefathers'  Day  was  responded  to  by  Rev.  Dr.  Talmage. 

• 

The  New  England  Society  of  Pennsylvania  held  its  sixth  annual 
festival  at  the  Continental  Hotel,  in  Philadelphia,  on  the  evening  of 
Wednesday,  the  22d  of  December,  and  was  presided  over  by  Rev.  Dr. 
Henry  L.  Wayland.  About  two  hundred  gentlemen  were  present. 
The  first  toast,  "The  day  we  celebrate,"  was  responded  to  in  a  very 
interesting  speech  by  George  William  Curtis,  who,  in  concluding,  said  : 
"The  New  England  spirit  of  the  Puritan  does  not  die,  and  while  it 
lasts  our  country  does  not  die."  Other  toasts  were  responded  to  as 
follows  :  "  The  President  of  the  Republic,  and  the  Union  of  the  States," 
by  William  T.  Trenholm  ;  *'The  New  Nethcrlanders,  the  Pilgrims  of 
Manhattan,"  by  Chauncey  M.  Depew,  of  New  York;  "Pennsylvania, 
the  Keystone  of  the  Union,  and  once  ils  battle  ground,"  by  ex-Senator 
John  Stewart. 


* 


The  annual  meeting  of  the  Methodist  Historical  Society,  was  held 
in  the  hall  in  the  Weslcyan  Building,  on  Bromfield  street,  Boston,  on 
Monday,  January  17th,  marking  the  expiration  of  the  eighth,  and  the 
inauguration  of  the  ninth  year  of  its  existence.  The  meeting  was  called 
to  order  by  the  first  vice-president,  Rev.  L.  R.  Thayer.  D.  D.  ;  and  the 
public  services  were  opened  with  prayer  by  Rev.  Albert  Gould.  The 
accessions  to  the  membership  during  the  year  brings  the  entire  roll 
up  to  4S4,  of  whom  3 28  are  resident  members.  The  librarian  stated 
that  13,971  books  and  pamphlets  were  already  in  his  custody.  The 
old  board  of  officers  was  re-elected.  An  event  of  the  meeting  was  the 
able  discussion  by  Rev.  Marcus  D.  Buell,  S.  T.  D.,  Assistant  Dean  of 
Boston  University,  of  "The  Elements  of  Pastoral  Leadership." 


« 


Ex-President  White,  of  Cornell  University,  has  given  to  that  in- 
stitution his  valuable  historical  library.  This  collection  of  books,  the 
gathering  of  which  has  been  Mr.  White's  life-work,  consists  of  about 
30,ocx)  volumes,  besides  some  10,000  valuable  pamphlets,  and  many 
manuscripts.     It  has  cost  more  than  $100,000.     The  collection  is  re- 


HISTORICAL  RECORD.  391 

markable  upon  French,  German,  and  American  history,  the  Middle 
Ages,  the  Jesuits  and  the  Inquisition  ;  also  upon  the  natural  sciences, 
and  on  political  economy. 

«  • 

The  corporation  of  Stratford-on-Avon,  England,  has  voted  the 
heartiest  thanks  of  the  town  to  George  W.  Childs,  of  Philadelphia, 
for  his  gift  of  a  drinking-fountain  to  the  place. 

The  discovery  is  announced  of  a  pyramid,  about  250  yards  high 
and  1500  yards  in  diameter,  near  Magdalena,  Mexico.  A  spiral  road, 
wide  enough  for  a  carriage,  winds  to  the  top  of  the  pyramid. 

January,  1887,  has  been  marked  by  several  railroad  disasters,  the 
first  of  which  almost  equals  that  of  Ashtabula,  ten  years  ago;  It  oc- 
curred on  the  Baltimore  and  Ohio  Railroad,  at  Republic,  seventy-five 
miles  west  of  Cleveland,  on  the  4th  of  the  month,  and  caused  the  death 
of  at  least  sixteen  persons.  The  accident  is  believed  to  have  been  the 
result  of  criminal  carlessness  on  the  part  of  parties  connected  with  the 
road.  In  the  disaster  near  Springfield,  Mass.,  it  is  known  that  one  man 
was  burned  to  death,  while  several  passengers  were  more  or  less  seri- 
ously injured.  Again,  by  the  telescoping  of  two  freight  trains  on  the 
Wilmington  and  Northern  Railroad,  two  men  were  killed ;  and  in 
Wisconsin,  a  passenger  train  ran  into  a  sleigh-load  of  men,  killing 
three  and  injuring  others. 


The  month  has  proved  no  less  disastrous  on  the  sea, — a  number  of 
shipwrecks  with  loss  of  life  having  already  been  reported.  The  most 
disastrous  of  these  was  that  near  Cape  Henry,  which  resulted  in  the 
loss  of  twenty-seven  lives  ;  to  which  we  must  probably  add  the  English 
steamer  Cranbrook,  with  thirty  persons  on  board,  and  loaded  with 
iron,  —  which  is  believed  to  have  sunk. 


The  year  which  has  just  closed  was  marked  by  unusual  calamities 
in  the  fisheries  on  all  the  northeastern  coasts  of  America.  In  those 
connected  with  Gloucester,  Mass.,  alone,  no  less  than  137  lives  have 
been  lost ;  by  which  fourteen  wives  were  widowed  and  thirty-five 
children  left  fatherless.  Twenty-six  vessels  were  wrecked,  having  a 
value  of  $i5o,cxx). 


392  NECROLOGY. 


NECROLOGY. 

Elijah  Babbitt  died  at  Erie,  Pa.,  January  9,  aged  96  years.  He 
was  regarded  the  oldest  practising  lawyer  in  the  United  States.  He 
was  a  native  of  Providence,  R.  I.,  and  was  admitted  to  the  Pennsyl- 
vania bar  in  1824. 

• 

Sergeant  William  Ballantyne,  the  noted  English  advocate  and  spec- 
ial pleader,  died  January  9,  at  the  age  of  75  years.  In  187 1  he  was 
counsel  for  the  Claimant  in  his  original  suit  to  secure  the  Tichborne 
baronetcy  and  estates.  In  1875  he  received  a  brief  to  go  "special"  to 
India  to  defend  a  native  prince,  charged  with  an  attempt  to  poison 
Colonel  Phayre,  the  British  resident.  He  received  a  retainer  of  five 
thousand  guineas,  and  fees  amounting  to  five  thousand  more  —  the  lar- 
gest sum  probably  ever  paid  to  counsel.  The  verdict  was  one  of  ac- 
quital.  Sergeant  Ballantyne  visited  the  United  States  a  few  years  ago, 
and  lectured  in  Boston.  In  1882  he  publised  a  book,  ^'Experiences  of 
a  Barrister's  Life". 

* 

Mrs.  Emma  Handy  Moscrop  Onderdonk  died  at  Hempstead,  L.  L, 
January  9,  aged  94  years.  She  was  the  widow  of  the  late  Bishop  Ben- 
jamin Fred  well  Onderdonk,  who  was  deposed  from  his  holy  office  af- 
ter a  protracted  trial  that  scandalized  the  Episcopal  Church  a  genera- 
tion or  more  ago. 

Colonel  James  F.  Sampson  died  at  Plymouth,  N.  H.,  January  10, 
aged  84  years.  He  was  a  pioneer  expressman,  and  the  establisher  of 
the  United  States  and  Canada  Express. 

John  Roach  died  in  New  York  January  10.  He  was  the  greatest 
ship-builder  of  the  country,  and  at  one  time  had  four  thousand  men  in 
his  employ. 

Mr.  Nathaniel  P.  Cummings,  a  well  known  Boston  contractor  and 
builder,  died  on  the  loth  of  January,  at  the  age  of  64  years.  He  was 
a  native  of  Hampton,  N.  H.,  ^nd  came  to  Boston  about  thirty  years 
ago. 

* 

Rev.  Oliver  S.  St.  John  died  in  Brooklyn,  N.  Y.,  January  10,  at  the 
age  of  72.  He  was  a  Presbyterian  Clergyman,  and  was  a  native  of 
New   York   City,    graduating   from  Amherst   College   in    1838.     He 


NECROLOGY.  393 

studied  theology  in  the  East  Windsor  Theological  School,  entering  the 
ministry  in  the  Congregational  Church  ;  after  serving  churches  in  Con- 
necticut and  New  Jersey  for  several  years,  he  was  made  professor  of 
languages  in  Lafayette  College,  remaining  there  for  a  period  of  years. 
Afterwards  he  became  pastor  of  a  Presbyterian  Church  in  Manhattan- 
ville,  N.  Y.,  and  subsequently  was  at  the  head  of  a  school  for  young 
women  in  New  York  City. 

Nathan  Millett  died  at  Salem,  Mass.,  January  14,  at  the  age  of  about 
87  years.  He  was  in  the  Salem  Custom  House  during  the  years  1845 
-46-47,  when  Nathaniel  Hawthorne  was  surveyor,  and  from  1870 
to  1880  was  a  measurer  of  bark. 

« 

• 

Dr.  William  Perry  died  at  Exeter,  N.  H.,  January  11,  at  the  age  of 
98  years.  He  was  the  oldest  person  in  Exeter,  the  oldest  graduate  of 
Harvard  College,  and  the  only  surviving  passenger  on  Fulton's  first 
steamboat  on  her  passage  down  the  Hudson  River,  seventy-nine  years 
ago.  He  was  a  native  of  Norton,  Mass.,  and  was  a  member  of  the 
class  of  181 1  at  Harvard.  After  graduating  he  studied  medicine  with 
Dr.  John  Warren,  soon  after  settling  in  Exeter,  where  he  enjoyed  a 
long  and  successful  practice,  being  esteemed  one  of  the  most  skillful 
physicians  of  his  day  in  New  Hampshire.  He  was  among  the  first  to 
advocate  the  establishment  of  State  asylums  for  the  insane.  Sarah 
Orne  Jewett,  the  authoress,  is  his  granddaughter. 


Abby  Kelly  Foster,  one  of  the  most  noted  women  of  her  time,  died 
at  her  home  in  Worcester,  Mass.,  January  14.  She  was  one  of  the 
pioneers  in  the  anti-slavery  work,  and  earned  the  highest  honors  long 
before  they  began  to  be  distributed.  Her  funeral  was  a  simple  one, 
only  her  relations  and  a  few  of  her  most  cherished  friends  and  former 
co-workers  were  in  attendance,  and  brief  addresses  were  made.  James 
Russell  Lowell  wrote  of  her  in  her  youth  : — 

• 

"No  nobler  gift  of  heart  or  brain, 
No  life  more  white  from  spot  or  stain, 
Was  e'er  on  Freedom's  altar  laid 
Than  her's  —  the  humble  Quaker  maid." 

Her  name  is  historically  inseparable  from  those  of  Lucrctia  Mott,  Ly- 
dia  Maria  Child,  and  Maria  Weston  Chapman. 

* 
Mrs.  Sarah  E.  Monmouth  of  Canterbury,   N.    H.,    died   in  London, 
N.  H.,  on  the  16th  of  January,    at  the  age   of  59   years.       She   was   a 
daughter  of  Dr.  Joseph   M.  Harper  of  Canterbury,    who  was  acting 


394  LITERATURE  AND  ART. 

Governor  of  New  Hampshire  in  1830-31,  and  a  member  of  Congress 
from  1 83 1  to  1836.  The  brother  of  Mrs.  Monmouth,  Rev.  C.  A. 
Harper,  was  h'eutenant-colonel  of  Hay's  Texan  Volunteers  in  the  Mex- 
ican War,  and  subsequently  became  a  Justice  of  the  Supreme  Court  of 
Arkansas.  In  Texas  she  first  met  her  husband,  Jacques  Eugene  Mon- 
mouth, who  was  a  Southerner.  He  was  killed  in  the  war  of  the 
Rebellion,  at  the  Lead  of  a  Louisiana  regiment.  She  lost  much  of 
her  property  soon  after  the  death  of  her  father  in  1864,  and  for  four 
years  lived  the  life  of  a  recluse  on  her  farm  in  Canterbury.  In  1871 
she  began  the  self-imposed  task  of  decorating  what  is  known  as  the 
"Warsted  Church"  in  Canterbury,  in  which  she  devotedly  continued 
for  seven  years.  On  Sundays  she  held  services  in  it,  reading  to  those 
assembled  the  sermons  of  Beecher,  Talmage,  and  Spurgeon.  She  like- 
wise decorated  her  home  after  the  same  manner,  to  which  she  gave  the 
name  of  "Rest  Valley". 

General  William  B.  Hazen,  chief  signal  officer,  died  in  Washington, 
D.  C,  January  16,  at  the  age  of  57.  He  was  a  native  of  West  Hart- 
ford, Vt.,  and  went  with  his  parents  to  Ohio  in  1833,  and  was  ap- 
pointed to  West  Point  from  that  State  in  1S51.  After  continuous  mili- 
tary experience  he  engaged  in  the  war  of  the  Rebellion,  through  the 
whole  of  which  he  performed  service  that  secured  his  steady  promo- 
tion. His  signal  achievement  in  the  war  was  the  capture  of  Fort 
McAllister,  at  Savannah,  which  he  stormed  and  carried  in  the  space 
of  five  minutes,  thus  opening  a  way  for  General  Sherman  to  the  sea. 
He  went  abroad  on  military  service  during  the  Russo-Turkish  war, 
and  upon  the  death  of  General  Meyer,  the  first  chief  of  the  signal  service 
department,   was   appointed   to   the   vacant  office. 

• 
Professor  Edward   Olsney,    LL.D.,   died  suddenly  at   Ann  Arbor, 

Mich.,  January  16.     He  was  eminent  as  a  mathematician,  having  been 

for  30  years  professor  of  mathematics  in  the  University  of  Michigan. 

He  was  the  author  of  numerous  works  on  mathematics  in  general  use. 


LITERATURE  AND  ART. 

The  latest  issue  of  Putnam's  ''Story  of  the  Nations"  series  treats  of 
Carthage,^ — prepared  jointly  by  Alfred  J.  Church  and  Arthur  Gilman. 
As  a  book  it  is  well  gotten  up  ;  as  a  history  it  appears  to  be  a  piece  of 
faithful  work  ;  and  its  style  will  commend  it  to  the  average  reader,  and 
promote  the  common  education. 

1  The  Story  of   Carthage.     New  York  and  London;    G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons,    1887.    Cloth,  lamc, 
pp.493.     Price  $1.50. 


BOOKS  RECEIVED.  395 

''Where  are  We  and  Whither  Tending"^  is  a  series  of  popular 
lectures  on  human  progress,  by  Rev.  M.  Harvey.  Its  survey  of  the 
law  and  process  of  human  development  is  clear  and  just  and  conform- 
able with  science,  though  not  burdened  with  scientific  formula ;  and  to 
many  people  it  will  be  interesting  and  profitable. 

«  « 

• 

The  Gazetteer  of  Maine^  has  reached  a  third  edition.  It  is  a  val- 
uable tliesaurus  or  encyclopedia  of  all  matters  pertaining  to  Maine,  and 
giving  in  an  appendix  all  the  important  changes  in  towns  and  cities 
since  the  previous  edition.  A  descriptive,  historical,  and  statistical 
account  of  the  State  is  first  given,  occupying  some  forty  pages ;  then 
follows,  in  alphabetical  order,  every  town,  each  having  the  space  re- 
quired to  show  its  position,  its  ponds,  streams,  hills,  rocks,  soil,  pro- 
ductions, its  business,  interesting  history,  statistics,  etc.,  etc.  Each 
post  office  is  represented  in  order  with  the  towns.  Some  such  work  as 
this  is  a  necessity  to  every  family  who  would  be  really  well-informed. 

#  « 

Among  the  advocates  of  the  new  practice  of  mind-healing  is  a  school 
which  avows  the  old  theology*  to  be  not  only  in  accordance  with  the 
practice,  but  the  only  basis  on  which  the  greatest  success  can  be 
attained,  and  that  the  miracles  of  Christ  and  his  apostles,  and  of  their 
followers  in  succeeding  years,  are  of  the  same  nature  as  these  modern 
instances.  The  leader  of  this  school  is  Dr.  E.  J.  Arens,  whose  pur- 
pose in  the  work  before  us  is  to  set  forth  the  old  theology  in  a  some- 
what new  light,  showing  "  its  application  to  the  healing  of  the  sick, 
the  redemption  of  man  from  the  bondage  of  sin  and  death,  and  his 
restoration  to  an  everlasting  life."  The  author  is  a  German,  and  in 
his  preface  expresses  his  confidence  that  "  It  will  be  unnecessary  to 
ask  the  reader  for  charitable  criticism  when  I  say  that  I  make  no 
claims  to  being  a  ripe  scholar,  and  that  my  knowledge  of  the  English 
language  is  very  imperfect." 

BOOKS  RECEIVED. 

Rbcollbctions  of  a  Private  Soldier  in  the  Army  of  the  Potomac ;  by 
Frank  Wilkeson.  New  York  and  London  ;  G.P.Putnam's  Sons,  1887.  Cloth, 
16  mo. ;  pp.246.     Price,  $1.00.     Boston,  for  sale   by  W.  B.  Clarke  and  Carruth. 

Where  are  We  and  Whither  Tending  ;  by  Rev.  M.  Harvey.  Boston ; 
Doyle  aiid  Whittle.     1S86.     Cloth,  8  vo.  pp.  134. 

2  Where  are  We  and  Whither  Tending.     Boston;  Doyle  and  Whittle.    1886.    Cloth,  4to.,  pp.  134. 

3  The  Gazetteer  of   Maine,  by  George  J.  Varncy.      Boston;    B.  B.  Russell.     1886.    8vp.,   pp.  629. 
Hjdf  Russia,  $3.50;  cloth,  $2.75.    Sold  by  subscription. 

•Old  Thbology,  in  its  Application  to  the  Healing  of  the  Sick.  Bv  E.  J.  Arens.  Boston,  1884. 
PnblUhed  by  the  author,  33  Union  Park.    Vol.  i,  cloth,  i2mo.,  pp.  318.    I'rice,  i^i.oo. 


396     INDEX  TO  MAGAZINE  LITERATURE. 

The  Law  of  Laws.  A  Synopsis  of  a  New  Philosophy.  Published  bj  the 
Remedial  Institute  and  School  of  Instruction,  Quincy,  111.  1886.  Paper,  8  vo. 
pp.  115.     Price,  $1.00. 

Cassbll's  National  Library,  edited  by  Prof.  Henry  Morley.  Paper.  Issued 
weekly  at  $5.00  a  year;  single  copies,  10  cts.  Vol.  i.  No.  44,  — Plutarch's 
Lives  op  Demetrius,  Mark  Antony  and  Themistocles.  No.  45,  —  Petbr 
Plymley's  Letters,  and  selected  essays.  No.  46,  —  Travels  in  England  in 
1782;  by  C.  P.  Moritz.  No.  47,  —  Undine.  The  Two  Captains.  No.  48, — 
Confessions  of  an  iNquiRiNG  Spirit,  and  Miscellaneous  Essays.  No.  49,  — 
As  You  Like  It  ;  Shakespeare.  No.  50,  —  A  Journey  to  the  Western  Is- 
lands OF  Scotland.  No.  51, — A  Christmas  Carol  and  Chimes.  No.  53, — 
The  Christian  Year,  by  the  Rev.  John  Keble. 

Ideology;  by  Dr.  La  Roy  Sunderland.  Boston;  J.  P.  Mendum.  1885.  Cloth, 
12  mo.  Vol.  I,  pp.  138;  Vol.  2,  pp.  200.     Bound  together. 

Agatha  AND  THE  Shadow ;  a  novel.  Boston;  Roberts  Bros.  1887.  Cloth, 
16  mo.  pp.  321.     Price,  $1.50. 

A  Year  in  Eden;  by  Harriet  W.  Preston.  Boston;  Roberts  Bros.  1887. 
Cloth,  16  mo/  pp.  420.     Price,  $1.50. 

To  the  Poet  Laureate;  a  poem,  by  Louis  Belrose,  Jr.,  Washington,  D.  C., 
Brentano's;  A.  S.  Witherbee  &  Co.,  proprietors.     Paper;  small  4 to.  pp.  4. 

Gladstone  ON  THE  New  **  Locksley  Hall."  New  York;  Brentano  Bros. 
Paper ;  small  4  to.  pp.  39.     Price  25  cts. 

Early  New  England  People;  by  Sarah  Elizabeth  Titcomb.  Boston;  W. 
B.  Clarke  &  Carruth,    publishers.     1882.     Cloth.  8  vo.  pp.  393.     Price,  $4.00. 


INDEX  TO  MAGAZINE  LITERATURE. 

[The  numerals  designate  magazines,  a  list  of  which  is  placed  at  the  close  of  this  index.  The  daUe  of 
the  magazines  is  that  of  the  month  preceding  this  issue  of  the  New  England  Magazine,  unless  otherwise 
stated.] 

Art,  Architecture.  The  Poetry  of  Form  and  Color.  Fletcher  Reede. 
23. —  A  Note  on  Impressionist  Painting.  Theodore  Child.  2.  —  French  Sculp- 
tures :  Saint-Marceaux,  Merci^,  Fiilgui^re.  William  C  BrownelL  I.  The 
Babylonian  Seals.      William  Hayes  Ward.     30. 

Biography,  Genealogy.  Samuel  Maverick.  Elbridge  H.  Goss.  33.  — 
An  Old  Time  Pastor.  Harriette  M.  Nelson.  23.  —  George  Bancroft  Wil- 
liam Sloane.  I.  —  Glimpses  at  the  Diaries  ofGouveneur  Morris.  In  Paris. 
Annie  Cary  Morris.  30.  —  Tribute  to  ex-President  Chester  A.  Arthur.  Maj\ 
y.  M.  Bundy.  6. — The  First  American  Rebel.  Hon.  yokn  W.  yohnston. 
6.  —  Victor  Hugo,  yokn  Safford  Fiske.  15.  —General  McClellan.  Pkilipfe, 
Comte  de  Paris.  15.  —  St.  Francis  De  Sales.  Fev.  S.  F.  Hotchkin.  39. — 
—  Memoirs  of  Hiland  Hall.  Henry  D.  Hall.  12. —  Genealogical  Gleanings  in 
England.  Henry  F.  Waters.  12.-*-  Rev.  John  Allin,  First  Minister  of  Dedhara. 
Prof.  Wm.  F.  Allen,  12.  — Soldiers  in  King  Philip's  War.  No.  XVII.  Rev. 
George  M.  Bodge.  13.  — The  Prings  of  Awliscombe  in  Devonshire.  13. — 
Stories  and  Memoirs  of  Washington.  Seaton  Donoko.  16. — Miss  Cleveland 
at  Home.  Laura  C,  Halloway.  16.  — With  Garfield  at  College.  Charles  S, 
Hals€y.     16. 


INDEX  TO  MAGAZINE  LITERATURE.     397 

Description,  Travel,  Adventure.  Old  Time  Epitaphs.  Clara  Spaulding 
Brown,  23.  —  Some  War  Memoranda.  Walt  Whitman,  4. — New  Orleans. 
Charles  Dudley  Warner,  2.  —  Campaigning  with  the  Cossacks.  I.  A  Sum- 
mer Campaign.  Franh  D,  Millett,  2.  —  The  Home  Acre.  Part  IX.  E.  P, 
Roe,  2.  —  Social  Life  and  Character  in  the  Paris  of  the  Revolution ;  from  the 
Diaries  of  Gouveneur  Morris.  Annie  Cary  Morris,  30.  —  Around  the  World 
on  a  Bicycle.  XVI.  Thomas  Stevens,  7.  —  After  Geronimo.  Lieut,  John 
Bigelow,  yr,^  U.  S.  A.  7. — The  Sunset  Land.  XIII.  Capt,  Edtvard  Kemys, 
yr,  7.  —  The  Last  Voyage  of  the  Surprise.  IX.  7.  —  Snow-shoeing  in  the 
Rocky  Mountains.     E.  R.  Warren.     7.  —  A  Montreal  Winter  Glimpse,      yohn 

C,  Martin,     7. 

Education.  Smith  College.  M.  A.  yordan,  23. — Wellesley  College. 
yean  Kincaid.  8. — A  Practical  Education. — Does  it  Educate?  M,  C,  Mis- 
simer,  8. — A  Year  with  Cicero.  Adeline  A.  Knight.  8.  —  Early  withdrawal 
from  School  of  Boys  more  than  Girls.    /.  y.  Clarh  and L.  R.  Klemm^Ph.D,  8. 

History.  Samuel  Maverick.  Elbridge  H.  Goss,  23.  —  Abraham  Lincoln. 
A  History,  yohn  G.  Nicolay;  yohn  Hay.  i.  — Reminiscences  of  the  Sie^e  and 
Commune  of  Paris.  B.  B.  Washburne,  30.  —  The  Babylonian  Seals.  William 
Hayes  Ward,  30.  —  Social  Life  and  Character  in  the  Paris  of  the  Revolution ; 
from  the  Diaries  of  Gouveneur  Morris.  Annie  Cary  Morris,  30.  —  A  Curious 
Chapter  in  Vermont's  History,  y,  L,  Payne.  6. — Some  Reminiscences  of 
Early  Trinity  (county,  Cal.)     T.  B.  yones.     10. 

Literature.  Old  Time  Epitaphs.  Clara  Spaulding  Brown,  23.  —  To  An 
Archaeologist.  A  poem.  Samuel  V.  Cole.  23.  —  George  Bancroft.  William 
M,  Sloane.  i.  —  A  Group  of  Pre-Revolutionary  Editors.  5".  G,  W,  Benjamin, 
6. — Victor  Hugo,  yohn  Safford  Fiske.  15.  —  E.  P.  Whipple  as  a  Critic. 
yulius  H,  Ward.  15.  —  A  Year  with  Cicero.  Adeline  A.  Knight.  8-  —  His- 
tory in  American  Colleges.     VI.      Yale  University.     Herbert  B,   AdamSy   Ph, 

D.  8.  — The  Old  English  of  the  Psalter.     Prof,  R,  H,  Thornton,   LL.  D,  29. 

—  History  of  the  Fable.     29. 

Politics,  Economics,  Public  Affairs.  The  Renaissance  of  Nationalism. 
yndge  Tourgee,  4. — Socialism:  Its  Fallacies  and  Dangers.  Charles  Brad- 
laugh.  4.  —  The  Progress  of  Minnesota.  By  the  Governor,  4. — Future  of 
the  National  Banking  System,  yohn  yay  Knox.  4. — The  Anthracite  Coal 
Pool,  yames  F.  Hudson.  4.  — The  Constitutional  Amendments,  Chief  yus- 
tice  Chase,  4.  —  What  shall  be  done  with  the  Surplus.  Wm,  M,  Grosvenor, 
4.  —  Labor  in  Pennsylvania.  Henry  George.  4.  — Henry  George's  Land  Tax. 
Edward  Gordon  Clarh.  4.  —  Defense  of  the  President.  Donn  Piat.  4.  — The 
Navies  of  the  Continent,  I.  The  French  Navy.  Sir  Edward  y.  Reed.  2. — 
The  Relative  Strength  and  Weakness  of  Nations,  I.  Edward  Athinson.  i, — 
Our  Defenceless  Coasts.  F.  V,  Greene,  30.  —  Socialism.  Francis  A.  Walker, 
30.  — The  Property  Line  of  1768.  Charles  W.  E.  Chapin.  6.  — John  Van  Bu- 
ren.  A  Study  in  Bygone  Politics,  I.  Charles  H.  Peek,  6.  —  The  Baltimore 
Convention,  i860.  A,  W.  Clasun.  6. — Religion  in  the  Public  Schools.  Ar- 
chibald Alexander  Hodge.  15.  — The  Past  and  the  Future  of  the  Irish  Question. 
15.  yames  Brycey  M.  P,  i^.  —  Extirpation  of  Criminals.  Charles  Dudley 
Warner.  15.  —  Is  Ireland  aNation.?  W.  y.  Corbett,  M.  P.  10.— The  Title 
Agitation  in  England.  Francis  B.  yames.  29. —  Health  Insurance.  Woods 
Hutchinson,  27.  — Existing  Methods  of  Sewage  and  House  Refuse  Disposal. 
Alfred  Hill,  M.D.  27.  —The  Old  Roman  Life  Tables,     yudge  y.  P,  Bradley,  27 

—  National  Adulteration  Bill.  27. — Brazil:  Movements  of  the  Population,  the 
Climate,  and  the  Diseases  of  the  Chief  Cities.     T.  P,  Corbally^  M,D,  27. 

Recreation,  Sports.    Fencing  and  the  New  York  Fencers.     Henry  Eckford, 
I.  —  An  Indian  Horse.     Lieut.  C.  E.  S.  Wood.  i. —  Snow-Shoes  and  Toboggan. 
Newell  B,  Woodworth,    7,  —  Snow-shoeing  in  the  Rocky  Mountains.      E.  R. 
Warren,    7. — A  Bout  with  the  Gloves.     Charles  E.  Clay,    7. 

Religion,  Morals.  Religious  Denominations.  Rev.  Henry  M.  Dexter,  D. 
D.  23. — Old  Time  Epitaphs.  Clara  Spaulding  Brown.  23. — Good  Works 
of  False  Faiths.     Gail  Hamilton.     4.  —  Religion.     George  Sand.     4. — Trans- 


398      INDEX  TO  MAGAZINE  LITERATURE. 


cendentalism  of  the  Ages.  Rev,  William  /.  Gill.  23.  —  Is  the  New  Church 
Kvangelical?  Julian  K.  Smyth.  24. — What  is  the  Inspiration  of  the  Scrip- 
tures? Philip  B.  Calfcll.  \2^.  — Is  there  a  Spiritual  World.  T.  F.  Wri^rkt,  24. 
—  Foot  prints  of  the  Saviour,  yohn  Worcester,  24.  — Has  the  New  Church  a 
Gospel  for  the  Agnostics .?  E.  A,  Beaman,  24. — Our  Relations  with  Each 
Other.  Ella  F,  Moody.  24. — Religion  in  the  Public  Schools.  Archibald 
Alexander  Hodge.  15.  — The  Extirpation  of  Criminals.  Charles  Dudley  War- 
ner. 15. —  The  Monodic  School  of  Sacred  Music.  D.  E,  Ilervey,  LL,B,  39. — 
Law  and  Liberty  in  the  Church.     Rev.  D,  D.  Chapin,  29. 

Philosophy,  Metaphysics.  Transcendentalism  of  the  Ages.  Rev,  William 
I.  Gill.  23. — The  Present  Position  of  Philosophy  in  Britain.  Henry  Calder- 
XV  cod,     15. 

Science,  Natural  History,  Discovery,  Inventions.  Comets  and  Meteors. 
Prof.  S.  P.  Langley.  i. —  Our  Defenceless  Coasts.  F.  V.  Greene.  30. — 
The  Present  Status  of  the  Irrigation  Problem.  Warren  Olney,  10 — The 
Monodic  Schools  of  Sacred  Music.  D,  E,  Hervey^  LL.B.  29.  — The  Work  of 
the  Plumber,  and  the  Modes  of  Conveying  and  Disposing  of  Sewage,  y.  y. 
Powers^  C.  E.  27.  — Trap  Syphonage.  Glenn  Brozvn.  27.  — Are  Small  Pox  and 
Cow  Pox  one  and  the  same  Disease.*^     Geo.  Flemings  LL.D.  27. 

Sociology,  Social  Life.  Socialism  :  Its  Fallacies  and  Dangers.  Charles 
Bradlaugh.  4. — Are  the  Heathen  our  Inferiors.^  yoseph  Hewes.  4. —  Narka. 
A  Story  of  Russian  Life.  Parti.  Kathleen  0*Mcara.  2. — Social  Life  and 
Character  in  the  Paris  of  the  Revolution ;  from  the  Diary  of  Gouveneur  Morris. 
Annie  Cary  Morris.  30. — Socialism.  Francis  A.  Walker.  30. — Some  Rem- 
iniscences of  Early  Trinity  (county,  Cal.)  T.  E.  yones.  Some  Famous  Unequal 
Marriages.  S.E.  Archer.  16.  — Are  Small  Pox  and  Cow  Pox  one  and  the  same 
Disease.*^  Geo.  Fleming,  LL.D.  27.  — The  Old  Roman  Life  Tables,  yudge 
y.  P.  Bradley.  27.  — Brazil:  Movements  of  the  Population,  the  Climate,  and 
the  Diseases  of  the  Chief  Cities.     T.  P.  Corbally,  M.  D.  27. 

Theology,  Polemics.  Religious  Denominations.  Rev.  Henry  M.  Dexter^ 
D.  D.  23.  Good  Works  of  False  Faiths.  Gail  Hamilton.  4. — Why  am  I  a 
New  Churchman.^  Rev.  yames  Reed.  4.  —  Religion.  George  Sand.  4. — 
Is  the  New  Church  Evangelical?  yulian  K.  Smyth.  24.  —  What  is  the  Inspir- 
ation of  the  Scriptures.?  Philip  B.  Cabell.  24.  —  Is  there  a  Spiritual  World? 
T.  F.  Wright.  24.  —  Law  and  Liberty  in  the  Church.  Rez*.  D.  D.  Chapin. 
29.  —The  Christian  Church— What  is  It?    Rev.  E.  B.  Taylor.     29. 

War.  Some  War  Memoranda.  Walt  Whitman.  4.  —  Burnsidc's  Contro- 
versies with  Lincoln.  4.  — The  Third  Day  of  Gettysburg.  Gen.  Henry  y.  Hunt. 
I.  — Pickett's  Charge,  and  Artillery  Fighting  at  Gettysburg.  Gen.  B.  P.  Alex- 
ander.    I. — Our  Defenceless  Coasts.     F,  V.   Greene.     30. 


/  The  Century. 

2  Har^^s  Magazine, 

3  Andover  Review. 

4  North  American  Review. 

5  Popular  Science  Monthly. 

6  Magazine  0/  American  History. 

7  Outing. 

8  Education. 

9  Lippincott'^s  Magazine. 
10  Overland  Monthly. 

ti  Atlantic  Monthly. 

12  .Ve7v  England  flisi.  and  Gen.  Register. 

IS  Rhode  Island  Historical  Magazine. 

14  The  Forum. 

/5  Ne^v  Princeton  Review. 


tb  The  Brooklyn  Magazine. 
17  The  Southern  Bivouac. 
f8  The  Citizen, 
iq  Political  Science  Quarterly. 
20  Unitarian  Review. 
2t  The  New  Englander. 
22  The  Magazine  of  A  rt. 
2j  Ne7v  England  Magazine. 

24  Neiv  yerusalem  Magazine. 

25  The  Electric  Magazine, 

26  Library  Notes. 

27  The  Sanitarian 

28  yohn  Hopkins  University  Studies. 
2q  The  Church  Magazine. 

SO  Scribner's  Magazine. 


f 


THE   UNIVERSALISr  CHURCH. 


403 


English-speaking  race  at  the  beginning  of  the  eighteenth  century 
gave  almost  unqualifiecl  assent. 

But  very  early  in  this  century  there  began  to  be  marked  symp- 
toms of  uneasiness  and  even  of  dissent.  The  iron  of  the  creed 
was  entering  the  souls  of  men.  Arminianism  in  England,  and, 
later  on,  both  the  Arminian  and  Socinian  tendencies  in  America, 
were  the  distinct  manifestations  of  a  solemn  protest  in  tlie  bosom 
of  Protestantism  itself  against  the  awful  conclusions  of  Calvinistic 
predestination  and  election.  During  this  upheaval  the  Univer- 
salist  denomination  had  its  birth.  The  movement  began  on  the 
other  side  of  the  water,  but  it  was  very  soon  transferred  to  Amer- 


ica; and  almost  its  entire  history  is  confined  to  these  shores.  Dr. 
Eddy,  in  his  work  entitled,  "  Universalism  in  America,"  mentions 
five  distinct  channels  by  which  the  doctrine  of  universal  salvation 
was  brought  hither.  Dr.  George  De  Benneville.  born  of  French 
refugees  in  London,  in  1 703,  after  expulsion  from  England  because 
of  his  heretical  opinions,  and  after  barely  escaping  death  from  the 
same  cause  in  France,  came  to  America  in  1741,  and  settled  in 
Pennsyh-ania.  where  he  practised  medicine  and  preached  the  gos- 
pel in  different   parts  iif  the  State  until  his  death,  in  1793.     The 


404 


THE   VNIVERSAUST  CHURCH. 


German  Baptists,  commonly  called  Dunkers,  who  settlcti  in  Penn- 
sylvania in  1719,  "were  from  the  first  believers  in  universal  resto- 
ration." The  Rev.  Richard  Clarke,  rector  of  St.  Philip's  Church, 
Charleston,  S.  C,  1754-59.  ^  clergyman  of  the  Episcopal  Church, 
having  an  European  reputation,  was  verv'  pronounced  in  his  advo- 
cacy of  the  doctrine.     He  had  strong  sympathizers  among  leading 


men  uf  his  denomination  in  diffeiL'iit  |)arln  ul  ihe  country.    Among  ^ 
the  Congregationalists,  the  attitude  of  Dr.  Charles  Chauncy,  pastor  * 
of  tht;  First  Church  of  Boston,  and  of  Dr.  Jonathan  Mahew,  pastor 
of  the  West  Church,  is  well  known. 

But  the  Universalist  denomination,  a.s  it  e\ists  to-day,  traces  its 
orifjin  to  the  Rev.  John  Murray,  who  came  tn  this  country  and 
preached   his  first   --erniun   in  Thomas   I'ntcers  Church,  at  Good 


THE   UXIi'ERSALIST  CHURCH. 


405 


Luck,  N.  J.,  on  the  30lh  of  September,  1770.  Mr.  Murray  was 
bom  in  Ahon,  Kngland,  in  1741.  When  he  was  but  twelve  years 
old  he  came  un(Ii;r  the  influence  of  John  Wesley,  who  honored 
him  with  his  confidence,  so  that  he  became,  a  few  years  later, 
an   earnest  and  eloquent  advocate  in  his  connection,     But  upon 


meeting  and  hearing  the  Rev.  Geor^je  Whitefield,  he  adopted  Cal- 
vinistic  views,  and  became  a  communicant  in  his  Tabernacle,  in 
London.  Here  he  was  so  marked  by  his  zeal  and  ability  that  he 
wa.s  .specially  commissioned  to  reclaim  a  young  lady  of  the  congre- 
gation who  had  adopted  the  views  of  James  Relly,  an  UniversalJst 


4o6 


THE    LW'IVERSAUST   CHL'RCH. 


preacher  of  London.  The  task,  which  seemed  tu  him  an  easy  one, 
proved  greater  than  he  anticipated  ,  fur  not  onlj  was  the  young 
lady  strong  in  her  convictions,  but  by  her  questions  and  answers 
she  suggested  problems  which  troubled  him  sort!)  for  a  long  time. 
Against  the  doctrine  of  Relly  he  entertained  the  strongest  preju- 


dice. But  such  was  the  candor  of  his  mind  that  he  was  com[>elled 
to  admit  the  force  of  arguments  which  he  could  not  satisfactorily 
answer.  Some  months  after  the  conversation  with  the  young  lady 
above  referred  to,  he  accidentally  came  upon  a  copy  of  Relly's 
"  Union,"  a  small  treatise  in  which   the  theology  of  Relly  wa« 


THE   UNIVERSALIST  CHURCH.  ao? 

distinctly  and  particularly  set  forth.  To  this  he  gave  a  most 
attentive  and  prayerful  study,  meanwhile  becoming  a  regular 
attendant  upon  Mr.  Relly's  preaching.  The  result  was  a  com- 
plete conversion  to  what  was  then  known  as  "  Rellyism."  He 
was  strongly  urged  by  Mr.  Relly  to  become  a  preacher  of  the  new 
faith,  but  firmly  declined.  Not  long  after  he  met  with  a  severe 
affliction  in  the  death  of  his  beautiful  and  devoted  wife,  which  so 
overwhelmed  him  with  melancholy  that  he  sought  relief  by  emi- 
gration. His  hope  was  that  he  might  bury  himself  in  the  wilder- 
ness of  the  New  World.  But  his  coming  hither  was  accompanied 
by  so  many  wonderful  signs  that  he  could  not  regard  them  as 
other  than  the  indications  and  leadings  of  Providence,  setting  him 
apart  and  sealing  him  for  the  proclamation  of  the  great  and  uni- 
versal hope.  Therefore,  after  resisting  by  every  means  at  his 
command  the  solicitations  of  Mr.  Potter,  he  consented  to  preach 
in  the  church  which  the  latter  had  built,  believing  that  God  would 
one  day  send  him  a  preacher  who  cherished  the  same  broad  faith 
as  himself. 

This  event  put  an  end  forever  to  his  drtam  of  solitude  and 
obscurity.  Mr.  Potter's  church,  to  be  sure,  was  apparently  in  the 
wilderness  ;  and  Mr.  Murray's  first  thought  was  that  he  would 
spend  his  days  there  as  a  kind  of  private  chaplain  to  his  new-found 
friend  and  immediate  neighbors.  But  so  great  was  the  fame  of 
his  preaching,  that  people  flocked  to  hear  him  from  more  than 
twenty  miles  around.  Nor  was  this  all.  To  quote  his  own  lan- 
guage, '*  solicitations,  earnest  solicitations,  poured  in  from  the 
Jerseys,  from  Philadelphia,  and  from  New  York  ;  and  it  became 
impossible  to  withstand  their  repeated  and  imposing  energy." 
He  entered  almost  at  once  upon  a  series  of  missionary  journeys, 
which  carried  him  along  the  Atlantic  seaboard,  farther  and  farther 
away  from  the  home  of  his  friend,  as  fJr  to  the  north  as  Ports- 
mouth, N.  H.  As  early  as  1773  he  had  made  several  visits  to 
Rhode  Island,  preaching  to  immense  audiences  in  Newport,  East 
Greenwich,  and  Providence,  and  forming  a  close  and  lifelong 
friendship  with  General  Nathanael  Greene  and  other  distinguished 
Rhode  Island  patriots.  It  was  to  their  influence,  undoubtedly, 
that  he  was  indebted,  on  the  outbreak  of  the  Revolution,  for  his 
appointment  and  confirmation  as  chaplain  of  the  Rhode  Island 
Brigade,  notwithstanding  the  protest  to  the  contrary  of  every  other 
chaplain  of  the  provincial  army. 


408  THE   UNIVERSALIST  CHURCH. 

Mr.  Relly  was  a  Calvinist  His  special  revolt  was  at  the  Calvin- 
istic  idea  of  reprobation.  He  held  that  the  atonement  was  com- 
plete. All  men  had  fallen  in  Adam  ;  through  "  union  "  with  him 
had  actually  participated  in  his  transgression,  and  therefore  merited 
damnation.  But,  in  like  manner,  all,  through  "union"  with  Christ, 
the  second  Adam,  had  entered  into  the  atonement.  Their  redemp- 
tion, though  not  their  salvation,  was  therefore  complete.  Mr. 
Murray  accepted  this  doctrine  without  qualification.  As  he  was 
entirely  alone,  so  far  as  he  knew,  in  this  hemisphere,  in  the  hope 
he  cherished,  he  did  not  make  formal  announcement  of  it,  but 
confined  the  expression  of  his  convictions  entirely  to  the  language 
of  the  Scriptures.  The  consequence  was  that  his  orthodoxy  for 
some  time  was  not  suspected,  and  the  phurches  of  the  standing 
order  were  freely  opened  to  him.  But  gradually,  as  men  came  to 
have  a  clearer  understanding  of  his  opinions,  he  encountered 
opposition.  While  preaching  in  Boston,  in  1774,  his  life  was 
seriously  threatened,  and  on  many  other  occasions  he  was  made 
to  feel  the  bitterness  of  religious  persecution. 

I  have  said  that,  %o  far  as  he  himself  knew,  he  was  the  only 
person  in  America  who  cherished  the  sentiments  of  Relly.  But  on 
visiting  Gloucester,  November  3,  1 774,  to  his  amazement  and  delight, 
he  found  a  number  of  persons,  belonging  to  families  of  the  first 
consequence  in  that  then  important  commercial  town,  who  not 
only  had  read  Relly's  **  Union,**  but  were  thoroughly  in  accord 
with  its  teachings.  His  own  language  is  as  follows :  "  I  had 
travelled  from  Maryland  to  New  Hampshire  without  meeting  a 
single  individual  who  appeared  to  have  the  smallest  idea  of  what 
I  esteemed  to  be  the  truth  as  it  is  in  Jesus ;  but,  to  my  great 
astonishment,  there  were  a  few  persons,  dwellers  in  that  remote 
place,  upon  whom  the  light  of  the  gospel  had  more  than  dawned. 
The  writings  of  Mr.  Refly  were  not  only  in  their  hands^  but  in 
their  hearts^  By  these  persons,  and  others  who  were  drawn 
around  him  by  the  novelty  and  power  of  his  preaching,,  he  was 
invited  to  establish  himself  permanently  in  Gloucester.  This 
invitation  he  accepted,  and  barring  the  term  of  his  chaplaincy  in 
the  army,  continued  to  reside  there  until  his  removal  to  Boston 
in  1793.  The  fruit  of  Mr.  Murray's  efforts  in  Gloucester  was  a 
religious  society  of  commanding  influence  which  has  maintained 
its  importance  and  enjoyed  an  uninterrupted  prosperity  to  the 
present  hour. 


THE   UNIVERSALIST  CHURCH.  409 

During  Mr.  Murray's  residence  in  Gloucester,  a  legal  contro- 
versy arose  which  was  of  far-reaching  importance,  involving  not 
only  the  right  of  independent  worship,  but  of  exemption  from 
taxation  for  the  support  of  the  standing  order.  A  suit  was  brought 
in  Mr.  J/Iurray*s  name,  in  1783,  and  was  under  litigation  until 
1786,  when  a  decision  was  given  in  favor  of  the  plaintiff. 

An  Universalist  society  having  been  organized  in  Boston,  a  meet- 
ing-house purchased  and  fitted  for  service,  Mr.  Murray  accepted  a 
call  to  the  pastorate  and  was  installed  October  24,  1793.  Here  he 
remained,  exercising  his  gifts  as  a  minister  of  universal  grace 
until  his  death,  twenty-two  years  later,  attracting  to  himself  large 
congregations,  and  putting  forth  an  influence  which  has  not  yet 
ceased  to  be  felt  in  every  part  of  the  continent. 

Mr.  Murray's  efforts  were  not  confined  to  his  own  pulpit,  but 
throughout  his  whole  ministerial  career  he  answered  calls  as  they 
were  made  upon  him  to  preach  in  different  and  distant  parts  of 
the  country.  The  consequence  was  the  organization  of  a  number 
of  societies  in  New  England,  New  York,  and  other  places  as  far 
south  as  Philadelphia.  A  goodly  number  also  of  devoted  and  able  ^ 
men  were  drawn  into  active  ministerial  co-operation  with  him, 
among  whom  may  be  mentioned  Adams  Streeter ;  Caleb  Rich ; 
Edward  Mitchell,  Mr.  Murray's  colleague  during  the  latter  part  of 
his  life ;  George  Richards,  a  preacher  of  great  eloquence  and  a 
man  of  extraordinary  literary  gifts ;  Walter  Ferris,  whose  pen 
drafted  the  Profession  of  Belief,  adopted  by  the  Universalist 
General  Convention  at  Winchester,  N.  H.,  in  1803 ;  Elhanan 
Winchester,  one  of  the  most  remarkable  men  of  his  time ;  and 
Hosea  Ballou. 

Mr.  Ballou  was  destined  to  exert  an  influence  transcending  that 
of  Mr.  Murray,  not  only  upon  the  character  of  the  Universalist 
body,  but  upon  the  theological  opinions  of  his  time.  He  was  born 
in  Richmond,  N.  H.,  April  30,  1771.  His  parents  were  Baptists, 
and,  in  the  atmosphere  of  ,that  faith,  he  was  reared.  Being  of  a 
devout  and  inquiring  turn  of  mind,  by  patient  and  searching 
examination  of  the  Scriptures,  before  he  was  eighteen  years  old, 
he  had  become  fully  persuaded  of  God's  universal  and  impartial 
grace.  In  another  half-dozen  years  he  became  convinced  that 
reason  and  Scripture  were  alike  opposed  to  the  commonly  received 
notion  of  the  Trinity  and  the  Calvinistic  idea  of  the  atonement. 
At  the  General  Convention  in  Oxford,  in  1794,  he  was  by  a  sudden 


* 


4IO  THE   UNIVERSALIST  CHURCH. 

impulse,  we  might  almost  believe  an  inspiration,  marked  out  by 
Elhanan  Winchester  for  ordination  to  the  Christian  ministry. 
With  that  moment  began  a  career  unsurpassed  by  the  greatest 
lights  of  the  Christian  Church,  a  career  which  places  him  in  the 
front  rank  of  original  thinkers  and  teachers,  side  by  side  with  men 
like  St.  Augustine,  Martin  Luther,  John  Calvin,  and  Jonathan 
Edwards.  His  settlements  were  as  follows  :  Dana,  Mass.  ;  Barnard, 
Vt.  ;  Portsmouth,  N.  H.  ;  Salem,  and  Boston.  In  the  autumn  of 
1798  he  was  invited  by  Mr.  Murray  to  supply  his  pulpit  for  ten 
weeks,  during  his  absence  on  a  tour  to  Philadelphia.  The  Rev. 
Dr.  Miner  in  his  chapter  on  a  century  of  Universalism,  in  the 
Memorial  History  of  Boston,  says:  "His  remarkable  familiarity 
with  the  word  of  God,  his  wonderful  powers  of  reasoning,  his 
profound  insight  into  the  human  heart,  and  his  inexhaustible 
store  of  illustrations  gave  him  a  power  over  an  assembly  rarely 
equalled.  He  had  a  large  hearing  in  Boston.  The  public  mind 
was  greatly  moved.  On  the  last  day  of  his  ministration  he  gave 
a  very  frank  and  clear  explanation  of  his  new  views  touching 
Christ  and  the  atonement."  The  occasion  has  historic  signifi- 
cance. It  may  be  regarded  as  marking  a  new  departure  in  the 
Universalist  theology  of  that  period.  Mrs.  Murray,  in  the  absence 
of  her  husband,  did  what  she  could  to  undo  the  mischief  of  that 
sermon.  She  caused  it  to  be  announced  from  the  singing-gallery, 
that  the  views  to  which  they  had  just  listened  were  not  the  views 
usually  proclaimed  from  that  pulpit.  But  it  was  in  vain.  The 
floods  had  broken  loose,  and  were  fast  sweeping  away  every  vestige 
of  Calvinism  from  the  Universalist  faith. 

At  this  time  Mr.  Ballou  was  engaged  in  the  most  profound 
study  of  the  Scriptures,  "  permitting  himself  but  a  very  brief  por- 
tion of  time  for  sleep.'*  His  son  says,  "He  thought  much,  com- 
muned with  himself  alone,  and  even  at  that  period  accustomed 
himself  to  a  degree  of  inward  or  mental  communion  with  himself, 
that  would  seem  to  exclude  the  world  about  him,  for  the  time 
being,  from  his  sense  of  seeing  or  he^irig-  •  •  •  Sometimes  these 
moments  were  followed  by  the  use  of  the  pen  for  records  in  his 
note-book  of  texts  and  sermon  heads,  sometimes  by  a  reference 
to  the  Scriptures,  and  sometimes  by  a  walk  in  the  open  air ;  then 
his  lips  would  be  seen  to  move,  and  he  would  be  quite  oblivious  to 
all  outward  circumstances."  He  was  undoubtedly  engaged  in 
working  out  and  systematizing  the  opinions  which  shortly  after 


THE   UNIVERSALIST  CHURCH,  411 

found  their  way  into  print.  In  1804  he  published  "Notes  on  the 
Parables  of  the  New  Testament,'*  and  in  the  following  year  the 
work  which  exceeded  in  importance  every  other  work  that  ever 
came  from  his  hand,  namely,  his  "Treatise  on  Atonement."  Hor- 
ace Greeley,  and  other  judges  equally  competent,  have  called  this 
the  most  remarkable  book  of  the  century ;  and  certainly  when  we 
remember  that  this  young  man,  who  was  destitute  of  anything  like 
a  formal  education,  utterly  unacquainted  with  the  literature  of 
theology,  without  commentaries  or  any  of  the  ordinary  appliances 
of  scriptural  study  and  interpretation,  with  nothing,  in  fact,  one 
might  almost  say,  but  the  Scriptures  in  the  vernacular,  had  thought 
his  way,  unaided  and  alone,  to  the  substitution  of  a  moral  for  a 
legal  view  of  the  atonement,  to  a  system  of  theology  which  makes 
Christ  the  mediatorial  agent  of  the  Almighty  for  the  ushering  in  of 
the  kingdom  of  righteousness,  and  the  bringing  of  the  entire  moral 
universe  into  willing  subjection  to  His  power  and  love ;  it  was  not 
only  a  great  book  for  that  age,  but  one  of  the  few  great  books  of 
all  ages. 

Of  course  it  would  be  too  much  to  claim  that  a  book  so  pro- 
duced is  above  criticism.  Apart  from  defects  of  style,  which  we 
should  naturally  expect,  there  are  phases  of  doctrine  which  unques- 
tionably need  modification.  The  Calvinistic  atmosphere  in  which 
he  was  brought  up  led  him  to  an  extreme  view  of  Divine  Sover- 
eignty, which  some  have  thought  gives  an  Antinomian  tinge  to 
his  theology.  His  theory  that  "  the  Scriptures  begin  and  end  the 
history  of  sin  in  flesh  and  blood,  and  that  beyond  this  mortal  exist- 
ence the  Bible  teaches  no  other  sentient  state,  but  that  which  is 
called  by  the  blessed  name  of  life  and  immortality,"  produced  that 
disturbance  in  the  Universalist  body  which  culminated  in  what 
is  known  as  the  Restorationist  movement,  and  led  many  people  to 
feel  that  the  Universalist  view  of  sin  is  superficial  and  frivolous. 
It  is  but  fair  to  say,  however,  that  the  application  of  the  doctrine 
to  practical  life  by  Mr.  Ballou  and  those  who  held  with  him,  is  the 
best  answer  to  the  criticism.  But  notwithstanding  this  criticism, 
this  open  rupture  of  the  churcli,  — under  the  powerful  impulse  of  the 
gigantic  intellect  of  Mr.  Ballou  the  denomination  had  an  almost 
phenomenal  growth.  Wherever  he  went,  the  people  flocked  in 
multitudes  to  hear  his  message.  Like  his  Master  of  old,  the 
common  people  heard  him  gladly.  Moreover,  he  drew  into  co-op- 
eration with  him  in  his  ministerial  work  men  whose  intellectual 


412  THE   UNIVERSALIST  CHURCH, 

power  was  only  inferior  to  his  own.  Space  permits  the  mention 
of  but  three  or  four  of  these.  But  the  record  would  not  be  com- 
plete without  referring  to  Walter  Balfour,  whose  examination  of 
the  meaning  of  the  terms  Sheol,  Hades,  Tartarus,  and  Gehenna, 
led  him  to  conclusions  which  have  now  been  adopted  by  the  fore- 
most scholars  and  Biblical  critics  of  the  Protestant  world ;  to  Thomas 
Whittemore,  a  controversialist,  whose  skill  was  more  than  a  match 
for  the  sharpest  antagonist,  a  preacher  of  great  argumentative  and 
magnetic  powers,  an  editor  prolific  and  incisive,  and  an  historical 
and  expository  writer  of  such  grasp  and  thoroughness  that,  had  he 
concentrated  his  energies  in  either  of  these  departments,  his  fame 
would  have  been  secure;  and  to  Lucius  R.  Paige,  D.D.,  the  author 
of  "  Selections  from  Eminent  Commentators,"  and  of  a  "Commen- 
tary of  the  New  Testament,'*  works  which  are  regarded  as  indis- 
pensable in  nearly  every  Universalist  household.  Dr.  Paige  still 
lives,  an  honored  citizen  of  Cambridge,  at  the  advanced  age  of 
eighty-four. 

Any  further  historical  outline  of  Universalism  would  be  mani- 
festly imperfect  and  inadequate  that  did  not  recall,  at  least,  two 
other  names  of  men,  who,  though  belonging  to  a  later  generation, 
were  still  the  contemporaries  of  Hosea  Ballou  in  the  formative 
period  of  the  Universalist  denomination.  The  first  of  these  is 
Hosea  Ballou,  2d,  D.D.,  the  editor  of  the  Universalist  Quarterly 
Magazi7icixovci  the  time  of  its  founding  in  1844,  until  his  death 
in  1861,  and  the  first  president  of  Tufts  College ;  a  scholar  of  the 
very  first  rank,  known  everywhere  for  the  breadth  and  thorough- 
ness of  his  work  and  the  extraordinary  penetration  of  his  mind. 
The  second  is  the  Rev.  Thomas  J.  Sawyer,  D.D.,  the  still  active 
and  efficient  dean  of  Tufts  Divinity  School.  To  these  two  men, 
more  than  to  all  others,  the  denomination  is  indebted  for  the  pres- 
ent harmonious  shaping  of  its  theology,  which,  while  giving  due 
prominence  to  the  efficiency  of  divine  sovereignty  and  grace  in  the 
economy  of  human  redemption,  does  not  lightly  regard  the  nature 
and  consequences  of  sin,  and  also  lays  proper  stress  upon  those 
moral  agencies,  involving  the  voluntary  choice  of  the  individual 
acting  in  the  light  of  the  Christian  religion,  which  are  the  indis- 
pensable requisites  of  a  true  salvation.  To  these  two  men,  like- 
wise, the  denomination  is  chiefly  indebted  for  the  educational 
impulse  which  has  been  such  a  conspicuous  feature  of  its  later 
history. 


THE   UNIVERSALIST  CHURCH.  413 

As  has  been  remarked  already,  the  Universalist  movement  en- 
countered the  fiercest  opposition  in  the  beginning.  This  opposi- 
tion has  not  yet  died  away.  In  many  parts  of  the  country  it  is 
still  as  active  and  virulent  as  ever.  Indeed,  it  has  been  one  pro- 
longed battle.  It  has  epitomized  in  its  history  the  history  of  the 
church  militant.  It  has  often  been  made  to  drink  to  the  dregs  the 
cup  of  persecution,  bigotry,  intolerance,  and  hatred.  It  has  been 
the  subject  of  detraction  as  to  its  moral  power  and  influence  by 
evangelists  of  every  stripe,  from  Burchard  and  Knapp  to  Joseph 
Cook.  This,  too,  in  the  face  of  the  fact  that  it  has  produced,  be- 
sides those  whom  I  have  named,  such  preachers  as  Thomas  Starr 
King,  E.  H.  Chapin,  and  A.  A.  Miner  ;  and  such  laymen  as  Thomas 
Potter,  Winthrop  Sargent,  Charles  Tufts,  Sylvanus  Packard,  Oliver 
Dean,  Thomas  A.  Goddard,  John  A.  Gurley,  C.  C.  Washburne, 
Israel  Washburne,  Jr.,  and  Horace  Greeley  ;  that,  in  an  age  of 
unparalleled  corruption,  amid  great  betrayals  of  trust,  often  affect- 
ing men  whose  standing  is  high  in  the  Christian  Church,  its  advo- 
cates have  passed  almost  without  suspicion ;  and  that  it  has  held 
a  foremost  place  in  every  great  movement  of  social  and  moral 
reform. 

It  should  also  be  borne  in  mind  that  the  trend  of  thought,  in 
the  present  time,  is  unmistakably  in  the  direction  of  Universalism. 
The  root  of  bitterness  in  the  arraignment  of  the  Andover  theology 
lies  in  the  statement  that  it  is  "  Semi-Universalism,"  and  that  the 
positions  assumed  therein,  by  a  logical  necessity,  lead  to  the  Uni- 
versalist conclusion ;  that  eminent  men,  who  are  still  constrained 
to  work  under  the  Calvinistic  banner,  openly  avow  the  wish  that 
they  could  believe  the  Universalist  theology,  and  if  they  could, 
their  energy  to  work  for  the  salvation  of  souls  would  be  redoubled  ; 
that  men,  of  whom  Archdeacon  Farrar  is  a  representative  exam- 
ple, avowedly  live  and  labor  in  the  hope  that  God  will  yet,  in  some 
mysterious  way,  accomplish  His  will  in  the  moral  universe,  and 
bring  the  last  wanderer  home  to  rejoice  in  the  Father's  love  ;  that 
men  like  Maurice  and  Kingsley,  not  to  mention  distinguished 
living  preachers  in  both  England  and  America,  have  been  the 
pronounced  advocates  of  an  all-embracing  and  triumphantly  per- 
sistent moral  energy,  manifested  in  Christ,  and  working  without 
effectual  hindrance  toward  the  utter  extinction  of  evil ;  and  that 
the  literature  of  the  age  is  saturated  with  the  great  and  elevated 
conviction,  —  Tennyson  devoutly  singing. 


414  THE   UNIVERSALIST  CHURCH. 

"  Oh,  yet  we  trust  that,  somehow,  good 
Will  be  the  final  goal  of  ill " ; 

and  Whittier,  in  even  clearer  strains,  chanting,  — 

"  I  know  not  where  His  islands  lift 
Their  fronded  palms  in  air ; 
I  only  know  I  cannot  drift 
Beyond  His  love  and  care." 

The  persons  composing  the  Universalist  body  were>  for  the 
most  part,  in  the  beginning,  at  least,  drawn  from  churches  which 
had  the  congregational  polity.  Accordingly,  its  polity  is  marked 
by  congregational  features.  In  the  individual  churches  the  people 
have  the  controlling  voice  in  the  settlement  of  ministers  and  the 
direction  of  parish  affairs.  The  parishes,  however,  are  organized 
into  conventions  confined  to  the  limits  of  the  several  States,  the 
General  Convention  being  over  all.  The  State  conventions  are 
composed  of  the  clergymen  in  fellowship  within  the  States  and  of 
lay-delegates  chosen  by  the  parishes.  Discipline  is  in  the  hands 
of  a  committee  of  fellowship,  appointed  by  each  convention.  The 
General  Convention  is  a  delegate  body,  meeting  once  a  year. 
Delegates,  clerical  and  lay,  in  certain  definite  proportions,  are 
chosen  by  the  several  State  conventions.  It  is  also  a  corporate 
body,  having  a  board  of  trustees,  who,  in  the  interim  of  its  ses- 
sions, are  charged  with  matters  of  discipline,  the  management  of 
the  finances,  and  the  direction  of  missionary  efforts.  The  present 
organization  of  the  General  Convention  dates  from  the  centenary 
year,  1870. 

The  **  Universalist  Register,"  for  1887  gives  statistics  as  fol- 
lows :  There  are  nine  hundred  and  forty-five  parishes,  comprising 
upwards  of  thirty-eight  thousand  families.  There  is  a  church- 
membership  of  thirty-five  thousand  five  hundred,  and  a  Sunday- 
school  membership  of  fifty-three  thousand  five  hundred.  The 
estimated  value  of  church  property  is  seven  millions  and  a  half 
of  dollars.  Several  of  the  State  conventions  have  invested  funds. 
The  funds  of  the  Massachusetts  Convention  amount  to  fifty  thou- 
sand dollars.  The  General  Convention  has  funds  aggregating 
more  than  one  hundred  and  seventy  thousand  dollars. 

During  the  last  thirty  years  particular  attention  has  been  given 
to  the  establishment  and  development  of  educational  institutions. 
Drs.  Ballou  and  Sawyer  took  the  initiative  in  setting  forth   the 


THE   UNIVERSALIST  CHURCH.  415 

necessity  of  schools  and  colleges  under  the  denominational  con- 
trol. The  latter  has  lived  to  see  his  anticipations  realized  an  hun- 
dred-fold. Besides  such  seminaries  as  Clinton  Liberal  Institute  in 
New  York,  Goddard  Seminary  in  Vermont,  Westbrook  Seminary 
in  Maine,  and  Dean  Academy  in  Massachusetts,  —  all  well  endowed 
with  funds,  possessing  first-class  facilities  for  instruction,  and 
enjoying  a  large  patronage,  —  there  are  four  colleges  and  three  theo- 
logical schools.  The  colleges  are  Tufts  College,  St.  Lawrence 
University,  Lombard  University,  and  Buchtel  College.  With  each 
of  the  three  colleges  first  named  a  theological  school  is  connected. 
The  aggregate  of  funds  permanently  devoted  to  educational  pur- 
poses approximates  three  millions  of  dollars.  Upwards  of  one 
hundred  teachers  are  employed,  and  instruction  is  given  to  nearly 
fourteen  hundred  pupils  annually. 

The  General  Convention,  at  its  session  in  Winchester,  N.  H., 
adopted  the  following  profession  of  belief :  — 

L  We  believe  that  the  Holy  Scriptures  of  the  Old  and  New 
Testaments  contain  a  revelation  of  the  character  of  God,  and  of 
the  duty,  interest,  and  final  destination  of  mankind. 

n.  We  believe  that  there  is  one  God,  whose  nature  is  love ; 
revealed  in  one  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  by  one  Holy  Spirit  of  grace, 
who  will  finally  restore  the  whole  family  of  mankind  to  holiness 
and  happiness. 

HL  We  believe  that  holiness  and  true  happiness  are  inseparably 
connected,  and  that  believers  ought  to  be  careful  to  maintain  order 
and  practise  good  works  ;  for  these  things  are  good  and  profitable 
unto  men. 

This  profession  has  remained  the  only  test  of  fellowship  in  the 
Universalist  church  from  that  day  to  this.  There  is,  however,  a 
large  and,  it  is  believed,  increasing  minority  who  object  to  it  on 
the  ground,  first,  that  the  last  clause  of  the  second  article  seems 
to  imply  the  doctrine  of  the  fall  of  the  race  through  the  trans- 
gression of  Adam  ;  and,  secondly,  that  the  third  article  is  utilita- 
rian in  its  philosophy. 

The  late  Israel  Washburne,  Jr.,  was  wont  to  maintain  that  this 
is  the  one  purely  American  church,  and  hence  best  adapted  to 
meet  the  wants  of  the  American  people.  It  is  American,  he 
declared,  in  its  polity,  its  republican  features  being  more  strongly 
marked  than  any  other  ecclesiastical  organization  in  the  world. 
It  is  American,  also,  he  thought,  in  an  high  degree  in  its  ideas- 


4i6  THE   UNIVERSALIST  CHURCH, 

The  stress  it  lays  upon  the  fatherhood  of  God  carries  with  it,  as 
a  necessary  corollary,  the  notion  of  human  equality  and  brother- 
hood so  strongly  expressed  in  the  Declaration  of  Independence. 
Under  no  other  religious  conception  is  it  possible  to  secure  the 
full  and  perfect  realization  of  the  central  and  fundamental  truths 
of  that  immortal  instrument  of  popular  liberty.  No  doubt  it  is 
the  close  relation  between  the  theological  principles  of  Universal- 
ism  and  the  political  theories  of  the  founders  of  the  Republic, 
which  awakened  such  a  profound  interest  in  Mr.  Murray  among 
the  leading  minds  of  the  Revolutionary  epoch.  For  it  is  a  fact 
that  he  had  the  warm  and  approving  friendship  of  Washington, 
the  ardent  admiration  of  John  Adams,  and  that  he  even  enlisted 
the  interest  of  Jefferson  and  Franklin.  At  all  events,  Universal- 
ism,  as  a  system  of  religious  belief  in  this  country,  is  coeval  with 
the  life  of  the  Republic,  and  is  as  complete  an  expression  as  the 
imagination  can  devise  of  the  ideas,  hopes,  and  aspirations  of  the 
American  people. 


A   BIT  OF  OLD  CHINA,  417 


A   BIT   OF   OLD   CHINA. 

By  ISAAC  BASSETT  CHOATE. 

The  Chinese  people  are  gifted  with  a  fancy  which  is  particularly 
rich.  This  quality  appears  in  their  language,  even  in  matters  so 
simple  as  the  naming  of  rivers  and  mountains.  The  language  of 
compliment  with  them  abounds  in  comparisons  supposed  to  be 
flattering  to  the  person  addressed.  In  their  poetry  fancy  has  full 
and  free  play.  Many  of  its  pictures  are  not  lacking  a  certain 
grace  and  elegance  of  drawing,  even  to  our  exacting  taste.  They 
are  distinct  and  clear  in  form  as  outlined  geometrical  figures  ;  but 
they  are  without  shading.  In  this  the  Chinese  poets  have  not 
gone  beyond  what  their  painters  and  engravers  have  attained. 

It  is  curious,  moreover,  to  notice  how  poetry  and  art  have  been 
developed  together  among  the  Chinese.  There  is  no  realistic 
school  in  either.  Nature  is  rarely  represented  apart  from  human 
interest.  There  is  always  something  incident  to  life  or  feeling, 
—  some  story  connected  with  every  landscape  drawing.  Indeed, 
the  story  rules  the  pencil  of  the  artist.  Much  of  the  incongruity 
we  see  in  the  position  of  hills  and  lakes  and  streams  and  bridges 
and  houses  in  the  pictures  painted  upon  the  cups  and  saucers  in 
which  our  grandmothers  used  to  take  their  Bohea  and  Young 
Hyson,  results  from  the  artist's  undertaking  to  show  certain 
"moving  accidents  by  flood  and  field,"  and  patiently  and  honestly 
trying  to  tell  the  whole  story.  This  oflfice  of  art  is  traditional  in 
China,  and  it  would  not  be  at  all  strange  if  many  of  the  old  pic- 
tures in  that  country,  which  have  been  lost  for  generations  and 
which  have  afterwards  turned  up,  should  have  quite  a  different 
interpretation  put  upon  them  from  that  story  which  the  artist 
originally  had  in  mind. 

We  have  as  yet  had  little  chance  to  discover  how  much  of 
romance  lies  beneath  the  history  of  China.  Especially  is  it  the 
case  that  early  illustrations  to  the  text  of  their  historical  writings 
are  either  without  meaning  now,  or  are  variously  understood  even 
by  native  scholars.  It  will  occur  to  any  one  what  a  field  the  old 
annals  and  their  accompanying  maps  and  pictures  must  furnish 
the  modern  reader,  in  which  he  may  exercise  his  fancy  to  the  full 


t . 


418  A  BIT  OF  OLD   CHINA, 

bent  of  his  genius.  Of  course  there  will  be  a  certain  fashion  of 
the  time,  a  prevailing  spirit  of  the  age,  even  in  so  conservative 
a  country  as  China,  and  accordingly  different  schools  of  interpre- 
tation will  flourish  at  different  times.  The  scope  for  poetic  insight 
is  practically  without  limit.  The  study  of  history  is  scarcely  less 
seductive  than  the  indulging  the  mind  in  the  practice  of  dreaming 
in  waking  hours  as  well  as  in  those  of  sleep. 

It  is  not  an  easy  matter  for  a  modern  student  to  get  contact 
with  the  Oriental  mind.  Even  if  he  masters  the  language  suffi- 
ciently to  read  the  books  of  the  Chinese,  he  cannot  enter  into 
the  spirit  of  the  writer  as  he  can  in  the  case  of  early  Greek  and 
Roman  works.  What  is  matter  of  fact  he  may  correctly  apprehend, 
but  the  sentiment  escapes  him.  He  has  little  but  husks  of  what 
should  be  a  deliciously  rich  fruitage.  The  living  teacher  rarely 
leaves  his  country,  and,  at  home,  he  is  not  accessible  to  the  man 
of  affairs  such  as  is  likely  to  be  the  visitor  whom  he  may  meet 
there.  Literature  is  not  in  the  Chinese  market  for  the  foreign 
trade.  The  literary  guild  hold  the  larger  part  of  their  stock  of 
ideas  as  a  sacred  possession,  not  to  be  communicated  to  the  com- 
mon orders  among  their  own  people,  much  less  to  be  shared  with 
foreigners.  In  opening  the  ports  of  China  we  did  not  open  the 
storehouses  of  romance  and  of  poetic  fiction  which  her  great  his- 
torical collections  form. 

Perhaps  the  most  exclusively  literary  man  whom  China  has  sent 
to  this  country,  was  Professor  Ko,  of  Harvard  University.  He  was 
not  only  familiar  with  the  whole  range  of  the  literature  of  his  own 
country,  but  he  had  contributed  to  that  literature  two  volumes  of 
poetry,  such  as  had  secured  for  himself  a  respectable  position  as 
a  writer.  His  poetic  gifts  fitted  him  admirably  to  interpret  what 
was  most  fanciful  in  the  older  authors.  He  had  read  the  legendary 
history  of  the  country,  and  understood  well  how  to  interpret  into 
modern  thought  the  early  records,  and  the  rude  maps  and  draw- 
ings with  which  these  were  illustrated.  Among  the  books  which 
he  brought  was  an  encyclopaedic  work  of  some  twenty  volumes. 
The  earlier  volumes  were  devoted  to  the  natural  and  political  his- 
tory of  China.  After  the  Professor  had  acquired  enough  of  Eng- 
lish that  he  could  make  himself  easily  understood,  it  gave  me 
great  pleasure  to  go  over  with  him  the  story  of  China's  earlier 
settlement  as  it  was  told  in  pictures  and  in  text.  There  was  a  fas- 
cination in  hearing  those  traditions  of  a  people  who  went  eastward 


A   BIT  OF  OLD   CHINA.  419 

from  Eden  when  our  ancestors  started  on  their  course  towards 
the  shores  of  the  Mediterranean,  and  a  passage  into  Europe  ; 
traditions  that#were  old  before  the  time  of  the  Lydian  kings  of 
whom  Herodotus  gossiped,  or  of  Saturn's  reign  in  Italy  of  which 
Livy  fabled.  The  accounts  which  the  Chinese  historians  give  of 
the  movements  of  their  people  down  from  the  mountains  on  their 
western  borders  into  the  vast  plain  which  stretches  eastward  to 
the  Pacific,  correspond  exactly  not  only  with  the  testimony  of 
architectural  remains  scattered  all  the  way  from  the  mountains  to 
the  sea,  but  also  with  the  development  of  the  language.  There 
is  kept  in  these  chronicles  an  unbroken  record  of  events  belong- 
ing to  a  time  that,  in  the  case  of  every  other  people,  is  prehis- 
toric. Here  is  told  in  the  familiar  forms  of  human  speech  a  story 
such  as  is  elsewhere  only  hinted  at  in  the  use  of  implements  of 
bronze  or  of  stone. 

The  chief  points  of  the  story  which  follows  were  shown  in  a 
map,  or  picture,  occupying  a  page  of  the  old  Chinese  volume. 
The  illustration  was  wholly  in  outline,  without  the  least  attempt 
at  shading.  There  were  mountain  ranges,  with  the  sun  setting 
behind  them,  and  a  stream  flowing  down  between.  An  aerial  arch 
seemed  to  span  the  stream  ;  but  one  might  well  doubt  whether  it 
were  a  bridge  or  a  rainbow,  so  unskilful  was  the  artist's  work.  A 
few  figures  appeared,  —  one  with  face  upturned,  as  if  looking  at 
the  rainbow.  Birds  flying  on  his  right  hand  were  an  omen  of 
good  luck.  Such  were  the  objects  rudely  pictured  on  the  old 
page.  Of  themselves  they  conveyed  little  meaning  and  awakened 
no  sentiment.  A  few  columns  of  Chinese  characters  made  brief 
allusion  to  an  old  tradition  relating  to  the  early  history  of  the 
country.  It  was  this  quaintly  poetic  legend  which  the  Professor 
was  kind  enough  to  repeat  for  the  delight  of  a  listener  in  the  New 
World. 

Away  back  in  the  early  history  of  the  Chinese  people,  at  the 
time  when  they  were  just  beginning  to  find  their  way  through  the 
valleys  and  down  the  eastern  slopes  of  the  mountains,  and  were 
first  coming  out  upon  the  broad  plains  which  have  been  held  by 
the  Middle  Kingdom  longer,  perhaps,  than  any  pyramid  or  temple 
has  been  standing  beside  the  Nile,  —  certainly  longer  than  any 
people  have  had  their  home  in  Europe,  —  the  events  which  go  to 
make  up  this  simple  story  of  life  and  feeling  took  place.  That  the 
story  should  have  been   told  to  so  many  generations,  and  have 


•  •  ••••••  •-  i* 

•  •      ••"  •         •  " 


420  A   BIT  OF  OLD   CHINA. 

lived  in  tradition  to  be  written  out  in  a  language  so  strange  to  it 
as  ours,  for  readers  of  another  race  and  living  at  a  late  day  on 
another  continent,  proves  that  the  feeling  with  whi^  it  moves  us 
is  that  "touch  of  nature"  which  "  makes  the  whole  world  kin." 

In  those  early  days  when  the  world  was  young,  earth  and  sky 
were  filled  with  wonders.  It  was  the  childhood  of  our  race,  and 
men  remained  children  all  their  lives  long,  in  comparison  with  the 
stars  above  them  and  the  grand  old  mountains  about  them.  Hav- 
ing their  homes  in  the  deep,  dark  valleys  of  those  extensive  ranges, 
there  was  little  society  for  them  which  resembled  human  compan- 
ionship, but  to  watch  the  shadows  at  evening  steal  silently  down 
across  the  green  meadows  and  climb  the  slope  of  the  opposite  hill- 
side, or  to  see  them  hurrying  off  in  the  morning  to  escape  the  view 
of  the  sun.  The  birds  sang  in  summer,  and  the  streams  then  ran 
on  and  babbled  to  the  rocks ;  but  in  winter  the  world  was  dumb. 
No  wonder  that  in  everything  people  then  took  counsel  of  their 
hopes  and  fears ;  and  that  the  passing  clouds  and  the  shadows 
creeping  around  the  mountain  peaks  were  appealed  to  as  capable 
of  revealing  some  purpose  of  Nature  leagued  with  the  destiny  of 
man. 

In  the  upper  part  of  one  of  these  valleys  was  a  bit  of  green 
meadow  held,  as  it  were,  in  a  basin  of  rocky  hills.  Here  was  the 
home  of  a  numerous  family.  Grandparents  and  parents,  children 
and  grandchildren,  men  and  women,  boys  and  girls,  found  shelter 
under  one  roof,  and  happy  companionship  in  one  family  circle. 
Of  this  number  one  was  a  stranger,  a  child  without  other  home 
than  this,  without  parents  living,  and,  indeed,  without  any  kindred 
in  the  world.  Joong-foo  could  only  just  remember  his  father 
and  mother  in  a  home  the  other  side  of  the  mountains,  and  an 
attempt  one  summer  to  cross  over  the  high  ridges  and  get  on  the 
side  that  sloped  to  the  morning.  There  was  little  more  of  which 
he  was  conscious.  He  had  been  told  that  a  company  of  travellers 
lost  their  way  and  perished  in  the  snow,  all  except  himself.  For 
more  than  ten  years  he  had  been  tenderly  cared  for  in  this  lonely 
spot,  and  had  shared  with  the  other  children  their  tasks  and  their 
games. 

This  place  was,  so  far  as  one  could  see,  completely  surrounded 
by  high  mountains  at  some  distance,  and  bare,  bleak  hills  near  at 
hand.  The  cottage  was  built  upon  a  rocky  slope,  having  the  little 
meadow  all  in  front.     Along  the  farther  edge  of  this  green  plat 


A   BIT  OF  OLD   CHINA,  421 

ran  the  mountain  stream,  kept  full  all  summer  loni^  from  the  melt- 
ing snow  above.  Beyond  this,  over  a  dry,  rocky  shelf  of  land  at 
the  foot  of  the  hills,  led  a  rough  path  down  the  valley,  along 
which,  in  the  summer  time,  small  companies  of  travellers  were 
seen  moving  lower  down  the  valley,  and  driving  before  them  a  few 
long-haired  goats, — the  only  animal  men  had  at  that  time  domes- 
ticated. Joong-foo  noticed  that  none  were  ever  moving  in  the 
opposite  direction.  The  boy  had  often  been  reminded,  as  he 
watched  these  wayfarers,  of  the  journey  upon  which  his  parents 
were  lost.  He  shuddered  with  fear  whenever  his  thoughts  went 
up  among  those  dark  mountains,  full  of  mystery.  He  now  began 
to  think  of  the  valleys  which  lay  below.  He  could  learn  nothing 
of  them  from  inquiry,  for  none  ever  came  back  over  the  one  path 
which  followed  down  the  brookside.  It  would  have  been  as  rea- 
sonable to  expect  the  waters  which  hurried  down  the  mountain 
slope  to  come  back  again  from  a  lower  level. 

The  boy  began  to  reason  upon  the  little  experience  he  had  of 
life.  He  knew  that  the  unknown  valleys  below  had  held  out  some 
promise  to  his  father  and  mother :  that  promise  had  not  been  kept 
to  them.  His  life,  however,  had  been  spared.  Might  it  not  be 
that  some  spot  which  they  designed  to  reach  was  yet  waiting  for 
him  }  Such  were  his  questionings  of  Nature.  He  was  now  oftcner 
looking  towards  the  east.  He  observed  that,  like  the  passers-by, 
the  shadows  which  seemed  animate  and  conscious  always  moved 
in  that  direction  when  they  crept  away  in  the  morning,  and  when 
they  came  trooping  down  over  the  meadow  in  the  late  afternoon. 
The  men  never  came  back ;  the  waters  never  came  back ;  the 
shadows  never  came  back ;  but  his  thoughts  always  came  back  to 
himself.     With  a  sigh  of  sadness  he  repeated,  — 

"Ah,  me! 
Onward  the  shadows  drift,  the  waters  flow. 
And  men  go  on  the  way  the  shadows  go ; 
Only  my  wandering  thoughts  come  back  to  me. 

Ah,  me ! '' 

As  the  youth  looked  down  the  valley,  a  high,  sharp  peak  stood 
right  where  it  seemed  the  brook  ought  to  have  its  way,  and  right 
where  it  seemed  the  path  along  the  side  of  the  brook  must  needs 
lead  the  traveller.  In  summer  the  peak  was  naked  rock,  rough 
and  jagged,  showing  seams  and  scars  on  all  its  face.     In  winter  it 


422  A   BIT  OF  OLD   CHINA. 

rose  a  spire  of  glittering  ice  and  snow.  To  the  eyes  which  now 
began  to  read  every  smile  and  frown  of  light  and  shade  upon  that 
rocky  pile,  its  northern  side  took  on  by  degrees  the  profile  and  the 
expression  of  the  human  face.  No  one  had  ever  before  discov- 
ered this  resemblance.  No  one  might  ever  see  it  again ;  but  to 
the  eyes  of  the  lad  it  was  real  and  plain.  He  watched  that  strong, 
rugged  face  as  it  was  outlined  against  the  bright  sky  in  the  morn- 
ing, and  at  evening  when  the  shadows  veiled  it  slowly  from  his 
sight.  Gradually  the  mountain  won  his  perfect  confidence;  and 
it  no  longer  stood  in  the  way  out  of  the  valley,  but  it  seemed 
rather  to  beckon  to  him  to  come  into  its  nearer  presence. 

One  summer  afternoon  a  storm  came  down  the  valley  with  unu- 
sual  violence.  The  stream  was  made  very  angry,  and  it  quickly 
became  noisy  and  turbulent.  When  the.  storm  had  passed,  and 
the  sun  came  out  from  behind  the  clouds,  it  sent  a  stream  of  light 
down  through  a  notch  in  the  mountains  and  across  the  wet  grass 
of  the  meadow.  The  raindrops  flashed  and  sparkled  on  the  edges 
of  the  leaves  and  on  the  drooping  blades  of  grass.  But  brighter 
and  fairer  than  everything  else  to  the  eyes  of  wondering  child- 
hood, was  the  perfect  bow  painted  in  all  the  colors  that  are 
blended  in  sunlight  on  the  dense  black  folds  of  the  cloud  which 
had  passed.  While  old  and  young  were  looking  in  admiration 
upon  this,  the  father  remarked,  as  in  a  reverie,  **  There  is  good 
fortune  at  the  foot  of  the  rainbow.'*  Just  then  the  mountain  face 
smiled  through  the  cloud,  and  Joong-foo  saw  that  one  extremity 
of  the  bow  rested  on  the  shoulders  of  the  peak,  but,  as  the  storm 
moved  on,  the  features  were  outlined  bright  and  clear  against  the 
bow  which  now  rested  some  distance  beyond.  The  youth  looked 
to  the  other  end  of  the  bow,  and  noticed  that  there  the  arch 
sprang  from  a  nook  in  the  mountains,  the  farthest  point  to  which 
the  prospect  around  anywhere  extended.  No  doubt  the  foster-father 
was  dreaming,  when  he  spoke,  of  some  old  fancy  or  project  of  his 
own.  He  little  dreamed  what  thoughts  and  visions  his  words 
would  call  up  in  the  active  mind  of  the  lad. 

Few  days  passed  before  the  youth  had  conceived  the  purpose, 
and  formed  plans  for  going  in  search  of  that  fortune  which  had 
been  suggested  to  his  mind.  With  some  plausible  reason  for  the 
undertaking,  he  easily  quieted  all  anxiety  on  the  part  of  those 
whom  he  was  about  to  leave.  He  set  out  one  bright  morning, 
going  up  the  valley  a  little  way  at  first,  that  he  might  find  some 


A   BIT  OF  OLD  CHINA,  423 

place  to  cross  the  stream  by  springing  from  one  large  rock  to 
another  where  these  had  rolled  down  into  its  narrow  bed.  Once 
across  the  stream,  he  would  be  in  the  path  that  would  lead  him 
down  toward  the  spot  he  had  marked  so  carefully.  He  might  fall 
in  with  some  fellow-traveller,  but  that  mattered  less  to  him  because 
of  the  many  thoughts  and  emotions  with  which  his  heart  and 
mind  were  filled. 

That  day  he  trudged  on  until  he  lost  sight  of  everything  that 
looked  familiar.  The  mountain  peak  in  front  grew  rough  and 
rugged  at  his  approach,  and  he  almost  feared  to  look  up  to  it  as 
the  night  began  to  come  on.  There  was  but  one  thing  to  keep 
his  heart  strong  under  the  darkness  of  that  lonesome  night,  and 
that  was  that  he  had  now  almost  accomplished  the  journey  on 
which  he  set  out.  He  had  kept  in  view  the  spot  where  the  rain- 
bow rested,  and  when  the  growing  darkness  hid  it,  he  halted  for 
the  night. 

When  the  youth  woke  in  the  early  light  of  the  following  morn- 
ing, everything  about  him  was  strange  and  unwonted  to  his  eyes. 
He  was  at  the  foot  of  a  dark  mountain,  and  the  place  he  sought 
lay  yet  in  deep  shadow.  Looking  up  the  valley  and  seeing  the 
light  resting  on  the  bright  meadows  fresh  with  the  morning  dew, 
he  could  not  forget  what  beauty  the  mornings  used  to  reveal  to 
him  when  even  the  rocks  which  now  threatened  to  fall  upon  him 
wore  a  smile  in  the  morning  light.  These  thoughts  were  for  the 
moment  only.  He  was  peering  down  the  valley  into  that  nook  of 
the  mountains  where  he  had  seen  resting  the  brilliant  arch  of  the 
clouds.  As  the  mists  cleared  up,  he  could  see  it  near  at  hand,  and 
a  less  attractive  spot  was  not  easily  to  be  found.  Looking  out  a 
ford  by  which  he  could  cross  the  river,  he  was  soon  on  the  other 
side.  What  struck  him  as  strangest  of  all  was  to  find  the  rocks 
in  some  places  scraped  bare  of  soil,  and  this  piled  elsewhere  in 
heaps.  Still  more,  here  was  a  man  busily  at  work  carrying  the 
dirt  from  place  to  place  in  a  basket. 

The  greeting  which  the  lad  received  was  a  gruff,  ungracious 
one.  When,  however,  it  appeared  that  he  was  alone,  and  evidently 
intended  no  harm,  the  man's  surly  manners  softened  a  little,  and 
he  was  not  at  all  disinclined  to  be  social.  He  was  an  old  man, 
but  the  story  of  his  life  as  he  gave  it  was  soon  told.  He  had  come 
to  that  spot  when  young,  confident  that  somewhere  thereabouts 
was  to  be  found  treasure.     He  had  dug  the  ground  all  over  care- 


424  A   BIT  OF  OLD   CHINA, 

fully,  sifting  every  basketful  of  earth  in  the  closeness  of  his  search, 
and  as  yet  without  reward.  It  seemed  that  little  more  could  be 
done  by  the  man  to  rob  his  surroundings  of  all  their  native  beauty. 
The  effect  produced  by  this  scene  upon  the  young  visitor  was  that 
of  disappointment.     He  cared  not  to  stay  even  for  rest. 

The  mountain  peak  with  which  the  boy  had  been  familiar  all 
his  life  stood  directly  opposite  this  spot.  He  looked  up  at  its 
rugged  face,  and  it  seemed  he  had  never  seen  so  hard  and  stern 
a  look  before.  But  those  beetling  crags  nodded,  as  it  were,  to  the 
boy,  and  beckoned  to  him  to  come  away  from  where  he  stood 
—  from  a  spot  accursed  by  human  selfishness  and  avarice.  Then 
it  occurred  to  the  mind  of  the  youth  that  he  had  seen  that  peak 
in  the  full  glow  of  the  rainbow,  and  he  thought  that  if  he  could 
but  get  around  upon  the  lower  side  of  the  mountain,  he  would  see 
again  the  features  he  had  known,  wearing  their  old  look  of  kind- 
ness and  approval.  He  would  recross  the  stream  and  follow  the 
path  he  had  left.  This  must  somehow  take  him  beyond  the  wall 
of  mountains. 

Through  a  narrow,  winding  passage,  the  stream  and  the  path 
along  its  bank  led  down  into  a  valley  much  more  extended  than 
the  one  Joong-foo  had  travelled  through  the  day  before.  Here  the 
mountains  fell  back  on  either  hand,  and  they  rose  by  ranges  of 
hills  and  by  wooded  slopes,  their  peaks  so  far  away  as  to  be  blue 
in  the  blue  sky.  Here  he  walked  with  a  lighter  heart.  The  path 
turned  more  and  more  to  the  right,  and  in  a  few  hours  he  was 
brought  to  a  point  from  which  he  could  look  back  and  see  the  peak 
in  profile  as  he  had  been  used  to  seeing  it  from  the  other  side. 
Instantly  the  rocks  took  on  the  soft,  mild  look  he  knew  so  well ; 
only  from  this  side  the  features  wore  a  kindlier  expression.  In 
the  light  of  the  afternoon  sun  a  gentleness  of  repose  rested  on 
that  serene  brow.  Down  from  the  mountain  side  ran  a  rill  of 
clear  water,  through  a  charming  valley  and  under  willow  and  alder 
bushes.  There  were  bright  flowers  in  the  grass,  and  singing  birds 
in  the  trees.  Somewhere  along  the  line  of  this  stream  (the  young 
traveller  said  to  himself)  must  have  rested  the  foot  of  the  rainbow ; 
and  he  turned  aside  from  the  beaten  path,  to  follow  up  the  course 
of  the  mountain  rill. 

As  he  reached  higher  ground,  and  turned  to  look  down  the 
valley,  a  broader  and  a  fairer  view  than  he  had  ever  looked  upon 
before  opened  to  his  sight.     There  were  spacious  meadows  and 


A   BIT  OF  OLD  CHINA,  425 

cultivated  fields,  and  gardens  and  cottage  homes,  such  as  he  had 
never  dreamed  of.  Below  him  were  the  stream  which  flowed  past 
his  home,  and  the  track  by  its  side  which  for  two  days  he  had 
followed.  The  mountain  shadows  were  fast  deepening  around, 
and  thrusting  their  length  farther  and  farther  across  the  meadows. 
While  Joong-foo  was  lost  in  musing,  he  overheard  a  childish  voice 
repeating  in  a  minor  key,  — 

"  Ah,  well ! 
Onward  the  shadows  drift,  the  waters  flow, 
And  men  go  on  the  way  the  shadows  go ; 
Whither  or  how  they  fare,  none  come  to  tell. 

Ah,  well : " 

Looking  about  him,  Joong-foo  saw  a  young  girl  standing  upon  the 
hill  and  looking  off  over  the  valley.  Her  pensive  gaze  was  fixed 
upon  the  road  below,  and  she  was  clearly  unconscious  of  any 
presence  about  her.  As  the  youth  listened  to  the  tenderness  of 
her  tones,  and  saw  the  earnestness  of  her  gaze,  he  was  struck  with 
the  beauty  of  her  form  and  the  sweetness  of  her  manner.  There 
was  a  film  of  rainbow  light  floating  as  a  veil  before  his  eyes,  and, 
looking  up  to  the  peak  directly  above  that  form,  its  features  were 
lighted  with  a  good-night  smile. 

Joong-foo  soon  learned  that  the  girl  had  been  looking  down  the 
path  that  led  ihrough  the  valley,  and  by  which  her  brother  had 
gone  to  seek  his  fortune  in  the  larger  world  beyond  the  mountains. 
She  was  lamenting  that  neither  did  her  brother  come  back  again, 
nor  did  any  one  return  up  the  road  which  stretched  away  before 
her.  Since  the  stranger  had  come  up  from  the  valley,  she  asked 
eagerly  whence  he  came  and  by  what  route  he  had  travelled.  She 
shuddered  with  an  indefinable  dread  as  he  told  her  that  he  came 
from  a  place  lying  farther  back  in  the  mountains,  where  the  shad- 
ows were  deeper  in  the  narrow  valleys,  and  that  he  had  never 
before  seen  a  world  so  spacious  and  so  light  as  the  valley  down 
which  they  were  looking.  As  he  recalled  the  frightful  mountain 
gorges  where  his  father  and  mother  lost  their  lives,  and  compared 
with  those  horrors  the  calmness  of  that  quiet  evening  hour  amid 
the  peaceful  scenes  about  him,  Joong-foo  said  to  himself,  if  he  did 
not  say  it  aloud,  that  here  for  a  certainty  had  rested  the  foot  of 
the  rainbow,  and  that  here  he  had  found  that  good  fortune  in 
search  of  which  he  had  set  out. 


426  ''TO-lVHOOr' 

Thus  was  ended  one  of  those  countless  pilgrimages  3nd  wan- 
derings which  were  made  in  the  expansion  and  development  of 
a  mighty  empire. 


**TO-WHOO!'' 

[WITH  THE  PRESENT  OF  A  MOUNTED  ARCTIC  OWL.] 

I  COME  from  the  realm  of  ice  and  snow, 

Where  winter  keeps  its  throne, 
And  only  freezing  north  winds  blow 

Across  its  whitened  zone. 
I  bring  the  secrets  of  the  pole 

In  my  wide-open  eyes, 
And  in  my  snowy  cowl  and  stole 

I  hide  its  mysteries. 

Within  these  warm  and  welcome  walls 

Let  me  set  up  my  rest ; 
I  will  be  mute,  whoever  calls,  — 

I,  the  one  speechless  guest. 
Vou  shall  admire  —  I  will  not  smile  ; 

You  wonder  —  I  look  wise  ; 
And  many  an  hour  will  we  beguile 

Together  with  our  eyes. 


THE  SIMSBURY  COPPER  MINES.  427 


THE   SIMSBURY  COPPER   MINES. 

By  J.  M.  FRENCH,  M.D. 

One  of  the  most  notable  of  the  few  interesting  scenes  in  New 
England  is  to  be  found  in  the  present  town  of  East  Granby,  Conn., 
at  the  site  of  the  old  "  Simsbury  Copper  Mines."  Here  are  the 
falling  walls  that  still  surround  the  old  jail-yard ;  the  crumbling 
remnants  of  houses  and  shops  and  factories,  once  vocal  with  the 
sounds  of  industry ;  and  the  gloomy  subterranean  caverns,  which 
for  a  -century  and  a  quarter  played  so  important  a  part  in  the  his- 
tory of  Connecticut.  First,  it  served  as  a  fountain  of  wealth  for 
the  colony  ;  later,  as  a  home  for  its  convicts  and  felons.  Builded 
deep  in  the  everlasting  hills,  their  work  still  endures  as  a  land- 
mark, connecting  the  present  with  a  former  generation. 

The  mines  are  situated  upon  the  spurs  of  "  Copper  Hill,"  which 
is  one  of  a  range  of  ragged  and  rocky  mountains  extending  through 
a  great  part  of  the  States  of  Massachusetts  and  Connecticut,  paral- 
lel with  the  Connecticut  River.  The  place  is  four  or  five  miles  west 
of  the  river,  and  sixteen  miles  northwest  of  Hartford,  the  spires  of 
which  can  easily  be  seen  from  the  buildings. 

**The  appearance  of  this  place,"  says  Barber  (in  his  "Historical 
Collections,"  written  about  1836),  "forcibly  reminds  the  observer 
of  the  walls,  castles,  and  towers  erected  for  the  security  of  some 
haughty  lordlings  of  the  feudal  ages  ;  while  the  gloomy  dungeons 
within  its  walls  call  to  remembrance  a  Bastile,  the  prisoners  of  the 
Inquisition,  and  other  engines  of  oppression  and  tyranny." 

The  history  of  such  a  place  can  hardly  fail  to  be  of  interest, 
especially  in  a  time  like  the  present,  when  the  nation,  having 
reached  the  years  of  manhood,  begins  to  look  back  to  the  days  of 
its  childhood,  and  consider  with  interest  the  events  which  charac- 
terized the  beginnings  of  its  greatness. 

The  first  authentic  record  of  the  discovery  of  copper  in  Connecti- 
cut bears  the  date  of  December,  1705,  when,  at  a  town  meeting  of 
the  inhabitants  of  Simsbury  in  that  colony,  it  was  announced  "that 
there  was  a  mine  either  of  silvar  or  coper  found  in  town." 

As  no  one  had  any  definite  knowledge  of  the  mine  in  question, 
the  meeting  proceeded  to  appoint  a  committee,  with  instructions 


428  THE  SIMSBURY  COPPER  MINES, 

"to  make  serch  for  the  same,  and  report  at  the  next  meeting." 
At  another  meeting  a  vote  was  taken,  "  reserving  forever  to  the 
town's  use  and  disposall  all  such  mines  or  minerals." 

The  next  year  a  paper  was  drawn  up  and  circulated,  forming  a 
joint-stock  company  for  the  purpose  of  working  the  mines.  Nearly 
all  the  inhabitants  of  the  town  became  subscribers,  and  were  per- 
mitted to  share  in  the  profits  in  proportion  to  the  amount  of  their 
lists  for  the  preceding  year. 

A  committee  was  chosen  to  employ  workmen,  provide  the  neces- 
sary implements  and  materials,  and  exercise  a  general  supervision 
of  the  mining  operations.  This  committee  drew  up  articles  of 
agreement,  which  were  signed  by  sixty-four  persons.  The  com- 
pany was  organized  in  1707,  and  operations  were  begun  as  soon 
as  responsible  parties  could  be  obtained  to  undertake  the  work  of 
smelting  and  refining  the  ore.  Such  parties  were  soon  found,  and 
a  contract  was  made  with  "Mr.  John  Woodbridge  of  Springfield, 
the  Rev.  Dudley  Woodbridge  of  Simsbury,  Mr.  Timothy  Wood- 
bridge,  Jr.,  of  Hartford,  Hezekiah  Willis  of  Hartford,  and  the  Rev. 
Timothy  Woodbridge,  Sr.,  of  Hartford,  whereby  these  gentlemen 
undertook  "  to  put  forward  the  work  according  to  the  articles  of 
agreement." 

By  this  contract  the  proprietors  agreed  to  dig  the  ore  and 
deliver  it  at  the  building  in  which  the  smelting  process  was  to 
be  carried  on.  Here  it  was  to  be  taken  charge  of  by  the  con- 
tractors, who,  on  their  part,  agreed  to  "  runne  and  refine  the  sd 
oar,"  and  cast  it  into  bars  fit  for  transportation.  The  proceeds, 
after  deducting  the  tenth  part  (which  was  reserved  for  the  town), 
were  to  be  divided  equally  between  the  proprietors  and  the  con- 
tractors. Of  the  portion  which  fell  to  the  town,  two-thirds  was 
applied  to  the  maintenance  of  "an  able  schoolmaster  in  Sims- 
bury,"  and  the  remaining  one-third  to  the  support  of  the  "  Collegi- 
ate School  at  New  Haven." 

Although  the  articles  of  agreement  were  drawn  up  with  great 
care,  it  was  not  long  before  differences  and  misunderstandings 
arose  between  the  two  parties  to  the  contract,  owing  largely  to 
the  fact  that  the  smelting  process  was  not  well  understood,  and 
could  not  be  carried  on  with  profit  under  the  terms  agreed  upon. 
In  order  to  settle  all  such  difficulties  and  avoid  further  controversy, 
a  town  meeting  was  held  in  1709,  at  which  William  Pitkin  and 
John  Haynes  of  Hartford,  and  John  Hooker  of  Farmington,  were 
appointed  a  board  of  arbitration  to  settle  all  matters  in  dispute. 


THE  SIMSBURY  COPPER  MINES.  429 

Meantime  the  General  Assembly  of  the  colony,  considering  that 
"  a  public  benefit  '*  might  result  from  these  mines,  passed  an  act 
vesting  the  control  thereof  in  the  proprietors,  and  appointing 
Pitkin,  Haynes,  and  Hooker  to  be  their  commissioners,  to  hear 
and  determine  all  controversies  relating  thereto.  This  was  prob- 
ably the  first  board  of  labor  commissioners  ever  appointed  in 
America. 

The  commission,  thus  doubly  authorized,  disposed  of  a  large 
amount  of  business,  settled  many  disputes,  and  saved  much  time 
and  expense  to  all  parties  concerned.  In  171 8  a  general  law  was 
passed  providing  for  the  appointment  of  "Commissioners  of  Mines," 
This  board  was  continued  by  annual  reappointment  until  1739,  a 
period  of  thirty  years  from  the  appointment  of  the  first  commis- 
sion. 

The  agreement  with  the  contractors,  however,  did  not  work 
harmoniously,  and  in  1712  the  proprietors  voted  to  call  the  con- 
tractors "to  account,  and,  if  necessary,  to  sue  them  for  the  ore 
that  had  been  brought  to  them  at  various  times."  This  resulted 
in  the  abrogation  of  the  articles  of  agreement,  and  was  followed 
by  the  lease  of  the  mines,  for  a  period  of  thirty  years,  to  Col. 
William  Partridge  and  George  Belcher  of  Massachusetts,  and  the 
Rev.  Timothy  Woodbridge  of  Simsbury.  By  this  time  the  mines 
had  attracted  wide  attention,  and  prominent  capitalists  in  Boston 
and  New  York,  and  also  in  London,  Amsterdam,  and  Sweden, 
became  interested  in  the  enterprise,  and  invested  large  sums  in 
its  prosecution.  There  were  thus  at  the  same  time  a  number  of 
separate  companies  at  work  in  a  small  extent  of  territory.  So 
successful  were  their  operations,  that  in  1723  it  was  stated  that 
"  the  copper  works  had  brought  into  this  plantation,  from  foreign 
countries y  about  ten  thousand  pounds.**  Twelve  years  later  Gov- 
ernor Belcher  of  Boston,  one  of  the  lessees,  stated  that  "  during 
about  twenty-three  years  he  had  disbursed  upwards  of  fifteen 
thousand  pounds." 

The  division  of  the  mining  lands  among  the  various  lessees  took 
place  in  1721,  after  which  each  company  confined  itself  to  its  own 
mines.  All  of  these,  however,  were  situated  upon  Copper  Hill, 
and,  with  one  exception,  were  within  the  compass  of  a  single 
mile.  The  principal  mine  had  two  shafts  sunk  in  the  solid  rock, — 
the  western  one  forty,  and  the  eastern  seventy  feet  in  depth.  At 
the  bottom  of  these,  extensive  excavations  were  made,  and  irregu- 


430  THE  SIMSBURY  COPPER  MINES. 

lar  and  winding  subterranean  galleries  connected  the  two  openings 
and  followed  the  veins  of  ore  in  all  directions. 

The  exception  was  Higley's  mine,  which  was  distant  about  a 
mile  and  a  half  in  a  southerly  direction  from  the  principal  works. 
This  was  marked  as  a  private  enterprise  on  the  part  of  one  Samuel 
Hi^ley,  sometimes  referred  to  as  "Doctor  Higley,"  an  ingenious 
blacksmith  ;  who,  a  few  years  before  this,  had  attempted  to  manu- 
facture steel,  and  had  manifested  considerable  mechanical  ingenu- 
ity. His  mine  is  chiefly  notable  because  from  it  was  dug  the  ore 
used  in  making  the  first  money  known  to  have  been  coined  in  the 
colonics.  The  coins  were  known  as  "  Higley's  coppers,"  and 
pas.sed  current  for  '*two  and  sixpence,"  or  forty-two  cents,  in 
paper  currency.  A  few  of  these  are  still  extant,  and  are  valued 
by  numismatists  at  §8.00.  There  are  several  varieties,  the  most 
common  of  which  has  on  the  obverse  the  picture  of  a  deer,  and 
the  inscription,  ''ft®^  Valve,  me.  as.  you.  please.  *  III."  ;  and 
on  the  reverse  three  hammers,  crowned,  and  the  legend,  "fl®*  I. 
am.  good,  copper.  1737."  One  of  these  may  be  seen  in  the  cabi- 
net of  the  Connecticut  Historical  Society  at  Hartford. 

About  the  year  1721  smelting  and  refining  works  connected 
with  the  mines  were  erected  on  Hop  Brook  in  Simsbury  ;  the 
name  Hanover  being  given  to  the  place  by  the  workmen,  who 
came  from  Hanover  in  Germany.  As  the  laws  of  Great  Britain 
at  this  time  prohibited  this  part  of  the  business  from  being  .carried 
on  in  the  colonics,  the  work  had  to  be  done  secretly  and  at  a  great 
disadvantage.  The  difliculties  met  with  proved  so  great,  and  the 
methods  employed  were  so  imperfect,  that  the  work  resulted  in  a 
loss,  and  was  soon  abandoned,  the  ore  being  thereafter  sent  to 
r^ngland  for  smelting. 

Mining  operations  were  prosecuted  with  considerable  activity 
until  the  year  1745,  after  which  comparatively  little  was  done, 
although  it  was  not  until  1788  that  the  business  was  wholly  aban- 
doned. From  that  time  for  more  than  forty  years  the  mines  lay 
idle.  In  1830,  however,  the  Phoenix  Mining  Company  was  incor- 
porated, and  the  next  year  commenced  operations,  with  the  inten- 
tion of  carrying  them  on  permanently.  But  unexpected  difficulties 
arose  connected  with  the  smelting  process,  which  had  at  previous 
times  proved  a  source  of  much  trouble,  and  these  led  to  pecuniary 
embarrassments,  and  resulted  in  the  discontinuance  of  the  enter- 
prise. Work  was  again  begun  about  twenty  years  later,  but  was 
soon  abandoned,  and  the  mines  have  ever  since  lain  idle. 


THE   SIMSBURY  COPPER  MINES.  431 

It  was,  however,  in  1773,  some  two  years  prior  to  the  breaking 
out  of  the  Revolutionary  War,  that  the  Simsbury  copper  mines 
entered  upon  the  second  period  of  their  history,  and  that  to  which 
they  are  indebted  for  the  greater  part  of  the  interest  which 
attaches  to  them. 

At  its  May  session  in  1773,  the  General  Assembly  of  Connecti- 
cut appointed  a  committee  "  to  view  and  explore  the  copper  mines 
at  Simesbury,"  and  report  upon  the  advisability  of  establishing  a 
state  prison  therein.  They  reported  that  the  mines  were  subject 
to  an  unexpired  lease  having  nineteen  years  to  run,  which  could 
be  purchased  for  about  sixty  pounds,  while  for  about  thirty-seven 
pounds  additional,  the  caverns  could  be  fitted  up  so  that  it  would 
be  "next  to  impossible  to  escape  "  from  them.  At  its  next  session 
the  Assembly  proceeded  to  pass  an  act  **  constituting  the  subter- 
raneous caverns  and  buildings  in  the  copper  mines  in  Simsbury, 
a  public  gaol  and  workhouse  for  the  colony."  The  same  com- 
mittee, consisting  of  "  William  Pitkin,  Erastus  Walcott,  and  Jona- 
than Humphrey,  Esq'rs,"  were  instructed  to  take  such  measures 
as  might  be  necessary  for  the  carrying  out  of  the  will  of  the 
Assembly. 

So  well  did  this  committee  discharge  their  duty,  that,  at  the 
October  session,  they  were  able  to  report  that  they  had  purchased 
the  remaining  term  of  the  lease,  —  that  they  had  by  blasting  *' pre- 
pared a  well-finished  lodging-room  about  fifteen  feet  by  twelve  *'  in 
the  caverns,  and  had  fixed  over  the  western  shaft  a  large  iron 
door,  which  they  considered  would  be  "an  effectual  security  for 
the  confinement  of  persons  that  may  be  condemned  there  for 
employment."  A  perpendicular  ladder  of  iron  was  also  builded 
into  the  western  shaft ;  and  this  served  as  the  only  means  either  of 
entrance  or  of  exit.  The  eastern  shaft,  at  the  bottom  of  which 
was  a  deep  well,  was  left  open  and  unguarded,  it  being  thought 
impossible  for  any  person  to  escape  thereby.  The  total  expense 
for  purchase  and  improvements  amounted  to  three  hundred  and 
seventy  dollars. 

The  name  of  "  Newgate  Prison  '*  was  given  to  the  caverns,  com- 
pleting as  far  as  possible  its  likeness  to  the  famous  prison  of  that 
name  in  London.  The  crimes  for  which  persons  were  to  be  con- 
fined within  its  walls  were  three  in  number,  viz.  :  burglary,  horse- 
stealing, and  counterfeiting.  Mr.  John  Viets,  who  lived  near  by, 
was  appointed  keeper ;  and  in  December  the  prison  was  ready  for 
occupancy. 


432  THE  SIMSBURY  COPPER  MINES, 

On  the  22d  of  that  month  the  first  inmate  was  received,  John 
Hinson  by  name.  His  career  as  a  prisoner  was  a  brief  one,  and 
tended  to  show  the  fallacy  of  the  prevalent  opinion  of  the  impos- 
sibility of  escape  from  the  dungeon.  He  remained  just  eighteen 
days,  and  made  his  escape  on  the  ninth  of  January  by  being  drawn 
up  through  the  eastern  shaft  by  a  rope,  being  assisted,  it  is  said, 
by  a  woman  to  whom  he  was  paying  his  addresses.  In  February 
three  other  prisoners  were  committed,  all  of  whom  escaped  in 
April  following.  Another  convict  remained  in  prison  but  four 
days  before  making  his  escape.     None  of  these  were  retaken. 

During  the  year  the  eastern  shaft  was  secured  by  a'  heavy  iron 
door,  and  a  block-house  was  built  over  the  west  shaft,  through 
which  the  caverns  were  entered.  In  1776  the 'block-house  was 
burned,  and  a  new  one  was  built.  The  next  year  it  was  again 
burned  ;  and  pending  its  rebuilding,  the  prisoners  were  removed  to 
Hartford  jail  for  safe-keeping.  Here  it  is  supposed  they  were 
kept  until  November,  1780,  when  new  buildings  were  completed, 
the  defences  strengthened,  and  a  guard,  consisting  of  a  lieutenant, 
sergeant,  corporal,  and  twenty-four  men,  was  put  on  duty  around 
the  prison.  The  next  year  a  picket  fence  was  erected,  enclosing 
the  buildings,  with  small  bastions  at  the  corners  for  defence. 

During  all  this  time  escapes  had  been  frequent ;  yet  the  New- 
gate Prison  had  a  wide  reputation  for  security,  and  was  popularly 
supposed  to  be  the  strongest  prison  in  America.  This  opinion  led 
General  Washington,  in  1775,  to  send  thither  for  safe-keeping 
some  "  flagrant  and  atrocious  villains,"  who  had  been  convicted  by 
court-martial,  and  who  were  not  to  be  trusted  in  any  less  safe  place 
of  confinement.  And  in  1781  Congress  proposed  to  make  the 
mines  "a  state  prison  for  the  reception  of  British  prisoners  of  war, 
and  for  purposes  of  rctalliation."  But  as  there  was  some  prospect 
that  the  war  would  come  to  an  end  soon  after  this,  nothing  fur- 
ther was  ever  done  about  the  matter.  There  were,  however,  at 
various  times,  a  number  of  Tories  confined  in  the  mines. 

In  May,  1781,  all  the  prisoners,  numbering  twenty-eight  per- 
sons, most  of  whom  were  Tories,  rose  upon  their  guard,  captured 
their  arms,  killed  one  man,  and  made  good  their  escape.  The 
next  year  the  buildings  were  again  set  on  fire,  and  many  of  the 
prisoners  escaped,  but  were  most  of  them  recaptured.  They  were 
then  taken  to  Hartford,  and  the  prison  was  not  again  used  until 
1790.     During  the  nine  years  it  had  been  in  use  the  buildings  had 


THE  SIMSBURY  COPPER  MINES,  .  433 

been  three  times  destroyed  by  fire,  and  more  than  one-half  of  all 
the  prisoners  committed  to  it  had  escaped. 

In  1790  a  new  act  was  passed,  providing  for  the  appointment  of 
three  overseers,  enlarging  the  list  of  crimes  for  which  convicts 
might  be  imprisoned  in  Newgate,  and  making  some  other  changes. 
The  overseers,  by  direction  of  the  legislature,  caused  the  erec- 
tion of  two  new  brick  buildings, — a  workshop  for  the  artisans, 
and  a  dwelling-house  for  the  keeper ;  they  also  built  a  new  picket 
fence  enclosing  the  premises,  and  appointed  a  keeper  with  a  guard 
of  ten  men  to  manage  and  protect  the  prison. 

In  1802  a  massive  stone  wall,  twelve  feet  high,  was  built  around 
the  grounds  by  Col.  Calvin  Barber  of  Simsbury,  and  the  number 
of  the  guard  was  increased  from  ten  to  seventeen.  In  18 15  two 
large  two-story  buildings,  each  nearly  fifty  feet  in  length,  were 
added.  The  lower  story  of  one  contained  the  cells,  while  the 
upper  served  as  a  chapel,  in  which  divine  services  were  held  each 
sabbath.  The  upper  floor  of  the  other  was  used  as  a  shoe-shop, 
and  the  lower  contained  a  cooper's  shop,  a  hospital,  and  a  kitchen. 
About  1824  still  another  edifice  was  built,  of  brick  and  stone,  in 
which  were  the  treadmill,  several  strong  cells,  another  kitchen, 
and  apartments  for  the  female  convicts,  who  about  this  time  began 
to  be  confined  here. 

The  prison  was  now  more  securely  built  than  formerly,  and  its 
affairs  were  better  managed.  Escapes  were  rare,  and  for  many 
years  there  was  no  general  rebellion. 

In  1827  a  new  state  prison  having  been  Completed  at  Wethers- 
field,  all  the  prisoners  were  removed  from  Newgate  to  that  place, 
and  the  second  period  in  the  history  of  the  mines  was  ended. 
The  number  of  the  prisoners  had  considerably  increased  during 
the  last  few  years,  and  at  the  time  of  removal  amounted  to  one 
hundred  and  twenty-seven.  One  of  these,  it  is  said,  lost  his  life 
on  the  very  last  night  before  their  removal,  in  a  vain  attempt  to 
escape. 

The  convicts  were  largely  employed  in  making  wrought  nails, 
the  iron  for  which  was  brought  from  Canaan  and  Salisbury.  Un- 
til the  suspension  of  all  mining  operations  in  1788,  a  few  of  them 
were  employed  in  digging  and  smelting  the  ore ;  while  during  the 
years  from  1820  to  1827,  shoes,  wagons,  barrels,  and  some  other 
articles  were  manufactured.  Most  of  the  prisoners  were  confined 
at  night  in  the  dungeons,  whera  they  slept  on  wooden  platforms. 


434  THE  SIMSBCRY  COPPER  MIXES. 

covered  with  straw  and  a  few  blankets.  At  daybreak  they  were 
taken  above  ground,  and  during  the  day  were  employed  in  the 
workshops. 

Many  visitors  resorted  to  the  place,  sometimes  to  the  number  of 
four  or  five  hundred  monthly.  "  Many  of  them,"  says  Phelps,  in 
his  History  of  Newgate,  "descended  into  the  caverns,  and  all  had 
an  opportunity  to  inspect  generally  the  discipline  and  the  labor- 
system  of  the  prison.  To  those  unaccustomed  to  the  scene,  a  \*isit 
to  the  nail-shop  presented  a  view  extremely  revolting,  and  to  some 
even  terrific.  Here  might  be  seen  some  fifty  men,  black  and 
white,  and  so  besmeared  as  to  be  hardly  distinguishable,  —  and  all 
chained  to  their  blocks,  and  busily  engaged  in  a  noisy  employ- 
ment, closely  watched  and  guarded  by  a  file  of  men  under  arms. 
Add  to  this,  the  appearance  of  the  room  with  its  inmates  and  im- 
plements, as  viewed  by  strong  lights  proceeding  from  the  various 
furnaces,  and  the  continual  clatter  of  hammers  used  in  forging 
nails,  and  some  idea  of  the  scene  —  though  necessarily  an  imper- 
fect one  —  may  be  obtained." 

Strange  tales  arc  told  of  the  horrors  of  this  gloomy  subter- 
ranean dungeon,  —  not  all  of  which,  however,  are  sustained  by 
authentic  records.  The  ordinary  punishments  for  misconduct 
were  whip|}ing,  short  rations,  extra  irons,  and,  in  some  cases,  an 
additional  term  of  imprisonment.  It  is  recorded  that,  as  a  rule, 
the  convicts  enjoyed  good  health,  and  that  certain  cutaneous 
diseases  were  cured  by  the  confinement.  From  other  sources, 
however,  come  whispers  of  foul  vermin,  reeking  filth  and  horrible 
stench,  hard  fare  and  cruel  punishments.  In  the  damp  and  filthy 
air  of  the  dungeon,  it  is  said,  the  clothing  of  the  prisoners  grew 
mouldy  and  rotten,  and  fell  away  from  their  bodies,  while  their 
limbs  grew  stiff  with  rheumatism. 

The  following  vivid  picture  of  life  in  Newgate  Prison  is  taken 
from  "  Kendall's  Travels  "  in  the  northern  parts  of  the  United 
States,  and  describes  the  condition  of  affairs  which  existed  there 
at  the  time  of  his  visit,  in  1807. 

*'  On  being  admitted  into  the  gaol  yard,  I  found  a  sentry  under 
arms  within  the  gate,  and  eight  soldiers  drawn  up  in  a  line  in  front 
of  the  gaoler's  house.  A  bell,  summoning  the  prisoners  to  work, 
had  already  rung ;  and  in  a  few  minutes  they  began  to  make  their 
appearance.  They  came  in  irregular  numbers,  sometimes  two  or 
three  together,  and  sometimes  a  single  one  alone  ;  but  whenever 


THE  SIMSBURY  COPPER  MINES,    .  435 

one  or  more  were  about  to  cross  the  yard  to  the  smithery,  the 
soldiers  were  ordered  to  present,  in  readiness  to  fire.  The  pris- 
oners were  heavily  ironed,  and  secured  both  by  handcuffs  and 
fetters  ;  and,  being  therefore  unable  to  walk,  could  only  make  their 
way  by  a  sort  of  jump  or  a  hop.  On  entering  the  smithery,  some 
went  to  the  sides  of  the  forges,  where  collars,  dependent  by  iron 
chains  from  the  roof,  were  fastened  round  their  necks,  and  others 
were  chained  in  pairs  to  wheelbarrows.  The  number  of  prisoners 
was  about  forty  ;  and  when  they  were  all  disposed  of  in  the  manner 
described,  sentries  were  placed  within  the  buildings  which  con- 
tained them.  After  viewing  this  prison,  I  left  it,  proposing  to  visit 
the  cells  at  a  later  hour. 

"  This  establishment,  as  I  have  said,  is  designed  to  be,  from  all 
its  arrangements,  an  object  of  terror  ;  and  everything  is  accordingly 
contrived  to  make  the  life  endured  in  it  as  burdensome  and  miser- 
able as  possible.  In  conformity  with  this  idea,  the  place  chosen 
for  the  prison  is  no  other  than  the  mouth  of  a  forsaken  copper 
mine,  of  which  the  excavations  are  employed  as  cells.  They  are 
descended  by  a  shaft,  which  is  secured  by  a  trap  door  within  the 
prison  house,  or  gaoler's  house,  which  stands  upon  the  mine. 

''  The  trap  door  being  lifted  up,  I  went  down  an  iron  ladder, 
perpendicularly  fixed,  to  the  depth  of  about  fifty  feet.  From  the 
foot  of  the  ladder  a  rough,  narrow,  and  low  passage  descends  still 
deeper,  till  it  terminates  in  a  well  of  clear  water,  over  which  is  an 
air-shaft  seventy  feet  in  height,  and  guarded  at  its  mouth,  which 
is  .within  the  gaol  yard,  by  a  hatch  of  iron.  The  cells  are  near  the 
well,  but  at  different  depths  beneath  the  surface,  none,  perhaps, 
exceeding  sixty  feet.  They  are  small,  rugged,  and  accommodated 
with  wooden  berths  and  some  straw.  The  straw  was  wet,  and 
there  was  much  humidity  in  every  part  of  this  obscure  region  ; 
but  I  was  assured  I  ought  to  attribute  this  only  to  the  remarkable 
wetness  of  the  season,  that  the  cells  were  in  general  dry,  and  that 
they  were  not  found  unfavorable  to  the  health  of  the  prisoners. 

*'  Into  these  cells  the  prisoners  are  dismissed  at  four  o'clock  in 
the  afternoon,  every  day  without  exception,  and  at  all  seasons  of 
the  year.  They  descend  in  their  fetters  and  handcuffs,  and  at 
four  o'clock  in  the  morning  they  ascend  the  iron  ladder,  climbing 
it  as  well  as  they  can  by  the  aid  of  their  fettered  limbs.  It  is  to  be 
observed  that  no  women  are  confined  here ;  the  law  providing  that 
female  convicts,  guilty  of  crimes  of  which  men  are  to  be  confined 
in  Newgate  Prison,  are  to  be  sent  only  to  the  county  gaols. 


436  THE  SIMSBURY  COPPER  ML\ES. 

"  Going  again  into  the  workship  or  smithery,  I  found  the  attend- 
ants of  the  prison  delivering  pickled  pork  for  the  dinner  of  the 
prisoners.  Pieces  were  given  separately  to  the  parties  at  each 
forge.  They  were  thrown  upon  the  floor,  and  left  to  be  washed 
and  boiled  in  the  water  used  for  cooling  the  iron  wrought  at  the 
forges.  Meat  had  been  distributed  in  like  manner  for  breakfast. 
The  food  of  the  prison  is  regulated  for  each  day  in  the  week ;  and 
consists  in  an  alternation  of  pork,  beef,  and  peas,  with  which  last 
no  flesh  meat  is  allowed. 

"  Besides  the  caverns  or  excavations  below,  and  the  gaoler's 
house  above,  there  are  other  apartments  prepared  for  the  pris- 
oners, and  particularly  a  hospital,  of  which  the  neatness  and  airi- 
ness afford  a  strong  contrast  to  the  other  parts  of  the  prison.  It 
was  also  satisfactory  to  find  that  in  this  hospital  there  were  no 
sick. 

**  Such  is  the  seat  and  the  scene  of  punishment  provided  by 
Connecticut  for  criminals  not  guilty  of  murder,  treason,  or  either 
of  a  few  other  capital  offences.  What  judgment  the  reader  will 
pass  upon  it  I  do  not  venture  to  anticipate ;  but  for  myself  I  can- 
not get  rid  of  the  impression  that,  without  any  extraordinary 
cruelty  in  its  actual  operation,  there  is  something  very  like  cruelty 
in  the  device  and  design." 

With  such  a  system  of  discipline  as  this,  it  is  evident  that  while 
prisoners  might  indeed  be  punished,  they  could  never  be  reformed. 
Hardened  villains  and  beginners  in  crime  were  thrown  together 
in  an  intimate  association  that  was  degrading  in  the  extreme.  As 
the  result,  trifling  offenders  became  adepts  in  roguery,  and  the 
prison,  instead  of  being  a  place  of  reform,  became  a  school  of 
vice  and  a  nursery  of  crime. 

But  the  glory  and  the  shame  alike  of  Newgate  have  departed. 
The  Simsbury  copper  mines  are  a  source  of  wealth  no  longer. 
Even  Copper  Hill  itself,  which  in  its  historic  period  was  part  and 
parcel  of  the  old  town  of  Simsbury,  has  been  transferred  by  suc- 
cessive legislative  enactments  into  the  towns  of  Granby  and  East 
Granby. 

On  the  prison  grounds,  decay  and  change  have  done  their  work. 
The  greater  part  of  the  old  wall  is  still  standing,  though  broken 
down  in  places  ;  but  the  workshops  are  deserted,  the  treadmill  is 
in  ruins,  the  guard-house  is  crumbling  to  pieces.  One  of  the 
buildings  is  somewhat  less  decayed  than  the  others,  and  this  is 


GHIBERrrS  SECOND  GATE.  437 

inhabited  during  the  summer  season  by  a  guide,  who,  for  a  com- 
pensation, shows  the  curious  visitor  over  the  ruins,  and  lights 
him  through  the  caverns,  —  but  cannot  tell  him  their  history. 


GHIBERTI'S   SECOND   GATE. 

By  ISRAEL  JORDAN. 

"  Ghiberti,  from  the  beauty  of  thy  thought, 
Let  now  for  us  in  lasting  bronze  be  wrought 
A  massive  gate  ;  that  weary  passers-by. 
Forgetting  care,  may  pause  to  feast  the  eye  ; 
And  dust-stained  pilgrims,  when  they  shall  retrace 
Home-bringing  ways,  may  gladly  fmd  a  place 
In  recollection  for  its  sweet  designs." 
Heedless  of  cost,  so  spake  the  Florentines  ; 
And  great  Ghiberti  toiled,  and  made  for  them 
Ten  goodly  panels,  each  a  storied  gem. 
Ye  countless  artists,  be  not  envious 
Nor  sigh,  "Alas  !  few  are  commissioned  thus  "  ; 
For  One  far  wealthier  than  Florentines 
Whispers,  "  Begin  ;  carve  beautiful  designs." 


43«  THE  FAITH'-CURE, 


ISMS. 

IV.— THE   FAITH-CURE. 
By  rev.   WM.   I.   GILL,  A.M. 

This  subject  should  not  be  reviewed  or  treated  in  the  light  of  a 
novelty.  It  is  as  old  as  the  Bible,  to  say  the  least.  It  appears  ta 
be  a  conviction  shared  by  all  the  writers  of  that  wonderful  collec- 
tion of  writings,  that  a  filial,  trustful  prayer  to  God  is  the  proper 
course  and  condition  to  secure  the  removal  of  earthly  maladies. 
While  they  do  not  assure  us  that  all  evils  will  be  thus  removed, 
they  do  unite  in  the  assertion  that  God  will  honor  and  bless  the 
prayer  of  faith,  either  by  direct  healing  or  by  such  a  gracious  and 
providential  response  as  to  be  more  than  an  equivalent. 

This  conviction  and  feeling  culminate  in  Jesus,  despite  his  calls 
to  self-denial  and  prophecies  of  hardship  to  those  who  cherish  a 
love  of  truth  and  are  faithful  to  their  convictions.  To  him,  there 
is  no  natural  law  against  goodness,  no  cosmic  pre-ordination  which 
stands  in  the  way  of  the  divine  beneficence  to  the  trustful  and  rev- 
erent objects  of  his  care.  The  chief  characteristic  of  his  life  and 
teaching  is  that  of  a  fatherly  Theism.  This  was  thoroughly  prac- 
tical and  ingrained  with  him,  while  his  conceptions  of  the  divine 
paternity  were  equally  lofty  and  tender.  His  Father  and  our 
Father  will  not  give  to  the  filial  petitioner  stones  for  bread  nor 
scorpions  for  fish.  As  the  perfect  Father,  infinitely  better  than 
men  ever  are,  he  will  not  fail  to  answer  kindly  "those  who  ask 
him."  Even  innocent  evil,  which  Jesus  eyes  so  sadly,  is  viewed 
by  him  in  the  light  of  the  heavenly  Father's  love,  so  that  the  bit- 
terness of  the  evil  is  destroyed.  The  sparrow  falls,  indeed,  but  it 
is  not  by  any  hard  fate,  or  unfeeling  force,  or  cruel  mandate.  It 
occurs  only  by  "your  heavenly  Father's  notice"  and  regard. 
A  fatherly  intent,  all-wise  and  all-powerful,  presides  over  it  and 
determines  the  ultimate  issue.  The  sparrow,  therefore,  shall 
lose  nothing  by  its  fall,  but  in  it  and  through  it  shall  receive  a  fur- 
ther blessing.  To  this  fatherly  bounty  Jesus  ascribed  all  the 
power  of  doing  good  which  he  himself  possessed.  This  was  the 
alleged  source  of  the  mighty  works  which  showed  themselves  in 
him,  and  for  the  power  of  which  his  followers  might  look  to  him 


440 


THE  FAITH-CURE. 


through  all  their  history  and  in  all  their  neeil,  whether  for  them 
selves  or  their  fellow-creatures. 

The  Christian  Church  began  its  memorable  history  on  this  basis 
It  was  to  be  one  perfect  family  wherever  it  extended,  and  be  fe«i 
and  guarded  by  their  one  Father,  God  ;  and  during  the  first  centurj 
or  farther,  it  claimed  universally  that  God  heals  the  sick  in  answ^ 


ILL  CHURCH, 


to  the  prayer  of  faith,  as  expressed   by  James.     This   convictilH 
gradually  lost  its  hold  of  many,  and  by  many  it  has  been  retainti| 
through  all  the  ages,  and  through  all  ecclesiastical  mutations  a 
theological  transitions.     Some  people  of  nearly  Jl   communiond 
have  held  to  it.     It  is  found  in  the  Greek,  the  Roman,  and  1 
estant    Churches,  and    probably  in   every  one   of   the   numei 


THE   FAITH-L'VHE. 


441 


Protestant  divisions,  It  is,  however,  most  numerous  in  those  in 
which  the  old  orthodoxies  remain  the  most  pronounced.  Where 
they  make  comparatively  little  of  natural  law,  sensible  and  super- 
sensible, and  comparatively  ignore  it  in  their  religious  thought 
and  feeling,  exalting  the  personal,  human  and  divine,  above  the 
lexical  or  the  necessities  of  the  laws  inherent  in  the  nature  of 
things,  they  quite  readily,  when  devout,  think  that  God  will  be 
moved  like  a  human  personality,  and  that,  with  a  good  God  and  a 
petitioning  child,  nothing;  can  stand  in   the  way  of  direct   and   im- 


URE    HOUSE 


In  this  way  the  doctrme  ot  the  faith-curc  has  maintained  its 
hold  on  many  devout  minds  through  all  the  centuries,  and  it  still 
lives  and  even  flourishes  in  spots.  It  is  a  fair  but  fragile  product, 
which  springs  sporadic  in  the  thistly  field  which  is  groaning  under 
the  primal  curse.  It  plants  institutions  which,  while  under  the 
direction  of  the  peculiar  genius  which  inspired  them,  prosper, 
flourish,  and  expand,  but  which,  resigned  to  other  hands,  speedily 
decay,  perish,  and  pass  away,  or  they  radically  chaiige  their  form 
and  method  as  a  condition  of  continued  existence. 


442 


THE  FAITH-CURE. 


They  may  be  considered   unphilosophicai,  as  doubtless  in  i 
main  aspect  they  are;  but  they  keep  alive  and  cherish  into  bloom 
some  of   the  fairest  and   noblest  qualities  uf   the  human   heat^l 
They  foster  tenderness  and  gentleness.     They  open  many  foui 
tains  of  lienevolence.     They  bring  to  the  front  the  most  lovdyj 
aspect  of  religion  and  God. 

They  never  wholly  reject  the  aid  of  human  and  natural  mei 
and  agencies.     This  is  the  featuri;  which  makes  them  of  practic 
and  moral  ser\-ice.     They  shnw  ihc  earnest  action  of  good  meii 
at  the  head,  men  wlin  siibunliiKUe  ;ill   liiiinim    interest   to  that   of 


IILOREN'S   KOME   NO.  I,  BOSTON, 


doing  good  in  the  form  adopted  and  determined.     This  arouses  alt 
the  better  elements  of  our  common  nature  wherever  the  fame  of 
the   movement    travels,   and    it    gives   assurance  that   benevo]en||| 
donations  will    be  wisely  and    faithfully    used.     It    is   thus 
Herman   Francke  in  Germany  met  with  large  success,  aided,  bow 
ever,  by  a  patent   medicine  which  netted   him  twenty  thouss 
dollars  per  year.     This  is  the  secret  of  the  noble  and  si 
career  of  George  Miiller  in  England.     His  prayerful,  self-denyi 
resolute  character,  living  always  in  the  atmosphere  of  the  dJvin 
goodness  and  human  piety,  gradually  commanded  the  confidenCi 


THE  FAITH-CVRB. 


443 


of  the  public ;  and  kind  hearts  waiting  for  a  channel  for  their 
benevolence  jxiured  their  treasures,  great  or  small,  into  his  hands. 
Had  he  never  published  any  accounts  of  his  work,  nor  said  any- 
thing about  it  to  any  one,  so  that  they  would  have  had  no  reason- 
able stimulus  and  groimd  of  action,  he  would  nL-ver  have  succeeded. 


QROVE    HALL 


however  much  he  prayed  Praying  was  good  for  himself.  It 
strengthened  his  character,  and,  combined  with  his  temper  and 
course  of  life,  inspired  confidence  in  others.  It  may  have  done 
more,  as  he  thought  it  did.     We  know  it  did  so  much,  and  that 


1 

444                                 THE   !-AITH~CVK}--. 

was  greatly  good.     It  was  an  arttsian  well  in  the  desert,  and  it 
fertilized  an  immense  tract  of  our  common  arid  human  life. 

These  reflections  apply  in  all  their  force  to  the  career  and  work 
of  our  own  Dr.  Charles  Ciillis.     Born  in  Boston,  1833,  of  infirm 
constitution  and  of  a  nervous  delicacy  which  rendered  him  inca- 
pable of  all  the  characteri.stic  boyish  sports  and  freaks  and  temp- 
tations, he  was  familiar  with  suffering  and   solitary  and  sombre 
reflection.     He  is  the  child  of  our  New  lingland  atmosphere,  and 
of  the  old  Puritan  stock  and  spirit  in  its  rarest  refinement. 

The  author  of  that  historic  novel,  so  popular  and  so  marred  by 
bad  taste,  "  The  Scottish  Chiefs,"  represents  her  hero,  Wallace. 
as  happy  and  personally  quite  content  in  his  delightful  rural  home, 
with  his  lovely  and  much-luved  yuuiiL,-  wile  and  baiie.  little  ilistiirbed 

1 

r^-^ :  ^: 

1 

by  the  national  troubles  with  England,  until,  after  a  short  absence 
on  business,  he  returned  to  find. his  late  fair  dwelling  a  heap  of 
.smoking  ruins,  his  wife  and  child  consumed  with  the  house,  by  the 
English  forces.     Now,  he  had  nothing  to  desire  but  vengence  on 
the  guilty,  and  nothing  to  live  for  but  his  country,  and  for  it  to  die, 
which  he  did.     This  exemplifies  one  of  the  laws  of  human  develop- 
ment.    The  good  in  us  is  often  only  a  reaction  against  evil,  until, 
by  running  awhile  in  its  new  course,  it  has  become  purified,  like  a 
turbid  stream  roliing  over  a  pebbly  bed.     From  earthly  dissatisfac- 
tions men  have  often   sought  spiritual  consc)lations,  and,  in  the 
hope  of  a  purer  enjoyment,  they  have  turned  to  a  loftier  course  of 
life ;   and  sometimes  they  have  become  as  pure  and  elevated  as 
their  theme  and  pursuit  — not  always. 

THE  FAITH-CURE. 

Our  present  subject,  Dr.  CuUis,  never  knew  any  great  vicissi- 
tudes, nnr  has  his  course  been  marked  by  any  strong  or  striking 
reactions  ajjainst  past  experience.  But  still  he  was  prepared  for 
his  career  by  suffering,  and  that  suffering  intensified  by  exquisite 
happiness  enjoyed  fur  a  brief  period,  and  then  suddenly  extin- 
guished. Providence  took  him  in  hand  from  the  first,  and 
trained  him  to  the  mental  habit  of  considering  the  sick  and  suffer- 
ing, and  developed  in  him  special  qualifications  as  well  as  desires 
to  serve  them. 

From  sixteen  to  nineteen,  he  was  a  clerk  in  a  mercantile  house 
in   Boston.      Then  his   health  failed  ;   and,  on   recovery,   he  was 


induced  by  a  friendly  physician  to  study  medicine  ;  and  out  of  the 
experience  begotten  of  his  practice  was  generated  the  thought 
and  purpose  of  the  "  Consumptives'  Home,"  where  those  who 
were  rejected  at  the  public  hospital  might  find  shelter  and  friendly 
ministrations,  and  perhaps  even  a  cure.  It  came  about  in  this 
wise  :  He  became  impressed  with  the  importance  of  having  a 
special  providential  work,  and  prayed  for  divine  guidance  in  its 
selection ;  and  he  says :  "  tJne  day,  whilst  the  daily  cry  of  my 
soul   was   for   the   twofold    boon   i>f   a   pure  heart   and   a   special 


448  THE  FAITH'CURE. 

know  of  it  and  be  interested  in  it.  For  the  same  reason  it  has 
gathered  momentum  with  its  motion,  and  multiplied  friends  and 
resources  as  a  consequence  of  growing  fame  and  increasing  proof 
of  its  stable  character  and  practical  usefulness.  It  is  these  ele- 
ments which  entitle  it  to  confidence,  and  disclose  a  hopeful  propl^ 
ecy  that  it  will  probably  so  shape  itself  that,  on  the  demise  of  its 
present  guiding  head  and  moving  heart — under  God,  its  benefi- 
cent work  will  continue,  and  past  donations  still  bless  humanity. 

It  should  not  be  overlooked  that  the  work  of  Dr.  CuUis  is  not 
adequately  expressed  by  the  term  faith-cure.  That  work  includes 
homes  for  hopeless  invalids,  hospitals,  a  printing  establishment, 
chapels,  nursing,  medicine,  as  well  as  praise  and  prayer.  The 
entire  work  is  a  work  of  faith,  and  the  faith-cure  is  but  one  branch 
of  that  work,  and  this  branch  did  not  conspicuously  enter  into  the 
first  conception  of  the  work.  Some  invalids  come  there  who  have 
little  or  no  expectation  of  recovery,  whether  by  faith  or  medicine, 
—  the  homeless  and  hopeless.  It  was  for  such  as  these  that  the 
mission  was  started,  and  the  task  accepted  as  a  divine  injunction. 

It  is  only  in  comparatively  recent  years  that  the  doctrine  and 
practice  of  faith-cure  has  become  one  of  the  established  and  char- 
acteristic elements  of  the  already  vast  institution  or  set  of  institu- 
tions. This  was  for  awhile  a  hindrance  to  the  other  and  older 
portions  of  the  work,  which  finds  expression  in  the  Annual  Report 
of  1884.  This  faith-cure  department  is  now  one  of  the  most  pop- 
ular, and  deemed  by  Dr.  Cullis  himself  to  be  the  most  pregnant 
with  good,  both  physically  and  spiritually,  while  it  adds  a  higher 
tone  and  force  to  the  work  in  all  departments,  as  we  can  easily 
believe. 

The  first  purchase  in  the  prosecution  of  this  task  was  of  a  house 
on  Beacon  Hill,  in  Willard  Street,  for  four  thousand  dollars.  To 
this  additions  have  since  been  made,  till  there  is  there  a  chufch 
and  tract  depository,  with  various  offices,  and  with  meetings 
week-days  and  Sunday.  Here  is  what  may  be  called  the  head- 
quarters of  the  faith-cure  movement  in  the  establishment,  a  meet- 
ing for  the  healing  of  invalids  being  held  there  every  Thursday  at 
II  A.M.,  to  which  all  invalids  are  invited  to  seek  healing  by  God, 
in  answer  to  the  prayer  of  faith. 

In  this  building  was  at  first  the  Consumptives'  Home.  But 
this  home  was  subsequently  removed  to  the  Boston  Highlands, 
and  located  on  the  splendid  property  known  as  Oak  Grove.     This 


THE  FAITH-CURE,  449 

property  comprises  eleven  acres  of  land,  all  within  the  city  limits ; 
and  it  is  now  well  laid  out,  drained,  and  ornamented,  until  in 
salubrity  and  beauty  it  is  "a  garden  of  the  Lord."  There  are 
other  houses  which  have  been  added  to  the  original  "Home." 
There  are  two  chapels,  one  specially  for  the  inmates,  and  the  other 
for  the  public.  There  is  also  the  Spinal  Home,  two  Orphan 
Homes,  a  Deaconess  House,  or  house  for  lady  workers,  a  Faith- 
Cure  House.     At  Walpole,  Mass.,  there  is  a  Cancer  House. 

Connected  with  this  faith  work,  there  is  besides  the  Beacon 
Hill  Church,  the  Lewis  Street  Mission,  the  Faith  Training  Col- 
lege, a  Coffee  Room.  In  various  parts  at  home  and  abroad  there 
have  also  been  established  successful  missions,  physical  and  spirit- 
ual. There  is  the  Boydton  Orphanage,  and  Boydton  Institute, 
Boydton,  Va.  The  Monterey  Mission  among  the  Chinese,  Cal.  ; 
the  Remick  Valley  Mission,  W.Va.,  the  Oxford  Mission,  Oxford, 
N.C.  ;  the  Santa  Barbara  Mission,  Santa  Barbara,  California. 

Then  there  is  a  set  of  missions  in  foreign  lands,  which,  like 
those  at  home,  are  carried  on  by  faith.  That  is,  all  the  parties  go 
to  work  without  making  provision  for  the  flesh  or  for  the  securing 
of  the  necessities  of  the  mortal  life,  but  in  pure  trust  that  "the 
Lord  will  provide."  There  are  three  such  missions  in  India. 
There  is  also  a  tract  depository,  not  only  at  Boston,  but  also  at 
Philadelphia,  and  at  Bombay,  India.  The  work  has  thus  spread 
and  enlarged  and  differentiated,  and  the  workers  multiplied, 
beyond  all  foresight  and  all  expectation. 


450  S/R  REGINALD'S  BANQUET, 


THE   BANQUET   OF   SIR   REGINALD. 

By  CLINTON  SCOLLARD. 

Night  on  the  walls  of  the  castle,  and  night  in  the  streets  of  the  town  ; 
Night  in  the  aisles  of  the  forest,  and  night  on  the  wastes  of  the  down ; 
Night  with  the  clamor  of  winds  and  the  heaven's  mojt  ominous  frown. 

Never  a  gleam  of  a  star  in  a  sky  that  is  boding  and  black, 
Never  a  beam  from  the  moon  sailing  slow  up  her  silvery  track. 
Never  a  break  in  the  gloom  of  the  leaden  and  dolorous  wrack. 

Rain  in  thin  wreaths  that  are  tossed  by  the  blast  as  it  fitfully  blows, 
Rain  such  as  steadily  falls  at  the  flight  of  the  last  winter's  snows, 
Rain  in  wild  torrents  that  macjden  the  peacefulest  streamlet  that  flows. 

Lights  in  the  court  of  the  castle,  —  behold,  in  the  feasting-hall,  light ! 
Flashes  of  flame  on  the  armor  so  brilliantly  burnished  and  bright. 
Laughter  and  jest  on  the  lip,  —  for  Sir  Reginald  banquets  to-night. 

Reginald,  bold  in  the  tourney,  the  first  and  the  last  in  the  field ; 
Reginald,  mighty  of  arm,  and  the  cleaver  of  helmet  and  shield  ; 
Reginald,  last  of  the  line  of  the  crest  blazoned,  "  Never  to  yield." 

Merry  the  hearts  of  the  guests,  for  the  wine  has  flowed  freely  around  ; 
Drunk  are  the  healths  of  the  maidens  that  nature  with  beauty  has  crowned. 
"  Hark  ye  ! "  cries  Reginald,  rising  :  and  lo  !  not  a  breath  at  the  sound. 

Hushed  is  his  face  with  the  fniity  red  vintage  so  freely  outpoured  ; 
Forth  from  its  sheath  at  his  side  leaps  the  gHttering  blade  of  his  sword ; 
Ix)udly  it  rings  as  he  dashes  it  down  on  the  banqueting  board. 

**  Men  call  me  scoffer,"  he   sneers,  "  and  my  deeds  by  the  priests   are 

abhorred. 
Why  should  I  rail  at  their  Christ,  who  taught  living  in  loving  accord  ? 
DowTi  on  your  knees  where  ye  are  ;  we  will  have  the  last  feast  of  the  Lord  ! " 

Pallid  the  face  of  each  guest  as  he  kneels  at  the  blasphemous  sign. 
Bearing  a  trencher  of  bread  and  a  flagon  o'erbrimming  with  wine, 
Sneering,  Sir  Reginald  passeth  along  down  the  sup])liant  line. 


SIR   REGINALD'S  BANQUET,  451 

Waver  the  lights  in  the  hall,  and  a  sound  smites  the  hush  of  the  air, 

Awful  with  rushing  of  pinions  unseen  in  the  gHmmer  and  glare. 

While  through  the  night  pierce  the  shrieks  of  a  soul  in  the  hell  of  despair. 

Trencher  and  flagon  are  dashed  to  the  floor,  and  Sir  Reginald  reels ; 
I>oud  from  his  agonized  lips  through  the  halls  of  the  castle  there  peals 
That  which  the  terrified  heart  of  a  coward  and  craven  reveals. 

Forward  he  falls  with  an  outcry  that  dies  to  a  pitiful  moan ; 
Tremble  the  walls  of  the  castle,  and  quiver  the  turrets  of  stone, 
Swaying  like  trees  in  the  grasp  of  a  hurricane  shaken  and  blown. 

Forth  through  the  torrents  that  pour  as  the  floods  at  the  equinox  fall, 
Haunted  to  madness  by  omens  of  dread  that  their  spirits  appal. 
Rush  in  their  terror  the  banqueters,  fleeing  the  doom-stricken  hall. 

Night  on  the  wastes  of  the  down,  and  the  tempest's  tumultuous  breath 

Voicing  the  horror  abroad  with  the  tongue  of  the  whirlwind  that  saith, 

"  Death  in  the  courts  of  the  castle,  grim  silence  and  darkness  and  death  ! " 


452 


REV,   A.   A.   MINER. 


REV.   ALONZO   A.  MINER,  D.D.,  LL.D. 


By  C.  a.  banker. 


We  are  all  familiar  with  Gray's  reflection 
that  the  place  where 

"  The  rude  forefathers  of  the  hamlet  sleep  " 

contains  the  homes  of  undisclosed  genius, 
perhaps  equal  to  Milton's  or  Cromwell's, 
or  of  a  generous  courage  equal  to  Hamp- 
den's ;  and  we  have  come  to  know  that 
not  a  few  of  the  legitimate  descendants 
of  the  ancient  nobility  of  Europe  freely 
share,  like  true  men  and  Americans, 
the  people's  lot,  and  hide  their  coats-of- 
arms  and  coronets  in  the  ancient  family 
chest.  To  this  class  belongs  the  subject 
of  this  sketch,  Rev.  A.  A.  Miner.  Both 
THE  MINER  COAT  OF  ARMS,  ^^c  family  namc  and  the  coat-of-arms  were 
Hcraidric description:  GuUs,n/rsse  confcrrcd  by  Edward  III.  upon  his  ancestor, 
between  three  plates,  .r^.«/.  j^^^^^.^  ^^^^^^^  ^f  Mcndippc  Hills,  Somer- 
setshire, for  special  services  rendered  that  monarch  in  his  war  for 
the  conquest  of  France.  From  this  Henry  Bulman  Miner  was 
descended  Thomas  Miner,  who  came  to  Boston  with  Elder  Win- 
throp  in  1630 ;  and  Charles  Miner,  a  descendant  of  his  of  the  fifth 
generation,  was  a  Revolutionary  soldier.  A  grandchild  of  Thomas 
Miner  was  Grace  Miner.  She  married  Samuel  Grant,  Jr.,  of 
Windsor,  Conn.  ;  and  from  that  union  descended  General  U.  S. 
Grant. 

Rev.  Alonzo  Ames  Miner  was  the  grandson  of  Charles,  the 
Revolutionary  soldier,  and  the  son  of  Benajah  Ames  Miner.  His 
mother's  maiden  name  was  Amanda  Cary.  He  was  born  at  Lemp- 
ster,  Sullivan  County,  N.H.,  August  17,  18 14. 

Dr.  Miner  seems  to  have  been  happily  exempted  from  some  of 
the  great  mental  conflicts  through  which  many  of  his  thoughtful 
contemporaries  have  passed.  There  are  no  catastrophes  apparent 
in  the  history  of  his  intellectual  life.      He  seems  to  have  been 


REV.  A.   A.   MINER.  453 

• 

born  religious  and  a  Universalist.  This  doctrine,  with  the  general 
scheme  of  thought  usually  attached  to  it,  early  commanded  his 
deliberate  approval  and  whole-hearted  allegiance.  In  those  days 
this  was  not  only  unpopular  as  an  heresy,  but  it  was  generally 
deemed  morally  reprehensible  as  militating  against  moral  prin- 
ciple. The  common  understanding  and  conscience  of  that  time 
could  not  clearly  see  how  men  could  be  good  and  honest  if  they 
had  no  fear  of  hell  before  their  eyes  ;  and  in  this  they  judged 
others,  for  the  most  part,  by  themselves,  and  thus  condemned 
themselves  ;  though  the  true  saint  always  knows  that  he  loves 
righteousness  and  hates  iniquity  for  its  own  sake.  Young  Miner's 
character  very  early  proved  its  own  vindication,  inspired  respect 
and  confidence,  and  secured  for  him  positions  of  responsibility  and 
trust. 

Born  with  a  feeble  constitution,  he  could  not  "  rough  it "  with 
the  average  boy  at  school.  The  invalid's  chair  was  for  the  most 
part  his  bench  and  desk,  and  there  was  much  of  his  primary  educa-' 
tion  attained,  which  he  subsequently  supplemented  with  special 
academic  training  in  the  academies  at  Hopkinton,  Lebanon, 
Franklin  in  New  Hampshire,  and  at  Cavendish,  Vt.  His  profi- 
ciency was  such  that  he  early  became  himself  a  successful  teacher. 
His  last  place  as  a  pupil  became,  by  invitation  of  the  principal,  his 
first  field  of  labor  as  an  instructor.  His  principal  was  a  zealous 
Calvinist,  and  he  was  acquainted  with  the  religious  convictions  of 
his  pupil  and  chosen  associate.  But  he  was  able  to  discern  the 
superior  qualifications  of  talent  and  character  which  he  might  not 
readily  find  at  his  command  in  the  orthodox  ranks ;  and  he  took 
the  young  heretic  into  partnership  with  him  in  the  control  and 
management  of  the  school.  Young  Miner  remained  in  this  con- 
nection, however,  only  one  year.  He  was  wanted  elsewhere  as 
the  sole  principal  and  head. 

It  was  then  that  some  gentlemen  of  Unity,  proposing  the  estab- 
lishment of  an  academy  at  that  place,  discerned  in  Mr.  Miner,  now 
in  his  twenty-first  year,  the  qualifications  requisite  for  its  leader- 
ship, and  made  him  offers  which  he  accepted.  The  institution 
was  named  the  "  Scientific  and  Military  Academy,"  and  was  for 
both  sexes,  except  the  military  training,  which  was  (as  now)  con- 
fined to  the  boys.  The  school  grew  and  flourished  under  his 
administration.  Young  love  also  was  blossoming  in  the  heart  of 
the  principal  and  in  the  heart  of  a  fair  maiden,  whom  he  married 


454  R^V'  A,   A,   MINER, 

in  the  second  year  of  his  stay  there,  and  who  then  entered  the 
school  as  preceptress.  She  still  continues  her  faithful  task  as  his 
partner,  though  we  can  easily  imagine  that  as  preceptress  she  has 
long  since  made  her  husband  the  chief  object  of  her  studious  care. 

Dr.  Miner's  "call  to  the  ministry"  in  the  Universalist  Church 
was  of  a  true  and  healthy  kind,  equally  rational  and  religious.  He 
had  a  predisposition  to  the  work.  It  accorded  with  all  his  early 
thinking  and  training.  It  was  consonant  with  his  prevailing  spirit 
and  character.  It  came  as  a  moral  necessity  with  his  proximate 
mental  maturity.  He  beheld  in  that  work  a  lofty  and  sacred  ser- 
viceableness,  with  which  even  academic  employment,  however 
honorable,  could  not  compare ;  and  neither  his  heart  nor  con- 
science could  be  satisfied  in  any  lower  sphere.  In  this  compre- 
hensive and  philosophic  significance  he  felt  that  it  was  a  "woe 
unto  me  if  I  preach  not  the  Gospel." 

What  added  to  the  strength  of  his  feeling  and  conviction  on  the 
subject,  was  his  denominational  specialty  as  a  Universalist.  He 
was  under  a  deep  conviction  that  this  doctrine,  judiciously  ex- 
pounded and  faithfully  urged  upon  mankind,  would  bring  to  them 
an  immense  benefaction  ;  that  it  would  relieve  the  divine  character 
from  the  odium  of  a  false  representation,  which  made  him  appear 
dreadful  and  repulsive  ;  that  it  would  foster  a  piety  of  disinterested 
love  and  pure  spirituality  and  moral  purpose,  in  place  of  a  religion 
of  selfish  fear  and  hope,  and  bargain  and  barter ;  that  it  would 
thence  hasten  the  more  general  acceptance  and  universal  diffusion 
of  the  Gospel  of  Christ.  Under  these  convictions,  he  offered  him- 
self to  the  ministry,  and  was  welcomed  to  the  work  and  rank  of 
the  sacred  order. 

Mr.  Miner  was  ordained  in  the  New  Hampshire  Conference  of 
Universalist s,  held  at  Nashua,  June,  1839.  ^^  ^^^  following  No- 
vember he  became  pastor  of  the  Universalist  church  at  Methuen, 
Mass.  There  he  ministered  with  great  success  until  July,  1842, 
when  he  accepted  a  call  to  the  Second  Universalist  Church  in 
Lowell,  Mass.,  and  commenced  his  work  as  pastor  there  the  first 
Sunday  of  July.  Here  an  extraordinary  success  attended  his 
labors.  The  church  grew  in  numbers  and  influence,  and  its 
pastor  soon  became  recognized  as  a  man  in  whom  were  united  a 
manifold  capacity  and  disposition  to  be  of  service  to  the  public. 
Trusts  and  various  official  positions  were  rapidly  laid  upon  him. 
Though  never  robust,  he  showed  an  extraordinary  power  of  work, 


JiEV.  A,  A,  MINER.  455 

combined  with  a  public  spirit,  a  patience  and  kindliness  of  temper, 
a  balance  of  judgment  and  a  hopeful  progressiveness  of  practical 
thought,  which  made  him  a  tower  of  strength  to  every  good  cause. 

During  the  ministry  of  Dr.  Miner  at  Lowell  the  powerful  influ- 
ence of  Theodore  Parker  began  to  be  felt  in  the  Universalist  de- 
nomination, and  one  of  its  ministers  in  that  place.  Rev.  H.  G. 
Smith,  came  under  its  domination.  This  was  strenuously  opposed 
by  Rev.  Messrs.  Brooks  and  Miner.  Dr,  Miner  considered  Theo- 
dore Parker  no  better  than  a  Deist,  and  his  general  teaching  cal- 
culated to  destroy  all  reverence  for  the  Bible  as  an  inspired  revela- 
tion of  God.  Therefore,  with  others  of  like  mind,  he  assailed  this 
doctrine  with  all  his  might,  and  with  all  the  means  and  resources 
at  his  command.  They  arraigned  it  before  the  Boston  Associa- 
tion, which,  by  a  large  majority,  passed  a  resolution  protesting 
against  it  as  "adeistical  innovation."  After  this  Theodore  Par- 
kerism  had  little  apparent  influence  in  the  Universalist  denomina- 
tion, though  for  a  while  the  contest  slightly  weakened  the  body 
in  Lowell,  and  perhaps  in  a  few  other  places. 

In  May,  1848,  Dr.  Miner  was  called  to  the  associate  pastorate  of 
the  School  Street  Church,  Boston,  where  the  famous  Hosea  Ballou 
had  long  ministered.  He  had  the  entire  good  will  and  confidence 
of  his  predecessor  and  senior,  and  he  rapidly  secured  harmony, 
won  respect  and  attachment,  and  carried  the  work  forward  to 
a  grand  degree  of  success.  In  iSsr  his  people  concluded  it  was 
their  duty  to  enlarge  the  church  edifice,  and  in  the  meanwhile  to 
give  their  pastor  a  chance  for  rest  and  recuperation,  an  opportun- 
ity which  he  well  improved  in  a  course  of  European  travel.  After 
the  death  of  Mr.  Ballou,  in  June,  1S52,  Dr.  Miner  remained  sole 
pastor  of  the  church,  with  which  he  has  sustained  his  pastoral  rela- 
tions to  the  present  time,  over  thirty-eight  years. 

In  this  interim  was  founded  Tufts  College ;  and  for  its  establish- 
ment, perhaps,  no  one  did  more  than  Dr,  Miner.  He  subscribed 
liberally  himself,  and  he  inspired  others,  by  the  contagion  of  his 
L'xample  and  his  eloquent  zeal,  to  make  generous  pledges  and 
donations.  After  pledges  to  the  amount  of  SiOD.ooo  were  secured, 
the  corner-stone  was  laid,  in  1S53,  Dr.  Miner  giving  the  address 
on  the  occasion.  Rev.  Hosea  Ballou,  2d,  D.D.,  was  made  its 
first  president ;  and,  on  his  death.  Dr.  Miver  was  constrained 
lo  take  his  place.  He  was  inaugurated  July  9,  1863.  He  had 
previously  served  the  college  as  trustee,  secretary,  and  treasurer ; 


456  rev:   a.   a.   miner. 

and  it  was  in  no  small  measure  through  his  vigilance  and  skill  that 
the  moneys  were  raised  to  meet  the  current  expenses  during  the 
infancy  and  weakness  of  the  institution. 

Tufts  College  honored  him  with  the  title  of  A.M.  in  1861 ; 
Harvard,  with  the  title  of  LL.D.  in  1865.  In  1875  his  presi- 
dency, which  had  lasted  thirteen  years,  closed.  This  old  School 
Street  Church  had,  in  1872,  moved  into  Columbus  Avenue,  and 
there,  at  the  corner  of  Clarendon  Street,  had  built  an  elegant  and 
commodious  stone  edifice,  in  which  they  have  worshipped  from 
that  date  to  this.  They  now  extended  an  urgent  call  to  Dr.  Miner 
to  resume  his  full  connection  with  them  as  their  pastor.  He  was 
induced  to  accept,  and  he  entered  at  once  upon  his  new  work  and 
with  his  old  acceptability  and  usefulness.  A  new  era  of  prosperity 
gladdened  the  old  parish  in  its  new  field. 

During  his  pastorate  in  Boston  Dr.  Miner's  labors  spread 
on  all  sides  beyond  his  distinctively  parish  work.  He  seemed  to 
be  everywhere  needed,  and  everywhere  useful,  and  all  the  time. 
His  old  associates  never  grow  weary  of  him,  and  his  services  and 
offices  in  every  connection  seem  to  be  increasingly  acceptable  and 
desired. 

His  greatest  service  to  the  public,  outside  of  the  pulpit,  is  per- 
haps his  labors  in  the  great  cause  of  temperance.  On  this  subject 
his  convictions  have  been  as  steady  and  clear  and  strong  as  his 
special  theological  opinions  from  his  youth  up.  On  this  subject 
he  has  labored  in  every  possible  way,  in  the  political  caucus,  in 
the  lyceum,  on  the  platform,  and  at  the  polls,  and  he  has  never 
grown  weary  or  disgusted  either  with  the  work  or  the  workers. 
Nor  is  he  a  particle  of  a  trimmer.  He  is  as  "  thorough  "  as  Went- 
worth.  While  ready  to  accept  the  best  he  can  get,  he  goes  for 
the  best  conceivable,  for  the  utter  extirpation  of  the  legalized  prac- 
tice of  making  and  vending  alcoholic  liquors.  He  has  been  thor- 
oughly identified  with  the  prohibition  party  from  the  first,  and  was 
its  candidate  in  1878  for  governor  of  Massachusetts. 

Yet  Dr.  Miner  has  never  sunk  the  Church  in  these  various  and 
scattered  labors.  This  he  has  always  regarded  as  the  bulwark  of 
moral  and  religious  truth  and  life,  and  the  most  firm  ground  on 
which  to  build  our  hope  of  future  progress.  This  is  one  of  the 
secrets  of  his  undectying  vitality,  whereby  he  gives  every  promise 
that  he  will  continue  to  bear  fruit  in  his  old  age  as  in  his  prime. 


A    NINETEENTH  CENTUkY  MYSTERY.         457 


A   NINETEENTH   CENTURY   MYSTERY. 

By  HENRIETTA  E.   PAGE. 

Not  one  man  in  a  hundred  will  willingly  confess  to  the  slightest 
belief  in  the  known  agency  of  supernatural  forces  in  the  affairs 
of  this  mundane  sphere,  and  would  scoff  at  any  one  who  strove 
to  imbue  him  with  the  belief.  Yet  there  are  few  who  are  not  in 
one  way  or  another  superstitious  in  spite  of  their  declarations  to 
the  contrary.  In  the  following  brief  sketch  three  or  four  men, 
who  disclaimed  any  such  belief,  nevertheless  show  plainly  that 
such  feelings  are  inborn,  and  will  out  when  occasion  requires. 
They  are  men  of  distinctly  different  organizations,  and  also  men  of 
education. 

In  the  year  a.d.  1875  a  friend  of  mine,  who  had  long  been  a 
resident  of  Boston,  wished,  on  account  of  the  delicate  state  of  his 
wife's  health,  to  secure  a  residence  somewhere  in  the  suburbs, 
to  get  away  from  the  east  winds,  and  yet  not  be  too  far  distant 
from  his  business.  So  he  advertised  and  inquired  amongst  his 
friends,  and  at  last  heard  of  something  he  thought  would  suit  him. 

It  was  one  of  twelve  detached  cottages,  each  standing  in  its  own 
rather  spacious  and  very  pretty  grounds,  and  set  well  back  from 
the  street,  which  was  wide,  and  beautifully  shaded  with  trees  at 
least  a  hundred  years  of  age. 

Cedar  Street  in  —  say  Walthampton  —  was  the  pride  of  the 
place,  and  only  those  with  long  purses  could  hope  to  enjoy  one 
of  its  residences.     Very  select  and  aristocratic  were  its  residents. 

Lily  Lawn  and  Rose  Terrace  were  equally  desirable  as  places 
of  abode,  and  equally  lovely.  The  property  had  come  almost 
as  a  gift  into  the  hands  of  the  present  owner,  who,  being  keen- 
witted, had  hastened  to  take  advantage  of  its  many  natural  facili- 
ties, and  built  handsome  cottages  and  beautified  the  grounds ;  thus 
enhancing  its  value  to  an  almost  unprecedented  degree.  So  short 
a  time  before  a  comparatively  howling  wilderness,  it  had  now  be- 
come a  little  earthly  paradise. 

As  I  said,  each  cottage  stood  in  its  own  grounds,  having  its 
lawn  dotted  with  beds  of  rare  flowers,  and  vines  trailing  wherever 
space  allowed.     A  pretty  fountain  threw  up  its  jets  of  crystal  into 


45«         A    NINETEHNTH  CENTURY  MYSTERY. 

the  ;iir,  and  birds  made  music  in  the  handsome  old  trees  which 
a l)( Minded  everywhere. 

Rose  Terrace  was  built  at  the  foot  of  a  gently  inclined  hill, 
and  at  the  back  of  I  jly  Lawn  ran  a  clear,  purling  stream,  from 
which  the  fountains  were  fed.  At  the  distance  of  about  a  five 
minutes'  walk  was  the  post-office,  police  station,  engine  house,  and 
(h'u^;-st()re ;  .so  one  could  not  have  been  much  better  situated, 
especially  as  a  minister  and  doctor  lived  upon  either  side  of  the 
street. 

Mr.  Cleveland,  the  owner  of  the  beautiful  place,  had  just  re- 
turned from  an  eighteen  months*  residence  abroad,  and  in  conse- 
quence of  his  agent's  unavoidable  absence  through  sickness,  had 
i)een  compelled  himself  to  chaperone  his  expected  tenants  upon 
their  exploring  expedition. 

Mrs.  Arnold  was  satisfied  :  and  as  that  was  the  main  object  in 
house-hunling.  the  bargain  was  closed,  and  the  cottage  was  taken 
upon  a  year's  trial. 

A  week  or  I  wo  later  the  familv  was  settled  therein,  and  the 
fuusiung  touches  had  been  made.  All  was  beautiful,  all  was  in 
]HMiect  iM'der,  and  the  mistress  wandered  from  room  to  room  with 
deli.uhtCil  eyes.  In  the  gem  of  a  parlor,  where  ever)'  article  of 
iurnituro,  every  piece  of  plate,  bronze,  or  bric-a-brac  stood  or  hung 
just  as  Mrs.  Arnold  had  seen  it  in  her  mind's  eve,  so  short  a  time 
since,  her  husband  found  her.  Out  on  the  lawn  the  children  were 
dabbling  their  ]Mnk  lingers  in  the  basin  of  the  fountain,  while  in 
a  hammock  swung  between  two  of  the  tall  trees,  reclined  a  girl, 
reading.  She  was  almost  the  counterpart  of  the  handsome  young 
wile  :  i>crha]>s  a  few  years  younger,  certainly  no  fairer, 

Mr.  Arnoid  went  up  to  his  wife,  and  putting  his  arm  around  her, 
saui  :  — 

'•  M.nion,  now  vou  are  so  nioelv  set:led,  with  Ora  and  the  chil- 
i'.ren  :o  kcvp  you  from  feeling  dull,  and  good  stout  Margon^  in  the 
kitcho^i.  you  can  sinvly  s|\iro  me  for  a  few  days  ?  I  ought  to  go 
:o  New  York  u]V^n  that  business  I  told  you  about.  I  think  j'ou 
canni^t  help  footing  quite  s.^fe  an;]  secure  here,  even  with  me  away. 
You  ha\-c  plon:\-  of  pleasant  neigh K^rs.  from  all  that  I  have  sseen 
01  :hcn.  a:iv:  the:":  vou  h.ive  vour  bur^ilar  al,\Tm.  which  Mr,  Clc>ne- 
\v.id  5!0  kindlv  haii  :Vi::  in  a:  >'out  recr.cst,  and  taucht  you  to 
v.so  —  aT-sd  for  which  1  Car.no*.  even  now.  sec  the  necessity.  It 
\^*o;:\-i  in  CASO  of  TiOOv-'  hrini:  >-oi:  .^^ssistance  in  a  few  minutes ;  but 


A   NINETEENTH  CENTURY  MYSTERY.         459 

I  doubt  the  need,  for  I  never  saw  a  more  quiet  and  peaceful  neigh- 
borhood." 

"Oh,"  she  laughed,  "you  can  go,  and  welcome,  without  all  that 
long  oration.  Any  one  would  think  I  was  a  veritable  little  coward, 
and  you  the  most  valiant  of  protectors  :  you  can  go,  and  —  " 

"  Don't  say  you  are  glad  to  be  rid  of  me,  little  wife,  though  your 
saucy  eyes  would  have  me  believe  it.  I  am  glad  you  are  not 
timid.  I  shall  be  back  just  as  quickly  as  I  possibly  can.  Now 
come  and  help  me  pack  my  valise,  and  I  will  start  immediately. 
The  sooner  off,  the  sooner  back,  you  know." 

The  packing  was  soon  accomplished,  and  with  smiling  though 
tear-wet  eyes,  the  young  wife  watched  her  husband  down  the  long, 
shady  street,  waving  her  handkerchief  with  one  hand,  while  she 
shielded  her  eyes  from  the  blazing  sun  with  the  other.  When  she 
had  watched  him  out  of  sight,  she  wiped  her  tears,  and  running 
around  to  the  back  of  the  house,  joined  in  a  game  of  romps  with 
her  blue-eyed,  flaxen-haired  children,  who  were  trying  races  with 
a  great  hound. 

The  day  passed  happily  and  merrily  enough.  Not  one  moment 
of  blueness  or  weariness  had  Mrs.  Arnold  found ;  and  when  she 
kissed  her  babies  good  night,  she  wondered  if  she  had  before 
known  so   short   a  day. 

Ora  and  she  sat  in  the  parlor  reading  until  past  ten,  when  each 
went  to  her  room,  after  seeing  that  every  door  and  window  was 
properly  secured.  Ora  slept  with  the  children  upon  one  side  of 
the  hall,  and  Mrs.  Arnold  upon  the  other.  Both  were  front  rooms 
on  the  second  floor,  the  doors  facing.  The  stairs  ended  further 
back,  and  still  further  was  the  flight  which  led  to  Margory's 
chamber. 

Ora  went  to  bed,  the  children  being  in  their  pretty  cots  each 
side  of  her ;  but  Mrs.  Arnold,  who  had  a  wondrously  fascinating 
book,  let  down  her  beautiful  hair,  put  on  a  loose  gown  and  slip- 
pers, sank  into  a  great  "  Sleepy  Hollow  "  of  a  chair,  and  was  soon 
oblivious  to  everything  around. 

Both  doors  were  left  open  for  the  sake  of  sociability.     The  house     1 
was  almost  as  quiet  as  the  grave,  and  time  sped  on.  v 

The  little  French  clock  upon  the  mantle  at  last  aroused  her  by    ^ 
its  continuous  striking.      She  looked  up,  amazed  to  find  it  was    S 
twelve  o'clock !     She  threw  her  book  upon  the  little  stand,  and  >) 
stretching  lazily,  gave  a  most  luxurious  yawn,  then  murmured  to 
herself. 


46o         A   NINETEENTH  CENTURY  MYSTERY. 

"  This  is  the  witching  hour  of  night,  when  churchyards  yawn 
and  graves  give  up  their  dead." 

Scarcely  had  the  words  passed  her  lips,  when  she  heard  voices 
coming  up  the  garden  walk  —  angry  voices.  She  started  up  in  ter- 
ror, as  she  heard  the  front  door  flung  open,  and  the  heavy  steps 
and  angry  voices  go  into  the  parlor. 

She  was  sure  they  had  locked  and  bolted  the  front  door  the  last 
thing  before  coming  up  stairs,  yet  whoever  it  was  down  there  had 
thrown  it  open  and  shut  it  again,  as  if  no  lock  or  bolt  had  inter- 
vened. 

The  voices  grew  louder  and  louder ;  there  seemed  to  be  blows 
exchanged,  muttered  curses,  and  then  a  struggle,  with  crashing  of 
glass  and  tumbling  of  furniture. 

Marion  sprang  to  her  door,  to  see  Ora,  with  whitened  lips,  hold- 
ing a  child  by  either  hand,  and  Margory  hurrying  down  stairs  in 
her  night-dress,  carrying  a  lighted  lamp. 

*'  liowly  muther !  what  does  it  all  mane } "  she  whispered,  as  they 
all  crept  trembling  into  Marion's  room. 

"What  can  it  mean.-*"  Mrs.  Arnold  panted.  "Ora,  we  locked 
everything  securely  before  we  came  up  —  Oh,  my  God,  what  a 
shriek !  there  is  murder  doing  down  there  !  What  shall  we  do  ? 
Just  hear  the  glass  and  furniture  crash  ;  there  will  not  be  anything 
left  whole.     I  wish  I  had  not  let  Charley  go,  now." 

"Help!  help!  he  will  murder  me,  he  will  murder  me!  Help! 
help!"  rang  through  the  house,  as  the  struggle  became  louder  and 
fiercer.  Then  there  was  a  piercing  scream,  a  dull  thud,  groans, 
and  then  quiet. 

The  three  women  looked  at  each  other  in  mute  horror,  while  the 
children  clung  to  their  mother's  skirts  in  terror.  Ora  sprang  to 
the  door  and  quickly  bolted  it  with  fingers  that  shook  with  fear ; 
and  Marion  looked  around  with  dumb  anguish  in  her  beautiful 
eyes.  A  look  of  relief  came  into  her  face  as  she  caught 
sight  of  the  burglar  alarm  ;  and  quickly  freeing  herself  of  the 
clinging,  frightened  children  by  placing  them  in  the  arms  of  their 
aunt,  she  flew  to  the  machine  and  set  it  in  motion ;  then  she  ran 
to  the  window  to  watch  for  help.  It  seemed  ages,  but  was  not 
three  minutes  before  a  mounted  policeman  was  at  the  door,  and 
she  could  see  the  forms  of  five  or  six  others  running  down  the 
road,  in  the  distance. 

"  What  is  the  trouble,  Mrs.  Arnold  ?  "  came,  in  reassuring  words, 
from  below. 


A   NINETEENTH  CENTURY  MYSTERY,         461 

She  drew  a  long,  trembling  breath  of  relief,  and  inwardly  thanked 
Heaven  for  the  inspiration  which  had  prompted  her  to  desire  the 
alarm,  —  if  Charles  had  laughed. 

"  Oh,  sir !  I  don't  know  ;  but  there  is  murder  being,  or  has  been 
done  down  in  the  parlor ;  such  screams  and  groans  I  never  heard  ; 
we  are  all  wild  with  terror." 

The  man  dismounted. 

*'  If  you  can  drop  me  a  key,  or  let  me  in  in  some  way,  I'll  soon 
see  what  is  the  trouble." 

"  The  door  is  not  fastened.  I  heard  them  come  in,  and  they  did 
not  fasten  the  door  after  them." 

"  It  is  fastened  now,  and  tightly,  too.  —  Here,  John,  hand  me 
the  skeletons !  It  turns  back  the  lock  ;  still  I  cannot  open  the 
door.     I  think  it  must  be  bolted  .too." 

"  I  did  bolt  it,"  she  faintly  answered.  Then  she  and  Ora  looked 
at  each  other  with  pitifully  white  faces. 

"  If  some  one  can  come  down  and  undo  the  bolt?  "  he  said  in  a 
questioning  voice.  No  one  dared  to  think  of  passing  that  horrible 
parlor-door. 

"Break  a  pane  of  glass  in  the  side-light;  get  in  any  way;  we 
are  all  too  fearfully  frightened  to  come  down." 

He  took  her  at  her  word,  and  soon  they  heard  the  tramp  of 
feet  and  welcome  voices  in  her  pretty  but  now  hateful  rooms. 

All  hastened  to  don  wrappers  and  shawls. 

"Mrs.  Arnold!"  She  quickly  unbolted  the  door.  "Will  you 
please  step  down  here  a  moment.^"  She  drew  back,  shuddering, 
as  she  whispered,  "  Oh,  sir!  please  do  not  ask  me  to." 

''  Pray  do  ;  there  is  nothing  to  frighten  you.  I  will  meet  you  at 
the  stairs." 

He  led  her  down,  followed  by  the  rest  of  the  frightened  family, 
straight  into  the  parlor.  She  went  with  lowered  eyes  and  wildly 
beating  heart ;  her  limbs  almost  refused  to  support  her. 

"  There,  you  see  there  is  nothing  to  be  frightened  about." 

She  slowly  raised  her  eyes.     Nothing  to  be  frightened  about  ^ 

She  looked  into  the  officer's  face  ;  from  him  to  his  men.  All 
were  grave  ;  not  even  the  ripple  of  a  smile  on  any  of  their  faces. 

What  did  it  mean  } 

Not  a  thing  was  out  of  place,  not  an  article  broken,  the  windows 
were  intact,  there  was  no  bleeding  corpse  upon  the  floor.  The 
flowers  were  breathing  out  their  incense  upon  the  table,  the  clock 


4^2      A  NixnriiExrH  century  mystery. 

was  ticking  musically  upon  the  mantle,  her  bird  was  pluming 
itself  in  the  unwonted  light  from  the  gas-jet,  which  the  men  had 
lighted,  and  all,  all  was  peaceful  and  quiet  as  when  she  left  the 
room  a  few  hours  ago.  Cjuiet  ?  yes,  so  quiet  she  could  count  her 
own  heart-beats  as  easily  as  she  could  the  clock-ticks. 

What  did  it  all  mean  ?  The  peaceful  room,  the  grave  faces  — 
and,  oh  !  those  fearful  cries  ^  She  leaned  heavily  against  the  man» 
who  still  held  her  arm,  and  he  led  her  gently  to  a  chair,  where 
Ora  and  the  children  nestled  around  her. 

*•  Are  you  faint,  madam  ? "  he  asked. 

**  Am  I  dreaming.^"  she  cried.  "Yes;  I  feel  faint,  but  it  will 
jKiss  over.     What  does  it  all  mean  ?     I  dare  not  think." 

**  I  would  not  try  to-night.  If  you  will  go  back  to  your  rooms, 
I  and  some  of  my  men  will  stay  down  here  till  the  morning :  you 
need  sleep." 

**  Slcej) !  Shall  I  ever  sleep  again,  with  those  cries  ringing  in 
my  ears  ? " 

Tlu'  officer  whispered  a  few  words  to  one  of  the  men,  who  went 
off  suddenly,  as  Mrs.  Arnold  burst  into  a  bitter  flood  of  tears. 

*•  I  wish  Charley  were  here,"  sobbed  Ora.  The  children  won- 
dered what  mamma  could  be  crying  about. 

*'  I  only  wish  he  were.  I  will  not  stay  another  night  in  this 
house  for  any  one.     Oh  !  Charley,  Charley  !  " 

**  Mrs.  Arnold,  drink  this,"  a  new  voice  said  at  her  elbow  ;  "  it 
will  cpiiet  your  nerves."  She  felt  the  glass  put  to  her  lips,  and, 
over  the  rim,  she  recognized  the  face  of  the  doctor  who  lived  on 
the  o|)posite  side  of  the  street.     She  meekly  obeyed. 

**  I  was  sorry  when  I  saw  you  moving  into  this  house.  I  am 
nol  su])erstitious  myself,  but  I  would  not  take  it  rent  free.  It  has 
a  bad  name." 

*•  Then,  then,"  gasped  poor  Marion,  with  white  lips,  '*  it  is 
htXHitti'iif 

"  So  they  say  ;  though  I  do,  or  rather  did  not,  place  much  faith 
in  the  re|)orts.  I  knew  it  had  been  a  long  time  empty,  and  that 
whei^  it  was  not.  it  changed  tenants  often.  But  I  would  not  think 
anv  more  about  it  to-night  ;  to-morrow  vou  shall  move  into  the 
cottage  next  to  mine  :  we  will  all  turn  to  and  help,  so  that,  by  to- 
morrow night,  you  shall  be  safely  housed  in  a  Christian  abode.'* 
She  faintly  smiled  her  thanks,  as  her  head  fell  "weakly  against  Ora, 
who  put  loving  but  trembling  arms  around  her. 


A    NINETEENTH   CENTURY  MYSTERY. 


463 


"  She  is  safe  for  a  good  six  hours'  sleep  —  perhaps  longer  ;  she 
is  dreadfully  shaken  up." 

•■  Oh,  sir,  it  was  awful  t "  said  poor  Ora.  He  now  looked  at 
her. 

"  Yes  ;  I  do  not  doubt  it  :  you  need  rest,  too ;  and  those  children 
should  be  asleep.  Come,"  — to  Margory,  —  "  you  lead  the  way," 
and,  taking  up  Marion's  insensible  form,  he  strode  after  the  women 
and  children  ;  for  none  were  willing  to  be  left  behind. 

He  laid  her  carefully  upon  the  bed,  and  Ora  fixed  the  pillows, 
and  tenderly  covered  her  lightly. 

"  Now,  young  lady,  I  will  see  to  you.  —  Those  children  must  go 
to  bed,  good  woman." 

"  Yes,  Margory,  put  the  darlings  in  their  little  cribs,  and  stay 
with  them.     I  shall  not  leave  Marion  till  daylight." 

■'  You  need  not  fear  anything  else  to-night,  and  there  are  four 
policemen  who  will  stay  until  morning.  Now,  Miss,  I  will  mix 
you  a  draught,  which  I  wish  you  to  drink  as  soon  as  may  be  after 
1  go.  Lie  down  by  the  side  of  your  sister,  and  go  to  sleep.  Do 
not  fear  ;  nothing  will  hurt  you.  The  poor,  unrestful  souls,  if  such 
they  are,  return  only  for  their  own  punishment,  not  yours.  Shall 
I  stay  until  you  are  asleep  ? " 

"  Oh  no  !  no  indeed  ! "  stammered  poor  blushing  Ora. 

"Then  I  will  bid  you  good  night," 

As  the  door  closed,  the  girl  hastily  drank  the  potion  in  the  glass, 
and  not  daring  to  look  around,  crept  into  the  bed  beside  her  sister. 
She  covered  her  head  and  lay  trembling  for  awhile  ;  then  she  had 
forgotten  all  her  fears  and  troubles. 

The  doctor  listened  at  the  children's  door  ;  but  hearing  no  sound, 
he  slowly  went  down,  muttering  as  he  went. 

"  It's  a  confounded  .shame !  The  old  hulk  ought  to  be  burned,  — 
scaring  women  and  children  out  of  their  senses  !  I'd  give  a  good 
deal  to  know  what  it  means —  I  declare  I  would  ;  for  it's  strange, 
strange,  to  say  the  least," 

Needless  to  say  that  bright  and  early,  furniture-teams  were  at 
the  door  the  following  morning,  and  by  noon  the  carpets  were  up, 
and  down  again  in  the  cottage  on  the  other  side,  and  by  night 
they  were  pretty  well  settled;  for  many  neighbors  lent  helping 
hands,  and  as  all  the  cottages  were  built  upon  the  same  plan,  the 
carpets  fitted  to  a  nicety. 

When  Mr.  Arnold  returned,  two  days  later,  he  stared  in  blank 


464        A   NINETEENTH  CENTURY  MYSTERY. 

amazement  at  the  empty  house,  but  was  soon  made  aware  of  the 
facts  of  the  removal.  But  for  the  change  of  the  sides  of  the  street, 
one  would  scarcely  know  the  difference,  —  the  houses  being  so 
nearly  alike.  All  missed  the  conservatory,  which  had  been  an 
addition  made  by  one  of  the  former  tenants.  Mr.  Arnold  prom- 
ised his  wife  she  should  have  another,  as  that  had  been  the  chief 
reason  for  choosing  the  other  cottage.  The  stream,  he  declared, 
was  almost  enough  to  make  up  for  its  loss. 

Mr.  Arnold  was  indignant,  and  sought  Mr.  Cleveland  for  an 
explanation.  Mr.  Cleveland  had  himself  been  away  upon  business 
ever  since  the  family  had  hired  the  house  ;  he  had  returned  the  day 
before,  had  been  made  aware  of  the  appalling  facts,  and  had  gone 
to  inspect  the  unhallowed  premises.     There  he  was  found. 

"  I  cannot  imagine,  sir,  how  you  could  have  the  face  to  let  a 
house  with  such  an  unsavory  reputation  to  a  family  where  there 
were  delicate  women  and  children  ;  for  although  we  cannot,  in  the 
enlightened  nineteenth  century,  be  expected  to  believe  in  ghosts 
and  hobgoblins,  yet  there  is  some  uncanny  influence  about  the 
place,  mortal  or  immortal,  and  such  as  it  is,  it  might  have  cost 
my  wife  her  life,  in  her  delicate  state  of  health.  If  she  comes  out 
of  it  safely,  I  shall  have  cause  to  thank  Heaven.*' 

"  I  cannot  blame  you,  sir,  for  thinking  meanly  of  me.  I  think 
badly  enough  of  myself ;  and  yet  if  you  will  listen  to  what  I  have 
to  say,  I  think  you  will  not  blame  me  so  much. 

"  Seven  years  ago  this  house  stood  half  way  up  that  hill.  It  had 
been  occupied  by  a  man  of  violent  temper  and  miserly  disposition, 
and  his  two  sons.  There  had  been  a  mother,  of  lovely  spirit  and 
quiet  and  refined  manners,  but  she  had  died  of  a  broken  heart,  — 
killed  by  the  cruelty  of  her  husband  and  children.  The  old  man 
was  supposed  to  be  wealthy  ;  and  when  he  died,  each  of  the  sons 
thought  the  other  cognizant  of  the  hiding-place  of  the  coveted 
wealth,  and  were  continually  quarrelling  and  fighting  about  it. 
To  make  matters  still  worse,  they  both  loved  the  same  girl,  who 
coquetted  with  both,  and  accepted  neither,  not  knowing  which 
would  be  the  heir. 

**  They  returned  from  a  dance  one  night,  where  she  had  been  tor- 
menting first  one  and  then  the  other,  inflamed  with  jealousy  and 
wine.  There  must  have  been  a  terrible  fight,  for  glass  and  fur- 
niture  were  much  broken  up,  and  one  brother  was  found  stabbed 
in  the  heart ;  while  the  other,  with  a  cloven  skull,  was  just  breath- 


A   NINETEENTH  CENTURY  MYSTERY,         465 

ing  out  his  life,  where  he  had  been  hurled  against  the  old-fashioned 
clock-case  by  the  dying  but  powerful  man  to  whom  he  had  just 
given  his  death-stroke.  Nothing  was  ever  seen  or  heard  of  the 
supposed  hoarded  wealth  of  the  miser. 

"  Two  years  later  I  was  called  to  this  place  upon  business  for  my 
employer.  I  was  comparatively  poor  then,  but  I  had  been  prudent 
and  laid  away  most  of  my  salary.  As  I  rode  down  this  street, 
then  a  grove  almost,  I  thought  what  a  lovely  place  of  residence  it 
would  make.  When  I  returned  to  the  hotel,  I  spoke  of  the  house, 
which  was  pretty  enough,  only  that  the  windows  were  broken  and 
it  needed  painting. 

"  '  Yes,'  said  the  landlord,  *  it's  pretty  enough,  but  no  one  round 
here  would  take  it  as  a  gift.' 

*'  Of  course  I  asked  why,  and  then  I  heard  its  history.  He 
remarked,  I  remember  :  — 

**  *  Any  one  with  money  could  get  the  whole  for  a  song,  for  it  is 
a  drug  in  this  market ;  no  one  wants  it  who  has  once  heard  its 
story.' 

"  I  laughed  at  their  ignorant  superstition,  and  soon  hunted  up  the 
owner  of  the  place,  who  was  a  distant  relation  of  the  murdered 
men.  I  offered  him  five  thousand  dollars  for  the  whole  place, 
which,  in  my  estimation,  would  have  been  cheap  at  twenty  ;  and 
I  almost  laughed  in  his  face  to  see  with  what  eagerness  he  snapped 
at  my  offer.     I  went  back  home  with  the  deeds  in  my  pocket. 

"  I  began  upon  it  right  away,  cutting  timber  enough  off  of  it  to 
almost  give  me  back  my  money.  Then  I  moved  this  house  down 
here,  had  it  thoroughly  done  over,  and  then  built  the  other  twenty- 
three  upon  the  same  model.  They  were  all  engaged  before  they 
were  finished,  and  I  soon  found  myself  on  a  fair  way  to  wealth. 
I  do  not  owe  a  cent  on  them  now.  When  they  were  all  occupied 
and  everything  seemed  prospering,  I  thought  I  would  take  a  trip 
to  Europe,  for  it  had  been  the  ambition  of  my  life.  So  I  got  me 
an  agent,  a  friend  whom  I  could  trust,  and  started.  -  I  kept  posted 
about  my  settlement,  as  I  called  it,  but  I  thought  it  strange  that, 
out  of  all  the  houses,  the  old  one  should  be  most  frequently  vacant. 

"  Still,  I  did  not  feel  anxious,  as  he  did  not  give  me  particulars, 
and  I  thought  I  would  occupy  it  myself  when  I  got  back. 

"  I  arrived  the  day  before  you  came  to  inspect  it,  to  find  my  agent 
called  away  by  sickness,  and  so  I  unwittingly  let  the  house  to  you. 

**  I  heard  of  the  trouble  as  soon  as  I  got  back  from  Boston,  and 


466         A   NINETEENTH  CENTURY  MYSTERY. 

went  to  sec  him,  as  he  too  had  returned,  and  heard  the  whole 
account  —  also  all  about  the  affair  with  your  people. 

"  All  that  has  ever  been  heard  before  were  noises  and  indistinct 
mutterings,  he  says.  The  night  your  wife  was  so  frightened  was 
the  anniversary  of  the  murder ;  and,  strange  as  it  may  seem,  no 
family  was  ever  in  that  house  before  upon  the  anniversary  of  the 
fearful  affair.  I  am  not  inclined  to  superstition  myself ;  but  that 
is  the  reason  assigned  for  the  strange  occurrence  by  the  old  resi- 
dents of  this  place.     I  do  not  know  what  to  think,  myself." 

**  Why  do  you  keep  such  an  infernal  machine  to  frighten  women 
out  of  their  wits  ?  Burn  the  old  thing  to  the  ground.  I  am  not 
unduly  superstitious  myself,  but  it  is  uncanny.  A  woman's  broken 
heart  and  two  murdered  sons  must  haunt  it." 

Both  men  started,  and  looked  furtively  at  each  other,  as  a  deep, 
heartbroken  sigh  seemed  to  exhale  close  to  their  ears,  followed  by 
a  sob,  which,  in  spite  of  their  non-belief,  thrilled  them  with  awe. 
Then  both  smiled,  and  Mr.  Arnold  said  :  — 

*'  The  influence  of  the  place  is  strong  upon  us  :  —  come,  we  shall 
get  childish  here." 

"  I  am  going  to  live  in  it  myself." 

"  Are  you  married } " 

"No." 

"Well,  let  me  advise  you  never  to  bring  a  woman  under  the 
influences  which  must  be  in  this  house.  Come  over  to  dinner  with 
me,  and  talk  it  over  with  my  wife.     Come." 

"  Thanks.  I  will  accept  your  offer  to  dine,  but  I  would  like  a 
little  while  alone  here  first." 

"  Well,  if  you  must,  you  must.  We  dine  at  three.  Till  then,  — 
good  by." 

Left  alone,  George  Cleveland  sat  upon  the  broad  window-seat, 
deep  in  revery.  A  long  time  he  sat  there.  At  last  he  said 
aloud  :  — 

"  Well,  the  old  house  is  a  white  elephant  upon  my  hands.  If  I 
must  not  bring  a  woman  into  it,  I  can  have  neither  mother,  wife, 
nor  housekeeper,  and  I  swear  I  will  not  live  alone.  I  believe  it  is 
all  bosh,  anyway.  Some  crank  has  heard  of  the  trouble,  and 
wants  to  get  the  house  for  a  song,  and  so  has  contrived  something 
which  makes  the  sounds.  By  Jove !  that's  it.  Fve  heard  of  such 
things  before.  FU  go  all  over  the  house,  and  examine  every  nook 
and  corner,  and  see  if  I  cannot  unearth  the  mystery." 


A  mNETEENTH  CENTURY  MYSTERY. 


467 


Just  as  he  started  from  his  seat,  a  quick  rap  came  upon  the 
street  door. 

"  Who  the  dickens  is  that  ? "  he  muttered,  leaning  close  to  the 
window  and  peering  out.  He  could  not  see  any  one ;  yet  —  even 
while  he  looked  —  the  knock  was  repeated.  He  could  not  see  quite 
all  the  distance  ;  so  he  stepped  quickly  to  the  door  and  opened  it. 
No  one  was  there,  and  no  one  within  three  houses'  distance  met 
his  sight.     He  closed  the  door,  and  went  back  to  his  seat. 

Upon  the  floor  lay  a  sheet  of  writing-paper  covered  with  a 
peculiar,  cramped  handwriting.  He  stooped  and  picked  it  up, 
with  a  kind  of  nightmare  horror  upon  him,^or  he  could  have  sworn 
it  was  not  there  when  he  went  to  the  door. 

Brave  man  as  he  was,  his  hair  began  —  or  seemed  as  if  it  began 
—  to  rise,  and  shivers  ran  over  him,  as  his  eyes  hastily  conned  the 
words  before  him. 

"If  you  wish  for  peace  on  earth,  and  rest  hereafter,  move  this 
house  back  into  its  old  place.  As  long  as  one  timber  remains,  we 
are  doomed  to  haunt  it ;  and  once  a  year,  upon  the  anniversary  of 
our  unnatural  crime,  are  compelled  to  re-enact  the  deed.  If  you 
will  do  so,  you  shall  have  the  money  for  which  the  shameful  deed 
was  done.  Use  a  portion  to  replace  this  house  with  another, 
which  shall  be  forever  blessed  to  you.  Place  a  memorial  window 
in  the  church  where  we  were  baptized,  in  memory  of  our  mother ; 
and  the  remainder  give  unto  the  poor. 

"  In  the  closet  in  the  comer  of  the  dining-room,  under  the  second 
shelf,  you  will  find  a  little  knob ;  press  upon  it,  and  you  will  find 
the  misers  hoarded  wealth.  Do  all  the  good  you  can  with  it ;  for 
the  greater  the  good  go  done,  the  sooner  our  rest.     Pray  for  us." 

No  name  was  signed. 

George  Cleveland  looked  reverently  upon  the  bit  of  paper,  and 
strange  thoughts  flitted  through  his  brain.  As  long  as  a  timber 
remained,  they  were  doomed  to  haunt  it,  and  he  had  done  every- 
thing to  presen'e  it.     Alas  !  poor  perturbed  souls  ! 

He  laid  the  letter  upon  the  mantle,  and  went  slowly,  almost 
involuntarily,  into  the  dining-room.  He  stood  a  moment  before  a 
large  closet.  The  interior  was  finished  in  mahogany,  with  quaint 
carvings  extending  even  under  the  shelves.  This  small  room  alone, 
because  of  its  richness,  had  not  been  changed  when  the  house  was 
refinished.  The  room  had  ever  impressed  his  mind  with  a  certain 
mysterious  regard,  and  under  the  present  experience  this  feeling 


.|//H         //    NINhThhNlll  CliNTURY  MYSTERY. 

M  vjvi  <1.  Ill'  Irlt  IJH-  kiiol>l;y  rnouUIin^s  here  and  there,  to  leam  if 
iIm  InhoIi  m'wwxwm'A  \\\\\\,  'M\i\,  ]i<:rhaps,  with  a  dim  expectation  of 

V\\'\\^\\\\\  .1  lilllr  knob  \\\\{\(*x  one  (jf  the  shelves,  he  fairly  shud- 
ilrinl  hi  li'i-l  il  yii'ld.  Hut  W  pressed  it  a^ain,  and  harder,  think- 
iiij',  III-  \\\\\\\\\  h.ivr  lirrii  iiiiMl.'ikcii.  Instantly  a  panel  fell  upon  the 
hilt  II  ImIiiw.  Williiii  .1  cMvity  was  a  row  of  small  canvas  bags, 
wliiiMi  iiiMhi'il  Mt(  niiilciriu'c  distinctly  showed  the  outlines  of 
I  itiwilril  iiiiii       llrif  w;is  tin*  miser's  money. 

I  III-  diMtnvnn  did  nut  shout  with  joy  at  the  sight  of  this  wealth, 
liMt  \\\\'\\  \M\\\  A  \\\\^\  loimed  lui'ore  his  eyes,  and  things' about 
hioM-d  imMicidilv  with  a  hilh>wy  motion,  and  he  caught  hold  of  the 
dooi  jiu'il  to  \\\\\\  tiom  t.illinf;. 

"  I  hi^  I'l  .iwlul!"  I\e  muttereiL  more  impressed  by  the  mystery 
\\\M\  ^'.Liddeiwd  hv  tl\e  tuMsme.  "I  could  not  have  believed  it 
\\\\\  \  \\\>\  Nt'vu  \\\\\\  n\\  own  eves-  -iho  writ  ini^  and  these  hidden 
l».».'/.  I  will  not  touv'l\  ll\v*u\  uvnv  ;  I  will  leave  it.  —  leave  all  this 
u\\»u\'\  N\l\eu*  w   has  IvvU  sate  1\m  so  nunv  vears.     I  will  take  the 

«      « 

\s\\s\  A\\\\  \\\^  \*\ei  iv^  Auiv^KTs  I  am  i^cltini;  nervous/'  His 
uwau'iexl  sx»!iUs;\i\  \>aN  v^\ uleuvv  v^'  this,  h  was  his  substitute  for 
\  ^x^\  s  \>IuNt*.nu  i-  *'»o  viaik  tv^  WnVP  u:'*  his  vvurao-''- 

\ !  ^  *;  *\ \M  N ', V.  I V,  NO  w .; N  I  • »  St  v^ :  e  t v^:  li : : v. .     \V  h op.  he  went  to  get 

t  >  • 

\    »  \    ^.  N  »■       X  \  »       ,       >      X   S        »      «»        .  »   .      >N  V     . .      >■».     -  .X  X  -.     « -       ~-  -  *  ^     i^«  Jt»       A£!> 

^-  X        ^.*.'X         ,^  '\"V  \«x  . 


\\         ^  X      ^.\x 


X           V          X    .-     ^  ......  .;u.x      .—  .v... 

^                «    X  -  «    ■    ^M     o       X  —  .^^j«  ^  *         ^^^  «, 

■Vvx                            X            ^'^'                  \                                 ..»■■».■  .           >X~*k**  **  -^ '      ^' ' 

X                                            «  X^.                    '.       «>^N                                 ^                    X            X'X--            .  ^-«.Vx'-X'Vi«. 


.    .  .X  *  :  ^*.      ,  "',v  >c;i.v  :.T5*  r 


*. 'N        ••:  X-     V  ..v^  ^\  .*  ^  v\    ..X-.'     >.  .-!v^    sri     i.i«;  TKony-- 
'    ;v .  i     Viv    v   \..Ox        -  **.   .'.\:"      -lis.  , :  .:  x".:     .i^ic  i  a«aa^ 

N      rv  ;    %  i.^x>.  xt.  ..:-..  !.      '^\^  5^^ -<.   -.    v-.>   :v:r  ^"U  ^  ^as- 


FACTS,  FEARS,  AND  IMAGINATION,  469 

made  bright  with  flowers,  and  special  prayers  were  said  for  the 
repose  of  all  their  souls  ;  and  every  possible  good  has  been  done 
with  the  remainder  of  the  money. 

George  Cleveland  rebuilt  upon  the  vacated  estate,  but  he  did  it 
from  his  own  honest  earnings.  And  one  day,  when  the  birds  were 
singing  gayly,  the  flowers  breathing  incense,  and  the  sun  shining 
bright,  he  took  the  blushing,  happy  Ora  there  as  his  bride. 

It  is  gratifying  to  be  able  to  say  that  no  ghosts  or  goblins  have 
ever  troubled  her,  and  that  her  life  flows  on  as  tranquilly  and  bright 
as  the  stream  behind  Lily  Lawn. 

One  dark  night,  a  year  from  the  time  Marion  and  Ora  had  their 
never-to-be-forgotten  fright,  there  was  quite  an  excitement  upon 
Cedar  Street.  The  fire-engine  was  called  out  for  the  first  time 
since  the  street  had  an  existence.  But  it  was  not  put  into  use  ; 
for  it  was  only  the  haunted  house  which  was  burning.  The  whole 
place  turned  out  to  see  it  burn ;  and  there  was  great  rejoicing. 


3^0<0«- 


FACTS,   FEARS,  AND   IMAGINATION. 

By  JAMES   N.  ARNOLD. 

The  country  on  the  west  of  Narragansett  Bay  has  been  abun- 
dantly favored  with  unnatural  phenomena,  and  also  to  a  remark- 
able degree  with  the  means  for  investigation  of  their  origin.  One 
amusing  incident  which  came  under  the  writer's  observation  a  few 
years  ago,  was  the  means  of  arousing  an  interest  which  has  been 
kept  alive  ever  since. 

A  certain  house  had  the  reputation  of  frequently  changing  ten- 
ants. Some  of  these,  upon  being  asked  their  reasons  for  removal, 
would  say  the  house  was  haunted,  while  others,  well  knowing  that 
to  admit  such  a  reason  for  removal  would  provoke  only  jeers  and 
laughter,  wisely  refrained  from  such  an  excuse  by  pleading  other 
reasons.  Enough,  however,  was  known.  So  it  came  about  that 
when  the  last  new  tenant  had  vacated  the  house,  that  the  common 
remark  was,  "They  have  seen  the  ghost.'*  Becoming  myself 
curious  to  see  it,  I  one  day  asked  an  old  woman,  who  had  lived  in 
the  neighborhood  a  great  many  years,  how  long  these  things  had 


470  FACTS,   FEARS,  AND  IMAGINATION. 

been  going  on.  She  was  very  talkative,  and  gave  a  long  story 
about  the  matter,  which  was  briefly  as  follows  :  — 

The  house  had  been  let  for  a  number  of  years  to  tenants 
whose  character  was  not  reputable.  About  three  years  previous 
a  man  was  seen  to  enter,  but  was  never  known  to  have  left  the 
house.  The  night  following  his  arrival  was  spent  in  revelry.  The 
language  heard  by  the  passer-by  that  evening  was  not  as  courteous 
nor  as  chaste  as  it  might  have  been,  and  the  revel  broke  up  in  a 
fight. 

From  these  circumstances  the  old  woman  had  formed  a  theory 
that  the  man  had  been  murdered,  and  that  his  spirit  still  hovered 
around  there. 

In  passing  by  the  house  I  observed  that  the  two  wires  of  the 
telegraph  ran  very  close  to  the  end  windows,  under  the  roof,  and 
that  the  wind  had  the  usual  privilege  of  exercising  its  genius  upon 
the  wires.  Stepping  beside  one  of  the  poles,  my  companion  and 
I  found  that  it  was  then  doing  finely  in  the  way  of  providing  weird 
music.  Learning  that  the  key  of  the  house  was  kept  in  the  next 
dwelling,  the  favor  of  entering  the  haunted  precincts  was  solicited. 
When  the  custodian  learned  our  reasons  for  wishing  to  inspect  the 
house,  he  laughed,  and  remarked  that  we  ought  to  know  that  it 
was  the  news  they  were  sending  over  the  wires  that  was  making 
the  noise,  and  not  the  wind.  On  being  asked  his  reasons  for  so 
thinking,  he  said  that  a  cousin  of  his  had  a  friend  who  once  worked 
in  a  telegraph  office,  and  he  had  so  stated. 

"  Very  well,"  was  the  reply.  "  Wind  or  news,  that  is  the  true 
ghost.     If  we  can  get  into  that  house,  we  can  prove  it." 

This  appeared  to  interest  him.  We  then  inquired  if  there  had 
been  any  trouble  before  the  wires  had  bedh  put  up ;  to  which  he 
answered  that  there  had  not. 

"  The  trouble,  then,  has  come  with  the  wire,  and  will  continue 
as  long  as  that  wire  runs  so  close  to  that  window,"  we  added. 

He  brought  the  key,  and  together  we  went  over  the  house. 
The  investigation  fully  bore  out  our  theory.  I  then  remarked  that 
this  music  would  seem  very  different  in  the  night  to  what  it  did 
now,  —  that  it  would  not  require  much  imagination  to  hear  fiddling 
and  dancing,  and  screams  and  groans,  and  everything  necessary 
upon  which  to  build  a  fine  ghost  story.  I  then  said  to  the  custo- 
dian that  if  he  would  come  there  with  me  that  night,  we  would 
find  every  word  of  my  theory  to  be  true,  and,  besides,  we  would 
have  a  free  entertainment. 


FACTS,  FEARS,  AND  IMAGINATION. 


471 


The  result  was,  we  went  that  night  to  the  house,  and  had  just 
such  an  experience  as  I  had  anticipated. 

Another  source  from  whence  many  a  story  of  groans  and  screams 
have  arisen,  while  not  so  readily  seen  at  first,  is  still  as  easy  to 
understand  when  once  known.  Let  wind  pass  through  crevices, 
especially  if  in  those  crevices  there  happens  to  be  splinters,  and 
one  not  versed  in  such  matters  will  be  surprised  to  discover  what 
weird  and  unnatural  sounds  will  be  produced.  Many  persons  of 
good  understanding,  even,  ignorant  of  the  peculiar  mechanical  con- 
ditions which  are  the  cause  of  the  alarming  sounds,  are  sometimes 
thrown  into  a  great  horror  by  the  mysterious  manifestations. 

It  is  a  notable  fact  that  most  of  the  haunted  houses  in  the  coun- 
try are  those  which  have  become  more  or  less  uninhabitable,  and 
are  consequently  more  open  to  the  action  of  the  wind  than  those 
in  good  repair.  This  consideration  at  once  solves  the  mystery  of 
many  haunted  houses. 

In  the  Narragansett  country  there  is  another  source  of  phe- 
nomena that  is  readily  comprehended  when  the  explanation  is 
once  brought  to  the  attention  of  a  reasoner.  Whether  so  common 
in  other  parts  of  New  England,  we  know  not,  but  presume  it  is  not ; 
for  if  it  is  so  common  elsewhere,  it  must  have  been  remarked  upon. 
Electrical  storms  are  and  have  been  of  frequent  occurrence  here. 
Those  who  delight  in  nature's  worl(B  can  nowhere  find  grander 
pictures.  We  will  in-stance  a  case  where  one  of  these  storms  was 
turned  to  advantage,  and  with  it  close  this  paper. 

During  the  winter  of  1816-17  a  great  revival  occurred  in  this 
region,  and  hundreds  professed  religion,  and  many  expressed  a 
wish  to  be  baptized.  The  weather  was  cold,  and  ice  covered  the 
surface  of  the  rivers  and  ponds.  Instead  of  waiting  for  warm 
weather,  it  was  proposed  to  run  the  risk  of  taking  cold,  rather 
than  imperil  the  soul  by  delay.  The  night  before  the  baptism 
was  to  take  place,  some  interested  parties  repaired  to  the  place 
where  the  baptizing  was  to  be,  and  cut  the  ice,  opening  a  space 
sufficient  for  the  purpose.  In  order  to  keep  the  opening  from 
freezing  over,  the  water  was  to  be  frequently  agitated  during  the 
night  with  poles.  The  next  morning  those  who  had  taken  upon 
themselves  this  task  had  a  wonderful  story  to  tell.  The  water 
had  not  shown  any  inclination  to  freeze  over  during  the  night, 
although  the  weather  was  intensely  cold.  All  that  night  music 
was   heard  in   the  air,  as  if  troops  of  angels  were  hovering  over- 


472  POLITICS  ON  THE  CANADA   LINE, 

head,  and  had  come  to  this  place  to  bestow,  in  their  celestial  way, 
a  blessing  on  the  work  to  be  there  so  soon  accomplished. 

This  story  was  by  matny  implicitly  believed.  Old  members  of 
the  church  confirmed  the  story,  and  testified  that  in  going  home 
from  meeting  that  evening  the  heavens  seemed  to  them  filled  with 
divine  music,  and  of  such  sweetness  and  beauty  that  they  were 
satisfied  it  was  made  by  the  angels. 

The  fact  is  now  known  to  most  well-informed  people,  that  holes 
cut  through  the  ice  will  be  kept  open  for  days  by  the  natural 
warmth  of  the  water  in  the  coldest  of  weather ;  and  that  electrical 
storms  will  produce  sounds  in  the  air  that  may  aptly  be  termed 
"  Heavenly  music." 

liut  to  resume  :  the  two  facts  of  open  water  and  aerial  music  — 
under  the  above  circumstances  —  was  seized  upon  by  the  preacher 
effectively  to  stimulate  still  further. the  religious  fervor  of  the 
people ;  and  the  result  was  what  is  known  in  local  religious  history 
as  the  **  Great  Awakening." 


>j4Koc- 


POLITICS   ON   THE   CANADA   LINE. 

# 

A   TOWN  ELECTION   IN  VERMONT   IN   1815. 
By  M.  WINSLOW   FARxMAN. 

Wk  hear  much  in  these  days  about  "  wire-pulling,'*  "  rings/'  and 
political  corruption  in  general,  and  it  may  be  that  it  has  some- 
times seemed  to  us  as  though  things  were  getting  terribly  debased  ; 
and  wc  have  been  prone  to  look  back  with  wistful  eyes  to  the 
good  old  times  when  our  revered  ancestors  were  on  the  stage  of 
action,  and  have  longed  for  the  unanimity  and  honest  dealing 
which  are  supj)osed  to  have  then  prevailed. 

I  know  by  my  own  experience  that  it  is  very  pleasant  to  linger 
over  the  history  of  the  past ;  but  I  apprehend  that  distance  lends 
enchantment,  and  that  we  find  it  more  agreeable  living  in  imagina- 
tion during  the  administrations  of  Jefferson  or  Madison  than  we 
should  have  found  in  an  actual  participation  in  the  doings  of  that 
period. 

In  the  extreme  northern  part  of  Vermont,  within  a  few  miles  of 


POLITICS  ON  THE  CANADA  LINE,  473 

the  Canada  line,  is  situated  a  town  six  miles  square,  known  as 
West  field.  The  village  of  the  town  is  small,  and  so  are  the  farms, 
compared  with  those  of  the  West.  In  some  places  the  forest  still 
remains ;  yet  great  changes  have  been  wrought  in  the  town  during 
the  last  seventy  years. 

In  1815  there  was  not  a  wagon  in  Westfield,  the  roads  being 
mere  bridle-paths,  and  so  poor  that  it  was  hardly  safe  to  ride  a 
horse  over  them.  There  were  probably  not  more  than  twenty-five 
families  in  town,  and  the  greater  part  of  these  had  settled  in  the 
eastern  half. 

Politically,  the  settlers  were  about  equally  divided,  one  party 
being  known  as  Federals  and  the  pther  as  Democrats  ;  and  though 
voters  were  few,  political  feeling  ran  high.  Among  the  Federal 
leaders  were  Captain  Medad  Hitchcock,  Esq.,  his  son  Thomas, 
and  a  nephew  Caleb.  Prominent  among  the  Democrats  were 
Thomas  Stoughton,  Jairus  Stebbins,  James  Brown,  and  Walter 
Stone.  Beside  these,  each  side  had  its  corps  of  adherents,  ready 
to  cast  their  votes  in  support  of  their  party. 

The  time  for  holding  the  "  Freeman's  meeting"  in  1815  was  ap- 
proaching,  and  the  legal  voters  of  the  town  were  duly  warned  to 
meet  at  the  house  of  Medad  Hitchcock  on  the  first  Tuesday  in 
September  (the  5th)  at  one  o'clock  p.m.  to  vote  for  State  officers 
and  a  town  representative. 

The  meetings  of  the  town  were  usually  held  at  Captain  Hitch- 
cock's,—  that  being  a  convenient  place  for  the  settlers  from  all 
directions  to  congregate  ;  and  furthermore  the  captain,  for  his 
own  profit  as  well  as  for  the  accommodation  of  the  public,  always 
kept  on  hand  a  barrel  of  whiskey. 

The  captain's  house  stood  less  than  a  hundred  rods  south  of 
where  Westfield  village  now  stands.  It  was  a  one-story  log  struc- 
ture fronting  the  east.  But  though  the  town  meetings  were 
warned  to  be  held  in  the  captain's  house,  they  were  in  reality 
(when  the  weather  was  warm  enough  to  permit)  held  in  his  barn,  — 
which  was  a  grand  one  for  the  times,  being  a  frame  building  thirty- 
six  by  forty. 

In  view  of  the  coming  election,  the  Federals  had  settled  on  Cap- 
tain Hitchcock  as  their  candidate  for  town  representative,  while 
the  Democrats  had  decided  to  place  Thomas  Stoughton  in  the 
field.  Heads  had  been  counted  by  the  leaders  on  both  sides,  and 
estimates  made  as  to  the  result  of  a  ballot.     Each  side  knew  that 


474  POLITICS  ON  THE  CANADA   LINE. 

the  contest  would  be  close,  —  that  they  had  not  a  man  to  spare,  and 
both  wished  that  in  some  way  the  other  might  lose  a  vote. 

Aiiron  I'Vost  was  a  man  of  the  Democratic  faith,  —  a  basket 
maker  l)y  occupation,  at  least  a  part  of  the  time  ;  and  though  not 
of  large  |)n)|)ortions,  either  in  body  or  mind,  his  vote  counted  the 
same  in  the  I)aII(>t-l)ox  as  did  that  of  the  ablest  citizen  of  the  town. 
The  l*'edcrals,  anxious  to  further  the  interests  of  their  party,  con- 
ceived the  idea  of  having  Frost  absent  on  election  day.     That  this 

« 

might  be  brought  al)out,  Asa  Dunham  went  to  Frost  and  told  him 

that  M  r.  W of  Potton,  Canada,  wished  to  get  some  basket  timber 

out  of  the  woods,  but  that  he  was  a  novice  at  the  business;  and 
Dunham  asked  T'rost  to  go  down  and  help  select  some  for  him. 

Frost  was  persuaded  ;  and  Monday  afternoon,  September  4,  he  and 
Dunham  sot  out  for  l*otton.  They  reached  W *s  just  at  night- 
fall, staying  there  until  morning,  when  Dunham  started  for  home, 
and  I'^rost  and  \V set  off  on  their  expedition. 

A  ^juantity  of  timl>cr  was  selected  and  marked  ;  time  passed,  and 

.U  length  \V (who  understood  Dunham's  scheme)  said  that  he 

was  lost,  but  that  he  thought  there  were  some  marked  trees  in 
such  a  direction,  and  that  if  they  could  find  them  they  could  make 
their  way  out. 

Hut  a  suspicion  was  arising  in  the  mind  of  Frost,  that  a  trick 
was  being  praetiseil  on  him  to  prevent  his  getting  to  Westfield  in 
season  to  vote.  Irritated  by  this  suspicion,  he  exclaimed,  "You 
and  your  marked  trees  go  the  d — 1!  Tm  going  to  Westfield!" 
and  at  once  set  out  for  himself. 

rhe  early  settlers  did  without  many  things  that  add  to  the  com- 
fort \^f  the  present  generation.  It  was  necessary*  that  they  should 
be  iuvlustrious  and  economical  if  they  would  insure  prosperit)-. 
There  was  one  couple  in  Westtield  careful  and  saNing  to  the  extent 
ol  hoiuj;  jHMturious.  —  Idvio  Stcbbins  and  his  wife  Susan.  They 
woie  hau;  working  jxvplo,  but  did  not  rank  vcn^*  high  in  intel- 
\\';;:al  ability  This,  jxThaps,  dvK's  nor  account  for  his  being  a 
l\\iova*is:.  Another  character  was  I'ncle  Tom  Stoughton,  a 
>h:v*Wv5  o\:  tel'v^w  \Vish::\c  '^^  help  :heir  jvirty,  he  and  Walter 
S:o:*,o  yivth  lVmvvra:>'  early  or.  e\v::on  morning  wen:  to  Steb- 
b'.-.^.s's  house.  Now  ::  ha:^:v::cv;  zha:  Siebbins  had  at  different 
;;:r.cs  s:*.v,:^^U\:  a  :ow  :  r::::p>  :ror.:  CjuMcIa.  —  though  in  this  pordcu^ 
'a:  ho  was  •.vrhai^s  v.v'^  wor^^e  :h,ir.  <.^n:e  o:  his  ncichbors.  Their 
oh'vv:  as  :o  >:c^b:r.>  w~a>  :he  5;.vnie  ,i>  wjls  Dur.ham's  with  Frost,— 


POLITICS  ON  THE  CANADA   LINE. 

to  prevent  his  voting.  That  this  might  be  accomplished,  Stebbins 
was  duly  reminded  of  his  smuggling,  and  told  that  the  officers  had 
got  wind  of  it ;  but  that  they  (Stoughton  and  Stone)  had  found 
out  about  it,  and,  being  his  friends,  had  come  to  tell  him.  And 
as  friends  they  advised  him  to  keep  himself  where  he  would  not 
be  found  until  the  danger  should  blow  over.  This  communication 
had  the  desired  effect.  Stebbins  and  his  wife  were  alarmed  ;  and 
it  was  decided  that  he  should  secrete  himself  in  a  willow  tract 
nearly  a  mile  distant,  and,  as  an  additional  protection,  Rudolphus 
Reed  should  go  and  stay  with  him. 

Reed  was  a  Democrat,  and  the  real  purpose  of  his  staying  with 
Stebbins  was  that  he  might  watch  him.  Accordingly,  Stebbins 
went  to  the  willows,  and  there,  with  Reed  as  his  only  companion, 
he  remained  until  into  the  afternoon.  He  had  nothing  to  eat ; 
but  he  had  opportunity  for  bodily  repose,  if  not  too  greatly  harassed 
by  fears. 

But  Reed  did  not  intend  himself  to  miss  voting  for  Stoughton ; 
so  after  the  sun  had  passed  its  meridian  and  the  afternoon  was 
wearing  away,  he  became  anxious  to  leave  Stebbins  and  go  to  the 
town  meeting.  At  length  he  started  off  with  the  remark,  "  Darm 
it  all,  I  don't  believe  any  body'll  git  ye  now,  Iddo.  Guess  Til  go 
down  and  see  what  the  boys  are  about." 

The  great  doors  of  Captain  Hitchcock's  barn  were  swung  back, 
the  floor  had  been  cleanly  swept,  and  at  one  end  stood  a  table  that 
had  been  brought  from  the  house.  The  legal  voters,  accompanied 
by  the  younger  male  portion  of  the  town,  had  congregated  in  and 
about  Captain  Hitchcock's  buildings,  and  were  engaged  in  various 
ways,  some  in  little  groups,  talking ;  others  wrestling ;  and  still 
others,  in  pitching  quoits. 

At  length,  about  one  p.m.,  Walter  Stone  and  Thomas  Hitchcock, 
the  constable  and  clerk  of  the  town,  emerged  from  the  house  and 
went  to  the  barn,  where  they  took  their  places  at  the  table. 

The  men  and  boys  soon  assembled  in  the  floor,  and  Stone  for- 
mally opened  the  meeting.  Then  the  momentary  hush  was  broken, 
and  the  voting  began.  The  ballots  of  the  freemen  were  soon 
mostly  in  the  box,  —  only  a  half-dozen  or  so  were  lacking;  and 
the  afternoon  was  before  them  to  while  away  ere  the  votes  could 
be  inspected  and  it  could  be  known  who  was  elected,  —  so  evenly 
were  the  voters  divided  between  the  two  candidates. 

Iddo    Stebbins   and   Aaron    Frost  were   nowhere   to   be  seen. 


476  POLITICS  ON  THE  CANADA   LINE. 

Dunham  had  told  the  Federals  privately  of  the  supposed  success 
of  his  mission  to  Canada^  and  feeling  confident  of  victory,  they 
were  in  high  spirits.  The  Democrats  also  knew  something  that 
pleased  them  greatly,  and  they  also  hoped  to  win  the  day.  And 
so  the  two  parties  laughed  in  their  sleeves  at  each  other  without 
the  others  knowing  it,  or  once  imagining  that  a  trick  had  been 
played  on  one  of  their  own  men.  Of  course  the  absence  of  Steb- 
bins  and  Frost  had  been  noticed ;  and  as  time  passed  and  neither 
appeared,  each  party  began  wondering  what  detained  their  man, 
and  sent  messengers  for  them. 

Stebbins  lived  only  about  a  mile  south  of  Captain  Hitchcock's, 
and  the  person  who  went  for  him  soon  returned,  but  alone.  The 
Federals  held  a  secret  consultation,  and  it  was  decided  to  send 
two  men  (who  had  already  voted)  to  look  up  Stebbins. 

The  messenger  who  went  for  Frost  returned  with  the  simple 
but  unwelcome  information  that  he  had  gone  to  Canada  the  day 
before,  and  had  not  returned.  The  Democrats  knew  there  was 
no  time  to  send  for  him. 

Dolph  Reed  made  his  appearance  and  voted  ;  but  though  he 
reported  to  his  friends  that  he  had  left  Stebbins  all  right,  they  be- 
came uneasy,  for  they  knew  the  Federals  were  searching  for  him. 

Matters  assumed  a  more  serious  aspect ;  the  faces  of  those  in 
both  parties  lengthened  perceptibly ;  the  quoit-players  lost  inter- 
est in  their  game,  the  wrestlers  tired  of  their  sport,  and  the  assem- 
blage became  monotonous.  Both  parties  were  deeply  anxious,  the 
one  fearing  that  Frost,  and  the  other  that  Stebbins,  would  appear. 

At  length  Stone,  the  constable,  demanded,  "Gentlemen,  are 
your  votes  all  in  .^  " 

All  the  citizens  present  had  long  since  voted,  and  there  being 
no  response,  the  officer  said,  "We  are  about  to  turn  the  box.  Are 
there  any  objections  }  '* 

Neither  party  dared  longer  to  risk  the  possibility  of  the  wrong 
man's  coming,  and  consequently  no  one  made  any  objection.  The 
constable  then  turned  the  box,  and  the  votes  were  counted. 

All  the  men  and  boys  had  again  assembled  on  the  floor,  and  as 
Constable  Stone  rose  to  his  feet  to  make  the  declaration,  not  a 
sound  was  heard. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  he,  "the  whole  number  of  votes  cast  for 
town  representative  is  twenty-seven.  Thomas  Stoughton  has 
thirteen  and  Medad  Hitchcock  fourteen.  Medad  Hitchcock  is 
therefore  elected  by  one  majority.*'     The  Federalists  had  it  I 


POLITICS  ON  THE  CANADA   LINE.  477 

The  barn  was  soon  nearly  deserted ;  but  while  the  men  were  yet 
standing  before  the  doors,  congratulating  each  other,  or  wearing  a 
sombre  expression,  according  to  whether  they  were  Federal  or 
Democratic,  a  man  was  seen  with  his  coat  on  his  arm,  hurrying 
along  the  path  from  the  north,  very  much  out  of  breath.  It  proved 
to  be  Frost,  the  missing  Democrat.  Then  the  Federalist  faces 
grew  long,  and  underjaws  fell,  while  the  Democratic  faces  became 
expectant. 

Scarce  a  minute  later  three  men  were  seen  hastening  up  from 
the  south.  They  proved  to  be  Stebbins  and  the  men  who  went 
for  him.  And  now  the  Federalist  chins  came  up  again,  and  their 
mouths  broadened  into  a  grin,  and  a  shadow  fell  upon  the  visages 
of  the  Democrats.  The  men  had  gone  to  Stebbins's  house,  and, 
after  much  talk,  persuaded  his  wife  Susan  to  tell  what  she  knew 
of  the  matter.  It  took  some  time  to  do  this  ;  for  she  at  first  took 
them  to  be  the  officers  of  whom  Stoughton  had  told  them. 

Neither  Federal  nor  Democrat  could  say  much.  One  party  had 
played  a  trick,  and  the  other  party  had  made  it  "  tit  for  tat "  with- 
out knowing  it ;  thus  the  election  would  have  resulted  the  same 
if  neither  party  had  made  their  attempts  to  outwit  the  other. 

Stebbins  was  half  starved,  and  both  he  and  Frost  thought  they 
ought  to  have  some  whiskey  for  their  sufferings.  The  others  con- 
cluded to  have  some  more  with  them,  — the  defeated  party  to  cheer 
their  spirits,  the  victors  to  honor  their  victory. 

Thus  was  the  purity  of  the  Westfield  ballot-box  maintained,  and 
the  Federal  preponderance  established  on  the  Canada  line. 


478  AN  ENGLISHMAN'S  OPINIONS. 


AN    ENGLISHMAN'S    OPINIONS. 

By  PHILIP   R.   AMMIDON. 

The  personal  pronoun,  which  is  a  necessarily  important  feature 
in  an  autobiography,  is  even  remarkably  prominent  in  Mr.  Lau- 
rence t)liphant's  papers  in  recent  numbers  of  Blackwood^  enti- 
tled "Moss  from  a  Rolling  Stone."  There  can,  however,  be  little 
question  as  to  either  the  exceptional  energy,  or  the  literary  ability 
of  the  author.  The  first  of  these  articles  gives  the  writer's  expe- 
riences in  the  Crimea  and  Circassia,  during  the  Crimean  War  in 
1854-55.  The  only  item  which  I  remember  therein  —  of  special 
interest  to  American  readers  —  is  the  following  exceedingly  candid 
statement  of  Mr.  Oliphant's  opinion  on  a  subject  closely  connected 
with  our  moral  character  as  a  nation :  "  The  American  code  of 
commercial  morality  is,  that  it  is  perfectly  legitimate  to  break  a 
solemn  contract,  if  the  advantages  to  be  gained  more  than  compen- 
sate for  the  damages  which  you  will  have  to  pay  for  so  doing  under 
a  legal  judgment." 

We  can  only  sincerely  hope  that  this  does  not  give  a  strictly 
correct  idea  of  our  national  reputation  abroad. 

In  1854  our  author  accepted  an  invitation  from  Lord  Elgin  to 
act  as  his  private  secretary.  The  Earl,  then  governor-general  of 
Canada,  had  just  been  intrusted  with  a  special  mission  to  Wash- 
ington, for  the  purpose  of  negotiating  a  commercial  treaty  between 
this  country  and  England.  The  party  consisted  of  Lord  Elgin, 
Mr.  Oliphant,  Mr.  Hincks  (Prime  Minister  of  Canada),  and  Cap- 
tain Hamilton,  A.D.C.  They  were  joined  at  New  York  by  the 
Hon.  Colonel  Bruce  —  afterward  British  minister  to  Washington 
—  and  one  or  two  Canadians.  These  gentlemen  arrived  in  the 
Capital  on  the  day  of  the  passage  of  the  momentous  Nebraska  Bill. 
A  few  days  later  the  writer  attended  a  banquet  at  which  the  late 
Robert  Toombs  was  a  guest.  There  is  no  reason  to  doubt  the 
authenticity  of  the  following  remark  of  the  distinguished  Georgian, 
addressed,  Mr.  Oliphant  tells  us,  directly  to  Lord  Elgin,  "  My 
lord,  we  are  about  to  relume  the  torch  of  liberty  upon  the  altar 
of  slavery ! " 

To  this  magniloquent  speech  the  wife  of  their  Republican  host 
replied,  with  a  charming  smile :  '*  Oh,  I  am  so  glad  to  hear  you  say 


AN  ENGLISHMAN'S  OPINIONS.  479 

that  again,  Senator ;  for  I  told  my  husband  you  had  made  use  of 
exactly  the  same  expression  to  me  yesterday,  and  he  said  you 
would  not  have  talked  such  nonsense  to  anybody  but  a  woman  ! " 

At  a  luncheon  soon  after,  Mr.  Oliphant  seems  to  have  been  not 
a  little  confused  by  the  political  designations  of  the  various  guests. 
**  Besides  Whigs  and  Democrats,  there  are  Hard  Shells  and  Soft 
Shells,  and  Free  Soilers,  and  Disunionists,  and  Federals,  —  to 
say  nothing  of  filibusters,  poUiwogs,  and  a  host  of  other  nick- 
names. One  of  my  neighbors,  discoursing  on  one  of  these  varied 
issues,  told  me  that  he  *  went  the  whole  hog.'  He  was  the  least 
favorable  specimen  of  a  senator  I  have  seen,  and  I  felt  inclined  to 
tell  him  that  he  looked  the  animal  he  went,  but  smiled  apprecia- 
tively instead." 

Among  others  present  on  this  occasion  was  Colonel  Fremont,  of 
whom  the  writer  speaks  in  very  high  terms,  and  Colonel  Benton, 
"  who  is  writing  a  great  work,  and  is  *  quite  a  fine  man/  " 

The  idea  which  the  writer  gives  of  his  distinguished  principal's 
methods  in  furthering  the  object  of  his  mission,  is  that  the  Earl, 
while  perhaps  not  descending  to  anything  absolutely  discreditable, 
was  by  no  means  unwilling  to  adopt  measures  which  we  are  apt  to 
associate  with  politicians  of  less  dignified  antecedents.  In  point  of 
fact,  these  gentlemen  seem  to  have  found  themselves  sometimes  in 
very  questionable  company.  After  several  days  of  almost  uninter- 
rupted "  high  jinks,"  they  all  repaired  one  evening  with  a  group  of 
Democratic  senators — among  them  being  Mason  of  Virginia  —  to 
the  house  of  a  politician  of  local,  even  national,  fame.  This  gentle- 
man was  with  some  difficulty  —  it  was  then  nearly  midnight  — 
routed  out  of  bed.  He  appeared  to  his  illustrious  visitors  apparelled 
in  nothing  save  a  very  short  night-gown. 

"All  right,  boys,"  said  he ;  "you  go  in,  and  Til  go  down  and  get 
the  drink." 

This  he  proceeded  to  do,  and  presently  returned  with  his  arms 
filled  with  champagne  bottles  and  a  big  lump  of  ice.  The  com- 
pany on  this  occasion  was  evidently  of  a  very  mixed  character, 
and  the  aristocratic  British  guests  were  naturally  scandalized  at 
certain  freedoms  of  expressions  and  disregard  of  social  proprieties. 
Their  host  himself  felt  called  upon  to  apologize  for  the  absolute 
vulgarity  of  one  of  his  friends. 

"I  can  blaspheme,"  said  he,  "and  profane,  and  rip,  and  snort 
with  any  man,  but  I  never  make  use  of  a  vulgar  expression ! " 


48o  AN  ENGLISHMAN'S  OPINIONS. 

Here  is  Mr.  Oliphant's  opinion  of  General  Pierce  and  of  Secretary 
Marcy :  "  Of  all  presidents,  I  suppose  none  were  more  insignificant 
than  Mr.  Pierce,  who  was  occupying  the  White  House  at  the  time 
of  our  visit ;  while  in  his  secretary  of  state,  Mr.  Marcy,  we  found  a 
genial  and  somewhat  comical  old  gentleman,  whose  popularity  ^with 
his  countrymen  seemed  chiefly  to  rest  on  the  fact  that  he  had  once 
charged  the  United  States  government  fifty  cents  *for  repairing^ 
his  breeches  *  when  sent  on  a  certain  mission.*' 

Readers  may  perhaps  find  excuses  for  a  very  young  and  inex* 
perienced  Englishman  in  this  candid  exposure  of  his  ignorance  of 
the  characters  of  Franklin  Pierce  and  William  L.  Marcy.  General 
Pierce,  while  by  no  means  one  of  the  greatest  of  the  incumbents 
of  the  presidential  office,  was,  at  least  while  in  Washington,  a 
dignified  gentleman  of  exceptional  ability  and  scholarship  ;  and  the 
fame  of  William  L.  Marcy  —  Pierce's  secretary  of  state  all  through 
his  official  term  —  as  a  statesman  and  public  servant  will  scarcely 
be  materially  damaged  by  this  recent  expression  of  Mr.  Laurence 
Oliphant's  personal  views  thereon. 

Here  is  an  entry  in  our  author's  journal :  *'  Dined  last  night 
with  rather  a  singular  houseful  of  people.  The  master  of  the 
house  was  a  senator,  and  at  the  same  time  a  Methodist  preacher 
and  a  teetotaller.  Consequently,  although  we  were  twenty  at 
dinner,  we  had  nothing  to  drink  but  iced  water.  His  wife  was  a 
spirit  medium,  and  in  constant  communion  with  the  upper  or  lower 
world,  as  the  case  may  be.  His  daughter,  whom  I  had  the  honor 
of  taking  in  to  dinner,  wore  a  bloomer,  her  skirt  reaching  to  a  little 
below  the  knee ;  she  told  me  she  never  wore  any  other  costume. 
Her  husband  I  understood  to  be  an  avowed  disbeliever,  not  only 
in  his  mother-in-law's  communications  with  the  invisible  world,  but 
in  that  world  itself,  or  any  Creator  of  any  world.  However,  they 
seemed  to  get  on  very  well  together,  perhaps  because  they  all 
agreed  about  the  Nebraska  Bill,  which  is  the  only  subject  upon 
which  people  really  quarrel." 

The  author  speaks  of  the  negotiation  of  the  treaty  as  merely  an 
insignificant  item  among  the  many  interests  committed  to  the  care 
of  his  illustrious  principal.  This,  as  will  be  remembered,  was  suc- 
cessfully accomplished,  and  in  accordance  (the  writer  intimates) 
with  the  wishes  of  the  British  government,  and  greatly  to  the  sur- 
prise of  the  American  Secretary  of  State  ;  who,  we  are  led  to  con- 
clude, was  well-nigh  overcome  with  a  sense  of  the  amazing  astute- 


AN  ENGLISHMAN'S  OPINIONS,  481 

ness  of  the  English  ambassador.  We  are  also  at  liberty  to  infer 
that  Mr.  Marcy  was  almost  equally  impressed  with  the  brilliant 
capacity  of  Lord  Elgin's  secretary. 

After  a  minute  and  interesting  account  of  the  negotiation  of  this 
important  treaty,  and  a  doubtless  deserved  tribute  to  the  diplo- 
matic ability  of  the  British  statesman  who  accomplished  it,  the 
writer  thus  describes  the  journey  from  New  York  to  Canada : 
"  Our  progress  was  triumphal.  On  our  arrival,  by  special  train, 
at  Portland,  Me.,  we  were  received  with  the  thunders  of  salutes, 
and  went  in  procession  to  the  house  of  one  of  the  leading  citizens, 
with  bands  of  music,  and  flags,  and  escorts,  mounted  and  on  foot ; 
the  whole  of  the  gallant  militia  having  turned  out  to  do  Lord  Elgin 
honor.  A  characteristic  incident  occurred  prior  to  our  starting  for 
a  banquet  at  the  city  hall.  While  we  were  assembled  in  the  draw- 
ing-room of  our  host,  a  tray  with  various  kinds  of  wines  and  spirits 
was  brought  in,  and  our  hospitable  entertainer  remarked,  *  You'll 
have  to  take  your  liquor  in  here,  gentlemen,  for  I  guess  you'll  get 
none  where  we're  going  to.  We've  got  a  liquor  law  in  Maine,  you 
know,'  he  added  in  explanation,  with  a  sly  look  at  the  tray." 

As  their  considerate  host  had  intimated,  the  banquet  table  was 
supplied,  no  doubt  greatly  to  the  disgust  of  the  eminent  visitors, 
with  nothing  more  potent  than  tumblers  of  water. 

It  was  at  this  entertainment  that  Lord  Elgin  told  a  story  which 
we  have  seen  in  print  before.  In  the  course  of  his  travels  in  Amer- 
ica, the  noble  lord  found  himself  one  day  beside  a  stage-driver, 
with  whom  he  conversed  on  political  matters.  The  driver  told  his 
lordship  that  while  the  majority  in  the  State  was  Whig,  the  gov- 
ernor was  a  Democrat. 

"  How  comes  that  about  .^  "  inquired  the  Earl. 

"  Oh,"  replied  the  driver,  "  we  traded  the  governor  off  against 
the  land  agent ! " 

His  lordship's  answer  was  not  to  the  driver,  but  at  dinner,  — 
"  Now,  gentlemen,  you  could  not  trade  the  governor-general  of 
Canada  off  against  any  land  agent !  " 

The  entire  article  is  well  written,  and  of  real  interest,  though 
concerning  matters  of  a  time  long  past.  It  betrays  in  almost  every 
paragraph  the  singular  egotism  —  national,  no  less  than  personal  — 
apparently  inseparable  from  the  literary  eflForts  of  the  British  trav- 
eller in  our  benighted  land. 


482  EDITOR'S   TABLE. 


EDITOR'S    TABLE. 

The  disposal  of  the  State  property  in  the  Hoosac  Tunnel  to  a  consoli- 
dated railroad  company  was  consummated  at  the  very  close  of  the  admin- 
istration of  the  outgoing  governor ;  in  fact,  in  its  last  hours.  The  transaction 
makes  the  State  of  Massachusetts  a  partner  in  the  railroading  business  for 
years  to  come,  unless  it  should  decide  to  sell  the  five  millions  of  bonds 
and  the  five  millions  of  stock  it  received,  without  long  waiting  for  re- 
turns from  earnings.  So  it  goes  into  railroads  deeper  than  ever  before. 
The  purchasing  Fitchburg  road  is  understood  to  have  already  secured  the 
possession  of  the  Troy  and  Boston  road,  which  thus  constitutes  a  single 
line  under  one  management,  from  tide-water  to  the  Hudson  River.  Of 
course  important  improvements  are  anticipated  for  the  length  of  the  line 
that  will  develop  it  into  one  of  a  first-class  character  throughout.  Thus 
will  another  railway  have  been  opened  across  the  length  of  Massachusetts 
to  the  river  that  divides  New  England  from  the  great  continent.  But  this 
is  not'  the  achievement  that  engages  public  interest ;  it  is  the  final  disposi- 
tion of  a  property  that  has  cost  the  people  of  the  State,  first  and  last,  hard 
on  to  twentv-five  million  dollars. 

As  the  Tunnel  originated  in  the  purpose  to  open  a  way  across  the  west- 
em  hills  from  Boston  harbor  to  the  productive  West,  it  is  more  than  ever 
to  be  now  understood  that  the  origination,  conception,  and  design  have 
reached  at  last  the  stage  of  achievement.  The  Tunnel  is  now  in  the  way 
of  doing  what  it  was  excavated  for.  It  is  about  to  become  the  great  highway 
lying  open  between  the  East  and  the  West.  It  is  to  make  Massachusetts 
and  New  England  continental,  which  they  never  yet  have  been.  And  it  is 
to  be  done  by  the  practical  union  in  a  common  interest  of  the  new  consoli- 
dation and  the  great  railroad  systems  of  New  York,  reaching  out  to  Chicago 
and  the  Northwest.  It  is  the  one  thing  long  needed,  by  many  intensely 
desired,  —  although  accomplished  without  further  obstruction  from  jeal- 
ousies and  apprehensions  that  no  longer  exist. 

Mr.  Jonas  G.  Clark,  a  wealthy  and  public-spirited  citizen  of  Worcester, 
Mass.,  has  proposed  the  munificent  gift  of  a  million  dollars  for  founding  a 
new  university  in  that  beautiful  city,  "  for  the  promotion  of  learning  in  all 
its  higher  branches.**  It  is  to  be  named  Clark  University.  A  selected 
number  of  the  leading  citizens  of  Worcester  have  been  invited  by  him  to 
act  with  him  as  corporators.  The  land  for  the  erection  of  the  necessary 
buildings  has  been  selected,  in  a  growing  neighborhood  and  commanding 
extent  of  view.    The  money  will  be  all  ready  as  soon  as  the  act  of  incor- 


EDITOR'S   TABLE,  483 

poration  is  secured.  The  generous  donor  has  arranged  his  affairs  so  that 
his  plans  will  be  carried  out,  even  in  the  event  of  his  death.  He  does  not 
propose  to  limit  his  gifts  to  the  original  one  million,  but  intends  to  add  to 
the  endowment  as  occasion  may  require.  His  purpose  is  to  make  the 
scope  of  the  new  institution  cover  broadly  all  fields  of  knowledge.  A  law 
school,  medical  school,  and  possibly  theological  school,  as  well  as  an  aca- 
demic department,  will  be  established.  There  are  some  who  are  ready 
to  express  the  wish  that  the  princely  donor  could  have  preferred  the  name 
**  college  "to  "  university,"  but  time  will  supply  the  best  test  of  the  fitness 
of  the  one  chosen.  Worcester  is  to  be  congratulated  on  an  addition  to  her 
present  riches,  of  such  incalculable  value. 

* 

One  never  thinks,  when  contemplating  a  fine,  ingenuous,  promising 
youth,  as  he  is  about  to  graduate  from  college,  of  how  much  wealth  he 
will  probably  acquire  in  the  course  of  his  life,  but  rather  of  what  possibili- 
ties lie  unfolded  within  him,  —  what  are  likely  to  constitute  the  riches  of 
his  personal  experience  in  going  through  life,  what  hopes  of  him  may  be 
gratified,  and  what  dawning  ideals  may  be  realized  in  him  between  life's 
morning  and  evening  suns.  The  most  worldly  suspend  their  accustomed 
calculations  in  his  poetic  presence,  apd  silently  confess  to  the  insufficiency 
of  mere  material  things. 

* 

There  is  one  thing  in  which  we  think  our  public  schools  migh't  easily 
take  a  great  step  forward.  That  is,  by  giving  greatly,  more  attention  to  the 
economics  of  industry.  What  is  the  value  of  Latin  and  French  compared 
with  this?  Yet,  how  much  more  attention  is  given  to  them.  Stable  and 
peaceful  industrial  relations  can  never  be  attained  till  the  people  know  the 
limits  of  capital,  and  what  are  its  legitimate  and  necessary  connections  with 
labor,  and  thence  learn  to  co-operate  with  capital  intelligendy  and  hon- 
estly, and  with  steady  self-control. 

The  history  of  human  thought  is  of  various  branches,  and  new  ones  are 
added  from  time  to  time.  Temperance  has  become  a  standard  question, 
and  it  is  clearly  a  progressive  movement.  The  world's  thought  is  slowly 
clarifying  on  the  question  of  the  making  and  vending  of  alcoholic  liquors ; 
and  a  proximate  unity  of  opinion  and  conviction  will,  before  a  very  great 
while,  be  attained. 

The  efforts  which  h^Cve  been  in  progress  for  the  amendment  of  the  Mas- 
sachusetts constitution,  are  promising  success  at  no  distant  day.  There  is 
a  growing  zeal  in  laboring  for  it,  and  the  zeal  is  not  without  knowledge,  and 
it  is  accumulating  social  influence.  If  the  Republican  party  will  unitedly 
vote  for  it,  they  will  win  the  respect  of  all  temperance  people,  and  earn  a 


484  EDITOR'S   TABLE. 

new  title  to  confidence  as  the  rightful  ruling  party.  The  Prohibition  third 
party,  which  has  been  so  assiduously  nursed  by  Democratic  politicians,  is 
beginning  by  its  growth  to  alarm  some  of  the  Democratic  leaders,  who  are 
fearful  of  the  consequences  to  Democratic  ascendency  in  the  South,  should 
the  third  party  be  organized  in  that  section. 

« 
Some  books  and  periodicals  have  a  large  circulation  with  a  small  repu- 
tation. Some  have  a  distinguished  reputation  with  only  a  small  circulation. 
Perfection  would  combine  high  reputation  with  an  extensive  circle  of 
readers.  This  is  a  very  difficult  achievement,  because  the  large  majority 
are  not  usually  appreciative  of  the  loftier  and  finer  forms  of  thought  and 
style,  and  the  common  needs  of  men  are  for  the  grosser  kinds  of  things, 
just  as  we  need  a  larger  quantity  of  common  stones  and  iron  than  of  gems 
and  gold.  Still  it  is  and  shall  be  the  aim  of  the  New  England  Magazine 
to  achieve  this  combination  to  a  large  extent  by  discussing  themes  admitted 
to  its  pages  in  a  worthy  manner,  yet  so  that  the  sovereign  people  who 
graduate  from  our  public  schools  will  generally  find  both  topics  and  treat- 
ment suited  to  their  wants.  We  are  encouraged  in  this  hope  by  the  degree 
of  success  already  attained,  and  by  various  auspicious  omens  which  beckon 
us  forward ;  and  no  possible  effort  shall  be  spared  to  turn  these  hopes  and 
omens  into  solid  realities. 

Historical  magazines  are  numerous  and  invaluable.  As  depositories 
of  laboriously  gathered  material  for  the  use  of  future  historians,  they  cannot 
be  overestimated.  This  class  of  journals  is,  however,  usually  very  dry,  as 
they  avowedly  do  not  address  the  popular  ear,  nor  prepare  their  meat  to 
suit  the  popular  palate.  The  public  requires  that  these  themes  be  treated 
in  a  style  worthy  of  their  importance.  That  task,  we  claim,  is  skilfully 
performed  by  the  New  T^nguvni)  Magazine.  It  hunts  and  gathers  out 
original  matter  for  itself,  and  then  puts  it  in  shape  so  as  to  satisfy  and 
delight  a  sound  public  taste  and  judgment.  As  all  our  great  historians 
have  proved,  it  is  possible  to  be  at  once  original  investigators  and  classical 
writers.  This  is  our  aim,  and  this  the  demand  we  make  on  our  con- 
tributors, and  with  a  growing  success  which  competent  testimony  and  in- 
creasing circulation  attest. 

Nor  is  the  work  and  sphere  of  the  New  Engijind  Magazine  in  anywise 
merely  sectional.  New  England  liveth  not  to  herself,  nor  for  themselves 
have  her  patriots  and  martyrs  died.  She  is  vitally  and  nobly  connected 
with  all  our  extensive  territory,  and  even  with  the  whole  civilized  world. 
No  section  of  the  country  can  be  indifferent  to  New  England  life  and  his- 
tory, as  none  can  be  independent  of  any  or  the  rest.  Hence  the  New 
Engiand  Magazine  cannot  be  conducted  wisely  and  successfully  in  the 


EDITOR'S   TABLE.  485 

spirit  of  a  sectional  partisan,  but  merely  in  the  tone  of  subloyalty  which 
each  section  owes  to  itself,  and  thence  large  and  full  to  all  the  rest  as 
members  of  one  great  commonwealth.  Some  of  our  contributors,  there- 
fore, and  very  many  of  our  subscribers,  are  from  the  West  and  South. 

The  New  England  stock  has  also  become  very  migratory,  seeking  richer 
lands  and  mines  and  sunnier  climes ;  and  thus  by  a  fresh  form  of  force 
they  are  vitally  interlocking  New  England  more  and  more  with  every 
portion  of  our  vast  domain,  a  patriotic  and  beneficent  process  which 
will  be  greatly  fostered  by  the  universal  circulation  of  the  New  England 
Magazine. 

While  we  have  this  specialty,  our  topics  are  very  various.  W^e  exclude 
nothing  of  popular  interest  suited  to  a  magazine  for  the  people ;  and  a  due 
place  is  given  to  good  and  healthy  fiction  of  high  grade,  to  sociology,  to 
national  concerns,  and  the  general  course  of  human  life,  so  as  to  make  it 
of  universal  interest. 

The  problem  concerning  the  fisheries  has,  during  the  month,  made  no 
evident  progress  toward  a  solution.  Ill  feeling  on  both  sides  has  made  a 
manifest  advance.  America  and  Canada  are  trying  how  far  each  can  hurt 
the  other  by  legislation.  But  this  is  a  two-edged  sword,  which  always  cuts 
both  ways ;  and  it  is  a  poor  consolation  to  hope  the  other  party  will  be  hurt 
the  most.  A  better  hope  is  that  a  mutual  understanding  will  soon  be 
reached  ;  and,  as  a  condition  of  this,  it  will  be  well  if  each  party  tries  to  put 
itself  in  the  other's  place,  —  a  rare  and  difficult  thing  in  international 
politics. 


486  WEBSTER  HISTORICAL   SOCIETY. 


WEBSTER   HISTORICAL   SOCIETY. 

INDUSTRIAL  EDUCATION. 
By   HON.  STEPHEN  M.  ALLEN. 

The  more  complex  or  artificial  the  means  of  living,  the  greater  the 
necessity  for  a  suitable  practical  education  in  providing  for  the  necessities 
of  human  existence.  Primitive  simplicity  has  been  nearly  crowded  out  by 
modem  civilization ;  and  sometimes  the  divine  law,  "  In  the  sweat  of  thy 
face  shalt  thou  eat  bread,"  is  entirely  lost  sight  of  through  the  fictitious 
though  sometimes  fashionable  glamour  which  would  paint  labor  as  something 
dishonorable. 

The  law  of  " industrial  habit" is  as  imperatively  divine, as  wise  and  bene- 
ficial, through  all  its  ramifications  as  any  part  of  that  delivered  at  Mount 
Sinai,  and  no  departures  from  it  can  be  made  without  injury  to  this  physical 
body,  the  mind,  the  heart,  and  the  spiritual  life  of  humanity.  Physically,  the 
body  must  have  action  :  a  straining  of  the  muscles,  expansion  and  contrac- 
tion of  its  fibres,  weight  and  pressure  upon  its  bones,  and  constant  motion 
and  friction  —  all  activity  to  become  and  be  kept  healthy.  In  the  olden  time 
the  daily  necessities  and  demands  of  life  provided  for  this  work  most  fit- 
tingly in  the  cultivation  of  the  soil  or  the  less  humane  but  more  laborious 
habits  of  the  chase. 

Humanity  cannot  thrive  or  progress  without  a  healthy  brain,  nor  be 
properly  educated  without  the  united  sympathetic  effort  of  every  natural 
function  of  the  body.  Ood  has  made  this  the  imperative  law  of  health, 
happiness,  and  usefulness,  which  cannot  be  violated  with  impunity,  and 
which  should  not  be  superseded  by  human  civil  law.  The  spiritual  condi- 
tion of  mankind,  its  health  fulness  and  usefulness,  will  ever  greatly  depend 
upon  the  good  health  and  proper  condition  of  the  body  for  the  time  being. 
Its  high  conceptions,  its  brilliant  illuminations  and  exhilarations,  its  force  of 
moral  action,  and  its  vital  works  in  the  aggregate,  will  always  depend  more 
or  less  upon  an  harmonious  action  of  the  indispensable  trinity  of  body,  mind, 
and  soul. 

Modem  civilization  is  constantly  working  out  new  methods  of  keeping  up 
those  proper  relations  by  fictitious  methods  of  physical  exercise,  which 
often  has  not  only  been  carried  to  great  and  dangerous  extremes,  but  has 
thrown  discredit  over  the  useful  manual  labor  which  Providence  provided 
for  the  works  of  humanity.  These  new  methods,  while  sometimes  useful 
in  themselves  as  ornaments,  are  not  the  natural  methods  designed  by 
l^ovidence  to  accomplish  the  necessary  work  of  life. 


WEBSTER  HISTORICAL   SOCIETY. 


487 


Nature  is  always  compensative  in  her  vital  work,  and  ever  gives  two 
direct  results.  The  laborer  who  produces  the  real  necessities  of  life  with 
his  reasonable  toil,  also  brings  strength,  health,  and  happiness  to  himself  as 
well  as  sustenance  to  those  dependent  upon  him.  Manual  exercises  for 
pleasure  and  health  may  produce  the  latter ;  but  when  the  great  trial-balance 
of  life  is  made  out,  the  account  will  show  but  a  small  gain  to  humanly 
at  large,  as  compared  with  the  account  of  the  practical  toiler,  who,  as  a 
producer,  enriches  himself  and  the  whole  world  around  him. 

Physical  and  mental  training  may  then  be  divided  into  two  classes,  the 
one  system  from  natural,  and  the  other  from  artificial,  labor.  The  natural 
may  and  should  have  its  exhilarations,  pleasures,  and  comforts ;  and  the 
condition  of  things  in  the  present  day  proves  conclusively  that  the  immediate 
future  demands  from  the  social  and  political  economist,  not  only  the  study 
of  the  best  means  of,  but  the  proper  and  better  provision  for,  making  the 
necessary  labor  of  life  a  greater  pleasure  to  the  natural  toiler,  as  well  as  a 
bounriful  provider  for  his  physical  and  mental  needs.  This  will  not  only 
do  the  work  that  is  claimed  for  it,  but  will  in  no  sense  lead  to  dissipation 
Iwyond,  On  the  other  hand,  artificial  labor,  for  whatever  purposes,  gen- 
erally carries  with  it  a  leading  inducement  for  an  artificial  life  beyond, 
which,  fictitious  in  the  start,  becomes  a  means  of  dissipation  at  its  end. 

The  proper  education  of  youth,  then,  is  a  practical  education,  combining 
physical  and  mental  labor,  but  always  to  a  useful  and  creative  end  —  an  end 
leaving  beside  all  that  is  claimed  for  it  to  the  individual,  a  gain  for  humanity 
at  large.  The  great  changes  in  mechanical  art  during  the  last  fifly  years  have 
entirely  changed  for  all  the  real  methods  of  getting  a  living- 
Industrial  production,  through  labor-saving  processes  under  the  present 
system  of  compensation,  has  become  excessive  and  beyond  the  demand. 
The  laborer  and  mechanic  has  not  impro\'ed  by  it  in  the  proper  sense. 
Specialties  have  made  him  an  expert  in  one  thing,  while  he  is  much  less  of 
a  mechanic  in  another.  The  efTect  is  bad  upon  his  mind.  He  needs  the 
generalizing  influence  of  the  old  hand-work,  when  one  man  could  build  a 
house  or  make  a  shoe,  where  the  labor  is  now  divided  among  twenty  or 
thirty.  His  school  should  also  be  one  of  the  arts  as  well  as  of  letters,  and 
his  real  domestic  needs  be  more  luxuriantly  supplied  than  at  present.  The 
mover  of  the  natural  and  mechanical  products  should  also  be  educated  as  a 
producer,  while  the  merchant  should  belter  understand  by  early  training,  the 
history  of  the  creation  of  his  wares. 

The  old  system  of  apprenticeship  has  been  done  away,  and  the  young 
man  of  the  present  day,  in  first  going  to  the  business  he  has  chosen,  needs 
a  much  more  marked  training  of  his  profession  at  school  than  is  now  to  be 
obtained.  Hence,  the  proper  and  successful  industrial  education  of  the 
future  should  be  the  practical  study  of  nature,  mechanical  art.  and  letlere, 
thoroughly  combined  in  all  elementary  schools. 


488  HISTORICAL  RECORD, 


HISTORICAL  RECORD. 

On  February  5  there  was  a  terrible  disaster  on  the  Vermont  Central  Rail- 
road, about  four  miles  above  the  White  River  Junction.  The  loss  of  life  was 
great,  and  the  horrors  of  the  situation  were  heightened  from  fires  caused  by 
the  upsetting  of  stoves.  Some  of  the  foremost  people  of  New  England  were 
among  the  sufferers.  The  disaster  is  attributed  to  a  broken  rail :  but  the 
greatest  evil  was  due  to  fire,  both  in  the  way  of  death  and  pain  and  personal 
injury. 

An  indication  of  the  advance  of  thought  on  the  temperance  question  is 
very  clearly  givtn  in  the  following  statements  and  statistics  :  — 

The  secfttary  of  the  Commonwealth  has  recently  sent  to  the  Legislature  an 
abstract  of  the  returns  of  votes  on  the  license  question  in  the  cities  and  towns 
in  1886,  with  a  statement  of  the  number  of  licenses  granted  by  classes  and  the 
amount  received  for  the  same.  Of  the  349  cities  and  towns  of  the  State,  74 
voted  for  license,  5  took  no  vote,  no  return  was  received  from  one,  one  voted 
last  year  as  part  of  another  town,  and  268  voted  against  license;  in  1885 
there  were  1 1 2  cities  and  towns  voting  for  license,  6  taking  no  action,  and 
230  voting  against  it.  The  net  gain  for  no  license  is  76  places,  —  or,  in  1885, 
32  per  cent  of  the  cities  and  towns  voted  for  license  against  21  per  cent  in 
1886,  —  a  no-license  gain  of  11  per  cent.  In  1885  the  no-license  vote  was 
46.7  per  cent  of  the  total. 

The  Fiftieth  Annual  Report  of  the  State  Board  of  Education  contains  an 
excellent  review  of  the  development  of  the  Massachusetts  public  school  sys- 
tem during  the  last  half-century.  In  that  time  the  population  has  advanced 
from  691,222  to  1,942,141,  and  the  value  of  taxable  property  has  risen 
from  $206,457,662  to  $1,847,531,422.  The  schools  have  trebled  in  number, 
and  the  pupils  have  kept  pace  with  the  schools.  Fifty  years  ago  the  average 
attendance  was  in  winter  53,532  less  than  the  total  number  of  school  chil- 
dren in  the  State,  and  in  summer  the  average  was  70,000  less.  Last  year 
there  was  an  average  of  only  54,195  of  school  children  who  did  not  attend  the 
public  school.  This  is  a  smaller  average  absence  by  some  15,000  or  16,000 
than  formerly,  though  the  population  is  now  three  times  larger  than  at  the 
earlier  date.  The  progress  here  is  very  conspicuous,  and  it  becomes  especially 
striking  when  it  is  considered  that  the  accessions  to  our  population  have 
l)een  in  a  large  degree  of  foreign  birth  or  parentage ;  and  concerning  them 
these  facts  furnish  a  good  ground  of  hope. 


HISTORICAL  RECORD,  489 

No  nation  ever  made  histoiy  so  rapidly  as  America.  It  also  knows  quite 
well  what  it  is  doing,  and  appreciates  well  its  own  work.  Yet  in  its  national 
capacity  its  action  may  be  slow  in  making  due  provision  for  its  coming  his- 
torians. We  therefore  join  our  voice  with  that  of  others  in  expressing  a 
hope  that  Congress  will  approve  the  resolution  now  before  it  providing  for 
the  cataloguing  of  American  historical  documents  in  the  public  and  private 
archives  of  Europe.  Their  importance  can  scarcely  be  overstated ;  it  is  not 
too  much  to  say  that  this  material  is  essential  to  a  full  understanding  of  our 
later  colonial  history  and  the  establishment  of  our  present  government,  or 
that  without  it  our  best  histories  could  not  have  been  written.  It  is,  how- 
ever, practically  inaccessible  ;  little,  indeed,  of  it  has  ever  been  made  avail- 
able, and  it  is  hedged  about  by  such  restrictions  that  no  worthy  record  of 
our  country  could  have  been  written  by  a  man  not  possessed  of  ample  means 
or  official  station.  The  present  measure,  therefore,  would  greatly  ease  the 
burdens  of  history-writing  and  extend  its  possibilities. 


490  NECROLOGY. 


NECROLOGY. 

Charles  Carter,  the  oldest  ex-member  of  the  Connecticut  Legislature, 
died  January  i8,  in  Marlborough,  Conn.,  aged  ninety-six  years.  He  repre- 
sented that  town  in  1846. 

Edward  Livingstoxe  Youmans,  late  editor  of  the  Popular  Science  Monthly ^ 
and  regarded  in  Europe  as  the  representative  American  savant,  who  died 
January  18,  was  born  at  Coeymans,  N.Y.,  June  3, 182 1 .  His  parents  removed, 
when  he  was  a  child,  to  Saratoga.  At  the  age  of  thirteen  he  was  attacked 
by  ophthalmia,  and  for  some  years  was  totally  blind.  His  sight  was  perma- 
nently injured,  and  he  often  found  himself  unable  to  read.  He  displayed 
early  that  love  for  chemistry  and  physics  which  gave  color  to  his  whole  life. 
Professor  Youmans  was  for  forty  years  identified  with  enterprises  of  the  Apple- 
tons,  who  published  in  1852  his  "Class  Book  of  Chemistry,"  which  had  a 
great  circulation,  and  was  translated  into  Spanish  in  1866.  In  185 1  he  issued 
a  chemical  chart;  in  1853  appeared  "Alcohol  and  the  Constitution  of 
Man,"  and  in  1855  the  "Chemical  Atlas."  He  published  the  "  Hand- 
book of  Household  Science"  in  1857,  and  in  1864  the  "Correlation  and 
Conservation  of  Forces."  In  1866  he  accepted  the  chair  of  chemistry  in 
Antioch  College,  and  in  1867  he  published  the  "Culture  demanded  by  Mod- 
em Life."  In  1872  he  established  the  Popular  Science  Monthly y  of  which 
he  remained  editor  till  within  a  short  time  of  his  demise.  Dr.  Youmans  was 
the  intimate  friend  of  Herbert  Spencer  and  of  Professors  Huxley  and  Tyn- 
dall.  More  to  him  than  to  any  other  man  is  the  popularity  of  their  works 
in  this  country  due.  He  introduced  Mr.  Spencer  to  the  American  public 
when  the  author  of  "  Social  Statics  "  first  came  here  to  lecture.  Professor 
Youmans  was  the  adviser  of  the  Appletons  in  all  their  scientific  publications, 
and  in  every  way  showed  himself  a  most  earnest  worker  for  the  advancement 
of  science.     His  wife  survives  him.     He  leaves  no  children. 


Mr.  Charles  T.  Hubbard  died  at  Weston,  Mass.,  January  18,  at  the  age 
of  sixty-nine.  He  was  connected  with  the  well-known  firm  of  Sewall,  Day  & 
Co.,  cordage  manufacturers,  and  was  afterwards  a  director  in  the  Sewall 
and  Day  Cordage  Co.,  that  succeeded  the  firm.  He  was  also  a  bank  and 
insurance  director  in  Boston,  and  treasurer  of  the  Boston  Flax  Mills  Com- 
pany, afterwards  the  Ludlow  Manufacturing  Company. 


Mrs.  Clarissa  D.  Raymond  died  in  Wilton,  Conn.,  January  19.     She 
would  have  been  105  years  old  next  May.     She  was  called  the  oldest  jjer- 


NECROLOGY.  491 

son  in  Connecticut.      Her  husband  died  in  18 14,  when  she  was  about 
thirty-two  years  of  age,  and  she  has  Hved  a  widow's  Hfe  for  nearly  three- . 
quarters  of  a  century.     She  leaves  a  number  of  great-great-grandchildren. 

Captain  George  B.  Hanover,  long  a  resident  of  the  North  End,  Bos- 
ton, and  for  about  forty  years  in  the  employ  of  the  historic  publishing  firm 
of  Crocker  and  Brewster,  died  on  the  20th  of  January,  in  New  York,  at  the 
age  of  sixty-three. 

Hon.  Henry  B.  Stanton,  one  of  the  most  eloquent  of  the  early  anti- 
slavery  lecturers,  an  able  lawyer,  writer,  and  politician,  a  student  of  Lane 
Theological  Seminar}',  and  driven,  with  others,  from  its  classes,  on  account 
of  his  pronounced  views  on  the  slavery  question,  died  in  the  latter  part  of 
January,  aged  eighty-one  years. 

The  Rev.  W.  G.  Elliott,  D.D.,  was  buried  in  St.  Louis,  on  January  27.  A 
son  of  New  England,  he  went  in  early  manhood  to  that  city,  fifty-four  years 
ago.  He  contributed  in  various  ways  to  honor  and  ennoble  it,  by  a  life  of 
wise  and  effective  zeal  for  religion  and  education  of  the  most  broad  and 
enlightened  character.  He  exercised  an  unwonted  power  in  stimulating 
men  to  goodness.  He  was  pastor  of  one  of  the  strongest  churches  of  the 
Unitarian  denomination,  was  chancellor  of  the  Washington  University, 
which  he  helped  to  found  and  establish,  and  was  president  of  the  St.  Louis 
Law  School ;  and  in  every  relation  he  was  highly  honored.  In  his  death, 
the  cause  of  liberal  Christianity  in  the  West  has  lost  a  bright  ornament  and 
a  powerful  support. 


The  Rev.  Arthur  Swazey,  D.D.,  died  February  2,  at  his  residence  in  Chi- 
cago, at  the  age  of  sixty-two  years.  Dr.  Swazey  has  been  a  prominent  man  in 
the  religious  circles  of  Chicago  for  twenty-five  years.  He  was  bom  at 
Bucksport,  Me.,  June  22,  1824.  His  preparatory  education  was  received  in 
Yarmouth.  At  the  age  of  sixteen  he  entered  Bowdoin  College,  and  gradu- 
ated with  high  honors  in  1844.  He  then  entered  the  ministry,  and  after- 
ward attended  Bangor  Theological  Seminary,  graduating  in  1847.  He 
then  accepted  the  pastorate  of  a  Congregational  Church  at  Brighton,  Mass., 
where  he  remained  ten  years.  In  1856  he  accepted  a  call  from  the  First 
Presbyterian  Church  of  Galena,  111.  The  Third  Presbyterian  Church  of 
Chicago  called  him  to  its  pastorate  in  i860,  which  position  he  retained  until 
1870.  During  his  ministry  the  membership  was  largely  increased,  and  a 
church  debt  of  forty  thousand  dollars  was  paid  off.  He  also  edited  the 
Interior  for  two  years.  Dr.  Swazey  was  a  man  of  fine  scholarship,  and  the 
later  years  of  his  life  were  devoted  to  astronomy  and  inventions.  He 
stood  firmly  by  Professor  Swing  when  that  divine  was  prosecuted  for  heresy. 


492  LITERATURE  AND  ART 

The  funeral  of  Ex-Judge  Thomas  Russell  took  place  at  Pilgrim  Hall  in 
Plymouth  on  February  1 1  at  3  o*clock.  It  was  attended  by  Governor  Ames ; 
Railroad  Commissioners  Kingsley  and  Stevens ;  Chief  Justice  Brigham  of 
the  Superior  Court ;  Judge  Charles  Allen  of  the  Supreme  Court ;  President 
C^hoate  of  the  Old  Colony  Railroad  ;  S.  N.  Aldrich,  president  of  the  Massa- 
chusetts Central ;  Hon.  George  C.  Crocker  of  Boston ;  Rev.  Cyrus  A. 
Bartol  of  Boston ;  Hon.  William  G.  Russell,  brother  of  the  deceased,  and 
other  members  of  the  family ;  and  by  numerous  persons  eminent  in  the 
State.  The  services  were  conducted  by  Rev.  Edward  H.  Hall,  D.D.,  and 
Rev.  George  W.  Briggs,  D.D.,  of  Cambridge.  The  remains  were  deposited 
in  the  receiving  tomb  at  Burial  Hill. 


t»?oo. 


LITERATURE    AND    ART. 

"  I  Am  That  I  Am,"  ^  by  E.  A.  VVarriner,  is  a  duodecimo  in  verse,  on  an 
abstract  and  metaphysical  theme,  an  exposition  of  "The  Idea  of  the 
Infinite,"  "The  Idea  of  God,"  and  "The  Idea  of  Personality."  The 
author  commands  our  admiration  for  his  brave  effort.  His  success  is  such 
that  only  a  very  able  or  a  very  bold  man  could  hope  to  excel  him  in  the 

execution  of  his  task. 

*  * 

* 

"  The  Recollections  of  a  Private  Soldier  in  the  Army  of  the  Potomac," 
by  Frank  Wilkeson,-  is  a  book  wTitten  from  the  shady  side  of  the  military 
life.  It  criticises  freely  the  commanding  officers.  Its  tone  is  not  inspiring, 
and  on  the  whole,  it  is  scarcely  perhaps  healthy  in  a  patriotic  aspect.  But 
it  may  deserve  attention,  because  of  the  standpoint  it  occupies  of  a  private 

who  never  rose  into  the  ranks. 

*  * 

Whatever  may  be  the  deficiences  of  the  recent  work  of  Professor  Rich- 
ardson,** it  seems  to  us  that  no  more  just  view  of  our  national  ^Titers  than 
this  has  been  presented,  though  we  cannot  speak  as  to  his  treatment  of  the 
poetry  and  fiction,  which  are  reserved  for  another  volume.  In  this  one  he 
reviews  only  the  essayists  and  the  historical  and  descriptive  writers. 
Environment  and  personality  being  the  chief  forces  determining  the 
character  of  literary  works,  the  different  authors  are  naturally  presented  in 

1  I  Am  That  I  Am:  The  Philosophic  Basis  of  the  Christian  Faith.  A  metrical  essay,  by  EU  A.  War- 
riner.     Boston:  Cupples,  Upham,  &  Co.    1887.    Cloth,  lamo;  pp.  167. 

2  Recollections  of  a  Private  5>oldi«r  in  the  Army  of  the  Potomac,  by  Frank  Wilkeson.  New  York  and 
London:  G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons.  1887.  Goth,  i6mo;  pp.  346.  Price,  $1.00.  Boston:  for  sale  by  W.  B. 
Clarke  and  Carnith. 

3  American  Literature.  Vol.  L  The  Development  of  American  Thought,  by  Charles  F.  Richardson. 
Now  York  and  London:  G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons.    Cloth,  Bvo:  pp.  535. 


BOOKS  RECEIVED,  493 

their  relation  to  the  peculiar  conditions  of  their  period  and  geographical 
situation.  Yet  the  treatise  does  not  wholly  follow  a  historic  order.  Its 
pages  give  a  rapid  survey  of  what  our  author  regards  as  most  enduring  in 
the  literary  product  of  the  country  up  to  the  present  time.  The  chapters 
are  carefully  planned,  and  are  elaborated  in  a  systematic  manner.  He 
attempts  to  avoid  analysis^  as  well  as  expository  criticism,  and  condemns  a 
large  display  of  facts ;  consequently  he  does  much  generalizing,  but  argues 
effectively  from  leading  features,  and  abounds  in  summary,  if  not  pithy, 
statements.  He  well  defines  American  literature  as  "  isolated  inheritance, 
working  freshly."  The  average  reader  will  find  many  valuable  ideas  suc- 
cinctly and  conveniently  stated  regarding  our  best-known  and  standard 
authors ;  while  in  the  closing  chapter,  treating  of  the  "  Borderland  of  Lit- 
erature,** there  is  much  of  suggestion  and  interest  in  regard  to  the  work 
and  influence  of  those  who  have  been  authors  incidentally  only.  The  style 
of  the  work  is  concise ;  and,  if  not  greatly  animated,  there  is  a  freshness  of 
statement,  and  sometimes  of  view,  which  will  render  it  entertaining.  It  is 
a  book  which  would  be  valuable  to  the  larger  number  of  those  having  a 
taste  for  sound  literature. 

To  the  student  of  genealogy  in  general,  any  volume  on  early  New  Eng- 
land people  would  be  of  value,  while  to  the  members  of  the  several  families 
mentioned  therein  it  would  have  the  addition  of  personal  interest.  In  the 
book  ^  before  us  the  families  bearing  the  names  Ayer,  Bartlett,  Bradley, 
Chase,  Dean,  Dow,  Dunster,  Ellis,  Fuller,  Hope,  Kilby,  Martine,  and  De 
Les  Dernier,  Maverick,  Mills,  Montague,  Pemberton,  Pepperell,  Poore, 
Prescott,  Sewall  and  Longfellow,  Spoffbrd,  Titcomb,  Watmough,  Willard, 
occupy  the  largest  space,  while  numerous  others  are  more  or  less  fully 
treated.  Much  of  curious,  and  even  of  thrilling,  interest  is  found  in  the 
lives  of  individuals  of  the  families  mentioned,  to  such  an  extent  as  might 
repay  perusal  by  the  general  reader. 

BOOKS    RECEIVED. 

I  Am  That  I  Am  :  The  Philosophic  Basis  of  the  Christian  Faith.  A  Metrical  Essay, 
by  E.  A.  Warriner.  Boston:  Cupples,  Upham,  &  Co.  1 887.  Cloth,  l2nio;  pp.  167. 
$1.00. 

The  Story  of  the  Normans.  By  Sarah  Orne  Jewett.  New  York  and  London : 
G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons.     1887.     Qoth,  i2rao;   pp.  373.     $1.50. 

Cassell's  National  Library.  Edited  by  Prof.  Henry  Morley.  Paper.  Issued 
weekly  at  $5  a  year;  single  copies,  10  cents.  Vol  I.,  No.  53,  Wanderings  in  South 
America.     Vol.  IL,  No.  55,  The  Hunchback,  The  Love-Chase. 

The  Conception  of  the  Infinite.  By  George  S.  Fullerton,  A.M.,  B.D.  Phila- 
delphia: J.  B.  Lippincott  Company.     1887.     Cloth,  i2mo;   pp.131.     Price,  jf  I. 

I  Early  New  England  People.  By  Sarah  Elizabeth  Titcomb.  Boston:  W.  B.  Clarke  &  Camith, 
Publishers.    Cloth,  8vo. ;  pp.  393.    Price,  $4.00. 


494  LVD  EX  TO  MAGAZINE  LITERATURE. 


INDEX  TO  MAGAZINE  LITERATURE. 

[The  niiineral5  designate  magazines,  a  list  of  which  is  placed  at  the  close  of  this  index.  The  date  of 
the  magazines  is  that  of  the  month  preceding  this  issue  of  the  New  E^iCLA^a>  Magazine,  unles*  othenriM 

>tated.] 

Art,  Architecture.    The  Likenesses  of  Julius  Caesar.    John  C.  Ropes,    30. 

—  The  Oldest  Church  in  London.  St.  Bartholomew  the  Great  Norman  Moore. 
I .  —  Recent  Discoveries  of  Works  of  Art  in  Rome.  Rudolf o  Latuiani.  i .  —  The 
Illustrations  of  Faust.     Walter  H,  Pollock,     25. 

BioriR.\PHY.  Gene-\logy.  The  Likenesses  of  Julius  Csesar.  yohn  C  Ropes. 
30.  —  M.  Coquelin.  Brander  Matthews.  30.  —  Notable  Editors  between  1776 
and  1800.  Hon.  S.  W.  (J.  Benjawi'n,  6.  —  Senator  John  A.  Logan.  Mrs, 
Martha  J.  Lamb.  6.  —  Major-General  David  Hunter.  Gen,  Robert  C,  Sckenck, 
6.  —  Abraham  Lincoln.  A  Historj'.  John  G.  XLolay ;  John  Hay.  i.  —  Edm^rd 
Thompson  Taylor,  the  Boston  Bethel  Preacher.  C.  A.  Bartol.  i.  —  James 
McCosh,  President  of  Princeton.  John  Van  Clei'e.  i. —  Rev.  John  Cotton. 
the  Father  of  Boston,  ll'illiapn  Gray  Brooks.  23.  —  Stories  and  Memories  of 
Washington.  II.  Sea/on  Donoho.  16.  —  Recollections  of  Early  Years,  Rez; 
Ges^ri^e  If.  .ViWsols,  A.M.  29.  —  Caius  Suetonius  Tranquillus.  Re7f.  Prof.  A. 
A.  B^ns.'n.  .W.A.  29.  —  (General  Lucius  Fairchild.  Consul  IVillskire  Butter^ 
field.  31. — The  Bench  and  Bar  of  Toronto.  IV.  The  Hon.  John  Elmsley, 
Chief-Justice  of  Upper  Canada.  I).  B.  Read.  Q.  C.  31.  — Gen.  Dax-id  Atwood. 
Reuben  G.  Thzraite's.    31.  —  The  Character  of  Shelley.   Rez:  John  I'erschoyle.  25. 

—  Sketch  of  Charles  C.  Abbott     5. 

Descriktiox,  Travel.  Adventure.  Glimpses  at  the  Diaries  of  GouveriKur 
Morris.  Second  Paper.  Social  Life  and  Character  in  the  Paris  of  the  Revolu- 
tion.    Annie  Cary  Mi*rns.    30.  —  A  Midwinter  Resort,     ll'dliam  C.  Church,    i. 

—  The  Oldest  Church  in  London.  St.  Bartholomew  the  Great  Xorman  Moore. 
I. — Fair  Northrield  and  the  Ev-angelist  Moody.  Mary  ll'inchester.  23. — 
Canoeing  in  Kennei^ec  County.  .Me.  C.  S.  Hichborn.  23.  —  After  Geronimo. 
XII.  Ueut.  John  B:>elou:  Jr.,  C'.S..4.  7.  —  Around  the  Worid  on  a  Bicvxlc. 
W'll.  Ti.^was  S:r:ens.  7.  —  The  Last  Vo}"age  of  the  Surprise.  X.  7.— A 
Wintei*  Wedding  l^arty  in  English  Wilds.  29.  —  Social  Life  in  Canada.  £^ 
mnnd  Ci\\':p:s.  16.  —  The  First  Ens:Iishman  in  Japan.  Capt.  R.  S.  Coiium^ 
l'^..lf.C.  2Q.  —  The  Matterhom  and  its  Victims.  25. — The  Acadian  Land. 
Ci.f'ws  Pu.2\'ey  Warner.  2.  —  Campaigning  with  the  Cossacks.  Frank  D. 
.l/,w/.  2.  —  Moose  Huntins[.  Henry  P.  Wells.  2. — An  Experience  on  the 
Island  of  Capri.  W:.'J:a^  Chaunii>'  I^k^J^k.  ii.  —  The  South  .\trican  Diamond 
Mines,     5.  —  Views  of  Life  in  the  Crazy  Mountains.    Mrs.  E.  D.  W,  Hatch.     5. 

—  Politics  in  Japan.     Rez\  Etiward  .4.  I^Twrcme.    3. 


The  Bridsli  School  at  Athens.     25.  —  Science  in  Religious  Educationl    Ikuuei 

G.  7*4'»«f/j.*«.    5. 

H3>Tv^RV.  The  Likenesses  of  Julius  Cjesar.  J.^hn  C.  R.>pes.  yx.  —  Rcmi- 
risocnces  ot  ibe  S5ege  and  Commune  of  Paris.  II.  The  Siege.  E.  B.  iiask- 
hurvf.  30L  —  Glimpses  at  the  Diaries  of  GouverTieur  Morris.  Second  F^xr. 
Social  liie  and  Character  in  the  Paris  of  the  Revolution.    AmmU  Cary  Mmnris, 


INDEX  TO  MAGAZINE  LITERATURE.  495 

30.  —  The  Ordinance  of  '87.  John  Eaton,  LL,D,  8. — Abraham  Lincoln.  A 
History,  yohn  G,  Nicolay  \  John  Hay,  i.  — The  British  Cake.  A  Reminis- 
cence of  tne  War  of  1812  on  the  Penobscot.  Mrs,  Luther  Keene,  23.  —  Mil- 
waukee. I.  Consul  Willshire  Butterfield,  31.  —  A  Mythical  Ohio  Metropolis. 
Wilson  M,  Day.    31.  —  History  of  Ohio.    V.    Consul  Willshire  Butterfield.    31. 

—  Pioneers  of  Homoeopathy  in  Southern  Ohio.  D,  H,  Beckwith,  31.  —  The 
Federal  Convention.  John  Fiske,  11. — The  Emancipation  of  Massachusetts. 
Brooks  Adams,     11. 

Law,  Legal  AfI? airs.  The  Bench  and  the  Bar  of  Toronto.  IV.  Hon.  John 
Elmsley,  Chief-Justice  of  Upper  Canada.  D,  B,  Read,  Q.C,  31.  —  Gen.  David 
Atwood.     Reuben  G,  Thwaites,    31. 

Literature.     The  Condition  of  the  American  Stage.     Julian  Magnus,    4. 

—  Literary  Backbiting.  George  Parsons  Lathrop,  4.  —  M.  Coquelin.  Brander 
Matthews.  30.  —  Russian  Novels.  Thomas  S,  Perry,  30.  —  Notable  Editors 
between  1776  and  1800.  Hon.  S.  G,  W,  Benjamin.  6.  —  Journalism  as  a  Pro- 
fession. E,  J.  Carpenter,  8.  —  Mere  Egotism.  John  Burroughs.  9.  —  Our 
Actors  and  their  Preferences.  Charles  E,  L,  Wingate.  9.  —  Young  Men  and 
Women  on  the  Stage.  Georgia  Cayvan.  16.  —  The  Character  of  Shelley.  Rev, 
John  Verschoyle.  25.  —  The  Illustrations  of  Faust.  Walter  H.  Pollock.  25. — 
Kanke  and  his  Methods.  J.  H.  W,  Stuckenberg,  D.D,  3.  —  Two  Serious  Books. 
Harriet  Waters  Preston.  11.  —  A  Glance  Backward.  Susan  Fennimore  Cooper, 
II.  —  Credidimus  Jovem  Regnare.  James  Russell  Lowell.  11.  —  Lowell's 
Addresses.     11.  —  Illustrated  Books.     11. 

Politics,  Economics,  Public  Affairs.  Political  Economy  in  America. 
Prof.  Richard  T.  Ely.  4.  —  The  New  South  —  Financially  reviewed.  Marion  J, 
Verdery.  Our  Naval  Policy.  A  Lesson  from  1861.  James  Russell  Soley, 
1/.S.JV.  30.  —  When  did  Ohio  become  a  State?  James  R.  Howard.  6. — 
President  Lincoln's  Unlucky  Pass.  Allen  Foreman,  6.  —  First  Homestead  Bill. 
Nathan  Greely.  6.  —  The  Relative  Strength  and  Weakness  of  Nations.  Edward 
Atkinsoft.  I.  —  Caius  Suetonius  Tranquillus.  Rev.  Prof.  A.  A.  Benton,  M.A. 
29.  —  The  Original  Notes  of  Mason  and  Dixon's  Survey.     George  A,  Robertson, 

31.  —  The  Fall  of  an  Island.  R,  D.  25.  —  Lo)ralty  of  the  Indian  Mohammedans. 
Sir  William  H.  Gregory.  25.  —  France  as  it  is  and  was.  By  a  Parisian.  25. — 
The  Railway  Bubble.  25.  —  Mohammedanism  in  Central  Africa.  Joseph  Thomp- 
son. 25.  —  Financial  Frauds.  Malcolm  Lane  Meason.  25. — The  Confedera- 
tion: the  Solvent  of  the  Eastern  Question.  George  Baden-Powell.  25. — 
Neglected  Factors  in  the  Problem  of  Reform.  Amory  H.  Bradford,  D.D.  3.  — 
Politics  in  Japan.  Rev.  Edward  A.  Lawrence.  3.  —  The  Cherokee  Experiment. 
William  Barrows ^  D.D.  3.  —  Some  Points  on  the  Land  Question.  Oliver  B. 
Bunce.  5.  —  Misgovernment  of  Great  Cities.  Frank  P,  Crandon.  5. — The 
Navies  of  the  Continent,  II.  Sir  Edward  J.  Reed.  2,  —  The  Federal  Conven- 
tion.    John  Fiske.     11. 

Recreation,  Sports.  The  Condition  of  the  American  Stage.  Julian  Mag- 
nus. 4.  —  Canoeing  in  Kennebec  County,  Me.  C.  S.  Hichborn.  23.  —  Yacht- 
ing in  Midwinter.  Charles  L.  Norton.  7.  —  A  Bout  with  the  Gloves.  Cfiarles 
E.  Clay.     7.  —  One  Hundred  Books  of  Sport.     7. 

Religion,  Morals.  Future  Probation.  Gail  Hamilton,  4.  —  Vulgarity. 
Oiiida.  4.  —  Edward  Thompson  Taylor,  the  Boston  Bethel  Teacher.  C.  A. 
Bartol.  I.  —  The  Episcopal  Church  in  the  United  States.  Rev.  George  W. 
Shinn,  D.D.  23.  —  Church  Worship.  Rev.  Thomas  A.  Hyde.  29.  —  Faith. 
L.  R.  Hammer  sly.  29.  —  Lazarus  to  Dives.  John  Baker  Hopkins.  25.  —  The 
Trustworthiness  of  Spiritual  Apprehension.  Rev.  George  F.  Genung.  3.  —  Ne- 
glected Factors  in  the  Problem  of  Reform.  Amory  H.  Bradford,  D.D.  3.  —  The 
Congregational  Churches  and  their  Foreign  Missionary  Societies.  3.  —  Science 
in  Religious  Education.    Daniel  G.  Thompson.     5.  —  Materialism  and  Morality. 


496 


INDEX  TO  MAGAZINE  LITERATURE, 


W.  S.  Lilly,  5.  —  Science  and  Morals.  Prof,  T,  H.  Huxley,  5.  —  Credidimus 
Jovera  Regnare.     James  Russell  Lowell,     11. 

Philosophy,  Metaphysics.  The  Practical  Idealism  of  Emerson.  AUxufuier 
Black,  16.  —  Goethe  and  Philosophy.  Prof ,  Edward  Caird,  25.  —  The  Laws 
of  Habit.  Prof,  William  yames,  5.  —  Materialism  and  Morality.  W.  S.  Lilly. 
5.  —  Science  and  Morals.     Prof,  T,  H,  Huxley,    5. 

Science,  Natural  History,  Discovery,  Inventions.  Specialists  in  Medi- 
cine. Morris  H.  Heftry^  M,D,  4.  —  Life  among  the  Insane.  Adriana  P, 
BrinckU,  4.  —  The  Stars  (The  New  Astronomy).  S,  P,  LangUy,  i,  —  The 
Mound  Builders.  E,  B,  Finley.  31.  —  Celoron's  Voyage  down  the  Allegheny. 
T,  y.  Chapman,    31.  —  American  Jottings.     Grant  Allen,    25.  —  Animal  Love. 

^',  A,  Farrer,     25.  —  The  South  African  Diamond  Mines.     5.  —  Fulgurites,  or 
ighting  Holes.     George  P.  Merrill.     5.  —  Massage.    Uidy  yohn  Manners,     5. 

—  A  Bird  of  Affairs.     Olive  Thome  Miller,     11. 

Sociology,  Social  Life.    Our  King  in  Dress  Coat.    Moncure  D,  Conway,    4. 

—  Vulgarity.  Ouida,  4.  —  The  Condition  of  the  American  Stage,  yulian 
Magnus,  4.  —  Life  among  the  Insane.  Adriana  P,  BrinckU,  4.  —  Reminis- 
cences of  the  Siege  and  Commune  of  Paris.     II.    The  Siege.    E,  B,  Washburne, 

30.  —  Glimpses  at  the  Diaries  of  Gouvemeur  Morris.  Second  Paper.  Social 
Life  and  Character  in  the  Paris  of  the  Revolution.  Annie  Cary  Morris,  30.  — 
M.  Coquelin.  Brander  Matthews.  30.  —  Influence  of  Race  upon  Educational 
Methods.  C,  F,  Crehore,  M.D,  8.  —  The  Bailing  of  Jefferson  Davis.  George 
Parsons  iMthrop,  i.  —  A  Day  with  the  President.  William  E,  Curtis,  9. — 
Social  Life  in  Canada.  Edmund  Collins,  16.  —  Young  Men  and  Women  on  the 
Stage.     Georgia  Cayvan.     16.  —  Fourierism  in  Wisconsin.    Frank  A,  Flower, 

31.  —  The  Laws  of  Habit.  Prof,  William  yames,  5.  —  Materialism  and  Moral- 
ity. W,  S.  Lilly.  5.  —  Science  and  Morals.  F*rof,  T,  H  Huxley,  5. —  Fetich- 
ism  and  Anthropomorphism.  George  Pellew,  5.  —  Narka ;  a  Story  of  Russian 
Life.  Part  II.  Kathleen  G'Meara,  2,  —  The  Emancipation  of  Massachusetts. 
Brooks  Adams,     11. 

Theology,  Polemics.  Future  Probation.  Gail  Hamilton,  4.  —  The  Catho- 
lic Indictment  of  an  Erastian  Polity.  Rev,  William  Chauficy  Langdon^  D,D, 
29.  —  Church  Worship.  Rev,  Thomas  A,  Hyde,  29.  —  Faith.  Z,.  R,  Ham- 
mer sly,     29.  —  Christianity  as  the  Absolute  Religion.    Rev.  Canon  Wescott,    25. 

—  Ranke  and  his  Methods,  y,  H  W,  Stuckenberg,  D.D,  3.  —  The  Trust- 
worthiness of  Spiritual  Apprehension.    Rev,  George  F,  Genung,    3. 

War.  The  Conspiracies  of  the  Rebellion.  Leonard  Swett,  4. —  Reminis- 
cences of  the  Siege  and  Commune  of  Paris.  E.  B,  Washburne,  30.  —  Lee^s 
Invasion  of  Pennsylvania.  Gen.  yames  Longstreet,  8.  —  The  British  Cake.  A 
Reminiscence  of  the  War  of  18 12  on  the  Penobscot.  Mrs,  Luther  Keene,  23. — 
The  Navies  of  the  Continent,  II.  Sir  Edward  y.  Reed.  2.  — Campai^ing  with 
the  Cossacks.     I^yank  D.  Millet,     2,  —  Moose  Hunting.    Henry  P,  Wells,    a. 


/  The  Centurv. 

2  Harper's  yfagazine. 

2  Anaover  Rrvieiv. 

4  North  American  Reitirw. 

J  Popular  Science  Monthly. 

b  Magazine  0/  A  »n  eric  an  History. 

7  OutiHg. 

8  Education. 

Q  Lippincott's  Magazine, 
to  Overland  Monthly. 
It  Atlantic  Monthly. 

12  New  England  Hist,  and  Gen.  Register. 

13  Rhode  Island  Historical  Magazine. 

14  The  Forum. 

15  New  Princeton  Rer'ieiv. 

16  The  Brooklyn  Magazine. 


17  The  Southern  Bivouac. 

18  The  Citizen. 

IQ  Political  Science  Quarterly, 

20  Unitarian  Review. 

21  The  New  Englander. 

22  The  Magazine  of  Art. 

23  Ne7v  England  Magazine. 

24  New  Jerusalem  Magazine, 

25  The  Eclectic  Magazine. 

26  Library  Notes. 

27  The  Sanitarian. 

28  Johns  Hopkins  University  Studies, 
20  The  Church  Magazine. 

30  Scrjhner's  Mrteazive. 

31  Magazine  of  Western  History, 


THE  CITY  OF  PROVIDENCE. 


frequently   instructive,  and   always 


life  is  at   times   picturesque, 
unique. 

The  men  who  have  shaped  its  development  have  been  almost 
without  exception  marked  by  striking  peculiarities  of  thought  and 
motive  ;  the  strength  of  their  mental  fibre  has  been  inwrought  into 
the  constitution  of  Providence  life;  and  throughout  each  period  of 
its  evolution  the  intellectual  has  dominated  the  physical.  It  would 
almost  seem,  indeed,  that  in  a  greater  degree  than  elsewhere,  mind, 
thought,  and  invention  have  shaped  material  progress.     Although, 


too,  the  people  of  Providence,  from  Roger  Williams  down,  have 
shown  a  curious  disposition  to  think,  so  to  say,  in  tangents,  never- 
theless the  catholicity,  as  well  as  the  vigor,  of  its  mental  life  is 
among  its  most  striking  characteristics.  Its  growth  from  a  cluster 
of  rude  houses  to  a  city  second  in  size  to  but  one  in  New  England, 
and  surpassed  in  wealth  by  none  in  the  United  States  of  equal 
population,  has  not  been  merely  a  material  growth.  Its  outward 
ph\'sical  development  has  been  but  the  shell  of  an  expanding  idea. 


THE  CITY  OF  PROVIDENCE. 


So  it  happens  that,  for 
these  anti  other  rea- 
sons which  may  not  be 
here  referred  to,  the 
history  of  Providence 
has  an  individuaHty  of 
its  own.  In  aims,  meth- 
ods, and  scope  of  effort 
it  finds  a  parallel  in  no 
other  city. 

This  would  the  more 
clearly  appear  were  it 
the  object  of  the  pres- 
ent paper  to  trace  the 
subtle  causes  and  un- 
derlying forces  which 
have  made  Providence 
what  it  is,  or  had  choice 
been  made  of  that 
method  which  con- 
cerns itself  less  with 
the  sequence  of  out- 
ward events  than  with 
what  the  F"rench  his- 
torians call  the  vie 
intime.  That,  however, 
falls  without  the  scope 
of  the  present  purpose. 
At  this  time  it  is  only 
proposed  to  give  in  as 
compact  and  readable 
a  form  as  possible  the 
salient  points  in  the 
city's  history.  The 
ground  has  already 
been  gone  over  again 
and  again,  but  it  is  still 
difficult  for  the  busy 
reader  to  gel  in  a  rea- 
sonable  time   an    ade- 


502 


THE   CITY  OF  PROVIDENCE. 


tjuate  conception  of  the  totality  of  that  history  or  of  the  regular 
sequence  of  its  successive  periods.  To  get  at  the  bare  facts  and, 
to  the  ordinary  mind,  the  most  important  incidents,  one  must 
burrow  through  a  great  mass  of  more  or  less  uninteresting  details, 
or  wander  for  days  in  the  maze  of  the  purely  personal  speculations 
of  over-curious  antiquaries.  It  will  be  the  present  object,  there- 
fore, to  give  in  the  briefest  time  what  the  hurried  but  inquiring 
reader  most  needs,  to  present  in  a  not  wholly  disconnected  way 
events  selected  either  for  their  inherent  importance  or  their  pic- 
turesque qualities,  and  to  give  them,  too,  not  without  regard  for 
the  historical  perspective. 


fflSlmwi 


BROWN   UNIVEHSITV   H 

At  the  very  outset  of  Providence  history  mooted  questions  are 
encountered  which  offer  the  temptation  for  much  digression.  The 
life  and  character  of  Roger  WilHams,  for  example,  have  been  the 
subjects  of  a  heated  discussion  which  is  not  yet  closed.  Questions 
have  been  raised  as  to  his  birth,  parentage,  education,  and  early 
life  before  coming  to  America ;  and  though  it  is  claimed  that  the 
recent  researches  of  a  local  antiquarian  have  done  much  to  settle 
them,  they  can  hardly  be  regarded  as  yet  answered  with  complete 
satisfaction.  Nor,  indeed,  are  these  questions  as  to  mere  dates  and 
minor  facts  of  much  importance  save  as  affording  subjects  for  the 


THE   CITY  OF  PROVIDENCE. 


503 


\ 


annalists  to  enjoy  themselves  in  disputing  about.  It  is  enough  to 
know  that  Roger  Williams  was  a  Welshman  by  birth,  a  Cambridge 
man  by  education,  a  clergyman  of 
the  Church  of  England  by  ordi- 
nation, and  subsequently  a  dissen- 
ter from  that  body  by  choice; 
that  he  arrived  in  Boston  in  1631, 
and  settled  in  Salem  as  pastor 
of  the  church  there ;  and  that 
finally,  in  1636,  he  was  forced  to 
flee  from  the  jurisdiction  of  the 
Colony  of  Massachusetts  Bay,  in 
order  to  avoid  the  execution  of  a 
threat  on  the  part  of  the  authori- 
ties to  transport  him  back  to  Eng- 
land. 

Here,  again,  arises  a  much  con- 
tested question  as  to  the  exact 
causes    of   the   difficulty   between 

Williams  and  the  Puritan  hierarchy.  In  the  words  of  the  for- 
ma! sentence  pronounced  against  him,  he  was  said  to  have 
"  broached  and  dyviil.Ljee!  dyvers  new  and  fhnp;ernns  opinions 
against  the  au- 
thoritie  of  mag- 
istrates." But 
exactly  what 
these  opinions 
were  one  cannot 
be  altogether 
sure.  Rhoiie  Isl- 
and historians 
have  naturally 
been  inclined  to 
in.sist  that  he 
was  banished, 
because    he    had 

definitely  asserted  that  bmad  doctrine  of  the  entire  separation  of 
church  and  state  which  subsequently  became  identified  with  his 
name.  It  must  be  said,  however,  in  all  candidness,  that  such  was 
not  probably  the  fact.      It   is  undoubtedly  true  that  the  first  faint 


gcU,  John   Smith,   Francis  Wickes,   William   Harris,  and  Joshua  H 
Verin,   and    possibly   by  others.     Scarcely,   however,   were   theirJ 
crops    in,  than  a   friendly   intimation    came   from    the   Plymoutittfl 
authorities  that  the  new  settlement  was  within  the  limits  of  their* 
jurisdiction,  and  it   was  recommended  that  it  be  removed  across 
the   river.      Roger  Williams 
cheerfully  obeyed.     Once  more 
he  set  out  in  search  of  a  home. 
There  is  an  accepted   tradition 
that  when  the  canoe   in  which 
he  and  his  five  companions  had 
embarked  first  touched  the  oppo- 
site bank,  and  came  within  the 
limits  of  what  is  now  the  city  J 
of    Providence,  a  group  of    In- ' 
dians    greeted    them   with    the  I 
friendly    salutation,     "Whata 
Cheer,    Netop,"    and    that    thel 
voyagers  disembarked  for  a  mo 
ment  on  the  broad   Slate  Rockfl 
whichjs  still  pointed  out  by  thttm 
people    of    Providence    as    theil 
landing  place  of  Roger  Williamsi,! 
It  was  not  there,  however,  tha( 
the   little   voyage   was   to   end. 
Rounding  the  two  points  to  the 
southward  which  now  bear  the 
name   of   India  and    Fox,   they 
turned  again  to  the  north,  and 
ascended  the  next  arm  of  Nar- 
ragansett  Bay,  the  stream  that  ; 
has   since   taken   the    name   of  J 
the   city  that   grew 
banks,  but  which  in  earlier  daysJ 
was  known  as  the  Great  Salt   River.      A  short  distance  up  thel 
stream,  near  the  point  where   the  Mosha.ssuck  and   Woonasqui 
tucket    rivers   united  in  the  broad   cove  whose  much   contracted 
self  still  forms  a  feature  of   Providence   topography,   they  found 
a  spring  of  water,  and  there  they  made  their  final  landing.     The 
exact  spot  was  a  little  to  the  south  and  west  of  the  site  on  North,  j 


THE   CITY  OF  PROVIDENCE.  507 

Main  Street  where,  in  its  somewhat  Enghsh  appearance,  the  ven- 
erable St.  John's  Kpiscopal  Church  now  stands. 

Here  the  building  of  the  new  colony  was  begun,  and,  to  quote 
from  Professor  Diman's  eloquent  and  scholarly  eulogy  on  Roger 
Williams,  ''in  grateful  recognition  of  the  guiding  hand  which  he 
never  tloubtcd  had  led  him  all  his  way,  he  named  the  place  Pnivi- 


dencf.  The  dreamy,  mystical,  unworldly  temiier  of  Roger  Wil- 
liams is  nowhere  made  more  evident  than  in  this  unique  designation 
which  he  selected  for  his  infant  settlement."  The  exact  date  of 
the  foundation  is  a  matter  of  doubt  and  dispute,  but  it  is  known  to 
have  been  in  the  last  days  of  June,  and  probably  about  the  twenty- 
third  or  twenty-fourth  of  the  month. 

It  was  one  of  Williams's  firmly  held  principles,  which,  too,  sharply 
distinguished  him   from  his  neighbors  of  Plymouth  and  the  Bay, 


5o8 


THE  CITY  OF  PROVIDENCK 


that  hf  recognized  the  fuH  rights  of  the  Indians  to  the  land  theyH 
occupied.  Thi;  territory,  therefore,  within  which  the  new  settle- 
ment was  beyun,  had  been  previously  obtained  by  a  verbal  grant 
from  Canonicus  and  Miantononii,  sachem  and  co-sachem  of  the  _ 
Narragansetts.  Subsequently  this  grant  was  confirmed  by  . 
formal  deed  which,  in  a  somewhat  mutilated  state,  is  still  preservoc 
amons  the  treasured  archives  of  Providence.  The  land  so  ob 
was  apportioned  anion^  the  ori<;inal  proprietors,  and  soon  the  first 

houses  began  to 
be  erected  along 
a  road  called  "ttta 
towne  streets 
which  was  la 
out  parallel  totb 
river  bank  in  tlw 
s^eneral  course  i 
which  North  an^ 
South  Maift.J 
streets  now 

But  by  far  the  J 
most    important^ 
and     interesting 
fact      connected 
with  the  first  set- 
tlement  is    the 
unique    govern- 
mental    principle 
on     which     thCj 
town  based  itsel£.J 
RoiiER  WILLIAMS  MONUMENT  Thc    Written 

IRoger  w.iii.m.  p.rk.]  sttumcnt    which 

was  drawn  up  as 
the  basis  of  public  order  pledged  its  signers,  the  inhabitants 
of  Providence,  to  an  active  and  passive  obedience  to  all  orders 
made  by  the  majority  for  the  public  good,  but  with  the  ex- 
press provision  that  this  obedience  should  be  "  only  in  civil  things." 
Here,  then,  for  the  first  time  in  history,  a  form  of  government  was 
established  which  made  a  clear  distinction  between  the  temporal 
and  the  spiritual  power.  It  was  not,  be  it  observed,  the  establish- 
ment of  mere  reli^'iou.':  toleration.     That   doctrine  was  far  from 


5IO 


THE    CITY  OF  PROVIDENCE. 


RHODE   ISLAND   HOSPITAL. 


novel,   even    in   the 
middle  of  the  seven- 
teenth  century.     It 
had  been  taught  in 
England    by    Sir 
Thoma,s  More ;  and 
France,    in    the 
^  heat  of  a  period  of 
!■;.  intense  religious  fa- 
naticism, it  had  been   ■ 
urged    with    almost  t 
tearful  emphasis  by  j 
''*^^f^=  the  great  Chancellor  ] 
de     I'Hopital ;    and  ' 
already  in  the  Mary- 
land  charter  it  1 
been  made  an  actual  \ 
.practice.     But  i 
that  colony  religious  J 
freedom  was  expressly  intended  to  apply  only  to  those  who  pro-  I 
fessed    Christianity ;    those  who  blasphemed  God  or  denied  the  { 
Trinity  were  made  punishable  with  death.     The  religious  freedom  j 
which  Roger  Williams  set  up  was  not  mere  toleration,  but  true  I 
religious  liberty.     He  believed,  to  tuiute  his  own  words,  that  "true   | 
civility  and  Christianity 
may  both    flourish  in   a 
state   or   kingdom,   not- 
withstanding the  permi.s- 
sion  of  divers  and  con- 
trary consciences,  either 
of  Jews  or  of  Gentiles." 
Here,   in   its   first   com- 
pleteness,   is   the   great 
doctrine    of     liberty   of 
conscience  first  affirmed. 
The  town  of  Providence, 
founded  on  this  theory, 
stood,    therefore,    from 
the  very  outset,  unique 
among  all  the  nations  of 


one  hand  and  the  Antinomians  and  Bajitists  on  the  other,  led  to 
still  further  banishments  or  withdrawals,  and  many  of  the  exiles 
sought  in  Providence  or  its  vicinity  an  asylum  for  relief  from  per- 
secution, thus  rapidly  swelling  the  population.  The  little  town 
soon  became  quite  distinctively  a  Baptist  community,  and  in  1639,  or 
possibly  just  before  the  close  of  the  preceding  year,  the  first  Baptist 


514  THE  CITY  OF  PROVIDENCE, 

the  freemen  of  Providence  were  incorporated  into  a  town  under 
the  authority  of  the  colony.  From  that  time  until  1660  this  char- 
ter was  the  basis  of  the  political  organization.  The  years  covered 
by  this  period,  though  not  eventless,  present  nothing  that  calls  for 
elaboration  at  this  time.  There  were  dangers  from  Indian  wars 
which  Roger  Williams  happily  averted  by  his  pacific  influence ; 
there  were  conflicts  of  authority  with  Coddington  of  Newport ; 
but  in  general  it  was  a  period  of  quiet  growth  and  development. 

When  Charles  II.  ascended  the  throne  in  June,  1660,  he  was 
prompt  to  declare  null  and  void  all  the  acts  of  the  Long  Parlia- 
ment. This,  of  course,  left  Providence  once  more  without  a  char- 
ter. Again  Massachusetts  took  advantage  of  the  uncertainties  of 
the  time  to  lay  claim  to  Providence  territory,  and  Connecticut,  too, 
asserted  jurisdiction ;  and  again,  therefore,  appeal  was  made  to  the 
English  government  for  protection.  Through  the  agent  of  the 
colony.  Dr.  John  Clarke,  a  new  charter  was  obtained  in  1663  from 
King  Charles,  which,  while  re-affirming  the  old  privileges,  was 
much  more  definite  in  marking  the  bounds  of  the  colony  and  in 
securing  the  right  to  freedom  in  all  matters  of  religion.  In  short, 
it  gave  to  Roger  Williams  full  power  and  authority  to  carry  on  the 
"lively  experiment"  he  purposed.  It  was  one  of  the  very  best 
charters  ever  given  to  an  American  colony,  and  for  this  chiefly 
among  other  reasons  it  was  retained  as  the  organic  law  of  Rhode 
Island  long  after  allegiance  to  England  had  been  thrown  off,  even 
until  the  middle  of  the  present  century. 

Of  the  events  which  marked  the  forty  years  succeeding  the 
arrival  of  the  second  charter,  all  others  are  dwarfed  into  insignifi- 
cance when  compared  with  the  terrible  catastrophe  of  King 
Philip's  War.  There  were,  it  is  true,  some  local  dissensions,  semi- 
political  in  nature  and  very  violent  in  tone ;  and  while  as  yet  Prov- 
idence owned  no  vessels,  it  was  during  this  period  that  the  first 
evidences  of  a  coming  commerce  began  to  appear.  But  contro- 
versies and  enterprises  alike  lapsed  when  Philip  of  Mount  Hope, 
sachem  of  the  Wampanoags,  put  into  actual  execution  his  determi- 
nation "not  to  live  till  he  had  no  country."  The  war  was  declared 
and  opened  upon  Plymouth  Colony,  not  upon  Providence,  which 
remained  as  yet  safe  in  the  friendship  of  the  Narragansetts  which 
Roger  Williams  had  from  the  first  cemented  with  kindness  and 
good  deeds.  The  Narragansetts,  however,  soon  became  allied 
with  the  Wampanoags,  and  though  at  first  the  neutrality  of  Provi- 


THE  CITY  OF  PROVIDENCE,  515 

dence  was  strictly  respected,  when  the  army  of  the  United  Colo- 
nies of  New  England  marched  through  the  town  and  lured  some 
of  its  citizens  away  as  volunteers,  the  Indians  naturally  lost  the 
power  of  discriminating  between  neutrals  and  combatants  and  for- 
got the  ancient  ties  of  hospitality  and  peace.  Realizing  their  dan- 
ger as  the  combatants  closed  in  about  them,  the  women,  children, 
and  all  but  about  three  score  of  the  men  of  Providence  fled  from 
the  town.  The  Indians,  then,  coming  up  in  the  last  days  of 
March,  1676,  burned  the  town  almost  completely.  Probably  not 
more  than  five  houses  were  left  standing,  two  of  these  being  the 
garrisoned  houses  in  which  the  men  who  remained  in  the  town 
were  quartered.  These  garrisons  were  not  attacked,  presumably 
in  consequence  of  the  friendship  of  the  Indians  toward  Roger 
Williams  who  was  known  to  be  in  one  of  them.  The  town 
records,  after  being  partly  burned,  were  saved  by  being  thrown 
into  the  mill-pond,  and  ever  after,  in  the  apt  words  of  Staples,  the 
town's  annalist,  bore  "plenary  evidence  of  the  twofold  dangers 
they  escaped,  and  the  twofold  injury  they  suffered.'* 

The  blow  thus  dealt  to  the  little  town  was  exceptionally  severe, 
but  its  recuperative  powers  proved  equal  to  the  emergency.  By 
August  the  work  of  rebuilding  was  well  under  way.  Larger  houses, 
more  conveniently  arranged,  replaced  the  simple  structures  which 
had  been  burned,  and  from  the  date  of  this  disaster,  too,  there  was 
a  tendency  to  enlarge  the  town  toward  the  south  and  west  instead 
of  northward,  as  had  previously  been  the  custom.  The  work  of 
reconstruction  seems  to  have  given  a  general  impulse  to  enterprise. 
New  streets  were  laid  out ;  a  regular  ferry  established  over  the 
Seekonk  on  the  site  of  the  present  Red  Bridge,  to  accommodate 
travel  to  Boston  and  Plymouth ;  and  in  1679  the  first  wharf  and 
warehouse  were  built. 

In  the  political  disturbances  of  this  period,  Providence  shared 
the  difficulties  and  disadvantages  of  the  rest  of  New  England. 
From  the  accession  of  James  II.  and  the  change  of  colonial  policy 
consequent  upon  it,  the  charter  was  practically  in  suspension  ;  and 
Providence,  even  beyond  most  other  towns  chafed  under  the 
restraints  of  Joseph  Dudley's  provisional  government,  and  Sir 
Edmund  Andros's  personal  rule.  It  does  not  appear,  however, 
that  the  town  was  made  to  suffer  any  exceptional  hardship  ;  but  the 
native  independence  of  its  people,  and  their  warm  love  of  local  self- 
government  could  ill  bear  the  overlordship  of  an  alien.     So  soon, 


5i6  THE  CITY  OF  PROVIDENCE, 

therefore,  as  the  news  came,  in  1689,  that  James  had  been  over- 
thrown and  Andros  imprisoned  in  Boston,  the  freemen  were  quick 
to  resume  the  old  charter  government,  and  to  ask  and  obtain  from 
England  a  confirmation  of  its  power  and  authority. 

By  the  opening  of  the  eighteenth  century,  as  is  shown  by  the 
town's  proportion  of  taxation,  it  had  entirely  recovered  from  the 
impoverishment  of  the  Indian  War,  and  was  beginning  to  enter 
upon  that  career  of  growth  as  a  maritime  and  commercial  centre, 
which  was  to  be  the  next  phase  of  its  development.  Prior  to  1700, 
Providence  had  been  entirely  in  the  chrysalis  state.  Heated 
religious  discussion,  disputes  over  boundaries  and  jurisdiction,  and 
experiments  in  governmental  policy  had  mainly  occupied  the  atten- 
tion of  its  inhabitants.  For  the  rest,  they  were  largely  engaged  in 
agriculture.  The  town  at  that  time' stretched  out  broadly  over  the 
northern  part  of  what  is  now  Rhode  Island,  and  very  nearly  coin- 
cided with  the  present  limits  of  Providence  County.  In  the  farm- 
houses scattered  over  this  territory  was  a  population  of  about  eight 
hundred,  while  in  the  limits  of  the  present  city  were  about  seven 
hundred  more.  Of  these  latter,  too,  many  carried  on  farms  in  the 
outlying  districts. 

This  condition  of  affairs,  however,  was  inevitably  to  be  changed. 
The  people  could  not  always  remain  blind  to  the  opportunities 
offered  by  an  excellent  harbor.  The  period,  then,  beginning  with 
1700,  and  ending  with  the  opening  of  the  Revolutionary  epoch,  was 
pre-eminently  the  era  of  commerce.  Wharf  after  wharf  was 
speedily  built  along  the  east  shore  of  what  is  now  the  Providence 
River,  and  storehouses  were  erected  upon  them,  abutting  on  the 
old  town  street,  which,  corresponding  with  the  present  South  Main 
Street,  was  even  then  beginning  to  be  a  bustling  thoroughfare. 
Pardon  Tillinghast,  who  built  the  first  wharf  in  the  town, -was 
perhaps  the  earliest  of  this  new  class  of  merchants,  and  Gideon 
Crawford  is  another  name  that  ranks  close  after  him.  The  vessels 
they  employed  were  built  at  various  points  along  the  river  and 
bay,  and  consisted  of  sloops  and  schooners  not  exceeding  sixty  tons 
burden.  They  were  largely  engaged  in  the  West  India  trade,  car- 
rying out  the  ordinary  colonial  exports,  as,  for  example,  lumber, 
beef,  pork,  dairy  products,  Indian  corn,  etc.,  and  bringing  back 
sugar,  molasses,  ginger,  indigo,  and,  above  all,  rum.  There  was 
also  considerable  business  done  in  the  slave  trade.     English  goods. 


THE   CITY  OF  PROVIDENCE,  517 

too,  both  woolen  and  linen,  were  imported  not  directly  but  through 
the  English,  French,  or  Spanish  colonies. 

Although  the  maritime  phase  of  Providence  history  extended,  in 
its  later  development,  somewhat  beyond  the  period  now  under  con- 
sideration, it  may  be  better  for  the  sake  of  clearness  to  group 
together  at  this  point  the  main  facts  in  the  rise  and  fall  of  its 
commerce,  before  taking  up  the  part  the  town  bore  in  the  Revolu- 
tionary struggle.  The  summary  must  necessarily  be  brief.  It 
may  be  said,  then,  that  prior  to  the  Revolution  the  commerce  of 
Providence  was  unusually  large  as  compared  with  other  colonial 
towns.  Its  people,  after  1700,  were  mostly  sailors,  shipbuilders, 
and  merchants.  The  Revolution,  of  course,  was  a  serious  blow  to 
maritime  enterprise.  Yet  as  long  after  its  close  as  1790  it  was 
stated  in  the  United  States  Congress  that  there  were  more  ships 
belonging  in  Providence  than  in  New  York.  Her  vessels  were 
known  in  almost  every  port  in  the  world ;  and  one  of  them,  the 
George  Washingto7i^  is  said  to  have  been  the  first  to  carry  the 
national  flag  of  the  new  American  Union  into  the  ports  of  China. 
Among  the  more  prominent  names  identified  with  the  building  up 
and  maintenance  of  Providence  commerce  were  the  houses  of 
Brown  &  Ives,  Samuel  Butler  &  Sons,  Edward  Carrington,  the 
Nightingales,  and  the  Russells.  Almost  without  exception  these 
men  laid  the  foundation  of  large  fortunes  in  their  maritime  ven- 
tures ;  and,  in  fact,  it  may  even  be  said  that  very  much  of  the 
present  wealth  of  Providence  is  the  result  of  the  judicious  invest- 
ment of  capital  which  originally  accrued  from  the  West  India 
trade.  But  from  the  first  decade  of  the  present  century  the  com- 
mercial supremacy  of  Providence  began  to  decline,  although  it  was 
not  til]  1 84 1  that  the  last  Indiaman  arrived  and  cleared  at  this  port. 
The  causes  of  the  decline  are  not  diflScult  to  see.  In  the  natural 
course  of  things  the  foreign  commerce  of  the  United  States  became 
concentrated  at  a  few  ports,  like  Boston  and  New  York,  because  at 
these  points  there  was  developed  a  more  direct  and  speedier  rail- 
road communication  with  the  West.  The  trade  of  other  ports 
which  were  not  made  the  termini  of  the  great  trunk  lines  neces- 
sarily waned  to  nothing ;  and  to-day  there  is  not  a  single  ship 
wholly  owned  in  Providence. 

But  while  foreign  trade  lasted  it  brought  wealth,  prosperity,  and 
growth  to  the  town.  By  the  opening  of  the  Revolutionary  epoch 
the  result  was  plainly  apparent  in  the  material  changes  which  had 


Si8  THE  CITY  OF  PROVIDENCE, 

come  over  it.  Since  the  beginning  of  the  century  the  population 
had  increased  more  than  fourfold.  The  town  had  grown  to  the 
westward,  the  first  bridge  had  been  thrown  across  the  river,  on  the 
site  where  ever  since,  in  the  vernacular  of  Providence,  "the  bridge  " 
has  stood,  and  on  the  west  side  of  the  river  busy  streets  were 
occupying  the  old  marshes  and  pastures.  A  stage  line  to  Boston 
had  been  just  established  ;  packet  lines  were  running  to  Newport  and 
New  York ;  regular  postal  communication  had  been  established ; 
and  schools  and  churches,  the  first  theatre  and  the  first  public 
library,  marked  the  rising  intelligence  and  taste  of  the  townsmen. 
In  1762  the  first  printing-office  was  opened,  and  was  quickly  fol- 
lowed by  the  first  newspaper,  the  forerunner  of  about  one  hundred 
and  fifty  different  periodicals,  which  have  from  time  to  time  ap- 
peared with  a  Providence  imprint.  In  all  the  homes  of  the  town, 
at  the  outbreak  of  the  Revolution,  one  could  have  found  the 
evidences  of  comfort  and  prosperity,  and,  in  not  a  few,  the  signs 
of  wealth  and  luxury.  All  this  material  progress  was  the  direct 
outgrowth  of  half  a  century  of  commerce  and  trading. 

Upon  a  community  engaged  in  such  pursuits  the  exactions  of 
England  in  the  form  of  taxes  and  stringent  maritime  laws  fell 
with  especial  severity.  It  was  but  natural,  therefore,  that  the 
feeling  of  rebellion  should  early  manifest  itself  in  the  town  of 
Providence,  and  maintain  its  strength  throughout  the  long  struggle. 
Indeed,  the  first  armed  contest  between  the  American  and  British 
forces  took  place  almost  within  the  limits  of  Providence,  and  the 
attacking  party  was  composed  of  Providence  men.  In  1772  the 
British  government  had  stationed  a  vessel  called  the  Gaspee  in 
Narragansett  Bay  in  order  to  enforce  the  revenue  laws.  Not  only 
the  purpose  for  which  she  was  there,  but  the  arrogant  manner,  too, 
in  which  she  performed  it,  made  her  especially  obnoxious.  It 
happened  that,  in  chasing  a  Providence  schooner,  the  Gaspee 
grounded  a  few  miles  below  the  city  on  the  point  which  has  since 
borne  the  name  of  the  vessel.  The  tide  was  falling,  and  it  was 
known  that  she  could  not  get  off  until  after  midnight.  Here  was 
the  opportunity  which  Providence  people  were  longing  for.  A  crier 
passed  hastily  through  the  streets,  calling  on  all  friends  of  liberty 
to  meet  at  Sabin's  Tavern.  After  consultation,  enough  men  were 
found,  ready  for  any  expedition,  to  man  eight  long-boats.  The 
little  fleet  was  commanded  by  Abraham  Whipple,  subsequently  a 
captain  in  the  Continental  navy.     The  grounded  vessel  was  silently 


THE  CITY  OF  PROVIDENCE.  519 

approached  in  the  darkness,  surprised  and  boarded,  her  men  cap- 
tured and  put  on  shore,  and  the  hated  schooner  burned  to  the 
water's  edge.  The  British  commander,  Lieutenant  Duddington, 
was  wounded  in  the  attack.  The  boarding  party  then  returned  to 
the  city,  and  though  the  British  authorities  offered  a  large  reward 
for  their  apprehension,  it  was  found  impossible  to  get  the  name  of 
a  single  participant  until  long  after  Providence  had  passed  from 
British  jurisdiction. 

In  other  ways,  too,  the  townsmen  gave  proof  of  their  patriotism 
and  independence  before  the  war  actually  began,  as,  for  example, 
when  in  March,  1775,  they  assembled  in  the  market-place  and 
made  a  bonfire  of  their  tea,  pledging  themselves  to  use  no  more 
of  it  until  the  obnoxious  tax  should  be  removed.  When  it  became 
evident  that  open  hostilities  were  inevitable,  the  town  ordered 
breastworks  to  be  thrown  up  between  Field's  and  Sassafras  Points 
and  a  battery  to  be  erected  on  Fox  Hill.  Arms  were  prepared, 
powder  secured,  and  the  militia  placed  in  readiness  for  instant 
marching.  On  the  second  day,  therefore,  after  the  attack  at 
Lexington,  one  thousand  men  had  left  Providence  for  Boston,  and 
more  were  ready  to  follow.  It  is  needless  to  follow  the  slow 
progress  of  the  war  in  detail.  The  fortunes  of  the  contest  never 
brought  the  opposing  armies  very  near  to  Providence ;  her  for- 
tifications of  defence  were  never  attacked.  But  through  it  all 
she  kept  up  her  preparations  and  furnished  her  full  share  of  men 
and  means.  Her  troops  fought  bravely  and  effectively  on  many 
a  field,  and  when  at  last  Yorktown  fell,  the  first  company  to  enter 
the  captured  city  was  a  Providence  company,  commanded  by 
Captain  Stephen  Olney. 

But  no  sooner  had  the  war  closed  than  Providence  found  itself 
confronted  with  two  new  difficulties.  In  the  first  place,  in  common 
with  the  rest  of  Rhode  Island,  the  town  was  afflicted  with  an  un- 
usually poor  form  of  paper  money,  and  it  had  depreciated  to  such  an 
extent  as  seriously  to  interfere  with  business  stability.  The  effort 
to  get  rid  of  this  incubus  and  to  restore  the  unflated  values  to 
their  proper  state  gave  rise  to  some  very  curious  phenomena  in 
economics  and  jurisprudence,  and,  especially  as  resulting  in  the 
famous  case  of  Trevett  v.  Weeden,  is  of  surpassing  interest  to 
economists  and  publicists.  But  there  is  nothing  about  it  of 
popular  interest.  In  the  second  place,  much  hostility  of  opinion 
arose  between  Providence  and  the  country  towns.     The  inhab- 


S20  THE  CITY  OF  PROVIDENCE. 

itants  of  the  latter,  engaged  still  in  agriculture,  had  retained  and 
intensified  their  rock-ribbed  conservatism,  while  the  people  of 
Providence,  having  been  brought  into  contact  with  the  quicker 
movements  of  commercial  life,  had  become  more  enterprising 
and  progressive.  On  these  lines  a  country  party  and  a  town 
party  sprung  up  in  the  State,  and  each  held  the  other  in  great 
contempt.  It  was  the  existence  of  these  two  parties  which 
prevented  Rhode  Island  from  sharing  in  the  framing  of  the 
United  States  Constitution  and  made  the  State  the  last  of  the 
original  thirteen  to  accept  it  as  the  law  of  the  land.  The  town 
people  were  almost  from  the  first  in  favor  of  ratifying  the 
document,  but  the  country  people,  from  ignorance,  prejudice, 
and  jealousy,  were  opposed.  The  controversy  was  long  and 
bitter,  and  once  came  near  to  bloodshed ;  but  ultimately  sound 
sense  triumphed,  and  in  1790  Providence  dragged  the  rest  of 
Rhode  Island  into  the  American  Union. 

Meanwhile  a  marked  change  had  begun  to  come  over  the  busi- 
ness life  of  the  town.  As  has  been  seen.  Providence  remained,  in 
greater  or  less  degree,  a  maritime  centre,  far  down  into  the  present 
century.  But  already  in  the  early  years  of  the  new  nation  a  ten- 
dency set  in  toward  an  era  of  manufacturing.  The  war  had  de- 
stroyed many  of  the  town's  finest  vessels,  and,  for  the  moment  at 
least,  foreign  trade  was  seriously  impaired.  In  this  crisis  the  people 
proved  their  native  wisdom,  sagacity,  and  versatility,  by  turning 
from  the  broad  bay  to  the  narrow,  tumbling  streams  and  utilizing 
these  for  industrial  purposes.  Ever  since  1783  attempts  had  been 
made  in  Providence  to  spin  cotton  and  wool  by  power.  Little, 
however,  of  practical  value  was  accomplished  until  Samuel  Slater 
came  into  the  vicinity,  bringing  from  England  a  thorough  practical 
knowledge  of  the  Arkwright  spinning  machinery.  At  first  the 
development  of  local  manufacturing  enterprises  was  slow,  but  the 
movement  was  immensely  quickened  by  the  War  of  18 12,  which 
made  still  more  clear  the  desirability  of  developing  home  indus- 
tries. From  that  time  up  to  the  present  day  new  forms  of  manu- 
facturing have  been  every  year  added  to  the  resources  of  the  town 
and  city,  until  now  no  municipality  of  its  size  has  so  varied  a  list  of 
industries.  Since  the  middle  of  the  present  century  at  least.  Provi- 
dence has  ceased  to  be  a  commercial  port,  and  become  entirely  a 
manufacturing  community. 

Of  the  events  which  marked  the  town's  growth  during  the  first 


^            s^T^^^H 

third  of  this  century,  few  are 

'iMmtatsmmwf 

^H 

of  any  general  interest.     I'hy- 

^^^1 

sically,    the    most    notable 

^^^1 

changes  were  made  on  the  west 

^^^1 

side  of  the  river.  Westminster, 

Vi^j^P^-^^j^^ 

^^^1 

Weybosset,  and  Broad  streets 
were  well    built    up   even   at 

^m 

1 

^1 

the  opening  of  this  period,  and 

t 

^^H 

soon  the  cross-streets  began  to 

^^^BBiB 

Ic 

multiply  and    teem    with   life, 

■^%^Btttk^ 

B 

^^1 

as  gradually  the  centre  of  the 

w 

^^^1 

town's    business    moved  west- 
ward.    A  public  school  system 

f  Bi.. 

^^^^1 

was   established  in    1800,  and 

j&i^^L  ESK^ 

by  that  time,  also.  Brown  Uni- 

1^1 IJB^r^ 

^H 

versity  had  been  long  enough 

^^^1 

established  in  Providence  to  be 

^^^1 

of  some  indirect  service  to  the 
people.       In    1805   the  streets 

ii'    B^llff 

H 

were  for  the  first  time  author- 

s 1       /SShiJp 

^^^1 

itatively  named;   in    1810  the 

-S^^^^^ 

^^1 

public   whipping-post    was   re- 

ik'fc|^^^ffip 

^^^1 

moved  from  the  market-place ; 

'   *     Z?  a^-~'^"^^BJL 

^^^1 

and  in  1815  a  terrific  Septem- 

i i  A  £,--K 

^^^1 

ber  gale  raised  the  waters  of 

*  l!V«pi|E»- 

^^^1 

the  river  twelve  feet  above  the 

1 1  wKxnr 

^^^1 

spring   tide-mark,  drove   ships 

1 1  |;M;WH 

^^1 

through  buildings,  carried  away 

^H 

bridges,    overturned    churches 

^^^1 

and  dwellings,  and.  in  the  ag- 

^^1 

gregate,     caused    an    immense 

^^1 

amount  of  damage.     But  this 

'IK^M^cp'^ 

disaster   was    not   without    its 

^^1 

compensations.    It  opened  the 

^^1 

way   for   new    and     broader 

^^^1 

streets,  and  was  made  the  occa- 

^^^1 

sion  of  erecting  more  substan- 

^^1 

tial    and  elegant    structures. 

^^^1 

In    182S  the  Black,sIone  canal 

■  u               H 

to  Worcester  was  opened,  and 

>j'A,^'9E  ~                                ^^1 

\MLSkt              ^M 

^^^^^■B 

522 


THE    CITY   OF  PROVIDENCE. 


thereaftec/maititained  in  unprofitable  existence  until  ruined  by 
the  railroad ;  and  in  the  same  year  one  of  the  most  unique  land- 
marks of  the  present  city  was  completed  —  the  old  Arcade,  a 
curious  granite  structure  with  a  central  court  lighted  from  above 
and  flanked  by  three  tiers  of  stores,  the  upper  two  being  also 
furnished  with  galleries.  It  is  a  building  somewhat  suggestive 
of  the  foreign  in  its  appearance,  and  never  fails  to  strike  the 
stranger's  eye. 


Meanwhile,  in  this  period  of  quiet  growth,  the  necessity  tot 
transforming  the  town  into  a  city  began  to  be  apparent.  The 
change  was  undoubtedly  precipitated  by  a  serious  riot  in  1831, 
which  originated  with  some  sailors  spending  a  night  ashore,  but 
ultimately  developed  into  such  proportions  as  to  last  three  days 
and  necessitate  calling  out  the  militia.  This  incident  was  deemed 
sufficient  proof  of  the  weakness  of  the  town  government  to  admin- 
ister the  affairs  of  so  large  a  community  ;  and  after  due  delibera- 
tion, the  freemen  voted  to  accept  from  the  General  Assenibly  a 
charter  for  the  incorporation  of  the  city  of  Providence.     Accord- 


THE   CITY  OF  PROVIDENCE. 


533 


ingly,  on  the  first  Monday  in  June,  1832,  the  new  city  government 
was  organized,  with  Samuel  W.  Bridgham  as  the  first  mayor. 

The  remaining  historj'  of  the  city  may  be  passed  over  very 
briefly.  In  very  few  respects  does  it  present  events  of  unusnal 
importance,  and  a  mere  chronology  would  be  profitless  and  unin- 
teresting. With  the  organization  of  the  city  government  began 
also  the  era  of  railroad  development.  The  Boston  and  Pro\'idenee 
line  was  the  first  to  be  completed,  and  this  was  followed  at  not 
wide  inter\'als  by  the  others.     With  regard  to  the  agitation  for 


an  enlarged  suffrage  and  a  new  constitution  in  place  of  the  old 
charter  which  had  served  so  long,  and  with  regard,  also,  to  that 
instructive  and  heroic  little  rebellion,  the  Dorr  War,  which  resulted 
from  that  agitation,  it  can  only  be  said  that  Providence  was  the 
scene  of  some  of  the  chief  events  of  that  stirring  time ;  for  it  is 
really  a  matter  that  pertains  to  the  history  of  the  State,  not  the 
city.  It  may  be  added,  however,  that,  as  is  usually  the  case,  time 
has  proved  that  it  was  the  rebels  who  were  right  in  principle,  if 
rash  in  action. 


524 


THE  CITY  OF  PROVIDENCE. 


In  the  matter  of  growth,  progress  was  steady,  and  still  in  thej 
line  of  manufactures.     To  the  totton  and  woollen  mills  of  the  pre 
ceding  period  were  added  machine  shops,  foundries,  and  jewelrj 
manufactories.     Once  or  twice,  as  in   1856,  financial  crises    tem-j 
porarily  checked  the  accumulation  of  wealth.     But  in  general  thereB 
was  constant  and  steady  progress  in  all  classes  of  society. 

On  the  share  which  Providence  bore  in  the  war  to  preserve  th) 
Union,  it  is  unnecessary  to  enlarge.  Her  record  was  a  noble  onci 
but  not  essentially  other  than  that  of  hundreds  of  northern  citieSi 
Her  troops  were  quick  tn  reach  the  front,  and  throughout  the  long] 


contest  they  were,  as  individuals  and  as  regiments,  conspicuous  fo4 
gallantry  and  intelligent  work  on  many  critical  fields.     Although^ 
this  four  years'  struggle  could  but  diminish  the  productive  capacit] 
of  the  city,  yet  from   i860  to  1865  the  population  increased  fromfl 
50,666  to  S4.595-  3nd  the  valuation  from  $58,000,000  to  S8d,000,00O'J 

So  soon  as  the  war  was  over,  there  came  an  energetic  renewal  0 
industrial  effort,  and  new  enterprises  were  everywhere  projected.^ 
As  a  result  the  period  which  has  elapsed  since  1865  has  been  h 
period  of  most  rapid  growth  in  wealth  and  population.     The  lattei 
has  considerably  more  than  doubled,  and  the  city's  valuation  showM 


THE    CITY  OF  PROVIDENCE.  525 

a  proportionately  large  increase.  It  has  been,  too,  the  era  of  modern 
improvements  in  municipal  affairs.  Better  and  larger  schoolhouses 
have  been  built ;  public  water,  with  an  attendant  sewerage  system, 
introduced  ;  a  public  park,  r^iven  to  the  city  by  a  lineal  descendant 


of  Roger  Williams,  has  been  accepted  and  improved  ;  a  new  City 
Hail  and  a  modem  high  school  building  have  been  erected;  and  a 
public  library  founded.  In  area,  too,  the  city  has  been  growing. 
Several  square  mik-s  havt-  been  taken  back  from  the  towns  which 


526 


THE   CITY  OF  PROVIDENCE. 


were  themselves  carved  out  of  the  original  territory  of  the  town 
of  Providence ;  and  the  six  wards  with  which  the  city  began  in 
1832  have  grown  to  ten.  Of  the  men  who  have  shaped  and  guided 
this  exceptional  era  of  progress,  many  might  be  deservedly  named. 
But  the  one  who  has  been  the  most  thoroughly  identified  with 
recent  phases  of  Providence  history  —  the  late  Thomas  A.  Doyle 
—  is  elsewhere  in  this  magazine  separately  discussed. 


As  for  the  future  uf  the  city,  nothing  but  a  degenerate  public 
spirit  can  make  it  less  bright  than  the  past.  Well  started  in  the 
race,  with  an  infinity  of  industrial  resources,  with  a  geographical 
position  that  gives  the  combined  advantages  of  a  railroad  centre 
and  a  maritime  port,  and  with  a  long  and  honorable  past  to  serve 
as  a  standard  and  as  stimulus  to  continued  activity,  it  only  needs 


THE  CITY  OF  PROVIDENCE.  527 

vigilance,  ambition,  and  public  spirit  on  the  part  of  her  individual 
citizens  to  keep  her  where  she  has  so  far  always  been,  in  wealth, 
intelligence,  and  sagacity  among  the  foremost  of  American  mimi- 
cipalitics. 


SOLDIERS'   *N0  SAILORS    MONUMENT. 

[Note. —  II  has  proved  impracticable  to  complete  a  popular  and  comprehensive 
historical  and  descriptive  account  or  the  city  of  Providence  in  a  single  issue  of 
this  magazine,  —  therefore  an  additional  article,  and  of  a  more  descriptive  char- 
acter, will  appear  in  an  early  number.  This  will  be  copiously  and  beautifully  illus- 
trated, and  will  treat  of  the  more  recent  history  of  the  city,  and  will  include 
valuable  accounts  of  the  great  industrial,  commercial,  and  educational  interests, 
as  well  as  descriptions  of  the  numerous  interesting  places  and  structures  of  the 
city  and  its  environs.] 


THOMAS   A.    DOYLE. 


THOMAS    A.    DOYLE, 

LATE     MAYOR    OF    PROVIDENCE. 

Itv  REUBEN  A-  CUILD,  LL.1J.,  Libkakian  vk  Bbow\  UxtVEBSiTV. 

Thomas  Arthur  Doyle,  for  eighteen  years  the  active  and 
efficient  mayor  of  Providence,  was  bom  in  the  city  which  he  gov- 
,  on  tilt;  15th  of  March,  1827.  Seven  children 
constituted  the  family 
at  the  paternal  home, 
of  whom  two  daugh- 
ters are  now  living. 
One  of  the  daughters, 
\  Sarah  E.  Doyle,  has 
long  been  known  as 
an  accompHshed  edu- 
cator of  youth,  being 
the  principal  teacher 
in  the  ladies'  depart- 
ment of  the  High 
School. 

The  subject  of  this 
-■ketch  showed  in  his 
Ijoyhood  a  remarkably 
I  quick  and  self-reliant 
disposition.  Losing 
his  father  at  an  early 
I  age,  he  was  stimulated 
to  exertions  for  self- 
culture  and  success 
through  the  influence 
nf  an  excellent  mother, 
whom  he  tenderly 
loved,  and  upon  whom  he  lavished  the  utmost  attention  and  care. 
In  his  childhood  and  youth  he  enjoyed  the  advantages  of  the  pub- 


MAVOR    DOVLE.' 


THOMAS  A.   DOYLE.  529 

lie  schools,  graduating  at  the  Elm  Street  Grammar  School.  At 
the  age  of  fourteen  he  entered  the  counting-room  of  Benjamin 
Cozzcns,  on  South  Water  Street,  where  he  remained  as  clerk  over 
six  years.  Mr.  Cozzens,  who  had  been  a  lawyer,  was  then  an  en- 
terprising manufacturer  and  calico  printer,  running  the  Crompton 
Print  Works.  From  this  place  Mr.  Doyle,  then  a  young  man  of 
twenty,  entered  the  counting-room  of  Jacob  Bunnell  &  Co.,  where 
he  remained  as  chief  clerk  for  five  years.  Upon  the  organization 
of  the  Grocers  and  Producers'  Bank,  in  1853,  he  was  elected  cash- 
ier, which  office  he  held  two  years.  He  afterwards  became  stock- 
broker and  auctioneer  for  real  estate. 

Mr.  Doyle's  municipal  career  commenced  in  1848,  when  at  the 
age  of  twenty-one  he  was  elected  ward  clerk  for  the  sixth  ward. 
This  position  he  held  for  four  years,  or  until  he  moved  back  into 
his  native  ward.  From  that  time  on,  a  period  of  nearly  forty  years, 
he  continued,  almost  without  interruption,  to  hold  office  under  the 
city  government,  serving  his  constituents  in  his  varied  capacities 
as  legislator,  member  of  the  school  committee,  and  executive  officer, 
with  rare  zeal  and  efficiency.  In  1852  he  was  elected  a  member 
of  the  common  council  from  the  fifth  ward.  To  this  office  he 
was  re-elected  from  year  to  year  until  1857,  with  the  exception  of 
a  single  year  (1855),  when  he  declined  a  nomination.  He  was 
chairman  of  various  important  committees,  and  from  1854  to  1855 
he  was  president  of  the  common  council.  In  1855  he  was  chair- 
man of  the  board  of  assessors.  For  twenty  years  and  upwards  he 
was  a  most  active  and  efficient  member  of  the  school  committee, 
being  at  the  time  of  his  first  service  the  youngest  member  of  the 
board. 

In  June,  1864,  Mr.  Doyle  was  duly  inaugurated  as  mayor  of 
Providence.  This  office  he  continued  to  hold  from  year  to  year, 
with  a  single  exception  (1869),  until  January,  1881,  when  he  declined 
further  service.  He  was  thus  mayor  fifteen  years  and  seven  months, 
—  an  instance,  it  is  believed,  of  long-continued  office  without  a 
parallel  in  the  history  of  municipal  government  —  at  least  in  New 
England.  To  this  period  he  afterwards  added  two  years  and  five 
months,  thus  making  a  total  of  eighteen  years  of  service  as  the 
executive  head  of  Providence.  During  his  successive  administra- 
tions the  city  more  than  doubled  in  wealth  and  population,  and 
many  improvements  were  made  through  his  influence  and  sugges- 
tions.    The  police  were  uniformed  and  drilled,  until  they  became  a 


S30  THOMAS  A,   DOYLE. 

model  for  all  similar  bodies ;  water  was  introduced,  and  an  excellent 
system  of  pipes  and  sewerage  was  adopted  and  carried  out,  under 
the  skilful  oversight  of  Engineer  Shedd ;  Roger  Williams  Park 
was  donated  to  the  city,  and  improved ;  many  public  buildings, 
including  the  High  School  and  City  Hall,  were  erected,  and  the 
spirit  of  progress  was  infused  into  every  department  of  the  city 
government. 

The  following  tribute  from  the  Boston  Advertiser,  to  Mr.  Doyle, 
on  his  retiring  from  office  at  the  close  of  1880,  may  very  properly 
be  introduced  here,  as  a  part  of  this  sketch  :  — 

"  Mr.  Thomas  A.  Doyle  to-day  ceases  to  be  mayor  of  Provi- 
dence. He  has  been  mayor  for  over  fifteen  years,  and  his  career 
has  been  interrupted  but  once.  This  is  the  more  remarkable,  as 
the  second  city  of  New  England  is  unique  in  the  self-asserting 
individuality  of  its  citizens,  and  the  head  of  its  ever-shifting  parti- 
sanships. Mr.  Doyle  himself  has  the  individuality  of  a  true 
Rhode  Islander,  he  has  the  courage  of  his  opinions,  his  opinions 
are  decided,  he  has  never  been  afraid  to  express  them ;  and  there 
are  probably  few  voters  who  have  not  at  one  time  or  another 
opposed  him.  In  uniform  succession  he  has  been  opposed  by 
every  journal  published  in  Providence,  and  as  a  rule  this  opposition 
has  been  merciless,  if  not  bitter  and  unreasonable.  He  has  been 
opposed  at  one  time  by  Democrats,  then  by  Republicans,  then  by 
the  Independents,  then  by  the  chief  tax-payers,  then  by  every 
department  of  the  city  government,  and  always  by  a  hopeful 
minority.  His  relations  to  the  city  council  have  usually  been  those 
of  hearty  disagreement  on  almost  everything.  The  veto  messages 
written  by  Mayor  Doyle  would  fill  a  stout  volume.  He  has  rarely 
had  the  support  of  conservative  financiers,  and  he  has  never 
attempted  a  personal  policy  or  a  policy  of  conciliation.  While 
expressing  cordial  dislike  for  all  sorts  of  men,  corporations,  and 
interests,  he  has  ever  been  ready  to  give  every  citizen  full  informa- 
tion on  all  city  matters,  and  does  not  seem  to  have  known  what 
wire-pulling,  secret  arrangements,  and  quiet  understandings  meant. 
He  has  been  frank,  upright,  and  straightforward  to  the  last  degree ; 
—  so  much  so  that  any  man  could  at  any  time  learn  what  the 
mayor  wanted  or  opposed.  Rarely  has  a  mayor  resisted  popular 
measures  more  frankly,  or  advocated  unpopular  policies  more  cour- 
ageously. That  his  career  is  not  free  from  mistakes  and  blunders, 
goes  without  saying.     But  he  knows  the  city  more  thoroughly  than 


THOMAS  A.   DOYLE.  531 

does  any  corporation ;  he  chose  to  decline  a  re-election,  for  reasons 
satisfactory  to  himself ;  and  he  quits  office  with  the  proud  record 
that  Providence  is  one  of  the  best  governed  of  all  American 
cities.'* 

Mayor  Doyle  was  noted  for  his  zeal  in  the  cause  of  freemasonry, 
believing  it  to  be,  in  the  words  of  the  distinguished  writer,  Dr. 
Oliver,  "  the  handmaid  and  helper  of  Christianity,"  and  the  oldest 
and  best  of  all  human  institutions.  He  was  made  a  Master  Mason 
in  St.  John's  Lodge,  Providence,  Oct.  28,  1857;  and  in  Decem- 
ber, 1859,  h^  w^s  elected  Master,  serving  in  that  capacity  two 
years.  In  September,  1859,  he  was  appointed  Grand  Secretary  of 
the  Grand  Lodge  of  Rhode  Island,  to  fill  the  vacancy  occasioned 
by  the  death  of  Deacon  William  C.  Barker.  At  the  ensuing  elec- 
tion he  was  elected  to  that  office,  which  he  held  for  three  years, 
when  he  declined  a  fourth  re-election.  In  May,  1865,  he  was 
elected  Grand  Master  of  Masons  in  Rhode  Island,  which  office  he 
held,  by  successive  annual  elections,  for  seven  years.  On  May  5, 
1859,  ^^  received  the  degree  of  Royal  Arch  in  Providence  Chapter ; 
and  in  November,  1862,  he  was  elected  its  High  Priest,  —  serving 
four  years.  The  Grand  Chapter  of  Rhode  Island  elected  him 
Grand  High  Priest,  March  14,  1865.  Over  this  body  he  presided 
seven  years,  when  he  declined  further  service.  He  was  a  Knight 
Templar  in  Calvary  Commandery,  in  which  body  he  served  both  as 
Prelate  and  Commander.  He  afterwards  became  a  member  of 
St.  John's  Commandery.  He  ser\'ed  as  Grand  Prelate,  Grand 
Captain-General,  and  Grand  Generalissimo  of  the  Grand  Com- 
mandery of  Massachusetts  and  Rhode  Island.  He  also  received 
the  thirty-third  degree  of  the  Ancient  and  Accepted  Scottish  Rite, 
of  which  he  was  Deputy  for  Rhode  Island. 

In  April,  1881,  Mr.  Doyle  was  elected  senator  to  represent 
Providence  in  the  General  Assembly.  In  January,  1884,  he  was 
again  inaugurated  as  mayor ;  and  this  office  he  continued  to  hold 
until  his  death. 

Returning  from  a  ride  on  Saturday  afternoon,  June  5,  1886, 
Mayor  Doyle  was  stricken  down  with  apoplexy,  —  retaining  imper- 
fect consciousness  until  the  Wednesday  following,  when  he  expired. 
The  sad  event  was  communicated  to  the  citizens  by  the  tolling  of 
the  bells.  The  City  Hall  was  draped  in  mourning,  and  on  Satur- 
day the  remains  were  placed  in  this  building,  where  they  were  seen 
by  thousands  of  mourning  friends.     His  funeral,  which  was   on 


532  THE  PRICE  OF  POWER. 

Monday  the  14th,  was  the  largest  ever  held  in  Providence.  The 
universal  expression  of  the  people,  without  distinction  of  party, 
rank,  or  sect,  was  that  an  honest,  upright,  and  efficient  officer  had 
departed  this  life. 

Mr.  Doyle  was  for  many  years,  and  until  his  death,  a  consistent 
member  of  the  Unitarian  Church,  and  a  firm  believer  in  the  doc- 
trine of  good  works.  He  died  a  poor  man ;  and  yet  few  persons 
blessed  with  wealth  give  more  liberally  to  the  poor  and  to  every 
good  cause,  than  did  the  deceased.  He  married,  Oct.  21,  1869, 
Almyra  Sprague,  daughter  of  Amasa  and  Fanny  Sprague,  and 
sister  of  Ex-Senator  William  Sprague.     They  had  no  children. 

Citizens  and  friends  have  subscribed  about  ten  thousand  dollars 
for  a  monument  to  his  memory,  and  the  city  council  has  appropri- 

1  

ated  two  thousand  dollars  for  the  pedestal.  The  plans  are  now  in 
hands  of  the  artist.  His  best  monument,  however,  is  his  record  of 
long  and  faithful  service. 


■^^•c< 


THE    PRICE    OF    POWER. 

By  CHARLES  KNOWLES  BOLTON. 

Come,  laurelled  soldiers,  statesmen,  seers  and  sages, 

And  tell  us  of  your  glorious  victories ; 
O  King  of  Babylon  !  to-day  where  is 

Thy  majesty  ?    Thy  countless  slaves  and  pages, 
Thy  banquet  halls  and  gardens  ?    Wealth  engages 

Our  simple  eye  with  dazzling  treasuries,  — 
And  yet  uncouth  Chaldean  memories 

Of  crouching  beasts  come  down  the  path  of  ages. 
And  you,  who  made  Rome's  heart  grow  faint  with  fear ! 

Beneath  Busento*s  waves  your  tomb  was  made, 
Deep  in  its  oozy  bed ;  your  kingly  bier 

At  midnight  there  the  doomed  slave-sextons  laid,  — 
Death  softened  by  no  honest  sigh  or  tear  — 

'Twere  better  had  that  soul  at  birth  been  stayed. 


OLD   THEOLOGY  HEALING.  533 


ISMS. 

v.— OLD  THEOLOGY   HEALING. 

By  EDWARD  J.  ARENS.i 

The  great  questions  of  the  day,  which  concern  all,  but  which  are 
of  special  interest  to  philosophers  and  students,  are.  What  is  God  ? 
In  what  relation  does  the  universe  and  man  stand  to  the  Creator, 
and  what  duty  does  man  owe  his  Creator  ? 

While  seeking  for  spiritual  truths  we  should  not  fail  to  credit 
unto  man  the  material  knowledge  which  belongs  to  him  ;  neither 
should  we  forget  that  this  same  knowledge,  though  held  in  esteem 
by  him,  is  foolishness  with  God,  and  that  by  it  we  cannot  expect 
to  obtain  an  understanding  of  God,  of  our  relation  to  him,  and  of 
the  conditions  of  our  existence  with  him. 

Eternal  truth  is,  and  ever  has  been,  contrary  to  the  material 
understanding,  and  therefore  not  in  harmony  with  such  as  have 
their  treasures  in  material  knowledge.  In  its  followers  this  truth 
has  been  wronged  and  traduced  through  all  ages.  Though  there 
are  many  seekers  after  truth,  very  few  recognize  it  when  it 
appears.  Once  again  is  this  truth  presented  to  the  people,  bear- 
ing its  own  demonstration.  Will  it  be  welcome }  It  is  again 
presented  in  theory,  but,  as  yet,  only  partially  demonstrated  in 
practice  as  compared  with  the  works  of  Jesus  and  his  disciples. 

Our  very  anxiety  lest  we  may  be  deceived  is  oftentimes  a  barrier 
between  us  and  truth.  Thus  man's  wisdom  in  material  things 
hinders  him,  instead  of  helping  him,  to  the  eternal  truth.  Spirit- 
ual truths  have  been  expected  to  emanate  from  a  soul  filled  with 
material  wisdom.  Great  minds  have  been  agitating  the  important 
questions  of  the  day,  and  to  them  we  have  looked  for  infallible 
testimony,  but,  alas !  we  have  sought  in  vain  ;  and  now  we  find  it 
hard  to  accept  it  from  humbler  sources. 

Despite  the  many  disappointments,  there  are  those  who  still 
anticipate  that  the  religions  of  to-day  will  in  some  mysterious  way 
evolve  the  truth  and  show  a  scientific  basis  for  their  affirmations. 
Their  condition    is  much   the  same   as  the   invalid's,   in   whom, 

1  Chancellor  of  the  University  of  the  Science  of  Spirit;  Boston,  Mass. 


534  OLD   THEOLOGY  HEALING. 

through  all  failures,  the  hope  still  lives  that  somewhere,  sometime, 
the  remedy  for  his  malady  will  be  discovered  in  matter. 

The  word  religio7i  is  from  the  Latin  rcligio,  meaning  to  bind 
back.  The  chain  must  be  connected  before  we  can  use  it.  It  is 
not  sufficient  that  some  links  be  formed — they  must  match  and 
be  united.  With  varying  opinions  and  disconnected  ideas  we  can 
accomplish  but  little.  "  In  union  there  is  strength  "  ;  and,  unless 
demonstration  is  produced  in  support  of  opinions  and  theories, 
there  can  be  no  union  in  thought.  We  ought  at  once  to  realize 
that  where  demonstration  is  lacking  the  opinions  and  theories  are 
at  fault,  and  quickly  seek  to  correct  the  error.  In  all  other  truths 
we  readily  perceive  the  necessity  for  a  common  basis  or  starting- 
point,  —  what  is  termed  an  adinission,  —  but  we  think  none  needed 
in  eternal  truth.  In  this,  each  one  starts  with  his  own  idea  of  a 
God,  and  grafts  the  teaching  of  his  day  to  that  poor  root ;  and  he, 
in  turn,  gives  root  and  branch  to  his  offspring. 

Thus,  so-called  knowledge  of  God  and  his  creation  is  acquired 
and  imparted.  The  opinions  will  not  admit  of  demonstration,  con- 
sequently the  idea  that  demonstration  or  proof  is  unnecessary  is 
added  to  the  faulty  structure. 

Eternal  truth,  like  mathematics,  is  demonstrable  though  invisible. 
Religious  instructors  promise  us  liberty  through  their  instructions, 
but  they  are  themselves  under  bondage  to  the  material  law ;  and 
thus  with  their  own  hands  bound,  cannot  loose  our  chains.  If  we 
are  unselfish  in  our  desire  for  truth,  and  earnest  enough  to  test  all 
opinions  before  either  accepting  or  discarding  them,  we  shall  not 
long  err.  Prejudice,  which  is  but  another  word  for  selfishness, 
prevents  many  really  well-meaning  people  from  coming  to  the 
truth.  Becoming  prejudiced  in  favor  of  certain  views  through 
association,  many  are  prevented  from  investigating  and  from 
realizing  the  truth  when  it  is  presented  to  them. 

The  real  meaning  of  the  word  religion  has  been  lost  sight 
of,  and  it  seems  that  we  have  really  misapplied  the  word  instead 
of  defining  it.  What  is  termed  religion  now  is  the  opinions 
of  man  regarding  God,  his  creation,  and  man's  duty  to  God. 
And  as  even  the  most  learned  expounders  of  religion  to-day 
say  that  God  is  unknowable,  their  teaching  is  of  something  of 
which  they  are  in  reality  ignorant. 

Were  these  opinions  on  any  other  subject,  all  would  unhesi- 
tatingly agree  that  they  were  worthless.     Why,  then,  are  they 


OLD    THEOLOGY  HEALING,  535 

not  worthless  on  thft  most  important  subject  ?  Opinions  con- 
tinually change  as  man's  nature  and  needs  change,  and  while 
we  pin  our  faith  to  opinions  without  proof  we  shall  reach  no  haven 
of  rest. 

When  all  ideas  relative  to  God  and  the  universe  have  a  common 
basis,  as  do  all  ideas  in  the  understanding  of  any  other  exact 
science,  such  as  mathematics,  for  instance,  we  shall  have  a  scien- 
tific basis  for  theology.  We  shall  then,  however,  no  longer  term 
it  religion,  unless  we  do  so  in  the  realization  of  the  original 
meaning  of  the  word.  The  instructions  imparted  by  Jesus  bound 
his  disciples  back  to  God, — the  God  from  whom  they  had  igno- 
rantly  wandered,  —  bound  them  back,  not  alone  in  words,  but  in 
works,  as  no  other  teaching  had  or  could  have  done.  It  enabled 
them  to  demonstrate  the  power  of  God,  and  to  worship  him  in 
spirit  (understanding)  and  in  truth,  or,  in  other  words,  to  do  his 
will.  Their  works  were  the  manifestation  of  the  spiritual 
understanding  or  faith  that  was  within  them.  With  a  scientific 
basis  for  theology,  or  an  eternal  rule  to  work  from,  we  shall 
have  a  conviction  within  ourselves  that  is  indisputable,  and  shall 
be  able  to  show  cause  for  our  faith. 

Because  of  the  misapplication  of  the  word  theology  many  liberal 
thinkers  who  have  advanced  beyond  the  average  thought,  object 
to  it.  This  is  but  another  case  of  prejudice.  The  fact  that  the 
word  has  been  applied  to  man's  opinio)is  regarding  spirit  and  the 
created  universe  does  not  alter  the  true  meaning  of  the  word. 
It  is  the  science  of  God  (Spirit),  and  in  that  sense  alone  we  use 
it.  Creeds  are  often  or  always  accepted  without  proof  or  demon- 
stration. Old  theology  exactly  reverses  this  order.  It  deals  not 
with  opinions  and  theories,  but  with  sound  knowledge  of  eternal, 
demonstrable  truth.  Atheism  finds  no  need  for  God,  since  it 
makes  the  material  world  eternal.  Pantheism  makes  the  universe 
and  man  a  portion  of  God,  —  thus  limiting  God  and  destroying 
man's  personality.  Holding  God  to  be  the  only  reality,  and  all 
other  things,  including  the  life  of  man  and  matter,  to  be  myths, . 
is  blasphemy  and  annihilation  of  the  universe,  since  it  extin- 
guishes God's  work  and  robs  him  of  his  children. 

Again,  the  ideas  of  the  immanence  and  emanence  of  God 
relative  to  the  universe,  so  prevalent  among  theologians  both  in 
past  and  present  time,  must  give  way  to  a  more  demonstrable 
theory.      Holding    to    the    immanence    and   emanence   of    God 


536  OLD    THEOLOGY  HEALING, 

relative  to  the  universe,  and  at  the  same  time  holding  the  idea 
that  there  is  a  real  quality  in  the  universe  which  is  not  Spirit,  or 
which  is  other  than  God,  is  contradictory.  If  that  something 
which  is  other  than  God  is  real,  it  would  take  some  space,  and  thus 
God  would  be  limited  and  could  not  be  "All  in  All.'* 

God  transcends  the  universe  and  created  it.  It  is  therefore 
impossible  that  he  could  himself  constitute  a  part  of  it ;  other- 
wise he  was  created,  and  was,  furthermore,  his  own  Creator. 
Such  an  idea,  or  chain  of  ideas,  is  contrary  to  logic  and  ridicu- 
lous in  the  extreme. 

The  existence  of  a  universe  separate  from,  created  by,  and  no 
portion  of  God's  quality,  must  be  acknowledged.  Motion  in 
matter  must  have  a  cause,  as  does  every  other  effect,  and  it 
must  have  been  produced  to  fulfil  a  design  or  purpose. 

The  Cause  or  Creator  must  necessarily  transcend  the  Creation, 
and  must  create  according  to  his  wisdom  or  design.  Thus  it 
is  utterly  impossible  that  the  changeable  creation  can  be  a  part 
of  the  substance  and  quality  of  the  unchangeable  Creator,  or 
that  the  Creator  or  any  portion  thereof  can  be  in  his  own  crea- 
tion. Neither  the  Creator  nor  his  thought  or  wisdom  can  be  in 
his  work,  but  the  work  can  be  a  reflection  or  manifestation  of  his 
thought  or  wisdom ;  that  is,  it  can  be  in  the  precise  image  of  it 
in  outline,  but  of  a  different  or  opposite  quality  from  the  Creator. 

Another  statement  equally  erroneous  is  that  matter  and  its 
force,  or  life,  can  never  be  known  apart.  If  the  life,  or  force, 
through  which  we  have  consciousness  can  never  exist  without  mat- 
ter, when  we  die,  we  must,  as  conscious  beings,  be  annihilated. 
But  since  the  created  life  is  the  cause  of  the  existence  and  outlines 
of  matter,  it  must  have  existed  before  matter,  and  must  have  an 
existence  independent  of  matter.  Equally  erroneous  is  the  idea 
that  all  which  we  recognize  is  mind  or  thought.  There  must  be  a 
thinker  to  embody  the  thoughts,  and  also  to  realize  the  existence 
of  matter.  Again,  the  teaching  that  matter  is  but  the  sum  of 
material  qualities,  which  qualities  are  states  of  consciousness,  is 
also  unscientific.  Consciousness  is  a  quality  of  the  soul,  and  is 
spiritual.  States  of  consciousness,  or,  in  other  words,  conditions 
of  the  soul,  vary  according  to  the  knowledge,  or  wisdom,  which  the 
soul  possesses.  For  instance,  sensation  of  pain  is  a  state  of  con- 
sciousness, or  a  condition  of  the  soul.     Pain,  however,  is  not  mat- 


OLD   THEOLOGY  HEALING.  537 

ter.     States  of  consciousness  may  be  manifested  in  or  through 
matter,  but  can  in  no  case  be  the  matter  itself. 

Still  others  claim  that  man  is  the  idea  of  God  —  the  conception  of 
eternal  Mind,  that  this  idea  was  co-existent  and  co-eternal  with 
Mind,  etc.,  etc.  God  and  his  thought  or  idea  are  one  in  quality 
and  inseparable  ;  they  are  the  one  eternal  Substance.  God  without 
thought,  or  idea,  would  be  a  dead  substance.  If  this  idea  is  man, 
then  man  must  always  have  existed,  and  could  therefore  never 
have  been  created.  He  must  be  of  the  same  quality  and  substance 
as  God.  This  would  make  him  incapable  of  sin  and.  a  part  of 
God's  substance ;  in  other  words,  would  make  him  God.  Such  a 
view  would  preclude  the  possibility  of  multiplication,  unless  it  be 
claimed  that  God  is  imperfect  and  changeable.  It  would  also 
contradict  the  biblical  record  of  creation,  and  make  Jesus'  mis- 
sion —  that  of  redeeming  souls  from  evil  and  bringing  them  unto 
the  knowledge  of  the  truth  —  a  farce  only. 

Difficulties  have  been  experienced  in  arranging  theories  that 
should  honor  both  the  Creator  and  his  creation.  One  or  the  other 
has  always  suffered  at  the  hands  of  theorists.  The  difficulties 
have  never  been  satisfactorily  cleared  away  by  any  of  the  so-called 
Christian  fathers,  or  their  followers ;  and  no  theory  has  yet  been 
advanced  by  them  that  did  not  rear  obstacles  in  one  direction 
while  removing  them  in  another.  It  is  surprising  that  so  much 
that  is  glaringly  inconsistent,  irreligious,  and  irreverent  is  tolerated 
in  this  nineteenth  century,  but  it  becomes  appalling  when  it  is 
allowed  to  be  taught  in  the  name  of  Divine  Science,  and  as  concur- 
rent with  the  teachings  of  Jesus  and  the  apostles. 

Old  Theology  teaches. 

That  sickness  is  as  real  to  a  man  as  his  existence  in  a  material 
body,  —  that  it  is  a  stubborn,  lamentable,  miserable  fact;  but 
that  it  can  be  wholly  destroyed  through  man's  understanding  of 
Spirit  and  its  creation  ; 

That  the  soul  is  the  life  of  man ; 

That  there  are  two  kinds  of  life;  Le,,  the  uncreated  Spirit  Life 
(God),  and  the  created  Spiritual  Life  (God's  Creation) ; 

That  there  is  a  personal  man,  and  that  the  body  has  the  same 
outline  as  the  soul,  and  that  the  soul  has  the  outline  and  form  of  a 
thought  of  God,  and  is  therefore  unchangeable  in  outline ; 

That  the  thought  of  God  is  of  the  same  substance,  and  as 
unchangeable  as  God,  and  is  co-existent  and  co-eternal  with  him, 


538  OLD    THEOLOGY  HEALING. 

and  cannot  therefore  multiply  or  change, — that  it  is  no  part  of 
soul  or  body ; 

That  God  is  perfect,  and  that  nothing  can  be  added  to  or  taken 
away  from  him ; 

That  each  soul  can  become  a  perfect  reflection  or  manifestation 
of  a  thought  of  God,  but  must  always  retain  a  distinct  entity  in 
form,  outline,  and  quality,  —  that  man  can  never  be  a  portion  of 
God's  substance ; 

That  there  are  men  and  women  born  into  this  world,  —  that 
their  souls  are  the  offspring  of  the  soul  created  by  God,  and  that 
they  may  become  the^hildren  of  God ; 

That  all  material  things  are  a  product  or  coarser  fabric  of  a 
spiritual  life  which  they  cover.  The  matter  can  be  dissolved,  but 
that  which  produced  it,  i.e.,  the  spiritual  life,  is  the  work  of  God, 
and  is  therefore  real ; 

That  the  idea  that  man  has  a  life  or  soul  separate  from  God 
agrees  with  Jesus'  teaching  —  and  it  was  to  save  this  life  or  soul  that 
he  came ; 

That  immortal  truth  is  harmony,  incapable  of  discord ;  but  soul 
—  the  created,  conscious  life  —  is  capable  of  being  either  har- 
monious or  discordant ; 

That  error  is  a  product  of  the  soul,  and  is  produced  through 
the  senses  of  the  soul  in  materiality ; 

That  Jesus  taught  his  students  Theology,  —  the  knowledge  of 
God ;  and  they  healed  according  to  their  realization  of  it. 

In  many  of  the  leading  papers  there  have  been,  from  time  to 
time,  articles  relating  to  the  art  of  healing  the  sick  without  medi- 
cine. This  art  has  been  given  various  names,  and  there  are  about, 
as  many  different  theories  as  there  arc  different  names.  We  have 
no  hesitation  in  saying  that  the  Science  of  Spirit,  or  Old  Theology, 
will  compare  favorably  with  all  other  theories ;  that  it  will,  in  fact, 
take  precedence  of  all  others  in  the  minds  of  educated  people. 
The  title,  Old  Theology,  was  deemed  most  appropriate  to  it,  as 
being  the  doctrine  taught  and  practised  by  Jesus  and  the  apostles. 
Our  inability  to  heal  instantaneously,  as  they  are  recorded  to  have 
done,  is  attributable  to  our  deficiency  in  the  realization  of  the  doc- 
trine. While  we  claim  that  our  theory  of  healing  is  applicable  to 
all  diseases,  we  do  not  claim  to  possess  sufficient  understanding  in 
it  at  the  present  time  to  heal  all  diseases  instantaneously,  neither 
would  we  now  guarantee  to  cure  certain  diseases,  such  as  cancer 


THE  FIRST  LOVE.  539 

or  consumption  in  the  last  stages.     Of  one  thing,  however,  we  are 

eonfident ;  i.e.,  that  we  can  do  more  good  in  all  cases  of  illness 

than  can  be  done  with  any  other  known  theory,  or  with  Materia 

Mcdica, 

— «>o>»:o« — 

THE    FIRST    LOVE. 

By  GEORGE  CANNING  HILL. 

A  NEAT  muslin  dress,  —  a  cottage  straw,  with  pretty  lilac  ribbons, 
—  and  a  tranquil,  dreamy  July  afternoon  in  the  country,  will 
strangely  work  their  witchery  in  a  youthful  heart  that  is  sensi- 
tive to  impressions  from  every  side.  It  is  more  than  a  question  if 
a  person  ever  yet  honestly  told  the  story  of  his  First  Love;  he 
does  not  look  to  be  believed,  and  he  does  expect  to  be  laughed  at 
for  his  confession.  Still,  everybody  loves,  or  tries  to  and  pro- 
fesses to.  Let  people  sneer  in  their  infidel  way  as  they  will,  they 
are  glad  enough  in  due  time  to  pay  their  own  vows  and  make 
their  own  confessions,  nor  are  they  particular  to  keep  it  so  close  a 
secret,  either.     As  Dryden  says,  we 


it 


. .  .  all  are  fools  and  lovers,  first  or  last." 


To  the  boyish  heart,  just  swelling  with  the  influences  of  dawn- 
ing manhood,  nothing  ever  comes  to  stir  it  with  such  a  thrill  of 
rapture  as  this  indescribable  experience  of  the  First  Love.  The  boy 
feels  his  love  to  be  a  great  deal  more  than  a  sentiment  or  a  super- 
ficial passion  ;  neither  sentiment  nor  passion  was  ever  like  it  before, 
and  are  not  likely  to  be  ag^in.  The  heated  heart  accepts  it  for  a 
species  of  inspiration  theCi.  It  is  like  a  dream,  creating#the  world 
all  over  again,  and  makfftg  even  common  men  and  women  appear 
in  the  most  poetic  attitudes  and  costumes.  Yet  it  is  a  living 
dream,  wherein  dwell  a  rounded  hope  and  an  all-suflScing  faith. 
It  is,  in  truth,  a  conception  already  embodied ;  a  reality  all  grace 
and  beauty ;  a  breath  with  warmth  in  it ;  and  a  distinct  and  deli- 
cious voice,  though  very  low  indeed. 

No  such  tumult  swells  in  the  heart  again,  though  the  man  gets  on 
to  snowy  fourscore.  No  more  such  sweet  surprises,  as  the  young 
heart  makes  its  new  discoveries  in  the  fairy  realm  it  has  just 
entered.  No  second  free  and  unconstrained  confidences  like  these, 
proffered  half  silently  in  the  summer  moonlights,  in  shadows  en- 


540  THE  FIRST  LOVE. 

meshed  by  the  leaves  for  that  purpose  alone,  down  the  sequestered 
lengths  of  grassy  lanes,  along  the  banks  of  slow-swimming  streamy 
or  while  riding  together  over  strips  of  roads  inwalled  with  ruddy 
apple-blossoms.  What  is  to  be  compared  with  these  fresh  summer 
morning  drives  across  the  green  country,  the  breath  of  the  new  day 
as  sweet  as  an  infant's,  and  exhilarating  airs  pulsing  so  gently 
against  the  cheeks  and  fanning  the  temples  ?  Who  fairer  than  she 
who  sits  now  at  your  side  ?  Where  was  so  charming  a  landscape  ever 
spread  before  ?  And  the  evening  loiterings  under  the  old  elms, 
that  have  dropped  silent  blessings  on  many  and  many  a  pair  of 
young  lovers  before,  while  they  sprinkled  spiritual  moonlight  over 
the  walk  below, — do  they  not  prompt  those  happy  occasions  when 
the  tongue  is  unloosed,  and  eloquently  speaks  what  it  is  dumb  to 
utter  in  the  blaze  of  broad  day  ? 

Looking  backward  over  the  years,  these  days  seem  more  like  a 
dream  than  they  did  when  actually  passing.  Now  rises  the  sad 
reflection  that  no  such  episode  as  this  offers  again  in  the  longest 
life  that  follows  after ;  that  never  again  will  the  heart,  enlarged 
and  hardened  with  its  experience,  flutter  with  such  a  positive  pain- 
fulness  of  delight  at  the  approach  of  the  object  adored ;  that  it  will 
not  go  forward  again  with  such  a  rich  and  impulsive  bound ;  and 
that  the  kindled  vision  will  not  swim  with  so  many  delicious 
images  of  happiness  and  love.  You  do  not  expect  ever  to  behold 
again  a  face  one-half  so  lovely  as  that  face ;  no  figure  approaching 
that  figure  in  transcendent  grace ;  no  other  speech  so  rich,  so 
musical,  so  flowing  as  her  sweet  and  unaffected  speech  beside  you ; 
no  beauty  so  completely  robed  in  the  gauzy  folds  of  its  own  weav- 
ing, or  so  heightened  with  the  native  bl\ish  of  its  own  innocence. 

It  is  charming  above  all  things,  too,  tl^at  in  this  season  of  the 
first  and  early  love  all  outward  nature  glaily  takes  on  the  prevail- 
ing expression  of  the  newly  awakened  heart.  Objects  all  around 
that  were  bald  and  common  before,  are  alive  with  meaning  and 
eloquence  now.  The  very  path  she  walks,  to  and  fro,  with  you, 
becomes  forthwith  enchanted  ground  ;  you  shall  go  over  it  years 
hence,  and  these  younger  experiences  will  come  up  freshly  again, 
and  start  tears  of  delighted  recognition  to  your  eyes.  She  care- 
lessly plucks  a  red  rose  that  looks  over  the  garden  wall, — and, 
ever  after,  no  flower  is  so  fragrant  or  fresh  as  the  rose  with  the 
scarlet  heart.  The  dallying  south  wind  draws  in  through  the 
leaves,  —  and,  from  that  hour,  the  south  is  the  favored  wind  forever. 


THE  FIRST  LOVE.  541 

But  the  First  should  be  an  early  love.  A  man  may  know  the 
delights  of  love  later  in  life,  of  course,  but  by  that  time  it  has  lost 
much  of  its  fragrant  freshness  and  absolute  beauty.  Then  all 
things  in  the  world  are  become  more  or  less  relative,  and  scarcely 
considered  of  and  for  themselves  alone.  As  one  gets  farther  on, 
contact  with  men  has  twisted  in  coarse  strands  of  a  selfish  prudence 
with  the  golden  threads  of  one's  younger  life,  and  been  at  work 
knotting  permanently  together  those  simple  and  sincere  feelings 
of  youth  with  calculations  of  profit,  of  ambition,  and,  mayhap,  of  — 
a  match.  The  abandonment  and  free  impulse  which  is  a  genuine 
belonging  of  youth,  with  youth  likewise  has  departed.  That  fine 
sensibility  to  outlying  influences,  which  are  begotten  of  every 
passing  hour,  has  been  almost  wholly  fretted  away  by  the  realities 
of  a  harder  manhood.  Generosity,  too,  is  deadened,  not  having 
been  kept  active  all  along  till  now ;  and  the  illusive  spirit  of 
romance,  a  greater  than  a  Prospero  enchanter  in  the  hey-day  of 
existence,  has  utterly  escaped  and  is  forever  gone.  The  Man  can- 
not first  love  as  the  Youth  loves ;  and  simply  because  he  cannot. 

What  young  lover  was  ever  able  to  describe  the  pleasure  which 
he  could  not  utter  at  the  time,  in  loitering  through  shadowy 
gardens  and  across  green  fields,  where  all  visible  things  do  but 
offer  themselves  as  interpreters }  No  fear  of  being  misapprehended 
there.  The  fault  is  wholly  in  one's  self  if  he  be  not  then  understood. 
Every  object  but  utfers  the  exact  language  which  the  passionate 
and  tumultuous  heart  would  fain  speak.  Each  aspect  of  dumb 
Nature  proposes  a  fresh  betrayal  of  the  story  that  will  not  be  hid. 
The  fluttering  joy,  that  refuses  to  let  the  soul  be  still,  pours  itself 
forth  then  in  overpowering  volume,  and  baptizes  all  created  things 
with  its  sacred  flood.  The  eyes  behold,  but  they  see  through  a 
wholly  new  medium  of  vision.  There  are  no  sharp  angles  to  be 
looked  for  and  felt  now  :  they  are  every  one  clipped  and  rounded 
off.  There  are  no  shadows,  as  foils  for  the  world's  lights;  this 
new  sunlight  of  the  soul  has  dissipated  them  all,  like  early  Sep- 
tember rime.  Nowhere  now  are  realities  rough  ;  they  wear  a  look 
so  delightfully  undulating  that  they  seem  as  easy  to  be  sailed  over 
as  the  rolling  waves ;  the  whole  world,  in  fact,  wears  but  the  hue 
of  the  happy,  happy  heart. 

It  cannot  well  be  related,  and,  if  it  could,  it  would  not  be  be- 
lieved, what  a  subsequent  new  bliss  dawns  over  the  landscape  of 
the  young  life,  when  the  lover  has  been  indeed  assured  that  he 


542  THE  FIRST  LOVE. 

does  not  sue  in  vain.  One's  own  experience  is  sufficient  for  him 
there ;  and  if  he  should  chance  to  have  had  no  experience  of  the 
sort,  —  Heaven  help  his  poverty  of  soul !  It  is  hardly  possible  to 
imagine  a  being  happier  than  the  lover  who  has  been  accepted ; 
not  necessarily  according  to  the  set  formulas,  but  assured  —  as  he 
not  unfrequently  is  in  language  that  cannot  be  framed  —  that  the 
dear  faith  he  has  dared  to  cherish  has  begun,  at  length,  to  germi- 
nate beside  the  faith  —  holier,  possibly,  than  his  —  of  another.  Of 
all  allotted  earthly  joys,  there  is  not  one  so  whole  and  complete  as 
this.  There  is  no  wealth  worth  the  quest  that  so  richly  abounds 
and  multiplies. 

An  early  marriage  may  be  improvident,  now  and  then,  in  the 
world's  over-wise  view,  but  the  men  who  marry  young  are  not  al- 
ways worthless  as  citizens.  On  this  point  Shakespeare  and  Dr. 
Franklin  may  be  permitted  to  put  in  testimony.  We  know  that 
marrying  early  in  life  never  yet  wrecked  a  man's  character,  how- 
ever astringent  its  action  may  have  been  upon  his  income ;  while 
instances  lamentably  abound  where  much  earlier  unions  would 
have  been  sure  to  save  all.  This,  however,  concerns  only  thrift : 
two  human  beings  may  have  been  formed  to  love  one  another, 
though  they  both  could  not  earn  enough  to  "  make  the  pot  boil " 
even  for  a  single  day.  It  is  well  enough  to  look  ahead  ;  but  "  care 
killed  a  cat "  once,  and  a  cat,  we  know,  has  more  lives  than  love. 

The  man  who  has  known  an  early  First  Love  is  a  more  or  less 
inspired  person  all  his  days.  He  has  somewhat — it  looks  like  a 
star  to  him,  or  a  light  far  brighter  than  any  of  the  known  lights 
of  the  firmament  —  to  fix  his  view  through  the  lowering  skies  and 
scowling  tempests  that  are  sure  to  come  afterward.  He  is  always 
the  more  of  a  man  for  having  thus  loved  ;  he  would  have  been  less 
without  this  mysterious  development  of  his  nature.  Here  is 
something  to  hold  him  steady  on  his  course ;  let  him  be  oblivious 
of  all  else,  he  cannot  be  untrue  to  that.  He  recurs  to  it  con- 
stantly in  his  thought ;  keeps  living  that  particular  passage  of  his 
life  over  again  ;  talks  of  it  to  others  in  a  strain  of  eloquence  he  is 
unaware  of ;  dreams  over  it  by  day  as  well  as  by  night ;  uncon- 
sciously shapes  his  life  more  or  less  by  it ;  and  betrays  its  silent 
influence  over  him  in  the  whole  course  and  temper  of  his  action. 
In  this,  if  in  nothing  else,  he  finds  his  purpose  and  aim ;  this  be- 
comes his  mentor  and  salvation ;  and  through  this  he  is  inspired 
as  nothing  else  in  life  has  been  able  to  breathe  into  his  soul. 


THE  FIRST  LOVE,  543 

What,  indeed,  are  we  without  memories  ?  and  what  single  mem- 
ory is  there  like  this  of  our  youth  ?  the  farther  back  it  dates,  the 
softer  the  halo  in  which  it  swims.  We  must  needs  couple  it  with 
the  very  flower  and  blossom  of  our  days,  or  it  does  not  work  with 
such  magic  on  the  heart.  It  must  wear  the  blush  and  down  of 
life's  morning  on  its  cheek,  or  it  gains  but  a  frail  hold  upon  the 
nature.  Even  the  most  prosaic  of  men  love  to  glide  back  in 
thought  to  the  happy  period  when  they  were  given  to  romance ; 
and  the  most  absorbed  of  business  devotees  are  fond  of  filling  up 
the  gaps  of  their  leisure  with  recollections  of  the  time  when  their 
aims  were  vagabond,  and  their  hearts  susceptible,  and  they  lived 
for  nothing  beyond  the  hour,  and  so  lived  healthily. 

There  are  plenty  without  such  memories ;  but  the  secret  unrest 
of  their  spirits  betrays  the  want  they  can  never  expect  exactly  to 
supply.  Many  and  many  such  dream  vainly  of  "  what  might  have 
been,"  and  vainly  envy  him  whose  lustrous  eye  and  contagious 
smile  attest,  in  his  particular  case,  the  perpetual  joy  of  recalling 
that  which  has  been.  Far  apart  as  these  and  those  days  may  be, 
the  emotions  which  were  then  much  too  passionate  and  tumultuous 
to  define  he  is  still  able  to  analyze  and  thoroughly  enjoy.  He  can 
watch  the  courses  of  their  steady  influence  all  along  his  life.  He 
can  put  his  hand  in  his  bosom,  and  feel  the  beating  of  a  heart 
which  in  its  youth  and  freshness  was  enriched  with  a  blessed  and 
ever-blessing  joy. 

Alas  !  alas !  that  this  little  period  of  human  life  is  rounded  up 
so  soon !  that  when  its  silken  threads  are  drawn  tightly  together 
at  last,  and  the  single  twist  is  severed  by  the  fateful  shears  with 
their  remorseless  clip,  so  little  of  the  exuberant  richness  of  youth 
is  left  to  rill  down  through  rocky  trials  and  perplexities  into  the 
broader  meadows  of  manhood  and  active  exertion ! 

We  none  of  us  know  what  is  in  store  for  us,  it  is  true ;  but  we 
cannot  be  defrauded  of  what  has  been.  The  Past  we  may  not 
utterly  give  over.  What  is  beautiful  —  what  is  good  —  what  is 
simple  and  fresh  and  true  in  that,  is  ours  to  enrich  the  remainder 
of  our  lives.  We  try  to  look  into  the  future  ;  and  even  with  hope 
and  faith  brightening  all  like  an  illuminated  record,  we  still  sigh  in 
secret  over  the  recollection  of  a  dear  joy  which  will  never,  never 
come  back  to  us  again. 

The  old  homestead,  with  every  object  about  it,  is  newly  hallowed 
by  the  pledges  of  the  early  love.     The  low  porch,  thatched  and 


544  THE  FIRST  LOVE, 

frilled  with  the  ancient  woodbine ;  the  familiar  garden  walks ; 
the  single  great  elm  before  the  windows  on  the  turfy  carpet ;  the 
pretty  patch  of  woodland,  but  a  stone*s  throw  away ;  the  little  roar- 
ing river  hard  by,  vexed  with  its  eddies  and  whirlpools.;  the  rustic 
seats  under  the  trees,  the  orchard,  a  fairy  wilderness  of  blossoms 
in  May,  —  each  comes  in,  in  its  proper  turn,  to  add  form  and 
expression  to  the  newly  born  experience,  to  give  it  environment 
and  fixedness  of  locality,  and  to  domesticate  and  perpetuate  it  in 
the  heart  by  the  simple  force  of  its  surroundings.  The  young 
love  that  breaks  out  into  life  in  the  midst  of  external  objects  like 
these,  in  the  sweet  contentment  of  rurality,  among  the  leaves  and 
flowers,  and  musical  sounds  of  winds  and  birds  and  waters,  cannot 
but  be  deep,  cannot  but  be  broad,  cannot  but  be  a  perennial  foun- 
tain, to  overflow  and  keep  green  the  life  around  it  forever. 

Let  none  of  us  set  ourselves  up  to  despise  these  "small  things." 
They  are  the  very  things  which  are  fullest  of  lasting  meaning.  If 
there  be  little  Love  in  life,  then  the  life  itself  is  inevitably  little 
and  shallow.  The  earlier,  therefore,  this  inspiring  and  nourishing 
passion  is  awakened  within  us,  the  sooner  are  all  the  hidden  forces 
of  the  being  started  into  harmonious  activity.  It  is  marvellous 
indeed,  what  a  measureless  flow  of  living  energy  gushes  forth  the 
moment  this  magic  staff  of  Love  touches  the  solid  rock  of  the 
sealed-up  nature.  For  love,  men  can  work  always  and  never  feel 
tired.  For  love,  they  can  undergo  privations  joyfully,  and  cross 
trackless  wastes  of  trial  without  a  thought  of  repining  or  fear. 
This  is  the  true  inspiration,  — this  the  genuine  madness  by  which 
they  come  to  find  themselves  out. 

He  who  loves  not,  cannot  be  said  as  yet  to  live ;  and  he  who 
has  not  loved  in  the  flush  and  glory  of  his  youth,  when  sense  and 
sentiment  were  sending  their  full  tides  alternately  through  all  the 
channels  of  his  being,  has  been  shorn  of  that  marginal  verdure  to 
his  life  here  for  which  he  may  bid  the  highest  prices  afterward  in 
the  world's  market,  and  always  bid  in  vain. 


APRIL    ON   THE  FARM. 


APRIL    ON    THE    FARM. 
Bv  ALFRED  HENRY   I'ETERS. 

Scar;:e  sure  of  Winter's  death. 

Whose  malice  sdll  the  north  exposure  feels, 
The  timid  South  Wind,  with  its  quickening  breath, 

Soft  through  the  valley  steals. 

Eager  from  stable  door, 

The  lowing  herd  out  from  the  pent  yard  pass, 
With  gladsome  haste  :  the  nearest  fields  explore, 

.And  crop  the  twinkling  grass. 

In  long  proces.sion  stnmg, 

The  wary  crows  their  vernal  flight  pursue. 
Or  riotous  assembly  hold  among 

Lone  woods  remote  from  mew. 

Where  ripened  iast  year's  maize. 

Round  oblong  strip,  diminishing  in  size, 

The  plowman,  shunning  where  the  frost  delays. 
His  rusty  plowshare  tries. 

.\  subtile  spirit,  rife, 

U'er  all  the  waking  earth  doth  brood  ; 
Nor  may  man,  beast,  or  plant,  or  aughl  with  life. 

Resist  it  though  they  would. 

I  rlimb  the  neighboring  hill. 

To  watch  the  vapor  from  the  moist  earth  rise  ; 
And  by  its  wreath  o'er  rivulet  ami  riJl 

Their  courses  recognize. 

Inconstant  month  !  the  j'ear 

On  thee  bestows  her  most  capricious  part, — 
Among  thy  sistere,  fitful,  insincere — 

A  wayward  child  thou  art. 

Thine,  .\pril,  is  our  lot, — 

Whose  tranquil  air  and  sunshine  of  to-day  — 
Whether  to-morrow's  storm  be  worth  or  not. 

It  puzzleth  me  to  say. 


THE  MAINE  STATE  COLLEGE. 


NEW  ENGLAND  EDUCATIONAL   INSTITUTIONS. 


VIII.  — THE    MAINE    STATE     COLLEGE    OF    AGRICULTURE     AND 

THr;  MECHANIC  ARTS. 

Bv  I'KEsiJiENT  M.  C  FERNALD. 

The  history  of  the  Maine  State  College  can  be  regarded  as  in 
no  sense  peculiar.  It  makes  claim  to  no  distinction  above  that  of 
other  institutions  of  its  class. 

Like  most  of  them,  it 
has  experienced  the  won- 
ted mutations  of  fortune 
or  condition,  has  known 
dark  days  and  bright  days, 
and,  like  them  also,  it  has 
maintained,  through  all 
its  vicissitudes,  its  obli- 
gations unimpaired,  and 
kept  steadfast  faith  in  the 
future. 

Coming  into  existence 
ill  virtue  of  the  Act  of 
Congress  of  1862,  per- 
taining to  land-grant  col- 
leges, it  has  derived  its 
principal  endowment  from 
the  sale  of  the  land  to 
which,  under  this  act, 
was  entitled. 
Unfortunately  for  its  financial  status,  this  land,  amounting  for 
the  State  of  Maine  to  210,000  acres,  was  put  on  the  market  when 
prices  for  land  unlocated  were  simply  nominal.  In  i856,  by 
authority  of  the  State  legislature,  all  the  land,  except  16,300  acres, 
was  sold  by  the  Governor,  Hon.  Samuel  Cony,  and  his  Executive 
Council,  for  about  fifty-three  cents  per  acre.  In  1870  the  remain-, 
ing  16,200  acres  were  sold  by  Governor  Chamberlain  for  eighty*  ■ 

Note. — The  editors  have  taken  the  liberty  of  inserting  the  portrait  of  Mr. 
Fernald  in  hi.i  article. 


THE    MA  LYE   STATE   COLLEGE.  547 

four  cents  per  acre.  The  amount  received  from  the  sale  of  land 
(Si  18,300)  is  invested  in  State  of  Maine  bonds  bearing  interest  at 
the  rate  of  six  per  centum.  To  this  funti  $13,000  of  accumulated 
interest  have  been  added,  making  the  total  interest-bearing  fund 
8131.300. 

By  will  of  the  late  ex-Governor  Abner  Coburn,  of  Skowhegan, 
Maine,  provision  is  made  for  the  increase  of  the  endowment  fund 
by  gioo.ooo,  —  a  munificent  gift,  which  will  not  only  furnish  a 
valuable  addition  to  the  resources  of  the  College,  hut  will  consti- 
tute a  permanent  testimonial  to  Governor  Coburn's  intelligent  and 
philanthropic  interest  in  the  cause  of  industrial  education. 

The  site  of  the  College  is  an  attractive  one.  The  farm  on  which 
it  is  located  borders  on  the  Stillwater  River,  one  mile  from  the 
pleasant  village  of  Orono  and  nine  miles  from  the  thriving  city  of 
Bangor.  It  embraces  376  acres  of  land,  affording  a  variety  of  soi! 
for  experimental  purposes.  This  farm, — originally  consisting  of 
two  farms,  now  united  into  one,  — costing  gn.ooo,  was  given  to 
the  State  by  the  towns  of  Orono  and  Oldtown. 

It  may  not  be  generally  known  even  by  the  people  of  Maine, 
that  the  College  is  located  on  an  island,  — not  that  on  which  the 
Penobscot  tribe  of  Indians  has  its  home,  but  the  one  on  which  the 
village  of  Oldtown,  three  miles  distant,  is  also  situated,  —  an  island 
enclosed  between  the  Penobscot  River  and  the  Stillwater  River, 
which,  flowing  from  the  Penobscot  above  Oldtown  and  returning 
to  it  at  Orono,  is  both  a  branch  and  a  tributary  of  it.  The  Maine 
Central  Railroad,  passing  within  one  mile  of  the  College,  renders 
it  easily  accessible  from  all  parts  of  the  State. 

When  the  writer  came  to  Orono  in  August,  1868,  there  were  on 
the  College  premises  two  sets  of  farm  buildings  and  what  is  now 
termed  "White  Hall,"  which  was  the  only  building  for  class 
purposes  and  for  the  dormitory  of  the  new  institution.  The 
grounds  in  front  and  around  this  hall  were  rough  and  ungraded, 
and  bore  little  resemblance  to  the  present  beautiful  campus. 
White  Hall  is  a  three-storied  wooden  structure,  semi-gothic  in 
style,  its  upper  story  devoted  to  rooms  for  students  and  its  lower 
stories  to  class-rooms  and  to  rooms  for  the  departments  of  Civil 
Engineering  and  Natural  History.  The  other  principal  buildings 
are  the  Chemical  Laboratory  and  Birch  Hall.  The  former  was 
completed  in  1870,  the  latter  in  r87l.  The  Laboratory  {modelled 
after  the  Chemical  Laboratory  of  Brown  University,  Providence, 


THE  MAINE  STATE  COLLEGE,  549 

R.  I.),  is  a  two-storied  brick  building,  with  an  ell  of  one  story  used 
for  a  working  laboratory.  The  whole  building  is  admirably  adapted 
to  the  needs  of  the  chemical  department.  In  it  may  also  be  found 
physical  apparatus,  a  mineralogical  cabinet,  and  one  room  devoted 
to  library  purposes.  A  part  of  the  ell,  separated  by  partition  from 
the  main  portion,  constitutes  the  analytical  room  of  the  State 
Experiment  Station. 

Birch  Hall  is  a  four-storied  building  containing  forty-eight 
rooms,  and  is  used  as  a  dormitory.  In  the  rear  of  this  hall,  and 
connected  with  it  by  a  corridor,  is  the  boarding-house,  a  two-storied 
wooden  building,  in  which  is  the  college  dining-hall. 

Among  the  principal  buildings,  the  new  shop  should  also  be 
included.  This  is  a  plain  wooden  structure,  erected  in  1883,  and 
furnishes  a  home  for  the  mechanical  department.  The  main 
building  is  56  X  36  feetj  two  stories  in  height,  and  contains  on  the 
first  floor,  machine-room,  filing-room,  engine-room,  wash-room, 
and  tool-room  ;  on  the  second  floor,  wood-working-room,  drawing- 
room,  and  recitation-room  ;  the  ell,  56  X  24  feet,  one  story  in  height, 
with  monitor  roof,  containing  a  forge-room  and  foundry-room.  In 
the  development  of  the  system  of  shop  instruction,  filing,  forging, 
and  wood-working,  including  wood-turning,  are  now  taught. 

Besides  the  buildings  which  have  been  noticed,  there  are  on  the 
college  grounds,  the  president's  house,  three  professors'  houses, 
one  society  hall,  and  a  commodious  set  of  farm  buildings,  compris- 
ing a  house,  three  barns,  and  other  out-buildings. 

The  value  of  the  college  property  in  buildings  is  $125,000; 
value  of  library,  1^7,000;  of  apparatus,  $15,000;  of  farm,  tools, 
stock,  carriages,  and  furniture,  $18,000 ;  making  a  total  of  $165,000' 
This  sum,  with  the  endowment  fund,  including  the  prospective 
addition  from  the  estate  of  the  late  ex-Governor  Coburn,  makes 
the  entire  moneyed  interest  of  the  institution  approximately 
$400,000.  Although  this  amount  is  not  large  when  compared 
with  the  ample  resources  of  many  like  institutions  in  more  popu- 
lous and  wealthier  States,  it  is  large  enough,  when  we  consider  all 
the  circumstances  of  its  growth  to  its  present  magnitude,  to  incite 
all  friends  of  the  college  to  renewed  efforts  in  its  behalf,  large 
enough  to  furnish  a  fair  foundation  on  which  to  build  a  superstruc- 
ture of  no  mean  proportions  in  the  future. 

The  bounty  of  the  State  to  the  College  is  shown  by  the  following 
record  of  legislative  appropriations  for  its  aid  :  — 


550 


THE  MAINE  STATE  COLLEGE. 


i867  .  . 

>  .  $20,000 

1874  .  . 

.  $12,500 

1881  1 .  . 

.  .   $3,500 

1868  .  . 

,  .   10,000 

1875  .  . 

10,500 

1883  . 

.  .   13.000 

1870  .  . 

.  .   50,000 

1876  .  . 

8,000 

1885  . 

.  .   12,400 

1871  .  . 

.  .   6,000 

1877  .  . 

.   15,218 

1887  . 

.  .   34,600 

1872  .  . 

.  .   18,000 

1878  .  . 

6,500 

• 

1873  .  ' 

.  .   24,000 

1880  .  . 

3,000 

Total  . 

.  .  $247,218 

The  early  appropriations  were  largely  devoted  to  the  construc- 
tion of  three  of  the  principal  buildings.  In  fact,  the  larger  part 
of  the  entire  appropriations  by  the  State,  excepting  that  of  1887 
(which  is  unexpended)  has  gone  into  buildings,  all  of  which  are  on 
the  college  grounds  and  in  good  condition,  and  into  apparatus  and 
other  equipments  designed  to  render  the  work  of  instruction  effi- 
cient and  valuable.  For  supplementing  the  proceeds  of  the 
endowment  fund  and  the  receipts  from  tuition,  the  drafts  made 
upon  the  State  appropriations  in  payment  of  salaries  and  other 
general  expenses  have  averaged  but  little  above  three  thousand 
dollars  a  year. 

In  her  fostering  care  for  all  of  her  institutions,  Maine,  com- 
pared with  many  of  her  sister  States,  can  be  said  to  have  been 
only  fairly  generous,  not  lavish,  in  expenditure  upon  her  State 
college.  She  manifests,  however,  a  constant  and  abiding  interest 
in  its  welfare,  and,  with  continued  and  increasing  prosperity,  may 
confidently  be  relied  upon  to  provide  other  buildings  as  they 
shall  be  needed,  and  to  furnish  the  means  of  further  strengthening 
and  developing  all  the  growing  departments  of  the  college. 

In  this  connection,  reference  should  be  made  also  to  the  bounty 
of  individuals.  Before  the  college  was  opened  to  students,  citizens 
of  Bangor  gave  to  it  $12,000 ;  and  since  the  admission  of  students 
in  1868,  it  has  been  each  year  the  ^recipient,  in  one  form  or 
another,  of  individual  favor  and  bounty.  Ex-Governor  Cobum, 
whose  munificence  has  already  been  cited,  was  especially  help- 
ful by  the  bestowal  of  timely  gifts,  and  thus  frequently  tided 
a  department  over  a  hard  place,  or  came  to  the  assistance  of  the 
college  when  in  extremity. 

It  is  not,  however,  the  endowment,  not  the  buildings,  —  indis- 
pensable as  they  are,  —  not  the  bounty  of  the  State  or  of  individuals, 
nor  all  of  these  combined,  that  determine  the  life  and  character  of 
an  institution.  Without  some  or  all  of  these  aids,  it  is  true,  the 
institution  may  not  exist ;  but  with  them  all,  it  may  prove  a  fail- 
ure, and  all  its  work  may  come  to  naught. 


*  Since  1881  legislative  sessions  have  been  biennial. 


THE  MAINE  STATE  COLLEGE.  551 

For  its  real  life,  it  is  much  more  dependent  upon  the  energy 
and  spirit  of  those  who  administer  its  affairs,  upon  the  fidelity  and 
genius  of  those  who  fill  offices  of  instruction ;  upon  the  purpose 
and  quality  of  those  who  seek  instruction  and  guidance  ;  and, 
especially,  upon  the  harmonious  working  together  of  all  these 
elements,  inasmuch  as  they  are  the  potent  factors  in  an  institu- 
tion's permanent  upbuilding  and  success. 

In  this  last  regard,  the  Maine  State  College  has  been  excep- 
tionally fortunate.  Its  growth,  therefore,  although  less  vigorous 
and  ample  than  its  friends  could  desire,  has  been  an  entirely 
healthy  growth  ;  and  its  promise  and  outlook  are  regarded  as  in  a 
high  degree  encouraging. 

The  first  class,  numbering  twelve  students,  was  admitted  Sept. 
14,  1868.  Samuel  Johnson,  A.M.,  had  been  chosen  Farm 
Superintendent  and  Instructor  in  Agriculture,  and  the  writer  of 
this  article.  Professor  of  Mathematics.  With  this  small  force  of 
faculty  and  pupils  the  College  entered  upon  the  first  term  of  its 
organized  existence,  —  Mr.  Johnson  attending  to  the  duties  of  the 
farm  and  to  instruction  in  farm  processes,  and  the  writer  to  the 
duties  of  the  class-room.  In  the  service  of  instruction,  one  of  the 
memorable  events  of  the  first  year  was  a  course  of  lectures  on 
physiology,  by  the  late  Dr.  Calvin  Cutter,  of  Massachusetts.  At 
the  beginning  of  the  second  year,  Stephen  F.  Peckham,  A.M.,  of 
Rhode  Island,  a  graduate  of  Brown  University,  was  added  to  the 
Faculty  in  the  capacity  of  professor  of  Chemistry.  A  little  later, 
Mr.  John  Swift,  a  graduate  of  the  Agricultural  College  of  Michigan, 
came  as  instructor  in  Botany  and  Horticulture. 

In  the  formative  period  of  the  College  before  the  several  depart- 
ments were  filled  with  permanent  officers,  lecturers  were  called  in 
as  occasions  arose  to  give  instruction  on  special  topics.  Additions 
were  thus  frequently  made  to  the  force  of  instruction,  so  that  by 
the  close  of  the  year  1870  no  less  than  eleven  different  persons  ' 
were  connected,  in  one  capacity  or  another,  with  the  Faculty,  as 
shown  by  the  catalogue  issued  with  the  college  report  for  that 
year.  The  catalogue  bears  date,  January,  1871.  From  it  the  fol- 
lowing list  of  instructors  is  copied  :  —  Faculty :  Merritt  C.  Fernald, 
A.M.,  Acting  President  and  Professor  of  Mathematics  and  Physics ; 
Samuel  Johnson,  A.M.,  Farm  Superintendent  and  Instructor  in 
Agriculture;  Stephen  F.  Peckham,  A.M.,  Professor  of  Chemistry; 
John  Swift,  B.S.,  Instructor  in  Botany  and   Horticulture ;  Mrs. 


552  THE  MAI.VE   STATE   COLLEGE. 

Marv  L.  Femald,  Instructor  in  French  and  German ;  Calvin 
Cutter,  M.D.,  Lecturer  on  Anatomy,  Physiology,  and  Hygiene; 
Cor\(ion  B.  Lakin  (Principal  ot  Commercial  College,  Bangor), 
Instractor  in  Bookkeeping  and  Commercial  Forms  ;  X.  A.  \Vil- 
lard,  A.M.,  Lecturer  on  Dairy  Farming;  A.  S.  Packard,  Jr.,  M.D., 
Lecturer  on  L'seful  and  Injurious  Insects ;  James  J.  H.  Gregory, 
A.M.,  Lecturer  on  Market  Farming  and  Gardening;  Prof.  E.  S. 
Morse,  Lecturer  on  Comparative  Anatomy  and  Zoology.  Military 
instruction  (required  by  the  Endowment  Act)  had  been  given  by 
Capt.  Henry  E.  Sellers,  of  Bangor. 

Hitherto,  the  College  could  not  be  regarded  as  resting  on  a 
secure  basis,  inasmuch  as  the  title  tt>  the  college  grounds,  and  the 
buiklin::^s  upon  them,  had  been  in  controversy.  The  deed  convey- 
ing to  the  State  the  farms  presented  by  the  towns  of  Orono  and 
OUitown,  as  a  site  for  the  College,  contained  a  reversion  clause,  by 
which  under  certain  conditirms  the  property  might  be  lost  to  the 
State.  This  clau.se  was  not  sati.sfactory  to  the  Legislature,  and, 
early  in  i860,  in  i-Tanring  an  appropriation  of  $28,0(X)  to  the  Col- 
lege, the  vivte  was  accompanied  by  a  provision  that  the  reversion 
clause  sh«)uld  be  sr.»  changed  that  the  title  to  the  property  should 
be  valid  in  the  State. 

The  required  change  was  not  made  in  1869  ;  the  money  appro- 
priated could  nrjt  be  drawn,  but  reverted  to  the  State  Treasury. 
Early  in  [870  the  sum  oi  S-8.0C0  was  appropriated  by  the  Legis- 
lature, with  322,000  additional,  making  the  total  appropriation 
$50,000,  but  conditio netl  up<m  the  same  change  of  deed  as  was 
requir-ed  the  previous  year.  Before  the  close  of  1870  the  necessary 
chan::e  of  title  had  been  jftected,  the  monev  had  been  drawn,  and 
the  \V'";rk  of  constructi'jn  of  net^deri  buildings  was  rapidly  going 
forwarl.  B\'  the  end  oi  the  third  college  year  {i.e..  August.  1871) 
the  Chemical  Laboratory  had  been  ompieted,  the  Iar;^e  dormitory, 
Biri:h  Hall,  had  been  onstracted,  an-I  the  boarding-house,  with 
its  ■:;>n"imr..:i*v.is  <iining-hall,  wa.^  ready  f -.-r  the  reception  ot  students. 

The  three  vears  fr^m  1868  ti>  1871  constituted  the  most 
trvin^'  period  in  the  hi.storv  't  this  inst:tuti')n-  At  their  close, 
que^^ti';^.s  of  title  an'.i  of  nurmanency  oi  the  institution,  which 
had  bt:en  so  embarrassing  t-)  Trustees  and  Faculty,  were  now, 
happiiv.  questi'jns  «:'f  the  past.  A  new  an«i  more  auspicious 
era  ser:mcd  t'>  be  dawning-  upon  the  struggling  College.  At 
this    point    in    its    history-   the   writer,    who,    chosen    to   a   pro- 


THE  MAINE  STATE  COLLEGE,  553 

fessorship,  had  served  also  as  Acting  President  during  the 
three  years  under  notice,  requested  relief  from  the  extra  duties. 
This  relief  was  granted,  and  a  reorganization  of  the  Faculty 
effected ;  so  that  at  the  beginning  of  the  next  college  year 
it  was  constituted  as  shown  below :  — 

Rev.  Charles  F.  Allen,^  A.M.,  President  and  Professor  of 
English  Literature,  Mental  and  Moral  Science ;  Merritt  C. 
Fernald,  A.M.,  Professor  of  Mathematics  and  Physics;  Robert 
L.  Packard,  A.M.,  Professor  of  Chemistry,  French,  and  German  ; 
William  A.  Pike,  C.E.,  Professor  of  Civil  Engineering;  Charles 
H.  Fernald,  A.M.,  Professor  of  Natural  History ;  Joseph  R. 
Farrington,  Farm  Superintendent;  X.  A.  Willard,  A.M.,  Lec- 
turer on  Dairy  Farming ;  James  J.  H.  Gregory,  A.M.,  Lecturer 
on  Market  Farming  and  Gardening ;  Captain  James  Deane, 
Military  Instructor ;  John  Perley,  Instructor  in  Bookkeeping  and 
Commercial  Forms. 

The  settled  condition  of  the  affairs  of  the  College  was  followed 
by  a  considerable  increase  in  the  number  of  students,  the  highest 
figures  in  this  regard  being  attained  in  1874-5,  when  the  number 
catalogued  was  121.  •  Rev.  Dr.  Allen  brought  to  the  College 
generous  culture  of  mind  and  heart  and  an  earnest  purpose  to 
strengthen  and  elevate  all  its  departments.  His  presidency, 
extending  from  August,  1871,  to  the  close  of  the  year  1878, 
was  one  of  general  prosperity  to  the  College.  In  March,  1879, 
the  writer  was  chosen  as  successor  to  Dr.  Allen,  and  has  held 
the  position  to  which  he  was  then  elected  since  that  date. 

From  the  beginning  of  President  Allen's  administration  in  1871 
to  the  present  time,  the  changes  in  the  Faculty  have  been  gradual, 
and  yet  this  period  of  sixteen  years  has  sufficed  to  furnish  new 
men  at  the  head  of  every  department  of  the  College,  as  shown  by 
comparing  the  composition  of  the  Faculty  in  1871  with  that  at 
date  as  follows :  Merritt  C.  Fernald,  A.M.,  Ph.  D.,  President 
and  Professor  of  Physics  and  Mental  and  Moral  Science ;  Alfred 
B.  Aubcrt,  B.S.,  Professor  of  Chemistry,  and  Secretary  of  the 
Faculty;  Frank  L.  Harvey,^  B.S.,  Professor  of  Natural  History; 
George  H.  Hamlin,  C.E.,  Professor  of  Civil  Engineering;  Allen 
E.  Rogers,  A.M.,  Professor  of  Modern  Languages,  Logic,  and 
Political  Economy,  and  Librarian;  Walter  Balentine,  M.S.,  Pro- 

1  The  degree  of  Doctor  of  Divinity  was  conferred  upon  Rev.  Mr.  Allen  by  two  institutions  in  1872. 
'  Successor  to    Professor  C.  H.  Fernald,  who  ably  filled  the  chair  of  Natural  History,  from  Sep- 
tember, 187 1,  to  July,  z886. 


554  THE  MAINE  STATE  COLLEGE. 

fessor  of  Agriculture ;  Walter  Flint,^  M.E.,  Instructor  in  Mechani- 
cal Engineering,  and  Registrar;  James  N.  Hart,  B.C.E.,  Instructor 
in  Mathematics  and  Drawing;  Lieut.  Charles  L.  Phillips,  4th 
U.  S.  Artillery,  Professor  of  Military  Science  and  Tactics ;  How- 
ard S.  Webb,  Instructor  in  Shop  Work ;  Gilbert  M.  Crowell,  Farm 
Superintendent. 

The  College  has  been  fortunate  in  the  fidelity  and  pennanency 
of  its  Trustees,  if  the  latter  term  may  be  applied  to  a  body  of 
men  subject  to  change  by  annual  appointment  as  terms  of  office 
expire.  Hon.  Lyndon  Oak,  of  Garland,  now  president  of  the 
Board,  has  been  a  member  of  it  continuously  since  1867;  and 
from  his  thorough  acquaintance  with  the  entire  history  of  the 
College  and  his  sound  and  practical  judgment,  his  services  to  it 
have  been  and  are  invaluable.  Hon.  William  P.  Wingate  of  Ban- 
gor, who  for  several  years  was  president  of  the  Board,  served  the 
College  faithfully  as  a  trustee  from  1867  to  1884,  when  he  was 
precluded  from  re-appointment  by  a  statute  limitation  of  age. 
Hon.  Abner  Coburn,  of  Skowhegan,  was  president  of  the  Board 
for  twelve  years,  from  1867  to  1879. 

Did  space  allow,  it  would  be  a  grateful  labor  to  make  record  of 
the  names  and  services  of  the  other  members  of  the  Board,  past 
and  present,  and  to  bear  testimony  to  the  zeal  and  efficiency  with 
which  they  have  discharged  the  duties  of  the  important  post  con- 
fided to  them.  It  should  be  stated  that  the  original  Board  con- 
sisted of  sixteen  members,  one  for  each  county  in  the  State,  and 
that  as  early  as  1867  they  all  resigned  to  give  place  to  a  smaller 
Board,  consisting  of  seven  members,  appointed  by  the  Governor. 
Subsequently,  the  Secretary  of  the  Board  of  Agriculture  became 
by  law  a  member  of  the  Board,  ex  officio ;  and  four  years  ago  the 
Alumni  were  authorized  by  law  to  name  one  of  their  number  for 
appointment  in  the  Board.  Thus,  at  the  present  time,  the  Board 
consists  of  nine  members,  —  seven  appointed  by  the  Governor, 
each  for  a  term  of  seven  years ;  one  a  member  in  virtue  of  his 
office  ;  and  one  named  for  appointment  by  the  Alumni,  the  term  of 
whose  office  is  three  years. 

The  number  of  graduates  is  238,  including  219  men  and  19 
women.  The  number  of  students  who  have  pursued  special  or 
partial  courses,  extending  through  periods  varying  from  one  term 

*  Successor  to  Professor  C.  H.  Benjamin,  in  charge  of  the  department  of  Mechanical  Engineering, 
from  August,  1880,  to  January,  1887. 


THE  MAINE  STATE  COLLEGE,  555 

to  three  and  a  half  years,  averaging  one  and  a  half  years  for  each, 
is  263.  These  numbers  do  not  include  the  112  students  now  in 
attendance  upon  the  institution.  It  thus  appears  that  613  students 
have  enjoyed  or  are  now  enjoying  the  benefijts  of  the  courses  of 
instruction  offered  by  this  College. 

The  regular  courses  are  five  in  number,  viz.  :  Agriculture,  Civil 
Engineering,  Mechanical  Engineering,  Chemistry,  and  Science 
and  Literature  ;  each  requiring  four  years  for  its  completion.  The 
courses  in  Agriculture,  Chemistry,  and  Science  and  Literature  lead 
to  the  degree  of  Bachelor  of  Science  ;  the  course  in  Civil  Engineer- 
ing to  the  degree  of  Bachelor  of  Civil  Engineering  ;  and  the  course 
in  Mechanical  Engineering  to  the  degree  of  Bachelor  of  Mechanical 
Engineering.  Three  years  after  graduation,  on  proof  of  profes- 
sional work  or  study,  and  on  presentation  of  a  satisfactory  thesis, 
the  second  or  higher  degree  can  be  obtained. 

Tuition  was  free  until  188 1,  when  a  moderate  tuition  of  thirty 
dollars  a  year  was  imposed,  as  required  by  a  law  of  the  State 
enacted  in  1879.  The  College  lost  no  students  then  in  attendance 
in  consequence  of  the  enforcement  of  the  statute ;  but  the  number 
of  admissions  to  the  several  classes  since  1881  has  been  clearly 
less  than  it  would  have  been  under  free  tuition.  This  number  is 
now  increasing  from  year  to  year,  and,  in  a  short  time,  it  may 
reasonably  be  expected  that  the  effect  of  this  requirement  upon 
the  number  of  students  will  scarcely  be  perceptible.  A  more 
serious  question,  which  bids  fair,  soon,  to  confront  the  officers  of 
the  College,  is  that  of  space  for  the  accommodation  of  those  seek- 
ing admission  to  its  classes. 

Expenses  are  moderate.  Board  in  the  College  dining-hall  is 
two  dollars  and  sixty  cents  per  week,  for  thirty-six  weeks  in  the 
year.  The  heating  of  rooms,  principally  by  steam,  costs  about 
twenty  dollars  a  year  for  each  room.  For  mechanical  students, 
the  course  of  instruction  in  the  vise  shop  costs  ten  dollars ;  in  the 
forge  shop,  nine  dollars  ;  and  in  the  wood  shop,  four  dollars.  Stu- 
dents in  the  Chemical  Laboratory  pay  for  injury  to  apparatus,  for 
glass-ware  broken,  and  for  chemicals  used.  The  charges  indicated, 
together  with  pay  for  books  and  incidental  items,  make  the  needful 
term  expenses  at  the  college  approximately  two  hundred  dollars  a 
year.  At  military  drill  students  wear  a  uniform  which  may  be  and 
is  also  generally  worn  at  the  class-room  exercises. 

The  long  vacation  is  in  the  winter,  affording  an  opportunity  for 


5S6  THE  MAINE   STATE   COLLEGE. 

students  to  teach  —  an  opportunity  of  which  fully  sixty  per  cent 
avail  themselves  each  year.  The  two  terms  of  the  year  are  so 
arranged  that  the  short  vacation  includes  the  month  of  July,  when 
many  students  find. remunerative  employment  in  the  haying  field. 
It  thus  comes  about  that  many  students  pay  the  larger  part  of 
their  expenses  from  earnings  while  in  college.  Compensation  is 
made  for  ordinary  work  by  students,  on  the  farm  and  about  the 
college  buildings,  but  the  amount  from  this  source  is  and  must  be 
small,  inasmuch  as  nearly  all  the  labor  in  the  field,  in  the  shop,  in 
the  laboratory,  and  in  the  drawing  rooms  is  educational,  and  there- 
fore without  direct  pecuniary  compensation. 

The  extent  to  which  the  Alumni  have  engaged  in  the  substantial 
industries,  and  their  excellent  standing  wherever  known,  are 
regarded  as  occasions  of  just  pride  by  all  friends  of  the  College. 
Of  the  222  graduates  prior  to  1886,  210  are  now  living.  The  fol- 
lowing table  gives  their  occupation  and  the  relative  percentage  in 
each  calling :  — 

Per-  Per- 

Number.      centage.  Number,    centage. 

Farmers 18  9            Lawyers 11  5 

Specialists  in  Agricul-  Clergymen     ....  2  i 

ture  ^ II  5             Editors 3  i 

U.  S.  Signal  Service    .  4  2  Commercial  Business,  14  7 

Civil  Engineers .     .     .  38  18  Teachers^      ....  30  14 

Mechanical  Engineers,  22  11  Miscellaneous  and  Un- 

Manufacturers    ...  15  7                known 30  14 

Druggists 6  3                                                    

Physicians     ....  6  3            Totals 210  100 

From  the  foregoing  table  it  appears  that  only  nine  per  cent  of 
the  graduates  are  engaged  in  the  so-called  professions,  and  that 
ninety-one  per  cent  are  engaged  in  varied  and  largely  practical 
industries.  Fourteen  per  cent  are  engaged  either  in  farming  or  in 
some  of  the  higher  forms  of  service  in  agriculture,  twenty-nine 
per  cent  in  civil  and  mechanical  engineering,  and  seven  per  cent 
in  manufactures ;  making  fifty  per  cent  in  these  four  very  impor- 
tant vocations  of  industrial  life.  Of  the  sixty  classed  in  the  table, 
under  the  head  of  **  Teachers  "  and  "  Miscellaneous  and  Unknown," 
many  will  find  their  permanent  places  in  some  of  the  other  occu- 
pations named. 

»  Including  one  Professor  of  Agriculture,  one  Director  of  Agricultural  Experiment  Sution,  five  As- 
sistants in  Agricultural  Experiment  Stations,  one  Editor  Agricultural  Paper,  two  Veterinary  Surgeons, 
one  Botanist  in  U.  S.  Department  of  Agriculture. 

*  Among  the  teachers  are  two  college  professors. 


THE  MAINE  STATE   COLLEGE,  SS7 

The  farm  connected  with  the  College  furnishes  lessons  in  the 
best  methods  of  agricultural  practice,  and  is  designed  to  be  so 
conducted  as  to  be  an  educational  appliance  of  the  institution, 
especially  for  students  in  the  Agricultural  Course.  At  present 
most  of  the  experiments  conducted  upon  it  are  under  the  direction 
of  the  State  Agricultural  Experiment  Station,  located  at  the 
College. 

In  government,  a  system  of  co-operation  has  been  maintained 
for  the  past  twelve  or  more  years,  by  which  a  measure  of  responsi- 
bility for  good  order  and  upright  conduct  has  been  lodged  with  the 
students  themselves.  They  have  respected  the  trust,  and  the 
system  has  proved  valuable. 

It  is  pleasant  to  be  able  to  state  that  the  relations  existing 
between  the  College  and  the  town  in  which  it  is  located  are  of 
the  most  cordial  character.  It  is  pleasant  also  to  have  reason 
to  believe,  from  unmistakable  indications  and  positive  assuran- 
ces, that,  in  proportion  as  its  aims,  its  methods  and  their  re- 
sults are  understood,  its  work  is  appreciated  ;  and  that  thus,  in 
widening  circles,  sentiment  is  constantly  forming  in  its  favor.  Its 
future  is  full  of  promise. 

The  legislation  of  the  past  winter  —  both  State  and  National  — 
has  been  highly  propitious  for  the  College.  The  sum  of  $25,000 
recently  appropriated  by  the  State,  for  a  building  of  Natural  His- 
tory and  Agriculture,  insures  greater  prominence  for  at  least  two 
of  its  important  departments.  The  passage  of  the  Hatch  Bill  by 
Congress  (approved  March  2,  1887)  assures  for  this  in  common 
with  the  other  land-grant  colleges  the  sum  of  $15,000  per  annum 
for  experimental  purposes. 

Its  proper  future  development,  however,,  requires  much  yet  to  be 
done.  As  the  years  go  by,  other  buildings  will  be  needed,  and 
larger  endowment  funds.  As  has  been  the  case  in  the  past,  so  in 
the  future  there  will  be  needed  the  generous  bounty  of  individuals 
and  the  fostering  care  of  the  State.  On  the  part  of  those  filling 
offices  of  instruction,  there  will  be  needed  still  an  abiding  spirit  of 
consecration  to  its  high  interests ;  and  likewise  the  continued  de- 
votion of  trustees.  Alumni,  and  all  its  other  friends.  Thus  sus- 
tained, it  may  be  expected  to  justify  in  fullest  measure,  the  wis- 
dom of  its  establishment,  and  to  confer  unnumbered  benefits  upon 
the  sons  and  daughters  of  the  State  whose  name  it  bears. 


558  AN  EASTER   OFFERING. 


AN   EASTER   OFFERING. 

[in  M£M0RY  of  a   B£L0V£IJ   SISTER.] 

By  ARTHUR  ELWELL  JENKS. 

Thk  minor  chords  of  human  life, 
All  strange  unrest  of  worldly  strife, 

The  clarion  call  to  duty,  and 
The  crosses  that  we  meekly  bear 
In  silent  ])atience  everywhere, 

Are  mercies  of  the  Hidden  Hand  ! 

( iod  knows  it  all  —  our  wills  to  be 
Far  better  than  we  are  ;  to  see 

His  guidance  as  we  journey  still. 
I  know  the  discipline  of  grief 
Is  for  our  good  ;  that  sweet  relief 

C'omes  with  allegiance  to  His  will. 

The  chilly  winds  of  March  are  gone  — 
The  shrill  pipe  of  the  Winter  morn 

Is  broken  in  the  clasp  of  Spring  ! 
And  he  whose  heart  is  tuned  to  praise, 
Shall  gather  from  these  April  days, 

The  fniit  of  Nature's  offering. 

In  homes  where  love  has  known  a  tear. 
Within  the  passing  of  a  year, 

l*eace  yields  her  Ixjon ;  and  hearts  the'  sad, 
.\t  thought  of  dear  ones  gone  before  — 
Tired  pilgrims  of  an  earthly  shore  — 

In  Kaster's  holy  day  are  glad  ! 

Fair  birthtime  of  the  spirit's  cheer  I 
Our  risen  lA)n.i  is  standing  near. 

With  healing  in  his  kindly  eye  : 
'ITie  thorny  way  grows  bright  at  last ; 
Gethsemane*s  dark  night  has  jxist  — 

Hail,  mom  of  Immortalitv  I 


OLD   MAN  BO  WEN. 


OLD    MAN     BOWEN. 
RAILROAD-BUILDING   AND    LOVE-MAKING. 
Bv  GEORGE  E.  WALSH. 

In  a  certain  western  town  there  lived  a  number  of  years  ago  a 
remarkably  eccentric  cbaracter,  known  by  the  very  appropriate 
name  of  Old  Man  Bowen.  He  was  a  man  of  perhaps  sixty  years 
or  more  of  age,  well-preserved,  and  of  a  hardy  nature.  His  face 
was  marred  by  tightly  drawn  wrinkles,  which  crossed  and  re-crossed 
his  sallow  visage  in  a  multiplicity  of  forms ;  and  his  large,  homy 
hands  bore  strong  evidences  of  considerable  exposure  to  rough 
weather.  Although  of  an  age  when  most  men  feel  their  vital 
forces  declining  and  their  step  growing  more  languid  day  by  day. 
Old  Man  Bowen  was  in  the  very  height  of  his  physical  and  mental 
strength,  and  his  step  was  just  as  quick  and  elastic  as  his  well- 
drawn  arguments  were  clear  and  forceful.  No  youth  of  that  rural 
district  showed  more  sprightliness  in  hts  daily  avocation,  nor  at- 
tempted more  violent  exertions,  than  did  Old  Man  Bowen,  with  his 
gray  locks  and  emaciated  form.  Nothing  seemed  too  great  for 
him  to  undertake,  and,  when  he  related  some  of  his  youthful  ex- 
periences to  the  crowd  of  villagers,  something  little  short  of 
reverence  was  inspired  within  their  breasts  for  the  little  man 
before  them. 

In  his  earlier  days  Old  Man  Bowen  had  been  a  local  Methodist 
preacher,  administering  to  the  spiritual  wants  of  five  different 
churches,  which  he  visited  in  regular  order  at  least  once  a  fort- 
night.  These  churches  were  a  long  distance  apart,  in  a  wild  and 
unsettled  district,  and  it  required  no  small  amount  of  physical  ex- 
ertion and  endurance  on  the  part  of  the  local  preacher  to  make  his 
circuit  in  accordance  with  his  long-established  practice.  He  fre- 
quently made  the  journey  over  the  wild,  rocky  mountain  roads  on 
foot,  carrying  with  him  a  small  hand-bag,  which  contained  his 
Bible,  singing-books,  and  a  few  cakes ;  and  a  large,  knotty  stick, 
which  served  as  a  walking-cane  and  a  weapon  of  defence.  These 
solitary  walks  were  greatly  enjoyed  by  hira,  and,  while  swinging 
gayly  along  the  zig-zag  paths  which  wound  around  the  bases  of  the 


56o  OLD    MAN  BO  WEN, 

mountains,  and  through  deep,  shady  forests,  he  pondered  deeply 
over  the  vast  problems  of  theology  —  eliminating  from  his  own 
fertile  brain  strange  inferences  regarding  the  origin  of  good  and 
evil,  and  the  eternal  damnation  which  awaited  the  wilful  trans- 
gressor. Frequently  he  would  stop  in  his  walk,  and  begin  to 
exhort  his  fellow-sinners  to  repent,  —  his  audience  being  the  stately 
forest  trees  and  the  gray  rocks,  —  and  then,  overcome  by  his  own 
emotionsj  he  would  prostrate  himself  on  the  ground  and  pray  fer- 
vently. His  prayer  finished,  he  would  relieve  his  pent-up  soul  by 
singing  a  hymn  or  two  with  the  same  animation  that  he  showed 
in  his  preaching  and  praying. 

Among  his  eccentric  beliefs,  Old  Man  Bowen  had  one  that  was 
fairly  ground  into  his  soul,  and  which  gradually  proved  to  make 
his  life  miserable.  He  lived  in  the  firm  conviction  that  Satan  was 
making  special  efforts  to  tempt  him  into  the  ways  of  the  evil,  and 
that  in  time  he  must  fall  a  prey  to  his  Satanic  majesty's  diabolical 
plannings.  His  only  escape,  he  felt,  was  in  constant  prayer  and 
work,  and  so  enthusiastically  did  he  perform  this  duty  that  he  had 
little  time  to  give  to  thought  about  the  probabilities  of  his  ultimate 
failure  and  downfall.  He  preached  the  Gospel  fervently  ;  exhorted 
the  wild  western  farmers  and  miners  to  repentance,  and  joyed  over 
the  conversion  of  a  single  individual  with  weeping  and  laughing. 
But  during  his  journeys  from  one  church  to  another  his  old  fear 
would  haunt  him,  and  he  became  so  concerned  about  his  own 
soul's  welfare  that  his  feelings  would  find  expression  in  the  wild 
forest  praying  and  singing.  From  these  fierce  experience  meetings 
he  would  come  forth  with  flashing  eyes  and  renewed  strength, 
confident  that  he  had  again  obtained  the  victory  over  his  relentless 
enemy.  He  would  then  relate  to  his  astonished  hearers  an  account 
of  his  conflict,  and  exhort  them  ever  to  be  on  their  guard  against 
yielding  to  the  Evil  One  without  a  long,  hard  struggle  beforehand 
for  the  mastery. 

After  preaching  to  his  five  churches  every  fortnight  for  ten 
years,  Old  Man  Bowen  found  it  urgent  upon  him  to  resign  his 
position,  and  to  administer  to  the  spiritual  needs  of  one  church 
only  —  that  of  his  native  village.  He  did  not  need  the  extra 
allowance  which  the  other  four  churches  gave  him,  as  he  was 
comfortably  situated  from  a  worldly  point  of  view,  and  he  was 
content  to  live  a  more  quiet  and  home-like  life.  He  had  an 
only  daughter,  on  whom   he  lavished  all   the   affections  of  his 


OLD    MAN  BO  WEN.  $61 

emotional  soul,  and  who  in  turn  reciprocated  his  tender  regard. 
Lina  was  now  approaching  her  eighteenth  birthday,  and  she  was 
as  beautiful  as  her  fair-haired,  blue-eyed  mother  had  been  when  she 
was  laid  beneath  the  sod  sixteen  years  before.  She  had  received 
all  the  educational  advantages  which  the  small  town  of  Corinth 
could  afford,  and  her  natural  aptitude  for  learning  greatly  facili- 
tated her  in  her  studies.  When  she  finally  finished  her  educa- 
tional course  she  was  duly  installed  in  her  father's  home  as 
housekeeper,  and  the  way  that  she  managed  the  household 
affairs  soon  showed  that  she  was  master  of  that  particular  art. 
The  old  preacher  and  his  beautiful  young  daughter  lived  to- 
gether in  this  way  for  two  years,  enjoying  each  other's  society 
only  as  a  motherless  child  and  a  widowed  father  can,  and  their 
mutual  love  served  to  establish  perfect  harmony  in  their  quiet 
lives. 

But  Old  Man  Bowen  was  not  a  man  to  continue  long  in  this 
uneventful  and  monotonous  course.  He  had  strong  prejudices 
and  eccentricities,  and,  now  that  he  was  robbed  of  that  excite- 
ment which  he  received  in  visiting  his  several  churches  and 
preaching  among  his  fellow-men,  he  soon  became  restless  and 
uneasy.  He  preached  fer\'ently  every  Sunday  to  his  small  con- 
gregation ;  but  his  week  days  passed  heavily.  He  could  not 
bring  his  troubles  to  his  young  daughter,  whom  he  loved  even 
more  than  his  strange  hobbies.  When  in  her  presence  he  would 
suppress  his  outbursts  of  strong  emotion,  which  were  rising 
to  his  lips,  and  try  to  appear  calm  and  tender.  His  old  fear 
regarding  the  fate  of  his  own  soul  returned  with  redoubled 
force,  and  he  felt  it  urgent  upon  himself  to  have  some  confidant 
to  whom  he  could  pour  forth  his  pent-up  feelings,  such  as  he 
had  been  in  the  habit  of  doing  when  journeying  through  the 
woods  or  over  the  mountains.  One  day  he  was  chopping  wood 
in  the  shed  near  his  house  when  he  suddenly  dropped  his  axe 
and  began  to  preach  as  of  old  —  not  to  the  trees  and  gray  rocks, 
but  to  the  inanimate  chopping-block.  He  poured  out  all  of  his 
troubles  in  eloquent  words ;  prayed  that  he  might  succeed  in 
overcoming  his  temptation ;  contradicted  imaginary  sentences 
of  the  senseless  object,  and  wound  up  by  saying  that  he  knew 
that  he  would  yet  commit  some  great  crime  and  become  the  prey 
of  the  Evil  One. 

From  that  day  forward  the   old   chopping-block   in   the   back 


562  OLD    MAX  BO  WEN, 

shed  became  Old  Man  Bowen's  audience,  and  his  joys  and  sorrows 
were  alike  confided  to  its  secrecy. 

About  this  time  the  inhabitants  of  Corinth  were  elated  by  the 
news  that  a  project  was  on  foot  to  carry  a  railroad  through  the 
place.  A  railroad  was  a  thing  unknown  to  this  western  village, 
and  many  of  the  gray-headed  inhabitants  had  never  seen  one, 
although  they  were  fully  persuaded  that  it  was  of  immense 
advantage  to  any  village,  much  less  to  a  thriving  farming  place 
like  Corinth.  A  few  were  opposed  to  any  innovation,  and  they 
shook  their  heads  gravely  when  the  news  arrived  that  a  party 
of  surveyors  were  already  on  their  way  to  the  village  to  make 
surveys  for  the  road.  They  doubted  its  utility,  and  distrusted 
the  men  who  had  charge  of  it,  and  on  the  whole  proved  themselves 
as  conservative  as  possible.  Old  Man  Bowen  opposed  it ;  but 
not  in  a  mild  way,  as  some  of  the  others.  What  he  opposed, 
he  opposed  with  his  whole  soul  and  heart.  He  denounced  the 
scheme  as  a  fraud,  and  a  bold  attempt  to  rob  the  settlers  of  their 
land.  From  the  pulpit  he  thundered  forth  his  execration  upon  the 
heads  of  the  members  of  the  railroad  company,  and  prayed  Heaven 
that  the  awful  doom  of  eternal  damnation  might  be  visited  upon 
the  first  ones  that  entered  the  village  for  the  purpose  of  carrying 
out  the  scheme.  He  vowed  in  public  that  not  a  foot  of  his  land 
should  be  taken  to  build  the  road  on,  and  ferv^ently  exhorted  his 
friends  to  make  a  like  vow.  When  he  returned  home  after  this 
public  denunciation,  he  sought  the  solitude  of  his  woodshed,  and 
renewed  his  exhortations  to  his  silent  friend. 

"  Yc  know  it's  not  right  to  hev  it  cum  here,  an*  don't  ye  say 
'tis,"  he  reasoned  with  the  block  of  wood.  "  It's  the  work  of  the 
Devil,  thet's  bringin'  it  here,  an'  I  must  stop  it.  He's  tryin'  to 
get  the  best  of  me  all  the  time,  an'  now  he's  a-sendin'  this  'ere 
nuisance.  He's  strong  an'  full  of  life,  an'  I'm  gettin'  old  and 
feeble.  But  I  won't  give  in  yet.  No,  I'll  fight  him  yet.  I've  got 
the  good  book  with  me,  an'  thet  will  support  me.  Won't  it }  Don't 
contradict  me,  fur  I  say  thet  railroad  won't  cum  here.  D'ye  hear? 
I  won't  let  it  cum  here.  It's  the  insterment  of  the  Devil,  but  I'm 
the  insterment  of  the  Lord,  an'  he's  stronger  than  the  Evil  One. 
I've  fit  the  Lord's  enemies  for  nigh  onto  forty  years,  an'  I'll  fight 
them  yet.     Thet  railroad  won't  cum  here." 

The  usual  process  of  singing  and  praying  was  then  indulged  in, 
and  the  old  preacher  retired  to  his  house  to  meet  Lina,  his  daughter. 


OLD   MAN  BO  WEN.  563 

and  tell  her  that  he  had  encountered  the  Evil  One  again,  and  came 
i)fif  victorious.  He  told  her  the  story  of  the  railroad  scheme,  and 
impressed  it  upon  her  plastic  mind  that  it  was  a  great  calamity  to 
the  village  to  have  the  iron  horse  snorting  through  its  quiet  streets, 
and  a  great  sin  to  permit  the  construction  of  the  road. 

All  of  Old  Man  Bowcn's  former  prejudices  sank  into  comparative 
insigni6cance  alongside  of  this  one.  He  brooded  over  the  matter 
night  and  day,  and  always  concluded  with  the  forcible  words,  "It 
won't  cum  here  I "  Considerable  excitement  was  raised  in  the 
village  over  his  strong  opposition,  and  a  number  of  the  wavering 
ones  sided  with  him,  and  seconded  every  utterance  he  made.  Two 
parties  seemed  to  have  sprung  up,  and  their  heated  discussions 
over  the  railroad  question  were  carried  nearly  to  the  point  of  the 
knife.  Foremost  among  them  was  Old  Man  Bowen,  who  con,stantly 
fanned  the  excitement  into  flames  and  kept  the  wound  open. 

But  despite  all  of  his  protestations,  the  company  of  surveyors 
arrived  in  the  village  one  bright  afternoon,  and  took  out  their 
instruments  to  begin  work.  Robert  Kenton,  a  handsome  young 
man  of  twenty-seven,  was  the  overseer  of  the  company,  and  he 
was  immediately  made  acquainted  with  the  old  preacher's  preju- 
dices. He  laughed  heartily  over  the  matter,  and  at  once  disarmed 
the  villagers  of  al!  suspicions  about  any  scheme  to  rob  them  of 
their  land.  His  frank  good-nature  won  their  hearts,  and  they 
went  away  declaring  him  a  "good  'un." 

Robert  Kenton  was  from  the  city,  where  congenial  friends  and 
innumtirable  amusements  prevented  time  from  lagging  on  his 
hands  when  not  engaged  in  his  business,  and  it  was  only  natural 
that  he  found  Corinth  a  very  dull  place  after  a  week's  stay.  He 
loved  the  woods  and  mountains,  and  this  partly  compensated  for 
the  loss  of  the  society  of  his  city  companions.  Day  after  day  he 
would  roam  through  the  great  forest  aisles,  or  climb  the  steep  side 
of  the  mountains,  enjoying  with  an  artist's  eye  the  rare  pictures 
of  scenery  to  be  seen  on  every  side.  The  mountain  streams  were 
searched  by  him  for  trout,  and  the  sharp  report  of  his  rifle  fre- 
quently re-echoed  through  the  deep  valleys  and  mountain  gorges, 
as  he  winged  a  duck  or  brought  a  rabbit  to  a  sudden  halt,  when 
scurrying  through  the  underbrush.  These  lonely  hunting-trips 
were  greatly  enjoyed  by  him,  and  he  wrote  vivid  accounts  of  them 
to  his  friends  at  home. 

One  day  he  was   returning  from  a  long  journey  through   the 


564  OLD    MAN   BOWEN, 

woods  when  he  happened  to  emerge  from  the  forest  close  to  the 
home  of  Old  Man  Bowen.  Strangely  enough  these  two  had  not 
met  yet,  although  both  were  acquainted  with  each  other  from  the 
village  talk.  Kenton  smiled  to  himself  as  he  reached  the  old  man's 
fence  and  remembered  the  stories  told  about  his  eccentric  habits. 
Placing  one  hand  on  the  top  rail  of  the  rude  fence,  he  leaped 
lightly  up  on  it,  and  began  to  survey  the  premises  from  his 
elevated  seat.  Everything  was  quiet  about  the  house,  and  not  a 
sign  of  a  human  being  could  be  detected  in  the  vicinity.  Kenton's 
thoughts  gradually  roamed  from  the  old  preacher  and  his  home  to 
the  kind  friends  which  he  had  left  behind  him,  and  he  conjured 
up  scenes  of  other  lands  where  he  had  spent  his  early  boyhood 
days.  He  was  engaged  in  this  sort  of  reverie,  with  his  chin  rest- 
ing on  his  hands  and  his  rifle  leaning  against  the  fence,  when  the 
sharp  report  of  a  firearm  caused  him  to  start  hastily  around  ;  as 
he  did  so  he  felt  a  sharp  pain  in  his  right  shoulder,  and  then  every- 
thing grew  suddenly  dark.  He  tottered  from  his  perch  on  the 
fence,  and  fell  on  a  heap  of  leaves  below.  From  a  small  wound  in 
his  shoulder  the  blood  began  to  trickle  gently  down  and  form  a 
pool  near  a  bunch  of  blooming  violets.  The  crimson  liquid  stained 
the  delicate  flowers  beyond  recognition,  and  then  soaked  into  the 
roots.  A  chirping  thrush  flew  from  a  neighboring  tree,  and 
dropped  a  green  leaf  on  the  white,  upturned  face,  and  then  gave  a 
sharp  whistle  as  if  to  say  that  it  had  acknowledged  the  presence 
of  death  and  paid  its  last  tribute  to  the  departed  hero. 

But  the  bird's  sudden  flight  was  owing  to  a  movement  in  the 
high  bushes  near  the  fence,  and  the  next  moment  a  huge  New- 
foundland dog  rushed  forth  from  the  enclosure,  wagging  his  tail 
with  pleasure.  When  he  reached  the  unconscious  form  of  Kenton 
he  stopped,  ran  his  nose  over  his  body  in  an  inquisitive  manner, 
smelt  of  the  still  flowing  blood,  and  then  turned  around  with  a 
quick,  sharp  bark.  This  seemed  to  be  the  signal  to  call  somebody's 
attention  to  what  he  had  discovered,  and  in  response  to  it  the 
cracking  of  the  twigs  and  bushes  near  by  announced  that  the  call 

« 

was  heard. 

"  Where  are  you,  Carlo  }  What  have  you  found  now }  Come 
here." 

The  beautiful  form  of  Lina  Bowen  emerged  from  the  woods,  as 
she  uttered  these  words,  and  as  her  eyes  fell  upon  the  prostrate 
form  of  Kenton  and  the  crimson  pool  of  blood,  she  gave  a  little 


OLD   MAN  BO  WEN.  565 

scream  of  terror.  But  she  was  a  brave  girl,  and  not  one  inclined 
to  give  way  to  unnecessary  terrors,  and  so,  after  her  first  feeling 
of  fear  had  vented  itself,  she  approached  the  young  man  and  began 
examining  his  wound.  With  her  small  white  hands  she  bound  up 
the  arm  with  her  handkerchief.  Then,  with  the  agility  of  a  moun- 
tain hare,  she  hurried  away  for  assistance. 

Two  burly  miners  met  ber  coming  through  the  forests,  and,  in 
respect  to  her  beauty  and  sex,  they  removed  their  broad-brimmed 
hats,  and  said  in  one  voice :  "  Moniin',  Miss  ;  anythin'  up  ?  We  be 
at  yer  savice.  if  ye  need  us." 

"  Yes,  come  quick.  A  dear  friend  of  mine  has  been  hurt,  and 
I  want  you  to  help  me  carry  him  into  the  house,"  replied  the  young 
woman,  as  she  led  the  strangers  along  the  path  to  where  the  acci- 
dent happened. 

Kenton  was  like  a  child  in  the  brawny  arms  of  the  two 
miners,  and  they  carried  him  as  tenderly  as  if  he  had  been  one, 
while  Lina  directed  them  in  her  calm,  even  tones.  Old  Man 
Bowen's  house  was  the  neare.st  one,  and  to  this  Lina  led  the  way, 
running  ahead  to  unfasten  the  door  and  make  preparations  for 
receiving  the  wounded  man.  The  spare  room,  where  her  mother 
had  so  often  slept  in  earlier  days,  was  opened  by  her,  and  the 
clean,  white  bed  patted  and  brushed  up  for  Kenton.  Lina  seemed 
everywhere  at  once ;  now  giving  directions  to  the  men,  now 
smoothing  out  the  pillow,  and  now  cooling  the  feverish  brow  of 
the  unconscious  man  with  some  brook  water.  She  was  nurse, 
doctor  and  hostess.  She  ordered  the  men  around  like  children, 
until  the  doctor  arrived  and  began  to  probe  for  the  bullet.  Then 
she  retired  into  another  room,  not  being  strong  enough  to  witness 
the  painful  operation. 

The  stifled  air  of  the  house  seemed  to  suffocate  her,  and  she 
threw  her  small  straw  hat  on  her  curling  hair  and  wandered  out 
in  the  back  yard.  As  she  did  so  she  heard  the  sound  of  a  human 
voice  coming  from  the  woodshed.  Curious  to  know  who  was 
there,  she  directed  her  steps  towards  the  small  outhouse,  and 
peered  in  through  the  half-open  door. 

There  sat  her  father  upon  a  bench  facing  the  chopping-block. 
His  sallow,  wrinkled  face  was  clasped  between  his  hands,  his 
elbows,  meantime,  resting  upon  his  knees.  At  his  feet  lay  an 
old-fashioned  rifle.  He  was  talking  in  animated  tones,  but  Lina 
could  discover  no  other  person  in  the  shed. 


S66  OLD    MAN  BO  WEN, 

"  I  warned  'em,"  he  muttered  aloud.  "  I  warned  'em  thet  the 
railroad  couldn't  cum  here.  They  wouldn't  listen,  an'  now  thet 
insterment  of  the  Devil  is  shot.  He  desarved  it.  I'd  do  it  agin. 
I  warned  him ;  I  warned  him.  He's  a  thief,  an'  wants  to  rob  us 
of  the  land,  but  he  won't  do  it.  The  railroad  won't  cum."  Then 
the  old  man  paused  for  a  moment,  and  seemed  lost  in  deep 
meditation.  Lina,  meanwhile,  could  scarcely  believe  her  ears. 
This  was  the  first  intimation  she  had  received  of  her  father's 
crime,  and  she  swayed  like  a  leaf,  as  she  clung  desperately  to  the 
side  of  the  shed. 

•*  But  I've  done  it ;  yes,  I've  done  it,"  again  murmured  her  father^ 
without  removing  his  hands  from  his  face.  "  The  Devil's  tempted 
me,  and  I've  fallen.  I've  been  a-preachin'  the  Bible  nigh  onto 
forty  years,  an'  now  I've  sinned  myself.  I  knew  I'd  do  it ;  I  knew 
I'd  do  it.  It  was  nateral,  an'  I  felt  it  in  my  bones.  Don't  ye 
contradict  me,  nuther."  He  straightened  up  and  glared  savagely 
at  the  chopping-block,  and  nearly  frightened  his  daughter  into 
fainting  by  his  energetic  manner.  *'  I  know  what  the  Good  Book 
says,  an'  don't  you  say  I  don't.  'Thou  shalt  not  kill';  that's  what 
it  says.  I  know's  well  as  you  do  thet  it  says  thet.  But  the  Devil 
says  kill,  and  I've  done  his  work  fur  him.  The  good  Lord  can't 
tolerate  me  longer ;  he's  let  me  fall.  Don't  ye  talk  back  to  me, 
fur  I  know's  well  as  ye  do  what's  right  an'  what's  wrong.  Ain't 
he  a-stayin'  in  my  house,  an'  ain't  Lina  carin'  fur  him.  Ain't  thet 
a-doin'  onto  others  as  ye'd  have  them  do  onto  ye.?" 

This  outburst  of  eloquence  was  followed  by  a  flood  of  weeping, 
and  the  old  preacher  seemed  completely  overcome  by  his  emotions. 
Lina  could  stand  the  scene  no  longer,  but  turning  she  hurried 
towards  the  house,  just  as  her  father  broke  out  into  one  of  his 
favorite  hymns.  His  voice  was  strong  and  clear,  and  she  heard 
every  word  of  the  hymn,  but  her  heart  was  dumb  with  horror  and 
mystification. 

It  must  be  remembered  that  Lina  had  never  before  witnessed 
her  father  in  one  of  his  strange  moods,  and  she  was  entirely  igno- 
rant of  the  course  of  sermons  and  prayer-meetings  that  had  been 
going  on  in  the  woodshed.  She  knew  that  her  father  had  many 
eccentric  habits,  but  these  she  attributed  to  his  old  age  rather  than 
to  any  other  cause.  But  the  scene  that  she  had  just  witnessed 
shocked  her  sensitive  nature  beyond  expression,  and  when  she 
entered   the   room  where  Kenton  was,  her  face  was  even  whiter 


OLD    MAN  BOWEN. 


S67 


than  that  of  her  patient.  The  doctor  had  extracted  the  bullk^t, 
and  the  young  man  was  listening  to  the  tales  uf  the  old  miners 
about  the  tenderness  of  Lina,  to  whom  he  owed  his  life.  The 
appearance  of  the  girl  in  the  door-way  caused  the  two  honest 
toilers  of  the  mine  to  step  back,  and  say  to  Kenton,  as  they  did 


"Thar  she  be  now." 

Kenton  turned  his  eyes  toward  the  door,  and  rested  them  for  a 
moment  upon  the  vision  of  loveliness  before  him.  Lina  was  robed 
in  a  neat  white  dress,  which  set  off  her  well-rounded  figure  to 
advantage.  Her  pale,  frightened  face  contrasted  beautifully  with 
her  dark,  flowing  hair,  which  she  had  arranged  in  a  knot  on  the 
side  of  her  small,  shapely  head.  Her  hands  were  clasped  tightly 
together  over  her  bosom,  and  seemed  to  be  pressing  back  some 
pain. 

For  a  moment  Kenton  remained  speechless  at  this  sight,  and, 
not  until  a  warm  blush  began  to  steal  over  the  pale  face  of  his 
hostess,  did  he  recover  himself,  and  acknowledge  the  presence  of 
the  young  girl. 

"  Is  this  my  benefactress  ? "  he  asked  with  a  quiet  smile,  as  he 
looked  her  steadily  in  the  eyes.  "My  friends  here  have  just  been 
telling  me  about  your  heroism  and  kindness.  I  certainly  owe  you 
more  than  I  can  ever  repay,  but  I  trust  that  in  time  I  may  be  able 
to  cancel  part  of  the  debt.  Meanwhile,  let  me  thank  you  for  your 
actions  and  attention  to  me.  They  will  be  appreciated,  I  trust,  as 
they  deserve." 

Lina  blushed  more  than  ever  at  this,  and  after  a  few  words  of 
politeness,  she  busied  herself  in  arranging  the  room  to  conceal  the 
agitation  which  his  words  had  caused.  Accustomed  to  seeing  but 
few  male  friends  in  her  father's  house,  except  the  rough  old  miners 
of  the  village,  she  was  naturally  somewhat  ."ihy  and  reserved  in  the 
presence  of  her  young  and  handsome  patient.  His  keen,  piercing 
black  eyes  followed  her  so  attentively  as  she  moved  about  the 
room  that  she  became  more  than  ever  confused  and  disconcerted. 

"  I  suppose  that  I  can  be  removed  to  a  hotel  safely  this  after- 
noon," finally  inquired  Kenton,  addressing  himself  to  the  doctor, 
who  was  still  busy  bandaging  his  shoulder. 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it !  Not  a  bit  of  it,"  replied  that  little  man  as  he 
securely  tied  the  cord  around  the  young  man's  arm,     "Vou  can't 


568  OLD    MAN  BO  WEN, 

move  out  of  this  bed  for  at  least  a  week.  You're  all  broken  up 
from  the  loss  of  blood." 

"  But,  my  dear  doctor,  Fm  a  stranger  to  these  good  people,  and 
I  do  not  want  to  impose  upon  their  kindness.  I  must  seek  some 
other  place,"  said  Kenton  in  an  embarrassed  tone. 

"  I  take  no  excuse,  sir.  You  must  stay  here,  and  have  a  nurse," 
emphasized  the  doctor.  "  Miss  Bo  wen  here  won't  object  to  your 
stayin'  neither.     Will  you,  Miss  Bowen  }  " 

Lina  was  only  too  ready  to  second  the  doctor's  suggestion,  and 
to  help  him  carry  his  point  in  opposition  to  Kenton's. 

"He  certainly  must  stay  here,"  she  replied  in  a  quick  tone  of 
command,  which  seemed  particularly  fascinating  to  Kenton,  com- 
ing from  such  a  shy  and  modest  young  maiden,  and  he  replied  in 
mock  humility,  — 

"  Well,  as  my  nurse  commands  it,  I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  obey. 
I  am  a  tractable  child,  and  won't  grumble." 

The  doctor  called  twice  a  day,  and  prescribed  various  treat- 
ments for  the  sick  man,  all  of  which  Lina  carried  out  to  the  letter. 
She  watched  the  sometimes  delirious  patient  with  the  solicitude  of 
a  loving  sister.  Old  Man  Bowen  had  grown  wonderfully  calm  and 
quiet  since  the  advent  of  the  stranger  in  his  house,  but  he  sel- 
dom spoke  to  his  daughter  in  regard  to  him,  except  to  inquire 
about  his  condition.  Lina,  too,  seemed  to  avoid  all  conversation 
about  the  sick  man,  and  so  a  week  passed  away  quietly  and  rapidly. 

But  early  one  morning,  Old  Man  Bowen  was  surprised  to  find 
that  the  young  surv^eyor  was  able  to  walk  about,  and  that  his 
daughter  was  accompanying  him  in  a  short  ramble  through  the 
woods. 

What  conversations  had  taken  place  in  the  sick-room  during  this 
quiet  week  Old  Man  Bowen  was  as  ignorant  of  as  his  big  dog 
Carlo.  But  when  he  saw  the  two  roaming  through  the  mountain 
woods,  she  close  by  his  side  as  if  ready  to  support  him  should  he 
need  her  help,  and  he  looking  so  tenderly  down  at  her  small,  lithe- 
some form,  something  like  a  pang  of  jealousy  shot  through  the  old 
man's  heart,  and  he  halted  suddenly  in  his  walk,  and  raising  his 
head  towards  heaven,  muttered  aloud,  "  He's  the  insterment  of 
the  Devil."  Then  he  resumed  his  walk,  and  began  to  revolve 
within  his  mind  the  great  problems  of  human  destiny  and  the  result 
of  railroads  on  peaceful  villages. 

Kenton,  as  soon  as  it  was  safe,  took  leave  of  Lina  and  her  father. 


OLD   MAN  BO  WEN.  569 

and  returned  to  his  old  boarding-place.  He  iiad  been  in  Old 
Man  Bowen's  house  for  two  weeks,  and  he  was  under  deep  obliga- 
tions to  both  the  master  of  the  house  and  his  brave  little  daugh- 
ter. Lina  blushed  prettily  as  the  young  surveyor  told  her  that 
their  friendship  must  not  drop  there,  but  that  she  must  allow  him 
to  call  on  her  very  often.  She  could  not  conceal  the  eagerness  in 
her  blue  eyos.  as  she  shyly  gave  him  permission,  although  she  was 
striving  hard  to  appear  indifferent. 

During  Kenton's  sickness  his  fellow-surveyors  had  gone  on  with 
their  work,  and  by  the  time  he  got  out  again  they  had  progressed 
considerably  with  the  line.  The  chief  of  the  company  only  incited 
them  on  to  harder  work,  and  by  the  time  the  leaves  of  the  forest 
began  to  change  their  color  in  the  autumn  the  work  was  nearly 
completed.  Kenton  would  soon  have  to  leave  the  place  and  go 
further  on  along  the  line.  He  had  not  told  Lina  of  this  as  yet, 
although  she  was  perfectly  aware  of  it.  Her  father  had  frequently 
told  her  that  the  cars  would  soon  be  running  through  the  place, 
but  "  they  wouldn't  cum  while  he  lived," 

"  They  be  the  work  of  the  Devil,"  he  said  to  her  one  day,  when 
he  seemed  particularly  moody  and  set  in  his  opinions.  "They'll 
cum  a-rushin'  through  here  Sundays  an'  every  day,  an'  screamin" 
away  'nough  to  drive  ye  crazy.  Thet  man  thet  ye've  been  a-nurs- 
in'  is  the  insterment  of  the  Devil,  I  tell  ye,  an'  ye  must  get  rid  of 
him.  Lina,  ye  must  not  love  him,  fur  ye  can't  hev  him.  He  ain't 
fur  ye.  Ef  ye  desart  yer  father,  ye  ain't  a  good  child.  Don't  ye 
understand .'  He  can't  live  alone  ;  he'll  go  an'  roam  in  the  woods, 
ef  ye  leave  him.     Child,  are  ye  a-goin'  to  marry  him .'  " 

The  impetuosity  of  the  old  man  startled  Lina  as  much  as  his 
words.  She  had  never  thought  of  the  que.stion  of  marrying,  and 
the  suddenness  with  which  her  father  broached  the  subject  fairly 
startled  her. 

"Why,  father,  what  do  you  mean  by  talking  in  that  way?  Mr. 
Kenton  is  nothing  but  a  friend  to  me,"  she  replied,  after  a  short 
pause,  "and  you  shouldn't  talk  of  him  in  that  light.  He  is  going 
away  soon,  and  then  he  won't  bother  you  longer." 

Old  Man  Bowen  seemed  relieved  by  these  words  of  his  only 
child,  and  he  kissed  her  affectionately  before  he  left  the  house. 

That  afternoon  Lina  was  sitting  near  the  front  window  of  the 
house  with  some  lace-work  in  her  hands,  which  she  occasionally 
worked  at ;   but  most  of  her  time  was  spent  in  gazing  vacantly  at 


570  OLD    MAN  BO  WEN. 

the  distant  woods.  Her  face  was  paler  than  usual,  and  a  tired, 
weary  look  shone  from  her  blue  eyes.  Her  thoughts  which 
were  far  away  were  suddenly  interrupted  by  the  abrupt  entrance 
of  Robert  Kenton,  who  stepped  familiarly  up  to  her  side  and  took 
a  vacant  seat.  She  started  visibly  at  his  entrance,  and  moved  her 
chair  a  few  inches  back. 

**  You  frighten  one  by  coming  in  so  unexpectedly,  Mr.  Kenton  !  " 
she  said  in  a  half-angry  tone. 

"  Why,  am  I  such  a  frightful  figure } "  he  asked,  jestingly. 
Then,  in  a  more  serious  tone,  "You  look  unwell,  to-day,  Lina. 
Has  anything  occurred  ^  " 

"  No,  not  that  I  am  aware  of,'*  she  replied  quickly,  taking  up 
her  lace-work  from  her  lap  again.     "  I  feel  as  well  as  ever." 

A  pause  of  several  seconds  followed  this  sentence,  during  which 
time  Lina  worked  nervously  at  her  lace,  and  Kenton  watched  her 
slightly  flushed  face  with  admiration. 

"Lina,"  finally  remarked  the  young  surveyor,  ''we  have  nearly 
finished  our  work  on  the  railroad  in  this  vicinity,  and  we  shall  have 
to  make  our  headquarters  in  Franklin  soon." 

"When  will  you  leave  .^"  inquired  the  girl,  looking  up  at  her 
companion's  face  with  a  sweet  smile. 

"Very  soon,"  replied  Kenton,  slowly.     "This  week,  probably." 

"So  soon  I"  In  spite  of  her  attempts  to  appear  disinterested 
Lina's  color  soon  disappeared  from  her  cheeks  and  left  them  pale 
as  marble  as  she  uttered  this  exclamation.  Kenton  was  not  slow 
to  take  advantage  of  her  momentary  confusion,  and  quickly 
responded :  — 

"  Yes,  Lina,  this  week  ;  but  does  my  going  have  any  interest  to 
you  }     Do  you  care,  Lina } " 

This  question  was  untimed,  and  the  flush  that  deepened  on  the 
cheeks  of  the  young  girl  was  more  the  result  of  wounded  pride 
than  anything  else. 

"  Of  course,  I  have  an  interest  in  your  going,  as  I  would  have  in 
that  of  any  other  friend,"  she  replied  coldly.  "It  would  be  fool- 
ish for  me  to  have  any  deeper  interest  in  your  departure." 

"  Lina,  you  misunderstand  me.  Listen  :  from  the  first  day  that  I 
met  you,  when  you  saved  my  life  and  brought  me  back  to  health,  I 
have  loved  you.  I  have  tried  to  make  you  love  me  in  turn  since 
then,  and  I  have  thought  much  of  this  day  when  I  should  tell  you 
of  my  love.     I  have  waited  and  hoped  patiently,  trusting  that  in 


OLD   MAN  BOWEN.  571 

time  you  could  respond  lo  my  feelings.  Has  all  of  my  trust  been 
in  vain.     Lina,  can  you  love  me  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Kenton,"  replied  the  girl,  as  she  rose  from  her  chair  and 
seemed  to  brace  herself  for  a  supreme  effort,  "  I  was  not  pre- 
pared for  this.  I  thought  that  we  were  friends  only.  You  must 
not  speak  of  this  subject  again,  I  can  never  be  to  you  what  you 
want." 

"  You  do  not  love  me,  then  .' "  bitterly  exclaimed  the  young  sur- 
veyor, as  he  looked  gloomily  at  his  companion.  "We  must  part 
then  as  friends  only,  Lina." 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Kenton.  My  duty  is  to  care  for  my  father,  who  is 
getting  old  and  feeble.  He  needs  my  constant  attention,  and  I 
could  not  think  of  leaving  him.  You  have  my  warmest  sympathy 
and  best  wishes  for  success.     You  will  soon  forget  me.'" 

In  truth,  Lina  Bowen  loved  Robert  Kenton  even  more  than  she 
cared  to  admit  to  herself,  and  when  she  dismissed  him  with  these 
few  words  she  was  surprised  at  her  own  strength  and  cahnness. 
Had  she  prepared  herself  beforehand  for  such  an  interview  she 
would  have  probably  broken  down  under  the  ordeal,  but  coming  so 
unexpectedly  upon  her  she  was  hardly  conscious  of  Che  impor- 
tance of  what  she  was  saying.  It  was  not  until  after  the  form  of 
the  young  man  had  disappeared  from  her  view  down  the  mountain 
road  that  she  realized  her  position,  and  then  she  broke  forth  into  a 
fit  of  silent  weeping,  But  she  felt  that  she  had  performed  her 
duty,  and  this  lent  her  new  strength.  Her  father's  words  of  the 
morning  still  rang  in  her  ears,  and  she  determined  lo  remain  by 
his  side  as  long  as  he  lived.  His  eccentricities  and  prejudices  had 
increased  with  his  age,  and  he  had  not  refrained  from  unburdening 
his  heart  to  his  daughter,  and  relating  to  her  his  feelings  and 
emotions. 

The  appearance  of  the  steel  rails  running  through  Corinth,  over 
which  the  cars  would  soon  be  rolling,  was  to  him  a  constant 
source  of  irritation.  He  still  preached  to  his  congregation  against 
the  road,  and  warned  them  against  "  the  insterment  of  the  Devil  "  ; 
but  his  words  and  efforts  were  alike  ineffectual.  The  work  of 
progress  could  not  be  stopped,  and  the  eccentric  preacher  found 
that  the  law  had  condemned  his  own  land  to  the  use  of  the  railroad, 
and  the  iron  rails  passed  within  forty  feet  of  his  old  home.  As 
the  time  approached  for  the  first  train  to  run  over  the  new  road. 
Old  Man  Bowen  became  more  moody  in  his  actions,  and  his  sallow 


572  OLD    MAN  BO  WEN. 

face  took  on  a  deeper  hue.  His  hands  clutched  each  other  ner- 
vously when  he  spoke  about  the  scheme  of  "thet  man  Kenton  to 
rob  the  poor  people  of  their  land,"  notwithstanding  the  fact  that 
he  had  been  well  paid  for  that  portion  of  his  farm  taken  by  the 
railroad  company.  Lina  heard  the  man  whom  she  loved  dispar- 
aged nearly  every  day  by  her  old  father,  but  she  never  made  a  mur- 
mur or  uttered  a  word  in  his  defence. 

Kenton  took  his  dismissal  sorely  at  heart.  He  renewed  his 
exertions  in  forwarding  the  interest  of  the  company  in  whose 
employ  he  was  engaged,  and  after  a  month's  sojourn  in  Franklin 
he  moved  still  further  on,  and  did  not  return  to  Corinth  until  the 
end  of  the  line  was  reached,  and  his  work  in  that  section  of  the 
country  finished ;  then  in  company  with  his  fellow-surveyors  he 
took  the  first  train  that  ran  over  the  road  to  Corinth.  It  was  a 
great  day  for  the  citizens  along  the  line  of  the  road,  and  they 
hailed  the  appearance  of  the  first  train  with  rejoicings  and  f east- 
ings. In  Corinth  the  excitement  was  as  great  as  in  any  of  the 
other  villages,  and  nearly  the  whole  town  turned  out  to  meet  the 
train,  as  it  steamed  up  to  the  new  station. 

Kenton  dismounted,  and  quickly  looked  around  at  his  old  friends, 
but  his  eyes  failed  to  discover  the  form  of  Lina  or  her  father.  He 
inquired  after  Old  Man  Bowen  and  his  daughter,  but  the  only  reply 
he  could  get  from  the  villagers  was  a  shrug  of  the  shoulder,  and 
an  "  I  guess  he's  shet  himself  up  in  the  house.  He's  takin'  it 
putty  hard." 

Unable  to  leave  the  place  forever  without  saying  a  farewell  word 
to  the  one  he  loved,  Kenton  walked  slowly  up  to  the  home  of  Old 
Man  Bowen.  The  appearance  of  the  house  and  place  was  the 
same  as  ever,  but  no  sign  of  life  about  it  could  be  discovered.  A 
feeling  of  dread  came  over  the  heart  of  the  young  man,  as  he  noted 
the  stillness  of  the  place,  and  he  wondered  if  anything  had  hap- 
pened. He  passed  slowly  around  the  house,  trying  to  pluck  up 
courage  to  enter.  Reaching  the  back  of  the  house  his  attention 
was  attracted  by  the  sound  of  some  one  weeping.  It  seemed  to 
come  from  the  woodshed  but  a  short  distance  from  him,  and,  with- 
out waiting  to  locate  the  sounds  more  accurately,  he  hurried  to  the 
small  building,  and  looked  in  through  the  half-opened  door. 

The  sight  which  met  his  gaze  caused  him  to  stand  motionless 
for  a  moment.  On  the  cold  ground  lay  Old  Man  Bowen  with  one 
arm  thrown  lovingly  over  the  old  chopping-block,  and  his   head 


OLD    .]fAN  BOW'Ey. 


573 


resting  affectionately  by  its  side.  He  had  preached  his  kst  ser- 
mon to  his  inanimate  audience,  and  his  often  repeated  declaration, 
that  the  railroad  would  not  come  while  he  lived,  was  at  last  real- 
ized. He  was  cold  in  death.  By  his  side  Lina  was  kneeling, 
holding  one  of  his  cold  hands  in  her  own,  and  trying  to  feel  his 
pulse  beat.  The  tears  were  coursing  down  her  pale  cheeks,  and 
occasionally  a  moan  escaped  from  her  lips. 

Kenton's  appearance  in  the  doorway  caused  her  to  look  up,  and, 
seeing  her  old  friend  near  her  again,  she  cried  out  eagerly  :  — 

"  Oh,  is  he  dead !     Come  quick,  feel  of  his  pulse  I  " 

This  was  not  necessary  for  the  quick  eye  of  the  surveyor. 
Death  was  only  too  plainly  written  on  the  sallow  features  of  the 
old  man,  but  he  complied  with  the  girl's  request,  and  told  her  as 
gravely  as  possible  the  terrible  news. 

*■  Lina,  do  not  give  way  to  your  sorrow,"  he  said  affectionately, 
as  she  burst  forth  into  renewed  weeping,  "  I  shall  stand  by  you 
as  long  as  you  need  a  friend.  Your  father  couldn't  have  lived 
much  longer.     He  was  getting  old." 

"  I  know  it,  Mr.  Kenton  ;  but  it  is  so  sudden,"  she  sobbed,  "and 
it  has  left  me  an  orphan  and  alone." 

"  No,  not  alone,"  was  the  quick  reply,  as  he  passed  an  arm 
around  her  waist.     "  Let  me  be  your  friend  and  protector" 


The  last  remains  of  Old  Man  Uowen  found  a  resting-place  close 
by  the  railroad,  against  which  he  had  so  energetically  preached 
and  labored.  The  nodding  plumes  of  the  old  pines  now  sigh  woe- 
fully over  the  place,  when  the  shrill  scream  of  the  iron  engine 
echoes  over  the  mountain  side ;  and  the  dismal  crj-  of  the  !oon 
from  the  distant  lakes  recalls  vague  remembrances  of  other  days. 

The  old  homestead  has  long  since  passed  into  other  hands,  and 
the  famous  woodshed  has  been  superseded  by  a  more  imposing 
building.  The  modest  tomb  alone  remains  to  tell  the  story  of  the 
eccentric  old  man,  who  labored  so  many  years  among  these  moun- 
tains for  the  spiritual  good  of  his  fellow-men. 

Kenton  and  Lina  now  live  in  an  eastern  city,  where  they  often 
tell  the  story  of  their  early  years  to  their  children.  Life  has  been 
for  them  not  ali  joy  and  success,  but  that  happy  mixture  of  grief 
and  happiness,  without  which  no  life  is  complete, 


THE   PROl'/DEAX'E  JOURNAL. 


THE    NEW    ENGLAND    PRESS. 
I— THE    PROVIDENCE   JOURNAL   AND   SENATOR   ANTHONY. 

Hv  Rkv.  S.  L.  CAI.DWIiLL,  D,  D, 

The  newspaper  is  one  of  the  new  engines  of  modern  life,  whose  I 
power  has  been  wonderfully  developed  within  the  period  covered  I 
by  the  existence  of  this  particular  journal.     This  development  has  J 
been  very  much  in  the  increaserl 
of    material    appliances,      Ira- 
proved   machinery   has   aug- 
mented  the  power  of  produc- 
r>,    'a  \       j   tion.       Increased      facility    of  J 

-  C^^ii^Mh^  \'  ;  -:.^^BB  communication  has  multiplied 
material  for  use.  The  power- 
press,  the  telegraph,  the  larger  1 
and  swifter  mail,  have  simply  I 
changed  the  newspaper  from  a.< 
child  into  a  man,  and  a  man  o£j 
marvellous  gifts. 

The  progress  from  the  pre 
used  by  Benjamin  Franklin  a 
Newport,  to  print  The  Gasettt\ 
in     1732,    to    the    six-cylindej 
press   which   to-day  turns  ouffl 
between  evening  and  morning  J 
a   product   which    seventy-fivoJ 
years  ago  would  have  require 
a    whole    week,  is    immense 
And  yet  it  is  only  part  of  s 
lar  progress  in  the  other  agencies  which    make   the   newspap* 
such  a  tremendous    force.     The  larger,  more  complex,  more  pn 
ductive  the  machine,  the  more  it  takes  to  feed  it. 

Behind  the  press  is  the  power  which  u-ses  it.     Knowledge,  ideas|-l 
spiritual  forces,  not  types,  paper,  machinery,  are  the  power  of  thi 
newspaper.     The  writer  is  greater  than   the  printer,  and  simplyJ 
uses  him   as  his  instrument.     And  yet,  the  larger  and  mightiei 


THE  PROVIDENCE  JOURNAL.  575 

press  requires  a  mightier  power  to  wield  it.  As  it  increases  its 
product,  with  more  readers  and  more  frequent  issues,  the  more 
hands  must  supply  it  with  material.  The  journal  which  ministers 
to  a  large  constituency,  which  supplies  information,  and  stimulates 
inquiry,  and  forms  opinion,  and  reflects  it  while  it  forms  it,  like  a 
ship,  has  many  hands  on  deck,  at  the  helm  and  the  engine,  while 
the  captain  below  studios  the  charts  and  marks  the  course. 
There  is  the  editor  still,  —  but  almost  if  not  quite  impersonal, 
—  who  fifty  years  ago  did  all  the  writing,  if  not  part  of  the 
printing,  but  who  now  perhaps  does  little,  if  any,  of  either. 
And  yet  the  best  journals  have  some  controHing  mind,  some 
capable  and  superior  force  to  make  them  what  they  are.  For  a 
long  term  of  years  Henry  B.  Anthony  was  the  force  behind  this 
representative  newspaper  to  make  it  what  it  was,  —  and  so  far 
as  the  past  makes  the  future,  to  make  it  what  it  is. 

The  Providence  Journal  made  its  first  appearance  the  third  of 
January,  1820,  and  was  issued  twice  a  week,  becoming  also  a  daily, 
on  July  I,  1 821.  Its  origin  was  connected  more  or  less  closely  with 
a  great  change  which  had  been  coming  over  the  industry  of  Rhode 
Island.  From  a  commercial  it  was  to  become  a  manufacturing 
State.  The  waters  and  shores  of  Narragansett  Bay  favored  maritime 
pursuits.  But  commerce  had  declined,  and  capital,  with  wise 
forecast  of  its  opportunities,  turne<l  from  the  bay  to  the  river, 
till  every  stream  in  the  State  was  turning  the  wheels  of  its  mills. 
The  capita!  of  Providence  passed  almost  entirely  into  manu- 
factures. The  Journal  was  in  some  sense — perhaps  in  its  chief 
purpose  — an  organ  of  these  new  interests,  and  from  the  begin- 
ning has  been  the  advocate  of  their  enlargement  and  protec- 
tion. With  thi;  growth  of  population  and  wealth,  the  Journal  has 
grown.  At  its  beginning,  in  1820,  the  town  had  less  than  twelve 
thousand  inhabitants ;  it  has  now  over  ten  times  as  many,  while 
the  population  of  the  Providence  Plantations,  which  include  North- 
ern Rhode  I.sland,  has  multiplied  nearly  sixfold.  At  first  it  was 
issued  twice  in  a  week;  but  now  in  addition  to  its  semi-weekly 
issue,  it  sends  out  one  edition  weekly,  an  edition  every  morning 
seven  days  in  a  week,  and  an  edition  every  evening  on  six  days  of 
a  week.  It  has  an  average  daily  circulation  of  thirty-five  thousand. 
It  is  considered  to  be  a  valuable  property,  yielding  a  handsome  rev- 
enue to  its  proprietors.  Other  journals  have  risen,  declined,  and 
died,  but  this  has  held  on  its  advancing  course,  and  now,  after  nearly 


576 


THE  PROVIDENCE  JOURNAL. 


seventy  years,  is  as  strony  as  ever,  and  easily  stands  at  the  head  j 
of  Rhode  Island  journalism.     With  a  pronounced  jHilitical  charac-  J 
ter,  always  Republican,  it  has  a  wide  range,  and  touches  all  depart-  I 
ments  of  life.     In  size,  variety,  ability,  it  competes  with  metropoli-  I 
tan  journals.     Buyond  any  other  paper  it  supplies  Rhode  Island 
with  its  newspaper  reading.      And  withal  it  has  been  quite  dis- 
tinctly a  representative  of    the  spirit  and  institutions  of  Rhode 
Island,  and  of  whatever  is  peculiar  in  this  peculiar  State, 

And  this  stamp  it  received  very  much  from  the  hand  of  Henry 
B.  Anthony,  who  was  a  genuine  son  of  Rhode  Island.     His  ances- 
tors on  both  sides  had 
been  in  the  State  almost 
from  the  first.    His  father 
was  a  Quaker,  and  he  al- 
ways clung  to  his  birth- 
right in  the  spirit,  if  not 
in  the  letter.     His  father 
was  a  manufacturer,  and  | 
he  always  identified  bin 
self  with  the  system  and:J 
the  political  policy  which  ■ 
had  done  so  much  for  htaj 
native   State.      He  i 
liberal  in  his  opinions,  and.l 
conservative    in    his 
stincts.     Educated  in  its  i 
university,    he    cherishectj 
the   traditions,   the   indi-3 
Ediw-  p-ovdence  J0UI...1  vlduallty   and    independ^a 

ence  of  its  common  pe<^9 
pie.  He  supported  the  guarded  suffrage  of  his  State,  while  voting 
to  give  the  ballot  to  every  enfranchised  slave.  He  delighted  tofl 
defend  the  principles,  the  history,  the  honor  of  Rhode  Islamt 
before  all  the  world.  And  it  so  happened  that  He  was  hardly^fl 
well  seated  in  his  editorial  chair  before  the  political  convulstoaV 
came  which  shook  Rhode  Island  almost  to  revolution. 

In   1838,  when  twenty-three  years  of  age,  Mr.    Anthony  took- 
charge  of  the  Journal.     In  1843  came  the  crisis  in  which  it  was  totl 
be  decided  whether  the  government,  whose  roots  ran  back  into  thej 
colonial  charter  granted  by  Charles  II.,  should  maintain  its  legittS 


THE  PROVIDENCE  JOURNAL.  ^77 

rnacy  against  a  popular  and  violent  movement  for  its  destruction. 
In  this  conflict  the  Journal  bravely  took  its  part,  and  its  young 
editor  showed  the  good  temper  of  his  sword.  It  was  his  early 
opportunity,  and  in  it  he  won  his  spurs  as  a  journalist,  and,  indeed, 
his  title  to  political  promotion,  when  the  time  should  come.  That 
lime  came  when,  in  1849,  he  was  elected  governor  of  the  State, 
holding  the  office  for  two  years,  and  in  1858,  when  he  was  sent  to 
the  Senate  of  the  United  States,  and  in  five  successive  elections 
was  continued  at  that  eminent  post  for  the  remainder  of  his  life. 

In  the  forty-seven  years  from  his  accession  to  the  Journal  to  the 
end  of  his  days,  he  held  his  proprietorship  in  it.  and  till  he  went  to 
the  Senate,  an  active  and  undivided  editorship.*  He  had  the 
happy  faculty  of  enlisting  other  pens,  and  its  pages  in  all  these 
years  have  been  enriched  by  the  best  writers  in  the  city  and  the 
State.  But  all  through  he  controlled  its  policy  with  a  sagacity  and 
a  vigor  worthy  the  political  eminence  he  acquired,  and  for  a  score 
of  years  met  its  daily  demands  with  an  ability  which  was  almost 

<  For  a  lime  gficr  hi>  ■cceuion  Id  ihe  ScmiW,  he  had  Ihc  acIiTC  uiuUncc  in  «I[uiH>i]  walk  of  Mr.  Jamci 
B.  Angcll.  ihcn  profesior  of  Ibc  mnlccn  languages  in  Dniwn  Univenity.  In  iB6d  Mr.  AngcU  laigncil  his 
profeuarship  and  became  the  rHpanKible  editor.  coDlinuing  luiiervici  lill  Sepicmbci.  iU6,  wben  he  became 
pteiidcDI  or  iheUniverHIy  of  Vermont.  Mr.  AnEcll  iinow  proidcnl  ol  the  Univenity  a[  Michigan .  Id 
iSSo  he  wcDl  la  Peking  u  AcneiicBn  Minuler,  to  negotiale  a  treaty  nilh  the  CbLne«  EmpiiE.  On  the  tint 
of  Januaiy,  1&63,  Mr.  George  W.  DaniclaDn  puichaAcd  an  inteieu  in  (be  paper,  and  had  special  charge  of 
the  depanmeni  of  local  inlelliKCDce-    When  Piofeaaor  Angell  leugited,  in  Seplenibcr,  1B66,  Mr.  DanielioB 

ihejoumal.and  had  Mi.  Anlhony't  canfidcnu  and  counieL  ihruaghuit.    Under  Mr.  Danielion'i  manage- 

"  The  Evening  Bulletin,"  with  a  daily  iuue  amauniing  frequenilT  to  neiriy  ihirty  ihouund  copiei.  In 
both  editorial  and  bnalneii  Buuiageniem  he  >hi>wcd  remarkable  capacity.  Al  Mr.  ninieliHi'i  decease,  Mr. 
Alfred  M.  WilliaDi,  who  had  been  far  lame  lime  on  the  editoiial  itaff,  became  cdilot,  and  has  well  lui- 
tainedlhe  tradiiionat  pnbcy  and  ability  of  the  paper.  Thejogrnal  a  now  cnrnedby  an  intarpoiated  com- 
pany, with  Mr.  Richard  S.  Howbnd  a>  huilnesi  manager,  and  lla  ciicubituia  hai  conitantly  incnuued. 

[H<.  WillianiiiiaiuIiTeafrauniiin.aiiiiouabimlfarty  ycare  of  age  wbcn  ihe  conduct  of  the  Jour- 
nal pa»ed  inm  hii  handt.  He  early  entered  Btswn  Univetiiiy.  but  left  befoR  t)ie  Cull  completion  of  hi> 
Icrm,  cnUtting  in  the  Federal  army  during  the  civil  war.  as  a  private.  '  He  there  received  prommion,  and 
■Ud  entered  Jaumalitm  through  writing  Ictteta  from  the  aeat  of  war.  lo  the  fall  of  1665.  he  was  Knt  by 
the  NcB  York  Tribune,  aa  is  carrcipondent  to  Ireland  during  Ihe  Fenian  dilKculIies  of  that  tiou.  On 
landing,  be  was  aireued  and  impri»oiKd  aaaiuspecled  head-centre  of  the  Feniana.  After  hit  releaie,  ho 
reported  the  trials  of  the  Fenian  leaden,  with  other  interating  matter  connected  with  Ihesbhjeci,  and  alto- 
gether spent  about  a  year  in  Ireland  and  other  Europeaa  ciiiea.  Following  this,  he  became  editoiial  wiiici 
and  managing  editor  ofifaa  Taunton  ftaaeite.  and  iniS69add  iHto  repmented  the  city  in  the  Mauachuieltt 
Icgiilaiurc,  bdng  elected  the  second  lime  unauitnously.    In  rG;o,  be  went  West  and  started  a  paper  of  his 

viatod  the  neighboring  Indians,  wberv  he  was  warmly  tcceivcd  by  the  chiefs,  for  the  reason  that  his  paper 
was  (he  only  one  on  the  harder  thai  nsislcd  the  encroachments  of  the  white  people  upon  their  lands. 
Repealed  attacks  of  malarial  fsrer  forced  him  (o  seek  another  climate,  when  he  came  to  Pnjvidence, — ^wherr. 
as  prEvinutly  stated,  bo  in  (875.  became  connected  wi[h  the  Providence  JoumaL  The  (iwee  and  diteci- 
oeaa  of  Mr.  Williaau^  editorials  has  not  infrequently  called  attention  to  Ihe  Jounal  in  a  very  morked 
manner,  in  the  past  few  years;  and  their  literary  merit  has  alu  been  much  commented  on.  In  purely  liter. 
ary  work,  Mr.  Williams  has  contiibuted  a  valuable  addition  to 
land.'  with  lis  historical  and  critical  estays  and  note«.  brought  c 
which  the  English  and  American  Press  give  unstinted  praise.'  — 


578  THE  PROVIDENCE  JOURNAL. 

genius.  He  was  equal  to  the  argument  of  a  column's  length  which 
a  subject  often  required.  In  exposition  or  in  controversy  he  did 
not  stop  till  he  was  through,  and  everybody  said  "  enough."  But 
his  power  was  in  paragraphs,  in  something  like  Tennyson's  "  swal- 
low flights  of  song."  One  swing  of  his  blade  would  pierce  a 
sophism  or  behead  a  falsehood.  He  did  not  dilute  his  wit.  He 
did  not  spread  his  satire  into  thinness.  He  had  the  first  merit  of 
style,  —  that  he  never  wrote  an  unintelligible  sentence,  that  he 
drove  his  nails  straight  and  up  to  the  head.  His  clearness  was 
not  sterility.  His  style  was  rich  as  it  was  lucid.  In  controversy 
he  was  not  bitter  or  malignant.  But  he  had  a  keen  eye  for  every 
weak  point  in  the  other  side,  and  could  shoot  satire  as  with  a 
Martini  rifle. 

Personally,  Mr.  Anthony  was  of  the  best  temper,  and  took  a 
friendly  interest  in  other  people.  He  was  genial  without  softness, 
and  courteous  without  affectation,  —  and  this  appeared  in  his  paper. 
He  knew  how  to  hold  up  his  side,  but  he  did  it  with  good  nature. 
He  knew  the  just  and  proper  limits  of  political  polemics.  He  did 
not  spare  persons,  even  eminent  ones,  but  he  did  not  descend  to 
coarse  and  vulgar  personality.  He  put  his  stiletto  into  political 
and  financial  heresies  so  quietly  and  so  keenly  that  they  dropped 
dead  before  they  knew  what  was  the  matter.  The  bludgeon  was 
not  his  weapon.  He  was  not  a  butcher.  Sometimes  there  was 
an  almost  poetic  grace  in  his  reminiscences  and  memorials  of 
friends,  in  his  description  of  public  characters,  and  in  his  treat- 
ment of  local  events  or  needs.  And  his  humor  was  genial  as  his 
wit  was  sharp  and  brilliant.  He  had  a  fondness  for  books,  and  an 
aptness  for  literary  work,  which,  uncrowded  by  political  necessities, 
might  have  given  him  distinction  in  another  line. 

In  a  word,  Mr.  Anthony  knew  what  a  good  newspaper  is,  and 
how  to  make  it.  Had  the  twenty-five  years  which  he  gave  to 
senatorial  service  been  devoted  exclusively  to  his  profession,  he 
might  have  won  quite  as  much  distinction  and  influence  in  his 
little  room  in  the  Journal  office,  as  in  the  great  chamber  at  Wash- 
ington. A  great  editor  in  his  way  is  quite  equal  to  a  great  senator ; 
certainly  superior  to  a  small  one. 

An  intelligent,  high-minded,  liberal,  catholic  journal,  the  friend 
of  truth  and  public  virtue,  the  enemy  of  shallowness,  deceit,  injus- 
tice, corruption,  which  says  the  right  thing  at  the  right  moment, 
and  every  morning  says  something  worth  reading,  and  worth  consid- 


♦•' 


THE  HEART.  $79 

ering,  if  not  believing,  —  a  journal  which  not  only  has  the  news  and 
advertisements,  but  which  has  convictions  and  knows  how  to  utter 
them,  which  exists  for  the  public  good  as  well  as  for  the  profit  of 
its  ownersj  "unawed  by  influence  and  unbribed  by  gain,**  is  a 
power  for  good  in  any  city,  and  becomes  a  sort  of  institution  in 
the  State.  If  it  has  a  conscience,  and  understands  its  responsibili- 
ties, and  uses  its  power  for  public  and  honest  ends,  the  people  will 
remember  with  honor  its  editor  when  he  is  gone,  and  support  it 
less  for  its  own  sake  than  for  their  own. 


■«o»{o^ 


THE   HEART. 

[from  the  GERMAN  OF  P.  K.   ROSEGGER.] 

By  LAURA  GARLAND  CARR. 

The  heart  is  a  harp,  a  harp  with  two  strings ; 

One  dances  in  joy,  one  quivers  in  woe  ; 
And  one  or  the  other  eternally  rings, 

As  Fate's  fingers  over  them  sweep  to  and  fro ; 
To-day  'tis  a  wedding-march  light  as  the  air ; 
To-morrow,  a  dirge  wails  its  notes  of  despair. 


58o  THE   THREE  ARISTOCRACIES. 


THE   THREE   ARISTOCRACIES. 

By  FORSYTH   DE   FRONSAC. 

Even  after  the  possession  of  wealth  had  given  a  determinate 
vahie  to  rank  in  Europe,  and  had  bestowed  a  rank  itself  upon  its 
possessors,  there  were  found  pretensions  which  had  been  derived 
from  the  remote  period  when  nations  were  but  armed  camps,  con- 
tinually on  the  march,  journeying  southward  towards  the  golden 
promises  of  the  dissolving  empire  of  the  Romans.  In  that  early 
time  of  martial  endeavor  there  were  no  permanent  possessions, 
and  bravery  and  skill  in  arms  and  soldierly  loyalty  alone  conferred 
eminent  station.  This  station  was  that  of  an  antrustian,  or  aid- 
de-camp,  to  the  warlike  king ;  and  the  antrustian's  duty  was  to 
carry  out  the  orders  of  his  chief,  to  share  his  fortune,  to  protect 
him  from  danger,  and  even  to  die  for  him,  if  necessary.  The  king, 
in  choosing  these  antrustians,  was  careful,  for  his  own  sake,  to 
select  only  the  bravest,  most  able,  and  most  loyal ;  and  it  was  upon 
the  prominent  display  and  action  of  these  qualities  that  the  earliest 
aristocracy  was  founded. 

Posterity  preserved  the  traditions  and  names  of  its  antrustianic 
ancestry  as  its  proudest  boast,  and  set  up  their  idealized  lives  in 
its  heart  as  the  standard  from  which  never  to  depart.  This  feeling, 
derived  from  the  sentiment  of  such  qualities,  strengthened  itself 
by  retrospection  and  self-introspection,  and  fostered  what  may  be 
called  the  Pride  and  the  Aristocracy  of  Sentiment. 

When  the  spirit  of  rest  permitted  the  accumulations  of  industry, 
and  public  robbery  that  throve  upon  these  to  assume  alluring 
splendor,  engirt  by  battlements  and  armored  bands  for  their  reten- 
tion by  force,  and  further  confirmed  in  their  impersonated  belong- 
ings by  prerogatives  of  administration  derived  as  a  gift  from  needy 
royalty  itself,  —  then  did  those  who  were  so  fortunately  equipped 
claim  a  peerage  prescriptiveness,  which  they  had  the  force  and 
address  to  retain  for  their  class.  The  ancient  statutes  of  France 
describe  the  nobility  of  that  realm  at  a  period  but  little  removed 
from  the  Middle  Ages,  as  rich  men;  and  the  appellations  of  Span- 
ish nobles  was  also   ricos  hombrcs.     It  was  the  same  when  the 


THE    THREE  ARISTOCRACIES.  581 

manorial  grants  in  England  and  Germany  conveyed  ennobling  attri- 
butes upon  the  grantees.  Yet,  during  this  time,  the  authors  on 
the  ancient  classes  of  Europe  declare  that  there  were  those  who 
held  aristocratic  pretensions  which  were  not  founded  upon  wealth, 
but  upon  the  sentiment  of  their  antrustianic  descent.  But  the 
prerogative  of  possessions  erected  the  scaffolding  of  another  class, 
which  has  become  more  prominent  with  the  increase  of  national 
wealth  and  whose  standard  has  partially  effaced  from  mind  the 
memory  of  the  virtues  of  its  predecessor,  —  and  this  class  is  the 
aristocracy  of  finance. 

Side  by  side  in  that  Europe  which  was  formed  from  the  remains 
of  the  Roman  Empire,  with  the  antrustianic  aristocracy  and  with 
the  feudal,  arose  a  class  of  men,  at  first  in  the  Church,  but  after- 
wards as  semi-secular  clerks  and  scribes,  who  gained  eminence  at 
court  by  acting  as  interpreters  of  the  civil  law,  which  the  influence 
of  the  accepted  religion  caused  to  be  received  as  the  law  of  modem 
Europe.  As  kings  and  emperors  and  other  potentates  hastened 
to  have  their  precarious  rights  of  rulership  confirmed  by  the  Papal 
consecration,  they  were  forced  to  acknowledge  all  those  laws  by 
which  the  Church  held  its  own  proper  possessions,  as  the  laws  of 
their  own  acquisitions  and  those  of  their  subjects.  It  became, 
therefore,  a  means  of  obtaining  consideration  at  court,  and  from 
thence,  office  and  position  in  the  nations,  to  have  a  thorough 
knowledge  of  the  laws  and  history  of  the  transactions,  legal  and 
scientific,  of  past  times.  Men  who  entered  this  undertaking  of 
learning  were  not  those  who  sought  by  virtue  of  their  bravery 
and  impetuosity  and  love  of  gallant  display  the  tourney  and  the 
camp  ;  nor  were  they  those  who  possessed  the  faculty  of  abasing 
every  other  attribute  of  their  personality  in  the  pursuit  and  accumu- 
lation of  wealth  ;  but  they  were  of  a  sort  not  religious  enough  for 
the  Church,  yet  acquisitive  of  money  and  diligent  in  searching 
manuscripts  and  books,  lovers  of  intrigue  and  plotters,  now  for 
this  party  and  now  for  that,  —  whose  heart  had  become  all  mind, 
and  whose  souls  were  subservient  to  the  various  shiftings  of 
logic.  This  class  was  known  in  France,  because  of  their  dress, 
as  gentlemen  of  the  robe,  and  in  every  country  they  founded  the 
aristocracy  of  learning. 

These  three  aristocracies  were  not  and  are  not  peculiar  to 
Europe,  but  abound  wherever  humanity  obtains  an  abiding-place. 
Beneath  these  three  classes  in  every  state  are  the  common  people, 


582  THE   THREE  ARISTOCRACIES. 

who  are  neither  one  thing  nor  the  other.  Whichever  one  of  these 
aristocracies  shall  be  chief  depends  upon  the  constitution  of  the 
state  in  which  they  exist  and  the  disposition  of  the  people  who 
have  charge  of  affairs.  In  Europe,  the  military  orders  of  knight- 
hood make  certain  the  dominance  of  the  antrustianic  qualities  in 
society,  where  the  possessors  take  precedence  of  all  other  ranks  of 
men.  In  America,  the  denial  of  distinction  to  these  qualities 
leaves  the  bone  of  contention  for  the  rich  and  the  learned,  who 
dominate  society,  some  in  one  place  and  some  in  another. 

That  these  are  accurate  and  complete  divisions  may  be  compre- 
hended from  the  following  acknowledgment :  That  a  man  may 
belong  to  the  first  aristocracy,  —  that  of  sentiment,  —  be  brave, 
loyal,  magnanimous,  gentle,  and  honorable,  and  not  belong  to 
either  of  the  two  others ;  that  a  man  may  possess  the  requisites  of 
the  aristocracy  of  finance,  —  houses,  lands,  moneys,  —  without  hav- 
ing either  sentiment  or  learning ;  that  a  man  may  have  the  faculty 
for,  and  may  acquire,  learning,  and  be  deficient  in  sentiment  and 
poor  of  purse.  It  is  true  that  some  fortunate  individual  may  be- 
long to  all  three  categories,  but  he  is  to  be  classed  according  to 
that  which  marks  him  most  distinctly. 

It  is  further  to  be  reckoned  as  true,  that  of  these  three  classes, 
that  of  sentiment  alone  is  the  inheriting  class.  Sentiment  is 
within  the  individual,  and  causes  him  to  be  able  to  feel  an 
inspiration.  He  aspires  to  be  the  personification  of  those  quali- 
ties which  are  the  delightful  feelings  of  his  heart  and  soul.  Learn- 
ing cannot  be  transmitted  in  this  manner,  except  only  the  faculty 
which  is  developed  by  study.  Riches  being  accessories,  external 
to  the  individual,  may  belong  to  good  or  bad  people  indifferently, 
so  long  as  they  make  the  standard  of  social  excellence,  and  the 
class  which  is  designated  by  their  possession  can  scarcely  be 
acknowledged,  except  under  the  head  of  animated  merchandise. 

The  first  class  of  men,  therefore,  being  different  by  natural 
superiority  from  all  others,  has  been  spoken  of  as  holding  the  sense 
of  this  superiority  genealogically,  by  commemorating  the  memory 
of  the  deeds  of  mighty  ancestors  as  a  means  of  constantly  reviv- 
ing in  their  own  hearts  that  sentiment  which  prompts  them  to  be 
a  similar  link  in  the  chain  of  generation.  This  class  was  powerful 
enough  in  Europe,  when  all  things  were  founded  upon  the  peace- 
able possessions  of  lands  and  powers  —  "  when  the  strong  preyed 
upon  the  weak  and  defenceless  "  —  to  institute  the  Order  of  Chiv- 


THE  THREE  ARISTOCRACIES. 


S83 


airy.  This  order  was  founded  entirely  upon  the  antrustianic  senti- 
ment in  the  individual,  but  at  the  same  time,  it  was  (though  not  in 
every  case)  an  imperative  requirement  that  the  candidate  should 
belong,  genealogically,  to  the  same  class.  By  a  learned  author  on 
the  French  Noblesse,  it  has  been  said,  in  relation  to  the  feudal 
tourney,  that  none  could  enter  unless  of  noble  origin,  which  was 
afterwards  qualified  so  as  to  require  that  the  individual  who  partic- 
ipated in  the  prerogatives  of  this  sort  should  be  of  honorable 
character,  and  without  reproach.  The  first  regulation,  says  the 
authority,  was  traced  by  the  pen  of  the  Noble ;  the  second  was 
engraved  by  the  sword  of  the  Knight.  This  goes  to  prove  how 
true  it  is  that  the  antrustianic  chivalry  required  the  like  character 
in  its  members,  but  that  Nobility  (which  was  sometimes,  nay,  often, 
the  gift  of  favor,  bestowed  either  to  recompense  some  act  of  servil- 
ity, or  in  exchange  for  money,  or  for  some  subtle  and  tortuous  inter- 
pretation of  the  law  for  the  benefit  of  the  sovereign  power)  was  not 
antrustianic  in  its  foundation  or  wholly  so  in  its  character,  and  not 
infrequently  was  even  of  low  origin,  so  that  it  has  been  said  in 
France  that  "  the  king  can  make  a  noble,  but  not  a  gentleman." 

This  term,  gentleman  {gentlekomme  de  race),  used  in  this  con- 
nection, has  a  meaning  both  genealogical  and  individual,  and 
includes  the  visible  emanation  of  those  qualities  in  the  deeds  of 
manhood  which  are  the  symbolic  distinctions  of  his  race  in  pre- 
vious like  opportunities  for  expression. 

These  three  aristocracies  have  become  merged  in  the  nobility  of 
Europe;  in  whose  various  divisions  titles  have  been  conferred  for 
eminence  within  their  own  limits.  Yet,  even  in  spite  of  this  par- 
tial mergence,  the  military  orders  and  professions  have  given  to 
them  a  preference  in  European  courts,  that  neither  wealth  nor 
learning  can  contest  with  any  hope  of  successful  issue. 

In  modern  times,  and  especially  in  America,  there  is  to  be 
observed  a  growing  indefiniteness  in  regard  to  the  delineation  of 
the  higher  and  more  hardly  to  be  discerned  aristocracy  of  senti- 
ment. It  is  a  very  easy  matter  to  discover  who  is  rich,  and  who  is 
learned  ;  but  the  more  delicate,  deep,  yet  partially  hidden  attributes 
of  a  great  soul  (which  are  more  truly  the  foundations  of  distinction, 
because  organic  and  transmissible)  are  entirely  overlooked,  as  if 
there  were  no  such  things,  and  as  if  they  were  not  vastly  unequal 
in  different  persons. 

A  few  years  ago,  in  relation  to  characteristics  of  aristocracy  in 


584  THE   THREE  ARISTOCRACIES. 

Europe,  it  was  said  that  the  Italian  nobility  was  the  most  magnifi- 
cent because  founded  upon  wealth ;  the  French,  the  most  illus- 
trious, because  established  upon  deeds  ;  the  German,  the  proudest, 
because  attached  to  visible  emblems  of  descent ;  the  English,  the 
haughtiest,  since  to  it  belonged  the  prerogatives  of  legislation  and 
magistracy  peculiar  to  the  form  of  the  government  of  Great 
Britain. 

In  America  there  is  no  nobility,  because  such  is  forbidden  by 
the  peculiar  sentiment  in  the  majority  of  the  people,  who  have  so 
declared  themselves  in  the  Constitution.  But  there  are  elements 
of  aristocracies,  such  as  must  ever  exist  wherever  there  are  collec- 
tions of  men  to  be  found.  And  here  it  may  be  well  to  remark 
definitely  that  the  term  ''ennoblement,"  used  in  reference  to  social 
rank,  is  the  official  recognition  of  aristocracy  ;  and  that  while  a 
government  may  refuse  to  recognize  an  aristocracy,  it  cannot  by 
any  means  entirely  eradicate  its  germs. 

During  the  age  of  chivalry,  the  aristocracy  of  sentiment  abounded. 
The  names  of  those  families  that  were  chief  then  in  France,  Spain, 
and  England  are  well  known.  During  the  Renaissance,  learning 
had  an  influence  greater  than  at  any  other  time.  The  names  of 
its  chief  families  arc  also  borne  in  memory.  At  the  present  time 
wealth  confers  the  greatest  prerogatives  upon  its  possessors, — 
whose  names  are  familiar  to  those  who  read  the  stock  exchange. 
It  will  be  perceived  that  the  names  of  the  great  feudal  and 
knightly  families  of  Europe  —  the  Douglases,  Stuarts,  Bruces, 
Howards,  Fitzgeralds,  Herberts,  Seymours,  Navarres,  Montmo- 
rencis,  Coucis,  de  Courcys,  de  la  Tours,  Bourbons  —  are  but  an 
imposing  background,  later  on,  to  the  newer  names  of  Bacon, 
Shelbourne,  Cavendish,  Russell,  Coke,  Lyttleton,  Gibbon,  Guizot, 
and  Taine.  But  even  as  a  background,  the  rich  and  splendid 
qualities  of  their  generous  chivalry  shed  an  effulgence  upon  those 
who  occupy  at  the  time  of  the  Renaissance  and  onward  the  fore- 
ground of  the  historic  position  ;  they  yet  hold  the  ladder,  and 
those  coming  after  were  glad  to  lean  upon  the  records  and 
leercnds  of  the  old  noblesse.  But  as  time  increa.sed  towards  the 
immediate  neighborhood  of  the  nineteenth  century,  the  surviving 
names  of  a  great  literature  of  the  Renaissance  began  to  grow  dim 
in  life,  began  to  be  more  fixed  to  the  publications  of  an  epoch 
whose  authorship  was  felt  to  be  inimical  to  the  new ;  for  that 
authorship  had  a  grand  style,  peculiar  to  the  richness  of  its  phi- 


THE   THREE  ARISTOCRACIES.  585 

losophical  and  historical  learning,  and  a  lofty  sentiment  and  poet- 
ization  derived  from  intimate  connection,  in  the  majority  of  cases, 
by  direct  consanguineous  descent  from  the  antrustians  of  the 
chivalric  epoch.  What,  indeed,  began  and  now  are  more  rapidly 
taking  the  places  of  the  great  names  of  chivalry  and  of  the  Renais- 
sance are  the  patronomics  of  those  who  have  attained  position  by 
riches. 

If  patience  is  taken  to  examine  the  directories  of  any  large  city 
in  America,  it  will  become  apparent  to  one  conversant  with  the 
style  and  belongings  of  society  in  this  country,  based  as  it  now 
is  upon  wealth,  that  neither  the  Howards,  Herberts,  Fitz  Geralds, 
and  their  namesakes  of  the  feudal  epoch,  nor  the  Raleighs,  Sid- 
neys, Bacons,  Newtons,  and  Cavendishes,  of  the  age  of  the  Renais- 
sance, hold  the  highest  position,  but  that  the  Astors,  Vanderbilts, 
Jay  Goulds,  Sages,  Smiths,  Carpenters,  Shoemakers,  and  that  ilk 
are  firmly  seated  there.  The  age,  therefore,  is  at  once  beheld  to 
be  controlled  by  a  class  of  men  entirely  different  in  every  particu- 
lar from  the  two  preceding  classes,  and  utterly  distinct  in  origin, 
as  the  etymology  of  their  names  attests. 

In  the  larger  cities  of  America,  where  diversified  employments 
seek  those  channels  of  remuneration  which,  experience  shows, 
offer  the  most  satisfying  returns,  it  is  proven  how  distinct  are 
the  wealthy  and  the  learned.  In  the  theatres  of  Boston,  which  is 
a  type  of  all  cities  in  the  Northern  States  of  America,  the  play-bills 
of  a  theatre  like  the  Windsor,  which  has  a  cheap  admittance  and  is 
patronized  by  those  who  can  afford  to  pay  but  little,  exhibit  Shakes- 
pearian tragedies  and  Lyttonian  melodramas,  while  the  bills  of  the 
more  expensive  and  fashionable  theatres  show  light  farces  and 
comedies.  Did  the  wealthy  class  possess  the  taste  for  the  deeper 
and  more  scholarly  productions  for  the  stage,  the  more  fashionable 
theatres  would  produce  plays  from  classic  authors  more  abundantly 
than  cheaper-priced  theatres  like  the  Windsor.  MoA^over,  instead 
of  the  wealthy  class  using  their  surplus  funds  for  the  assistance  of 
the  learned,  they  bestow  them  upon  undaunted  mendacity,  upon 
church  missions,  or  the  heathen,  upon  pet  cats,  dogs  and  parrots, 
while  such  men  as  Professor  Vaughn,  who  died  of  starvation  in 
Cincinnati,  Edgar  Allan  Poe,  who  was  driven  to  desperation  by 
poverty  and  lack  of  appreciation,  and  Sidney  Lanier,  whose  prema- 
ture decease  was  the  result  of  hardship  and  neglect,  are  some  few 


5«6  THE   THREE  ARISTOCRACIES, 

of  the  many  instances  of  where  learning  and  talent  find  place,  and 
how  the  rich  appreciate  them. 

In  a  review  of  the  lives  of  great  military  leaders,  it  appears  that, 
although  the  spoils  of  war  were  repeatedly  in  their  hands,  they 
(lid  not  themselves  retain  them  as  riches,  but  used  them  as  means 
of  extending  their  power,  by  expenditure.  Alexander,  Caesar  and 
Napoleon,  although  they  conquered  the  world,  were  poor  except  in 
what  they  could  command  in  others.  Certain  families,  also  poor 
in  purse,  have  owed  their  position  and  name  to  their  sword. 
Their  members  had  a  knightly  effluence  that  was  and  is  entirely 
lacking  to  those  who  are  only  the  wealthy  and  the  learned. 

Few  of  the  great  scholars  of  the  world  have  had  more  than  a 
mean  subsistence.  By  the  learned  is  here  meant,  not  the  literary 
genius  (which  is  more  often  the  reverse,  or  passive,  side  of  the 
aristocracy  of  sentiment,  from  which  it  springs  contemplatively), 
but  mere  great  scholarship  and  erudition,  such  as  can  exist  without 
the  aid  of  that  sentiment  that  comes  from  the  qualities  of  chivalry 
and  is  manifested  in  the  literary  productions  of  men  of  military 
families.  Of  these  are  Gibbon,  Hume,  Macaulay,  Ossian,  Caesar, 
Napoleon,  Napier,  Jomini,  indeed,  almost  all  of  those  exalted 
names  connected  with  the  period  of  the  Renaissance,  but  not  with 
the  exact  and  abstract  sciences,  unless  of  that  of  mind,  which  has 
to  do  with  sentiment. 

Aoconling  to  natural  divisions  of  people  in  America,  the  aris- 
tocracy of  learning  has  its  place  more  in  New  England,  because 
that  jxirt  of  the  continent  was  settled  by  those  who  questioned  the 
dogmas  of  belief.  These,  with  their  followers,  who  were  naturally 
subservient  to  them,  made  no  place  for  sentiment  in  their  colonies ; 
and  sentiment  never  has  had  an  understanding  or  a  structure 
there. 

TI>o  aristocracy  of  finance  holds  New  York  as  the  capital, 
because  it  is*the  greatest  commercial  emporium  of  the  countrj*, 
and  society  is  there  founded,  not  ujx^n  the  qualities  of  the  soul, 
which  animate  mens  actions  and  create  a  sentiment  in  their- 
hoavts,  but  upon  wealth.  Kven  in  New  England  it  should  not  be 
lorgvnto:\  although  boastful  of  the  pretensions  of  its  learning,  so 
jvwcrfu!  is  the  intVvScnoe  of  wealth  that  it  there  also  has  an  equal 
voice  anv;  a  :v4ore  dr.raMe  reicn, 

Pi:t  ;v.  V-r^::i:a  there  yc:  exists,  though  :*'.  a  withered  and  crip^ 
;>'.cd   conviition   ihaxinc   K^rne   the  b:asi   oi    misfonune  and   the 


THE   THREE  ARISTOCRACIES.  587 

stroke  of  calamity),  what  remains  of  the  aristocracy  of  sentiment 
in  America.  Virginia  was  settled  by  those  who  fought  as  cava- 
liers, for  court  and  king  and  family  honor.  It  is  in  the  last  name 
that  the  entire  sentiment  is  enclosed  —  the  antrustianic  sentiment 
that  was  at  the  basis  of  the  ancient  chivalry.  In  Virginia,  to  this 
day,  although  her  proudest  families  are  bereft  of  their  possessions, 
and  their  sons  and  daughters  not  so  thoroughly  educated  as  in  the 
days  of  former  affluence,  nothing  —  not  even  the  power  of  wealth 
—  can  take  precedence  of  their  ancient  grandeur,  so  long  as  their 
sons  and  daughters  feel  within  them  the  spirit  of  their  antrustian 
sires.  They  preserve  almost  intact  in  their  hearts  this  ancient 
prayer  of  chivalry :  "  Exaucez,  Seigneur,  notre  prifere,  et  daignez 
benir  cette  ^p^e  que  votre  serviteur  d^sir  ceindre,  afin  qu'il  puisse 
^tre  le  defenseur  et  le  recours  .  .  .  des  veuves,  des  orphelins  et  de 
tous  les  serviteurs  de  Dieu  :  faites.  Seigneur,  qu'il  soit  la  terreur  et 
reffroi  des  mechants  et  des  impies  par  Jesus  Christ  Notre 
Seigneur."  ^ 

1  "  Hear  Lord,  our  prayer,  and  deig^  to  bless  this  sword  that  thy  servant  desires  to  bind  upon  him,  to 
the  end  that  he  shall  be  able  to  be  the  defender  and  the  recourse  of  widows,  orphans  and  all  the  servants  of 
God :  grant,  Lord,  that  he  be  the  fear  and  fright  of  the  wicked  and  impious,  through  Jesus  Christ,  our 
Lord."  — Cohen's  Noblesse  Francaisc,  p.  231.  "  The  principles  of  chivalry  were  the  exalting  and  puri- 
fying of  tlie  hearts'  sentiments  by  love."    Id.  p.  342. 


SSS  EDITOR'S    TABLE. 


EDITOR'S   TABLE. 

Germany  and  France,  and  with  them  all  Europe,  are  still  at  the  utmost 
tension  of  eagerness  in  a  deadly  and  warlike  competition  and  mutual  meas- 
urement, to  see  which  shall  first  dare  to  fly  at  the  other's  throat.  Had  the 
Gennans  not  been  so  excessively  exacting  in  demanding  the  cession  6f 
Alsace-Lorraine  at  the  close  of  the  last  war,  they  might  have  perhaps  lived 
since  in  serene  peace,  and  more  cheaply,  and  the  good  effect  would  have 
been  felt  the  world  over.  Greed  must  always  pay  dearly  for  its  gratifica- 
tion, and  even  "  its  strength  is  labor  and  sorrow." 

The  British  contest  concerning  Irish  Home  Rule  drags  its  slow  length 
along,  and  the  end  is  not  yet.  It  seems  to  be  growing  clear  that  the  Tories 
cannot  manage  the  case,  and  will  have  ere  long  to  relegate  their  power  to 
Gladstone  and  his  fellow-workers.  On  the  other  hand,  it  is  probable  that 
the  "  Grand  Old  Man  "  has  drawn  up  a  plan  which  is  in  some  points  open 
to  objection  on  the  part  of  the  largest  and  most  liberal  patriotism.  Some 
things  which  Chamberlaine  says  are  evidently  good  and  wise.  The  Iri3h 
parliament  should  surely  not  be  on  a  par  with  the  parliament  imperial,  but 
be  subordinated  to  it,  except  in  purely  local  matters,  in  some  such  a  way  as 
our  State  legislatures  are  related  to  the  Federal  legislature.  Gladstone 
cannot  succeed  without  the  co-operation  of  all  his  fellow- Liberals,  and  that 
he  cannot  secure  without  considerable  modification  of  his  plan.  If  it 
should  then  be  imperfect,  it  would  be  like  all  other  reforms,  which  can 
come  only  by  piecemeal,  because  the  law  of  evolution  usually  operates  by 
infinitesimals. 

The  death  of  Henry  Ward  Beecher,  on  the  8th  of  March,  furnishes  a 
true  event  in  these  our  bustling,  busy,  commercial  times.  It  made  all  men 
pause  and  give  way  to  a  season  of  much-needed  reflection.  The  unlooked- 
for  dej)arture  of  such  a  man  from  the  scene  of  his  prolonged  and  wonderful 
activities  has  created  a  void  which  no  other  single  individual  of  this  day 
and  generation,  and  not  even  many  men  together,  can  hope  to  fill.  Yet 
lamentations  for  his  loss  seem  contradictory  to  all  professions  of  esteem 
and  admiration  for  him  living.  In  no  right  sense  may  we  surrender  our- 
selves to  deep  regret  at  his  final  departure  from  our  midst,  and  still  be  con- 
sistendy  gratefiil  for  the  transcendent  gift  of  his  glorious  service  to  the 
world  he  helped  to  make  better  worth  living  in. 

By  birth  and  inheritance  he  was  a  preacher.  By  the  steady  and  marvel- 
lous expansion  of  his  inborn  powers  he  became  a  great  popular  moralist, 


EDITOR'S   TABLE.  589 

an  advocate  of  the  poor  and  oppressed,  a  broad  philanthropist,  an  apostle 
of  the  gospel  of  humanity.  Unceasing  practice  developed  the  oratorical 
faculty  in  him  to  a  degree  that  made  him  a  powerful  magnet  for  the  hearts 
and  minds  of  his  countrymen.  He  spoke  on  all  subjects  that  gravitated  to 
the  burning  centre  of  his  tireless  sympathies.  The  cause  of  the  slave,  the 
woes  of  intemperance,  the  sufferings  of  the  poor  and  needy,  the  sacrifices 
of  heroic  men  and  women,  the  discouragements  of  the  downtrodden,  and 
the  inherent  rights  of  all,  were  the  themes  of  his  masterful  speech  for  half 
a  century  of  years,  on  every  one  of  which  he  uttered  the  familiar  truths 
which  the  common  practices  of  life  unhappily  overbear  and  conceal.  Sin- 
cerity thrilled  through  every  fibre  of  his  capacious  nature.  The  substance 
of  his  eloquence  was  its  earnestness.  He  spoke  as  one  having  authority, 
for  the  sufficient  reason  that  he  believed.  He  seemed  inspired  because  he 
was  tnie. 

This  is  no  place  either  to  attempt  an  analysis  of  his  many-sided  nature 
or  to  set  forth  the  differentiation  which  the  vast  growth  of  his  character  and 
powers  made  inevitable  from  his  theological  beginnings.  He  was  a  firm 
believer  in  the  evolution  of  religion,  as  of  all  things  else  in  life  and  nature ; 
and  hence  he  regarded  it  as  a  thing  to  be  expected  that  old  creeds  should 
give  way  to  new  and  larger  conceptions,  forced  upon  the  human  concious- 
ness  by  the  steady  expansion  and  ripening  of  knowledge.  But  over  and 
above  all  he  represented  in  his  marvellous  faculty  of  utterance  the  bound- 
lessness of  the  divine  love  and  its  illimitable  power  to  elevate,  unify,  and 
inspire  mankind.  This  was  the  great  theme  to  which  he  devoted  his 
thought,  his  sympathy,  and  his  eloquence.  It  was  the  alembic  in  whose 
constant  heat  were  fused  all  the  individual  questions  and  issues  of  the  pass- 
ing time.  Politics,  sociology,  religion,  philanthropy,  long-lived  injustice,  — 
all  were  melted  down  to  pure  metal  in  this  one  sufficient  crucible. 

No  man  could  have  done  on  his  sorely  beset  country's  behalf  what  he 
did  in  making  those  memorable  speeches  to  hostile  Englishmen  in  the 
very  crisis  of  the  war  for  the  Union.  No  one  could  more  effectively  have 
lifted  up  the  hopes  of  the  vanquished  South  again  than  he  did  at  the  close 
of  the  war  on  the  very  spot  of  its  origin.  His  voice  has  been  heard  in 
every  good  cause  for  much  more  than  the  life  of  a  generation.  Such  a 
man  could  not  go  unscathed  by  criticism,  which  at  a  certain  period  of  his 
life  took  the  form  of  violent  assault.  It  is  not  for  us  to  be  his  judges.  He 
went  through  all  with  an  unruffled  temper  and  an  unbroken  spirit,  and  the 
public  deliverances  afterward  of  his  thought  and  experience  seemed  but 
the  richer  and  deeper  and  sweeter  for  the  unexampled  ordeal.  At  last  he 
has  become  but  a  memory  to  us  all,  though  a  living  memory  always.  What 
he  has  spoken  to  his  fellow- men  with  such  earnestness  and  vigor,  what  he 
has  preached  from  the  sacred  pulpit  with  such  pathetic  power,  will  continue 
to  work  unceasingly  in  the  heart  and  thought  of  this  age  of  transition  from 


590  EDITOR'S   TABLE. 

the  material  to  the  spiritual,  until  other  times  shall  come,  and  other  men 
with  them,  to  lift  humanity  to  the  level  of  still  higher  hopes. 

Railroads  are  by  no  means  to  enjoy  a  monopoly  of  interstate  or  even 
across- state  commerce.  The  days  of  canal  digging  are  far  from  being  over. 
The  waterways  of  Europe,  Old  England  included,  are  much  more  of  a 
traffic  reliance  than  they  were  in  the  past.  And  the  same  is  coming  true 
in  this  country  again.  We  are  not  expecting  to  see  ancient  enterprises  like 
the  old  Blackstone,  the  Merrimac,  and  the  Northampton  canals  restored 
to  active  service,  but  it  lies  wholly  within  the  probabilities  that  the  Great 
Lakes  on  the  north  are  to  be  directly  connected  with  the  Atlantic  and  the 
Gulf,  thus  utilizing  natural  and  artificial  channels  of  water  communication, 
and  converting  the  interior  of  our  extended  territory  of  populous  States 
into  a  second  Chinese  Empire.  There  need  be  only  the  ordinary  and 
normal  competition  between  railroads  and  canals  so  far  as  transportation 
claims  go.  Both  will  be  found  necessary  in  the  future  development  of  the 
country,  and  each  will  prove  to  be  the  supplement  of  the  other.  So  we 
incline  to  think  the  day  for  canals  has  dawned  again. 

Two  canals  are  already  projected  across  the  narrow  isthmus  that  sepa- 
rates the  Atlantic  and  Pacific  oceans,  one  of  which  is  in  process  of  digging. 
Right  at  the  gate  of  Boston  Harbor  another  one  has  been  laid  out,  to  cir- 
cumvent Cape  Cod  by  cutting  across  the  intervening  sand  spit.  The  whole 
matter  is  just  at  present  before  the  Massachusetts  Legislature,  for  the  pur- 
pwDse  of  deciding  who  shall  be  permitted  to  undertake  it.  The  State,  having 
already  given  the  project  its  indorsement,  is  holding  the  privilege  of 
letting  it  out  to  others  as  it  would  hold  a  public  tnist.  There  are  three 
parties  bidding  strenuously  for  the  work,  each  of  which  solicits  the  gift  of  a 
charter.  The  main  question,  however,  for  the  State  to  decide  is,  who 
stands  ready  and  able,  with  plans  and  actual  money,  to  carry  out  the 
undertaking?  It  has  become  an  unexpectedly  interesting  matter  to  the 
general  public,  and  will  grow  more  interesting  as  the  projected  enterprise 
advances  to  completion.  As  a  sailor  might  say,  water  has  not  yet  done  all 
it  is  capable  of  doing  for  navigation. 

Railroad  horrors  abound  this  season,  and  especially  in  New  England. 
That  which  occurred  near  Boston,  on  the  Providence  road,  on  the  14th  of 
March,  was  by  all  odds  the  most  appalling  of  any  yet  recorded  in  the 
whole  country.  The  White  River  catastrophe  in  Vermont  was  regarded 
the  most  frightful  recorded  in  the  history  of  this  section,  rivaUing  even  the 
Ashtabula  disaster  of  a  few  years  ago,  but  this  more  recent  one  within  half 
a  dozen  miles  of  Boston  surpasses  even  that.  A  collapsing  bridge,  and  a 
plunging  train  laden  with  passengers  on  their  way  to  their  daily  work  in 
the  city,  are  the  two  factors  in  the  frightful  tragedy ;  and  two  dozen  or 


EDITOR'S   TABLE.  591 

more  killed  outright,  with  a  hundred  wounded,  forms  the  melancholy  result. 
The  real  cause  of  the  accident  will  be  duly  discovered  by  the  railroad  com- 
missioners of  Massachusetts,  and  the  responsibility  fixed  where  it  rightly 
belongs.  Words  are  unequal  to  the  expression  of  the  feelings  of  dismay 
into  which  this  entire  community  was  thrown  on  receiving  th^  tidings  of  so 
dreadful  a  disaster.  Nothing  that  is  utterable  can  convey  a  sense  of  the 
shock  to  which  all  sensibilities  were  subjected. 

No  month  in  all  the  year  forces  us  to  pronounce  a  prettier  name  than 
April.  Last  year,  as  not  a  few  will  remember,  it  was  the  pleasantest  one 
kno>vn  for  a  full  quarter  of  a  century,  bringing  all  the  budding  hopes  of  spring 
in  a  single  gathered  sheaf.  Children  who  wander  in  country  lanes  and  the 
neighboring  woods  know  that  it  brings  back  the  soft  south  winds  and  the 
slanting  showers  of  rain,  the  cheery  bluebird  and  the  blithe  robin,  and 
starts  the  catkins  and  birch- tassels  along  the  courses  of  the  brooks  in  the 
meadows.  City  versifiers  only  travesty  the  real  delights  which  April  brings 
by  their  insensate  efforts  to  picture  the  inconsistent  and  improbable ;  but 
the  dwellers  in  the  country  cannot  be  deceived  as  to  the  truthfulness  of  the 
advancing  promises  of  the  new  and  welcome  spring.  In  this  month  of 
April  lies  the  potency  of  the  opening  year.  The  world  begins  to  awake 
from  its  annual  slumber;  the  marvels  of  vegetative  life  again  give  signs 
of  their  reappearance  ;  the  birds  herald  their  coming  with  melodious  greet- 
ings ;  tlie  sunrisings  and  sunsets  take  on  a  fresh  significance ;  the  very 
frogs  in  the  marshes  trill  notes  of  plaintive  monotony  in  testimony  of  a 
common  joy. 

From  every  part  of  New  England,  this  nursery  of  hardy  men  and  irre- 
pressible women,  the  returns  continue  to  come  in  corroborating  the  stand- 
ing statement  that  longevity  is  becoming  more  and  more  the  nonnal  con- 
dition of  its  population.  Old  people  are  all  the  time  reported  in  the  daily 
papers  who  have  achieved  from  ninety  to  one  hundred  years,  and  even 
upwards ;  so  that  encouragemAit  is  beginning  to  be  felt  that  after  another 
generation  or  two  has  crossed  the  stage,  the  old-fashioned  and  long- forgot- 
ten respect  for  years  will  once  more  be  shown  by  those  who  have  not  yet 
achieved  them.  Homilies  on  the  delights  of  old  age  are  generally  more 
attractive  reading  for  the  maturing  young  than  for  those  who  are  already 
aging ;  yet  there  is  many  a  picture  of  chimney-corner  and  side-porch 
tranquillity  which,  if  it  could  only  be  seen  without  any  consciousness  on 
the  part  of  its  aged  figures,  would  almost  make  young  pulses  bound  more 
swiftly  in  impatience  for  its  realization.  The  multiplying  proofs  of  length- 
ening lives  all  around  us  fully  reconcile  us  to  every  alleged  drawback  for 
which  our  climate  and  soil  are  held  responsible. 


592  EDITOR'S    TABLE, 

While  grim  experience  is  teaching  its  practical  lessons  to  the  Kjiights  of 
Labor  in  all  parts  of  the  country,  it  is  plain  enough  to  see  that  the  Strike 
as  an  organic  institution,  set  up  professedly  in  the  interests  of  labor,  is 
rapidly  falling  into  disrepute,  doubtless  not  long  hence  to  lapse  into  com- 
plete desuetude.  The  horse  railroad  men  in  Boston  have  declared  their 
purposeless  strike  "  off,"  and  are  diligently  seeking  reinstatement  in  their 
former  places.  And  the  same  is  true  in  the  entire  list  of  strikes  in  the 
lines  of  industrial  employment.  One  by  one  they  are  giving  in  to  the  in- 
evitable, an  ill-considered  experiment  with  silent  forces  whose  law  no  man 
and  no  body  of  men  need  hope  to  direct  or  control.  If  the  final  result 
shall  be  to  cement  a  new  bond  of  union  between  employers  and  employed, 
it  will  be  well  for  both  sides ;  in  any  event,  for  the  time  being,  each  will 
have  gained  new  conceptions  of  their  relative  situation,  and  become  better 
prepared  for  a  radical  recasting  of  the  form  and  terms  of  their  future  co- 
partnership. 

The  case  of  Dr.  McGlynn  hangs  fire.  He  has  recovered  his  health,  but 
does  not  go  to  Rome.  His  friends  have  loudly  protested  against  Romish 
interference  in  political  matters.  Dr.  McGlynn  has  hurt  himself  and  his 
cause  by  the  almost  violence  with  w^hich  he  has  uttered  himself  on  the  land 
question  ;  and  Henry  George  has  alienated  many  friends  by  defending 
mob  violence  in  preventing  the  free  employment  of  those  who  attempt  to 
fill  the  ])laces  of  the  strikers.     This  is  mob  despotism,  than  which  nothing 

could  be  worse. 

«  « 

« 

In  the  course  of  an  interview  recently  held  with  the  venerable  and  truly 
wise  Mark  Hopkins,  ex-j^resident  of  Williams  College,  he  stated  his  ideal 
of  a  college  to  be  **  an  institution  in  which  a  young  man,  during  the  criti- 
cal i)eriod  of  transition  from  boyhood  to  manhood,  may  have  an  oppor- 
tunity to  do  for  himself  the  best  he  can  do ;  and  likewise  one  that  shall  do 
for  every  such  young  man  the  best  that  can  be  done  for  him."  He  said 
that  a  sound  body,  a  disciplined  mind,  a  liberal  education,  and  a  right 
character  ougiit  to  be  the  results  of  a  four  years*  course  in  college.  As  an 
institution  designed  for  the  precise  |)urpose  of  giving  these,  just  these  and 
nothing  more,  the  American  college  is  the  growth  of  American  soil,  and 
therefore  deser\'ed  to  be  maintained.  The  venerable  teacher  refused  to 
regard  tiie  college  as  a  reformatory.  Nor,  it  is  plainly  to  be  inferred,  does 
he  incline  to  assent  to  its  disappearance  in  a  university.  His  conception 
of  a  college  is  rather  that  which  fits  in  very  many  respects  the  purpose  of 
the  gymnasium  in  (Germany,  with  high  moral  training  superadded. 

« 
The  s((>])e  of  life   has  broadened,  and  the  fields  are  multiplied  and 

diverse  whereon  the  **  antrustianic  "  qualities  are  displayed.     Not  alone  amid 


HISTORICAL   RECORD.  593 

the  clash  of  arms  are  courage,  fidelity,  magnanimity,  caUed  into  action,  but 
the  conflicts  of  social  and  civil  life  afford  them  occasion  and  yield  them 
honor.  The  pohtical,  commercial  and  social  fields  offer  frequent  and  criti- 
cal tests  of  heroism.  While  it  may  properly  be  a  matter  of  satisfaction  to 
look  back  over  an  honored  line  to  the  time  when  its  noble  traits  first  became 
eminent,  it  is  chiefly  because  of  the  personal  manifestation  of  them  that  any 
individual  of  that  line  gains  esteem. 


HISTORICAL  RECORD. 

General  Washington  met  by  appointment  the  Count  de  Rochambeau 
in  Hartford,  Conn.,  in  1780,  for  the  purpose  of  thoroughly  preparing  for 
what  ultimately  proved  to  be  the  final  campaign  of  the  Revolution.  These 
two  generals  met  to  discuss  the  joint  plan  of  proceeding.  General  Jere- 
miah Wads  worth,  who  was  a  distinguished  officer  under  Washington,  had 
his  residence  in  Hartford,  and  his  house  was  one  of  the  finest  specimens  of 
the  peculiar  architecture  which  we  know  as  the  colonial.  The  house  stood 
where  the  present  Wadsworth  Athenaeum  stands,  and  it  was  beneath  its  roof 
that  Washington  and  Rochambeau  had  their  meeting.  Nearly  fifty  years 
ago  the  house  was  removed  to  another  place,  and  for  years  has  been  but  a 
dreary  old  tenement  in  a  state  of  neglect.  Few  persons  knew  that  it  had 
sheltered  some  of  the  most  famous  men  of  the  Revolution,  and  that  within 
its  walls  the  final  plans  of  French  co-operation  with  the  Continental  army 
were  agreed  upon.  The  historic  house  was  recently  sold,  and  will  be 
demolished  to  make  room  for  a  modem  residence.  What  a  pity  so  little 
room  is  left  for  the  houses  needed  by  our  increasing  population. 

Last  month  we  had  to  record  the  violence  of  recent  earthquakes.  This 
month  besides  earthquakes,  volcanoes  also  demand  attention,  which  is  the 
same  destructive  power  in  another  form.  In  the  South  Sea  Islands  the 
volcano  Mauna  Loa  has  been  sublimely  and  destructively  active.  As  the 
natives  conceived  according  to  their  old  superstition  that  it  was  the  expres- 
sion of  anger  by  a  resident  goddess,  and  a  demand  for  some  distinguished 
sacrifice,  the  gifted  sister  of  the  king  allowed  herself  to  be  starved  to  death 
for  the  people's  good,  and  to  quell  the  wrath  of  their  old  volcanic  deity, 
who  then  suddenly  ceased  or  greatly  diminished  her  violence,  as  it  hap- 
pened. 

All  Italy  has  been  in  suflfering  and  terror  from  earthquakes,  as  well  as 
from  the  violent  action  of  Mount  Etna.  The  loss  of  life  and  destruction  of 
property  has  been  very  great.     It  is  said  that  676  persons  have  been  killed, 


594  HISTORICAL   RECORD. 

434  injured,  and  20,000  rendered  homeless,  while  the  material  loss  is  put 

down  at  $10,000,000. 

« 
The  Supreme  Court  of  New  Hampshire  has  decided  that  the  contested 

lease  between  the  Boston  and  Lowell  Railroad  and  the  Northern  Railroad 

is  invalid,  because  against  the  protest  of  a  portion  of  the  stockholders  of 

the  latter  road.     This  is  a  far-reaching  decision,  and  may  produce  other 

dissolutions  as  well  as  new  complications.    The  decision,  however,  seems 

to  be  generally  considered  wise  and  just. 

« 
Our  Federal  legislature  has  passed  a  strong  bill  of  retaliation  against 

Canada,  which  cannot  fail  to  be  injurious  to  both  sides,  though  it  may  be 

just,  and  do  good  in  the  end. 

« 
Kansas  has  just  decided  that  women  shall  vote  in  municipal  elections, 

and  the  New  York  Senate  has  passed  a  similar  bill.     The  same  subject  is 

under  serious  consideration  in  other  States.     The  Maine  Senate  has  also 

voted,  seventeen  to  five,  to  submit  to  the  people  a  constitutional  amendment 

providing  for  woman  suffrage.     But  on  Saturday  the  Senate  reconsidered 

this  action,  and  decided  to  debate  the  question  on  the  next  Wednesday. 

The  subject  is  frequently  under  discussion  in  Massachusetts,  but  we  do  not 

see  that  the  cause  makes  any  real  progress. 

«  « 

« 

CiENKRAL  Butler  has  been  sued  for  ?  100,000  damages  for  imprisoning 
John  H.  I/Cster  in  Fort  Hatteras  during  the  war.    He  pleaded  his  own  case 

and  won  it. 

«  « 

The  Massachusetts  Legislature  has  passed  a  bill  providing  for  an  investi- 
gation of  the  municii)al  government. 

«  « 

AxoruER  railroad  calamity,  of  frightful  character  and  proportions,  oc- 
curred at  the  bridge  crossing  South  Street,  between  Roslindale  and  Forest 
Hills,  on  Monday,  March  14,  early  in  the  morning.  The  place  is  on  the 
Dcdham  branch  of  the  Boston  c\:  Proviflence  Railroad.  Twenty-four  were 
killed,  and  eight  more  have  died  up  to  this  time  (March  18),  while  several 
more  are  in  a  very  critical  condition.  Besides  these  there  are  nearly  one 
hundred  wounded.  The  cause  is  undecided,  —  whether  a  broken  girder  in 
the  bridge,  or  a  car  off  the  track,  or  a  truck  disordered.  The  people,  how- 
ever, had  been  for  some  time  in  growing  fear  about  the  bridge,  and  what 
they  feared  came. 

The  slated  meeting  of  the  Massachusetts  Historical  Society  was  held 
Man  h  i  7,  and  the  president,  Dr.  Oeorge  F.  FUis,  occupied  the  chair.  His 
opening  remarks  were  as  follows :   "  The  happy  clearing  up  of  the  m3rsteiy 


NECROLOGY.  595 

investing  the  birthplace  and  parentage  of  John  Harvard  by  the  intelligent 
methods  pursued  by  Mr.  Waters  promises  to  be  followed  with  like  success 
in  the  case  of  another  distinguished  man  of  our  earliest  colonial  years. 
Roger  Williams;  as  regards  his  origin,  age,  and  kinship,  has  always  been  a 
puzzle  to  his  many  biographers.  From  the  few  fragmentary  helps  to  our 
inferences  on  these  points,  his  age,  at  the  time  of  his  arrival  in  Boston, 
on  the  15  th  of  February,  1631,  N.  S.,  has  had  a  range  between  twenty-five 
and  thirty-two  years.  Those  who  have  shown  the  most  of  charity  for  his 
*  unsettled  judgments,*  by  which  he  first  was  brought  into  notoriety  here, 
have  been  willing  to  give  him  the  allowance  for  immaturity.  I  have  recently 
received  from  Mr.  Reuben  A.  Guild,  librarian  of  Brown  University,  a  note 
accompanied  by  a  newspaper  slip  containing  a  report  of  an  interesting 
paper  read  by  him,  on  Feb.  22,  before  the  Rhode  Island  Historical  Soci- 
ety. Mr.  Guild  thinks  he  has  come  to  the  knowledge  of  the  early  per- 
sonal history  of  Williams.  Though  he  admits  that  the  story  seems  too  good 
to  be  true,  he  thinks  the  evidence  is  very  strong  in  favor  of  the  conclusions 
which  he  has  reached.  Substantially  they  are  as  follows  :  That  Roger  Wil- 
liams was  bom  on  Dec.  21,  1602,  of  a  wealthy,  aristocratic,  high  church 
English  family ;  that  his  mother  was  an  heiress ;  that  he  came  into  pos- 
session of  his  property  just  before  entering  Pembroke  College,  at  the 
beginning  of  the  second  term,  January,  1624,  and  that  he  was  probably  the 
son  of  William  Williams,  of  Gwinear,  Cornwall.  Mr.  Guild  has  certainly 
cleared  one  mistaken  assumption,  as  he  has  found  proof  that  the  Roger 
Williams  who  was  a  foundation  scholar  at  the  Charter  House  in  162 1,  and 
who  was  sent  to  the  university  in  July,  1624,  being  a  good  scholar,  was  not 
the  Roger  Williams  of  Rhode  Island,  who,  at  that  very  time,  had  finished 
his  first  year  at  Pembroke.  This  other  Roger,  who  may  have  been  the  son 
of  Lewis  Williams  of  St.  Albans,  had,  in  June,  1629,  discontinued  his  stud- 
ies, and  his  education  was  suspended  just  about  the  time  that  our  Roger 
Williams,  who  had  been  preaching  in  Lincolnshire,  embarked  for  New  Eng- 
land. We  shall  look  with  interest  for  a  full  presentment  of  this  new  mate- 
rial by  Mr.  Guild." 


>>»;oo- 


NECROLOGY. 


Commander  Edward  P.  Lull,  U.  S.  N.,  died  at  the  naval  station  at 
Pensacola  in  March,  at  the  age  of  5 1  years.  He  was  a  native  of  Vermont, 
and  in  1851  was  appointed  to  the  Naval  Academy  from  Wisconsin.  He 
was  graduated  in  1855,  and  was  a  serviceable  officer  all  through  the  Rebel- 
lion, and  remained  in  the  service  to  the  day  of  his  death. 


596  NECROLOGY. 

Mr.  Charles  J.  Peterson,  publisher  and  proprietor  of  Peterson's  Ladies' 
National  Magazine,  died  suddenly  in  Philadelphia  in  March,  aged  68.  In 
summer  Mr.  Peterson  resided  at  Newport,  where  he  owned  a  fine  estate. 
He  was  a  native  of  Philadelphia,  and  an  author  as  well  •as  publisher,  his 
books  being  very  numerous.  Among  the  best  known  are  "  Military  Heroes 
of  the  Revolution,"  with  a  narrative  of  the  War  of  Independence ;  "  The 
Military  Heroes  of  the  War  of  1 8 1 2,"  and  of  "  The  War  with  Mexico,"  "  Grace 
Dudley,  or  Arnold  at  Saratoga,"  "  Cruising  in  the  Last  War,"  "  The  Naval 
Heroes  of  the  United  States,"  "The  Valley  Farm,"  "Kate  Aylesford," 
"Story  of  the  Refugees,"  "Mabel,  or  Darkness  and  Dawn,"  "The  Old 
Stone  Mansion,"  and  other  works.  Mr.  Peterson  also  added  a  continuation 
—  from  1840  to  1856  —  to  Charles  von  Rotteck's  "  History  of  the  World," 
and  has  contributed  many  tales  and  critical  articles  to  magazines  and  news- 
papers. 

Gen.  Robert  B.  Potter,  a  prominent  citizen  of  New  York,  and  one  of  a 
family  of  brothers  who  attained  eminence  in  various  walks  of  life,  died  in 
March.  He  was  a  son  of  Alonzo  Potter,  Bishop  of  Pennsylvania,  and  a 
brother  of  Bishop  H.  C.  Potter,  Howard  Potter  of  the  banking  house  of 
Brown  Bros.,  and  the  late  Congressman  Clarkson  N.  Potter.  His  grand- 
father was  the  late  Bishop  Horatio  Potter  of  New  York.  Bom  in  Boston 
in  1829,  Robert  B.  Potter,  after  leaving  college,  studied  law  in  New  York. 
At  the  breaking  out  of  the  war  he  went  to  the  front  as  a  lieutenant-colonel, 
and  saw  active  ser\'^ice  at  Roanoke,  where  he  was  the  first  to  lead  several 
companies  into  the  works  at  Newburn,  where  he  was  wounded,  but  did  not 
leave  the  field  until  night ;  at  the  second  Bull  Run ;  and  at  Antietam,  where 
he  was  also  wounded.  During  the  siege  of  Knoxville  his  bravery  was  espe- 
cially noted,  as  well  as  during  the  Wilderness  campaign.  In  1865  he 
received  a  full  major-general's  commission.  For  several  years  General 
Potter  was  receiver  of  the  Atlantic  and  Great  Western  Railroad.  Subse- 
quently he  went  to  Europe,  and  upon  his  return  purchased  a  residence  in 

Newport,  though  he  spent  a  part  of  his  time  in  Washington. 

«  « 

Ex-President  John  B.  White,  D.D.,  of  Wakeforest  College,  of  North 
Carolina,  died  in  Greenville,  111.,  in  March.  He  was  born  in  Bow,  N.H., 
in  181 1,  fitted  for  college  at  New  Hampton,  and  was  graduated  from 
Brown  University  in  1832.  In  the  Civil  War  he  was  chaplain  of  an  Illinois 
regiment.  President  White  was  a  scholar  of  eminent  standing  and  was  one 
of  the  most  influential  men  of  his  denomination  in  the  West.  He  leaves  a 
family. 

Mr.  Charles  E.  Marshall,  a  Boston  printer,  and  lately  connected  with 
the  Boston  Journal,  died  last  month  at  the  age  of  37.  He  learned  his 
trade  in  Fredericton. 


NECROLOGY.  597 

Cardinal  Jacobini  died  in  Rome,  February  26.  He  was  considered 
one  of  the  most  influential  men  of  the  college  of  Cardinals. 

Col.  a.  B.  Jewett,  of  St.  Johnsbury,  Vt.,  died  last  month  at  Jacksonville, 
Fla.,  at  the  age  of  60.  He  went  to  St.  Johnsbury  as  superintendent  of  the 
St.  Johnsbury  and  Montpelier  Railroad,  of  which  road  he  was  made  one  of 
the  receivers  in  the  subsequent  year.  When  it  afterwards  took  the  name 
of  the  St.  Johnsbury  and  Lake  Champlain  Railroad,  he  was  superintendent 
until  after  it  was  leased  to  the  Boston  and  Lowell  Railroad.  He  was  vice- 
president  of  the  road  at  the  time  of  his  death.  He  served  in  the  army  during 
the  Rebellion,  and  for  a  part  of  the  time  commanded  a  Vermont  regiment. 

LoRiNG  Crocker  died  in  Barnstable,  Mass.,  last  month  in  his  78th  year. 
He  was  a  native  of  Barnstable,  but  lived  in  Boston  for  a  few  years  previous 
to  1830,  during  which  time  he  became  one  of  the  earliest  members  of  the 
Mechanics*  Apprentices*  Library  Association.  For  many  years  in  conjunc- 
tion with  his  brother,  the  late  Hon.  Nathan  Crocker,  he  was  the  largest 
manufacturer  of  salt  on  the  Cape. 

Capt.  John  Doak  died  at  Natick,  Mass.,  early  in  March  at  the  age  of  86. 
He  was  born  in  Haverhill,  Mass.,  and  was  in  the  old  artillery  training-school. 
He  formed  a  company  of  militia  in  Natick,  which  became  Company  H,  of 
the  Massachusetts  Thirteenth  Volunteers,  that  took  part  in  the  war  of  the 
Rebellion.  Captain  Doak  was  the  last  living  member  of  the  Washington 
Artillery  Company,  that  paraded  at  the  laying  of  the  comer-stone  of  Bunker 
Hill  Monument. 


«  « 


Hon.  Samuel  R.  Mattocks  died  early  in  March,  at  Lyndon,  Vt.,  at  the 
age  of  86.  He  was  born  in  Middlebury,  Vt.,  and  during  his  long  life  served 
as  registrar  of  probate,  clerk  of  the  county  and  supreme  courts,  judge  of 
probate,  and  State  senator  and  representative. 


«  « 

« 


Mrs.  Eleanor  Francis  died  at  Greenpoint,  L.L,  on  the  9th  of  last 
month,  at  the  age  of  84.  She  was  one  of  the  old  residents  of  Boston,  and  a 
sister  of  the  late  Elisha  V.  Ashton  who  died,  leaving  many  liberal  bequests 
to  the  charitable  institutions  of  the  city.  Their  old  family  house  still  stands 
in  Spring  Lane. 


Rev.  Willlvm  S.  Howland  died  in  March  at  Aubumdale,  Mass.,  only 
forty-two  hours  after  the  decease  of  his  wife.  He  was  bom  in  Ceylon  in  1846, 
and  was  the  eldest  of  the  six  sons  of  Rev.  W.  W.  Howland,  for  forty  years 
missionary  in  Ceylon.  He  graduated  at  Monson  (Mass.)  Academy  in 
1866,  at  Amherst  College  in  1870,  and  at  Andover  Theological  Seminary  in 


598  NECROLOGY. 

1873.  I'^  Ju^^  of  the  latter  year  he  married  Mary  L.  Carpenter,  of  Monson, 
and  sailed  for  India  in  the  following  September  as  a  missionary  of  the  A.  B. 
C.  F.  M.  in  Madura,  India.  While  he  performed  his  thirteen  years  of  work 
there  he  had  the  charge  of  an  extended  field  and  built  up  a  number  of 
churches. 

« 
Ex- Alderman  Andrew  J.  Hall  died  in  March  at  his  farm  in  South  Barn- 
stead,  N.H.,  at  the  age  of  56.  He  was  a  native  of  Stafford,  N.H.,  his 
father  having  been  sheriff  of  the  county.  He  went  to  Portsmouth,  N.H., 
and  learned  the  baker's  trade,  afterwards  coming  to  Boston,  and  shortly 
engaged  in  the  restaurant  business,  owning  no  less  than  fifteen  restaurants 
at  different  times  in  different  parts  of  the  city.  He  was  at  one  time  pro- 
prietor of  the  Webster  House,  and  for  three  years  during  the  war  was  post 
sutler  at  Fort  Warren  in  Boston  Harbor.  He  afterwards  engaged  in  the 
livery  business,  and  had  in  repeated  years  been  an  alderman  in  the  city 
government. 

Rev.  Dr.  James  R.  Eckard  died  in  March,  at  Abington,  Penn.,  at  the 
age  of  82.  He  had  performed  in  his  life  missionary  service  in  Ceylon,  had 
been  pastor  of  the  New  York  Avenue  Presbyterian  Church  in  Washington, 
D.C.,  and  was  professor  of  belles-lettres  in  I^fayette  College  fi-om  1858  to 
1872.  Dr.  Eckard  was  a  grandson  of  Col.  James  Read  of  Revolutionary 
fame,  and  a  grand-nephew  of  George  Read  of  Delaware,  one  of  the  signers 
of  the  Declaration  of  Independence. 

EsTus  Lamb  died  at  Providence,  R.I.,  in  March.  He  was  78  years  old. 
He  was  bom  in  Worcester  County,  Mass.,  and  at  the  time  of  his  death  was 
president  of  the  Providence  and  Worcester  Railroad  Company.  He  was 
interested  in  a  number  of  business  enterprises,  among  which  were  the  Mono- 
hansett  cotton  mills  at  Putnam,  Conn.  For  over  twenty-five  years  he  had 
been  a  member  of  the  board  of  directors  of  the  Providence  and  Worcester 
Railroad,  having  been  chosen  president  in  1884. 

Hon.  Eben  F.  Pillsbury,  a  native  of  Maine,  died  at  Allston,  Mass.,  in 
the  middle  of  March,  at  the  age  of  64.  In  early  life  he  was  a  school- 
teacher, and  afterwards  engaged  in  the  practice  of  law  at  Augusta,  Me.  He 
was  esteemed  one  of  the  foremost  lawyers  of  the  State.  In  politics  he  was 
always  active,  and  was  the  candidate  for  governor  of  Maine  for  the  Demo- 
cratic party  of  that  State  in  1866.  For  several  years  he  was  the  editor  of 
the  Maine  Standard  at  Augusta.  He  left  Maine  and  came  to  Boston  in 
1880,  where  he  resumed  legal  practice.  He  was  appointed  United  States 
Internal  Revenue  Collector  by  President  Cleveland,  but  failed  of  confirma- 
tion by  the  Senate. 


NECROLOGY.  599 

Moses  Miller  died  recently  in  Medford,  Mass.,  at  the  age  of  94  years. 
He  was  formerly  a  well-known  resident  of  the  North  End,  Boston,  his  birth- 
place being  Portsmouth,  N.H.  He  was  drafted  into  the  army  as  a  drum- 
mer-boy during  the  War  of  181 2,  and  served  for  a  short  time  at  the  fort  in 
Portsmouth  harbor,  but  afterwards  procured  a  substitute  and  went  out 
privateering.  He  came  to  Boston  in  18 16  and  established  himself  in  the 
fish  business  on  the  old  Hancock  wharf.  He  built  the  first  wharf  in  East 
Boston  and  carried  the  first  business  over  there.  He  was  the  oldest  deputy 
fish  inspector  of  Boston,  and  he  had  been  a  member  of  the  old  school 
committee.  Just  previous  to  his  death  he  had  celebrated  the  67th  anniver- 
sary of  his  marriage. 

Mother  Angela  died  very  suddenly  at  St.  Mary's  Academy  last  month. 
She  was  one  of  the  most  widely  known  women  in  the  country.  She  was  a 
niece  of  Thomas  Ewing,  Secretary  of  State  under  President  Harrison,  and 
a  cousin  of  the  wife  of  General  Sherman.  She  was  likewise  a  cousin  of 
the  Hon.  James  G.  Blaine,  and  was  bom  in  the  same  house  with  him  in 
Brownsville,  Penn.,  they  passing  their  earliest  years  together.  Her  maiden 
name  was  Miss  Eva  Gillespie,  and  at  one  time  she  was  a  great  belle  in 
Washington.  At  the  age  of  twenty-six  she  joined  the  order  of  the  Sisters 
of  the  Holy  Cross,  of  which  she  became  Mother  Superior. 

«  « 

« 

Captain  Eades  died  at  Nassau,  N.P.,  on  the  8th  of  last  month.  He 
was  well  known  as  the  engineer  who  successfully  deepened  the  channel  of 
the  Mississippi  River  at  New  Orleans,  and  at  the  time  of  his  unexpected 
decease  his  plan  for  the  construction  of  a  ship  railway  across  the  Isthmus 

of  Panama  was  before  Congress. 

«  « 

« 

The  Rev.  Benjamin  Pillsbury,  D.D.,  a  native  of  Boscawen,  N.H.,  a 
graduate  of  Wesleyan  (1847),  ^^^^  ^^  Middletown,  Conn.,  on  the  27th  of 
February,  of  heart  disease,  aged  62  years. 

«  « 

« 

The  Rev.  John  Hancock  Pettingill,  graduate  of  Yale  (1837),  ^i^^  in 
New  Haven,  Conn.,  on  the  27th  of  February,  aged  71  years.  He  was  a 
voluminous  writer  on  theological  topics  and  treated  at  length  conditional 
immortality  and  second  advent. 

« 

Mr.  George  E.  Baker  died  in  New  York  last  month.  He  was  bom  in 
Dedham,  Mass.,  in  18 16.  For  many  years  he  enjoyed  the  intimate  friend- 
ship of  William  H.  Seward,  and  was  the  close  associate  of  Horace  Greeley 
and  Thurlow  Weed.  Under  President  Hayes  he  became  comptroller  of 
the  city  of  Washington. 


(k)0  LITERATURE  AND  ART. 


LITERATURE  AND  ART. 

MUNKACSY'S   CHRIST   BEFORE   PILATE. 

The  use  of  art  for  advertising  merchandise  shows  enterprise,  whatever 
we  may  think  of  it  from  an  aesthetic  point  of  view.  On  turning  over  the 
pages  of  almost  any  of  our  leading  magazines  we  see  cuts  of  fine  pictures 
devoted  to  the  interest  of  soap,  or  perfumery,  or  plasters  for  rheumatism. 
It  degrades  the  picture  by  the  law  of  association  of  ideas,  reducing  the 
artist  to  the  level  of  the  artisan.  A  fine  picture  of  "  Moses  in  the  Bulrushes 
of  the  Nile  "  is  made  ridiculous  by  its  partial  reproduction  as  a  frontispiece 
in  the  book  of  a  humorist  like  Mark  Twain.  But  the  desire  for  gain  knows 
no  conscience  in  dealing  with  art  any  more  than  it  does  in  the  presence  of 
want. 

A  new  feature  in  trade  has  recently  been  introduced  by  Mr.  Wanamaker, 
of  Philadelphia,  in  establishing  a  room  of  art  in  connection  with  his  im- 
mense retail  store,  for  the  delight  of  his  patrons,  —  including  among  his  collec- 
tion the  great  painting  of  Munkacsy,  "  Christ  before  Pilate."  Whether  this 
new  way  of  advertising  (for  such  it  will  be  regarded,  whatever  the  inten- 
tion) will  be  to  stimulate  other  great  merchants  to  open  art  rooms,  as  they 
have  already  opened  reception  rooms,  —  and  what  will  be  the  effect  upon 
the  art  world,  remains  to  be  seen.  Some  will  protest  against  this  obtrusion 
of  trade  into  departments  foreign  and  superior  to  itself,  as  naturally  tending 
to  reduce  them  in  fact,  or  by  association,  to  its  own  level.  But  when  the  tide 
rolls  in,  it  is  useless  to  try  to  stay  it  by  a  shout  or  a  growl.  Besides,  if  a  man 
of  Mr.  Wanamaker*s  high  standing  wishes  to  give  the  poor  and  rich,  high  and 
low,  a  chance  to  see  one  of  the  most  remarkable  pictures  of  our  time,  who 
should  object? 

Three  years  ago  this  painting  was  on  exhibition  in  Berlin,  and  it  was  my 
good  fortune  to  give  to  it  considerable  attention  and  study,  not  as  an  artist, 
but  as  a  lover  of  art.  In  my  notes  written  at  that  time,  I  find  the  following 
entry :  "  It  is  a  very  large  picture,  covering  one  side  of  a  large  room. 
Piliite  sits  on  the  judgment  seat,  dressed  in  a  white  robe  trimmed  with  red, 
his  left  hand  slightly  lifted,  and  his  fingers  spread,  indicating  meditation, 
while  his  eyes  are  open  toward  Christ.  The  thought  in  his  mind  evidently 
is,  *  What  shall  I  do  with  Jesus  ?  *  The  face  of  Pilate  is  of  the  well-known 
Roman  tyi)e,  with  the  strong  features  of  one  who  would  issue  any  sentence. 
On  his  left  sit  two  Jews  anxiously  awaiting  his  decision,  while  on  his  right 
stands  one  who  is  a  leading  member  of  the  Sanhedrin,  urging  the  condem* 


LITERATURE  AND  ART  6oi 

nation  of  Jesus.     Near  him  are  others  with  strong  Jewish  faces,  all  intensely 
interested  in  the  issue  of  their  appeal  to  Pilate  against  Christ. 

"  Not  far  away,  leaning  against  the  wall,  is  a  woman  holding  in  her  arms  a 
young  child.  Her  face  is  regular  and  attractive,  —  perhaps  almost  beautiful, 
—  slightly  revealing  a  touch  of  sadness,  although  she  evidently  does  not 
comprehend  the  full  meaning  of  what  is  going  on  around  her.  Contrasted 
with  the  turbulent  crowd  who  have  come  together  in  the  judgment  hall  at 
that  early  morning  hour,  she  is  the  representative  of  sympathy  and  good 
will  toward  the  prisoner.  The  child  in  her  arms  is  the  innocent  one  — 
of  innocence  yet  untried  by  temptation.  Why  the  artist  has  introduced  these 
characters  into  a  picture  which,  essentially,  holds  much  more  of  the  tragic 
than  of  the  peaceful,  it  is  not  easy  to  explain.  Their  introduction  renders  it 
historically  unfaithful ;  but  we  can  allow  the  play  of  imagination,  providing 
it  represents  a  great  truth,  and  doubtless  women  and  children  would  have 
been  more  faithfully  represented  at  the  trial  by  this  mother  and  child  than 
in  any  other  way.  Just  behind  Christ  a  rough  man  with  both  hands  lifted 
high,  and  with  open  mouth,  is  evidently  crying  out,  '  Crucify  Him  !  * 
*  Crucify  Him  !  *  Among  the  crowd  a  little  further  back,  is  one  who, 
looking  over  the  multitude,  points  the  forefinger  toward  Christ,  as  if  say- 
ing, '  That  is  He.* 

"  Christ  himself  faces  Pilate,  and  on  his  right  is  a  Roman  soldier,  while  on 
his  left  is  the  maddened  throng.  Outside,  the  blue  and  starry  sky  is  begin- 
ning to  grow  pale  with  the  first  streaks  of  the  early  dawn. 

"The  Wonderful  Prisoner  is  simply  clothed  in  a  white  robe.  His  hands 
are  tied  together  at  the  wrists,  and  his  feet  are  naked.  His  form  is  erect, 
with  the  bearing  and  aspect  of  an  innocent  man.  The  shape  of  the  face  is 
striking.  It  is  rather  long,  with  a  sharp  nose,  a  kindly  mouth,  with  the  lips 
parting  just  a  little,  and  a  chin  which  will  not  be  called  strong.  His  brow 
indicates  a  well-balanced  and  broad  and  imaginative  mind,  rather  than  a 
peculiarly  great  one.  His  hair  and  beard  are  lightly  tinged  with  red,  and 
his  complexion  is  light.  His  hair  falls  down  upon  his  shoulders,  and  is 
thrown  back  from  his  brown  and  clear-cut  face.  His  eyes  are  upon  Pilate, 
not  in  rebuke,  but  in  pity.  The  whole  scene  is  intensely  realistic,  but  the 
face  of  Christ  does  not  seem  to  be  remarkable  or  adequate  to  so  great  a 
character.  It  would  suit  the  prophet  of  the  wilderness  better  than  the  Son 
of  David.  It  is  not  Jewish  of  the  prevaiHng  type,  but  that  is  nothing  against 
it.  The  fault  to  be  found  with  it  is,  that  it  resembles  the  face  of  a  fanatic 
rather  than  that  of  the  profoundest  and  most  evenly  balanced  of  moral  and 
religious  teachers  who  ever  lived  among  men.  In  his  expression  there  is  a 
touch  of  defiance,  although  the  supremacy  of  innocence  and  the  conscious- 
ness of  a  great  mission  are  forcibly  represented.  In  his  face  is  a  light  which 
cannot  be  found  in  any  of  the  others,  a  spiritual  radiance  which  comes 
from  within  even  more  than  from  without." 


6o2  LITERATURE  AND  ART. 

No  one  can  go  away  from  the  painting  without  feeling  that  Pilate  and 
the  rest  are  on  trial,  and  not  he  who  with  bound  hands  stands  in  the  pres- 
ence of  his  accusers  and  unreasoning  enemies. 

John  G.  Taylor. 

*  * 

The  Coxceptign  of  the  iNnxiTE,  by  Geo.  S.  FuUerton,  A.M.,  B.D.,  is  a 
metaphysical  work  which  will  command  the  respect  of  its  readers,  though 
it  settle  not  the  point  it  discusses.  Its  "  Infinite,"  Sir  William  Hamilton 
would  probably  pronounce  to  be  only  the  indefinite,  which  is  all  we  can 
make  it  out  to  be.  The  never-ceasing  continuance  of  a  motion  is 
surely  only  the  indefinite.  This  is  easily  conceivable ;  but  it  is  not  the 
conception  of  the  infinite.  Yet  we  do  not  think  that  the  infinite  logi- 
cally transcends  the  power  of  conception,  else  we  should  have  no  mean- 
ing in  using  this  very  common  word ;  and  it  had  better  be  disused  alto- 
gether. That  cannot  be,  simply  because  it  is  pregnant  with  thought,  and  a 
clear,  definite  thought  in  constant  recurrence.  It  is  the  logical  counterpart 
of  the  word  "  finite  *' ;  and  as  logical  counterparts  are  conceivable  and  intelligi- 
ble only  together  in  comparison  and  contrast,  so  finite  is  without  meaning 
except  as  mentally  contrasted  with  infinite,  and  by  that  contrast  is  made 
dear  ;  so  the  word,  "  infinite,"  is  equally  clear  and  intelligible  by  mental  con- 
trast with  "  finite."  Without  this  comparison  both  are  equally  unintelligible, 
and  with  it  they  are  ecjually  intelligible.  Each  is  the  logical  opposite  of 
the  other,  and  as  such  logically  comprehensible.  We  know  what  power  is : 
and  a  power  which  can  do  all  things  that  do  not  involve  a  contradiction  is 
as  clear  as  the  negative  or  finite, — a  power  which  cannot  do  this.  The 
one  is  positive  and  infinite,  the  other  primitive  and  finite. 

Heart's  Own  Verses,   by  Edward  R.  Champlin,  from  the  house  of 

Charles  H.  Kerr  &  Co.,  Chicago,  are  well  described  by  the  title.     The 

verses  are  simple  and  natural,  and  the  sentiment  they  convey  is  pure,  and 

not  always  without  pathos.     We  should  be  glad  to  know  that  the  book  was 

having  a  wide  circulation. 

« 
We  are  pleased  to  mention  the  receipt  of  the  Christian  Metaphysician,  a 

new  magazine  in  the  interest  of  mental  healing,  one  of  the  very  best  of  the 

kind  —  for  whose  success  we  can  reasonablv  wish. 

«  « 

« 

It  is  seldom  that  the  anniversary  of  a  town  or  city  is  commemorated  by 
the  issue  of  so  large  and  valuable  and  so  attractive  and  convenient  a  work 
as  the  one  entitled  "The  Providence  Plantations."^  The  history  of  these 
—  even  to  a  recent  time  —  is  unique  among  the  American  States,  as  that  of 

>  The  Providence  Plantations  for  Two  Htinrlred  and  Fifty  Years.  Illustrated.  By  Welcome  Arndkl 
Orecne,  Providence,  R.I.  :  J.  A.  &  R.  A.  Reid,  Publishers.    Cloih,  410;  pp.  470. 


LITERATURE  AND  ART  603 

the  latter  is  among  the  nations.  The  literary  work  was  done  chiefly  by  W. 
C.  Greene,  who  was  assisted  by  many  other  writers.  They  have  treated 
comprehensively  and  —  for  most  readers  —  amply,  not  only  the  city  of 
Providence,  but  many  other  towns  having  close  relations  with  it  in  the  pres- 
ent or  the  past, — including  some  as  far  away  as  Newport  and  Westerly  at 
the  south,  and  Woonsocket  on  the  north.  The  number  of  views,  portraits, 
maps,  diagrams,  etc.,  is  very  large. 

«  « 

A  LARGE  number  of  American  readers  should  be  interested  in  the  history 
of  the  Normans,  since  in  their  veins  runs  a  rill  which,  in  some  degree,  had 
its  source  in  Normandy  in  times  antedating  William  the  Conqueror.  In 
her  history  of  this  people,^  Miss  Jewett  has  treated  an  important  as  well  as 
an  interesting  subject  in  a  sprightly  and  in  a  worthy  manner.  In  their  own 
land  they  are  brought  to  our  view  in  the  persons  of  the  first  seven  dukes, 
the  successive  rulers  of  Normandy,  who  were  "  typical  of  their  time  and 
representative  of  the  various  types  of  the  national  character."  The  author 
regards  these  Normans  as  the  foremost  people  of  their  day,  "the  most 
thoroughly  alive,  and  quickest  to  see  where  advances  might  be  made."  This 
is  observed  to  be  true  in  regard  to  their  methods  and  skill  in  government, 
and  in  the  extension  of  their  power  and  their  national  growth.  It  is  shown 
in  their  very  striking  and  original  architecture,  which  has  had  so  wide  an 
influence,  and  whose  beauties  are  constantly  reproduced  in  modern  struc- 
tures. The  same  eminence  is  perceived  in  the  social  field ;  for  it  is  admit- 
ted that  this  people  were  gifted  with  sentiment  and  with  good  taste, 
together  with  intellectual  cleverness.  Yet  as  with  others  there  is  a  dark 
side  to  the  picture,  —  failures,  in  point  of  noble  action,  and  misfortunes  that 
involved  much  privation.  These  were  owing,  as  usual,  to  a  blindness  to 
the  inevitable  results  of  certain  courses,  and  the  accompanying  unwilling- 
ness to  listen  to  their  best  teachers.  In  order  that  we  may  understand  the 
old  Norman  beauty  and  grace,  their  manly  strength,  courage,  and  courtesy, 
the  author  would  have  us  go  now  to  the  shores  of  Norway,  where  in  the 
country  of  the  saga-men  and  the  rough  sea-kings,  beside  the  steep-shored 
harbors  of  the  viking  dragon-ships,  linger  still  the  constantly  repeated  types 
of  our  earlier  ancestry,  and  where  the  flower  of  the  sagas  blooms  as  fair  as 
ever.  This  is  a  rather  romantic  view  of  the  subject,  but  in  a  certain  sense, 
it  is  probably  a  true  one. 

'  The  Story  of  the  Normans,  by  Sarah  Omc  Jewett.  New  York  and  London.  G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons, 
1887.    Cloth,  i2ino.;  pp.  373,  $1.50. 


6o4  INDEX  TO  MAGAZINE  LITERATURE. 


BOOKS   RECEIVED. 

A  IIi5rroRY  OF  the  Baptists.  By  Thomas  Armitage,  D.D.,  LL.D.,  with  an  intro- 
duction by  J.  L.  M.  Curry,  D.D.,  LL.D.  Illustrated.  New  York :  Bryan,  Taylor  &  Co. 
I0S7.     Cloth,  8vo;   pp.  978. 

FfiANKMN  IN  Franck.  By  Edward  E.  Hale  and  Edward  E.  Hale,  Jr.  Boston: 
Kohcrt-.  Ilr-iihers.     1887.     Cloth,  gilt  top.     Illustrated,  8vo;  pp.478.     Price  $3XX>. 

Casskij/s  National  Library.  Edited  by  Prof.  Henry  Morley.  Paper.  Issued 
weekly  at  35-00  a  year;  single  copies,  10  cents.  Vol.  II.,  No.  56,  Crotchett  Castle. 
By  Thomas  Love  Peacock.  No.  57,  Plutarch's  Lives  of  Pericles  and  Fabius  Maximus, 
Demosthenes  and  Cicero.  No.  58,  Macaulay's  I^ys  of  .\ncient  Rome.  No.  59,  Ser- 
mons on  Evil  Speaking,  by  Isaac  Barrows,  D.D.  No.  60,  The  Diary  of  Samuel  Pepys. 
No.  61,  The  Tempest,  by  William  Shakespeare. 

TuK  Emancipate )N  of  MASSACHi.sFnTS.  By  Brooks  Adams.  Boston:  Houghton, 
MifTlin  &  Co.     Cloth,  gilt  top,  i2mo;   pp.  382.     Price  51.50. 

KiKiY  .VoiAiJi.E  Ykaks:  Views  of  the  .Ministry  of  Christian  Universalism  during  the 
last  half-century,  with  Biographical  Sketches.  By  John  G.  Adams,  D.D.  Illustrated 
with  portraits.     Boston:  Univcrsalist  Publishing  House.     1882.     Cloth,  8vo;  pp.  336. 

A.mkki(;an  Coi.i.w;f.s:  Their  Students  and  Work.  By  Charles  F.  Thwing.  Second 
edition,  revised  and  enlarged.  New  York :  CI.  P.  Putnam's  Sons.  1883.  Qotb,  I2mo; 
pp.  213.     Price  $1.25.     Boston:  for  sale  by  Clarke  &  Carruth. 


-•o5»;o<»- 


INDEX  TO   MAGAZINE  LITERATURE. 

[The  ntimcr.iN  (lcsi>!nnte  mn(;:izines,  a  list  of  which  is  placed  at  the  close  of  this  index.  The  date  of 
the  iiiiiuuzinch  is  that  uf  the  month  preceding  this  issue  of  the  New  £nulanu  Magazine,  luless  otherwiae 

Ktatc<l.| 

Aki".  Architecture.  French  Sculptors  —  Barrias,  Delaplanche,  Le  Feuvre, 
and  Frcinifl.  //'.  C,  BrownelL  i.  —  The  Cathedral  Churches  of  England. 
Mrs,  Schuyler  van  Rensselaer,  i.  —  Composite  Photography,  yohn  T.  Siod- 
dard.  I.  —  The  Coinage  of  the  (iteeks.  IV,  J,  Stillman,  i.  —  The  Bayeux 
Tapestry.  Edward  J.  IxnvelL  30.  —  The  Course  of  American  Architecture. 
\V\  P.  /'.  Loni^fellow,  15.  —  Is  the  American  Woman  Overdressed?  Helen 
Campbell.  1 6.  —  Andrea  Del  Sarto\s  CaritJi.  Prof,  F,  Max  Miiller,  25.  — 
More  al)out  English  Decorative  Needle-work.  Ltly  Higgin,  22.  —  The  Prac- 
tical Education  of  the  Artist.  Sir  James  J).  Linton^  P,R./.  22.  —  The  Progress 
of  Art  in  Hirminjjham.  Alfred  St.  Johnston.  22. — Cassandra  (with  Frontis- 
piece). John  Forbes  Robertson.  22.  —  Notes  on  London  Monuments.  Francis 
J'ord.   22.  —  Some  Treasures  of  the  National  Gallery.   II.     Cosmo  Monkhouse,   22. 

r>i()(;R.\i»iiY,  (Genealogy.  Confessions  of  a  Reformed  Humorist.  Robert  J. 
lUtrdctte.  9.  —  Autobiographical  Notes  of  a  Congressional  Chaplain.  W,  h, 
Milburn.  9.  —  (ieneral  John  A.  Logan.  9.  —  Abniham  Lincoln.  A  History. 
The  Movement  for  Slavery.  John  G.  Nicolay;  John  Hay,  i.  —  Recollections 
of  Secretary  Stanton.  Charles  P\  Penjatnin.  i.  —  The  First  Mayor  of  New 
York  City,  Thomas  Willett.  Dr.  Charles  W,  Parsons,  6.  —  Chancellor  Kent^s 
Birthplace.  William  S.  Pellet reait.  6.  —  Napoleon  Buonaparte.  Henri  Taine, 
15.  —  X'ictor  Hujro.  John  S.  Fiske.  15.  —  George  Meredith.  Flora  L,  Shaw. 
15.  —  Stories  and  Memories  of  Washington.    Seaton  Donoho,     16.  —  The  Boy- 


INDEX  TO  MAGAZINE  LITERATURE.  605 

hood  of  Clark  Russell.  William  H,  Rideing.  16.  —  Queen  Elizabeth  and  her 
Suitors.  Edward  B.  Williams.  16.  —  Oberiin.  Rev.  S.  F.  Hotchkin.  29. — 
Jeremiah  McLane  Rusk.  Consul  Willshire  Butterjield.  31.  —  The  Underground 
Railroad,  with 'a  Biographical  Sketch  of  Hon.  Leicester  King.  John  Hutchins. 
31.  —  John  Cleves  Symmes,  the  Author  of  the  Concavity  of  the  Earth  Theory. 
17.  —  Some  Letters  of  Jefferson.  17.  —  Genealogy  of  the  Fenner  Family.  Rev. 
y.  P.  Root.  13.  (January).  —  Robert  Gardner  and  the  Founding  of  Trinity 
Church,  Newport,  R.L  Rev.  W.  F.  Gardner.  13.  (January).  —  Some  Phases 
of  Genealogical  Study,  y.  O.  Austin.  13.  (January).  —  Friends'  Records, 
Newport,  R.I.  H.  E.  Turner,  M.D.  13.  (January).  —  Records  of  Trinity 
Church,  Newport,  R.I.     13.     (January). 

Description,  Travel,  Adventure.  Grande  Pointe.  George  W.  Cable,  i. — 
Camping-Out  in  California,  yohn  R.  G.  Hassard.  i .  —  Fredericksburg  First 
and  Last.  I.  Moncure  D.  Conway.  6.  —  The  Wreck  of  the  Saginaw.  Ed- 
mund B.  Underwood,  U.S.N.  6.  —  Historic  Homes  on  Golden  Ground  (Plain- 
field,  Mass.).  Mrs.  Martha  J.  Lamb.  6.  —  Chancellor  Kent's  Birthplace. 
William  S.  Pelletreau.  6.  —  After  Geronimo.  XIII.  Lieut,  yohn  Bigelow,  yr. 
7.  —  Around  the  World  on  a  Bicycle.  XVIII.  Thomas  Stevens.  7.  —  A  Night 
with  the  Scotch  Herring  Fishers.  T.  K.  7.  —  Our  Florida  Canoe  Cruise. 
K-noo.  7.  —  A  Bear  Hunt  in  Mexico.  C.  H.  Buffett.  7.  —  Trout  Fishing  in 
Thuringia.  E.  L.  Morse.  7.  —  All  about  Santa  Barbara.  Edwards  Roberts. 
7.  —  A  Famous  California  Passage.  Capt.  R.  F.  Coffin.  7.  —  The  Valley  of 
Virginia  for  Wheelmen.  B.  7.  —  New  Hampshire  for  the  Bicycle.  C.  D. 
Batchelder.  7.  —  The  Cattle  upon  a  Thousand  Hills,  yohn  Ambulo.  10. — 
Street  Scenes  in  Mexico.  G.  B.  Cole.  10.  —  The  First  Vessel  across  the  Isthmus, 
1849.  Malcolm  McLeod.  10.  —  The  Perils  of  the  High  Sierras.  Dan  De  Quille. 
10.  —  "  Going  to  Meeting  "  in  the  Tennessee  Mountains.  William  Perry  Brown. 
16. —  Dai  Nipou  (Relating  to  Japan).  R.  S.  Collom,  Capt.  U.S.M.C.  29. — A 
Summer  Day's  Ramble  in  Oxford.  Kathcrine  A.  Mathew.  29.  —  Wotton  House. 
Grant  Allen.     22.  —  Asolo.     Percy  E.  Pi nkerton.     22. 

Education.  Of  the  Study  of  Politics.  Woodrow  Wilson.  15.  —  Virgil  Wil- 
liam's Art  Notes  to  a  Deaf-Mute  Pupil.  TheophilusWEstrella.  10. —  Ethical 
Culture.  Rev.  y.  A.  Harris,  D.D.  29. —  The  Lower  Education  of  Women. 
Helen  McKerlie.  25.  —  The  Practical  Education  of  the  Artist.  Sir  yames  D. 
Linton,  P.R.I.  22.  —  Poetry  in  Education.  Marion  Talbot,  A.M.  8.  —  English 
Grammar.  Prof.  Edward  A.  Allen.  8. —  The  History  of  the  Civil  War —  what 
and  how  much  shall  be  taught.  Principal  C.  P.  Hall.  8.  —  Old  and  New 
Methods  of  Teaching  Latin.  B.  L.  D'Ooge,  M.A.  8. —  History  of  the  Depart- 
ment of  Superintendence  of  the  National  Educational  Association.  William  H. 
Gardner,  U.  S.  Bureau  of  Education.     8. 

History.  Abraham  Lincoln.  A  History.  The  Movement  for  Slavery,  yohn 
G.  Nicolay ;  yohn  Hay.  i.  —  The  Coinage  of  the  Greeks.  W.  y.  Stillman.  i. 
—  Reminiscences  of  the  Siege  and  Commune  of  Paris.  .  Third  Paper.  The  Com- 
mune. E.  B.  Washburne.  30.  —  Fredericksburg  First  and  Last.  I.  Moncure 
D.  Conway.  6.  —  John  Van  Buren.  A  Study  of  By-gone  Politics.  II.  Charles 
H.  Peck.  6.  —  Historic  Homes  on  Golden  Ground  (Plainfield,  Mass.).  Mrs. 
Martha  y.  Lamb.  6.  —  A  Gunboat  Episode.  Reif.  William  Chauncy  Langdon, 
D.D.  29.  —  Milwaukee.  II.  Consul  Willshire  Butterfield.  31.  —  The  Under- 
ground Railroad,  yohn  Hutchins.  31.  —  The  Causes  of  the  Union  with  Ireland. 
y.  Parker  Smith.  25.  —  My  Pilgrim  Fathers.  Henry  Willard  Austin.  17. — 
The  Career  of  the  Merrimac.     Dinwiddle  B.  Phillips.     17. 

Law,  Legal  Affairs.  The  Bench  and  Bar  of  Ohio.  I.  Henry  Dudley 
Teetor.  31.  —  The  Bench  and  Bar  of  Milwaukee.  C.  W.  Butterfield.  31. — 
Memoirs  of  Rhode  Island.  13.  (January).  —  Friends' Records,  Newport,  R.I. 
//.  E.  Turner,  M.D.  13.  (January).  —  Journal  Lieutenant  John  Trevett.  1774- 
1782.  13.  (January).  —  Speech  of  Lord  Bishop  Shipley  (on  the  Bill  for  altering 
the  Charter  of  the  Province  of  the  Massachusetts  Bay,  1774).     13.     (January). 


6o6  INDEX   TO  MAGAZINE  LITERATURE. 

Literature.     Confessions  of  a  Reformed  Humorist.    Robert  y,  Burdette.    9. 

—  The  Kssentials  of  Eloquence.  W,  AL  Taylor,  15.  —  Victor  Hugo.  John  S. 
Fiske.  1 5.  —  (ieorge  Meredith.  Flora  L,  S/iaiu,  15.  —  The  Old  English  of  the 
Psalter.  II.  Prof.  R.  //.  Thornton,  DJ),  29.  — "  Locksley  Hall"  and  the 
Jubilee.  JRt.  Hon.  JV.  E.  Gladstone.  25.  —  M.  Renan's  Later  Works.  Andrew 
iMng.  25.  —  An  Alexandrian  Age.  25.  —  Poetry  in  Education.  Marioti  Talbot, 
AM,     8. 

Philosophy,  Metaphysics,  Psychology.  The  Essentials  of  Eloquence. 
IV.  M,  Taylor,  15.  —  The  Change  of  Worlds.  T,  F,  Wright,  24.  —  A 
Thought- Reader^s  Experiences.     Stuart  C,  Cumberland,     25. 

Politics,  Economics,  Public  Affairs.  The  Policy  of  Insurance.  Henry 
C.  Lea.  9.  —  Rent  and  Taxes.  Fred  Perry  Powers,  9.  —  Health  of  the  United 
States  Army  for  September,  1886.  (February).  27.  —  Some  Interrogation 
Points.     Robert  G, /n^ersoll,    4.  —  Modern  Feudalism.     James  F,  Hudson,    4. 

—  Our  Ine(|ualities  of  Suffrage.  J.  Chester  Lyman,  4.  —  Constitutional  Reform 
in  New  York.     George  I>liss,    4.  —  Working  Women.     Ida  M,  Van  Etten,    4. 

—  Some  Political  and  Social  Aspects  of  the  Tariff.  E.  L.  Godkin,  15.  —  Of  the 
Study  of  Politics.  Woodrow  Wilson.  15.  —  Licensing  the  Sale  of  Liquor. 
H.  C,  Hay.  24.  —  Socialism.  Edward  W,  Pemis,  10.  —  Legislation  on  Compen- 
sation of  Members  of  Congress.  B,  A,  Hinsdale,  31.  —  The  Underground  Rail- 
road. John  Hutchins.  31.  —  Is  Constantinople  Worth  Fighting  for?  By  an  Old 
Resident.     25.  —  The  Causes  of  the  Union  with  Ireland.     J,  Parker  Smyth,     25. 

—  Superstitious  Belief  in  Legislation.  Basil  W.  Duke,  17.  —  The  Trial  of  Val- 
landigham.  J- Af-  Wright.  17.  —  The  Foundation  Principles  of  Government. 
C  F.  Crehore,  M.D,  8.  —  The  Strike  —  an  American  Anomaly.  Francis  C. 
Sparhawk.    8.  —  Rhode  Island  Continental  Money.     13.     (January). 

Recreation,  Sports.  Snipe  Shooting  on  the  American  Prairies.  Franklin 
Satterthwaite.  7.  —  New  Hampshire  for  the  Bicycle.  C,  D.  Batchelder,  7. — 
A  Bear  Hunt  in  Mexico.  C.  H,  Buffett,  7.  —  Trout  Fishing  in  Thuringia. 
E.  L.  Morse.  7.  —  Sports  at  the  Home  of  the  Carnival.  Elizabeth  Robins  Pen- 
nell.  7.  —  Form  in  Rowing.  W,  7.  —  The  Valley  of  Virginia  for  Wheelmen. 
B.     7. 

Relkjion,  Morals.  Faith  Healing.  Pro  and  Con.  R.  Kelso  Carter;  J,  M, 
Buckley.  I.  —  Why  am  I  a  Baptist?  Reif.  Thomas  Ar milage,  4. —  A  Letter  on 
Prayer.  'The  Duke  of  Argyl.  4.  —  New  Life,  Theology,  and  Science.  Adolph 
Roeder.  24.  —  The  Change  of  Worlds.  T.  F,  Wright,  24.  —  The  First  Heaven 
and  the  New  Heaven.  William  //.  Mayhew.  24. —  Relation  of  Swedenborg's 
Writin<;s  to  the  Bible.  O.  L.  Barter,  24.  —  Ethical  Culture.  Reit.  J.  A, 
Harris,  D.D.  29. —  The  Temptation  of  Christ.  Rt.  Rev.  William  B.  Ste%>ens^ 
D.D.^  LL.D.  29.  —  Friends'  Records,  Newport,  R.I.  H,  E,  Turner^  M,D,  13. 
(January).  —  Robert  Gardner  and  the  Founding  of  Trinity  Church,  Newport,  R.I. 
Rev.  W.  F.  Gardner.     13.     (January). 

SciK.NCE,  Natural  History,  Discovery,  In^^entions.  The  Progress  of 
Sanitation,  as  shown  by  Life-saving  Results  in  England.  Cafit.  Douglass  Gallon, 
27.  (February).— :  Drv  He.Tt  and  Steam  as  Disinfectants.  27.  (February). — 
Report  on  Hygiene  of  the  Medical  Society  of  New  York.  27.  (February). — 
Faith  Healing.  Pro  and  Con.  A'.  A'elso  Carter;  J.  M,  Buckley,  i.  —  The 
Stability  of  the  Earth.  N.  S.  Shaler,  30.  —  Captain  (ilazier\s  Claim  to  the 
Discovery  of  the  Source  of  the  Mississippi  River.  Alfred  J.  Hill,  31.  —  BirdV 
Nest  Soup.     25.  —  Wines  and  Vines  in  the  Old  Dominion.     John  S.  Gibbs.     17. 

—  John  Cleves  Symmes,  and  his  Theory  of  the  Concavity  of  the  Earth.     17. 

SocioLociv,  Social  Life,  (irande  Pointe.  George  W.  Cable,  i.  —  The 
While  Man  of  the  New  South.  Wilbur  Fisk  Tillett,  I.  —  Our  King  in  a  Dress 
Coat.     Moncurc  D.  Conway.    4.  —  Reminiscences  of  the  Siege  and  Commune 


HISTORY  OF  BREAD-MAKING. 


607 


of  Paris.  Third  Paper.  The  Comrtiune.  K  B,  Washburne.  30.  —  What  is 
an  Instinct?     William  James,    30.  —  Napoleon  Buonaparte.    Henri  Taine,    15. 

—  The  Essentials  of  Eloquence.  W,  M.  Taylor,  15.  —  Idle  Notes  of  an  Unevent- 
ful Voyage.  Brander  Matthews,  1 5.  —  Socialism.  Edward  W,  Bemis.  10.  — 
Is  the  American  Woman  Overdressed  ?  Helen  Campbell,  16.  —  Evils  of  Unequal 
Marriages.  Edith  Langdon,  16.  —  Dai  Nipou  (Relating  to  Japan)  R,  S.  Collom, 
Capt.  C/.S.M.C.  29.  —  Paganism  in  England,  y,  Theodore  Bent.  25.  —  The 
Lower  Education  of  Women.  Helen  McKerlie,  25.  —  Womanhood  in  Old 
Greece.    Mrs,  E.  Lynn  Linton.    25. —  London  and  the  Counties.     25. 

Theology,  Polemics.  A  Letter  on  Prayer.  The  Duke  of  Argyl,  4.  —  New 
Life,  Theology,  and  Science.  Adolph  Roeder.  24.  —  The  Change  of  Worlds. 
Rev.  T.  F.  Wright.  24.  —  The  First  Heaven  and  the  New  Heaven.  William 
H.  May  hew.     24. 

War,  Naval  Affairs.    Drury's  Bluff  and  Petersburg.     Gen,  G.  T.  Beaure- 

fard.  4.  —  Some  Unpublished  War  Letters  of  Secretar)  Chase,  Generals  Grant, 
lalleck,  F.  P.  Blair,  and  Admiral  Porter :  addressed  to  General  W.  T.  Sher- 
man. 4.  —  A  Rejoinder  to  General  Beauregard.  Rear- Admiral  W.  R.  Taylor, 
4.  —  The  South  in  the  Union  Army.  A.  P,  Morey,  4.  —  Reminiscences  of  the 
Siege  and  Commune  of  Paris.  Third  Paper.  The  Commune.  E.  B,  Wash- 
burne.    30.  —  The  Wreck  of  the  Saginaw.     Edmund  B.  Underwood^  U.S.N,     6. 

—  After  Geronimo.  XIII.  Lieut.  John  Bigelow,  Jr.  7. — A  Gunboat  Episode. 
Re7f.  William  Chauncy  Langdon,  D.D.  29.  —  Opening  of  the  Upper  Mississippi 
and  the  Siege  of  Vicksburg.  .S*.  Chamberlain,  31.  —  Journal  of  Lieutenant  John 
Trevett,  1 774-1 782.     13.     (January). 


/   The  Century. 

2  Harper's  Maf^azine. 

3  Anam^er  Reru'etv. 

4  North  American  Rernetv. 
J  Popular  Science  Monthly. 

6  .Magazine  of  American  History. 

7  Outing. 

8  Education. 

q  I.ippincotfs  Afa^azine. 

10  Overland  Monthly. 

11  Atlantic  Monthly. 

12  New  England  Hist,  and  Gen.  Register. 

13  Rhode  Island  Historical  Magazine. 

14  The  Forum. 

15  Nezv  Princeton  Review. 

16  The  Brooklyn  Magazine. 


77  The  Southern  Bivouac. 

18  The  Citizen. 

IQ  Political  Science  Quarterly, 

20  Unitarian  Review. 

21  The  New  Englander. 

22  The  Magazine  cf  Art. 

23  New  England  Magazine. 

24  New  Jerusalem  Magazine, 

25  The  Eclectic  Magazine. 

26  Library  Notes. 

27  The  Sanitarian. 

28  Johns  Hopkins  University  Studies, 
2Q  The  Church  Magazine. 

30  Scribner's  M^^f^azine. 

31  Magazine  of  Western  History, 


^J©?c 


PUBLISHER'S   DEPARTMENT. 


HISTORY   OF   BREAD-MAKING. 


By  WM.  H.  RHODES. 


The  origin  of  bread-making  is  wrapped  in  the  obscurity  which  envelops 
most  of  the  initial  history  of  civilization,  especially  concerning  its  domestic 
affairs.  These  are  considered  as  of  the  least  dignity  and  public  interest. 
The  masculine  gender,  too,  has  always  disdained  to  pay  any  respect  to  the 
concerns  of  his  female  domestics ;  and  no  improvement  in  their  methods 
would  be  deemed  worthy  of  remark.  These  improvements  therefore  could 
be  chronicled  incidentally  only,  by  their  necessary  connection  with  history, 


6o8  HISTORY  OF  BREADS-MAKING, 

or  be  found  registered  in  the  monumental  forms  which  they  have  left  behind 
them.  These,  however,  are  few.  Yet  they  are  enough  to  shed  quite  a 
clear  light  far  back  into  the  history  of  bread-making. 

In  some  of  the  lake  dwellings  bread  has  been  found  well  charred  with 
the  fire  which  consumed  the  dwelling,  and  preserved  the  better  by  being 
thus  charred.  Also  on  Lake  Constance,  in  the  vicinity  of  the  lacustrian 
villages,  a  pre-historic  granary  has  been  discovered  containing  hundreds  of 
bushels  of  wheat  and  barley,  which  indicates  that  the  baking  process  was 
prevalent  among  them. 

We  do  not  find  any  proximately  civilized  people  who  are  utterly  ignorant 
of  the  art  of  baking  or  roasting  meats  and  cereals.  This  is  one  of  the 
initial  domestic  achievements  of  those  who  have  learned  the  use  of  fire, 
which  speedily  suggests,  by  accident  or  reflection,  that  it  may  thus  be  made 
to  minister  to  the  gratification  of  the  palate  and  appetite.  Hence  we  find 
fire  used  for  this  purpose  among  the  lowest  of  existing  savages ,  and  monu- 
mental evidences  of  its  use  among  some  of  the  most  ancient  and  primitive 
savages  are  not  wanting. 

The  oldest  literature  we  have  also  makes  allusions  to  baking  as  if  it  were 
a  settled  and  universal  practice  among  the  people.  The  "  baker "  seems 
as  familiar  as  the  "butler"  in  the  story  of  Joseph  and  Pharaoh.  Still 
earlier  Abraham"  is  described  as  giving  instructions  to  Sarah  to  "  make  ready 
quickly  three  measures  of  fine  meal,  knead  it  and  bake  cakes  upon  the 
hearth."  So,  in  Sodom,  Lot  entertained  the  angels  with  "  a  feast,  and  did 
bake  unleavened  bread,  and  they  did  eat." 

Unleavened  bread  would  be  the  first  form  in  which  it  was  baked.  The 
simple  must  precede  the  complex.  How  long  this  was  used  before  the 
process  of  leavening  was  discovered  we  cannot  tell.  It  may  have  been, 
and  not  improbably  was,  ages  on  ages  that  unleavened  bread  was  the  highest 
attainment  .in  the  art  of  baking  cereals.  This  was  the  bread  which  Abraham 
furnished  to  the  "  I^rd  "  and  the  two  "men  "  with  him ;  and  this  was  the 
kind  of  bread  with  which  these  two  men  under  the  designation  of  angels 
were  fed  by  Lot  in  Sodom.  This  was  the  "  angel's  food  "  in  those  days, 
and,  with  the  kid,  formed  Abraham's  feast  for  the  Lord  himself.  It  has 
been  suggested  that  since  it  is  said  that  Lot  made  unleavened  bread  he 
must  have  been  acquainted  with  leavened  bread.  That  argument  holds 
good  for  the  wTiter  of  the  narrative,  not  for  Lot.  The  writer  lived  later 
than  the  alleged  time  of  Lot ;  how  much  later  is  not  yet  definitely  settled  — 
probably  several  hundred  years.  Bread  made  hastily  would  have  to  be 
unleavened,  —  and  so  the  writer  intends  to  explain. 

It  is  probably  true  that  unleavened  bread  was  all  that  the  posterity  of 
Abraham  ever  tasted  before  their  sojourn  in  Egypt.  The  bread  of  wander- 
ing tribes  has  nearly  always  been  unleavened.  It  is  so  generally  to  this  day 
among  the  Bedouins  of  the  Arabian  Peninsula.     They  carry  with  them 


HISTORY  OF  BREAD-MAKING. 


meal  and  water,  and  when  they  stop  take  their  meal  and  mix  it  with  water 
into  a  dough,  kindle  a  lire,  and  bury  tlieir  thin  cake  in  the  ashes  to  bake. 

It  was  partly,  no  doubt,  from  the  feeling  of  conservatism  in  favor  of  this 
more  primitive  practice  that  unleavened  bread  only  was  allowed  at  the 
most  sacred  feast  of  the  Jewish  nation,  as  well  as  from  its  symbolic  signifi- 
cance. This  had  no  doubt  a  large  influence  on  the  general  practice  and 
habit ;  so  that  probably  most  of  the  bread  made  by  them  till  a  late  period 
of  their  history  was  unleavened.  The  general  use  of  leaven  in  Egypt 
would  by  reaction  operate  to  the  same  effect. 

In  the  days  of  unleavened  bread,  when  men  were  too  low  in  the  stage  of 
development  to  know  how  to  raise  their  bread,  their  skill  and  facilities  and 
implements  for  grinding  their  flour  or  Iwrley  meal  would  be  very  crude  and 
imperfect.  Hence  the  earliest  bread  of  which  we  have  any  historic  knowl- 
edge was  not  only  unleavened,  but  unground.  The  grains  of  wheat  and 
barley  were  only  crushed,  so  as  to  be  made  softer  and  more  pervious  to  the 
action  of  water  and  heal,  and  so  adhere  together  in  the  form  of  a  cake. 
The  bread  discovered  in  the  lake  dwellings  was  of  this  kind.  They  had  no 
millstones.  They  only  brayed  and  bruised  the  kernels  of  the  grain  tit!  the 
starch  in  it  was  set  in  some  degree  free.  When,  after  the  long  lapse  of  an 
untold  period,  millstones  came  into  use,  they  had  to  be  operated  wholly  by 
hand,  and  by  the  weak  hands  of  women.  Even  then,  therefore,  the  grind- 
ing must  have  been  very  poor  and  coarse  compared  with  that  of  our  modem 
flour.  This  would  be  especially  so  in  poor  families,  where  implements  would 
be  inferior  and  the  labor  scant.  In  the  wealthier  families  there  could  be 
procured  something  which  was  relatively  "  fine  flour,"  which  doubtless 
would  be  far  coarser  than  the  coarsest  flour  of  our  time. 

Egypt  is  the  countr}-  where  we  have  the  earliest  evidence  of  the  making 
of  leavened  bread  ;  but  we  have  no  intimation  of  the  method  or  occasion  of 
its  origin  among  them.  To  themselves  it  was  probably  unknown,  lost  in 
the  very  early  and  pre-lettered  period  of  their  domestic  life.  There  are 
two  general  classes  of  leaven  which  have  been  used  both  in  ancient  and 
modem  times.  One  is  sour  dough ;  the  other  is  yeast  from  some  other 
fermented  substance.  A  bit  of  dough  left  over,  especially  if  quite  moist, 
would  sour  and  ferment ;  and  if  this  were  mixed  with  a  new  batch,  as  it 
would  naturally  be.  from  economic  motives,  it  would  leaven  all  the  new  lot. 
Thus  the  making  of  leavened  bread  might  come  naturally  and  accidentally 
at  an  early  period  in  the  history  of  bread-making.  This  is  the  leaven 
which  is  now  almost  exclusively  used  by  the  Irakere  of  Paris  in  making 
bread  ;  as  in  this  country,  pancakes,  after  the  first  batch,  are  usually  leavened 
in  this  way. 

The  other  kind  of  leaven  in  its  use  with  bread  is  more  artificial,  and 
would  necessarily  come  later.  The  fermentation  of  grapes  (and  other 
fruits)    would    be    early   discovered    in    the   warm    countries   where    they 


6io  HISTORY  OF  BREAD^MAKING. 

flourish,  and  hence  wine  is  among  the  earliest  known  product  there.  From 
the  natural  fermentation  they  would  discover  that  the  yeast  thence  generated 
would  hasten  fermentation  in  connection  with  other  batches  of  grapes ;  and 
thus  the  process  of  making  artificial  wine  was  inaugurated.  It  was  quite  a 
step,  yet  natural  and  easy,  to  proceed  from  this  to  the  use  of  yeast  in 
making  leavened  bread.  But  having  already  observed  that  fermenting 
dough  is  a  yeast-forming  process,  the  suggestion  was  readily  made  that  the 
application  of  yeast  would  answer  the  purpose  of  sour  dough,  and  more 
speedily. 

Thus  from  very  early  times,  from  the  very  dawn  of  civilization,  we  have 
seen  these  two  methods  of  leavening  bread  in  operation.  For  thousands  of 
years  there  was  neither  addition  nor  change  in  these  methods.  Improve- 
ment was  never  once  thought  of.  These,  it  was  supposed,  were  to  be  the 
processes  to  the  end  of  time.  When  they  could  not  thus  have  their  bread 
leavened  they  could  bake  it  unleavened ;  and  to  eat  this,  and  have  plenty 
of  it,  was  never  deemed  any  hardship. 

Conservatism  is  nowhere  more  conspicuous  than  in  bread-making. 
Women  are  everywhere  more  conservative  than  men ;  and  they  have  been 
the  domestic  bread- makers  of  the  world.  From  this  conservatism,  as  well 
as  from  poverty  of  thought  and  resources,  the  crudest  kind  of  bread  made  in 
primeval  times  is  still  made  and  eaten  extensively  in  various  portions  of  the 
civilized  world.  In  the  rural  districts  of  Sweden  the  people's  bread  is  rye 
cakes,  made  only  twice  a  year,  and  almost  as  hard  as  stone.  Similar  cakes, 
made  of  barley  and  oats,  were  the  common  staple  of  food  in  Scotland  within 
a  hundred  years  ;  and  oat  cakes  still  have  a  place  in  the  diet  of  many  of  the 
common  people  there,  and  in  the  northern  counties  of  England,  nowadays 
usually  leavened,  but  not  always.  In  the  northern  portions  of  the  continent 
of  Europe,  especially  Russia,  hard  unleavened  bread  is  the  rule,  not  the 
exception.  Speaking  of  the  various  cereals  and  non-cereals  from  which 
bread  is  made,  a  great  authority  has  said :  "  Excepting  rye,  none  of  these 
substances  is  used 'for  making  vesiculated  or  fermented  bread."  That  must 
be  a  "  slip  of  the  pen."  In  our  youth  we  have  seen  "  oaten  cakes  "  scores 
of  times  made  of  leaven,  and  never  saw  them  made  any  other  way.  This 
is  the  common  method  of  making  "  haver  bread  "  in  Yorkshire,  which  was 
baked  on  a  "  back  stone,"  a  kind  of  thin,  smooth  soapstone  over  a  furnace, 
on  which  stone  was  spread  the  thin  leaven  oat-meal  batter,  much  as  we 
here  bake  our  buckwheat  cakes ;  only  that  the  haver  bread  cake  was  a  little 
thinner,  and  oval  in  form,  and  from  eighteen  to  twenty-four  inches  long  and 
twelve  or  fourteen  inches  wide,  one  only  being  baked  at  a  time. 

In  America,  unless  otherwise  indicated,  we  always  mean  by  bread  wheat 
flour  made  into  dough  and  then  leavened  and  baked.  We  generally  use 
some  specific  adjective  to  designate  any  other  kind  of  bread,  so  completely 


HISTORY  OF  BREAD-MAKING. 

from  common  use  has  this  fonn  of  bread  monopolized  the  name ;  and  it  is 
chiefly  in  this  light  that  we  have  used  the  term  in  this  article. 

There  are  several  advantages  in  leavening  bread.  It  is  more  pleasing  to 
the  eye.  No  unleavened  cake  or  loaf  can  compare  in  beauty  with  one  that 
is  nicely  leavened  and  baked.  This  is  a  great  recommendation.  Beauty, 
even  among  savages,  is  always  a  prime  requisite,  for  wliich  they  readily 
sacrifice  more  solid  and  substantial  comforts.  This  alone  would  win  for  it 
general  acceptance  so  far  as  there  is  time  or  means  for  its  indulgence. 

Another  advantage  is  its  greater  agreeableness  to  the  teeth  and  palate. 
It  may  be  hard  and  it  may  be  sour.  But  neither  of  these  is  the  ideal  leaven 
bread ;  and  it  can  have,  and  usually  has,  an  agreeableness  which  never 
belongs  to  unleavened  bread.  This  more  than  pays  for  the  trouble  and 
expense  to  those  who  can  afford  it ;  and  from  long  habits  with  the  common 
people  of  this  country  and  with  many  in  Europe  it  has  come  to  be  con- 
sidered one  of  the  necessaijes,  not  luxuries,  of  life. 

But  its  greatest  advantage  is  the  least  obvious  and  the  latest  to  be  dis- 
covered and  appreciated,  —  its  superior  digestibility.  This  arises  from  its 
vesicular  form,  as  it  is  honeycombed  by  the  gas  and  vapors  generated  by 
the  fermenting  and  baking  processes.  The  two  great  products  of  fermenta- 
tion are  alcohol  and  carbonic  acid  gas.  The  heat  in  the  process  of  baking 
vaporizes  the  alcohol  and  distils  away  both  it  and  the  gas.  In  their  way 
out  through  the  pores  of  the  baking  dough  they  find  obstruction  from  the 
adhesive  tenacity  of  the  gluten,  which  is  one  of  the  constituents  of  the 
flour ;  and  by  pushing  against  these  obstructions  they  expand  the  dough  in 
every  direction.  This  expansion  for  the  most  part  remains,  because  the 
thin  walls  of  gluten  through  which  the  gas  and  vapor  pass  remain  firm, 
and  stiffen  as  the  bread  cools.  While  it  is  quite  fresh,  the  gluten  is  yet  soft 
and  pulpy,  and  so  when  masticated  it  solidifies  into  a  heavy  gummy  mass 
in  the  mouth,  impervious  to  the  saliva  and  the  gaslric  juice,  when  its 
digestion  will  be  very  difficult  and  slow. 

After  the  bread  has  been  baked  twelve  to  twenty-four  hours  the  cell 
walls  become  hard  and  firm,  and  they  are  only  partially  broken  down  in 
mastication,  so  that  the  saliva  and  the  gastric  Juice  can  readily  penetrate  it 
all  through,  and  soon  reduce  it  in  the  stomach  to  chyme.  Here,  then,  is 
the  great  advantage  of  leavened  bread,  its  vesicular  character,  presenting  the 
lai^est  possible  and  the  most  freely  accessible  surface  to  the  saliva  and 
gastric  juice.  Whatever  will  effect  this  most  healthfully,  speedily,  an' 
cheaply  is  the  great  desideratum  of  modem  times  in  making  bread. 

The  ordinary  methods  of  raising  bread  are  very  tedious  from  the  length 
of  time  and  particularity  of  circumstance  and  temperature  required,  and 
the  result  is  therefore  quite  uncertain,  though  probable.  Then  the  process 
involves  a  vast  waste  of  the  most  precious  product  of  the  earth.  This 
waste  consists  in  destroying,  putrifying,  and  turning  into  carbonic  acid  gas 


6i2  HISTORY  OF  BREAD-MAKING. 

and  wasted  alcohol  from  six  to  ten  per  cent  of  the  flour  used  in  making 
bread.  As  a  faint  indication  of  this  waste  we  may  mention  that  it  has  been 
estimated  that  more  than  three  hundred  thousand  gallons  of  alcohol  are 
annually  evaporated  from  the  bread  ovens  of  London  alone ;  and  costly 
attempts  have  been  made  to  collect  and  utilize  this,  but  in  vain. 

To  escape  these  objectionable  features  attaching  to  ordinary  bread-rais- 
ing, chemists  have  resorted  to  various  powders.  We  have  all  been  long 
familiar  with  saleratus  and  sour  milk,  and  the  jaundiced  biscuit  which  they 
often  gave  us  :  and  we  have  often  prayed  for  some  further  advance  in  panary 
science ;  and  we  approved  the  discretion  of  our  housewives  who  steadily 
refrained  from  using  this  modem  discovery  whenever  they  had  time  to 
leaven  their  bread  by  the  old  methods. 

Bi-carbonate  of  soda  has  also  been  used  with  sour  milk  in  the  place  of 
saleratus ;  but  it  has  not  been  a  conspicuous  success,  because  the  proper 
adjustment  of  the  acid  and  alkali  is  very  difficult.and  seldom  attained.  Bi- 
carbonate of  soda  with  cream  of  tartar  is  another  of  these  attempted  substi- 
tutes of  fermenting  leaven ;  but  eminent  physicians  have  pronoimced  its 
use  injurious  to  the  alimentary  organs.  Among  the  more  recent  and  best 
advertised  invention  was  that  of  the  "  aerated  bread,"  the  merit  of  which  is 
due  to  Mr.  Dauglish  of  London.  He  prepared  carbonic  acid  gas  independ- 
ently, and  then  injected  it  into  the  dough,  so  that  its  expansion  and  escape 
through  the  dough  in  the  process  of  baking  raised  the  bread.  This  method 
was  admirable  in  design  ;  but  it  is  possible  only  by  means  of  a  costly  api>a- 
ratus  which  only  large  bakeries  could  afford,  and  even  to  them  it  was  too 
costly  to  make  it  pay  so  as  to  bring  it  into  general  use.  The  use  of  alum 
in  connection  with  bread-making  was  first  mentioned  in  1874.  The  use  of 
this  substance  alone  may  prof>erly  be  considered  as  an  adulteration,  because 
—  without  going  into  the  question  of  the  deleterious  effects  which  it  may 
produce  upon  the  human  system  —  it  permits  of  the  use  of  poor  or  damaged 
flour  in  the  preparation  of  a  bread  which  would  apparently  be  otherwise 
perfect.  Baking-powders  made  with  desiccated  ammonia,  alum,  and  bi- 
carbonate of  soda,  will  leave  an  alumina  hydrate  in  the  bread,  and  a  differ- 
ence of  opinion  exists  among  authorities  whether  bread  made  from  such  a 
baking-powder  can  be  wholesome.  All  the  modem  inventions  so  far,  for 
superseding  the  use  of  fermented  leavens  in  making  bread,  may  therefore 
be  pronounced  failures.  They  have  but  poorly  attained  the  end  they  seek ; 
besides,  whatever  their  success  otherwise,  the  only  gain  they  even  attempt 
to  secure  is  an  increased  economy  of  time  and  trouble,  and  the  saving  of 
the  loss  caused  by  fermentation.  This  would  indeed  be  a  great  step  for- 
ward were  it  really  achieved.  Now  if  we  could  find  a  powder,  or  combina- 
tion of  powders,  which  should  not  only  accomplish  this  fully  and  to  uni- 
versal satisfaction,  but  also  supply  the  valuable  constituents  to  the  flour 
which  are  taken  from  it  by  our  modem  refinements  in  bolting  it,  we  should 


613 

have  here  a  great  and  precious  benefaction  for  mankind.  There  is  a  baking- 
powder  coming  into  extensive  fame  and  use  which  seems  to  possess  these 
excellencies. 

It  is  conceded  on  aM  hands  that  our  modem  fine  flour  is  deficient  in  the 
properties  which  go  to  make  bone  and  cartilage  and  teeth,  and  also  brain 
and  nerve,  and  that  these  properties  are  disproportionately  carried  ofT  with 
the  bran  In  bolting.  As  people  will  have  the  fine  flour  because  of  tiie  look 
and  tastL',  the  phosphates  carried  away  with  the  bran  must,  if  possible,  be 
restored  by  some  other  method.  This  is  designed  to  be. done  in  these 
baking-powders.  By  elaborate  chemical  processes  phosphoric  acid  is  pro- 
duced, and  then  for  convenience  it  is  mixed  with  a  dry  farinaceous  sub- 
stance or  powder.  This  powder  is  then  mixed  with  bi-carbonate  of  soda, 
forming  a  baking-powder ;  and  the  combination  generates  carbonic  acid 
gas,  which  raises  the  dough  in  its  effort  to  escape.  This  is  a  very  intelli- 
gible theory,  and  is  thoroughly  scietitifit.  It  has  already  had  a  growing  and 
extending  trial  of  some  tsventy  or  more  years.  Its  originator,  E.  N.  Hors- 
fotd,  formerly  a  professor  of  chemistry  at  Harvard  College,  has  devoted  a 
large  portion  of  a  long  life  to  its  perfection,  having  also  the  co-operation  of 
other  distinguished  chemists. 

Professor  Charles  A.  Doremus,  Adjunct  Professor  of  Chemistry  and  Toxi- 
cology in  Bellevue  Hospital  Medical  College,  New  York,  says  :  "The  natu- 
ral phosphates  removed  from  the  grain  in  the  process  of  bolting  the  flour, 
are  by  Horsford's  method  restored  through  the  baking-powder.  While  the 
residues  which  al!  baking-powders  leave,  except  those  which  consist  of  salts 
which  volatilize  completely  under  the  heat  of  the  baking-oven,  are  of  a 
nature  which  makes  it  a  matter  of  doubt  whether  they  should  be  introduced 
into  the  system.  In  the  case  of  the  phosphatic  powders  tlie  residue  is  of 
positive  value,  and  is  not  foreign  to  the  flour,  but  composed  of  the  same 
salts,  practically,  which  form  the  ash  of  the  cereal  grains. 

"  It  is  a  serious  problem  for  tlie  physiological  chemist  to  discover  the  best 
method  of  supplying  the  human  system,  especially  an  exhausted  one,  with 
the  requisite  amount  of  phosphatic  food  for  the  organism  to  remain  in 
health.  The  phosphatic  salts  are  never  wanting  in  the  most  nourishing 
varieties  of  food,  whether  vegetable  or  animal.  They  are  closely  allied  to 
all  the  vital  functions,  are  constantly  being  eliminated  from  the  hotly,  and 
must  be  replaced  by  a  fresh  supply.  The  testimony  of  thousands  goes  to 
show  that  under  the  prevalent  conditions  and  habits  of  American  life,  there 
are  few  who  are  not  greatly  benefited  when  they  partake  of  these  same 
phosphates  as  restorative  agents.  The  sales  of  phosphatic  preparations  for 
medicin.-il  use,  or  as  mild  tonics,  have  assumed  enormous  proportions. 

"  Elaborate  experiments  on  the  effect  of  the  residue  left  by  cream  of  tartar 
and  other  baking-powders,  on  gastric  digestion,  showed  that  the  digestion 
of  albumen  by  gastric  juice  was  greatly  retarded  by  the  residue  which  would 


6i4  HISTORY  OF  BREAD-MAKING. 

be  left  in  biscuit  made  by  cream  of  tartar  baking-powders.  Besides  retard- 
ing the  digestion  of  albumen,  it  was  observed  that  the  tartrate  residue  ren- 
dered the  mass  liable  to  fermentative  changes. 

"  That  the  phosphates  can  have  any  detrimental  influence  on  either  gastric 
or  intestinal  digestion  is  improbable,  since  the  juices  of  the  digestive  organs 
contain  these  salts  in  relatively  large  proportions.  From  what  has  been 
said,  it  should  be  apparent  that  while  there  are  many  baking-powder  mix- 
tures of  quite  dissimilar  composition,  yet  they  have  essentially  but  one 
office,  —  that  of  raising  bread.  Their  action  may  take  place  at  the  time  of 
kneading  or  subsequently.  They  may  possess  some  advantage  in  regard  to 
cost  or  of  the  quantity  to  be  used,  and  in  the  residue  —  if  there  is  any — 
being  small  or  less  injurious  than  some  other ;  but  in  all  cases  save  one,  the 
element  of  adding  a  nutritive  character  to  the  bread  is  entirely  lacking. 

"  Unless  a  phosphate  form  one  of  the  ingredients  of  a  baking-powder, 
there  is  no  residue  left  of  nutritive  value. 

"We  are  in  the  position  to-day  to  Select  from  among  many  of  approxi- 
mately equal  value  in  other  respects,  a  powder  which  shall,  through  the 
foresight  of  one  versed  in  science,  surpass  all  competitors  in  possessing  the 
additional  quality  of  restoring  or  adding  to  the  flour  nutritive  elements." 

The  public  will  be  interested  to  know,  at  home  and  abroad,  that  the 
result  so  impressed  Baron  Liebig,  the  most  distinguished  food  chemist  of 
his  time,  that  he  wrote  to  its  inventor  and  elaborator  as  follows  :  — 

"  I  have,  through  a  great  series  of  experiment,  satisfied  myself  of  the 
purity  and  excellence  of  your  preparation.  The  bread  has  no  acid,  is  easily 
digested,  and  of  the  best  taste.  Aside  from  the  conveniences  this  invalu- 
able idea  of  yours  has  proved,  I  consider  this  invention  as  one  of  the  most 
useful  gifts  which  science  has  made  to  mankind.  It  is  certain  that  the 
nutritive  value  of  the  flour  will  be  increased  ten  per  cent  by  your  invention, 
and  the  result  is  precisely  the  same  as  if  the  fertility  of  our  wheat-fields  had 
been  increased  by  that  amount.     What  a  wonderful  result  is  this  !" 

Wonderful  indeed,  and  blessed  is  the  accomplishment  of  such  a  result. 

27 


PUBLfSHER'S   NOTES. 

The  excellent  work  published  last  year  by  the  enterprising  house  of  J.  A. 
and  R.  A.  Reid,  of  Providence,  R.I.,  ''The  Providence  Planlalioos,"  is 
stated  to  have  already  had  a  sale  of  10,000  copies.  By  the  courtesy  of  the 
Messrs,  Reid,  we  have  been  able  to  increase  the  illustrations  of  our  April 
number  by  the  use  of  several  fine  cuts  used  for  this  work. 

The  Photographic  Studio  of  H.  G.  Morton,  75  Westminster  St.,  Provi- 
dence, has  a  well-deserved  reputation  for  producing  lirst-c!ass  work  at  rea- 
sonable prices.  Any  of  our  readers,  whether  in  want  of  anything  in  his  line 
or  not,  will  do  well  to  call  on  Mr.  Morton  and  examine  the  fine  collection 
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Thos.  S.  Hammond  has  an  elegant  line  of  stationery,  especially  blank 
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ble price,  if  bought  at  39  Weybosset  St. 

Dr.  Frank  W.  SnAnircK,  357  Westminster  St.,  Providence,  is  using  the 
Boston  Vegetable  Anaesthetic  in  extracting  teeth,  and  is  earning  the  liighest 
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The  Bigelow  Printing  Company,  45  Eddy  St.,  Providence,  is  prepared  to 
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To  put  this  magazine  on  a  permanent  and  substantial  basis,  it  has  been 
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of  collecting  and  presenting  in  popular  form  the  vast  amount  of  hitherto 
unwritten  New  England  history.  We  wish  to  emphasize  the  following 
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is  especially  rich  iii  historical  material.  2.  Only  a  small  portion  of  that 
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detracting  from  literary  and  historic  considerarions.  4.  This  magazine  is 
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objects  combining  the  very  highest  type  of  philanthropy  with  a  good  finan- 
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trust,  will  not  be  disappointed,  by  corresponding  with  the  publisher  of  this 
magazine  in  regard  to  these  points. 


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Comfarimg  THE  XEW  EXGLAXD  MAGAZIXE  -s-'ilk  atkers.  The  J< 
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The  New  England  Magazine, 

A   POPULAR    ILLUSTRATED    MONTHLY. 

'  I  'HIS  Mai{azine  enjovii  a  liberal  patronage  from  those  who  take  a  livelv  iatcrest  in 
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Articles  relating  to 

NEW   ENGLAND  IN  THE  CIVIL  WAR 

will  be  published  in  nearlv  every  number  of  the  coming  volume. 

EARLY  NEW  ENGLAND  HISTORY, 
includin<;  hkcichcs  of  life  in  colonial  times,  will  be  accuratelv  portrared  hv  those 
who  have  had  the  rare  opportunity  of  gaining  accees  to  manv  old  and  valued  docu- 
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"NEW    ENGLAND    COLLEGES," 

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Complete  Stories,  written  by  authors  of  acknowledged  merit  will  appear  in  each 

Under  the  headings,  "Editor's  Table,"  "Historical  Record,"  " Nbc-rolooy,"* 
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!    ranr  lln.s  new  I'rcncn  prupiiration,  iree  irompoi- 

A>;p                                                     lAuti  I  Kunoiis  dru^s,  specially  prepared  for  laaic*' 

I  ti>e,  ami  hi>;hly  iwrfunicd,  is  ihc  only  one  that 

TAO     llAillirAnTlinrDO                              NECK  lus  proved  hucccs^ful  in  permanently  destroy- 

I  AU     IVI  ANUr  At  I  UntnO,                           Hkvi^j  ,  ^^^^  ^upcrrluous  hair  after  all  other  mean*  and 

ADMO  .  preparations  have  failed;  Riiaranteed  harm- 

fllilflOi  i\.ji^  to  ti,e  skin;  put  tip  in  plain  envelope 

!iFi  Fflflv  ar»fl  9fi  Wa<;hinp*tnn  Strppfq  '         p-ukcts  in  form  df  a  se.ilcd  letter.   Prim, 

40    LUUy  ana    ^D    VYdbllingron    Oirttib,        >n.mhKr  packet.    Sold  by  llmvirlstH.   Ifyoucannot 

^i-t  it,  we  will  mail  it  to  any  address,  free  of  exi<cnie,  on 
PKOVIDENCE,  K.  I.  (  O.,  122  Pearl  St.,  BoKton,  XaKN. 


DK.    l>rVAL*S    SITPKltFLUOUS 

HAIR    DESTROYER. 

Appro'"ed  by  Eminent  Phyaiciana. 

Tlii.s  new  IVeiich  preparation,  free  from 


HOMES  AMONG  THE  ORANGE  GROVES. 

St;  iiri-  «)nc  \<  )\V  whili-  you  ran  j^rl  <>no  near  tlic  Kailro.id  at  a  low  j>rice  and  on  easy  terms. 

Ten  Acres  for  One  Hundred  Dollars,  payable  One  Dollar  a  iveek 

until  paid,  without  Interest. 

I  have  laid  out  (')40  ,urv^  into  lo-acro  s<iiiaros,  fronliuK  on  a  street  50  foot  wide.  All  the  odd 
iiuniliers  can  be  iunl  at  llie  almve  priee;  the  even  tuunhers  arc  t*)  be  held  at  S250  for  the  tame 
si/i-.     Send  vour  addnss  wilh  ( )ne  I  >ollar  and  .secure  one  now  before  thev  arc  all  taken. 

J.  P.  SNOW,  7  Exchange  Place,  Boston,  Mass. 

V.  S.  ( )ne  Hundred  I  )olIars  in  Morida  Lands  will  T)av  vou  more  than  ( )ne  Thousand  DoUan 
in  liatiks  or  (lovernnient  Hon<ls. 


J 


1 

1 

V 

1 

\ii  iMlJ  >i■l■^ll;^'.^■' 
'    '    —»/ ^ 

.  ?  fjjo  /a  Jo, 

A  FINE  STEEl  PORTRAIT  11. 

tmlcan  Invaslment 


JOHN  A.  ANDREW; 
Ex-Cov.  JOHN  D.  LONi 
Hon.  HENRY   W.    PAIN  I 


Hon.  HUGH  O'BRIEN 


OF    I r  M/  A 


MOST    PERFECT  wet    wuil    u 
MOST   DEAlfTirUL    INSTRU- 


IIIBHf" 


3  9015   01211    5849 


Replaced  with  Co"-" 


1993