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New  England  Magazine 


AN    ILLUSTRATED   MONTHLY. 


INTENTS- 


Ne^  Serie?;  Vol.  5.  Old  Series,  Vol.  11 


September,  1891.  —  February,  i8g2. 


BOSTON.   MASS.: 

NEW  ENGLAND  MAGAZINE  CORPORATION, 
86  Federal  Street. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress  in  the  year  1892,  by  the 
NEW  ENGLAND  MAGAZINE  CORPORATION, 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress  at  Washington. 


All  rights  reserved. 


Typography  by  New  England  Magazine,  Boston,  Mass. 


Presswork  by  Potter  &  Potter,   Boston,  Mass. 


INDEX 

TO 

THE  NEW  ENGLAND  MAGAZINE. 

VOLUME  V.  SEPTEMBER  — FEBRUARY,  1802. 


Agriculture,  A  Future  C.  S.  Plumb 311 

Atlanta George  Leonard  Chaney 377 

Brass  Cannon  of  Campobello,  The Kate  Gannett  Wells ."._..       3 

Illustrations:  The  Brass  Cannon;  The  Admiral's  Chair,  and  Other  Relics;  Campobello;  Easlport  from  Campobello;  In 
the  Fog  at  Campobello;  Admiral  Owen,  from  a  Portrait  preserved  at  Campobello;  The  Church,  Schools  and  Rectory 
at  Campobello. 

Burgess   Edward,  and  His  Work A.  G.  McVey 49 

Illustrations:  Edward  Burgess:  The  Puritan;  The  Mayflower; ,  —  Goelet  Cup,  August,  1888;  The  Mayflower  — 
Schooner  rigged;  The  Puritan,  Mayflower,  and  Volunteer  after  a  painting  by  Halsall;  The  Volunteer  rounding  the 
Light-Ship,  after  a  painting  by  Halsall;  |The  Papoose;  The  Volu7iteer  in  Dock;  The  Steam  Yacht  Jathuiel ; 
The  Saladin;   The  Fancy;   The  Beatrix;  The  Oweenee;  The   Merlin;  The  "  John   H.  Buttrick"  ;  The  Carrie 

E.  Phillips  ;  The  Burgess  Homestead  at  Beverly;   Edward  Burgess's  Signature. 

Brunswick  and  Bowdoin  College Charles  Letuis  Slattery 449 

Illustrations  by  Sears  Gallagher,  J.  R.  Brown,  William  F.  Hersey,  Charles  H.  Woodbury,  and  James  Hall : 

Governor  James  Bowdoin;  Bowdoin  College  Campus;  Bowdoin  College  in  1830;  Main  Street,  Brunswick;  Joseph 
McKeen  First  President  of  Bowdoin  College;  King's  Chapel,  Bowdoin;  Lincoln  Street,  Brunswick;  Longfellow's 
Class  Picture;  Henry  W.  Longfellow  at  the  age  of  Thirty-five;  The  Cabot  Cotton  Mill,  Brunswick;  Town  Hall, 
Brunswick;  House  in  which  '"  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin  "  was  written,  Brunswick;  Up  the  Androscoggin ;  Professor  Cleve- 
land; Massachusetts  Hall,  Bowdoin;  The  Oldest  House  in  Brunswick;  Woodlawn,  Brunswick;  The  first  Meeting- 
House  in  Brunswick;  William  DeWitt  Hyde,  President  of  Bowdoin  College;  Joshua  L.  Chamberlain,  ex-President  of 
Bowdoin  College;   Chief  Justice  Fuller;   Seal  of  Bowdoin  College. 

Black  and  White Mrs.  Lillie  B.  Chace  Wyman 476 

With  a  Portrait  of  Lucy  Stone. 

Butler's  Boyhood,  General Benjamin  F.  Butler 225 

Illustrations:  Ye  olde  Powder  Home;  Captain  John  Butler  —  The  Father  of  Benjamin  F.  Butler:  Mrs.  Charlotte  Ellison 
Butler  —  The  Mother  of  Benjamin  F.  Butler?  Birthplace  of  Benjamin  F.  Butler,  at  Deerfield,  N.  H.;  Waierville  Col- 
lege in  Benjamin  F.  Butler's  Student  Days;   Miss  Sarah  Hildreth  in  1839;   Benjamin  F.  Butler  in  1839;   Mrs.  Benjamin 

F.  Butler. 

Brooks  Phillips. Julius  H.  Ward 555 

Illustrations  by  Chas.  H.  Woodbury,  Jo.  H.  Hatfield,  Sears  Gallagher,  James  Hall,  Jos.  R.  Brown,  and  Louis  A.  Holman; 
Phillips  Brooks  as  a  Harvard  Student;  Rev.  Alexander  H.  Vinton;  St.  Paul's  Church;  Boston  Latin  School,  Bedford 
Street;  Massachusetts  Hall,  Harvard;  Rev.  John  C.  Brooks;  Rev.  Frederick  Brooks;  Rev.  Arthur  Brooks;  Professor 
William  Sparrow;  Theological  Seminary,  Alexandria;  St.  George's  Hall,  Alexandria:  Mr.  Brooks  in  His  Old  Room 
at  Alexandria;  Church  of  the  Advent,  Philadelphia;  Phillips  Brooks  during  his  rectorship  of  the  Church  of  the  Advent; 
Church  of  the  Holy  Trinity,  Philadelphia;  Phillips  Brooks  during  his  rectorship  of  Holy  Trinity;  Old  Trinity  Church, 
Summer  Street,  Boston;  Mr.  Brooks's  Residence,  Clarendon  Street,  Boston;  Trinity  Church,  Boston;  Interior  of 
Trinity  Church,  Boston;  Phillips  Brooks's  house,  North  Andover. 

Bosphorus,  The Alfred  O.  F.  Hamlin  484 

Beaconsfield    Terraces,  The John  Waterman 625 

Campobello,  Brass  Cannon  of Kate  Gannett  Wells  3 

Converting  of  Obed   Saltus Rose  Terry  Cooke  395 

Canadian   Journalists  and  Journalism Walter  Blackburn  Harte 411 

Illustrations  by  John  W.  Bengough,  Joseph  Brown,  Sears  Gallagher,  and  others: 

"Grip;"  Honore  Beaugrand;  Ella  S.  Elliott;  John  Robson  Cameron;  James  Johnson:  Watson  Griffin;  John  Living- 
ston; Joseph  Tasse;  Eve  H.  Brodilique;  John  A.  MacPhail;  John  Anderson  Boyd;  Edmund  E.  Sheppard;  W.  D. 
Le  Sueur;  J.  Lessard;  S.  Frances  Harrison;  Nicholas  Hood  Davin;  John  W.  Bengough;  C.  Blackett  Robinson;  D. 
J.  Beaton;  Hon.  J,  W.  Longley,  J.  S.  Willison;  John  Talon  Lesperance;  W.  F.  Luxton;  Mclyneaux  St.  John;  James 
Hannay;  John  Cameron;  Edward  Farrer;  Robert  S.  White;  Bernard  McEvoy;  The  Globe  Building,  Toronto;  The 
Mail  Building,  Toronto;  The  Empty  Saddle,  The  Cartoon  in  "  Grip  "  published  after  Sir  John  Macdonald's  death; 
John  V.  Ellis;   The  Beauties  of  a  Royal  Commission,  from  "  Grip,"  August  23,  1873. 

Corot — His   Life  and  Work Camille  1  hurwanger 691 

Illustrations:  Corot  at  Work  in  his  Studio;  A  June  Morning,  and  Portrait  of  Corot,  engraved  by  M.  Lamont  Brown; 
Fontainbleau;  Danse  Antique;  Orpheus;  Le  Soir;  Le  Matin;  Ville  D'Avray;  The  Dance  of  the  Nymphs;  Apple 
Blossoms. 

Child,  Lydia  Maria,  Letters  from  Wendell  Phillips  to 730 

Churches  of  Worcester C.  W.  Lamson 768 

Illustrations:  Old  South  Church;  First  Unitarian  Church;  New  Old  South;  Interior  of  New  Old  South;  Bancroft  House; 
Rev.  Aaron  Bancroft,  D.  D.;  Rev.  Edward  H.  Hall;  Central  Church;  Interior  of  Central  Church;  Rev.  Seth  Sweet- 
ser,  D.  D.;  Rev.  Davis  Peabody,  D.  D.;  Union  Church;  Rev.  D.  Dorchester,  D.  D.,  LL.D.;  Trinity  Church:  Church 
of  the  Unity;  Edward  Everett  Hale;  First  Universalist  Church;  All  Saints  Church;  Rev.  Wm.  R.  Huntington; 
Rev.  Merrill  Richardson,  D.  D. ;  Pulpit  of  All  Saints  Church;  Carved  Stones  from  Worcester  Cathedral;  Swedish 
Congregational  Church;  Rev.  H.  S.  Wayland,  D.  D. ;  Main  Street,  Baptist  Church;  First  Baptist  Church;  Notre 
Dame  Church;  Rev.  Jonathan  Going,  D.  D.;  Plymouth  Church;  St.  John's  Episcopal  Church;  Window  in  St. 
John's  Church;  Pleasant  Street  Baptist  Church;  Rev.  Father  Fitton;  St.  Paul's  Church;  Figure  of  St.  Paul;  Pied- 
mont Church;    Pilgrim  Church;   Gymnasium  in  Pilgiim  Church;    Sunday-School  Rooms  in  Pilgrim  Church. 


W^% 


xii  INDEX. 

PAGE. 

Country  Boy's  Recollections  of  the  War,  a Albert  D.  Smith 812 

Delfshaven,  The  Start  from  Daniel  Van  Pelt 325 

Illustrations  by  J.  H.  Hatfield  and  others: 

St.  Peter's  Church,  Leyden;  Site  of  John  Robinson's  House  at  the  right;  In  St.  Peter's  Church;  The  March  Gate, 
Leyden;  Map  showing  the  Route  of  the  Pilgrims  from  Leyden  to  Delfshaven;  View  in  Leyden,  unchanged  since  1620; 
Tablet  in  memory  of  John  Robinson,  St.  Peter's  Church,  Leyden;  Site  of  John  Robinson's  House  at  Leyden:  Canal  at 
Leyden  through  which  the  Pilgrims  passed  on  leaving  the  city;  Canal  at  Delft  through  which  the  Pilgrims  passed; 
View  at  Delft;  Schiedam  in  the  time  of  the  Pilgrims;  Church  at  Delfshaven  —  standing  in  1620;  Interior  of  Church  at 
Delfshaven. 

Dike,  The  Great  Dike S.  R.  Dennen,  D.D 338 

Dr.  Cabot's  Two  Brains.     A  Story Jeannette  B.  Perry 344 

Illustrations  by  J.  H.  Hatfield: 

"  They  sat  waiting  expectantly  in  the  twilight";  "He  bent  forward  listening  to  a  footstep  outside";  "  He  examined 
the  handwriting  curiously  ";  "  He  started  quickly,  a  subtle  change  coming  into  his  face";  "  He  stood  talking  earnestly 
with  Miss  Delano." 

Dakota,  Prairies  and  Coteaus  of  Sam.  T.  Clover 735 

Editor's  Table 132,  270,  402,  549,  686,  820 

French  Canadian  Peasantry,  The Prosper  Bender 109 

Gould  Island  Mystery,  The.     A  Story David  Buff  urn 77 

Illustrations:  "Dorothy  looked  earnestly  toward  the  Tiverton  shore";  "I  shall  call  you  to  account";  Dorothy  watched 
from  her  window";  "Gould  Island  lay  dark  against  the  horizon";  The  Old  Friends'  Meeting-house;  "He  had  just 
time  to  conceal  himself." 

Growth  of  a  Vegetarian,  The.     A  Story Mary  L.  Adams 101 

Granite  Industry  in  New  England George  A.  Rich 742 

Illustrations  by  Jo.  H.  Hatfield  and  Louis  A.  Holman.  Biotite  Granite;  Hornblende  Granite:  Muscovite  Granite;  LT.  S.  Post 
Office,  Brooklyn,  N.  Y. ;  The  Late  Governor,  Jos.  R.  Bodwel!  of  Maine;  Sands  Quarry,  Vinal  Haven,  Me.;  Shipping 
Granite  at  Vinal  Haven,  Me.;  Methodist  Book  Concern,  New  York;  Residence  of  Isaac  V.  Brokaw;  John  Peirce:  Carnegie 
Free  Library,  Alleghany  City,  Pa. ;  Residence  of  H.  0.  Havemayer;  Metropolitan  Art  Museum,  New  York:  Washington 
Bridge  over  the  Harlem  River;  James  G.  Batterson;  Soldiers' and  Sailors' Monument,  Boston ,  New  Erie  County  Savings 
Bank,  Buffalo,  N.  Y.;  Stony  Creek  Granite  Quarry;  Shipping  Place,  Stony  Creek,  Conn.;  National  Monument  to  the  Fore- 
fathers,  Plymouth;   Prospect  Heights,  Water  Tower,  Brooklyn,  N.  Y. 

Home  and  Haunts  of  Lowell Frank  B.  Sanborn  275 

Innocent,  The.     A  Story Frances  Courtenay  Baylor 204 

Illustrations  by  J.  H.  Hatfield: 

"  He  was  awfully  comfortable";  "  He  was  so  careful  of  mamma";  "He  played  by  the  hour  with  the  children  ";  "A 
dash,  a  flash,  and  he  was  gone  ";   "  They  heard  him  read  Keble,  and  Robertson's  Sermons." 

Journalism,  Canadian Walter  Blackburn  Harte 411 

Jan  Jansen,  Sheep-herder.     A  Story Charles  Howard  Shinn  265 

John  Parmenter's  Protege.     A  Story  Walter  Blackburn  Harte 792 

Lowell,  James  Russell Edward  Everett  Hale 183 

Lowell's  "  Pioneer  " Edwin  D.  Mead 235 

Illustrations:  Fac-simile  of  the  Cover  of  The  Pioneer;  Circe,  Frontispiece  of  the  First  Number  of  The  Pioneer;  Two 
Hundred  Years  ago — From  the  First  Number  of  The  Pioneer;  Genevieve — From  the  Second  Number  of  The  Pio- 
neer; Dickens  and  the  "Artist  in  Boots" — From  the  Third  Number  of  The  Pioneer;  First  Page  of  Lowell's  Poem 
"  The  Rose"  —  From  the  First  Number  of  The  Pioneer;  John  Flaxman  —  From  the  Third  Number  of  The  Pioneer. 

Louisburg,  Siege  of  S.  Frances  Harrison 261 

Lowell,  The  Home  and  Haunts Frank  B.  Sanborn 275 

Illustrations  by  William  Goodrich  Beal,  Sears  Gallagher,  William  Fuller  Hersey,  and  others: 

Elmwood;  Interior  of  the  old  West  Church,  Boston;  Rev.  Charles  Lowell;  The  Hall  at  Elmwood;  In  the  Library  at 
Elmwood;  Josiah  Quincy,  President  of  Harvard  University,  1829-1845;  Harvard  University,  with  Procession  of  Alumni, 
1836;  Harvard  Square  in  1823;  President  Kirkland;  Rev.  Robert  T.  S.  Lowell ;  The  Charles  River  Marshes  —  "An 
Indian  Summer  Reverie";  Marie  White  Lowell:  The  Willows;  The  Ancient  Willow:  James  Jackson  Lowell:  William 
Lowell  Putnam;  Charles  Russell  Lowell:  The  Lowell  Lot  at  Mount  Auburn:  James  Russell  Lowell:  At  Appledore; 
Mount  Kineo,  Moosehead  Lake — "A  Moosehead  Journal";  Beaver  Brook;  The  Washington  Elm  at  Cambridge; 
Robert  Carter;  Nathan  Hale;  Dr.  Estes  Howe;  Arthur  Hugh  Clough;  "  Bankside,"  the  Home  of  Edmund  Quincy; 
The  Cathedral  at  Chartres;  Appleton  Chapel;   A  Corner  at  Elmwood. 

Lowell  and  the  Birds  :..... Eeander  S.  Keyser 398 

Lincoln,  Abraham  Phillips  Brooks 681 

Letters  of  Wendell  Phillips  to  Lydia  Maria  Child 730 

Illustrations:   Fac-simile  of  Phillips'  Letters;   Wendell  Philllips. 

Mont  Saint  Michel A.  M.  Mosher 193 

Illustrations  by  Louis  A.  Holman,  H.  D.  Murphy,  and  others: 

Mont  Saint  Michel;  The  Cloister  —  A  View  taken  from  the  Gallery;  Galerie  de  l'Aquilon:  from  the  Bayeaux  Tapestry : 
Street  in  Saint  Michel;  The  King's  Gate  and  Watch  Tower. 

Mice  at  Eavesdropping A.  Rodent 5S1 

Illustrations  by  A.  S.  Cox: 

Headpiece;  "  Mister,  what  yer  doin'?  What  yer  doin'?  "  "A  Precious  Chair";  "A  strange  Expression  of  Distress 
escaped  him." 

New  South  — The.     A  Rising  Texas  City - 6S 


INDEX.  xiii 

PAGE. 

NEWBURYPORT Ethel  Parton  160 

Illustrations  by  J.  H.  Hatfield  and  H.  D.  Murphy: 

The  old  State  House;  The  Noyes  House;  The  Coffin  House;  Jonah  and  the  Whale — Tile  in  the  Coffin  House;  The 
old  Elm  at  Newbury;  Nathaniel  Tracy;  House  where  Tracy  entertained  Talleyrand;  The  Clam  Houses  at  Joppa; 
Launch  of  the  "  R.  S.  Spofford";  On  the  Landing  at  Joppa;  Curson's  Mill;  Lord  Timothy  Dexter  from  an  old  print; 
The  Old  South  Church  and  Birthplace  of  Wm.  L.  Garrison;  The  Whitefield  Cenotaph;  Brown  Square;  High  Street; 
The  Mall;  Theophilus  Parsons;  Statue  on  the  Mall;  Caleb  Cushing;  Residence  of  Mrs.  Harriet  Prescott  Spofford; 
Residence  of  Hon.  E.  P.  Dodge;  Hall  in  the  Dodge  House. 

New  South,  The  —  Atlanta George  Leonard  Chaney 377 

Illustrations:  The  State  House;  Railway  Station,  Atlanta;  The  Kimball  House;  Pryor  Street;  Post-Office  and  Custom 
House;  The  State  Library;  The  Governor's  Mansion;  Exposition  Building;  Office  of  the  Atlanta  Constitution;  Young 
Men's  Christian  Association  Building;  Institute  of  Technology;  Hebrew  Orphan  Asylum;  Atlanta  University;  View 
in  Grant  Park;  Statue  of  Hon.  B.  H.  Hill;  Peach-tree  Street;  The  McPherson  Monument;  Monument  to  the  Con- 
federate dead,  Atlanta;   Fort  Walker. 

New  South,  The  —  The  City  of  Fort  Worth F.  M.  Clarke 538 

Odor  of  Sanctity,  The.     A  Story Ellen  Marvin  Heaton 38,  303,  470 

Old-Fashioned  Homily  on  Home.     An S.  R.  Dennen,  D.D 338 

Only  an  Incident.     A  Story Herbert  D    Ward 501 

Illustrations  by  Jo.  H.  Hatfield: 

"  I  am  not  a  Professor";  "  Why  are  you  doing  this"?  "  He  put  his  hand  to  his  face  ";  "  While  the  man  talked  he  ate 
in  an  absent-minded  way";   "  You  forget,  Mr.  Kendall.  I  could  engrave  nothing  but  corals." 

Old  Oaken  Bucket,  Author  of — George  M.  Young 661 

Omnibus 135,  272,  407,  551,  688 

A  Frugal  Swain;  Jennie  Cotton;  The  Indian  Corn,  Julia  Taft  Bayne;  Unattained,  Le  Roy  Phillips;  A  Romance  from 
Real  Life,  Andrew  Tully;  A  Revelation,  C.  H.  Crandall;  A  "  Has  Been,"  Harry  Romaine;  The  Fire  in  the  Grate, 
Charles  Gordon  Rogers;  Trenton  Snows,  J.  E.  Cutter;  A  Christmas  Toast,  C.  Gordon  Rogers;  The  Fitting  Finis, 
Harry  Romaine;  The  Fire  of  Love,  Harry  Romaine;  Let  us  Kiss  and  Call  it  Even,  Fred  Divine;  Parepa's  Song,  Wil- 
liam T.  Smyth. 

Pan-Republic  Congress,  A E.  P.  Powell 10 

Philip,  Pontiac,  and  Tecumseh  Caroline  Christine  Stecker 121 

The  Public  Libraries  of  Massachusetts Henry  S.  Nourse 139 

Illustrations:  Public  Library,  Dedham;  Bridgewater  Public  Library;  Thayer  Public  Library,  Braintree;  Petersham  Public 
Library;  Duxbury  Free  Library;  Stockbridge  Public  Library;  Public  Library,  Princeton;  Damon  Memorial,  Holden; 
Nevins  Memorial  Library,  Methuen;  Fitchburg  Public  Library;  Hingham  Public  Library;  City  Library,  Springfield; 
Warren  Public  Library;  Free  Public  Library,  New  Bedford;  Free  Public  Library,  Worcester;  Berkshire  Athenaeum, 
Pittsfield;   Temple  Hall  Library,  Mashpee. 

Payne's  Southern  Sweetheart,  John  Howard Laura  Speer 355 

Illustrations:  Mary  Harden;  John  Howard  Payne  at  the  age  of  nineteen;  The  Home  of  Mary  Harden,  Athens,  Ga;  "  Rob 
Roy";  Mrs.  Edward  Harden;  General  Edward  Harden;  John  Howard  Payne  in  later  life;  Fac-simile  of  Payne's  MS. 
of"  Home  Sweet  Home";   Monument  to  Payne  in  Oak  Hill  Cemetery,  Washington. 

Puritans,  The.     See  Delftshayen  Daniel  Van  Pelt 325 

Pen  Pictures  of  the  Bosphorus , Alfred  D.  F.  Hamlin 484 

Illustrations  by  the  Author,  Louis  A.  Holman,  and  Charles  H.  Woodbury: 

On  the  Bosphorus;  The  Shores  of  two  Continents  alternately  approach  and  recede;  The  Boat  touches  now  at  the  Shore 
of  Europe,  and  now  of  Asia;  The  "  Castle  of  Oblivion";  In  the  Harem;  The  Bosphorus  with  its  Villages  and  Palaces 
far  below  us;  Innumerable  Windows  flood  the  Rooms  with  Sunshine;  The  Village  Mosque  is  not  far  off;  The  narrow,  ill- 
paved  streets  made  wheeling  almost  impossible;  The  Mosque  of  Miri-Ma  at  Scutari;  The  projecting  Wings  and  Bays 
absolutely  disregard  the  line  of  Basement;  A  Turkish  Interior;  Stair  Balustrade;  A  Street  in  Stamboul;  Konak,  near 
Bebek. 

Phillips,  Wendell,  Letters  to  L.  M.  Child '. 730 

Prairies  and  Coteaus  of  Dakota,  The Sam.  T.  Clover 735 

Illustrations:  A  prospective  fortune  in  sheep;  Artesian  Glen  at  Springfield;  A  typical  Dakota  Barnyard;  A  Dakota  Farm; 
The  Successor  of  the  Log  Shack;  Woonsocket's  famous  Artesian  Well. 

Randolph  of  Roanoke  and  His  People Albert  G.  Evans  442 

Summer  Days  on  the  North  Shore  Winfield  S.  Nevins 17 

Illustrations:  By  the  Sea  at  Beverly;  General  Charles  G.  Loring's  Place  at  Beverly;  A  Corner  in  the  Loring  House; 
Martin  Brimmer's  Place;  G.  B.  Howe's  Place  at  Manchester;  The  Everett  Place  at  West  Manchester;  Brackenbury 
Lane;  Ocean  Drive  at  Beverly;  Mr.  Frank  W.  Breed's  Residence  at  Lynn;  Professor  Elihu  Thomson's  Residence  at 
Lynn;  The  North  Shore  Tally-ho;  A  Glimpse  of  Baker's  Island;  A  Street  in  Beverly;  The  Library  at  Manchester; 
Emmanuel  Church,  Manchester;  Mr.  G.  N.  Black's  Place  at  Manchester;  Mr.  F.  Gordon  Dexter's  Place,  Beverly 
Farms;  Mr.  John  Shepard's  Place  at  Beach  Bluff;  Mr.  Charles  Stedman  Hanks's  Place  at  West  Manchester;  Smaller 
Tally-ho;  Mr.  Russell  Sturgis's  Place  at  Manchester;  Rev.  Cyrus  A.  Bartol's  Place  at  West  Manchester;  Mr.  Joseph 
Proctor's  Cottage,  Manchester;  Dr.  Oliver  jWendell  Holmes's  Place;  Colonel  A.  B.  Rockwell's  Place;  Mr.  T.  Dennis 
Boardman's  Place;  Mr.  Joseph  Le  Favour's  Place;  Hon.  Franklin  Haven's  Place;  The  Peckman  Mansion. 

South,  Woman's  Movement  in  the A.  D.  Mayo 249 

Siege  of    Louisburg,  A  Glimpse  of S.  Frances  Harrison 261 

South  The,  Why  Defeated  in  Civil  War Albert  Bushnell  Hart 363 

South,  The  New  Atlanta , Geo.  Leonard  Chaney 377 

Salem  Witchcraft,  Stories  of Winfield  S.  Nevins 517,664,  717 

Illustrations  by  Alfred  C.  Eastman,  Charles  H.  Woodbury,  James  Hall,  Jo.  H.  Hatfield,  T.  Hendry,  and  B.  V.  Carpenter: 
Headpiece;  Governor  Bradstreet;  Site  of  "  Salem  Village"  Church,  Danvers;  The  Parris  House,  Danvers;  Gage, 
Osborn,  and  Putnam  Houses,  Danvers;  Old  First  Church  (Roger  Williams),  Salem;  Governor  Bradstreet's  House, 
Salem;  Cotton  Mather's  Grave,  Boston;  Witch  Hill,  Salem,  First  Church  in  Salem,  from  an  old  Print.  Samuel 
Sewall;  "What  a  sad  thing  it  is  to  see  Eight  Firebrands  of  Hell  hanging  there;  "  Site  of  Old  Jail  House,  Salem; 
Sheriff  Corwin's  Grave,  Salem;  Cotton  Mather;  Howard  Street  Cemetery,  Salem,  where  Giles  Corey  was  pressed  to 
death;  The  Giles  Corey  Mill,  West  Peabody;  Site  of  Giles  Corey's  House;  Jonathan  Putnam's  House,  Danvers; 
Beadle's  Tavern;  William  Stoughton,  from  the  Portrait  in  Memorial  Hall,  Harvard;  The  Roger  Williams  House,  1635; 
A  Corner  of  the  House  as  it  is  To-day;  Site  of  Court  House  where  Witch  Trials  took  place;  Nathaniel  Felton  House; 
Nurse  House,  Danvers;  The  Nurse  Monument;  Jonathan  Putnam  House;  Sarah  Houlton  House,  Peabody;  Burroughs 
put  his  finger  in  the  bung  of  a  barrel  of  cider  and  lifted  it  up;  She  pulled  aside  the  winding-sheet  and  showed  me 
the  place. 


xiv  INDEX. 

PAGE. 

St.  Louis,  The  City  of Prof.  C.  M.  Woodward. 588 

Illustrated  under  the  direction  of  Mr.  Holmes  Smith  of  the  St.  Louis  Museum  of  Fine  Arts,  by  Ross  Turner,  Chas.  H. 
Woodbury,  M.  O.  McArdle,  and  others: 
Map  of  St.  Louis;  The  Mercantile  Club  Building,  St.  Louis;  The  New  Union  Depot;  A  Bit  of  the  Levee;  St.  Louis 
Bridge;  James  B.Eads;  James  E.  Yeatman;  The  late  Henry  Shaw;  Vaults  of  Equitable  Building;  Linnean  House; 
Shaw's  Garden;  Apse  of  Christ  Church  Cathedral;  Part  of  the  Levee;  Exposition  Building;  Dr.  William  J.Eliot; 
Grand  Avenue  Bridge;  Church  of  the  Messiah;  Washington  Avenue  looking  West;  Lafayette  Park  in  Winter;  Read- 
ing-room, Mercantile  Library;  Mercantile  Library;  Fireplace  in  Mercantile  Library  reading-room;  St.  Louis  Museum 
of  Fine  Arts;  a  St.  Louis  Residence;  Vestibule  of  Museum  of  Fine  Arts;  Statue  of  Alexander  von  Humboldt;  En- 
trance to  Westmoreland  Place;  Grand  Saloon  of  Mississippi  River  Boat;  A  Tide  Marker  in  the  Mississippi ;  Head- 
light of  River  Steamer;  The  Levee  End  of  the  Great  Bridge;  The  New  City  Hall;  Premises  of  the  Samuel  Cupples 
Real  Estate  Company;  Security  Building;  Ely  Walker  Dry  Goods  Company's  Building;  Dr.  Wlliiam  T.  Harris;  En- 
trance to  Boatmen's  Bank;    Director's  Room,  Boatmen's  Bank;   Grain  Barges  on  the  Mississippi. 

Salem  Witch,  A     A  Story Edith  Mary  Norfis 628 

Illustrated  by  H.  Martin  Beal  and  William  Fuller  Hersey: 

Headpiece,  1690;  "  His  strong  frame  shook  with  an  agony  too  deep  for  words;  "   A  Bit  of  Old  Salem. 

Sixty  Years    Ago Lucy  E.  A.  Kebler 797 

Trapping  of  the  Widow  Rose,  The Francis  Dana 534 

Tale  of   Narragansett,  A Caroline  Hazard. 805 

University  of  California,  The Charles  Howard  Shinn 89 

Illustrations:  Daniel  Coit  Gilman,  first  President  of  the  University  of  California,  from  a  Photograph  taken  in  1875; 
The  Berkeley  Foothills;  Henry  Durant;  James  Lick;  S.  C.  Hastings;  Edward  Tompkins;  H.  D.  Bacon;  H.  H. 
Toland:  A.  K.  P.  Harmon;  Michael  Reese;  D.  O.  Mills;  A  General  View  of  the  University  Buildings;  F.  L.  A. 
Pioche;  Professor  John  Le  Conte;  Professor  Joseph  Le  Conte;  The  New  Chemistry  Building;  The  Berkeley  Oaks; 
Professor  W.  B.  Rising;  Professor  Irving  Stringham;  Professor  Martin  Kellogg;  The  Golden  Gate  from  Berkeley; 
Professor  G.  H.  Howison;   Dr.  J.  H.  C.  Bonte;  Professor  Eugene  W.  Hilgard. 

Vacation  Days  at  Aunt  Phcebe's, Caroline  Sinclair   Woodward. 63 

Woman's  Movement  in  the  South,  The A.  D.  Mayo 249 

Westminster  Massacre,  The J.  M.  French 318 

Why  the  South  Was  Defeated  in  the  Civil  War Albert  Bushnell  Hart 363 

Witch  of  Shawshine,  The  A  Story  A.  E.  B->-own 765 

Worcester  Churches C.  M.  Lamson 768 

War,  The,  A  Country  Boy's  Recollections  of Albert  D.  Smith 802 

Yellow  Wall-paper,  The     A  Story Charlotte  Perkins  Stetson 647 

Illustrated  by  Jo.  H.  Hatfield: 

"  I  am  sitting  by  the  window  in  this  atrocious  nursery;  "  "  She  didn't  know  I  was  in  the  room;  "    "  I  had  to  creep  over 
him  every  time." 

POETRY. 

August  and  September  Sketches Catherine  Thayer 16 

Bob  White Kate  Whiting 77 

Buried  City,  A Arthur  L.  Salmon 108 

Bach  and  Beethoven Zitella  Cocke 342 

Curtis,  George  William John  W.  Chadzvick 624 

Christmas  Eve Agnes  Maule  Machar 663 

Dost  Thou  Think  of  me  Often Stuart  Sterne 354 

Deposed Florence  E.  Pratt 623 

Fisher  Boat,  The Celia  Thaxter 309 

Fortune  Telling Marion  P.  Guild.. 548 

Fairies ...Claude  Napier 811 

Gwenlyn Ernest  Rhys 533 

Gray  Dawn,  The S.  C.  Lapius 637 

Herons  of  Elmwood,  The  Henry  W.  Longfellow 65 

In  Memoriam  —  Parnell T.  H.  Farnham 469 

JLowell,  James  Russell Sarah  K.  Bolton 192 

My  First  Love John  Allister  Currie 16 

Mozart  and  Mendelssohn  Zitella  Cocke 482 

Master  of  Raven's  Woe,  The Arthur  L.  Salmon 579 

Old  Meadow  Path,  The Jean  La  Rue  Burnett 48 

Old  Oaken  Bucket,  The Samuel  Woodworth 657 

Possession E.  O.  Boswall 224 

Pot  of  Honey,  The Dora  Read  Goodale 317 

Phyllis  , Henry  Cleveland  W'ood 44S 

Purification George  Edgar  Montgomery 580 

Pines,  The Zitella  Cocke 636 

Poems  of  Emily  Dickinson Le  Roy  Phillips 311 

Retribution Ellen  Elizabeth  Hill 376 

Two  Maidens,  The Zitella  Cocke 131 

'Tis  Better  to  have  Loved  and  Lost Philip  Bourke  Marston 6S0 

To-Morrow F.  W.  Clarke 716 

Tribute  of  Silence,  The James  Buckham 741 

Undercurrent,  The C.  H.  Crandall 203 

When  Thou  art  Far  from  Me Philip  Bourke  Marston 159 

Winter  fulie  AL.  Lippmann 470 


THE 


New  England  Magazine 


New  Series. 


SEPTEMBER,    1S91 


Vol.  V.     No.  1 


THE  BRASS  CANNON  OF  CAMPOBELLO. 


Bv  Kate   Gannett   Wells. 


THE  history  of  the  island  of  Camp- 
pobello,  in  Passamaquoddy  Bay, 
off  Eastport,  Maine,  still  presents 
peculiar  features  of  interest  to  those  who 
care  for  romance  in  history.  It  pos- 
sessed singular  picturesqueness,  unpro- 
ductiveness, and  courtly  rule,  —  for  here 
was  maintained  even  till  1857  an  almost 
feudal  rule.  William  Owen  of  Wales, 
admiral,  achieved  distinction  a  century 
ago  at  the  battle  of  Pondicherry  in  India, 
under  Lord  Clive,  and  when  old  and 
wounded  asked  for  a  pension  or  gratuity. 
Through  the  intercession  of  Sir  William 
Campbell,  governor-general  of  Nova 
Scotia,  the  English  government  in  1767, 
granted  Passamaquoddy  Outer  Island  to 
the  admiral  and  his  cousins,  for  it  was  a 
larger  territory  than  could  be  deeded  to 
any  one  individual ;  and  Owen  in  gratitude 
changed  its  name  to  Campobello.  David 
Owen  lived  here  as  agent  for  the  others, 
and  as    all   of     the  original  four    owners 


died,    the  land  became  the  property  of 
William  Fitz-William  Owen. 

The  young  admiral,  as  he  was  called, 
was  the  hero  of  the  land,  and  of  the 
hearts  of  the  girls,  during  the  first  half 
of  this  century.  He  was  a  man  of  iron 
will,  strong  affections,  and  sundry  caprices. 
As  a  boy  he  was  isolated  from  his  family 
by  military  rule,  and  brought  up  in  bar- 
racks. When  asked  his  name  at  five 
years  of  age,  he  answered,  "  I  don't 
know  ;  mother  can  tell  you."  From  the 
barracks  he  went  the  round  of  boarding- 
schools,  sometimes,  when  he  had  been 
very  good,  being  allowed  to  wear  a 
cocked  hat  and  a  suit  of  scarlet  made 
from  an  old  coat  of  his  father's.  Like 
all  English  boys  he  learned  the  catechism 
and  collects.  If  wearied  with  repeating 
the  Lord's  Prayer,  he  wished  he  dared 
say  it  backwards,  yet  he  feared  that  by  so 
doing  he  might  raise  the  devil,  and  that 
then  it  would  be  a  long  time  before  he 


THE  BRASS  CANNON  OE  CAMPOBELLO. 


would  be  allowed  to  wear  again  his 
favorite  coat  and  hat. 

He  was  a  naughty  boy  in  little  ways, 
though  full  of  fun  and  of  generosity, 
liking  to  argue,  and  generally  gaining  his 
point  in  discussion  with  other  lads,  espe- 
cially if  it  were  about  the  subject  of  re- 
ligion. When  he  had  been  unusually 
obstinate,  he  comforted  himself  by  his 
faith  that  God  would  interpose  on  his  be- 
half and  make  him  have  a  good  time  after 
all,  in  spite  of  the  punishments  he  was 
called  upon  to  bear  and  the  loneliness 
that  crept  over  him.  Moreover,  his 
dreams  assured  him  that  he  was  a 
special  favorite  of  the  Almighty. 

In  1788,  the  boy  became  a  midship- 
man in  a  line-of-battle  ship,  and  in  due 
course    of  time    cruised    in    the   Bay    of 


The   Admiral's  Chair  and   Other  Relics. 

Fundy,  helping  in  its  survey.  For  three 
years  his  man-of-war  must  have  been 
stationed  at  Campobello.  His  crew  often 
went  ashore  in  summer,  tending  a  little 
garden  in  Havre  de  Lutre,  and  carrying 
the    dahlias,    for    which    the    island    has 


always  been  famous,  to  the  pretty  girls 
and  the  Owen  ladies  at  Welshpool,  who 
in  return  in  the  winter  went  to  many  a 
dance  on  board  his  ship. 

The  boy  grew  into  the  middle-aged 
man,  and  when  sixty-one  years  old,  with 
the  rank  of  admiral,  came  back  to  Cam- 
pobello to  live.  Somewhere  in  that  long 
time  he  had  captured  two  cannon  from  a 
Spanish  pirate,  and  carried  them  away  to 
his  American  home.  Proud  as  he  was  of 
them,  there  is  now  no  one  living  to  tell 
who  bled  or  who  swore,  or  whether  the 
Spanish  galleon  sank  or  paid  a  ransom. 
He  placed  them  high  on  Calder's  Hill, 
overlooking  the  bay,  where  they  bid  de- 
fiance to  American  fishing  boats  —  for 
Campobello  belongs  to  New  Brunswick. 
He  planted  the  sun-dial  of  his  vessel  in 
the  garden  fronting  his  house,  and  put  a 
section  of  his  beloved  quarter-deck  in 
the  grove  close  to  the  shore.  There, 
pacing  up  and  down  in  uniform,  he  lived 
over  again  the  days  of  his  attack  upon 
the  pirate  ship.  He  went  back  and 
forth  over  the  island,  marrying  and 
\  commanding  the  people.  He  kissed 
Nv  the    girls    when    he     married 

them,  and  took  fish  and  game 
as  rent  from  their  husbands. 
Now  and  then  he  gave  a 
ball ;  oftener  he  held  church 
service  in  what  was  almost 
a  shanty,  omitting  from  the 
liturgy  whatever  he  might 
chance  to  dislike  on  any 
special  Sunday. 

Lady  Owen  was  queen  as 
he  was  king,  and  never  did 
a  lady  rule  more  gently  over 
storeroom  and  parlor,  over 
Sunday-school  and  sewing- 
school.  The  brass  andirons 
shone  like  gold.  The  long 
curving  mahogany  sofa  and 
the  big  leathern  arm-chair, 
with  sockets  in  its  elbows  for 
candles,  still  tell  the  primitive 
splendor  of  those  days.  Re- 
ligion was  discussed  over  water  and 
whiskey,  and  the  air,  thick  with  murki- 
ness  from  the  clay-pipes,  recalled  the 
smoke  of  the  naval  battles. 

Remittances     did    not     always     come 
promptly  from   England,  and  money   was 


THE  BRASS  CANNON  OF  CAMPOBELLO.  5 

needed  in  the  island ;  so  the  admiral  set  tion  of  Campobello.  As  in  the  old  Ger- 
up  his  own  bank,  and  issued  one-dollar  man  principalities,  every  Welshpooler 
certificates  surmounted  by  his  crest  and  must  have  craved  a  title  ;  there  were 
his  motto  "Flecti  non  Frangi."  But  commissioners  and  surveyors  of  highways, 
somehow  the  time  never  came  when  he  overseers  of  poor  and  of  fisheries,  asses- 
was  called  upon  "  to  pay  one  dollar  on  sors,  trustees  of  schools,  inspectors  of  fish 


Admiral   Owen. 

FROM    A    PORTRAIT    PRESERVED    AT    CAMPOBELLO. 


demand  to  the  bearer  at  Welshpool," 
and  the  certificates  remain  to  be  utilized 
perhaps  under  a  new  financial  epoch  of 
good  will  and  foolish  trust. 

The  island  must  have  had  some  law 
and  order  before  the  advent  of  the  ad- 
miral, for  the  town  records  for  the  parish 
of  Campobello  date  from  April  15,  1824, 
James  M.  Parker,  town  clerk.  At  the 
General  Sessions  of  the  peace  holden  at 
Saint  Andrews,  the  shire  town  of  Char- 
lotte County,  New  Brunswick,  thirty-two 
officers  were  chosen  for  the  small  popula- 


for  home  consumption  and  for  exports, 
for  smoked  herrings  and  boxes.  There 
were  cullers  of  staves,  fence-viewers  and 
hog  reeves,  and  surveyors  of  lumber  and 
cord-wood,  lest  that  which  should  prop- 
erly be  used  for  purposes  of  building  or 
export  be  consumed  on  andiron  or  in 
kitchen  stoves. 

In  those  days  there  was  no  poorhouse, 
though  town-paupers  existed,  for  one, 
Peter  Lion  by  name,  was  boarded  about 
for  one  hundred  dollars  and  furnished 
with  suitable  food,  raiment,  lodging,  and 


THE  BRASS  CANNON  OF  CAMPOBELLO. 


rate 
and 


for 


medical  aid.      Xo 
one  kept  him  long 
at  a  time,    whether 
because  others 
wanted    the    price 
paid    for    his    sup- 
port,   or     because 
he  was    an  unwel- 
come    inmate      is 
unknown.       Prices 
depend     on     sup- 
ply ;     therefore     it 
happened  that  the 
next     pauper     was 
boarded     for    fifty 
dollars.       Again    a 
lower     price     for 
board    brought 
about  a  lower  tax- 
the    householders, 
in   course  of   time    an- 
other  pauper  was  set   up  at 
public      auction       and      the 
lowest  bidder   was    intrusted 
with    his    care    and    mainte- 
nance.    By  1829  the  exports 
from   the    island  justified  the 
creation    of    harbor    masters 
and  port  wardens,  —  more  titles  to  be  coveted. 
A   ferry  was   established  from  Campobello  to 
Indian  Island  and  Eastport.       The  ferryman 
was  "  recognized  in  the  sum  of  two  pounds, 
and   was    conditioned    to    keep    a   good   and 
sufficient    boat,  with   sails  and  oars,   to  carry 
all    persons    who    required    between    the    ap- 
pointed  places,  to  ask,  demand,  and  receive 
for    each    and    every    person    so    ferried  one 
shilling  and  three  pence  and  no  more."     If 
any  other  than  the  appointee  should  have  the 
hardihood  to  make    a  little  money  by  trans- 
porting a  weary  traveller,  such  person  was  to 
be  fined  ten  shillings,  half  of  it  to  go  to  the 
informer  and  half  to  the  ferryman,  unless  he 
had    previously   arranged    with     the    licensee 
that  he  would  afford  him  due  and  righteous 
satisfaction  for  each  person  so  carried. 

As  the  population  grew,  the  swine  began  to 
abound,  and  soon  it  was  decreed  that  "  neither 
swine  nor  boar-pig  should  go  at  large  unless 
sufficiently  ringed  and  yoked,  sucking  pigs 
excepted,  on  pain  of  five  shillings  for  each 
beast."  Then  the  sheep  began  to  jump  fences 
four  feet  high,  —  and  their  descendants  have 
increased  in  agility.  They  ate  the  young 
cabbages,    and     standing     at    ease     defiantly 


THE  BRASS  CANNON  OF  CAMPOBELLO. 


and  lazily  nipped  off  the  dahlia  buds.  The  town 
bestirred  itself.  Angry  housewives,  roused  from  their 
sleep  by  waking  dreams  of  depredation  committed, 
drove  the  sheep  away  with  stock  and  stone.  The 
following  night  the  creatures  returned,  and  the 
fisher-husbands,  back  from  their  business,  sallied 
forth  in  vain.  They  could  not  run  as  fast  as  the 
women  ;  and  week  after  week  the  sheep  took  all 
they  wanted.  It  became  necessary  finally  to  es- 
tablish the  sublime  order  of  hog-reeves,  who  were 
privileged  to  seize  any  swine  or  sheep  going  at 
large  which  were  not  marked  with  the  proper  and 
duly  entered  mark  of  the  owner,  and  to  prosecute 
as  the  law  directs. 

But  how  could  sheep  be  marked  when  their  fleece 
forbade  their  being  branded  !  As  notable  house- 
keepers vie  with  each  other  in  receipts,  so  did 
each  islander  try  to  invent  striking  deformities  for 
his  sheep ;  only  the  sucking  lambs  retained  their 
birthrights  till  their  later  days.  Because  Mulholland 
made  two  slits  in  the  right  ear  and  took  off  its 
top,  Parker  cut  off  a  piece  from  the  left  ear  of 
his  sheep,  and  Bowers  made  a  crop  under  the  left 
ear  of  his  animal,  close  to  its  head.  Yet  the  sheep 
ran  loose  until  the  people  were  directed  to  raise 
twelve  pounds  for  building  two  cattle  pounds,  and 
William  Fitz- William  Owen,  the  admiral,  was  ap- 
pointed to  erect  the  same.  The  poor  rates  had 
again  lessened  ;  woe  to  the  pauper  boarders  :  — 
for  the  admiral  wanted  money  for  many  another 
improvement  on  which  his  mind  was  bent.  The 
General  Sessions  of  the  peace  dared  not  neglect 
any  suggestion  which  was  made  by  a  man  who  en- 
tertained all  the  distinguished  guests  who  came  to 
Passamaquoddy  Bay  ;  for  his  fame  had  spread  far 
and  wide  as  host,  theologian,  and  magnate.  If  it 
were  difficult  to  restrain  sheep  and  swine,  still 
more  difficult  was  it  to  prevent  the  trespasses 
of  geese.  Though  many  a  bird  was  clipped  in  its 
infancy,  and  in  winter  killed  and  put  down  amid 
layers  of  snow  and  sent  to  the  admiral  as  a  peace 
offering  or  as  tribute,  still  the  public  troubles  in- 
creased, until  it  was  ordered  that  horses  and  cat- 
tle should  be  impounded.  Then  peace  at  mid- 
night and  safety  by  day  rested  over  the  island,  for  it 
was  even  resolved  "  that  all  dogs  of  six  months 
old  and  upwards  should  be  considered  of  sufficient 
age  to  pay  the  tax  "  ;  but  in  what  manner  they  were 
compelled  to  offer  their  own  excuse  for  being  re- 
mains unsolved.  Perhaps  no  legal  quibble  was 
ever  raised  concerning  the  wording  of  the  statute. 

Admiral  Owen  himself  was  overseer  of  the  poor 
and  school  trustee.  Whenever  a  roof-raising  oc- 
curred, he  knew  how  to  send  the  children  home  to 
look  after  the  chores,  that  their  elders  might  join  in 


THE  BRASS  CANNON  OF  CAMPOBELLO. 


the  merriment.  He  soon  became  resi- 
dent magistrate,  and  signalized  his  author- 
ity by  giving  for  three  years  certain  wild 
lands  as  commons  for  cattle  to  those  who 
should  belong  to  the  "  Church  Episcopal 
Congregation,"  when  formed.  The  lease 
was  duly  signed  by  himself  and  by  John 


With  all  this  progress  under  William 
Fitz-William,  there  still  remained  unli- 
censed boys  who  ran  wild,  who  believed 
in  the  uncounted  wealth  of  an  iron  chest 
buried  deep  in  the  woods  by  smugglers, 
and  gave  their  help  in  finding  it.  If  the 
chest  were  ever  hidden,  it  disappeared  in 


The  Church,   School,   and   Rectory,   at  Campobello. 


Farmer,  in  trust  for  the  people.  Such 
privilege,  even  if  actuated  by  worldly 
motives,  proved  of  sacred  benefit,  for 
measures  were  immediately  taken  to  form 
a  Church  Association  and  Corporation, 
with  the  proviso  that  such  persons  as  had 
decided  objections  to  profess  themselves 
members  of  the  church  could  by  no 
means  become  a  part  of  such  corpora- 
tion. The  admiral's  cattle  ranged  free 
in  the  commons,  but  on  all  other  licensed 
and  marked  cattle  were  paid  the  fees 
which  accrued  to  the  benefit  of  religion, 
—  and  large  must  have  been  the  income 
thereof,  —  Owen  reading  the  church  ser- 
vices till  1842,  when  a  resident  mission- 
ary came  to  live  on  the  island. 

The  church  having  been  fairly  estab- 
lished and  on  the  way  to  growth,  Admiral 
Owen  became  a  builder  of  bridges,  letting 
out  the  work  at  the  rate  of  "$1.12^  per 
man,  per  day,  the  day  being  ten  hours 
of  good  and  conscientious  work  for  man 
or  yoke   of  oxen." 


uncanny  fashion  ;  but  the  cannon  on  the 
hill  still  remained  as  sentinels,  until  some 
boys  took  them  off  "  for  fun  "  one  dark 
night  and  hid  them  in  a  ship  then  in 
Friar's  Bay.  The  captain  discovered  the 
theft  after  he  had  been  two  or  three  days 
at  sea.  His  honesty  and  Admiral  Owen's 
anger  effected  their  return  after  a  few 
months ;  for  the  vessel  had  to  bear  them 
to  the  West  Indies  and  there  re-ship 
them,  amid  kegs  of  rum,  to  Campobello. 
By  that  time  the  admiral's  indignation 
had  subsided,  and  he  sent  his  son-in-law 
to  apologize  to  the  grandmother  of  the 
boys,  whom  he  had  maligned  as  special 
emissaries  of  Satan.  The  old  lady  re- 
fused to  accept  any  regrets  or  apologies. 
Owen  became  more  indignant  than  ever 
at  her  scornful  words,  and  planted  the 
cannon  away  from  the  hill  overlooking 
her  house,  down  on  the  point  of  land  by 
his  own  home,  and  raised  the  British  flag 
between  them.  His  children  and  grand- 
children   played     around    them.      There 


30 


THE  BRASS  CANNON  OF  CAMPOBELLO. 


they  stayed,  every  now  and  then  greeting 
some  English  ship  of  renown,  until  the 
Owen  family,  some  ten  years  ago,  went 
back  to  England,  when  the  two  old  brass 
pieces  were  sold  at  auction.  One  was 
carried  away  to  Portland  Harbor.  The 
other  was  bought  by  George  Batson,  Esq., 
of  Campobello. 

The  admiral  died  in  1857,  at  St.  John, 
New  Brunswick,  where  he  had  married  a 
second  time,  and  was  brought  back  to  the 
island  for  burial.  His  children  and  his 
grandchildren  stayed  in  the  primitive,  an- 
cestral home  till  1881,  when  the  island 
was  sold  to  an  American  syndicate.  As 
long  as  any  of  the  Owen  family  lived 
there  they  were  beneficent  rulers  of  the 
people,  and  maintained  a  courtly  standard 
of  manners  and  morals,  the  grace  of 
which  lingers  among  the  islanders.  Tradi- 
tion and  fact  still  invest  the  Owen  name 
with  tenderness  and  homage,  as  was 
shown  in  July,  1890,  when  the  great- 
grandson  of  the  admiral  revisited  Campo- 
bello. Never  has  the  old  cannon  belched 
forth  its  volume  of  sound  more  loudly 
than  it  did  for  Archibald  Cochrane,  who 
as  a  boy  had  often  sat  astride  of  it.  A 
"middy,"  on  board  Her  Majesty's  flag- 
ship Bellerophon,  he  came  back  to  his 
ancestral  estates  accompanied  by  the 
Metropolitan  of  Canada,  Bishop  Medley 
of  Fredencton.  The  boy's  sunny  blue 
eyes  and  gentle  smile  recalled  his  mother's 
beauty  to  the  old  islanders.  The  Domin- 
ion flag  and  the  English  flag  waved  from 
every  ship  in  port  and  from  the  neigh- 
boring houses,  to  welcome  him  back. 
As  the  steamer  came  in  sight,  the  aged 
cannon,  mounted  on  four  huge  logs  of 
wood,  gave  forth  its  welcome.  Each 
time  the  cotton  had  to  be  rammed  down, 
and  the  cannon  had  to  be  propped  up. 
Each  time  the  match  and  the  lighted 
paper  were  protected  by  a  board  held 
across  the  breach  at  arm's  length  ;  but  the 
brass  piece  did  its  duty,  and  the  people 
called  "well  done"  to  it,  as  if  it  had 
been  a  resuscitated  grandsire.  The 
steamer  answered  whistle  for  cannon 
blast,  and  the  children's  laugh  was  echoed 
back  across  the  water. 

It  was  dead  low  tide — and  the  tide  falls 
twenty  feet — when  the  venerable  bishop 
came  up  the  long  flight  of  steps,  slippery 


and  damp  with  seaweed.  Guarded  on 
each  side  and  before  and  behind,  with 
umbrella  in  his  hand  for  his  walking- 
stick,  the  metropolitan  of  eighty-four 
years  accepted  the  unneeded  protection 
which  Church  of  England  reverence  dic- 
tated. But  as  the  boy  ran  quickly  up 
the  same  steps,  there  was  not  a  man  who 
did  not  rush  forward  to  greet  him.  The 
band  played,  while  the  women  crept  out 
from  among  the  piles  of  lumber  and 
waited  for  recognition.  It  came  as  the 
boy  was  led  from  one  to  another,  bowing 
low  in  his  shy,  frank  manner,  cap  in 
hand,  to  the  women  and  girls,  who  had 
known  him  as  a  child,  and  shaking 
hands  heartily  with  all  the  men,  young 
and  old.  Away  off  stood  two  old  ladies, 
who  blessed  the  morn  which  had  brought 
back  their  young  master.  Up  to  them 
he  went  with  pretty  timidity,  and  then 
boy-like  hurried  off  to  look  at  the  cannon. 
He  put  his  hand  on  it  with  a  loving  touch 
and  a  lingering  smile,  which  to  the  older 
ones  who  saw  it  told  of  hidden  emotion, 
which  perhaps  he  himself  scarcely  rec- 
ognized. 

Silence  fell  as  the  metropolitan  rose 
from  the  chair  where  he  had  been  rest- 
ing and  thanked  the  people  for  their 
greeting  to  the  boy,  because  of  his  grand- 
parents. The  midshipman's  eyes  shone 
as  they  fell  on  the  faces,  lighted  up  as 
they  had  not  been  for  years,  to  see  that 
the  fair,  five-year  old  boy  who  had  left 
them  had  grown  into  the  straight-limbed, 
graceful,  manly,  modest  youth,  whose 
greeting  was  as  unaffectedly  frank  as  their 
own.  After  a  while  midshipman  and 
bishop  stole  silently  away  up  to  the  graves 
of  the  old  admiral  and  his  wife,  of  the 
captain  grandfather  and  the  cousin,  all  of 
whom  had  been  naval  heroes.  On  to  the 
Owen  house  went  the  boy  and  found  his 
old  haunts ;  first,  the  nursery,  then  his 
mother's  room,  and  next  his  grand- 
mother's ;  out  among  the  pines  to  the 
places  where  he  had  played,  on  to  the 
sun-dial  and  the  quarter-deck;  all  were 
revisited,  with  none  of  the  sadness  which 
comes  in  middle  life,  but  with  the  sure 
joy  of  a  child  who  has  found  again  his 
own.  He  clicked  the  uncocked  pistols 
of  the  admiral,  and  took  up  the  battered, 
three-cornered  hat. 


A  PAN-REPUBLIC  CONGRESS. 


11 


In  the  afternoon  a  game  of  baseball 
was  played  in  his  honor ;  and  never  did 
his  great-grandfather  watch  more  eagerly 
for  victory  over  the  pirates  than  did  this 
descendant  watch  that  the  game  might 
be  won  by  the  Campobello  boys.  At 
evening,  in  the  little  English  Church, 
where  the  bishop  blessed  the  people  and 
told  of  Lady  Owen's  deeds  of  mercy,  the 
boy  bent  his  head  over  the  narrow  book- 
rest,  where  were  holes  for  the  candles 
which,  in  his  grandfather's  day,  each 
parishioner  brought  along  to  light  the 
darkness  at  the  hours  of  service. 

The  next  day  the  people  gathered 
again  at  the  wharf.  The  midshipman 
was  a  new  old  friend  by  this  time. 
Once  more  the  brass-piece  sounded  fare- 
well as  he  crossed  the  bay.     It  had  been 


the  playmate  of  his  boyhood,  his  imaginary 
navy,  his  cavalry  horse,  his  personal  friend. 
By  its  side,  he  had  never  wanted  to  rest 
on  chairs  or  sofas.  Once  more  he  turned 
to  look  at  it  as  he  went  down  the  steps 
to  the  water's  edge,  and  waved  adieu  to 
those  who  loved  him  for  his  mother's 
sake,  with  a  fondness  and  pride,  and  a 
sense  of  personal  ownership,  unknown 
in  "the  States,"  where  ancestry  counts 
for  but  little. 

The  old  cannon  still  stands  upright  in 
Mr.  Batson's  store.  No  one  would  ever 
steal  it  again.  No  one  can  ever  buy  it 
away.  From  father  to  child  it  will  de- 
scend, to  tell  of  the  English-American 
feudalism  of  a  hundred  years  ago,  and  of 
the  happy,  bright  boy,  who  found  his 
father's  home  turned  into  a  modern  hotel. 


A  PAN-REPUBLIC  CONGRESS. 


Bv  E.  P.  Powell. 


NEW  ideas,  or  the  larger  applications 
of  old  ones,  work  silently  for 
a  while,  and  then  startle  us  with  a 
sudden  assurance  of  their  possibility. 
We  have  not  yet  become  reconciled  to 
the  idea  that  socially  and  politically  noth- 
ing is  permanent.  We  have  also  to  be- 
come confident  that  movement  of  this 
sort  is,  in  the  course  of  each  century, 
progress.  The  Darwinian  idea  has  per- 
meated physical  science  ;  it  is  slowly  per- 
meating social  science,  that  the  eyes  of 


evolution  are  in  its  forehead.  Monarchy 
may  dread  change  ;  republicanism  need 
have  no  fear.  Whatever  is  before  us,  in. 
spite  of  blunders,  is  betterment.  The 
last  century  closed  up  at  the  great  Clear- 
ing House  of  popular  opinion ;  the  pres- 
ent opened  with  the  application  of  those 
digested  opinions  to  government.  Jeffer- 
son, in  1800,  completed  the  greatest  revo- 
lution the  world  has  ever  known.  The 
quick  result  has  been  half  a  world  in 
which  freedom  of  thought  and  of  labor 


12 


A  PAN-REPUBLIC  CONGRESS. 


have  taken  the  place  of  autocracy. 
dei  gratia  has  yielded  to  vox  populi,  vox 
dei  as  the  fundamental  social  and  eco- 
nomic principle.  This  revolution  was 
not  the  spontaneity  of  a  day.  It  was  the 
culmination  of  the  work  of  the  whole 
antecedent  century.  Philosophy  did  not 
do  its  work  in  vain.  Revolutions  were 
also  evolutions.  Poets  involuntarily  sang 
for  a  purpose.  Educators  like  Rousseau 
and  Richter  were  at  the  bottom  of  it. 
Washington  and  Franklin  and  Paine  had 
first  to  be  made,  before  they  could  create 
the  Republic.  The  Republic  at  last  was 
to  be  bottomed  on  Democracy  by  the 
greatest  of  our  statesmen,  Thomas  Jeffer- 
son. So  the  nineteenth  century  came  in 
as  an  idea. 

A  review  of  history  will  show  us  that 
mankind  has  busied  itself  in  like  manner 
in  all  the  past.  There  have  been  no 
dark  ages.  Each  century  has  in  truth 
incubated  a  purpose  of  some  sort ;  and 
we  inherit  the  same  in  the  table  of  con- 
tents of  our  human  biography.  Luther 
began  the  sixteenth  century  with  no  nov- 
elty. He  simply,  in  those  theses  on  the 
cathedral  door,  wrote  down  what  had 
already  been  thought  out  and  felt  out  and 
worked  out ;  what  some  had  been  burned 
for,  but  what,  after  all,  was  fairly  well 
established.  It  was  the  consummation, 
not  the  inauguration  of  an  evolution. 

Has  our  own  century  been  idle  in 
thought  and  purpose?  Do  we  go  out 
without  finding  any  columns  of  achieve- 
ment to  add  up,  and  with  no  visions  and 
hopes  to  make  assured?  Are  the  men  in 
platoons  right,  that  we  are  to  march  on 
without  change  of  countersign  until  the 
old  heroism  grows  stale  in  our  hearts  and 
heads,  and  politics  becomes  an  automa- 
ton? On  the  contrary,  no  century  ever 
pulsated  with  nobler  purpose  or  more 
vigorous  endeavor.  The  apparent  drift- 
ing of  our  moral  and  intellectual  life  for 
thirty  years  past  has  been  not  only  in 
appearance.  We  are  in  the  last  decade 
of  the  century ;  events  do  not  crowd  so 
much  as  ideas.  These  will  hasten  on  to 
fulfilment.  They  cover  every  field  of 
human  energy.  Education  is  at  the  bot- 
tom of  all  hope  and  progress ;  and  out 
of  education  has  just  been  born  the  en- 
thusiasm called  "  University  Extension," 


a  term  that  fails  wholly  to  convey  to  the 
popular  mind  the  novelty  and  the  great- 
ness of  the  purpose  conceived.  It  is  a 
purpose  that  will  totally  transform,  and 
in  some  ways  secure  our  popular  educa- 
tion and  obliterate  our  present  inchoate 
popular  methods.  Not  less  grand  and 
natural  as  a  result  of  the  past  is  the  con- 
ception of  a  "  World-wide  Democratic 
Church."  This  is  only  the  application 
of  republicanism  to  theology  and  religious 
effort.  It  means  the  displacement  of  a 
world-wide  monarchical  church  by  a 
church  based  on  popular  sentiment  and 
individual  liberty.  It  is  possible.  The 
pope  himself  begins  to  desert  the  mon- 
archy. His  recent  encyclical  is  a  plain 
effort  to  readjust  the  old  church  to  modern 
progress.  We  still  wait  for  a  word  to  de- 
scribe succinctly  the  social  struggle  which 
in  different  quarters  has  striven  and 
strives  to  embody  itself  in  Nationalism, 
Socialism,  Communism  —  Utopianism, 
perhaps.  The  idea  is  not  yet  thought 
through ;  and  it  will  be  nameless  until 
that  is  done.  But  the  world  throbs  with 
the  conviction  that  our  inequalities  are 
monstrous  and  largely  needless.  We 
have  a  fixed  purpose  to  devise  a  remedy. 
These  are  some  of  the  purposive  trends 
of  our  age.  The  twentieth  century  will 
inherit  a  grand  legacy. 

But  are  we  at  anchor  politically?  Evi- 
dently not.  Omitting  all  notice  of  the 
crumbling  of  old  autocracies  and  monar- 
chies —  brute  force  and  imperial  force  — 
it  is  clear  that  democracy  itself  is  capa- 
ble of  new  expansions  and  applications. 
Internationalism  is  surely  supplanting 
nationalism.  Mr.  Blaine  showed  his  un- 
equalled statesmanship  when  he  desired 
the  Pan-American  Congress,  to  be  fol- 
lowed by  Pan-American  enterprises,  and 
unfettered  Pan-American  commerce. 
Here  was  a  bold  break  with  conservatism. 
Precedent  is  valuable  to  establish  equi- 
librium in  society ;  but  the  innovator  is 
needed  with  far-sight  to  prevent  a  conse- 
quent stagnation  of  human  purpose. 
Pan-Republicanism  is  another  new  phrase 
that  covers  an  advance  all  along  the  line. 
It  is  the  idea  of  a  world-wide  democracy 
instead  of  a  duplication  of  republics : 
although  the  latter  idea  may  be  covered 
by  it.     The    question    now    is,    have    we 


A  PAN-REPUBLIC  CONGRESS. 


13 


faith  enough  in  us  for  so  grand  a  purpose. 
No  forward  movement  of  humanity  ever 
was  or  ever  can  be  achieved  without  an 
enthusiasm.  Have  we  the  optimism  that 
can  go  forward  against  all  opposition  and 
achieve  grand  things  ?  Generations  come 
that  can  do  this ;  but  other  generations 
cannot.  For  the  most  the  world  moves 
in  routine  work,  and  reveres  red-tape. 
I  have  faith  that  our  generation  is  able 
to  comprehend  the  grandeur  of  the  idea 
and  to  work  successfully  at  its  accom- 
plishment. The  proposition  is  to  hold,  in 
1893,  in  conjunction  with  the  Columbian 
Exposition,  a  congress  "  of  the  enlight- 
ened and  liberal  minds  of  the  world  to 
discuss  the  interests  of  free  institutions, 
and  the  best  means  for  their  promotion 
among  the  nations  of  the  earth."  The 
movement  is  already  in  the  hands  of  a 
committee  of  two  hundred  representa- 
tive men  in  this  country,  together  with 
committees  in  all  foreign  lands  that  are 
touched  with  aspiration  for  human  pro- 
gress. Among  the  foreign  members  are 
Louis  Kossuth,  Sefior  Castelar,  the  Presi- 
dent of  the  Brazilian  Republic  Fonseca, 
Henry  Labouchere,  Herbert  Spencer, 
Professor  James  Bryce,  Bartholdi,  and 
many  more.  In  this  country,  prominent 
workers  cover  every  field  of  life  and 
every  persuasion.  Cardinal  Gibbons  co- 
operates with  Rabbi  Gottheil,  Bishop 
Cheney,  and  Robert  Ingersoll.  The 
Executive  Committee  consists  of  Colonel 
Ethan  Allen,  Hon.  Andrew  Carnegie, 
General  Russell  Alger,  Governor  Hoard, 
of  Wisconsin,  and  nine  more  equally 
representative  men.  The  inception  of 
the  plan  is  due,  however,  to  a  man  of 
rare  combinations,  of  modesty  equalled 
by  his  daring,  and  executive  power  equal 
to  his  hopefulness  and  enthusiasm,  Wm. 
O.  McDowell,  of  Newark,  New  Jersey. 
He  is  himself  unable  to  tell  when  or  how 
the  idea  of  a  Congress  of  Republics  en- 
tered his  brain.  Perhaps  Bartholdi  did 
more  than  he  thought  when  he  sent  the 
statue  of  "  Liberty  Enlightening  the 
World  "  to  our  metropolitan  harbor.  It 
was  not  set  there  for  the  benefit  of  Amer- 
ican commerce,  but  for  the  whole  world, 
as  it  sailed  in  and  out  the  waters  of  a 
democratic  Continent.  An  interesting 
man  is  this  McDowell,  worth  a  moment's 


thought  of  ours.  Some  years  ago  he 
was  sent  for  by  Governor  Tilden,  to 
draft  a  will  for  him.  Instead  of  the  usual 
legal  verbiage  he  began,  "Whereas  this 
is  a  natural  conflict  between  the  two 
forms  of  government  that  now  rule  the 
world,  that  which  is  based  on  the  theory 
of  the  divine  right  of  kings  and  that 
which  is  based  upon  the  divine  rights  of- 
the  people,  and  in  order  that  the  men 
who  will  be  called  on  to  fight  the  intel- 
lectual battles  of  the  future  may  be  duly 
prepared,  —  I  dedicate  my  fortune  to  the 
education  of  mankind  in  Statecraft,  on 
the  lines  laid  down  in  the  Declaration  of 
Independence."  This  is  surely  the  most 
curious  will  drawn  up  in  our  generation  ; 
but  it  reminds  us  startlingly  of  the  wills 
of  Washington  and  Jefferson.  One  hun- 
dred years  ago  they  did  such  things. 
Washington  willed  his  property  to  found 
a  National  University  at  the  Capital  of 
the  States.  It  is  not  yet  organized,  but 
it  will  be.  Jefferson  founded  a  university 
for  his  native  state.  Franklin  left  endow- 
ments for  the  apprentices  who  read  the 
maxims  of  Poor  Richard  and  practised 
them.  What  we  have  lacked  of  late  is 
the  enthusiastic  belief  in  great  principles 
that  characterized  these  men.  To  asso- 
ciate our  Columbian  Exposition  of  what 
has  been  done  with  a  zealous  proclama- 
tion of  what  shall  be  done,  is  to  complete 
and  round  out  what  was  but  half  an  idea. 
Mr.  McDowall  on  Bunker  Hill's  Day 
of  1890,  issued  a  manifesto  from  Faunce's 
Tavern  in  New  York,  Washington's  head- 
quarters of  one  hundred  years  before. 
He  said,  "  Not  only  in  the  United  States, 
but  in  other  countries  of  the  world,  there 
are  a  number  of  great  patriotic  societies 
devoted  to  the  principles  that  a  century 
ago  resulted  in  the  birth  of  these  United 
States.  Has  not  the  time  come  for  the 
issuing  of  an  invitation  to  the  patriotic 
societies  of  the  world  to  each  send  one 
or  more  delegates  to  attend  a  Pan-Repub- 
lic congress?"  With  this  interrogation 
went  others  as  to  time  and  locality  to  be 
chosen,  and  who  should  be  invited  to  ap- 
pear as  delegates,  or  to  be  represented 
by  delegates ;  also  concerning  the  true 
functions  of  such  an  assembly.  The  idea 
at  its  conception  was  bold  and  full  of 
enthusiasm,     but    discreet    and     timely. 


14 


A  PAN-REPUBLIC  CONGRESS. 


Copies  of  Mr.  McDowell's  letter  were 
sent  to  every  member  of  the  Order  of 
the  American  Eagle ;  to  the  President 
and  Vice-Presidents,  Generals  of  the 
Sons  of  the  American  Revolution,  and  to 
the  president  of  each  State  Society ;  to 
the  members  of  the  late  Pan-American 
Congress,  and  to  the  President  of  each 
Republic  in  the  world ;  to  the  press,  and 
to  representative  men  everywhere  in  sym- 
pathy with  democratic  institutions. 

This  was  the  inauguration  of  the  pres- 
ent scheme  to  bring  the  nineteenth  cen- 
tury to  a  white  heat  of  enthusiasm  as  it 
passes  over  its  work  to  the  twentieth. 
Hundreds  of  replies  came  from  all  over 
the  world  favoring  the  suggested  Con- 
gress. The  movement,  after  a  few  pre- 
liminary gatherings,  took  the  form  of  a 
committee  of  two  hundred  representative 
citizens  of  the  United  States,  acting  under 
the  name  of  the  Pan-Republic  General 
Committee.  Its  first  meeting  was  held 
in  New  York  City  in  December  of  1890, 
for  the  purpose  of  planning  its  work  and 
dividing  the  same  among  sub-committees. 

The  outline  of  the  work  accomplished 
was  to  settle  upon  a  name,  and  to  define 
the  object  of  the  Congress ;  also  to  sug- 
gest in  more  specific  form  the  work  to  be 
attempted.  The  general  scope  of  the 
proposed  Assembly  was  defined  to  be 
"  the  consideration  of  the  welfare  of  free 
institutions,  and  the  best  means  of  pro- 
moting the  same."  In  the  consideration 
of  questions  civil  and  political,  the  Con- 
gress will  discuss  Constitutional  and  ad- 
ministrative reform ;  the  establishment 
of  legalized  arbitration  among  all  civilized 
peoples ;  the  amelioration  of  severities, 
and  the  extinguishment  of  injustice  in 
administering  government ;  the  dissolu- 
tion of  standing  armies,  and  the  substitu- 
tion of  the  reign  of  intelligence  and 
morals  in  place  of  brute  force  ;  interna- 
tional intercourse  on  the  basis  of  common 
and  universal  justice  ;  the  general  distri- 
bution of  knowledge  without  hindrance, 
thus  creating  international  intelligence  ; 
the  moral  welfare  of  all  peoples,  and  none 
the  less  the  sanitary  and  general  physical 
well-being  of  mankind. 

Mr.  McDowell  has  published  a  valua- 
ble epitome  of  the  work  that  is  possible. 
Much  of  this  is   borrowed  from  the  final 


recommendations  of  the  Pan-American 
Congress.  (1)  Measures  that  pertain  to 
universal  peace.  (2)  The  formation  of  a 
customs  union  for  all  governments.  (3) 
The  union  of  all  the  great  ports  of  Re- 
publics by  closer  commercial  ties.  (4) 
The  establishment  of  uniform  customs 
regulations.  (5)  The  adoption  of  uni- 
form weights,  measures,  and  copyrights. 
(6)  A  common  system  of  coinage.  (7) 
A  definite  plan  of  arbitration.  He  would 
have  discussed  questions  of  human 
brotherhood,  of  labor  and  capital,  of  san- 
itation and  health,  of  machinery  and  cor- 
porations, of  banking,  of  stimulants  and 
narcotics  as  effecting  human  degenera- 
tion, of  economy  and  taxation,  of  educa- 
tion, of  universal  disarmament.  "  I  de- 
sire that  the  flag  of  every  Republic, 
wherever  seen  upon  the  face  of  the 
earth,  shall  be  looked  upon  and  wel- 
comed by  mankind  as  a  pledge,  promise 
and  hope  of  a  brighter  future  for  all  peo- 
ple." Dr.  Porrifor  Fazer  says,  "  The 
Congress  might  organize  an  international 
Bureau  as  distant  from  governments  as 
are  the  trade  federations  of  capitalists,  to 
which  all  grievances  of  the  oppressed  in 
all  nations  should  be  addressed  when  not 
righted  at  home.  It  might  provide  for 
triennial  sessions  in  the  different  republi- 
can countries,  and  make  itself  the  organ 
and  mouthpiece  of  the  victims  of  injus- 
tice everywhere,  entirely  independent  of 
the  diplomatic  complications  which  fre- 
quently prevent  governments,  even  in  the 
settled  conviction  and  desire  to  do  right, 
from  speaking  frankly  to  their  fellow 
powers.  The  Siberian  outrages  of  Rus- 
sia, the  evictions  in  Ireland,  the  Jewish 
wrongs  in  Russia  and  Austria,  the  penal- 
ties of  free  speech  in  Germany,  could  be 
sternly  rebuked  by  a  voice  —  the  voice 
of  the  people  —  which  would  command 
universal  attention."  Another  suggestion 
is  that  the  people  can  thus  be  educated 
to  peaceful  revolution.  It  is  not  improb- 
able that  such  an  international  concourse 
might,  in  time,  become  a  legally  consti- 
tuted Court  of  Inquiry  into  such  popular 
questions  as  are  suggested  above,  with 
certain  powers  to  arbitrate. 

It  is  clear  that  such  a  Congress  as  is 
proposed  will  have  before  it  work  enough 
of  a  characteristic  sort.     Nor  will  it  have 


A  PAN-REPUBLIC  CONGRESS. 


15 


at  all  clear  sailing  and  harmonious  co- 
operation for  the  good  of  humanity. 
There  will  be  ambitions  and  conflict  of 
opinions  with  no  little  prejudice,  and  un- 
doubtedly a  large  amount  of  "  spread- 
eagleism."  There  will  be  out  of  the 
inchoate  beginnings  certain  clear-cut 
ideas  and  purposes  brought  to  the  sur- 
face ;  and  men  of  clearest  intellectual 
power  and  moral  determination  will  finally 
come  to  the  front  and  shape  interna- 
tionalism into  a  world-wide  democracy. 
There  is  little  doubt  but  that  the  history 
of  previous  centuries  will  be,  in  great 
measure,  repeated.  The  Franklins  and 
JerTersons  and  Hamiltons  will  agitate  with 
characteristic  and  distinctive  form,  each 
from  his  own  standpoint ;  and  the  end 
will  be,  as  it  always  is,  the  triumph  of 
judicious  democracy.  Extreme  and  re- 
volutionary measures  will  find  advocates  ; 
conservatives  will  wax  eloquent  over  the 
grooves  of  the  past.  There  is  sure  to  be 
a  clash  with  the  relics  of  absolutism,  the 
dei  gratia  in  Church  and  State.  Anarchy 
and  Nihilism  will  manage  sooner  or  later 
to  be  heard.  Those  who  now  lead  may 
retire  in  alarm  before  the  third  triennial 
session  of  the  Congress.  We  may  be  sure 
that  the  day  is  approaching  for  measures 
as  startling  as  those  of  1776  and  1800. 
The  one  need  now  is  enthusiasm  and 
faith.  These  alone  have  carried  the 
world's  greatest  ideas  forward  to  realiza- 
tion. 

That  such  popular  and  special  en- 
thusiasm is  not  lacking,  the  letters  and 
speeches  of  the  ablest  men  in  this  land 
and  in  Europe  attest.  Cardinal  Gibbons 
writes,  "  It  will  strike  down  the  barriers 
that  separate  nation  from  nation  and  race 
from  race.  I  look  with  satisfaction  upon 
the  first  steps  to  be  taken  in  this  direc- 
tion by  the  assembling  of  the  Pan-Re- 
public Congress."  General  Sherman 
wrote,  "  America  is  only  on  the  threshold 
of  her  history.  The  whole  world  turns  to 
us  to  see  the  result  of  our  experiment." 
Ex-President  Cleveland  writes,  "  I  assure 


you  I  am  in  accord  with  this  movement 
which  has  for  its  object  the  drawing  of 
the  republics  of  the  world  into  closer 
bonds  of  sympathy."  Professor  Geikie 
of  Edinburgh  writes,  "  I  am  in  hearty 
sympathy  with  the  objects  of  the  Con- 
gress, although  I  am  a  loyal  subject  of 
this  old  monarchical  country."  John 
Boyle  O'Reilley  wrote  just  before  his 
death,  "  If  popular  liberty  is  good,  and 
enthusiasm  a  virtuous  force,  such  a  con- 
gress ought  to  be  held.  The  nineteenth 
century  could  not  close  with  a  nobler 
work."  Bishop  Potter  writes,  "  I  wish 
success  to  every  wise  effort  to  draw  closer 
the  republics  of  the  world."  Bishop 
Cheney  responds,  "  Taught  by  the  policy 
of  the  kings  let  republics  of  the  world 
unite,  not  by  the  alliance  of  ruling  fami- 
lies or  conjunction  of  great  armies,  but 
by  such  conferences  as  may  lead  to  a 
wider  spread  of  free  principles,  and  a 
concerted  action  in  all  that  tends  to  ad- 
vance the  rights  of  men."  The  grand- 
son of  Patrick  Henry,  Hon.  Wm.  Wirt 
Henry,  writes,  "  I  am  in  full  sympathy, 
and  consider  the  movement  most  timely." 
Miss  Frances  Willard  responds,  "  It  is  in 
the  air,  —  the  great  word  fraternization." 
Professor  Winchell  wrote,  "  It  fires  my 
enthusiasm  to  think  of  such  a  gathering 
for  the  practical  recognition  of  the  frater- 
nity of  nations."  These  are  but  a  hand- 
ful of  the  responses,  cordial  and  glowing, 
that  have  come  in,  indicative  of  the 
popular  sentiment.  Our  century  will  for- 
ever be  known  for  our  great  deed,  the 
obliteration  of  the  principle  that  it  is 
right  for  man  to  be  held  as  property  by 
man.  This  was  an  inevitable  consequence 
of  the  principles  promulgated  in  the 
Declaration  of  Independence.  But  the 
destruction  of  slavery  only  cleared  the 
ground.  We  are  now  free  to  lead  on. 
We  have  as  yet  done  nothing  in  the  way  of 
establishing  new  and  broader  principles, 
such  as  our  forefathers  thought  out,  felt 
out,  and  established  at  the  close  of  the 
last  century.     Our  opportunity  is  at  hand. 


16  AN  AUGUST  SKETCH.  — A  SEPTEMBER  SKETCH. 


MY  FIRST  LOVE. 

By  John  Allister  Currie. 

'^T^IS  when  the  rosy  petals  of  the  day 

Are  scattered  softly  on  my  chamber  floor, 
*-  Chasing  the  shadows  out  night's  dusky  door, 

I  wake,  and  all  the  old  desires  that  stay, 

Locked  up  within  my  heart,  new  influence  ply. 
I  part  the  casement  and  I  seek  the  shore, 
To  greet  my  sweet  beloved  at  morn  once  more, 

And  for  a  moment  on  her  bosom  lie. 

There  is  no  other  face  one  half  so  kind  ! 

There  is  no  other  eye  so  blue  to  me ; 
Nor  yet  a  bosom  that  I  e'er  could  find, 

Filled  with  such  moods  and  passions  wild  and  free. 
There  is  no  fairer  cheek  kissed  by  the  wind, 

Than  my  first  love's,  that  I  love  still  —  the  Sea. 


AN  AUGUST  SKETCH. 

By  Catherine  Thayer. 


BEYOND  a  sand-dune's  slope,  where  the  pale  grass 
Clings  with  firm  roots  upon  the  shelving  side, 
A  storm-ribbed  beach  extends  its  shining  length, 
A  golden  zone,  confining  the  deep  surge 
Of  the  vast  ocean's  ceaseless  energy ; 
The  tide  waves  flash  translucent  in  the  sun, 
Empearled  with  spray,  then  melt  in  snowy  foam 
With  gentle,  rythmic  murmur  on  its  sands. 


A  SEPTEMBER  SKETCH. 

By  Catherine  Thayer. 

THE  grasses  in  the  meadows  by  the  bay 
Blend  in  rich  harmonies  of  autumn  tints, 
Faint  russet,  yellow,  tinged  with  ruddy  tones  ; 
The  glowing  colors  softened  by  the  haze 
Until  harmonious  with  the  water's  hue 
Of  neutral  gray  —  upon  whose  glassy  calm 
Are  mirrored  forth  the  outlines  of  the  hills, 
And  the  slow-gliding  vessels'  drooping  sails. 


By  the  Sea  at   Beveriy. 


SUMMER  DAYS  ON  THE  NORTH  SHORE. 

By    Winfield  S.  Nevins. 


JOHN  WINTHROP  and  his  compan- 
ions on  the  good  ship  Arbella,  in 
1630,  may  have  been  the  first  sum- 
mer visitors  to  the  North  Shore ;  for 
Winthrop  tells  us  in  his  delightfully  inter- 
esting journal  that,  after  coming  to 
anchor  inside  of  Baker's  Island  on  the 
12th  of  June,  "  most  of  our  people  went 
on  shore  upon  the  land  of  Cape  Ann, 
which  was  very  near  us,  and  gathered 
store  of  fine  strawberries."  Even  Roger 
Conant,  four  or  five  years  earlier,  had 
been  not  unmindful  of  the  attractions  of 
this  region,  for  when  that  observing 
pioneer  sailed  along  the  shore  from 
Gloucester  to  the  Naumkeag  River  he 
saw  that  the  coast  was  one  of  uncommon 
beauty.  And  if  he  did  not  pick  fine 
strawberries,  he  was  apparently  struck 
with  the  beauty  of  the  landscape,  with  its 


fresh  and  charming  lines,  the  picturesque 
coast,  the  undulating  hills,  soft  hidden  in 
the  blue  mist  of  morning  or  in  the  purple 
haze  of  evening.  As  has  been  well  said, 
what  Roger  Conant  and  John  Winthrop 
gloried  in  two  hundred  and  sixty  years 
ago  strikes  the  observer  to-day  with  the 
same  gentle  force  ;  whether  he  sails  along 
the  coast,  or  travels  the  centre  of  the 
Cape  by  the  railway  or  by  the  winding 
road,  acres  of  tiny  forest,  little  villas,  like 
diamonds  in  rich  natural  settings,  broad 
and  undulating  fields,  glimpses  of  the 
sea,  all  contribute  to  paint  a  picture  for 
the  traveller  that  cannot  easily  fade  from 
his  memory.  Whether  it  was  Governor 
Winthrop,  or  Governor  Conant,  or  some 
more  modern  governor,  who  discovered 
the  summer  glories  of  this  North  Shore, 
it  is  certain  that  people  who  visit  it  once, 


18 


SUMMER  DAYS  ON  THE  NORTH  SHORE. 


come    when     they    may,    never    leave    it 
without  the  resolve  to  return. 

What  is  the  North  Shore?  Where  is 
it  ?  Some  say  it  is  the  coast  from  WTin- 
throp  Head  to  Point  of  Pines ;  others 
say  it  is  from  Boston  to  Pigeon  Cove  at 
the  extreme  end  of  Cape  Ann ;  while 
still  others  say  that  the  North  Shore,  as 
a  summer  resort,  is  the  coast  from  Salem 
to  the  end  of  the  Cape.  Geographically 
and  historically,  perhaps,  the  North  Shore 
is  the  Cape  Ann  coast  between  Beverly 
bridge  and  Pigeon  Cove.  Some  noted 
summer  resorts  are  included  within  this 
stretch  of  twenty-five  miles  of  sea-shore  ; 
the  best  known,  perhaps,  being  Beverly 
Farms,  Manchester-by-the-Sea,  and  Mag- 
nolia. Eastern  Point,  Land's  End,  and 
Pigeon  Cove,  though  not  as  widely  her- 


homes  and  all  degrees  of  summer  life 
may  be  found  at  these  places,  from  that 
in  the  five  hundred  dollar  cottage  to  the 
palatial  dwelling  whose  cost  is  counted 
among  the  tens  of  thousands.  One  of 
the  best  known  and  most  striking  of 
these  is  the  estate  of  Mr.  John  Shepard 
near  Beach  Bluff,  in  Swampscott  —  a 
stately  mansion,  overlooking  the  ocean, 
surrounded  by  charming  grounds,  and 
having  every  feature  of  attractiveness 
which  an  artistic  mind  could  sug- 
gest^ 

Still  another  suburban  residence  in 
Swampscott  which  excites  admiration  is 
Mr.  Elihu  Thomson's,  of  Thomson- 
Houston  fame.  The  house  is  of  the 
colonial  style  of  architecture,  built  of 
dark    red    brick    with    white    woodwork 


X:- 


Gen.  Charles  G.    Loring's   Place  at   Beverly. 


aided  in  these   later    years,  are   not  less 
attractive. 

But  one  is  tempted  to  reach  out 
through  historic  Salem,  with  its  Willows 
and  Juniper  Point,  and  picturesque  Mar- 
blehead,  with -its  Neck,  or  Nanepashemet, 
to  Swampscott  the  beautiful,  and  Nahant 
the    secluded.      All    grades    of    summer 


trimmings,  presenting  a  striking  contrast 
with  the  deep  green  of  the  wide  lawn  in 
front  and  the  neighboring  grove.  It 
occupies  a  slight  rise  of  ground  on  a 
part  of  the  old  E.  Redington  Mudge 
estate,  near  the  junction  of  the  main 
street  and  Paradise  Road.  Just  over  the 
line  in  Lynn,  one  finds  the  charming  es- 


SUMMER  DAYS  ON  THE  NORTH  SHORE. 


19 


tate  of  Mr.  Francis  W.  Breed,  like  Mr. 
Thomson's,  a  combination  of  summer 
residence  and  permanent  home. 

Historically  speaking,  Beverly  and 
Manchester  might  contend  for  the  honor 
of  being  the  first  to  afford  a  summer 
home  for  wealthy  Bos- 

tonians.        It    was     in      r— ■ — — — — 

the  early  spring  of 
1845  that  Richard  H. 
Dana  bought  the 
Knowlton  farm  on  the 
shore  between  the 
village  of  Manchester 
and  the  Kettle  Cove 
settlement,  and  the 
same  year  built  the 
old-fashioned  square 
house  which  the  trav- 
eller by  rail  or  high- 
way may  see  to-day, 
in  the  woods  on  his 
right  hand,  as  he  jour- 
neys down  along  the 
Cape.  Some  years 
after  Mr.  Dana's  ad- 
vent came  Major 
Russell  Sturgis,  Jr., 
and  President  Bullard, 
who  located  further  up 
the  shore  toward  the 
village.  The  first  es- 
tate purchased  at 
Beverly  Farms  for 
strictly  summer  pur- 
pose was  the  Isaac 
Prince  farm  of  one 
hundred  acres,  which 
Mr.  C.  C.  Paine  of  Boston  bought  in 
1844  for  $6000.  A  few  weeks  later, 
Hon.  John  G.  King,  of  Salem,  who 
had  been  a  summer  boarder  at  the 
Prince  farm  several  seasons,  bought 
the  John  M.  Thistle  place  at  Mingo 
Beach  and  remodelled  the  farmhouse 
into  a  summer  cottage.  This  was  prob- 
ably the  first  summer  residence  occupied 
on  the  Beverly  shore.  But  the  first  house 
erected  for  strictly  summer  occupancy 
was  built  by  Hon.  C.  G.  Loring  of  Boston, 
during  the  winter  of  1844-45,  ne  h^v- 
ing  purchased  the  Benjamin  Smith  farm 
in  1844  for  $4000.  Another  early  sum- 
mer settler  at  the  Farms  was  Mr.  P.  T. 
Jackson,  who  bought  in   1845   and  built 


in  1846.  The  largest  and  best  known 
of  these  estates  is  that  of  Hon.  Franklin 
Haven,  of  Boston.  His  first  purchase  of 
land  was  in  1846,  and  he  has  added  to 
it  several  times  since,  until  he  has  be- 
come the  possessor  of  many  broad  acres. 


A   Corner  in  the   Loring   House. 

The  estate  has  become  widely  known 
through  the  somewhat  celebrated  Haven 
tax  cases,  growing  out  of  an  increase  of 
valuation  from  $131,450  in  1885,  to 
$439,500  in  1886.  Mr.  Haven's  proprie- 
torship extends  from  the  railroad  track 
to  the  ocean,  and  from  Beverly  Farms 
station  nearly  to  Pride's  Crossing.  Here 
we  find  something  approaching  the  coun- 
try home  of  the  landed  Englishman  — 
woods,  fields,  meadows  and  pastures,  hills 
and  valleys,  brooks,  ponds,  and  sea  — 
grounds  ample  enough  to  take  a  drive  in, 
and  always  hospitably  open  to  the  visitor 
in  coach  or  saddle.  Since  the  advent  of 
these  early  settlements  in  Beverly  and 
Manchester,  hundreds    of    summer    resi- 


20 


SUMMER  DAYS  ON  THE  NORTH  SHORE. 


dences  have  been  built  along  the  North 
Shore,  and  thousands  of  people  occupy 
those  residences  every  season,  while 
more  than  a  dozen  great  hotels  have 
arisen  on  the  coast  to  accommodate  still 
other  thousands  of  more  transient  visi- 
tors. The  fertile  farms  have  been  trans- 
formed into  broad,  sweeping  lawns  with 
smooth-shaven  grass,  acres  of  shrubbery, 
of  rhododendrons,  of  roses,  and  plants  and 
flowers  without  number.  The  rocky 
wooded  hills  and  pastures,  where  cows  and 
sheep  once  picked  a  scant  meal  from 
between  the  boulders,  now  bud  and  bloom 
like  fairyland.  The  once  scraggy  forests, 
strewn  with  tanglewood  and  underbrush, 
are  now  as  trim  as  an  urban  grove,  and 
the  rough  cart  roads  have  been  trans- 
formed into  charming  driveways,  smooth 
and  hard,  winding  in  and  out  among  the 


The  name  Beverly  Farms  was  applied 
to  this  section  of  the  town  originally 
because  it  was  a  purely  farming  com- 
munity. John  Blackleach,  early  in  the 
seventeenth  century,  owned  a  farm  which 
extended  from  Mr.  Haven's  present  resi- 
dence to  Manchester.  Another  farm 
extended  from  the  westerly  line  of  the 
Blackleach  grant  up  the  shore  to  Patch's 
beach,  and  was  owned  by  William  Wood- 
bury. The  Blackleach  farm  came  even- 
tually into  the  possession  of  Robert  Wood- 
bury, who  built,  in  1673,  the  quaint  old 
house  near  the  Baptist  Church,  now  oc- 
cupied by  Dr.  Curtis  as  a  summer  resi- 
dence. Men  now  living  in  the  town  of 
Beverly  remember  when  the  assessed 
valuation  of  the  whole  seashore  section 
was  only  $25,000.  To-day  the  summer 
residents  alone  pay  taxes  on  real  estate 


Martin    Brimmer's   Place. 


trees  and  through  the  lawns,  bringing  the 
traveller  suddenly  and  unexpectedly  upon 
some  delightful  sylvan  bower,  through 
which  he  catches  a  glimpse  of  a  "  stately 
mansion  by  the  sea."  For  even  the 
"  cottage "  that  succeeded  the  farmer's 
old  brown  house  of  half  a  century  ago 
has  in  turn  yielded  to  the  larger  and 
more  pretentious  house  of  elaborate 
ornamentation  and  rich  interior  finish. 


assessed  at  over  four  millions.  Many  an 
acre  which  cost  Mr.  Paine  S60  in  1844 
would  now  sell  for  more  than  $10,000. 

The  earlier  sea-shore  residences,  then 
called  "cottages,"  were  quite  plain  struc- 
tures, without  and  within,  costing  from 
$5,000  to  $10,000.  The  Dana  house  at 
Manchester  and  the  present  Haven  house 
at  Beverly  Farms  (the  latter  built  in 
1850   to  replace  one   destroyed  by  fire), 


SUMMER  DAYS  ON  THE  NORTH  SHORE. 


21 


G.    B.    Howe's   Place  at  Manchester. 


were  larger  than  most  of  those  built  in 
the  forties  and  early  fifties.  There  was 
no  particular  architectural  design  about 
them.  They  were  rather  commonplace, 
and  what  would  now  be  termed  "  barny," 
but  comfortable,  substantial  homes. 
Twenty  or  thirty  years  ago  the  "  Swiss 
villa "  was  all  the  rage.  Perhaps  the 
best  example  of  this  to-day  is  the  resi- 
dence of  Hon.  Martin  Brimmer,  about  a 
half  mile  west  of  Pride's  Crossing  sta- 
tion. Here  we  have  a  pretty  cottage 
with  piazzas,  verandas,  gables  and  lattice 
work,  all  surrounded  by  an  abundance  of 
trees  and  shrubbery,  and  a  broad  sloping 
lawn  in  front.  The  residence  of  Gen.  F. 
W.  Palfrey,  on  the  high  bluff  in  the  woods, 


somewhat  nearer  the  station  (better 
known  as  "  Cro'  Nest"),  is  another  good 
specimen  of  the  earlier  "  Swiss  villa," 
and  remains  practically  without  change 
since  built.  It  is  perched  high  above 
the  street  on  a  perpendicular  bluff,  and 
commands  an  extended  view  oceanward. 
Mr.  Thomas  E.  Proctor's  house,  on  Hale 
Street  at  the  head  of  Prince,  is  another 
striking  example  of  a  modern  Swiss  villa 
on  a  lofty  eminence.  Seen  from  the 
highway  it  is  both  imposing  and  pictu- 
resque, while  the  view,  looking  off  from 
the  piazza,  is  one  of  great  variety  and 
rare  beauty.  A  wonderful  panorama  lies 
before  us  :  the  harbors  of  Salem  and  Bev- 
erly, with  their  coves  and  points  of  and ; 


The   Everett   Place  at  West  Manchester. 


22 


SUMMER  DAYS  ON  THE  NORTH  SHORE. 


Brackenbury   Lane. 

Hospital  Point  shore,  one  long  wide 
lawn,  dotted  here  and  there  with  cottages 
of  various  colors  and  designs,  and  clus- 
ters of  trees  and  shrubbery ;  the  islands 
of  the  bay ;  and,  in  the  distance,  the 
towers  and  roofs  of  Salem  and  old  Mar- 
blehead.  Well  might  the  dweller  here 
say,  with  the  poet, 

"  My  house  was  built  on  the  cliff's  tall  crest 
As  high  as  an  eagle  might  choose  her  nest; 
The  builders  have  descended  the  hill 
Like  spirits  who  have  done  their  master's  will. 
Below,  the  billows  in  endless  reach 
Commune  in  uncomprehended  speech." 

Of  an  entirely  different  type  is  the 
residence  of  Mr.  F.  Gordon  Dexter, 
which  is  situated  on  the  shore  side  of  the 
railroad  between  the  Farms  and  Pride's, 
reached  by  a  winding  driveway  through 
the  woods.  It  is  after  the  pattern  of 
1692,  the  old  gambrel  roof, 
plain  ends  and  sides,  entirely 
destitute  of  ornamentation, 
yet  interesting  and  architec- 
turally and  artistically  attrac- 
tive. Only  three  or  four 
houses  of  this  style  are  to  be 
found  along  the  shore.  An- 
other design,  and  a  very  rare- 
one  on  Cape  Ann,  ir;  the 
massive  stone  mansion  of 
Mrs.  Franklin  Dexter.  It 
is  located  in  the  woods  on 
the  easterly  side  of  Curtis 
Point,  and  between  Prince 
Street     and     Mingo     Beach. 


Seen  from  the  water  front,  it  looks  very 
much  like  one  of  those  famous  old  Rhin- 
ish  castles.  With  the  ocean  at  our  feet 
as  we  sit  on  the  piazza,  and  Marblehead 
and  Salem  in  the  distance  on  the  other 
shore,  it  requires  but  a  slight  stretch  of 
the  imagination  for  us  to  apply  those 
well-known  lines  of  Byron  : 

"  The  castle  crag  of  Drachenfels 

Frowns  o'er  the  wide  and  winding  Rhine, 
Whose  breast  of  waters  broadly  swells 
Between  the  .banks  which  bear  the  vine; 
And  hills  all  rich  with  blossomed  trees, 
And  fields  which  promise  corn  and  wine ; 
And  scattered  cities  crowning  these, 
Whose  far  white  walls  along  them  shine." 

One  other  summer  residence  in  this 
vicinity  there  is,  something  like  the  Dexter 
mansion :  "  Oberwold,"  in  the  woods, 
about  half  a  mile  inland  from  Beverly 
Cove.  It  stands  on  a  slight  knoll  some 
rods  off  the  main  street,  half  hidden 
among  the  tall  pines.  A  trifle  gloomy  at 
times,  perhaps,  the  place  has  many  at- 
tractions, especially  for  those  who  love 
the  "murmuring  pines  and  the  hem- 
locks" that  "stand  like  Druids  of  eld, 
with  voices  sad  and  prophetic." 

Ten  or  twelve  years  ago  the  "  Queen 
Anne  "  cottage  was  built  more  frequently 
than  any  other,  and  seemed  destined  to 
supplant  the  "  Swiss  villa."  About  the 
same  time  there  was  a  revival  of  the 
well-known  "colonial"  style  of  architec- 
ture. The  residence  of  Mr.  Amorv  A. 
Lawrence  on  Hospital  Point,  built  about 
1880,  is  one  of  the  best  specimens  of 
the  Queen  Anne,  especially  as  regards 
the  interior  ;  and  the  residences  of  Mr. 


Ocean   Drive  at   Beverly. 


SUMMER  DAYS  ON  THE  NORTH  SHORE. 


23 


Henry  Endicott,  on  Neptune  Street,  and 
Mrs.  Caroline  Pickman  in  the  immediate 
neighborhood,  of  the  colonial.  The 
Pickman  estate  (  with  its  beautiful  man- 
sion built  by  the  late  W.  D.  Pickman  in 
1 88 1  )  is  not  surpassed  in  situation 
and   grounds   by   anything  we  shall  find 


point,  built  by  Hon.  John  A.  Lowell 
about  1847-8.  The  Sohier  cottage  is 
of  more  recent  date,  and  the  Grover 
and  Turner  houses  have  been  built 
within  a  few  years,  as  has  also  the 
unique  villa  in  the  same  group,  that 
belongs  to  the  Burgess  estate.     All  these 


Mr.    Frank  W.    Breed's   Residence  at   Lynn 


along  the  whole  North  Shore.  Between 
the  Endicott  and  Pickman  residences  is 
one  of  the  most  charming  estates  on  the 
coast,  the  villa  of  Mr.  Joseph  W.  Le- 
Favor  of  Boston.  On  the  northerly  side 
is  a  lawn  of  considerable  extent,  made 
attractive  by  a  profusion  of  flowers  and 
shrubbery,  while  the  outlook  from  the 
south  is  across  the  bay  with  its  islands 
and  white-winged  messengers  of  com- 
merce. Next  beyond  Hospital  Point,  on 
Burgess  Point,  one  finds  a  group  of  cot- 
tages which  well  illustrate  the  old  and 
the  new  in  designs  for  seashore  houses. 
Here  is  the  old  Bardwell  house,  dating 
back  a  third  of  a  century  or  more,  and 
the    Burgess     mansion    on    the    extreme 


newer  houses  are  on  what  originally 
formed  the  extensive  Lowell  estate. 
Here  the  yacht  designer,  Edward  Bur- 
gess, passed  the  pleasant  summers  of 
his  youth ;  and  here  he  took  his  first 
lessons  in  yachting.  He  has  sailed 
many  a  pretty  yacht  in  these  waters. 
Fifteen  and  eighteen  years  ago  the  races 
of  the  Beverly  Yacht  Club  were  mostly 
sailed  off  this  shore,  the  start  usually 
being  made  off  Burgess  Point,  or  between 
there  and  Hospital  Point.  A  yacht  race 
off  Marblehead  was  unknown  then ;  now 
it  is  a  thing  of  the  past  off  Beverly.  The 
old  Burgess  mansion  has  passed  to  the 
possession  of  Mr.  R.  C.  Evans  of  Boston, 
and  has  been  re-modelled  the  past  spring. 


24 


SUMMER  DAYS  ON  THE  NORTH  SHORE. 


So  Ave  may  follow  this  Beverly  shore 
from  the  first  summer  residence  at  the 
Farms  toward  the  town,  until  within  a 
few  rods  of  the  harbor,  where  we  shall 
find  the  newest  hotel  and  the  latest  group 
of  seashore  cottages.  Thus  we  see  the 
whole  coast  line  of  the  old  town,  saving  a 
few  beaches,  in  possession  of  the  summer 
resident  from  the  city.  As  Lucy  Larcom, 
the  true  poet  of  the  North  Shore,  and 
herself  a  native  of  Beverly,  has  well  said  : 

"  Strangers  have  found  that  landscape's  beauty  out 
And  hold  its  deeds  and  titles.      But  the  waves 
That  wash  the  quiet  shores  of  Beverly, 
The  winds  that  gossip  with  the  waves,  the  sky 
That  immemorially  bends,  listening, 
Have  reminiscences  that  still  assert    • 
Inalienable  claims  from  those  who  won, 
By  sweat  of  their  own  brows,  this  heritage." 

When  the  best  sites  on  the  immediate 
shore   had  been   occupied,  seekers   after 


many  thousands  to-day.  The  higher  and 
rougher  the  hill,  and  the  more  dense  the 
woods,  the  more  valuable  the  property. 
Here  the  men  of  wealth  will  transform 
the  rougher  features  of  the  landscape 
into  beautiful  lawns  and  terraces.  "  Em- 
bosomed in  shady  retreats,"  says  a  re- 
cent writer,  "  overlooking  the  coast  towns, 
the  islands,  the  surf-white  shore,  and  the 
open  sea,  vexed  with  giant  steamers  and 
white  with  passing  canvas,  are  their  resi- 
dences, with  wings,  porticoes,  piazzas, 
towers  strange  in  architecture  and  richly 
garnished."  This  description  will  answer 
for  half  a  hundred  of  these  North  Shore 
homes,  and  with  slight  variations  might 
well  apply  to  several  hundred  of  them. 
As  for  Beverly  itself,  some  persons  there 
are  who  believe  that  it  was  destined  to 
become  a  second  Newport,  but  that  the 
dissensions    over    the    division    question, 


Professor   Elihu   Thomson's   Residence  at   Lynn. 


locations  for  summer  homes  built  upon 
the  higher  lands  back  from  the  ocean. 
So,  all  along  down  this  Cape  Ann  shore, 
not  only  in  Beverly  but  through  Man- 
chester-by-the-Sea,  Gloucester,  and  Rock- 
port,  we  shall  find  their  cottages  and  villas 
crowning  the  hill  crests  for  a  mile  inland. 
For  this  reason,  land  which  forty  years 
ago  would  have  been  thought  dear  at 
twenty  dollars   an   acre    is  worth   half  as 


and  the  sudden  and  enormous  increase 
in  valuations  of  land  at  the  Farms  have 
rendered  that  improbable.  That  the 
growth  of  the  place  was  retarded  for 
five  or  six  years,  no  one  will  deny, 
though  opinions  may  differ  as  to  the 
causes;  but  the  season  of  1891  is  wit- 
nessing an  encouraging  revival,  and  the 
Beverly  Shore  has  never  been  more  pop- 
ular nor  more  populous.      The  assessors 


SUMMER  DAYS  ON  THE  NORTH  SHORE. 


25 


The   North   Shore  Taily-ho. 


of  1890  reduced  Mr.  Haven's  valuation 
twenty-five  per  cent,  and  presumably 
will  reduce  that  of  other  estates  in 
time.  The  certainty  of  a  low  tax  rate 
will  do  much  to  reconcile  the  divisionists 
to  their  fate,  and  time  is  already  softening 
the  asperities  occasioned  when  the  con- 
test first  opened.  The  town  has  provided 
fine  roads,  an  ample  supply  of  water,  and 
a  fully  equipped  fire  department  for  the 
Farms  ;  and  with  the  tax  question  ad- 
justed, probably,  peace  will  reign  for  a 
good  many  years. 

Beyond  Beverly  Farms  a  low  marsh 
breaks  through  the  coast  line  and 
separates  the  charming  estate  of  Colonel 
Henry  Lee,  the  last  in  Beverly,  from 
the  West  Manchester  group  of  summer 
estates.  West  Manchester  has  long  been 
the  summer  home  of  the  venerable  Rev. 
Cyrus  A.  Bartol,  many  years  pastor  of 
the  old  West  Church  in  Boston.  Here  he 
built  a  comfortable  house  nearly  a  quar- 
ter of  a  century  ago,  and  a  look-out  or 
watch-tower  that   commands  a  fine  view 


of  the  harbor  and  shore,  —  a  familiar 
land  mark  from  the  water  side  —  and 
on  Fourth  of  July  night,  when  it  blazes 


pse  of  Baker's   Island. 


26 


SUMMER  DAYS  ON  THE  NORTH  SHORE. 


A  Street  in   Beverly. 

like  a  Pharos.  No  man  has  done  more 
for  the  upbuilding  of  Manchester  as  a 
summer  resort  than  Dr.  Bartol.  He 
invested  his  money  here  freely,  and 
has  made  known  the  beauties  of  the 
place  far  and  wide.  The  elegant  and 
sightly  villa  of  Col.  Henry  L.  Higginson, 
perched  high  above  the  roadway  and 
railway,  and  lying  between  the  two,  is 
one  of  the  first  to  attract  the  eye  of  the 
traveller  as  he  enters  the  town.  When, 
in  1878,  Mr.  Higginson  laid  the  founda- 
tion for  his  house  on 
the  summit  of  this 
hill,  it  was  one  of 
the  roughest  spots  in 
town,  and,  while  he 
has  levelled  and 
beautified  the 
grounds  in  the  im- 
mediate vicinity  of 
the  mansion,  the 
natural  features  gen- 
erally remain  undis- 
turbed. The  "  cra- 
dle knolls"  have 
not  been  levelled 
down,  nor  the  hol- 
lows levelled  up ; 
the  rocks  and  boul- 
ders still  strew  the 
ground,  and  the 
bayberry  bushes  and 
scrub  trees  entangle 
the  feet  as  ever. 


Mr.  Higginson  evidently 
believes  with  the  poet,  Jones 
Very  : 

"The    plants    that    careless   grow 

shall  bloom  and  bud, 
When  wilted  stands  man's  nicely 

tended  flower; 
E'en  on  the  unsheltered  waste, 

or  pool's  dark  mud, 
Spring   bells   and    lilies   fit    for 

lady's  bower." 

West  Manchester  was 
once  called  "Newport"; 
just  why  it  is  a  little  diffi- 
cult to  say.  Perhaps,  on  a 
still  summer  day,  it  resem- 
bles the  dreamy  quiet  of 
that  famous  watering  place, 
for  there  is  a  soft  midsum- 
mer air  here  that  soothes 
and  rests.  On  Tuck's  point,  not  far  from 
the  little  railway  station,  every  summer, 
the  Elder  Brethren  of  Manchester  hold 
their  annual  "  meet,"  and  partake  of 
their  annual  clam  chowder,  which  must 
be  made  by  one  of  their  number.  These 
Elder  Brethren  include  all  who  have 
passed  the  first  half  century  of  life,  and 
who  now  live,  or  ever  did  live,  in  Man- 
chester. Manchester  village  is  about  a 
mile  beyond  this  Cape  Ann  "  Newport," 
at  the  point  where  historic  Jeffrey's  Creek 


The   Library  at  Manchester. 


SUMMER  DAYS  ON  THE  NORTH  SHORE. 


27 


and  the  harbor  mingle  their  waters. 
The  original  name  of  the  settlement  was 
Jeffrey's  Creek,  so  called  because  William 
Jeffery  was  the  first  settler.  Forty  years 
ago  more  furniture  was  made  in  Man- 
chester than  in  any  other  town  of  its  size 
in  this  country.  But  that  industry,  like 
the  fishing  business,  which  was  once  suc- 
cessfully pursued,  is  a  thing  of  the  past. 
The    principal    industry    of  Manchester 


Chapel  up  by  the  hotel  is  the  outcome  of 
the  zeal  and  generosity  of  Major  Russell 
Sturgis,  Jr.  In  the  Memorial  Hall  are 
the  headquarters  of  the  Grand  Army 
post  of  the  town  and  the  rooms  of  the 
public  library.  Added  to  all  these  neces- 
sities and  luxuries  of  modern  civiliza- 
tion, the  town  is  soon  to  have  a  water 
supply. 

Among    the    summer     residents     have 


Emmanuel   Church,  Manchester, 


to-day  is  the  very  profitable  one  of  cater- 
ing to  the  wants  of  summer  residents. 
The  summer  residents  have  in  turn  done 
much  for  the  prosperity  of  the  place. 
Not  only  has  their  coming  reduced  the  tax 
rate  to  six  dollars  on  a  thousand,  and 
thus  enabled  the  inhabitants  to  have  almost 
city  luxuries  in  the  way  of  streets,  lights, 
schools,  and  fire  department,  without 
burdensome  taxation,  but  things  more 
free  and  substantial  have  followed.  The 
beautiful  Memorial  Hall,  the  pride  of  the 
town,  was  the  gift  of  Mr.  T.  Jefferson 
Coolidge,     and     the     pretty     Episcopal 


been  men  and  women  of  more  than  local 
renown.  James  T.  Field,  author,  pub- 
lisher, and  scholar,  built  a  picturesque 
house  on  Thunderbolt  Rock,  and  enjoyed 
many  seasons  here.  It  is  related  that 
while  Fields  was  a  boarder  in  Manches- 
ter, and  just  after  he  had  bought  there,  a 
villager  remarked  to  him  on  the  railway 
station  platform  one  morning :  "  Just 
think,  some  fool  has  purchased  Thunder- 
bolt rock  with  the  idea  of  building  a 
house  there." — "Yes,"  replied  the  pub- 
lisher, with  a  merry  twinkle  in  his  eye, 
"  I  bought  it  the  other  day."     Here,  too, 


28 


SUMMER  DAYS  ON  THE  NORTH  SHORE. 


wlm&lmr&Sjr. 
Mr.   G     N     Black's  Place  at  Manchester 


have  lived  J.  B.  Booth,  John  Gilbert, 
Joseph  Procter,  and  Mrs.  Agnes  Booth 
Schoeffel,  all  well-known  stars  in  the 
theatrical  world.  Conway,  Mrs.  Bowers, 
Mrs.  Vincent,  our  own  lamented  Warren, 
Jefferson,  and  others  equally  well-known 
have  likewise  admired  the  charms  of 
Manchester-by-the-Sea.  The  summer 
home  of  Mrs.  Mary  Hemenway  is  here. 

Thirteen  years  ago  there  was  not  a 
house  on  Gale's  Point,  or  Manchester 
Neck,  as  it  used  to  be  called.  To-day 
more  than  a  dozen  stately  residences 
crown  the  bluff.  Dr.  Bartol  purchased 
the  seventy-four  acres  of  rocky,  uninvit- 
ing pasture  about  1871,  and,  cutting  it 
up  into  house-lots,  placed  them  upon  the 
market.  He  built  on  two  or  three  of 
these  himself,  and  sold  the  others.  Mr. 
George  B.  Howes  built  on  the  Point  first, 
in  1879-80;  and  the  following  year, 
Colonel  A.  P.  Rockwell,  then  president 
of  the  old  Eastern  Railroad,  built  a  hand- 
some villa  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
road.  The  easterly  side  of  the  Point  is 
a  rocky,  precipitous  bluff,  rising  nearly  a 


hundred  feet  above  the  ocean  which  rolls 
at  its  base  and  crowned  by  one  of  the 
finest  and  most  picturesque  dwellings  on 
the  shore  —  that  of  Mr.  George  N. 
Black.  Against  this  ledge,  during  a 
storm,  the  seas  beat  with  great  violence 
and  with  a  deafening  roar. 

It  would  hardly  do  to  leave  Manches- 
ter without  a  visit  to  that  natural  curiosity, 
the  Singing  Beach.  The  sand  on  this 
beach  when  struck  by  a  carriage  wheel, 
the  heel  of  the  shoe,  or  sometimes  by 
an  incoming  wave,  sends  forth  a  musical 
sound.  The  note  is  shrill  and  clear  when 
made  by  the  foot,  but  when  made  by  the 
action  of  the  waves  it  is  soft  and  sweet. 
In  only  a  few  places  in  the  world  is  such 
a  phenomenon  known  to  exist.  Hugh 
Miller,  in  his  "  Cruise  of  the  Betsey," 
says  that  he  and  a  companion  performed 
a  concert  while  walking  over  a  beach  on 
one  of  the  Hebrides,  and  if  they  could 
boast  of  but  little  variety  in  the  tones 
produced,  they  might  challenge  all  Europe 
for  an  instrument  of  the  kind  which  pro- 
duced them. 


SUMMER  DAYS  ON  THE  NORTH  SHORE. 


29 


Perhaps  the  most  impressive  scene  to 
be  witnessed  along  this  part  of  the  North 
Shore,  especially  during  a  storm,  is  from 
Eagle  Head,  near  the  residence  of  Mrs. 
J.  H.  Towne  of  Philadelphia.  This  bold 
headland  rises  abruptly  from  the  ocean 
to  a  height  of  one  hundred  and  thirty 
feet.  Ordinarily  the  waves  roll  softly  and 
quietly  up  its  side.  But  during  a  storm 
the  great  billows  come  rolling  in  toward 
it  swiftly,  angrily,  rising  higher  and  higher 
until,  checked  by  the  protecting  breakers 
beneath  the  surface,  they  seem  to  pause 
for  a  moment,  like  the  couchant  lion 
gathering  for  the  final  spring,  and  then 
in     a     twinkling    they    hurl    themselves 


"  These  restless  surges  eat  away  the  shore 
Of  earth's  old  continent;   the  fertile  plain 
Welters  in  shallows,  headlands  crumble  down, 
And  ihe  tide  drifts  the  sea-sands  in  the  streets 
Of  the  drowned  city." 

From  the  brow  of  this  cliff  one  sees  the 
coast  line  east  and  west  very  distinctly, 
dotted  here  and  there  with  seaward  gaz- 
ing villas.  It  is  a  magnificent  prospect. 
A  group  of  summer  residences  in  an 
ideal  locality  is  that  on  Goldsmith's  Point, 
between  Kettle  Cove  and  Crescent  Beach, 
in  the  extreme  easterly  end  of  Manches- 
ter. Kettle  Cove,  the  little  settlement 
of  farmers  and  fishermen  here  used  to  be 
called.     The  farms  are  now  kitchen  gar- 


Mr.   F.  Gordon   Dexter's  Place,   Beverly  Farms. 


against  the  cliff  with  terrific  force.  "  Above 
the  beating  of  the  storm,  above  the  howl- 
ing of  the  wind  as  it  sweeps  through  the 
forest,  bowing  the  trees  before  it,"  writes 
one  who  has  witnessed  the  scene,  "  rises 
the  roar  of  this  furious  war  of  the  waters 
and  the  rocks,  like  ten  thousand  in- 
furiated demons,  each  bent  on  destroying 
the  other,  and  ruling  both  land  and 
sea." 


dens,  and  the  keels  of  the  fisherman's 
boats  have  rotted  away.  Mr.  T.  Jefferson 
Coolidge  has  here  on  the  point,  one  of 
the  most  delightful  of  these  North  Shore 
homes.  A  smooth  lawn  in  front,  sloping 
to  the  shore,  and  in  the  rear  a  low  wood, 
rendered  almost  impenetrable  by  the 
clinging  vines  and  thick  bushes,  make  a 
delightful  combination  and  attest  the 
purpose    of  the    proprietor    to    afford    a 


30 


SUMMER  DAYS  ON  THE  NORTH  SHORE. 


striking  contrast  between  nature  un- 
adorned and  the  beautifying  skill  of 
man.  In  close  proximity  is  the  pleas- 
antly situated  cottage  built  by  Rev. 
James  Freeman  Clarke  about  1880.  Here 
Dr.  Clarke  passed  the  summers  of  the 
remaining  years  that  were  given  him,  in 
the  enjoyment  of  the  rare  beauties  of  a 
spot  he  loved  so  well.     Beyond  this  point 


ton  built  the  first  summer  residence. 
To-day  there  are  more  than  a  hundred 
of  them,  some  of  which  are  extensive, 
surrounded  by  lawns,  made  beautiful  with 
plants,  flowers,  and  shrubbery,  or  erected 
on  the  outer  end  of  some  jutting  ledge 
that  thrusts  its  nose  well  into  the  ocean, 
standing  on  the  verandah  of  which  is  like 
a  place  on  the  deck  of  an  ocean  steamer. 


Mr.  John   Shepard's   Place  at  Beach  Bluff 


is  a  beautiful  curving  beach,  rightly  called 
Crescent  Beach  j  and  beyond  this  lies 
Magnolia,  long  known  to  the  hardy 
fishermen,  who  alone  constituted  its  in- 
habitants for  two  centuries,  as  Magnolia 
Point.  This  is  the  newest  of  these  charm- 
ing North  Shore  resorts.  Not  until  1867 
did  any  one  seem  to  realize  its  beauties 
and  possibilities.  In  that  year  Mr. 
Daniel  W.  Fuller  purchased  the  land  on 
the  immediate  point ;  but  it  was  five 
years  later  that  some  gentlemen  of  New- 


The  first  summer  hotel,  the  famous  old 
Willow  Cottage,  situated  near  the  fish 
house,  and  shaded  by  a  group  of  his- 
toric willows,  has  passed  from  its  former 
high  estate  to  that  of  an  all-the-year- 
round  boarding-house,  while  the  guests 
who  come  to  Magnolia  are  now  provided 
for  by  three  or  four  large  hotels  and 
several  smaller  ones.  Such  is  the  growth 
of  twenty  years.  A  little  distance  back 
from  this  immediate  point,  where  fifteen 
years    ago,    during    an    August    week  — 


SUMMER  DAYS  ON  THE  NORTH  SHORE. 


31 


|1I|1«- 


Mr.   Charles  Stedman   Hanks's   Place  at  West  Manchester. 


usually  a  very  rainy  week  —  the  red- 
coated  Salem  Cadets  encamped  and 
drilled  and  paraded,  to-day  we  find  a 
veritable  "city  by  the  sea,"  and  the 
"  vet "  of  those  days  would  scarcely 
recognize  the  old  camp  ground.  The 
uninhabited  forest  of  a  few  years  since  has 
disappeared,  and  in  place  of  giant  oaks 
one  sees  the  picturesque  chimneys  and 
quaint  gables  of  suburban  mansions. 
Year  by  year  the  seekers  for  summer 
homes  approach  nearer  and  nearer  to 
Rafe's  chasm  and  Norman's 
Woe.  For  generations  the 
old  tradition  of  the  wreck  of 
the  Hesperus  on  Norman's 
Woe  passed  from  mouth  to 
mouth,  until  Longfellow 
embodied  it  in  his  beauti- 
ful poem.  Let  us  stand 
here  on  the  cliff,  looking 
out  toward  that  fateful  rock, 
and  repeat  once  again  some 
of  those  lines  which  tell  the 
sad  story  : ' 

"  It  was  the  schooner  Hesperus, 
That  sailed  the  wintry  sea; 
And  the  skipper  had   taken  his 
little  daughter, 
To  bear  him  company. 

•"  Down     came     the     storm,     and 
smote  amain 
The  vessel  in  its  strength ; 
She  shuddered  and  paused  like  a 
frightened  steed, 
Then     leaped      her      cable's 
length. 


"  And  fast  through  the  midnight  dark  and  drear, 
Through  the  whistling  sleet  and  snow, 
Like  a  sheeted  ghost  the  vessel  swept, 
Towards  the  reef  of  Norman's  Woe. 

"  She  struck  where  the  white  and  fleecy  waves 
Looked  soft  as  carded  wool, 
But  the  cruel  rocks,  they  gored  her  side, 
Like  the  horns  of  an  angry  bull. 

******* 
"  At  daybreak  on  the  black  seadieach, 
A  fisherman  stood  aghast, 
To  see  the  form  of  a  maiden  fair, 
Lashed  close  to  a  drifting  mast. 


Smaller  Tally-ho. 


32 


SUMMER  DAYS  ON  THE  NORTH  SHORE. 


"  Such  was  the  wreck  of  the  Hesperus, 
In  the  midnight  and  the  snow  ! 
Christ  save  us  all  from  a  death  like  this, 
On  the  reef  of  Norman's  Woe  !  " 

Another  pitiful  tragedy  was  enacted 
here  in  1879,  and  another  beautiful  life 
sacrificed  to  the  greed  of  the  angry  sea, 
which  seems  almost  to  have  an  antipathy 
for  this  particular  bit  of  shore,  and  to  be 
forever  assailing  it.  It  was  on  a  delight- 
ful summer  afternoon  that  Miss  Marvin 
of  Walton,  N.  Y.,  sat  watching   the   con- 


finds  the  roughness  of  nature,  the  beauti- 
ful, the  picturesque,  the  romantic,  the 
pathetic,  the  joyous,  and  the  legends  of 
other  days,  mingled  in  a  delightful 
irregularity  and  uncertainty  hardly  sur- 
passed by  the  Rhine  itself. 

Extending  back  from  Magnolia  toward 
Essex  for  a  mile  or  more  is  an  almost  un- 
broken wilderness,  and  in  this  deep  wood 
grows  the  fragrant  magnolia,  first  found 
on  Cape  Ann  by  stern  old  Cotton  Mather 
two  centuries  ago,  as  he. rode  from  Salem 


Mr.   Russell   Sturgis's   Place  at  Manchester 


tention  between  waves  and  rocks,  well 
up  the  side  of  the  ledge,  in  apparent 
security,  when  a  treacherous  sea,  leaping 
high  above  her  perch,  bore  her  off  in  its 
soft  embrace,  only  to  return  her  lifeless 
form  a  few  hours  later.  The  iron  cross, 
erected  by  sympathizing  summer  resi- 
dents to  mark  the  spot  where  the  body 
was  laid  when  brought  ashore,  stands  like 
a  beacon  light  to  warn  others  of  the 
treacherous  and  uncertain  nature  of  the 
waves  at  Rafe's  Chasm.  So  all  along  this 
shore,    from    Beverly    to    Rockport,    one 


to  "  the  old  sea  brown  fishing  town  "  of 
Gloucester.  The  section  of  the  country 
traversed  by  the  railway  between  Man- 
chester and  Gloucester  combines  the 
rugged  and  the  beautiful,  especially  dur- 
ing late  spring  and  early  summer,  for  on 
the  northerly  side  along  the  high  hill  the 
forest  was  destroyed  a  few  years  ago,  and 
a  young  growth  has  succeeded  it.  The 
ground  is  broken  and  diversified  by  small 
ravines,  and  thickly  strewn  with  large 
boulders,  giving  it  a  forbidding  appear- 
ance in  early  spring ;  but  this  is  softened 


SUMMER  DAYS  ON  THE  NORTH  SHORE. 


33 


Rev.  Cyrus  A.   Bartol's  Place  at  West  Manchester. 


in  May  and  June  by  the  beautifully  rich 
and  varied  foliage  of  the  young  trees, 
the  dark  green  of  the  oak,  the  silver 
white  leaves  of  the  poplar,  the  red  buds 
of  the  maple,  and  the  snow-white  blos- 
soms of  the  wild  cherry,  and  over  all  the 
dark,  swaying  top  of  some  widespreading 
pine,  the  only  relic  of  the  forest  of  the 
early  settler. 


Beyond  Magnolia  is  quaint  old  Glou- 
cester, with  its  fishing  vessels,  and  its 
fish  houses  and  wharves ;  and  beyond 
Gloucester  is  East  Gloucester  and  East- 
ern Point  —  for  every  projecting  bit  of 
land  on  Cape  Ann  is  a  "  point."  East- 
ern Point  is  a  section  of  delightfully 
diversified  landscape.  Summer  hotels, 
cottages,  and    farmhouses;   hills,  valleys, 


'  v  i>   l"s¥§f 


..  MSBPSL 


*m  ' MlaR* w  - ,x?l 


Mr.  Joseph   Proctor's  Cottage,  Manchester 


34 


SUMMER  DAYS  ON  THE  NORTH  SHORE. 


and  plains ;  fields  and  pastures  alternate. 
Between  the  harbor  on  the  west  and  the 
ocean  on  the  east,  in  the  centre  of  this 
narrow  neck  of  land,  one  is  surprised  to 
come  suddenly  upon  a  pretty  sheet  of 
fresh  water  some  thirty  acres  in  extent, 
whose  shores  are  separated  from  the 
shores  of  the  salt  water  by  an  extremely 


The  story  of  the  development  of  the 
Bass  Rocks  settlement  on  Eastern  Point 
is  rather  a  melancholy  one.  Mr.  George 
H.  Rogers  expended  more  than  a  hun- 
dred thousand  dollars  to  develop  the 
place  and  bring  it  into  the  market ;  but 
he  died  before  his  hopes  could  be  realized 
and  the  property  passed  to  other  hands. 
But  the  ultimate  result  has 
justified  Mr.  Roger's  judg- 
ment, for  Bass  Rocks  has 
become  a  popular  and  pros- 
perous resort.  E.  P.  Whipple 
once  wrote  of  it : 

"  To    an    ordinary   July    observer 

"■  J  the    principal   productions    of    this 

) " '  portion    of  Cape   Ann   seem   to    be 

rocks    and   roses.       Hence    it    is,   I 


Dr.  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes's  Place. 

narrow    ridge.       At    the 

end     of     the     point    is 

Gloucester  Light,  one  of 

the    best-known    on    the 

New  England  coast.     It 

is  this  beacon  which  the 

approaching      mariner 

hails  with   delight  as  he 

sails     altfng     the     coast, 

seeking    refuge     from    a 

coming    storm,     for     he 

knows  that  once  he   has 

rounded  Gloucester  Light, 

his  ship  may  ride   safely  at  anchor  in  a 

good  harbor.     The  light  stands  well  out 

on  the  extreme  point  and  in  the  midst  of 

a  field    of  irregular   rocks. 

"  A  heap  of  bare  and  splintery  crags 
Tumbled  about  by  lightning  and  frosts, 
With  rifts  and  chasms  and  storm-bleached  jags 
That  wait  and  growl  for  a  ship  to  be  lost : 
No  island,  but  rather  the  skeleton 
Of  a  wrecked  and  vengeance-smitten  one, 
Ribs  of  rock  that  seaward  jut, 
Granite  shoulders  and  boulders  and  snags, 
Round  which,  though  the  winds  in  heaven  be 

shut, 
The  nightmared  ocean  murmurs  and  yearns. 
Welters,  and  swashes  and  tosses  and  turns, 
And  the  dreary  seaweed  lolls  and  wags." 


-L-Af^y 


Colonel  A     B.   Rockwell's  Place. 

suppose,  that  the  air  in  the  hot  season  is  so 
sweet,  pure,  and  invigorating.  The  gaunt, 
black  rocks,  which  make  vegetation  almost 
impossible,  and  put  down  with  a  strong  hand 
the  timid  efforts  of  the  grass  to  go  through 
the  process  which  ends  in  a  profitable  crop  of 
hay,  are  the  grand  agents  which  brace  up 
and  restore  to  normal  strength  constitutions 
debilitated  by  the  strife  and  corrupt  atmos- 
phere of  large  cities.  You  go  over  this  wilder- 
ness and  laugh  at  the  potato  patches  with  their 
grim  surroundings  of  rocks,  big  enough  for  the 
missiles  which  the  insurgent  Titans  hurled 
against  the  gods;  you  think  that  if  the  potatoes 
ever  reach  the  family  board  they  would  partake 
of  the  hardness  of  their  geological  companions, 
and  that  the  peculiar  '  mealiness '  which  is  the 
only  quality  which  makes  the  potato  a  palatable 
article  of  food  will  never  characterize  the  potato 
raised  on  Cape  Ann." 


SUMMER  DAYS  ON  THE  NORTH  SHORE. 


35 


Mr.   T.    Dennie    Boardman's   Place. 


The  gate-house  built  at  the  entrance 
to  Eastern  Point  is  a  striking  architec- 
tural structure,  in  keeping  with  the  rugged 
characteristics  of  the  whole  place.  The 
residence  of  Judge  E.  J.  Sherman  near 
Little  Good  Harbor  Beach  illustrates 
man's  love  for  the  wild  beauties  of  nature, 
for  the  judge  not  only  founded  his  house 
on  the  traditional  rock  but  placed  it  just 
as  far  out  to  sea  as  possible,  so  that  a 
pebble  might  be  dropped  from  the  piazza 
into  the  restless  surges  directly  below. 
Perched  high  above  the  ocean  though  it 
is,  for  it  is  nearly  seventy  feet  at  low 
water,  the  spray  moistens  the  windows 
at  times,  and  not  infrequently  an  angry 
wave  comes  startlingly  near  the  door. 

Between  Gloucester  and  Rockport,  on 
the  immediate  shore,  the  territory  is  an 
alternation  of  smooth,  sandy  beaches 
and  rugged,  rocky  bluffs.  Back  from  the 
shore  is  the  same  undeveloped  country 
to  be  found  all  the  way  down  the  Cape 
from  Manchester.  Summer  settlements 
are  creeping  along  the  water's  edge,  fill- 
ing in  the  unoccupied  section,  slowly  but 
surely ;  and  ere  long  we  may  expect  to 
see  summer  castles  crowning  the  summits 
of  the  granite -browed  hills  in  the  inte- 
rior. Rockport  itself  is  just  what  its 
name  implies  —  a  rocky  port.  The  ex- 
haustless   supply  of  fine   granite  beneath 


its  thin  soil  is  an  equally  exhaustless  mine 
of  wealth.  Millions  of  dollars  worth  of 
granite  have  been  quarried  here,  and 
even  "the  beginning  of  the  end"  is  not 
yet.  Tall  derricks  rise  on  every  hand 
as  one  rides  along  the  smooth,  hard  road- 
way leading  from  the  railway  terminus 
to  the  end  of  the  Cape,  their  spider-like 
tops  higher  than  the  tops  of  the  trees, 
reminding  us  of  the  numberless  wind- 
mills in  some  parts  of  Germany  and 
Holland.  \Y&Vi 

Those  who  dwell  on  tnis  Rockport 
shore  enjoy  attractions,  especially  on  the 
ocean  side,  rarely  given  to  seashore 
residents.  From  their  piazzas  they  look 
out  to  the  eastward  upon  the  open  sea, 
with  nothing  between  them  and  Europe, 
not  across  some  bay  or  cove  to  an  oppo- 
site   shore    or    distant    island.      To    the 


Mr.  Joseph   Le  Favour's  Place. 


36 


SUMMER  DAYS  ON  THE  NORTH  SHORE. 


southward  are  those  two  mighty  sentinels 
of  Cape  Ann,  the  Thatcher's  Island  light- 
houses, that  stand  guard  over  the  whole 
coast  and  warn  the  incoming  mariner  of 
its  reefs  and  shoals.  They  are  often  the 
first  signs  of  land  which  the  Atlantic 
traveller  beholds  as  he  nears  the  end  of 
his  long  and  frequently  tempestuous 
journey. 

"  The  rocky  ledge  runs  far  out  into  the  sea, 
And  on  its  outer  point  some  miles  away, 
The  lighthouse  lifts  its  massive  masonry, 
A  pillar  of  rire  by  night,  a  cloud  by  day. 

"  Steadfast,  serene,  immovable,  the  same 
Year  after   year,  through  all  the  silent 
night, 
Burns    on    forevermore    that    quenchless 
flame; 
Shines  on  that  inextinguishable  light. 


it.  Bryant  said  no  place  of  resort  by  the 
seaside  had  such  forest  attractions  as 
Pigeon  Cove.  Dr.  Chapin  wrote  :  "  The 
ocean  view  is  one  of  the  grandest  I  have 
ever  seen."  Higginson  says  in  Oldport 
days  : 

"  I  used  to  wander  in  these  woods,  summer  after 


The   Pickman    Mansion. 

"  The  sea-bird  wheeling  round  it,  with  the  din 
Of  wings  and  winds  and  solitary  cries, 
Blinded  and  maddened  with  the  light  within. 
Dashes  himself  against  the  glass  and  dies." 

Richard  H.  Dana,  who  first  visited 
Rockport  in  1840,  was  so  impressed  with 
its  rugged  charms,  particularly  on  this 
point,  that  he  remained  several  weeks, 
and  came  again  every  season  for  a  num- 
ber of  years  and  until  he  built  in  Man- 
chester. With  him  came  William  Cullen 
Bryant,  poet  of  nature,  and  Rev.  E.  H. 
Chapin,  the  eloquent  preacher.  Thomas 
Starr  King,  the  poet  and  historian  of  the 
White  Alountains,  found  here  mingled 
glories  of  seashore  and  mountains,  while 
Thomas  Wentworth  Higginson,  the  lover 
of  nature  and  the  delightful  essayist, 
visited  Rockport  and  was  charmed  with 


Hon.    Franklin    Havens   Place. 

summer,  till  I  had  made 
my  own  chart  of  their 
devious  tracks,  and  now 
when  I  close  my  eyes  in 
this  Oldport  midsummer, 
the  soft  Italian  air  takes 
on  something  of  a  Scan- 
dinavian vigor;  for  the 
incessant  roll  of  carriages, 
I  hear  the  tinkle  of  the 
quarryman's  hammer  and 
the  Veery's  song;  and  I 
long  for  those  perfumed 
and  breezy  pastures,  and 
for    those    promontories 

of  granite,  where  the  fresh  water  is  nectar  and 

the  salt  sea  has  a  regal  blue." 

Planting  our  feet  on  the  farthest  pro- 
jecting rock  of  this  "  tip  end  of  land " 
during  a  storm,  we  may  behold  as  grand 
a  sight  as  is  given  to  man  to  witness. 
Pen  of  man  and  brush  of  artist  can  tell  us 
something  of  sections  of  the  panorama, 
but  the  eye  alone  can  comprehend  the 
majestic  whole,  and  to  get  the  full  realiza- 
tion we  must  also  hear  the  roar  and 
thunder  of  the  mighty  billows  as  they 
break  on  the  ledges. 

Of  a  storm  here  in  1877,  a  New  Orleans 
lady  wrote  : 

"  As  the  eye  goes  back  towards  the  sea,  it  be- 
holds a  strange  army  advancing.  They  are  old 
sea-Druids  of  the  deep;  their  robes  are  woven  of 
emerald  water,  their  long  beards  are  like  snow, 


SUMMER  DAYS  ON  THE  NORTH  SHORE. 


37 


and  their  hair,  whiter  than  the  thrice  washed 
fleece,  floats  out  upon  the  winds.  From  their 
shoulders  hang  feathery  mantles  of  spotless  white, 
and  they  march  forward  with  calm  courage,  born 
of  belief  in  their  own  invincibility,  till,  suddenly 
catching  sight  of  the  stern  foe  in  rocky  silence 
waiting  them  on  shore,  they  fall  prostrate  on  their 
faces,  their  white  mantles  cover  them,  their  white 
hair  tosses  and  tangles  in  the  gale,  the  great  deep 
swallows  them  up,  and  the  eye  seeks  them  in  vain 
in  the  tumultuous  meadows  of  the  sea." 


Other  "  points  "  further  along,  "  round 
the  cape "  have  their  occupants.  The 
summer  colonies  seem  to  have  sought 
these  points  quite  early,  desiring,  no 
doubt,  to  live  undisturbed  by  the  dust  of 
the  common  highway,  or  the  incessant 
roll  and  rumble  of  carriages,  and  to  have 
only  the  splashing  of  the  restless  surges  to 
intrude  upon  the  Sabbath  stillness  of  their 
retreats.  The  men  who  own  these  North 
Shore  cottages  and  mansions  are  not  of 
the  class  who  enjoy  what  George  Eliot 
called  "fine  old  leisure."  With  few  ex- 
ceptions they  are  busy  professional  or 
business  men,  who  go  back  and  forth  to 
their  daily  labors  in  Boston  offices  and 
counting-rooms  with  as  much  regularity 
as  the  shoemaker  or  dry  goods  clerk. 
And  the  majority  of  them  are  early  risers, 
for  they  go  "  in  town  "  on  trains  which 
leave  their  railway  stations  by  eight 
o'clock.  There  are  among  them  lawyers 
and  authors,  bankers  and  brokers,  whole- 
salers and  retailers.  Very  little  of  the 
"life"  which  one  sees  at  Newport  or 
Long  Branch  is  found  on  Cape  Ann. 
Wealth  and  culture  and  society  are  here, 
but  of  the  more  quiet,  undemonstrative 
kind.  From  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon 
till  sunset,  a  good  many  elegant  turn-outs 


may  be  seen  in  Beverly  and  Manchester, 
but  there  is  no  broad  avenue  lined  with 
them. 

To  be  sure,  there  is  the  somewhat 
noted  Tally-ho  Coach  line  from  Pride's 
Crossing  to  Pigeon  Cove,  with  daily  trips 
on  the  Independence;  and  occasional 
side  trips  on  the  Myopia,  which  runs  from 
Pride's  to  the  polo  grounds  in  Wenham- 
Hamilton,  three  times  each  week.  A 
few  of  the  young  men  of  leisure  indulge 
in  polo,  cross-country  riding,  and  pony 
races  during  July,  August,  and  Septem- 
ber, but  most  of  these  men  have  their 
business  hours  in  Boston. 

From  the  end  of  Cape  Ann,  one  is 
tempted  to  keep  on  around  the  shore  of 
Ipswich  Bay,  where,  on  one  side,  are  the 
well-known  stone  mansions  of  General 
Butler  and  Colonel  Jonas  H.  French, 
past  Conant  Point  in  Essex  to  the  great 
round  hills  and  sand  bluffs  of  Ipswich. 
Already  the  seashore  mansion  is  seen 
along  this  part  of  the  coast,  which  bids 
fair  to  rival  the  Cape  Ann  shore  one  of 
these  days.  Though  lacking  the  tree- 
clad  hills,  this  region  has  sand  beaches  of 
unsurpassed  beauty.  Plum  Island's  long 
stretch  of  white  trends  away  towards 
Newburyport,  where  we  shall  find  sum- 
mer houses  around  and  in  the  city,  for 
up  the  Merrimac  are  those  of  Hon.  Har- 
vey N.  Shepard  and  Harriet  Prescott 
SporTord.  Even  into  the  very  streets  of 
the  city  one  sees  residences  not  surpassed 
in  attractiveness  or  beauty  of  surround- 
ings by  those  along  the  shore ;  one  of 
the  most  charming  of  them  being  that 
of  Hon.  E.  P.  Dodge,  the  mayor  of  the 
city. 


THE  ODOR  OF  SANCTITY. 

By  Ellen  Marvin  Heaton. 
CHAPTER  V. 


OTIS  improved  rapidly.  The  lotus 
stage  proved  a  brief  one,  as  the 
doctor  had  predicted.  Promotion 
from  crutches  to  a  cane  enabled  him  to 
lengthen  his  walks,  and  as  the  distance 
to  Mr.  Campbell's  house  was  an  agree- 
able one,  that  often  proved  the  limit  of 
his  stroll. 

But  Edith  was  a  great  rover,  and  Otis 
was  somewhat  piqued  by  her  frequent 
absence.  He  consequently  fell  into  a 
habit  of  interviewing  her  father,  and  took 
a  boyish  delight  in  drawing  out  the  old 
gentleman.  Otis  remarked  with  sur- 
prise how  little  intercourse  men  of  the 
professor's  type  seemed  to  have  with  the 
world  at  large,  or  even  with  each  other. 
President  Ripley  and  Mr.  Campbell  came 
as  near  fraternizing  as  was  possible  to 
natures  of  their  stamp.  In  former  years 
they  had  been  associated  in  Bellingham 
College,  where  the  president  had  taught 
moral  philosophy.  Since  then  they  might 
occasionally  be  seen  exchanging  reminis- 
cences, though  their  intercourse  was  ap- 
parently not  exhilarating. 

The  young  man  of  the  period,  if  not 
less  susceptible  than  his  father  at  the 
same  age,  is  better  regulated  perhaps  as 
to  the  affairs  of  the  heart.  Otis  had  not 
been  without  his  pleasant  flirtations.  One 
or  two  of  the  girls  most  admired  by  him 
had  only  waived  adieu  to  his  attentions 
from  the  altar,  leaving  him  in  that  mixed 
feeling  of  envy  and  relief  known  only  to 
those  whose  hearts  have  been  riven  by 
such  episodes. 

He  had  taken  it  for  granted  that  some 
similar  relations  might  develop  in  the  pres- 
ent case,  and  help  to  while  away  his  days  of 
convalescence.  But  he  was  beginning  to 
realize  that  the  tender  sentiment  was  all 
upon  his  side.  His  surprise  at  this  state 
of  things  ripened  into  pique  and  ended 
in   chagrin. 

On  his  way  home,  he  called  at  the 
post  office  for  his  mail.     There  was  with 


the  rest  a  letter  from  his  college  chum. 
As  he  glanced  down  the  page  his  face 
clouded,  and,  folding  the  letter  abruptly, 
he  hastened  home.  After  congratulations 
upon  his  recovery,  and  certain  items  of 
class  news,  his  friend  made  the  heroic 
offer  to  run  up  to  Rockford  to  cheer  the 
tedium  and  monotony. 

"Guess  not!"  exclaimed  Otis,  laying 
the  letter  on  his  knee.  "  I  don't  care  to 
have  you  bring  yourself  to  bear  upon 
Heavens  !   Has  it  come  to  this  "? 

Well,  he  would  cure  himself.  Rutgers 
should  come, —  and  he  took  up  his  pen 
to  write.  But  he  paused  again.  It  was 
all  very  well,  he  reflected,  for  Edith  and 
himself, —  this  drifting  intimacy  —  friends 
as  they  were  in  childhood  !  But  how 
odious  to  see  Edith  in  any  similar  relation 
with  another, —  with  his  chum  !  Rutgers 
was  always  popular  with  the  ladies, — 
handsome,  too,  and  athletic  !  And  how 
Edith  did  admire  robust  men  !  She  had 
never  said  so,  but  he  was  sure  of  it.  And 
Rutgers  was  such  a  fine  brute  of  a  fellow  ! 
No,  it  was  decidedly  not  to  be  thought 
of. 

"  A  good  fellow  in  his  place, —  let  him 
stay  there  !  "  was  the  final  verdict  upon 
Rutgers ;  and  he  wrote  an  excessively 
friendly  letter,  declining  the  proffered 
visit  upon  the  plea  of  his  projected  trip. 

In  the  mean  time,  the  closed  parsonage 
continued  a  constant  reminder  of  the  late 
events  !  To  some  it  was  a  silent  accuser. 
More  than  one  felt  that  had  he  taken  a 
less  negative  part,  the  result  might  have 
been  different.  Even  Deacon  Stores's 
triumph  was  modified  by  the  growing 
suspicion  that  it  was  easier  to  do  worse 
than  better  in  filling  the  vacated  office. 
In  fact,  it  began  to  seem  doubtful  whether 
any  desirable  candidate  would  accept  a 
call.  The  report  of  their  pastor's  resig- 
nation, and  the  occasion  of  it,  spread 
abroad,  and  it  was  well  understood  what 
manner  of  preaching  the  church  required. 


THE   ODOR   OF  SANCTITY. 


39 


Invitations  to  fill  the  pulpit  for  a  Sunday 
or  two  were  extended  to  several  desirable 
clergymen,  but  one  after  another  declined. 

At  length  the  Rev.  Amos  Barnes  ac- 
cepted an  invitation  to  occupy  the  pulpit 
for  four  consecutive  Sundays.  There  was 
no  doubt  as  to  his  soundness.  Just  be- 
fore the  close  of  his  first  grim  sermon,  as 
he  was  piling  awful  terrors  up,  a  heavy 
storm  came  on.  Nature  punctuated  his 
anathemas  with  thunder  and  lightning, 
making  the  timid  turn  pale  in  superstitious 
awe,  while  old  Captain  Lord,  the  village 
skeptic,  enjoyed  the  melodramatic  effect. 
He  had  "  come  to  see  it  through,"  he  ex- 
plained to  Deacon  Myers  on  their  way 
out  of  church.  "  I  never  saw  a  piece 
better  mounted,  deacon,"  said  he.  He 
had  sat  directly  behind  Deacon  Myers, 
and  it  gave  the  latter  an  uncomfortable 
sensation  to  know  that  the  captain  was 
listening  to  the  sermon.  He  could  not 
help  speculating  upon  what  the  sarcastic 
old  fellow  would  think  about  each  point. 
From  speculating  upon  the  captain's 
views,  he  drifted  into  criticising  the  ser- 
mon himself.  This  was  plainly  a  tempta- 
tion of  the  devil ;  but  do  what  he  would, 
he  found  himself  thinking  in  this  critical 
fashion  the  whole  week  through.  When 
consulted  as  to  the  advisablity  of  giving 
the  Rev.  Amos  Barnes  a  "  call "  he  de- 
clined to  express  an  opinion ;  and  then 
for  two  or  three  Sundays  he  did  not  go  to 
church  at  all.  His  anxious  wife  took 
counsel  of  some  of  the  brethren,  telling 
of  his  strange  melancholy  and  unrest ; 
and  Aunt  Hannah  mentioned  the  matter 
to  the  doctor. 

"  Get  his  wife  to  call  me  in  for  that 
cough  of  her's,"  said  the  doctor.  "  I 
shall  prescribe  '  Florida,'  and  that  will 
cure  him." 

There  were  symptoms  of  religious  ex- 
citement under  the  leadership  of  the 
Rev.  Amos  Barnes.  Classes  were  formed 
for  religious  purposes,  and  the  waakened 
interest  was  the  subject  of  congratulation. 

The  religious  excitement  waxed  apace  ; 
though  a  few  fastidious  souls,  disliking 
certain  excesses,  discontinued  attendance, 
the  majority  of  the  church  regarded  the 
work  under  the  Rev.  Mr.  Barnes  as  a  re- 
markable outpouring  of  the  Spirit.  But 
at  last  there  was  an  unfortunate  occurrence, 


growing  out  of  the  reverend  gentleman's 
occasional  weakness  for  wine,  which  drew 
down  upon  his  sacred  head  the  censure 
of  all ;  and  he  left  Rockford  the  follow- 
ing day. 

These  mortifying  experiences  were  re- 
garded by  some  as  a  visitation  of  Provi- 
dence, and  such  proclaimed  their  regret 
that  the  teaching  of  their  late  pastor  had 
ever  been  brought  in  question.  When 
matters  were  at  the  darkest,  two  of  the 
brethren  interviewed  Mrs.  Grant,  with 
some  hope  of  securing  her  influence 
towards  recalling  Mr.  Chapin ;  and  in 
connection  with  this  the  question  of  the 
revival  came  under  discussion. 

"  Do  I  approve  of  revivals?  "  exclaimed 
Aunt  Hannah.  "Just  as  I  approve  of 
house-cleaning.  When  some  people 
clean  house,  they  turn  everything  out  of 
doors,  and  make  life  unbearable.  Others 
take  one  room  at  a  time,  and  you 
wouldn't  know  anything  was  going  on  un- 
til you  see  that  everything  is  clean. 
Under  Mr.  Chapin's  teaching  our  young 
people  were  cleaning  up  their  characters 
room  by  room.     Look  at  them  now  !  " 

"There  is  much  truth  in  your  views, 
Sister  Grant,"  said  Deacon  Stores  amica- 
bly. "  And  our  errand  to-night  is  —  that 
is,  I  mean  to  say  that,  since  we  are  here, 
it  will  be  well  to  decide  upon  some 
course.  We  thought  that  you  and  Dr. 
North  might  persuade  Mr.  Chapin —  " 

"Well,  you  go  to  Dr.  North,"  said 
Aunt  Hannah.  "  If  any  one  can  patch 
up  matters,  he  can. 

It  was  significant  of  the  depth  of  hu- 
mility which  the  deacons  had  reached, 
that  they  were  disposed  to  ask  the  doc- 
tor's aid.  The  doctor  had  watched  the 
struggle  with  interest.  But  he  had  ab- 
stained from  any  active  espousal  of  Mr. 
Chapin's  cause,  for  he  knew  that  his  own 
standing  with  the  church  was  not  of  the 
best.  Of  a  deeply  religious  spirit,  he 
was  so  indifferent  to  most  of  the  sectarian 
divisions  and  controversies  that  he  had 
replied  to  a  certain  question  a  good  while 
before,  "I  am  a  Dutch  Reformed  Pres- 
bygational  Baptist,  with  a  side  pew  in  a 
Methodist  chapel."  This  speech  had  been 
widely  quoted  and  laughed  over  by  some 
at  the  time  as  the  policy  of  a  medical 
man  bidding  for  popularity   with  all  the 


40 


THE   ODOR   OF  SANCTITY. 


sects.  In  reality,  it  was  an  honest  ex- 
pression of  the  doctor's  catholic  interest 
in  all  forms  of  religious  faith.  The 
despairing  deacons  fared  better  at  his 
hands  than  they  feared.  He  heard  them 
patiently,  and  did  not  censure  their 
course.  But  he  made  it  plain  that  the 
attempt  to  recall  Mr.  Chapin  would  be 
useless,  as  the  latter  had  already  made 
other  plans  for  his  future. 

The  disappointment  and  chagrin  of  the 
deacons  was  pathetic.  But  the  discipline 
altogether  proved  wholesome  and  effect- 
ual. When,  a  month  later,  they  secured 
the  services  of  the  Rev.  Anthon  Stone,  a 
more  united  parish,  or  a  more  charitable 
one,  would  have  been  hard  to  find. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

In  the  mean  time,  Edith  had  matured 
her  plans.  They  were  no  longer  vis- 
ionary, but  such  as  she  would  have  re- 
sorted to  in  case  self-support  had  been 
a  necessity.  By  diligent  study  of  the 
New  York  newspapers  she  had  discovered 
what  are  the  wants  of  a  great  city. 
Among  them,  a  position  as  visiting  gov- 
erness, or  as  reader  to  an  invalid,  were 
places  she  might  attempt  to  fill.  Once 
launched,  she  might  then  plan  for  her 
brother. 

Undoubtedly,  the  compensation  would 
be  moderate,  and  there  was  the  problem 
of  how  to  live. 

While  she  was  still  hesitating,  an  event 
occurred  which  precipitated  matters  and 
gave  her  future  a  more  promising  out- 
look. An  operetta  troupe,  turning  the 
summer  to  account,  found  it  in  its  way  to 
give  a  performance  in  Rockford.  The 
good  people  of  the  place  were  much 
excited  over  the  prospect  of  seeing 
"  Pinafore."  Aunt  Hannah  thought  of 
Edith,  and,  knowing  how  Mr.  Campbell 
would  regard  the  occasion,  she  resolved 
not  to  risk  his  refusal.  She  accordingly 
invited  Edith  to  tea  upon  the  eventful 
evening,  and  made  her  quite  ecstatic  by 
exhibiting  tickets  for  the  entertainment, 
little  dreaming  of  the  consequences  des- 
tined to  follow  her  amiable  plot. 

Edith  drank  in  the  music  with  a  mind 
absorbed.  Here  were  girls  no  older  than 
herself,  no  better  equipped  either  as  to 


physique  or  voice,  making  a  career.  As 
she  listened,  she  planned.  What  should 
prevent  her  doing  likewise?  Surely  she 
could  master  one  of  those  roles. 

No  sleep  visited  her  pillow  that  night. 
Early  the  following  morning  she  called 
at  the  hotel  and  desired  to  see  Professor 
Warner,  the  director  of  the  troupe.  His 
patronizing  air  was  lost  upon  the  eager 
girl ;  and,  in  response  to  his  request  to 
sing  something  as  a  test  of  her  voice,  she 
stood  up  and  sang  a  verse  of  a  Scotch 
ballad,  with  such  charming  simplicity  that 
the  worthy  man's  manner  changed  to 
deference.  His  practical  eye  noted  at 
once  the  points  in  her  favor.  Not  least 
among  them  was  her  entire  lack  cf  self- 
consciousness.  It  gave  an  air  of  distinc- 
tion such  as  no  training  could  bestow. 
The  quality  of  her  voice,  too,  was  not  to 
be  despised.  The  director  perceived  the 
lack  of  training,  but  that  was  a  point  in 
her  favor  perhaps ;  there  was  nothing  to 
unlearn. 

But  he  had  no  idea  of  betraying  his 
favorable  opinion.  He  even  scowled  a 
little  as  he  said  her  performance  might 
be  much  worse.  Unquestionably  she 
might  be  trained  to  take  some  minor 
part.  She  could  begin  as  one  of  the 
chorus.  Here  he  consulted  his  watch 
and  repeated  that  time  would  compel 
him  to  cut  short  the  interview,  but  if 
Miss  — 

"  Edith  Evelyn,"  she  responded,  with- 
holding her  last  name. 

If  Miss  Evelyn  —  a  very  nice  name 
too  for  an  artist  —  would  apply  to  him 
after  his  return  to  town,  say  any  time 
after  October,  he  would  see  what  could 
be  done  for  her. 

Edith  went  home  feeling  that  Fate 
smiled  upon  her  projects.  She  examined 
her  little  hoard  of  money,  the  result  of 
no  little  pinching  and  contrivance.  The 
sum  allowed  her  for  personal  expenses 
had  largely  been  carefully  laid  aside,  and 
she  found  with  much  satisfaction  that 
there  would  be  enough  for  a  few  weeks 
board,  in  case  an  engagement  did  not 
immediately  present  itself. 

There  were  other  points  to  consider. 
Should  she  make  a  confidant  of  Aunt 
Hannah?  What  should  she  say  to  her 
father?      She    did  not  like   the   idea  of 


THE   ODOR   OF  SANCTITY. 


41 


doing  anything  clandestine.  "  Running 
away  from  home,"  —  that  was  what  she 
was  contemplating.  It  sounded  ignoble. 
It  involved  a  sense  of  disgrace,  —  not 
only  to  herself  but  to  the  whole  family. 
For  a  moment  she  faltered  —  but  for  a 
moment  only.  An  overwhelming  sense 
of  her  motives  swept  away  all  idea  of 
disgrace,  and  her  eyes  glowed  with  re- 
newed purpose.  Let  people  say  what 
they  pleased  —  there  was  no  other  way 
out  of  their  troubles.  Stay  !  How  would 
it  do  to  sound  her  father  as  to  adopting 
the  occupation  of  a  teacher?  She  had 
little  hope  of  his  encouragement.  But  it 
would  prepare  him  somewhat  for  her 
final  action.  Great  was  her  surprise, 
upon  broaching  the  subject,  to  find  him 
disposed  to  lend  an  attentive  ear. 

H m  !     Teaching  was  a  very  good 

way  of  renewing  one's  studies,  and  of 
finding  out  what  one  did  not  know.  Yes, 
if  just  the  right  place  could  be  found,  —  . 
No,  certainly  not  New  York.  He  was 
peremptory  on  the  point  of  encountering 
the  life  of  a  great  city.  To  her  plea  of 
desiring  instruction  in  music  he  averred 
there  was  opportunity  for  that  every- 
where. She  could  very  likely  exchange 
her  services  in  English  and  Latin  for 
tuition  in  music  in  the  Westville  Seminary. 
He  was  a  trustee  of  that  institution.  He 
would  see  what  could  be  done. 

Truth  to  tell,  Edith's  project  was  a 
great  relief  to  her  father.  Her  active 
habits  and  unconventional  ways  jarred 
upon  him.  To  be  sure,  she  had  im- 
proved a  good  deal  of  late  ;  but  what  joy 
to  have  no  one  to  disturb  his  literary 
seclusion  !  Providence  was  kind  !  He 
thought  with  satisfaction  of  the  coming 
winter,  and  fell  to  considering  what  great 
work  he  might  project  for  so  favorable  an 
opportunity. 

Edith,  on  her  part,  felt  that  something 
had  been  accomplished,  if  not  just  what 
she  aimed  at.  As  the  autumn  wore  on, 
she  realized  that  the  time  for  putting 
her  plans  into  execution  had  arrived. 
She  saw  by  the  papers  that  the  "  Excel- 
sior Troupe  "  was  back  in  town,  and  she 
began  once  more  to  consult  the  "  wants  " 
columns.  She  answered  several  adver- 
tisements for  visiting  governesses,  and 
received  one   reply  which  asked   her  to 


call  at  ten  o'clock  the  following  Thursday. 
This  was  Tuesday.  A  hand-bag  would 
contain  all  necessaries  for  a  week,  and 
her  trunk  could  be  packed  before  leav- 
ing, and  sent  for  later.  Her  father 
would  be  obliged  to  make  the  best  of  her 
adventure,  for  the  sake  of  public  opinion. 
Since  he  had  consented  to  a  part  of  her 
plan,  and  the  issue  between  them  was\ 
only  a  question  of  locality,  why,  she  could 
surely  risk  that.  She  visited  Aunt  Han- 
nah and  explained  as  much  of  her  plans 
as  seemed  best,  knowing  that  her  father's 
pride  would  prevent  his  admitting  her 
course  to  be  in  opposition  to  his  wishes. 
On  Wednesday,  when  Mr.  Campbell 
woke  from  his  nap  and  prepared  for  his 
usual  walk,  he  found  a  note  affixed  to  his 
hat ;  and  opening  it,  he  read  with  amaze- 
ment the  following  : 

"  When  you  read  this  I  shall  be  on  my  way  to 
New  York  to  secure  a  place  which  offers  as 
teacher  to  young  children  in  a  private  family. 
When  you  gave  consent  to  my  undertaking,  you 
withheld  your  approval  as  to  the  place.  I  did  not 
confide  to  you  all  my  reasons  for  wishing  to  go  to 
New  York.  They  are  such  as  you  might  not 
approve ;  but  it  does  not  follow  that  they  are  un- 
worthy. I  am  sorry  to  run  counter  to  your 
wishes,  but  I  cannot  effect  my  object  elsewhere. 
You  can  truthfully  say  that  this  is  a  plan  I  con- 
sulted you  about  long  since.  No  one  need  know 
that  I  left  without  your  knowledge,  or  that  you 
do  not  wholly  approve.  I  have  confided  in  no  one, 
—  not  even  in  Aunt  Hannah." 

The  old  man  uttered  a  sigh  of  relief  as 
he  read  the  note  the  second  time.  "  To 
secure  a  place  which  offers  as  teacher  in 
a  private  family  !  "  he  repeated. 

Since  no  one  knew  all  the  facts,  and 
since  it  was  so  common  a  thing  for  New 
England  girls  to  take  positions  as  teach- 
ers, Mr.  Campbell's  chagrin  over  Edith's 
wayward  course  began  to  give  way  to 
a  sense  of  relief. 

In  the  mean  time,  Edith  was  going 
through  a  variety  of  moods.  The  hour 
so  long  anticipated  had  struck.  Freedom 
was  before  her.  Why  was  it  she  lacked 
the  elation  which  that  should  inspire? 
In  its  place  was  a  chaotic  mixture  of 
hope,  anxiety,  firmness,  and  misgiving. 
When  the  conductor  examined  her  ticket, 
she  felt  as  if  he  must  know  she  was  leav- 
ing home  clandestinely.  A  glance  at  his 
preoccupied  face  reassured  her,  and  the 
similar     aspect     of    her    fellow-travellers 


42 


THE   ODOR   OF  SANCTITY. 


showed  how  little  interest  the  world  has 
in  the  individual.  This  fact  was  empha- 
sized upon  her  arrival  in  New  York. 
Not  a  person  took  the  slightest  notice  of 
her  except  the  cab-drivers.  Once  be- 
yond their  solicitations,  she  felt  like  a 
chip  escaped  from  a  whirlpool. 

She  had  written  from  her  home  to  the 
Young  Women's  Christian  Association. 
How  should  she  reach  the  place?  She 
espied  a  policeman,  and  crossed  the 
street  to  him. 

"Fifteenth  Street  near  Fifth  Avenue? 
Jump  right  into  a  Madison  Avenue  car," 
he  answered,  hailing  the  car  in  question. 
"Let  her  off  at  Fifteenth,"  she  heard 
him  tell  the  conductor. 

Now  a  full  sense  of  the  uncertainty  of 
her  undertaking  rushed  over  her.  What 
should  she  do  if  the  place  were  closed 
or  anything  proved  wrong?  The  blood 
rushed  to  her  face,  as  she  cast  a  quick 
glance  about  the  car.  Some  of  the  oc- 
cupants were  reading  newspapers,  others 
were  intent  upon  the  street  lamps,  watch- 
ing for  their  locality,  while  the  major- 
ity of  the  women  appeared  to  be 
taking  an  inventory  of  each  others' 
wardrobes. 

"  Fifteenth  Street,"  announced  the 
conductor  at  last,  stopping  the  car  and 
beckoning  to  her.  As  she  descended 
and  mingled  with  the  hurrying  stream  of 
humanity  upon  the  sidewalk,  the  sensa- 
tion of  homelessness  grew  stronger.  All 
the  people  walked  with  that  decision  and 
preoccupied  manner  characteristic  of 
city  folk.  She  felt  her  own  irresolute 
gait  to  be  in  great  contrast. 

"East  or  West?"  asked  a  policeman, 
in  response  to  her  question. 

"  It's  the  Young  Women's  Christian 
Association  I  want  to  find." 

"You  can't  miss  it.  Follow  up  this 
street,  cross  Union  Square,  and  you'll 
find  it  just  this  side  of  the  Avenue." 

This  sounded  simple,  and  she  kept 
repeating  it  as  she  went  on.  She  crossed 
the  square,  and  crossed  Broadway,  passed 
the  Association  building  without  remark- 
ing it  and  accosted  another  policeman. 
When  she  finally  found  the  place,  she 
was  so  tired  and  confused  that  she  could 
hardly  state  her  wants  clearly  to  the 
matron. 


"Respectable  boarding  -  place  !  "  re- 
peated the  latter.  "  Sit  down,  please," 
she  added  kindly,  "  and  I  will  give  you 
a  list.  You  seem  very  tired," — and  she 
handed  her  a  glass  of  water.  Edith  was 
near  breaking  down  as  she  raised  it  to 
her  lips,  but  the  thought  of  how  she  was 
ever  to  get  on  in  life  if  she  fainted  on 
the  threshold,  quickly  brought  back  her 
courage. 

"There,"  said  the  matron,  "I  have 
put  them  down  according  to  locality. 
The  first  place  is  not  far  from  here.  I 
hope  you  will  find  quarters  there.  And 
here  you  will  see  what  we  have  to  offer 
in  the  way  of  help  and  recreation,"  she 
added,  handing  Edith  a  circular  concern- 
ing the  association. 

Edith  thanked  her,  asked  to  be  di- 
rected to  the  first  place  on  the  list,  and 
ten  minutes  later  was  received  in  a  shabby 
little  sitting-room  of  a  house  on  Twelfth 
Street. 

"A  room  to  yourself!"  echoed  the 
woman  who  received  her,  in  a  shrill  tone, 
in  answer  to  Edith's  modest  inquiry. 
"  You're  lucky  to  get  a  place  at  all.  Eve 
only  one  vacancy  —  third  floor  back  —  a 
room  with  another  girl." 

This  was  a  feature  Edith  had  not  anti- 
cipated. She  was  unequal  to  further 
search,  however,  and  arranged  for  a 
week's  trial. 

"  Dinner  at  half-past  six,"  said  the 
woman,  as  she  closed  the  door  upon  her 
new  lodger.  Edith  removed  her  hat  and 
wraps  mechanically.  She  realized  that 
she  would  need  all  the  philosophy  she 
could  summon  to  meet  the  conditions  of 
such  a  life.  How  could  human  beings 
consent  to  live  in  this  manner?  Must 
she  really  conform  to  it?  In  all  this 
great  city  was  there  not  room  without 
such  crowding?  Her  room-mate  had  not 
returned  when  she  was  called  to  dinner. 
She  came  to  the  table  with  others  a  few 
minutes  later,  all  casting  curious  glances 
at  the  new-comer.  Edith  found  herself 
one  of  thirty  women.  The  "  home " 
would  have  been  comfortable  for  eigh- 
teen. Her  room-mate  was  a  dressmaker, 
a  Swiss  girl,  with  an  exuberant  flow  of 
animal  spirits.  She  chatted  continually, 
and  assured  Edith  that  she  was  very  lucky 
to  secure  her  present  quarters.     She  her- 


THE   ODOR   OF  SANCTITY. 


43 


self  had  tried  so  many  lodgings,  and 
"  Ach  !  Du  lieber  Gott !  what  holes  some 
of  them  were  !  " 

The  next  morning  Edith  presented 
herself  at  the  door  of  an  aristocratic  house 
in  Thirty-eighth  Street.  A  carriage  was 
waiting  in  front  of  it,  and  a  lady  in  driv- 
ing costume  received  her. 

"Oh,  Miss  Campbell,  I  see  you  are 
prompt.     That  is  a  virtue  I  appreciate." 

The  favorable  reception  resulted  in  an 
engagement.  Edith  was  to  give  two 
morning  hours  to  two  little  girls,  in 
elementary  English  branches.  The  hours 
must  be  early,  as  they  went  walking  with 
their  French  maid  later,  and  a  visiting 
German  governess  filled  up  a  part  of  the 
afternoons. 

Madam  was  evidently  a  strict  dis- 
ciplinarian, with  a  keen  sense  of  the 
qualities  requisite  in  a  governess,  and  her 
manner  showed  plainly  that  her  interest 
in  Edith  began  and  ended  in  the  latter's 
adaptability  to  her  own  wants.  As  far 
as  that  went,  the  interview  was  satisfac- 
tory. The  compensation  was  meagre  — 
merely  enough  to  cover  Edith's  weekly 
board-bill  —  but  she  was  happy  enough 
to  secure  the  situation. 

The  next  thing  was  to  see  what  pros- 
pect there  was  in  the  matter  of  the  opera 
singing.  Ignorant  as  Edith  was  of  city 
localities  and  ways,  it  took  her  some  time 
to  find  the  proper  place  to  make  her 
application.  But,  once  found,  she  was 
eagerly  welcomed ;  for  the  company 
lacked  chorus  voices,  and  Edith's  quick 
ear  enabled  her  to  take  her  part  in  the 
chorus  after  a  fortnight's  training.  A 
new  world  opened  to  her  before  the  foot- 
lights. Some  things  were  rather  shock- 
ing to  her ;  but  as  member  of  so  large  a 
chorus,  she  knew  that  she  was  incon- 
spicuous, and  soon  grew  accustomed  to 
her  part. 

Meantime,  without  going  into  details, 
she  had  written  her  father  that  her  en- 
gagement at  teaching  proved  satisfactory  ; 
and,  supposing  her  comfortably  estab- 
lished, he  dismissed  anxiety  and  gave 
himself  up  to  his  abstractions.  From  her 
sister,  Edith  received  nothing  but  words 
of  approbation.  It  was  an  excellent 
thing,  wrote  Mary,  to  take  up  some  regu- 
lar work  in  life,  and  she  was  sure  Edith 


would  realize  the  responsibility  of  training 
young  souls. 

To  her  brother  only  could  Edith  con- 
fide all.  It  was  a  relief  to  write  him  the 
details  of  her  life,  and  she  let  no  day  pass 
without  some  record.  She  bade  him 
keep  up  good  heart,  as  she  felt  confident 
of  finding  some  place  for  him.  "  And 
when  I  am  a  prima  donna,  dear  Joe,  and 
you  a  brilliant  scientific  man,  we  will  ex- 
change our  castles  in  Spain  for  a  snug 
little  home  together,  and  put  behind  us 
all  the  dreary  past." 

Time,  instead  of  relaxing,  only  strength- 
ened the  girl's  resolution ;  for  the  ac- 
count her  brother  gave  of  his  life  in 
Marshville  harrowed  her  soul.  It  seemed 
that  the  worthy  ex-director  of  the  reform 
school  had  not  been  successful  in  his  new 
enterprise  —  Joe  being  really  his  only 
pupil.  Necessity  thus  compelled  him  to 
fill  up  his  house  with  boys  of  the  class 
which  more  properly  belong  in  institu- 
tions devoted  to  the  development  of 
weak  intellects.  His  fame  as  a  disciplin- 
arian was  great,  and  there  was  no  lack  of 
applications  from  despairing  parents  who 
were  glad  to  intrust  to  him  not  only  the 
feeble  intellect  but  often  the  depraved 
instincts  of  their  sons.  Consequently, 
Joe  found  himself  associated  with  almost 
every  form  of  morbid  character.  Among 
them  was  a  lad  of  seventeen,  named 
Walters,  subject  to  attacks  of  such  violent 
temper  as  to  make  him  at  times  quite 
irresponsible.  Edith's  indignation  grew 
with  each  letter  which  came  from  Joe, 
and  her  purpose  to  have  him  with  her 
became  her  one  absorbing  passion. 

She  had  the  good  fortune  after  a  few 
weeks  to  secure  a  position  as  reader  to 
an  elderly  lady,  which  demanded  two 
more  hours  daily,  and  gave  her  a  little 
more  money.  The  girl's  life  was  far  from 
a  smooth  one,  however.  She  had  to  cope 
with  the  trials  peculiar  to  the  various 
strange  relations  which  she  now  sustained. 
Mrs.  Sinclair  was  exacting,  and  occasion- 
ally intimated  that  her  children's  progress 
was  not  all  that  she  would  like.  And  life 
in  a  "Woman's  Home  "  is  far  from  ideal. 
Most  of  the  inmates,  it  must  be  said, 
were  so  worn  out  when  night  came  that 
early  sleep  closed  their  eyes.  As  chorus- 
girl,  Edith  had  to  sustain  the  strain  and 


44 


THE   ODOR   OF  SANCTITY 


stress  of  many  uncongenial  companions, 
of  late  hours,  of  extremes  of  weather, 
and  —  not  the  least  item  —  the  brusque 
training  of  an  old  German  professor  who 
regarded  the  girls  only  as  so  many  ma- 
chines, whose  vocal  organs  were  the  only 
ones  of  any  account.  He  got  into  rage 
with  any  who  were  so  unlucky  as  to  catch 
cold.  "Idiots!"  he  would  exclaim. 
"  Women  are  truly  a  curse  to  the  race  ! 
And  you,  Mademoiselle  Evelyn  —  you 
whom  I  hoped  to  make  something  of  in 
time,  you  must  go  and  catch  a  cold  ! 
Yes,  catch  it  !  It  would  never  catch 
you,  if  you  had  sense  !  Remain  after 
rehearsal,  and  I  will  try  to  put  one  grain 
of  sense  into  you." 

"  Ha  !  there  you  are  !  "  he  exclaimed 
as  the  others  were  departing.  "  Now  tell 
me,  where  do  you  live  ?  What  are  your 
occupations?  Have  you  plenty  of  fresh 
air  by  night,  as  well  as  by  day  ?  H  —  m  ! 
It  is  as  I  thought.  You  have  been  taught 
many  things.  But  the  most  important  of 
all,  —  the  simplest  rules  of  health  —  of 
those  you  are  perfectly  ignorant." 

Here  followed  minute  directions  as  to 
her  daily  habits,  with  especial  injunctions 
about  throwing  up  the  window  of  her 
room  and  breathing  deeply  "  ten  minutes 
at  a  time,  several  times  a  day." 

Edith  was  really  grateful  for  this  inter- 
est, and  under  these  directions  and  sub- 
sequent ones  from  the  old  professor  she 
did  improve  in  health  and  strength. 

"  Ha  !  I  see  you  do  not  despise  coun- 
sel !  "  said  the  old  professor  one  day. 
"We  will  have  you  out  of  that  chorus 
one  of  these  days." 

Indeed,  success  was  only  a  matter  of 
time  and  health  —  Edith  was  convinced 
of  this.  But  she  seemed  as  far  off  as 
ever  from  knowing  how  to  launch  her 
brother.  Her  heart  ached  for  him.  At 
Christmas  especially  she  longed  for  him, 
to  have  him  with  her,  —  to  make  sun- 
shine for  him.  She  wrote  a  cheery  Chris- 
mas  letter  and  sent  a  little  gift,  and 
buoyed  him  up  with  the  prophecy  that 
their  next  holiday  would  be  passed  to- 
gether. 

From  the  first,  Mrs.  Delevan  had 
shown  great  curiosity  regarding  her  young 
reader.  She  assumed  the  latter  to  be  an 
orphan,  having  learned  that  her  mother 


was  dead.  All  her  questions  as  to  the 
father  were  in  the  past  tense.  "  And  so 
your  father  was  a  scholar?"  "Was  he 
long  a  professor  in  Bellingham  College?  " 
"  Did  he  never  marry  a  second  time?  " 

Edith  did  not  correct  the  impression. 
It  made  it  easier  for  her  to  speak  of  her 
solicitude  about  her  brother's  future. 
The  keen  old  lady  would  have  asked  why 
that  responsibility  devolved  upon  her, 
had  she  supposed  the  father  living.  As 
it  was,  she  shared  the  girl's  interest  in 
securing  an  opportunity  for  his  scientific 
tastes. 

"  Electricity  !  '  she  exclaimed  one 
day.  "  Why  didn't  you  say  that  before  ? 
Why,  if  he  has  the  making  of  an  electri- 
cian in  him,  his  career  is  assured.  I 
don't  mean  talent  of  the  mechanical 
kind,  but  real  insight  and  genius.  How 
do  you  know  he  has  talent?"  she  asked 
abruptly. 

Edith  recounted  Joe's  achievements, 
with  an  enthusiasm  which  impressed  her 
listener  with  the  idea  that  a  young  Frank- 
lin was  only  awaiting  his  time  to  astonish 
the  world,  and  left  Mrs.  Delevan  revolving 
the  matter  in  her  mind. 

"  I  want  you  to  come  to  tea  next  Sun- 
day evening,  Miss  Campbell,  and  meet  a 
relative  of  mine,"  Mrs.  Delevan  said  one 
day,  shortly  after  the  conversation.  It 
was  more  a  command  than  an  invitation, 
but  Edith  was  very  thankful  for  the  kind- 
ness which  she  knew  was  meant,  and 
gladly  accepted.  The  relative  proved  to 
be  a  man  in  middle  life,  with  keen,  pene- 
trating eyes,  which  regarded  Edith  with 
frank  curiosity  as  she  entered.  The 
name  was  a  familiar  one  to  her,  as  it  was 
one  associated  with  some  important  ap- 
plications of  electricity ;  and  she  re- 
turned his  gaze  with  interest.  Could  it 
really  be  the  great  inventor?  As  the 
evening  progressed  she  decided  in  the 
negative.  At  tea  the  chat  was  of  the 
usual  kind,  the  rapid  growth  of  New 
York,  the  increase  of  wealth  and  luxury, 
the  elaborateness  of  modern  life,  and  the 
rest.  As  they  left  the  table,  the  guest 
suddenly  asked  Edith  if  she  sang.  She 
confessed  to  some  ability,  and  was  led  to 
the  piano,  which  she  had  never  before 
seen  opened.  Edith  was  not  much  of  a 
pianist,  and   of  late  she   had  become  so 


THE  ODOR  OF  SANCTITY. 


45 


dependant  upon  orchestral  accompani- 
ment, that  she  hesitated. 

"  Here  is  an  old  favorite  of  mine," 
said  Mr.  Stevenson,  taking  up  a  piece  of 
music.     "  Can  you  sing  this?  " 

"  '  Ave  Sanctissima  ? '  Yes,  if  you 
like." 

"Shall  I  play  your  accompaniment?" 

Edith  thankfully  assented.  At  the 
second  line  a  man's  rich  voice  joined  in 
with  the  alto,  and  continued  to  the  end. 

"You  have  had  good  training,  Miss 
Campbell,"  said  he,  rising  as  they  finished. 
Edith  blushed,  wondering  what  they 
would  think  of  the  kind  of  training  she 
was  receiving. 

"  You  ought  to  do  something  with  that 
voice,"  he  continued.  "  Such  voices  are 
in  demand.  Has  it  never  occurred  to 
you  to  fit  yourself  for  a  place  in  a  choir?  " 

It  never  had,  and  Edith  blushed  with 
excitement  at  the  suggestion.  "  Do  you 
really  think  I  might  aim  at  that?"  she 
asked. 

"Why  not?  It  is  only  a  matter  of 
training." 

"  Oh,  if  I  thought  so  !  "  she  exclaimed. 
"You  can't  imagine  —  you  don't  know 
what  it  would  mean  to  me  !  " 

Her  imagination  pictured  the  snug 
fireside  —  her  beloved  brother  beside  it 
—  his  hated  studies  behind  him  —  a 
chance  for  his  genius  to  develop.  She 
almost  forgot  her  surroundings,  so  vivid 
was  the  picture,  and  she  started  when 
addressed. 

"  I  hear  you  have  a  brother,  Miss 
Campbell,  for  whom  you  are  anxious,  and 
that  he  has  an  interest  in  electricity. 
Tell  me  what  he  has  done  to  show  it." 

Edith's  eyes  kindled.  She  recounted 
Joe's  experiments,  and  in  her  story  made 
frequent  use  of  the  name  of  the  great 
electrician  so  closely  connected  with  the 
science.  She  discoursed  of  her  brother's 
experiments  with  batteries,  of  his  tele- 
phones, and  even  of  his  poor  little  phono- 
graph, which  was  such  an  absurd  failure. 
It  appeared  to  be  the  failures  which  most 
interested  her  interrogator.  She  was 
plied  with  questions  regarding  them. 
The  examination  was  really  quite  ex- 
haustive, and  Edith  was  often  puzzled 
for  answers. 

"  Well,  if  I  keep  on,  I  shall  soon  know 


your  brother  as  well  as  —  he  appears  to 
know  me,"  said  Mr.  Stevenson  at  last, 
with  a  laugh. 

"You?"  exclaimed  Edith. 

"  It  seems  he  has  been  using  my 
methods,  and  appropriating  my  inven- 
tions. I  am  not  sure  in  fact  but  that  he 
is  in  a  fair  way  to  improve  upon  them, 
by  what  you  tell  me." 

"  You  don't  mean  that  you  are  —  " 

"Yes — at  your  service,  Miss  Camp- 
bell. And  at  your  brother's  service,  if 
he  has  in  him  a  quarter  of  what  you 
make  me  believe."  Presently  he  added, 
kindly  regarding  Edith,  "  I  am  about 
starting  for  Europe,  and  shall  not  be  able 
to  see  your  brother  until  my  return ;  but 
then  I  think  I  can  promise  to  give  him 
a  chance.  You  may  tell  him  from  me," 
he  continued,  "  that  there  is  plenty  of 
room  for  such  as  he  —  although,"  he 
added  smiling,  "  inventors  don't  often 
find  out  the  value  of  their  work  until 
they  read  their  own  epitaphs.  But  let 
him  come  to  me  as  soon  as  I  get  back." 

"Oh,  it  seems  too  good  to  be  true  !  " 
cried  Edith,  hardly  able  to  control  her 
feelings.  "  It  has  been  so  long  in  my 
mind,  and —  " 

"And  if  you  would  like  to  get  some 
instruction  for  choir  work,"  said  Mr. 
Stevenson,  rising  to  go,  "  I  have  some 
influence  at  St.  Cecelia's  Church  —  they 
call  it  the  nursery  for  church  choirs  — 
and  I  will  arrange  for  you  to  attend  their 
rehearsals.     Would  that  please  you?" 

Edith's  "Oh,  thank  you  !  "  was  made 
very  eloquent  by  her  glowing  face. 

Three  days  later  she  received  a  note, 
inclosing  a  line  of  introduction  to  the 
leader  of  the  choir,  with  instructions 
about  the  rehearsals.  In  the  mean  time 
she  had  written  of  the  good  fortune  to 
her  brother. 

"  He  can  see  what  you  are,  dear  Joe, 
even  through  my  poor  descriptions  of 
your  experiments.  It  takes  a  rogue  to 
catch  a  rogue,  you  know,  and  so  it  takes 
a  genius  to  know  a  genius.  Oh,  my  own 
dear,  dear  Joe  !  Now  we  can  wait  pa- 
tiently. By  the  time  you  come  I  shall 
have  evolved  some  plan  for  a  little  home 
together.  Yes,  we  will  have  a  little  home 
of  our  very  own." 

Then  followed  busy  days  —  busy,  buoy- 


46 


THE  ODOR  OF  SANCTITY. 


ant  days,  when  Edith  looked  inspired. 
What  earnestness  went  into  her  rehear- 
sals !  She  lived  in  an  atmosphere  of  her 
own,  which  hardly  admitted  of  fellowship. 
Her  life  was  tense  with  her  purpose. 
Her  teaching  was  performed  almost  me- 
chanically—  a  fact  which  her  keen-eyed 
employer  very  quickly  detected,  and  one 
day  she  found  a  note  awaiting  her,  which 
proved  to  be  a  curt  notice  that  her  ser- 
vices were  no  longer  required.  Edith 
acknowledged  the  justice  of  this,  but  she 
was  powerless  to  break  the  spell  in  which 
she  lived.  Her  whole  life  was  bound  up 
in  her  one  great  motive ;  and  since  some 
assurance  of  success  had  come,  her  in- 
terest was  only  the  more  intense.  It  was 
only  a  matter  of  months  now  ! 

Even  Mrs.  Delevan  felt  aggrieved,  at 
times,  by  Edith's  preoccupation.  The 
girl's  heart  went  out  through  only  two 
avenues,  —  music,  and  her  brother. 
Music  was  the  means  ;  Joe,  the  end.  To 
Mrs.  Delevan  it  seemed  almost  pathetic 
—  this  isolation  of  the  ardent  young 
girl.  To  Edith  herself  it  was  certainly 
a  shield,  protecting  her  from  many  un- 
pleasantnesses. Those  among  whom  she 
moved  felt  that  although  with  them,  she 
was  not  of  them.  By  some  she  was  de- 
clared haughty  —  by  others  stupid  and 
"pious."  But  she  was  let  alone,  or  re- 
ferred to  as  "  the  Impenetrable  "  or  "  the 
Princess." 

Her  leisure  was  now  absorbed  by  a  new 
interest.  The  great  obstacle  to  making  a 
home  in  the  city  was  the  high  rents. 
Even  such  humble  lodgings  as  she  coveted 
were  beyond  her  present  means.  And 
she  realized  more  and  more  that  a  lead- 
ing part  in  the  operetta,  or  a  position  in 
a  "  quartette  choir,"  is  not  to  be  had  im- 
mediately, even  for  a  phenomenal  voice  ; 
and  her's  was  not  "  phenomenal."  Oh, 
how  much  time  and  training  it  required  ! 
She  did  not  care  for  that,  if  only  she 
could  secure  the  home,  where  she  could 
see  her  brother's  talents  unfold  in  a  con- 
genial atmosphere. 

One  afternoon  as  she  was  poring  over 
the  "  wants  "  column  in  the  newspaper,  in 
the  hope  of  making  another  engagement 
as  visiting  governess,  a  card  was  brought 
her  by  the  shabby  waiting-maid  : 

Felix  North,  M.  D. 


What  did  he  want?  Why  had  he 
come?  She  had  cut  herself  so  com- 
pletely off  from  the  past,  become  so  ab- 
sorbed in  the  future,  that  the  sensation 
of  renewing  old  associations  was  almost  a 
pain.  But  there  was  no  help  for  it. 
Since  he  was  here,  she  must  see  him, 
and  she  went  downstairs.  The  doctor 
came  forward  eagerly  as  she  entered,  and 
grasped  her  hand. 

"  Why,  Edith !  Is  this  where  you 
have  lived  all  these  months?  We  im- 
agined you  in  very  different  quarters." 

"  I  meant  you  should.  Why  did  you 
spy  me  out?  "  returned  the  ungrateful 
girl  reproachfully. 

He  scanned  her  face  with  professional 
scrutiny,  but  she  surely  was  not  sick ; 
there  was  health  and  hope  in  the  face. 

"Well?"  she  said  in  response  to  his 
scrutiny,  smiling  a  little  ruefully. 

"  So  you  are  not  teaching  in  a  family?  " 

"  No,  I  like  my  independence  too  well. 
And  it  is  not  so  bad  here  as  you  may  im- 
agine. Besides,  I  am  here  very  little. 
I  give  lessons  by  the  hour,  and  have 
some  time  left  to  give  to  —  music,"  — 
she  said,  smiling  oddly.  "  Perhaps  you 
didn't  know  I  had  any  gift  for  that  !  " 

"  Then  the  invitation  I  meant  to  give 
will  be  quite  apropos,"  he  returned.  "  I 
wondered  if  you  would  not  go  with  me  to 
hear  '  Patience  '  to-night." 

Was  it  pleasure  that  brought  such  a 
quick  tide  of  color  to  her  cheek,  the 
doctor  queried  to  himself. 

"  Oh,  I  am  so  sorry,  —  really,  —  but 
I  cannot !  I  have  an  engagement  to- 
night." 

"To-morrow  night,  then.  Or  would 
a  matinee  suit  you  better?  " 

Her  perplexity  only  deepened.  "  I 
am  afraid  I  cannot  promise  even  for 
that,"  she  said.  "I  —  I  am  a  working- 
woman  now,  you  see." 

The  doctor  was  puzzled.  There  was 
something  more  than  caprice  in  this. 
He  had  talked  Edith's  sudden  move  over 
with  Aunt  Hannah  more  than  once.  They 
agreed  it  was  not  strange  that  the  high- 
spirited  girl  had  chafed  at  the  depressing 
conditions  of  her  life  at  home.  But  now 
it  occurred  to  him  there  was  a  further 
motive  which  had  brought  her  here. 

Something  —  the  look  in  his  eyes  per- 


THE   ODOR   OF  SANCTITY. 


47 


haps  —  conveyed  his  thought  to  Edith. 
Why   should  she  not  tell  him?     Not  all 

—  not  about  her  brother,  no  one  must 
know  that,  else  the  plan  might  be  thwarted, 

—  but  something. 

"You  do  not  seem  to  take  it  seriously," 
she  said,  "but  I  am  really  developing 
quite  a  voice.  They  tell  me  I  may  hope 
to  make  something  useful  of  it  one  of 
these  days." 

"  I  congratulate  you.     And  then?  " 

"  Oh,  then,  —  then  I  will  go  to  the 
opera  with  you  with  pleasure." 

The  doctor  shook  his  head.  "You 
have  not  told  me  all,"  he  said.  "  I  have 
no  right  to  demand  your  confidence. 
But  I  might  be  able  to  help  you.  Why 
not  let  me?  " 

Edith  faltered.  She  had  stood  alone 
so  long  !  But  no  !  If  anything  should 
happen  !  No,  she  would  not  tell  him. 
He  rose  and  came  to  her.  She  also 
rose,  and  he  took  both  her  hands  in  his. 

"You  shall  keep  your  secret,"  he  said, 
'•  whatever  it  is.  But  remember,  if  at  any 
time  you  need  help,  —  " 

"  Oh,  thank  you  !  You  are  always  so 
good  !  "  she  murmured.  Both  realized 
how  conventional  they  had  become,  and 
smiled. 

"  I  am  coming  again,"  he  declared. 
"  But  not  as  a  '  spy.'  I  am  taking  a  holi- 
day and  shall  be  here  over  Sunday. 
That  must  be  a  leisure  day  with  you." 

"That  is  the  worst  of  all  days.  The 
'  inmates '  are  all  at  home  then." 

"  Let  me  take  you  to  a  German  Sun- 
day afternoon  concert  —  the  orchestra  is 
so  good  !"  To  this  Edith  consented,  and 
the  doctor  took  his  leave. 

On  applying  for  a  ticket  for  "  Patience," 

—  for  he  still  determined  to  go,  even  if 
he  went  alone  —  the  doctor  was  disap- 
pointed in  being  able  to  secure  only  a 
seat  very  near  the  front.  It  was  better 
for  seeing  than  for  hearing,  he  found  in 
the  evening ;  in  fact,  he  could  see  every- 
thing upon  the  stage  so  plainly  that  he 
almost  felt  himself  to  be  upon  the  stage. 

"Twenty  lovesick  maidens  we!" 
There  they  all  were,  —  powder,  paint, 
and  all  !  But  there  was  one  among  these 
"  made-up  "  chorus  girls  who  looked  very 
natural,  and  —  how  odd  !  —  so  like  Edith 
Campbell !     Could  it  be  ?     It  was  Edith  ! 


That  would  account  for  her  embarrass- 
ment. The  blood  mounted  to  the  doc- 
tor's brow.  A  sudden  rage  possessed 
him.  This  was  no  place  for  Edith  !  He 
would  not  have  it.  He  had  hardly  real- 
ized that  she  had  grown  to  be  a  woman 
when  she  took  this  step.  He  shut  his 
eyes  and  thought.  He  seemed  to  feel 
Edith's  whole  past.  There  was  little  or 
no  formulating  of  ideas,  but  he  entered 
into  her  life,  felt  the  exuberance  of  her 
nature,  felt  its  limitations,  spurned  the 
shams  which  she  spurned,  felt  her  recoil, 
and  exulted  in  her  escape.  He  opened 
his  eyes  to  find  the  scene  changed. 
Edith  had  disappeared. 

At  the  close  of  the  next  scene  he  left 
the  theatre,  glad  to  escape  and  to  be 
alone.  He  knew  that  for  the  first  time 
in  his  life,  love  had  come  to  him.  Yes, 
love  had  come,  and  there  was  no  room 
left  in  his  mind  for  any  thought  but 
thought  of  Edith.  To  snatch  Edith 
away  from  the  toiling  life,  to  set  her  down 
in  green  pastures,  to  blossom  like  the 
daisies  and  sing  like  the  birds,  —  care- 
free and  joyous  —  he  felt  able  to  do  all 
this  ;  this  was  what  he  would  do. 

The  doctor  never  knew  where,  or  how 
far,  he  wandered.  A  little  past  midnight 
he  found  himself  in  front  of  his  hotel, 
and,  mounting  to  his  room,  he  went  to 
bed.  He  awoke  after  some  hours  of 
feverish  sleep,  resolved  to  seek  Edith 
and  say  whatever  the  spirit  prompted. 
Whether  it  would  bid  him  confess  his 
love,  or  whether  he  would  only  be  able  to 
remonstrate  with  her  and  beg  her  let  him 
share  her  burdens  as  a  brother  might,  he 
felt  in  doubt. 

Fortunately,  she  was  at  home.  She 
had  just  come  from  answering  an  adver- 
tisement and  was  in  a  glow  of  satisfaction 
over  a  favorable  engagement ;  but  a 
glance  at  his  face  distressed  her. 

"What  is  it?  "  she  faltered. 

"  I  know  now  why  you  could  not  ac- 
cept my  invitation  for  last  night,  Edith." 

She  grew  scarlet.  She  was  sure  in- 
stantly that  he  had  recognized  her  in  the 
chorus.  Her  first  impulse  might  natu- 
rally have  been  one  of  indignation. 
What  right  had  he  to  call  her  to  ac- 
count?—  for  that  she  felt  was  what  he 
was  doing.     But  she  had  never  seen  him 


48 


THE   OLD  MEADOW  PATH. 


look  as  he  looked  now.  He  was  always 
so  kind,  so  gay,  even  ! 

"  I  am  going  to  confide  in  you,"  she 
found  herself  saying  ;  and  motioning  him 
to  a  seat  near  her,  she  poured  forth  her 
story.  It  was  all  about  Joe.  She  de- 
scribed the  hours  they  had  passed  to- 
gether, her  brother's  love  of  science,  her 
assurance  that  he  was  destined  to  a  great 
future  if  he  could  only  have  a  chance. 
She  told  of  his  collections  and  experi- 
ments ;  and  then  her  face  grew  dark  as 
she  told  of  what  her  father  had  done. 
"  He  sent  him  away,"  she  said  at  last  — 
"  and  I  vowed  to  rescue  him.  That  is 
why  I  am  here." 

They  looked  at  each  other  in  silence. 
The  doctor  felt  intuitively  that  in  this 
sister's  intense  nature  there  was  no  room 
yet  for  another  love.  It  was  more  than 
the  love  of  a  sister ;  it  had  all  the  fierce 
intensity  of  a  mother's  instinct.  His 
own  passion  paled  before  it. 

"But  that  is  all  past,"  she  resumed. 
"  I  am  thinking  of  the  future  now." 
She  recounted  her  interview  with  the 
great  electrician.  "  And  now  what  have 
you  to  say?"  she  concluded,  her  eyes 
radiant  with  pride  and  love  and  hope. 

"What  have  I  to  say?"    he  echoed. 


"  I  had  something  to  say.  I  came  on 
purpose  to  say  it.  But  I  only  say,  God 
bless  you  !  " 

But  he  stayed  on,  and  asked  questions 
about  many  little  things.  What  did  she 
do  for  recreation?  How  did  she  get 
home  at  night  from  the  theatre  ?  Had  she 
any  pleasant  friends?  This  solicitude 
was  of  so  paternal  a  character  that  when 
they  parted,  and  he  held  her  hand  so 
much  longer  than  usual,  Edith  was  con- 
scious of  no  new  element  in  their  friend- 
ship. The  relief  of  confiding  in  so  true 
a  friend  had  been  great,  and  she  learned 
with  real  regret  that  he  had  decided  to 
return  at  once  to  Rockferd,  and  their 
proposed  excursion  must  therefore  be 
abandoned. 

Edith  sat  thinking  a  long  time  after  he 
left.  It  was  good  to  feel  that  so  good 
and  wise  a  friend  knew  of  her  course 
and  did  not  censure  it.  It  took  out  of 
her  life  some  of  the  seed  of  bitterness 
which  clandestine  plans  sow  —  whether 
the  motives  are  justifiable  or  not.  Then 
she  fell  to  building  air-castles  in  which 
her  brother  always  figured  as  the  ruling 
prince.  The  doctor,  meantime,  was  wend- 
ing his  lonely  way  back  to  his  hotel  with 
a  strangely  heavy  heart. 


(  To  be  continued.) 


THE  OLD  MEADOW  PATH. 

By  Jean  La  Rue  Burnett. 


1SEE  it  now  —  a  wav'ring  thread  of  gold, 
Loose  woven  'mid  soft  strands  of  emerald  spray, 
Out  from  the  shady  wood  it  leads  away 
And  takes  its  zigzag  course,  in  freedom  bold, 
Across  the  velvet  fields,  there  to  unfold 
And  lose  itself  in  distant  mists  of  gray  : 
Along  its  length  the  lazy  shadows  play, 
Just  as  they  did  in  happy  days  of  old ; 
And  by  its  side  upon  the  thistle's  plume 

The  saucy  blackbird  swings  his  cooing  mate, 
Or  pipes  at  eventide  his  vesper  lay, 
Where  wee  star-asters  breathe  their  faint  perfume, 
As  slowly  upward  toward  the  moss-grown  gate 
The  lowing  cattle  wend  their  homeward  way. 


Edward    Burgess. 

EDWARD  BURGESS  AND  HIS  WORK. 


By  A.    G.  McVey. 


TWENTY  years  ago  I  can  well  re- 
member Edward  Burgess  as  he 
sat  on  the  work  bench  in  Pierce's 
boat  shop  on  Sixth  Street,  City  Point, 
discussing  with  the  then  well-known 
builder  of  the  Queen  Mai?,  Firefly, 
Water  Witch,  and  other  famous  cat- 
boats,  the  elements  of  a  design  which  he 


thought  best  for  a  cat-boat.  Pierce  was 
a  great  favorite  with  "  Ned  ;'  as  he  was 
then  called,  and  among  the  crack  cat- 
boats  which  he  built  for  Sidney  and  his 
brother  Edward  were  the  Firefly,  Kitty, 
Hoyden  and  others. 

The  "Burgess  boys  "  stood  at  the  head 
of  amateur  yachtsmen  in  those  days,  and 


50 


EDWARD  BURGESS  AND  BIS   WORK. 


they  were  daring  lads  too.  Fear  was  un- 
known to  them,  and  it  was  the  talk  of  the 
Point  what  a  clever  pair  they  were. 
"  Ned  "  was  the  same  modest  lad  that  he 
was  the  man,  and  he  always  allowed  that 
Sidney  was  the  better  sailor  of  the  two. 
It  was  a  fact  that  Sidney  had  the  stick, 
while  "Ned"  looked  after  the  sheets  in 
the  races.  Fitted  by  years  of  boyhood 
experience,  the  late  naval  architect  went 
step  by  step  from  the  cat-boat  to  larger 


of  the  merchant  princes  of  New  England, 
and  his  sons  were  among  the  most  favored. 
Simply  the  asking  for  a  yacht  by  the  boys 
met  with   a   prompt  lesponse. 

In  those  days  Edward  Burgess  was 
very  distant,  extremely  modest,  and 
had  but  little  to  say.  His  voice  was 
effeminate,  and  his  manner  also  for 
that  part,  and  he  was  most  refined. 
Pierce  often  said  of  the  Burgess  lads, 
there  never  was  a  more  gentlemanly  and 


The   Puritan. 


ones,  finally  ending  up  on  his  own  glo- 
rious Volunteer.  His  was  a  practical 
water  experience  in  racing  boats  for  over 
a  quarter  of  a  century,  and  how  well  it 
stood  to  him,  his  great  career  showed. 
Little  did  he  or  I  ever  think  at  that  time, 
as  he  sat  on  the  bench  in  Pierce's  boat 
shop,  that  years  hence  he  would  there  de- 
sign the  successful  cup-defender.  There 
was  no  reason  why  his  mind  should  move 
in  that  direction,  for   his   father  was  one 


manly  pair  than  the  "Burgess  boys." 
Singularly,  they  were  always  called  the 
"Burgess  boys,"  just  as  the  "Adams 
boys  "  are  now.  Their  favorite  boat  build- 
er, Pierce,  gradually  withdrew  from  active 
work,  and  years  before  the  death  of  Mr. 
Burgess  he  retired  from  business,  and 
Henry  Hutchings,  the  well-known  builder 
at  City  Point,  succeeded  him.  Lawley,  in 
the  mean  time,  had  come  to  the  Point 
from  Scituate,  where  he  had  been  build- 


EDWARD  BURGESS  AND  BIS  WORK. 


51 


ti! 


The  Mayflower.  —  Goelet  Cup  Race,  August  10, 


ing  lap-streak  lobster  boats  and  a  few 
yachts,  and  as  his  yard  adjoined  that 
of  Pierce,  Edward  Burgess,  ever  gravi- 
tating after  information  about  matters 
naval-architectural,     was     not     long    in 


finding  his  way  into  Lawley's  workshop. 
It  was  not  long  before  Burgess  grew  to 
like  young  George  Lawley,  for  immedi- 
ately after  a  strong  friendship  grew  up 
between  them   which  continued  until  the 


The  Mayflower. —Schooner  Rigged. 


52 


EDWARD  BURGESS  AND  HIS  WORK. 


death  of  Mr.  Burgess.  With  his  going 
into  Lawley's  workshop,  then  located  on 
the  south  side  of  City  Point,  began  the 
great  career  of  Edward  Burgess.  Busi- 
ness, of  its  own  accord,  found  its  way  to 
Lawiey,  and  the  small  firm,  late  of 
Scituate,  suddenly  jumped  into  promi- 
nence. Lobster  boats  were  built  no 
more,  for  orders  for  larger  yachts  had 
taken  their  place.  To  show  how  the  late 
Mr.  Burgess's  mind  leaned  to  yachts  and 
yachting,  a  slight  glance  over  his  yacht- 
ing career  will  demonstrate.  In  the 
building  season,  which  took  in  the  win- 
ter, no  weather  was  too  stormy  or  cold 
enough    to    keep  him    from  making    his 


on  that  day,  —  and  do  you  know  that  he 
was  the  same  modest  man  when  he  came 
to  talk  over  the  plans  of  the  Puritan  and 
Mayflower  that  he  was  in  those  days  when 
we  sat  on  a  tool  chest  discussing  that  cat- 
boat." 

A  stay  in  Europe  of  several  years 
was  made  just  about  this  time  by  Mr. 
Burgess,  and  he  utilized  his  time 
abroad  studying  yacht  designing  and 
sailing  or  racing  boats  in  England. 
It  was  while  actually  engaged  on  racing 
yachts  in  Britain,  that  he  learned  much 
about  the  cutter  type  of  yacht ;  and  being 
an  apt  scholar,  it  was  no  task  for  him  to 
learn  the  faults  as  well  as  the  advantages 


The   Puritan,  Mayflower,  and  Volunteer 

AFTER    A    PAINTING    BY    HALSALL. 


weekly  visit  to  Lawley's  and  Pierce's  shops. 
An  hour  at  the  Point  would  not  satisfy 
him,  and  the  dark  of  evening  often  found 
him  wending  his  way  to  his  home  on  aris- 
tocratic Back  Bay.  Said  I  to  Lawiey  the 
other  day,  "What  is  your  first  remem- 
brance of  Mr.  Burgess?  "  Young  George 
replied,  "  He  came  into  my  shop  soon 
after  we  came  to  the  Point  and  looked 
over  a  large  cabin  cat-boat  which  we 
were  building,  and  putting  his  hand  on 
her  said,  "  She  will  make  a  very  good 
boat."  We  chatted  for  awhile.  "  Call 
again,"  said  I,  and  in  a  few  days  the 
stranger  called  again.  We  had  a 
good  talk  for  nearly  the  whole  afternoon 


of  the  British  type  of  yacht.  He  easily 
became  familiar  with  the  cutter  rig,  its 
construction  and  fitting,  and  also  the 
handling  of  the  same.  Llis  time  spent 
abroad  in  study,  and  his  practical  expe- 
rience gained  there,  stood  him  in  stead 
on  his  return  to  this  country.  The 
first  we  knew  of  him  after  his  return,  was 
his  connection  with  the  building  of  these 
boats  of  the  Itchen  ferry  type,  the  Maris 
being  one  of  them.  Next  he  superin- 
tended the  construction  of  the  cutter 
Lapwings  designed  by  Dixon  Kemp  for 
Commodore  J.  Malcolm  Forbes.  Figura- 
tively speaking,  his  experience  was  at 
arms  length  on  the  other  side,  so  far  as 


EDWARD  BURGESS  AND  HIS  WORK. 


53 


matters  of  rig  and  construction  went. 
Not  so  with  the  cutter  Lapwing.  He 
had  the  plans  and  specifications  in  his 
control,  and  he  was  to  see  to  it  that  in  all 
matters  they  were  carried  out. 

The  cutter  rig  was  almost  new  over 
here  then.  Few  yachts  had  runners, 
channels  were  seldom  to  be  seen,  and 
jigs  and  purchases  were  rare.  The 
"  reefed  "  bowsprit  was  a  novelty,  as  were 
also   chain  halliards,   and  head  sails  set 


him.  The  cutter  Bayaden,  a  Watson 
boat  was  the  next  foreign  boat  he  had  to 
deal  with,  and  from  her  he  learned  much. 
Watson  designed  her  for  Commodore  J. 
Malcolm  Forbes,  and  she  was  supposed 
to  have  all  the  latest  improvements.  Her 
channels  were  steel,  the  rigging  led  along- 
side of  the  mast,  and  a  number  of  im- 
provements could  be  seen  on  her  over 
the  Lapwing. 

With    years  of   practical    training     in 


The  Volunteer   Rounding  the    Light  Ship. 

AFTER    A    PAINTING    BY    HALSALL 


flying.  The  blocks  were  quite  different 
from  those  on  our  yachts ;  in  fact,  the 
cutter  was  quite  a  wide  departure  from 
the  American  sloop.  Abroad,  the  late 
Mr.  Burgess  got  a  very  good  idea  of 
English  sterns,  but  the  fully  drawn  one  of 
the  Lapwing,  gave  him  an  excellent  idea 
as  to  how  it  should  be  designed. 

After  the  Lapwing  came  the  Medusa,  de- 
signed by  J.  Beavor-Webb,  manufacturer 
for  Mr.  Franklin  Dexter ;  as  in  the  case  of 
the  Lapwing,  Mr.  Burgess  had  charge  of 
her  building,  and  Lawley  built  them  both. 
Thus  from  the  Lapwing,  a  thirty-five-footer, 
he  went  to  a  sixty-footer,  and  the  experi- 
ence gained  was  of  the  greatest  assistance 
to  him.  From  these  boats  he  learned 
the  sizes  of  the  scantlings,  wire  rigging, 
blocks,  length  of  spars,  displacement, 
and  area  of  sail  to  wetted  surface,  all  of 
which  must  have  been  of  great  benefit  to 


cat-boats,  several  years'  study  and  ra- 
cing in  Britain,  and  the  superintending 
of  the  Lapwing,  Mars,  and  Medusa, 
Mr.  Burgess  started  out  on  his 
career  with  the  cutter  Rondina,  as  his 
first  venture.  It  was  only  a  week  ago 
that  I  saw  her  hauled  out  on  the  ways  at 
Lawley's,  just  ten  days  after  her  de- 
signer's death.  Alas,  how  sad  !  —  his  first, 
the  Rondina,  and  his  greatest,  the  Volun- 
teer, side  by  side,  on  different  ways,  were 
being  fitted  out  for  the  season's  racing, 
a  pleasure  to  which  he  looked  forward 
with    the    greatest    eagerness. 

Business  reverses  met  his  father,  and 
from  the  merchant  prince  of  one  day,  he 
became  almost  penniless  the  next.  The 
luxuries  of  the  world  had  gone  out  of 
the  children's  reach,  and  Sidney  and 
Edward,  with  no  income  to  fall 
back  on,  started  out  as  yacht  designers, 


54 


EDWARD  BURGESS  AND  HIS   WORK. 


inexperienced,  and  with  no  business.  In 
a  back  room  up  three  flights,  at  7  Ex- 
change Place,  Boston,  they  started, 
in  October,  1883.  A  desk,  a  pair  of 
"horses,"  one  drawing  board,  a  square,  and 
a  small  outfit  was  all  the  office  contained, 
and  on  the  ground  glass  of  the  door  was 
printed  the  words,  "  Burgess  Bros.,  Yacht 
Designers."  It  was  here  the  "boys" 
began.  I  well  remember  my  first  visit 
to  the  office.  Sidney  Burgess  was 
out,  but  Edward  was  in,  and  to  while 
away  the  time,  he  was  reading  a  book  on 
naval  architecture.  This  was  in  the  fall 
of  1883,  October,  I  believe. 


was 


cess  meant  everything. 


Trade  was  dull,  no  orders  came  in,  but 
still  the  brothers  kept  up  their  courage. 
That  fall  and  the  following  winter  brought 
them  no  orders,  and  Mr.  Sidney  Burgess, 
seeing  no  favorable  outlook,  in  May, 
1884,  sailed  for  Europe,  leaving  the  busi- 
ness in  his  brother's  hands  to  work  up, 
if  such  a  thing  might  be  possible.  These 
were  indeed  sad  days  for  the  two  broth- 
ers. From  a  home  of  the  greatest  lux- 
ury to  one  almost  of  want,  was  their  lot. 
Neither  had  any  business  training,  and 
the  venture  they  were  in  for  months 
yielded  them  nothing. 

Everything  has  an  end,  and  so  had 
the  months  of  sadness  to  Edward  Bur- 
gess. From  across  the  water  a  challenge 
for  the  America's  cup  came,  and  the  aris- 
tocratic boyhood  companions  of  Edward 
Burgess  rallied  around  him,  and  ten  of 
them,  with  Commodore  J.  Malcolm 
Forbes  at  their  head,  formed  the  syndi- 
cate which  built  the  Puritan.  "  I'll  do  the 
best  I  can,  gentlemen ;  I  thank  you  most 
heartily,"  was  Burgess's  only  reply;  and 
with  heart  overjoyed  at  receiving  his  first 
order  for  months,  he  started  the  work  of 
getting  out  the  plans  of  the  Puritan.  It 
undertaking ;  but    to  him  suc- 


Tne   Papoose 


He  was  sensible 
of  his  own  inexperience  and  he  sought 
the  opinions  of  others,  more  practical 
than  himself.  He  did  not  try  to  conceal 
matters.  He  went  to  spar-maker 
Pigeon,  told  him  the  situation,  and  for 
hours  discussed  the 
question  of  spars. 
Next  Billman,  the 
expert  rigger,  was 
called  on,  and  the 
sizes  and  strength  of 
the  rigging  were 
talked  over,  and  that 
master  hand  in  rig- 
ging, freely  gave  him 
the  benefit  of  his 
great  and  practical 
experience.  Lawley 
wound  up  his  search 
for  information  about 
construction,  and 
with  McManus  he 
discussed  sails.  For- 
tified with  the  advice 
of  these   four  practi- 


EDWARD  BURGESS  AND  HIS  WORK. 


55 


cal  men,   he   was  well  prepared   for  the 
great  undertaking. 

He  had  nothing  to  guide  him.  —  no 
yacht  from  which  to  obtain  any  data. 
Alone  he  was  left  to  solve  the  problem. 
No  such  large  single  sticker,  if  we  except 


to-day  for  what  she  did  for  American 
yachting  !  From  the  Puritan  he  went  to 
the  Mayflower,  and  I  well  remember 
chatting  with  him  about  her.  It  was  the 
talk  of  the  country  :  "  He  can't  beat  the 
Puritan."     Said    I    to    him    in    his    Ex- 


The   "Volunteer"   in    Dock  during  Alterations. 


the  Maria,  had  ever  been  built  on 
this  side  of  the  water,  and  she  was 
wholly  original  in  many  features  of 
her  design.  There  was  no  chance 
for  him  to  take  advantage  as  now  in 
construction,  for  there  was  nothing  to 
make  comparisons  with.  Such  a  boat 
was  unheard  of  on  this  side  of  the 
water.  Unaided  and  unassisted,  the  pub- 
lic well  know  what  a  success  he  turned 
out  in  the  Puritan.  It  was  surprising, 
too,  in  the  light  of  subsequent  events, 
how  nicely  he  balanced  her,  and  how 
closely  and  carefully  he  sparred  her. 
Her  sail  plan  proved  to  be  just  the 
thing,  just  what  she  wanted,  and. besides, 
it  was  the  largest  sail  spread  ever  carried 
up  to  that  date,  excepting  the  Maria. 
The  alterations  on  the  Puritan  were 
remarkably  few,  and  those  made  were 
only  slight  ones,  and  only  affected  her 
trim.  ..  \f 

The  races  of  the  Puritan  are  well- 
known  ;  and  her  performances  made 
Burgess.     How  the  "  old  boat  "  -is  loved 


change  Place  office,  as  we  looked  over 
the  lines  of  the  Mayflower,  "  Do  you 
think  she  will  beat  the  Puritan?'1'1  I 
shall  never  forget  his  answer,  because  it 
was  so  frank  and  honest :  "  With  nearly 
six  feet  extra  length,  it  will  be  disgraceful 
if  she  does  not." 

In  the  designing  of  the  Mayflower  he 
was  far  better  off  than  when  he  designed 
the  Puritan.  He  now  had  data  to  go 
by,  so  that  in  the  designing  of  the 
Mayflower  he  was  much  more  at  home. 
As  with  the  Puritan,  so  with  the  May- 
flower. I  followed  her  in  her  local  trip 
and  in  all  her  races,  and  saw  them  both 
successfully  defend  the  cup. 

With  the  success  of  the  Mayflower, 
Burgess's  business  grew  up  at  once,  and 
from  that  time  on  he  was  ever  a  busy 
man.  It  amused  him  to  hear  the  people 
say,  "-The  Puritan  is  the  best  boat,  she 
cari  beat  the  Mayflower,"  and  he  often 
laughed  at  newspaper  writers  who  ex- 
pressed the  same  opinion  in  the  columns 
of  their  journals.     He  told  me  frequently, 


56 


EDWARD  BURGESS  AND  HIS  WORK. 


when  speaking  of  the  matter,  that  it  was 
a  matter  of  sentiment  for  the  Puritan, 
because  she  was  the  first.  "  Commodore 
Forbes,"  said  he,  "I  am  sure  does  not 
think  so,  and  he  ought  to  be  good 
authority." 

With  increasing  business  he  found  his 
quarters  too  small  in  Exchange  Place, 
and  on  his  return  from  the  America's  cup 


and  complete  apartments  ever  occupied 
by  a  man  of  his  profession.  Like  the  oak 
from  the  acorn,  so  he  grew  in  his  busi- 
ness. Puritan,  Mayflower,  Volunteer, 
Merlin,  Titania,  Gossoon,  Quickstep,  Wild 
Duck,  Sapphire,  Jathniel,  and  Fancy  in 
yachts,  Carrie  E.  Phillips  in  the  fishing 
fleet,  and  John  H.  Buttrick  in  the  mer- 
chant    service,     form    a    group    not    yet 


The  Steam -Yacht   "Jathniel 


races  in  1886,  he  moved  to  his  new  quar- 
ters in  22  Congress  Street.  "  Burgess 
Bros.,  Yacht  Designers,"  was  still  the  sign 
on  the  door,  and  it  remained  so  for  several 
years,  until  Mr.  Sidney  Burgess  returned 
from  abroad  and  decided  not  to  re-enter 
the  work.  "Edward  Burgess"  was  then 
substituted,  and  this  was  the  firm  name 
at  the  time  of  his  death.  In  Congress 
Street  he  started  with  two  rooms,  but 
his  business  grew  so  rapidly  that  after 
remaining  here  several  years  he  moved 
to  50  State  Street,  where  he  remained 
until  this  spring,  when  he  moved  to 
his  new  quarters  in  Sears  Building. 
Here  he  had  a  suite  of  five  pleasant 
rooms,  all  equipped  with  the  most  mod- 
ern conveniences.  I  mention  these  things 
to  show  what  an  advance  he  made  in  seven 
years  —  beginning  as  he  did  in  a  small 
room  and  ending  in  the  most  convenient 


equalled  by  any  professional  designer. 
His  prowess  once  asserted,  business  came 
to  him  unsolicited.  He  soon  found  him- 
self unable  to  cope  with  the  work,  and  he 
engaged  two  assistants. 

The  vessels  designed  by  Mr.  Burgess 
numbered  206,  classified  as  follows : 
cutters,  38;  sloops,  17;  yawls,  1:  cat- 
boats,  29  ;  schooners,  23  ;  steam  yachts, 
35;  fishing  vessels,  1 1  j  pilot  boats,  3; 
working  schooners,  3. 

During  the  Volunteer -Thistle  negoti- 
ations I  met  Burgess  very  frequently, 
and  we  discussed  the  outlook.  He 
always  took  a  broad  view  of  matters, 
and  he  had  inside  information  regarding 
the  Thistle's  performances  from  his  old 
friend  Captain  Arthur  H.  Clark,  an 
American  resident  in  London,  and  an  ex- 
perienced yachtsman,  who  had  cntre  to  all 
the  principal  yacht  clubs  in  Britain.     In 


EDWARD  BURGESS  AND  HIS  WORK. 


57 


fact,  Mr.  Clark  was 
himself  a  member  of 
the  Royal  Thames 
Yacht  Club,  and  had 
watched  the  Thistle 
closely  in  all  her 
matches.  Burgess 
felt  uncertain  over 
the  result,  —  and  now 
for  the  first  time  will 
I  make  public  what 
he  thought.  Said  he  : 

"  The  Thistle  is  a  very 
fast  boat;  my  friend  on 
the  other  side  has  kept 
close  watch  on  her,  and 
he  writes  me  to  the  effect 
that  she  is  very  fast,  es- 
pecially off  the  wind. 
The  coming  cup  races 
are  very  uncertain,  and 
you  are  in  a  position  to 
prepare    our    people    for 

defeat.  Be  conservative  in  what  you  write  for 
the  Boston  Herald;  don't  say  that  we  are  sure  to 
be  beaten,  but  tell  them  not  to  look  for  sure 
victory.  In  case  defeat  comes,  then  they  will 
be  better  prepared  for  it." 

These  were  his  words  to  me,  and  they 
had  telling  effect.  I  was  blue  all  over, 
for  I   knew  quite  well  the  gauge  of  the 


The  Saladin. 

man,  and  had  made  up  my  mind  that  he 
gave  me   the  pointer  to   set  me   on   the 


right 


track.  Nothing  could  better  show 
the  wide  scope  of  the  man,  —  wishing  for 
victory  as  never  before,  still  he  gave 
his  opponent  full  credit,  and  it  turned 
out  put  too  low  an  estimate  on  himself. 
I   often  chided  him   after  the    Volunteer 


The   Fancy. 


58 


EDWARD  BURGESS  AND  BIS   WORK. 


races  over  his  semi-prophecy,  and  he 
said,  "  It  is  better  to  be  happily  disap- 
pointed than  to  be  struck  down  in  cer- 
tainty." So  it  was  always  with  him,  — 
"I'll  do  the  best  I  can,"  —  always 
allowing  that  his  opponent  would  do  the 
same. 

While  he  was  sombre  and  seclusive, 
still,  he  liked  fun  and  relished  a  good 
joke.  He  could  give  a  joke  and  take  one. 
Often  have  I  heard  him  laugh  at  a 
piece  of  wit  which  bounded  on  the 
shoulders  of  a  brother  yachtsman.  The 
public  well  remembers  his  grand  recep- 
tion in  Faneuil  Hall.     He  stood  on  the 


Paine.  Dr.  John  Bryant  and  Mr.  Charles 
A.  Prince  were  on  the  platform,  and  Dr. 
Bryant  turning  to  me  said,  "  Let  us  walk 
across  and  congratulate  them."  Dr. 
Bryant  led  the  way,  followed  by 
Mr.  Prince,  I  brought  up  the  rear.  I 
could  not  help  noticing  how  pleased  he 
was  to  see  them  both.  What  a  hearty 
shake  of  the  hand  he  gave  them  ;  what 
words  of  good  cheer  passed  between 
them  !  I  was  more  than  pleased  when 
my  turn  came  to  greet  the  great  pair. 
Imagine  my  surprise  when  Burgess  said 
to  me,  "Your  face  is  very  familiar, 
where   have    I   seen   you?"     Turning  to 


platform  on  the  left  of  General  Paine, 
and  the  scene  before  him  was  one  of  ex- 
citement and  astonishment.  The  Volun- 
teer's  crew  had  been  brought  to  the  city 
on  the  Boston  Herald  tug,  and  I  entered 
the  hall  with  them.  That  reception  I 
shall  never  forget.  Mr.  Burgess  stood  on 
the  platform,  and  the  people  in  thousands 
crossed  over  it,  each  one  in  turn  shaking 
hands  with   him   and  then  with  General 


General  Paine,  he  said,  "  General,  this 
gentleman's  face  is  very  familiar ; 
where  have  we  seen  him?"  "  How  are 
you,  General  Paine?"  was  my  salutation 
to  Mr.  Burgess,  and  he  replied.  "  It  has 
gone  even  beyond  our  expectations.  My 
arm  is  nearly  pulled  off."  I  allude  to 
this  to  show  the  sunny  side  of  his  life. 
and  how  he  liked  to  crack  a  joke. 

Now  as  to  his  ability  as  a  naval  archi- 


EDWARD  BURGESS  AND  HIS  WORK. 


59 


tect.  The  records  of  the  world  do  not 
show  such  a  successful  man,  starting  out 
with  his  limited  foundation.  He  had  no 
mold  loft  experience,  neither  was  he  a 
practical  shipwright.  These  qualifica- 
tions are  considered  almost  absolutely 
essential  to  success  in  his  line,  for  in 
Britain  the  young  student  of  naval  archi- 


wide,  and  knowing  the  ins  and  outs 
of  yacht  designing,  he  always  believed 
that  no  man's  work  should  be  underrated. 
He  would  never  take  a  narrow  view  of 
matters,  and  unlike  Watson,  and  other 
designers  on  the  other  side,  he  was  never 
to  be  found  adopting  measures  which 
would"  prevent    any    type    of  boat   from 


The    Oweene 


tecture  must  pass  through  an  apprentice- 
ship in  one  of  the  great  shipbuilding 
yards,  ending  up  on  the  draughting  board. 
The  mold  loft  experience  is  invalu- 
able to  a  naval  architect,  and  once  ac- 
quired, it  is  always  of  great  help,  espe- 
cially in  fair-up  vessels.  Here  the  vessel 
is  laid  down  in  full  size,  and  the  battens 
are  sufficiently  rigid  to  even  up  the  un- 
fair spots. 

Mr.  Burgess  was  not  narrow,  and  he 
never  hesitated  to  adopt  a  good  thing 
wherever    he    saw   it.       His    scope    was 


taking  part  in  the  racing  events.  One 
can  hardly  imagine  that  any  circumstance 
could  arise  which  would  make  it  necessary 
for  him  to  advocate  the  expulsion  of  any 
type  of  boat.  He  never  could  see  why 
Watson  should  advocate  barring  out  of 
the  races  the  centreboard  type  of  boat,  for 
by  its  performances,  Watson  and  the 
yacht  designers  of  the  world  would  be 
benefited  by  it.  His  boats,  Puritan,  May- 
flower, and  Volunteer,  opened  the  eyes  of 
the  average  Britisher ;  and  he  lived  to  see 
the    rules    barring    out    the     centreboard 


60 


EDWARD  BURGESS  AND  BIS  WORK. 


The  Merlin. 


revoked,  and  also  had  the  pleasure  of 
knowing  that  in  the  centreboarder  Dora, 
Watson  was  beating  not  only  his  own, 
but  all  the  keel  boats  of  her  class  in 
Britain. 

Mr.  Burgess  rather  inclined  to  cutters, 
and    he    was    quick    to    see    their    many 


advantages.  He  was  a  cutter  man, 
so  far  as  the  rig  went,  and  in  all  his 
efforts  his  work  showed  that  his  boats 
had  more  of  the  cutter  than  the  sloop 
in  them.  Being  broad  gauged,  he  easily 
saw  the  advantage  of  the  cutter  rig, 
and   made    no    excuses   for   adopting  it. 


The  John   H.   Buttrick. 


EDWARD  BURGESS  AND  HIS  WORK. 


61 


No  sectional  feeling  stood  in  his  way,  and 
he  had  the  great  faculty  of  improving  a 
good  thing. 

Some  will  claim  that  he  was  not  an 
originator,  and  that  he  copied  from 
others.  All  men  are  more  or  less  copy- 
ists. Take  the  law,  —  one  is  strength- 
ened in  this  profession  by  studying  the 
results  obtained  by  others.  The  same 
can  be  said  of  medicine.  The  lawyer  or 
physician  who  can  fathom  the  works  of 


of  yacht  designing ;  for  certainly  the  Vol- 
unteer, Mayflower,  and  Puritan  have  no 
sponsors,  —  they  were  the  immediate  pro- 
ductions of  his  own  brain.  Had  he  the 
inclination  to  copy,  he  could  not  have 
done  it,  for  the  reason  that  he  had  noth- 
ing to  copy  from. 

This  article  can  be  concluded  in  no 
better  or  more  fitting  way  than  in  the 
words  of  Arthur  Hamilton  Clark,  Bur- 
gess's   life -long    friend,   and   one    whose 


The  Carrie  E.   Phillips. 


the  most  learned  and  then  surpass  them, 
certainly  must  have  strong  talents,  else 
he  would  be  unable  to  go  beyond  them. 
Mr.  Burgess  found  out  what  others  in  his 
profession  had  gained  by  years  of  expe- 
rience, and  he  profited  by  it.  All  works 
on  yacht  designing  he  carefully  read,  and 
culled  the  good  from  the  bad.  His  mind 
led  him  to  seek  information  wherever  he 
could  obtain  it,  and  no  fence  was  so  high 
that  he  could  not  climb  it.  He  was  a 
student  of  naval  architecture  in  its  broad 
sense,  and  the  world  was  his  text-book. 
He  was  original  in  all  the  great  essentials 


knowledge  of  the  field  in  which  he  worked 
is  greater  than  that  of  almost  any  other 
among  us. 

"The  genius  of  Edward  Burgess  lay  in  his 
remarkable  powers  of  observation  and  selection; 
and  while  he  did  not  discover  any  new  element 
of  speed,  as  did  Chapman,  Scott  Russell,  and 
George  Steers,  he  still  excelled  these  marine  ar- 
chitects, and  all  others  of  our  own  or  former 
times,  in  uniting  known  elements  of  speed  as  they 
had  never  before  been  combined.  In  this 
respect  the  Puritan  was  the  most  remarkable 
yacht  ever  constructed,  inasmuch  as  she  was  the 
first  vessel  in  which  beam,  the  centreboard,  out- 
side lead,  the  raking  sternpost  and  cutter  rig  were 
united:    beam    and    the  centreboard  were  then 


62 


EDWARD  BURGESS  AND  BIS   WORK. 


The   Burgess   Homestead  at   Beverly. 


purely  American  features,  while  outside  lead, 
the  raking  stern  post  and  cutter  rig  were  at  that 
time  entirely  British  characteristics,  and  it  was  a 
matter  of  doubt  in  the  minds  of  many  whether 
these  elements  of  design  could  be  successfully 
united.  But  Edward  Burgess  brought  them  to- 
gether in  a  manner  which  was  very  near  to  being 
a  discovery  if  not  an  invention,  and  in  the 
Puritan  he  did  much  to  dispel  the  .clouds  of 
prejudice  on  both  sides  of  the  Atlantic. 

Edward  Burgess  possessed  a  clear,  open  mind, 
free  from  prejudice  of  any  kind.  To  him  the 
science  of  marine  architecture  meant  everything, 
and  to  illustrate  how  far  he  searched  for  the  ele- 
ments of  speed,  it  may  be  mentioned  that  he 
actually  adopted  an  idea  from  the  Chinese  Junk, 
it  being  the  battens  in  the  sails,  which  the  Chinese 
have  used  for  centuries. 

As  a  marine  architect  his  name  and  fame  may 
safely  be  left  in  the  hands  of  posterity. 
Among  all  the  honored  names  of  his  profession, 
none  will  outshine  that  of  Edward  Burgess. 

His    personal    character   was    pure   and  noble, 


and  his  business  integrity  scrupulously  honorable; 
his  life  was  passed  amid  rehned  surroundings,  and 
he  was  blessed  with  advantages  vouchsafed  only 
to  the  few,  which  he  improved  to  the  utmost; 
j  his  gentle  breeding  and  manly  ways  won  him 
,'  friendships  on  all  sides,  which  he  cherished  and 
retained  until  the  end. 

In  his  home  he  was  happy,  and  when  his  duties 
were  at  an  end,  either  amid  the  scenes  of  his 
toils  or  his  triumphs,  he  lingered  no  longer,  but 
hastened  to  his  home,  where  love  and  peace 
awaited  him. 

It  is  hard  to  realize  that  he  is  gone,  and  that  we 
shall  see  him  no  more;  but  the  creations  of  his 
brain,  whether  sailing  on  summer  seas  or  driven 
before  the  wintry  gale,  are  a  more  pathetic  mon- 
ument to  his  memory  than  any  that  could  be 
raised  by  other  hands. 

"  '  Ah,  who  shall  lift  that  wand  of  magic  power, 
And  the  lost  clue  regain? 
The  unfinished  window  in  Aladdin's  tower, 
Unfinished  must  remain.' " 


c^r^fi^t** 


VACATION  DAYS  AT  AUNT  PHOEBE'S. 


By   Caroline  Sinclair    Woodward. 


ONE  of  the  places  to  visit  in  New 
Hampshire  was  Aunt  Phcepe's. 
It  was  a  long,  low  farmhouse, 
with  bull's  eyes  over  the  two  front  doors, 
and  shining  windows,  with  snowy  curtains 
blowing  in  the  sweet  summer  air.  Time 
and  weather  had  turned  it  black,  from 
ridge  pole  to  sill ;  only  the  doors  were 
white,  in  striking  contrast.  Within  were 
open  doors,  through  all  the  spacious  low- 
ceiled  rooms,  revealing  polished  floors  of 
yellow  paint  bestrewn  with  braided  mats, 
and  dressers  filled  with  curious  plates  of 
delft  and  pewter  porringers  and  platters. 
In  one  corner  a  tall  clock  ticked  loudly 
all  day, —  its  voice  at  night  resounding 
above  the  chirp  of  insect  life  in  solemn 
tones.  Across  the  arch,  above  the  dial, 
a  jolly-faced  sun  chased  a  ship  at  sea. 
A  settle,  smooth  and  hard,  with  a  scar- 
let broadcloth  cushion,  made  from  Aunt 
Phoebe's  cloak,  was  set  at  one  side  of  the 
wide  fireplace.  Doors  opened  into  rooms 
on  all  sides,  into  the  common  sitting- 
room,  into  Aunt  Polly's  room,  where  was 
shall  I  say  a  thousand-legged  table,  and 
low,  rush-bottomed  chairs ;  and  where 
everything  was  homespun,  table  linen, 
bed-spread,  sheets,  and  blankets.  Aunt 
Polly's  dress  in  every  detail  was  the  work 
of  her  own  busy  hands.  She  had  a 
dresser  also,  and  a  copy  of  Bunyan's 
"  Pilgrim's  Progress,"  with  strange  let- 
tering and  uncouth  figures.  In  the  twi- 
light she  read  to  us  from  it,  in  a  trem- 
bling voice  —  she  had  the  palsy,  —  her 
finger  following  the  text.  That  copy  of 
Bunyan  and  her  Bible  and  hymn  book 
constituted  her  library. 

All  the  long  summer  mornings  Aunt 
Phcebe  moved  about,  intent  on  making 
butter,  setting  curd  for  cheese,  salting, 
pickling  and  preserving.  She  was  a 
short,  fat  woman,  of  fifty  years,  with  no 
waist  to  speak  of,  —  you  only  saw  a  line 
where  her  apron  strings  disappeared, — 
a  pink  and  white  complexion,  almost 
without  a  wrinkle,  an  abundance  of  white 
hair,  soft  and  wavy,  and  young  blue  eyes. 


In  the  afternoon  she  was  always  in  the 
sitting-room,  sometimes  a  press-board 
upon  her  lap,  and  near  by  a  large  iron 
goose.  She  made  trousers  for  "  Master 
Chace,"  as  he  was  called,  he  having 
taught  singing-school  winter  in  and  out 
for  many  years,  in  all  the  towns  around. 
Dressed  in  a  lace-frilled  cap  and  wide 
muslin  collar  turned  in  at  the  throat,  over 
a  home-spun  gown  of  blue,  showing  a 
string  of  gold  beads,  she  was  ready  for 
the  visit  of  any  neighbor.  In  the  even- 
ing she  took  her  knitting;  her  hands 
were  never  idle. 

Passing  in  and  out,  and  expressing  her 
opinion,  while  on  household  errands, 
mostly  relating  to  cooking,  was  Irene,  the 
daughter.  She  was  tall  and  thin,  had  a 
clear  complexion,  the  blue  eyes  of  her 
mother,  and  brown  hair,  coiled  on  the 
top  of  her  head  and  held  by  a  high- 
topped  comb.  Ear-rings  almost  a  finger 
long  were  in  her  ears ;  her  dress  was  a 
homespun  brown,  short  skirted,  showing 
strong  leather  shoes  upon  a  shapely  foot, 
tied  with  leather  strings,  fitted  and  made 
by  a  shoemaker  who,  once  a  year,  set  his 
bench  in  the  chimney  corner,  and  cut  out 
and  sewed,  hammered,  pegged  and  nailed, 
until  all  the  members  of  the  household 
were  neatly  shod  and  mended ;  then  he 
went  his  way.  Like  Cowper's  postman, 
he  was  a  "light-hearted  wretch,"  the 
news  of  all  the  country  side  on  his  gos- 
siping tongue.  Wordy  and  witty  in  argu- 
ment, a  singer  of  long  pathetic  ballads, 
and  a  jester,  his  visits  were  an  event 
anticipated  and  enjoyed  by  old  and 
young. 

Outside,  attending  to  farm  duties,  was 
Jacob,  Aunt  Phoebe's  son,  also  blue-eyed, 
large  and  slow.  "  Be  you  in  a  hurry  ?  ' ' 
was  one  of  his  sarcastic  remarks,  when 
Irene  demanded  that  vegetables  be 
brought  in  for  dinner.  He  had  hand- 
some features,  and  a  rare,  kindly  smile. 
He  was  our  "main-stay"  in  indulgences, 
allowing  us  to  rake  and  hoe,  drive  oxen 
and  climb  apple  trees.     Under  his  guid- 


64 


VA  CA  TION  DAYS  AT  A  UNT  PHCEBE  'S. 


ance  we  hackled  flax,  and  when,  contrary 
to  his  advice,  we  tried  threshing  with  a 
flail,  and  raised  big  bumps  upon  our  fore- 
heads, he  plastered  us  up  with  coarse 
brown  paper  soaked  in  vinegar.  We 
rode  the  horse  while  he  ploughed,  falling 
off  head  first  into  the  furrow.  We  were 
lifted  in  his  strong  arms  on  to  the  hay 
rack  when  it  was  full,  and  valiantly  tried 
to  assist  in  taking  care  of  the  fragrant 
hay  as  it  came  tumbling  in  upon  us  ;  half 
buried,  struggling  up  through  the  masses, 
tilting  head  over  heels  as  the  rack  went 
over  uneven  ground,  we  had  great  fun  out 
of  it,  and  rode  home  in  triumph  in  a  top- 
heavy  load,  shouting  as  we  bounded  over 
the  beam  at  the  barn  door.  Stepping  out 
upon  a  ladder  set  straight  against  a  beam, 
we  descended  to  the  floor,  so  far  below, 
in  quite  a  dazed  condition. 

Over  all  the  long  house  stretched  the 
garret,  filled  with  stores  of  things,  in 
piles  and  bins  and  bundles.  Hanging 
from  the  beams  overhead  were  pop  corn 
and  bunches  of  herbs  and  bags  of  garden 
seeds.  At  one  end  there  was  a  loom, 
a  spinning-wheel  and  a  flax-wheel.  Rainy 
days,  this  was  our  abiding  place.  We 
made  scrambling  voyages  of  discovery 
into  dark  gruesome  corners  under  the 
low  eaves,  finding,  one  joyful  day,  a  crock 
filled  with  butter-nuts,  stored  there  five 
years  before,  as  was  remembered.  In  a 
wooden  chest  we  found  bonnets  with 
wonderful  brims  and  crowns,  dresses  with 
large  flowers  patterned  upon  them,  and 
plaid  cloaks  set  in  yokes  at  the  neck, 
with  large  hocks  and  eyes  in  curious  de- 
signs to  hold  them  at  the  throat.  A  thin 
white  dress  took  my  fancy.  It  had  a 
hand-painted  band  around  the  skirt,  of 
gay  roses  on  white  velvet.  This  was 
Leah's  dress.  She  died  of  consumption 
while  a  young  girl,  and  at  the  beginning 
of  her  illness  she  planted  the  chestnut 
tree,  near  the  well,  which  then  was  a 
wide-spreading  tree.  Her  narrow  grave 
was  in  a  corner  of  the  orchard,  and  had 
a  headstone  of  black  slate.  Wild  roses 
grew  thickly  there,  and  clumps  of  golden- 
rod  stood  tall  and  graceful,  brightening 
the  quiet  spot.  At  evening,  the  day's 
work  over,  Aunt  Phcebe  would  stand 
upon  the  wide  door-stone,  her  hands 
shading   her  eyes,  and   look   toward  the 


roses  and  golden-rod,  a  sad  smile  upon 
her  face,  for  Leah  was  her  favorite  child. 

The  great  event  of  the  vacation  was  a 
family  junketing  at  the  beach,  seven  miles 
away.  Such  baking,  boiling  and  frying 
as  went  on  for  days  !  Such  a  getting  up 
early  in  the  day  !  Such  a  gathering  of 
vehicles,  packing  of  stores,  and  stowing 
away  of  children,  —  and  finally  such  a 
locking  up  !  It  all  seemed  interminable 
to  us  impatient  ones,  and  we  never  felt 
sure  of  really  going  until  rolling  along 
the  dewy  road. 

At  the  extreme  end  of  civilization  at 
Hampton  Beach  lived  Mother  Nudd,  a 
jolly,  hospitable  soul.  Country  parties 
going  down  engaged  her  entire  house  for 
the  day.  She  and  her  maid  laid  the  ta- 
ble, made  the  tea  and  coffee,  cooked  the 
eggs,  and  waited  upon  the  party.  In  the 
big  front  chamber  the  children  were 
rigged  out  in  their  bathing  clothes,  and 
with  shouts  of  glee  sped  down  the  stairs, 
across  the  hot  road  and  into  the  cool 
waves,  which  at  high  tide  came  quite  to 
the  roadside. 

Far  out  to  sea,  sails  came  and  went. 
The  Isles  of  Shoals  lay,  a  dark  line, 
against  the  horizon.  The  mackerel  fleet 
was  passing,  a  mass  of  snowy  canvas ; 
boats  loaded  with  fish  and  lobsters  were 
coming  in  on  the  crests  of  the  waves, 
high  tossed  one  instant,  then  slanting  they 
go,  and  the  wave  recedes  and  leaves  them 
all  upon  the  sands,  a  few  wet  and  shining 
figures  dragging  the  boats  to  safer  land- 
ing. In  our  bathing  clothes  we  run  to 
get  a  sight  of  the  fish  still  gasping,  and 
the  terrible  lobsters,  each  with  a  peg  in 
his  claw. 

Exactly  at  twelve  we  dine,  with  prodi- 
gious appetites  sharpened  by  sea  air  and 
the  excitement  of  the  early  breakfast. 
As  the  tide  goes  out,  we  find  upon  the 
beach  and  in  the  crevices  of  the  rocks 
such  wonderful  things,  which  we  carry 
home,  tied  up  in  our  bathing  clothes  and 
surreptitiously  tucked  into  the  wagon. 
An  hour  before  sunset  we  start  for  home 
regretfully,  tired  but  happy,  —  happy  in 
the  sunshine  and  fragrance  of  a  day  filled 
with  comfort. 

One  day,  after  finishing  "  Swiss  Family 
Robinson,"  the  idea  came  to  us  to  lay 
out  a  village,  build  cottages,  name  it  and 


VACATION  DAYS  AT  AUNT  PB (EBB'S. 


65 


own  it.  We  selected  a  choice  place  on 
the  farm,  called  Pine  Pasture,  and  at  one 
corner  found  a  level  spot  beneath  the 
trees,  just  suited  to  our  purpose.  There 
were  no  small  stones  there  such  as  we 
needed,  and  we  were  obliged  to  climb 
the  wall  into  the  next  lot  for  our  supply. 
With  infinite  toil  we  carried  them  and 
built  our  cottages,  laying  the  stones  care- 
fully and  filling  the  chinks  with  moss. 
Each  cottage  was  two  feet  high,  differing 
in  shape  and  belongings,  as  became  a 
village  ;  all  had  pine  cones  for  chimneys, 
and  were  covered  with  coral  moss,  hiding 
the  stones.  We  laid  out  winding  walks, 
roadways  and  lawns,  set  hedges  of  pine 
and  hemlock,  with  trees  of  taller 
branches,  and  transplanted  violets  and 
pretty  green  plants  into  the  gardens, 
took  milk-weed  pods  and,  using  sticks 
for  legs,  made  singular  looking  animals, 
that  stood  in  and  around  the  stables. 
We  named  the  place  Mossland  Village. 
It  grew  to  sixteen  houses,  and  its  con- 
struction was  one  of  the  most  delightful 


occupations  of  our  vacation.  Our  dolls, 
invited  from  house  to  house,  escorted  by 
us,  sat  in  stiff  attitudes  upon  the  lawn, 
staring  at  our  labors  in  landscape  garden- 
ing. When  in  triumph  we  led  Jacob  to 
see  what  we  had  done,  he  stood  for  a 
long  time  in  profound  silence ;  and  the 
smiles  died  out  of  our  faces  when  he 
exclaimed  :  "  Wall,  that  beats  all  !  Lug- 
gin'  stuns  inter  this  pastur',  when  all  my 
life  I've  ben  firin'  'em  out !  "  For  the 
first  time  we  were  disappointed  in  Jacob  ! 
Alas  !  the  day  came  when  we  were  to 
return  to  the  city  and  school.  At  the 
last  moment  we  ran  down  the  path  to 
take  farewell  of  our  pretty  playground. 
Chalked  on  a  red  board  fastened  to  the 
nearest  tree,  this  notice  greeted  our  indig- 
nant eyes  :  "MOSLAN  VILLAGE  TO 
SAIL."  "Tom  Stockbridge  !  "  we  ex- 
claimed in  one  breath,  and,  as  if  invoked, 
a  hatless  tow  head  appeared  over  the 
wall,  and  a  wide  mouth,  showing  its  long 
line  of  broad  teeth,  grinned  at  us  and 
disappeared. 


James  Russell    Lowel 


THE  HERONS  OF  ELMWOOD. x 


By  Henry    Wadsworih  Longfellow. 

WARM  and  still  is  the  summer  night, 
As  here  by  the  river's  brink  I  wander ; 
White  overhead  are  the  stars,  and  white 
The  glimmering  lamps  on  the  hillside  yonder. 

Silent  are  all  the  sounds  of  day ; 

Nothing  I  hear  but  the  chirp  of  crickets, 
And  the  cry  of  the  herons  winging  their  way 

O'er  the  poet's  house  in  the  Elmwood  thickets. 


1  By  kind  permission  of  Messrs.  Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Co.,  this  beautiful  tribute  to  Lowell,  written  by  Longfellow 
many  years  ago,  is  republished  here  as  one  of  the  many  similar  tributes  which  have  been  paid  to  Lowell  by  his 
brother  poets.  Longfellow's  other  poem,  "  The  Two  Angels,"  commemorating  the  touching  coincidence  by  which 
on  the  night  of  Mrs.  Lowell's  death  a  child  was  born  to  Longfellow,  should  be  read,  and  the  noble  verses  addressed  to 
Lowell  by  Whitlier  and  Holmes.  —  Editor. 


THE  HERONS  OE  ELM  WOOD. 


67 


Call  to  him,  herons,  as  slowly  you  pass 

To  your  roosts  in  the  haunts  of  the  exiled  thrushes, 
Sing  him  the  song  of  the  green  morass, 

And  the  tides  that  water  the  reeds  and  rushes. 

Sing  him  the  mystical  Song  of  the  Hern, 

And  the  secret  that  baffles  our  utmost  seeking  • 

For  only  a  sound  of  lament  we  discern, 

And  cannot  interpret  the  words  you  are  speaking. 

Sing  of  the  air,  and  the  wild  delight 

Of  wings  that  uplift  and  winds  that  uphold  you, 
The  joy  of  freedom,  the  rapture  of  flight 

Through  the  drift  of  the  floating  mists  that  infold  you 

Of  the  landscape  lying  so  far  below, 

With  its  towns  and  rivers  and  desert  places ; 

And  the  splendor  of  light  above,  and  the  glow 
Of  the  limitless,  blue,  ethereal  spaces. 

Ask  him  if  songs  of  the  Troubadours, 

Or  of  Minnesingers  in  old  black-letter, 
Sound  in  his  ears  more  sweet  than  yours, 

And  if  yours  are  not  sweeter  and  wilder  and  better. 

Sing  to  him,  say  to  him,  here  at  his  gate, 

Where  the  boughs  of  the  stately  elms  are  meeting, 

Some  one  hath  lingered  to  meditate, 

And  send  him  unseen  this  friendly  greeting ; 

That  many  another  hath  done  the  same, 

Though  not  by  a  sound  was  the  silence  broken  ; 

The  surest  pledge  of  a  deathless  name 

Is  the  silent  homage  of  thoughts  unspoken. 


Elmwood. 


THE  NEW  SOUTH.— A  RISING  TEXAS  CITY. 


DE  QUINCEY  used  to  speak  of 
"  the  nation  of  London."  As  one 
travels  through  Texas,  one  can 
hardly  think  of  it  as  simply  a  state ;  it  is 
of  national  proportions.  The  statisticians 
tell  how  many  New  Englands  or  how 
many  European  kingdoms  could  be  drop- 
ped down  in  its  borders  with  yet  area 
left  sufficient  for  a  driveway  many  miles 


striking  illustration  of  the  new  life  of  the 
"  New  South." 

As  I  recently  travelled  through  the 
great  state,  I  saw  that  in  the  greater  por- 
tion of  it  there  was  a  scarcity  of  wood- 
lands. I  asked  the  question  more  than 
once,  "  Where  do  you  get  your  timber?  " 
The  almost  universal  answer  was,  "  From 
Beaumont."  On  my  way  home,  over  the 
Southern  Pacific  Railroad 
by  New  Orleans,  I  visited 
Beaumont ;  and  glad  I 
was  that  I  did  so. 

Among  the  many  in- 
teresting places  I  visited 
in  Texas,  none  was  more 
interesting  than  Beau- 
mont. It  is  in  Jefferson 
County,  —  the     county 


in  breadth  around  the  whole.  The 
present  development  of  many  of  its 
larger  towns  is  one  of  the  most  re- 
markable spectacles  in  the  country. 
The  new  State  House  at  Austin 
is  a  building  second  only  to  one 
other  in  the  United  States  in 
majesty  and  beauty,  its  cost  having 
been  defrayed  by  the  grant  of  one 
million  acres  of  land  from  this 
great  state  of  nearly  two  hundred 
and  seventy-five  thousand  square  miles 
of  territory.  Waco,  Fort  Worth,  Dallas, 
Houston,  Galveston,  San  Antonio  —  of 
these  important  cities  of  Texas  almost 
everybody  knows  something.  I  wish  to 
speak  in  this  article  of  a  place  in  Texas  of 
which  few  in  the  North  know  anything  at 
all,  and  yet  which  affords    in  its    way    a 


Baptist  Church,    Beaumont. 

means  much  more  in  the  South  than 
in  the  North,  —  one  of  those  towns 
settled  while  Texas  was  a  republic, 
the  site  being  granted  by  old  settlers 
at  a  time  when  the  iron  horse  was  yet 
unknown  in  the  state.  There,  evidently, 
the  inhabitants  only  existed,  as  it  were, 
till    the     advent    of    railroad     communi- 


THE  NEW  SOUTH.  — A  RISING  TEXAS  CITY. 


69 


Mayor  Alexander  Wynne's   Home,    Beaumont. 


cation,  in  the  fifties,  between  Houston 
and  Orange  —  a  distance  of  about  a  hun- 
dred miles ;  and  even  then  Beaumont 
was  slow  to  put  forth  the  hand  and  pluck 
the  resources  which  lay  around  in  super- 
abundance, waiting  only  to  be  utilized  by 
energy  and  capital  to  make  the  place  one 
of  the  leading  places  of  the  South. 
"  What  compose  these  illimitable  forests?" 
is  the  first  question  that  naturally  arises 
as  one  comes  to  the  Beaumont  neigh- 
borhood. Taking  a  conveyance,  I  rode 
northward.  From  the  edge  of  the  city, 
as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  nothing  was 
visible  but  timber,  timber,  timber,  on 
both  sides  of  the  Neches  river,  which  is 
navigable  for  three  hundred  miles  north 
of  the  city.  Going  west,  I  found  small 
farms  and  prairie  unbroken  for  miles,  dot- 
ted with  cattle.  To  the  south  there  was 
the  same  prairie,  occasionally  studded 
with  clumps  of  forest,  till  I  came  within 
sight  of  Sabine  Lake,  some  nine  miles 
wide  by  eighteen  long,  into  which  the 
Neches  and  Sabine  rivers  empty  —  the 
lake  emptying  itself  into  the  celebrated 
Sabine  Pass,  and  thence  through  the  con- 


fined walls  into  the  Gulf  of  Mexico,  which 
is  distant  only  thirty  miles  by  rail  from 
the  city  of  Beaumont. 

By  the  latest  statistics,  the  complete 
standing  timber  of  the  state  of  Texas 
amounts  to  ninety  billion  feet.  In  this 
immediate  neighborhood,  and  within 
some  eighty  miles  north  of  this  city  is  an 
inexhaustible  supply  of  the  famous  yellow 
pine,  the  strongest  and  most  durable  of 
timbers  for  all  purposes,  and  capable  of 
such  finish  that  artistic  manufacturers 
give  it  the  preference  for  their  beautiful 
productions.  The  curly  pine  is  here  also 
abundant,  also  cypress,  so  much  used  all 
over  the  country  for  shingles.  A  bare 
list  of  such  of  the  Beaumont  woods  as  I 
can  remember  will,  I  am  sure,  be  of  in- 
terest to  many  :  Yellow  pine,  cypress, 
white  oak,  red  oak,  live  oak,  ash,  peach, 
poplar,  curly  pine,  holly,  gum,  sweet  gum, 
hickory,  cherry,  orange,  mulberry,  cupo- 
la gum,  magnolia,  elm,  pear,  peach,  apple, 
cherry,  pecan,  willow,  ironwood,  cotton- 
wood,  china,  lemon,  walnut,  cedar,  etc. 
Surely  the  place  may  well  be  called  the 
timber  paradise. 


70 


THE  NEW  SOUTH.— A  RISING  TEXAS  CITY. 


It  is  surprising  to  any  visitor  at  the 
large  lumber  mills  at  this  place,  to  wit- 
ness the  rapidity  with  which  the  huge 
logs  are  hauled  up  dripping  from  the 
river  and  instantly  sawed  into  various 
dimensions  of  timber,  and  then  im- 
mediately loaded  on  to  platform  cars  all 
ready  for  shipment ;  —  but,  after  wit- 
nessing this  sight  a  visitor  is  less  aston- 
ished than  he  otherwise  would  be,  to  see 
the  enormous  lumber  booms  all  along  the 
Neches  River  for  a  distance  of  fifteen 
miles  or  more  above  the  city. 

Beaumont  is  situated  two  hundred  and 
sixty-five  miles  west  of  New  Orleans,  on 
the  same  parallel,  on  the  Southern  Pacific 
line  of  railroad  from  New  Orleans  to  San 
Francisco.  It  is  on  the  west  bank  of  the 
Neches  River,  one  of  the  beautiful  Texan 
streams,  varying  from  three  hundred  to 
five  hundred  feet  in  width,  and  navigable 
three  hundred  miles  to  the  north  through 
the  immense  forests  of  yellow  pine  and 
other  valuable  timbers,  and  running  south, 
as  stated,  to  Sabine  Lake  and  the  historic 
Sabine  Pass. 

Previous  to  the  war  Sabine  City,  now 
familiarly  called  Sabine  Pass,  boasted  of 
a  larger  population  than  Beaumont.  On 
the  8th  of  December,  1863,  an  event  oc- 
curred there  which  has  since  caused  it  to 
be  designated  the  Thermopylae  of  Texas. 
On  the  previous  day  the  military  com- 
mand stationed  there  was  ordered  to  the 
interior  of  the  state,  leaving  at  the  post  a 
small  company  of  artillery  and  a  meagre 
detachment  of  cavalry.  The  artillery 
company,  which  numbered  forty-two  all 
told,  officers  and  men,  was  stationed  at  a 
newly  built  fortification  below  the  town, 
the  remains  of  which  are  still  visible.  In 
the  absence  of  the  other  officers,  the  com- 
pany was  under  the  command  of  Lieu- 
tenant Dick  Dowling.  The  armament 
consisted  of  six  guns  —  two  brass  thirty- 
two-pound    field    howitzers,  two    twentv- 


four-pound,  and  two  smaller  guns. 


This 


was  the  entire  force  and  equipment  — 
six  guns  and  forty-two  Irishmen,  called 
the  Davis  Guard.  On  the  morning  of 
the  8th,  as  the  story  was  told  to  me  in 
Beaumont,  a  fleet  with  upward  of  five 
thousand  troops  aboard,  appeared  off 
Sabine  Pass  bar  to  force  a  way  into  Texas. 
A  number  of  the  light-draft  vessels  crossed 


THE  NEW  SOUTH.  — A  RISING  TEXAS  CITY. 


71 


Water  Works  and   Manufactories  by  the   Neches   River. 


the  bar,  and  two  of  them  —  the  Clifton 
and  the  Sachem  —  undertook  to  pass  the 
fort :  one  through  what  was  called  the 
Texas  channel,  the  other  through  a  chan- 
nel next  the  Louisiana  shore.  Under 
the  command  of  Dick  Dowling,  fire  from 


the  fort  was  reserved  until  the  two  vessels 
came  within  point-blank  range,  abreast 
of  certain  stakes  that  had  been  fixed  for 
target  practice.  When  the  fort  did  open 
fire,  every  shot  told.  One  shot  disabled 
the  tiller  of  the  Clifton,  and  this  was  fol- 


A  Shingle  Mill. 


THE  NEW  SOUTH.  — A  RISING  TEXAS  CITY 


7:> 


lowed  by  an  explosion  on  the  Sachem, 
and  the  two  vessels  lay  at  the  mercy  of 
the  victors,  who  did  not  even  have  a  boat 
to  go  out  and  receive  their  surrender. 
But  a  still  more  remarkable  thing  was  to 
transpire.  After  the  two  ves- 
sels were  disabled,  there  was  a 
conference  held,  and  soon  after 
the  fleet  disappeared  from  the 
waters  of  the  Sabine  Pass, 
leaving  the  Clifton  and  Sachem, 
with  two  hundred  prisoners, 
in    the    hands  of  the    forty-two 


in  Houston."  The  story  excited  my  cu- 
riosity, and  on  my  visit  to  Sabine  Pass, 
there  the  wreck  of  the  Clifton  stood 
prominently  out. 

Beaumont  is  a  city  of  five  thousand  in- 


W.   A.    Fletcher's   Residence. 
H.  W.   Potter's   Residence. 

Irishmen.  "This,"  said  my  informant, 
"  may  or  may  not  be  recorded  in  history, 
but  it  is  an  undisputed  fact,  and  Sabine 
Pass  has  since  been  called  the  Ther- 
mopylae of  Texas.  Dick  Dowling  died 
in  Galveston  a  few  years  ago,  and  some 
of  the   command    are  at    present    living 


habitants,  and  I  found  improvements  and 
extensions  were  going  on  all  around.  At 
each  street  corner  one  encounters  bar- 
ricades, and  piles  of  building  material  are 
everywhere  visible.  With  all  this  develop- 
ment the  public  improvements  keep  pace, 
and  yet  the  city  has  no  debt.  * 

The  varieties  and   abundance   of  tim- 
ber surrounding  Beaumont  make  it  a  no- 


7-4 


THE  NEW  SOUTH.  — A  RISING  TEXAS  CITY. 


table  point  for  many  manufacturers.  The 
lands  about  produce  cotton  of  a  superior 
quality,  from  one  and  one-half  to  two  bales 
to  the  acre  ;  rice  lands  abound  between 
Beaumont  and  Sabine  Pass ;  corn  will 
grow  anywhere  in  the  country ;  and 
oranges  are  most  successfully  raised.  I 
was  informed  by  one  farmer  that  he  had 
fifty  trees  in  a  quarter  of  an  acre  and 
cleared  five  hundred  dollars  from  them 
the  year  before.  One  old  tree,  thirty- 
two  years  old,  produced  two  thousand 
oranges.  Lemon  trees  are  as  productive 
as  orange  trees.  Figs  are  native  to  the 
soil ;  grapes  of  the  finest  kind  are  grown, 
and  sugar-cane  also  seems  to  be  at  home 
in  this  favored  country ;  strawberries  are 
raised ;  and  the  Beaumont  pears  are  not 
unknown  in  the  city  of  Boston.  The  Le 
Conte  and  Keiffer  pears  are  at  home  in 
this  soil,  bear  early  and  abundantly,  and 
so  regularly  (there  being  no  off  years) 
and  bringing  such  good  prices  that  they 
will  always  head  the  list  of  fruits  for  profit 
here.  The  fifth  year  from  planting,  the 
tree  will  be  full  of  fruit,  and  the  sixth  year 
a  full  crop  from  every  tree  will  be  pro- 
duced. I  passed  a  tree  on  which  were 
three  hundred  large  pears,  in  an  ordinary 
front  yard,  a  tree  which  received  no  cul- 
tivation or  attention.  It  is  an  ordinary 
thing  to  raise  ten  bushels  of  pears  on  a 
tree.  Elsewhere,  the  trees  are  nipped  by 
early  frost,  but  the  Le  Conte  and  Keiffer 
varieties  seem  proof  against  frost,  as  also 
against  bugs  and  blight,  in  this  climate. 
Cabbages,  cauliflowers,  tomatoes,  Irish 
potatoes,  sweet  potatoes,  beans,  cucum- 
bers and  squashes,  onions,  lettuce  and 
all  other  kinds  of  vegetables  are  native  to 
the  soil.  Nothing  is  required  in  this  fa- 
vored section  to  raise  enormous  quanti- 
ties of  vegetables  and  cereals  but  to  plant 
them ;  energetic  practical  husbandry  will 
make  such  returns  as  to  astonish  the  hus- 
bandman. I  have  dwelt  on  the  Beau- 
mont fruits,  but  I  cannot  pass  without 
saying  something  in  particular  about  the 
watermelons.  This  is  the  home  of  the 
watermelon.  No  place  can  approach 
"Jefferson  County"  in  the  production  of 
the  watermelon,  in  quality  and  quantity. 
It  begins  to  come  in  the  middle  of  May 
or  first  of  June,  and  yields  a  profit  of 
from    one   hundred   dollars  to  two  hun- 


dred dollars  to  the  acre.  The  melons 
range  in  weight  from  ten  pounds  up  to 
seventy !  It  is  an  inspiring  sight  to 
see  an  enthusiastic  Negro  eating  into  the 
concave  of  one  of  these  mammoth  seventy 
pounders.  Were  there  railroad  transpor- 
tation to  northern,  western  and  eastern 
points  by  refrigerator  cars,  watermelons 
could  be  raised  here  by  the  millions. 
The  same  may  be  said  of  muskmelons  and 
other  similar  classes  of  fruit.  But  there 
is  no  way  at  present  of  disposing  of  even 
the  crop  produced. 

One  of  the  most  successful  fruit  grow- 
ers in  the  United  States,  Mr.  H.  M. 
Stringfellow,  of  Galveston  County,  Texas, 
speaks  as  follows  of  fruit-growing  in  and 
around  Beaumont,  where  he  has  recently 
purchased  and  planted  one  thousand 
acres  in  fruit  trees  : 

"  Strawberries  will  be  a  grand  success  and  ex- 
ceedingly profitable  around  Beaumont.  There  is 
but  one  variety,  however,  that  can  be  depended 
on  for  the  best  results  —  that  is  the  Florida  Xu- 
nan.  Our  growers  have  made  much  money  out  of 
it  this  season,  as  they  do  every  year.  They  ship 
all  over  the  state,  and  get  five  dollars  net  per 
crate  of  twenty-four  quarts.  You  have  greatly 
the  advantage  of  us  in  abundant  labor  for  picking. 
Beaumont  ought  to  be  the  best  strawberry  grow- 
ing point  in  Texas.  Many  of  our  growers  have 
already  sold  four  hundred  to  five  hundred  dollars 
per  acre,  with  the  demand  not  half  supplied,  and 
crop  not  more  than  half  gone.  Around  Beau- 
mont and  throughout  Jefferson  County,  straight 
to  the  Gulf,  is  the  best  section  in  Texas  for  raising 
fruits  and  anything  in  vegetables.  From  Beau- 
mont to  the  sea,  should  be  the  garden  of  the 
South." 

But  let  us  look  for  a  moment  at  the 
city  of  Beaumont  itself,  which  has  now 
fully  waked  up  after  a  sleep  of  more  than 
double  the  length  of  that  of  Rip  Van 
Winkle.  There  are  three  saw-mills  in 
active  work,  producing  142,000,000  feet 
of  yellow  pine  during  the  year.  There  is 
one  shingle  mill,  producing  55,000,000 
cypress  shingles  every  year.  22,689  cars 
of  yellow  pine  lumber  and  cypress  shin- 
gles were  billed  from  Beaumont  during 
the  last  year,  not  counting  the  export  by 
water. 

The  annual  business  of  the  town  at 
present  aggregates  about  $5,000,000, 
the  assessed  valuation  of  real  and  per- 
sonal property  for  the  present  year  being 
$2,000,000.     The    old    city   plat    is    200 


THE  NEW  SOUTH.  — A  RISING  TEXAS  CITY. 


75 


acres ;  the  county  has  660,000  acres  of 
fertile  land.  There  were  in  the  county 
at  the  last  census  some  57,000  head  of 
cattle,  valued  at  more  than  $1,000,000. 
The  city  of  Beaumont  was  incorporated 
in  1880.  The  Southern  Pacific  Railroad 
runs  through  the  town  as  already  noticed. 
It  is  the  terminus  of  the  Sabine  &  East 
Texas  Railway,  which  runs  north  seventy- 
six  miles  to  Rockland.  It  has  a  com- 
plete system  of  water  works,  and  is  sup- 
plied with  electric  lights  and  national 
banks,  and  an  efficient  fire  department, 
street  cars,  opera  house,  and  roller  and 
grist  mills ;  it  has  a  mattress  factory,  a 
furniture  factory,  and  two  brick  manufac- 
tories, four  hotels,  and  dry  goods,  grocery, 
and  general  merchandise  stores  which 
would  grace  a  much  larger  city. 

The  foundations  are  in,  and  work  pro- 
gressing for  the  erection  of  a  large  car 
manufactory.  The  capital  stock  of  the 
Beaumont  Car  Works  Company  is 
$500,000.  The  buildings  will  occupy  a 
space  of  fifty  acres,  and  will  be  the 
largest  manufactory  in  the  south.  Its 
capacity  at  first  will  be  for  turning  out 
twenty-five  cars  daily,  and  afterwards  to 
be  increased  to  forty  cars  daily.  Here  it 
is  intended  to  manufacture,  besides  the 
regular  rolling  stock  of  railroads,  the  new 
refrigerator  cars  dispensing  with  ice. 
These  cars  are  made  so  that  any  grade 
of  temperature  can  be  maintained  for  any 
length  of  time. 

These  new  refrigerator  cars  will  be 
used  to  transport  fruit,  meat,  fish,  and 
vegetables  so  abundantly  raised  in  the 
South,  which  it  is  now  impossible  to 
transport  to  foreign  markets  in  a  proper 
state,  or  at  any  profit  to  the  exporter. 

The  present  wonderful  development 
of  the  vast  commercial  interests  of  the 
city  of  Beaumont  is  mainly  due  to  the 
business  enterprise  and  strict  integrity  of 
such  men  as  Wm.  A.  Fletcher,  (whose 
name  is  familiar  throughout  the  State 
of  Texas)  the  Wiess  brothers,  John  N. 
Gilbert,  F.  L.,  and  G.  W.  Carroll,  H.  W. 
Potter,  W.  C.  Averill,  J.  L.  Keith,  S.  F. 
Carter,  L.  P.  Ogden,  and  their  associates, 
all  of  whom  have  made  their  magnificent 
financial  success  in  this  wide  awake  and 
thriving  city  of  the  New  South. 

Through    the    courtesy    of    several    of 


these  gentlemen  I  enjoyed  a  charming 
trip  down  the  beautiful  Neches  River, 
through  the  broad  Sabine  Lake  and  the 
famous  Sabine  Pass,  to  the  Gulf  of  Mexico, 
passing  in  close  proximity  to  the  exten- 
sive jetties,  which  when  completed,  in 
connection  with  the  dredging  of  Sabine 
Lake,  will  make  Beaumont  undoubtedly 
one  of  the  finest  inland  harbors  on  the 
continent.  That  so  magnificent  a  water- 
course has  been  left  practically  unde- 
veloped until  the  present  time,  must  be 
certainly  astonishing  to  any  Northern 
visitor  who  can  realize  its  great  commer- 
cial importance,  not  only  to  the  vast  lum- 
ber interest  of  Beamont,  but  to  all  the 
rapidly  growing  towns  in  its  vicinity. 

Although  the  transportation  facilities 
by  rail  are  extensive  and  increasing,  still 
the  shipment  direct  by  vessels  and 
steamers  to  the  North,  and  to  foreign 
countries  via  Neches  River  and  Sabine 
Pass  must  necessarily  add  greatly  to  the 
commercial  importance  of  Beaumont  as 
a  distributing  centre. 

The  large  car  works  recently  estab- 
lished at  this  place  will  also  add  greatly 
to  its  present  prosperity.  All  kinds  of 
steam  and  street  cars  are  to  be  manu- 
factured, the  location  being  especially 
adapted  for  this  business,  as  the  cars  can 
be  manufactured  here  much  cheaper  than 
elsewhere  in  the  country,  and  being  in  the 
heart  of  the  southern-pine  lumber  section 
all  freight  cars  made  by  this  company 
can  be  shipped  loaded  with  lumber,  or 
other  freight,  direct  to  their  destination, 
thus  saving  an  important  amount  finan- 
cially in  the  transportation  expense  of 
all  new  freight  cars  or  those  sent  to  be 
repaired. 

The  religious  denominations  are  well 
represented  in  Beaumont. 

What  struck  me  particularly,  during  my 
visit  to  Beaumont,  was  the  contrast  be- 
tween that  neat  and  unpretentious  city, 
with  no  extravagant  public  or  private 
buildings  (although  practically  free  from 
debt,  and  with  its  solid  business  pros- 
perity), compared  with  some  of  the 
imposing  and  extravagantly  inflated  west- 
ern cities,  which  have  spread  out  far 
beyond  their  business  capacity  for  years 
to  come,  the  development  having  been 
in  anticipation   of  business    to  be  estab- 


76 


THE  NEW  SOUTH.  — A  RISING  TEXAS  CITY. 


lished  j  while  at  the  South,  at  Beau- 
mont particularly,  the  other  extreme  is 
noticeable,  the  business  interest  there 
having  been  successfully  developed  and 
firmly  established,  this  city  now  being  in 
the  best  possible  condition  for  a  safe  and 
steady  growth,  "slow  and  sure"  having 
apparently  been  the  wise  business  motto 
of  its  enterprising  merchants. 

The  public  schools  are  most  efficient, 
the  white  public  school  enrolling  three 
hundred  and  fifty  pupils  ;  and  the  colored, 
four  hundred  and  twenty.  The  schools 
are  open  nine  months  in  the  year. 
The  climate  of  Beaumont  is  mild 
and  pleasant,  the  winters  not 
being  cold,  nor  the  summers  ex- 
cessively warm.  The  distribution 
of  the  rainfall  is  such  that  the 
place  seldom  suffers  from  drought. 
Being  so  near  the  Gulf,  Beaumont 
is  favored  by  a  constant  sea 
breeze,  which  not  only  makes  the 


which,  the  state  geologist  affirms,  proves 
that  there  is  natural  gas  in  close  prox- 
imity. 

In  speaking  of  Sabine  Pass  here  in 
Beaumont,  it  is  always  identified  as  part 
and  parcel  of  the  city ;  its  interests  are 
thought  of  as  the  same  as  that  of  the 
town  itself.  After  the  present  govern- 
ment appropriation  is  expended,  Sabine 
Pass  will  be  the  deep  water  port  of  Texas, 
and  through  its  waters  will  flow  the  great 
current  of  trade,  not  only  of  Texas,  but 
of  the  northwest.     The  harbor  is  a  na- 


Glimpses  of  the   Business  Streets  of  Beaumont. 

air    agreeable,    but    helps    to    keep    the 
place  healthy. 

Three  miles  south  of  Beaumont  there 
is  one  of  those  phenomena  so  common  in 
this  district  of  southeast  Texas  —  the 
sulphur  wells,  or,  as  they  are  called  here, 
the  sour  wells  or  mineral  springs,  which 
the  medical  faculty  indorse  for  many  ills 
of  the  flesh  ;  the  escape  from  these  wells 
burns    freely  when    touched   by  a   light, 


tural  haven  one  mile  in 
breadth  and  six  miles  in 
length,  where  vessels  can  ride 
at  anchor  in  safety  during 
any  storm.  An  extraordinary 
phenomenon  is  what  is  known 
as  the  "oil  pond,"  about 
twenty  miles  west  of  Sabine 
Pass,  and  extending  about 
eight  miles  from  shore,  where 
during  the  most  severe  gale 
the  waters  are  as  placid  as  in  an  artificial 
lake  in  some  private  domain. 

Taking  into  account  the  sulphur  wells 
and  the  "  oil  pond,"  geologists  believe 
that  there  is  not  only  natural  gas,  and 
mineral  oil,  but  also  iron  in  large  quanti- 
ties running  through  Jefferson  County 
to  the  Gulf  of  Mexico,  needing  only 
energy  and  industry  for  their  develop- 
ment. 


BOB    WHITE. 

By  Kate    Whiting. 

A   HAZE  lies  over  meadow  and  hill, 
The  drowsy  calm  of  an  August  day ; 
The  cattle  lounge  'neath  the  shady  trees, 
The  wheat  is  swayed  by  the  sleepy  breeze, 

The  bees  hum  by  in  an  idle  way, 
And  a  voice  from  the  wheat  pipes  plaintive  still, 
From  morn  to  night, 
"Bob  White  !     Bob  White  !" 

Poor  bird  !     Does  he  answer  not  to  your  call? 

I  have  heard  you  whistle  the  long  day  through, 
Hidden  away  in  the  golden  wheat. 
Do  you  think  at  last  your  love  to  meet 

As  you  call  for  him  there  in  the  falling  dew? 
Who  knows?     Pipe  on  by  the  old  stone  wall. 
May  he  come  ere  night. 
"Bob  White!     Bob  White!" 


THE    GOULD    ISLAND    MYSTERY. 

By  David  Buffum. 


CHAPTER  I. 

•HAT  part  of  the  island 
of  Rhode  Island  called 
Ferry  Neck,  the  spot 
where  the  first  settlers 
built  their  houses  and 
incorporated  their 
"  body  politic,"  is  a  level  peninsula  near  the 
north  end  of  the  island,  comprising  some 
three  hundred  acres  and  extending  nearly 
to  the  mainland.  Though  comparatively 
destitute  of  trees,  the  location  is  beauti- 
ful. To  the  north  is  Mount  Hope 
and  the  Cove ;  to  the  south,  you  look 
down  Narragansett  Bay,  past  picturesque 
little  Gould  Island  with  its  cliffs  and  thick 
pine  woods,  between  the  green  and  fer- 
tile shores  of  Rhode  Island  on  the  one 
hand  and  the  wooded  hills  of  Tiverton  on 
the  other,  straight  out  to  sea. 


Time  has  pretty  effectually  obliterated 
all  traces  of  the  houses  of  the  settlers. 
Close  to  the  south  shore,  however,  can 
still  be  seen  the  remains  of  the  foundation 
of  a  house  built  of  small  yellow  brick, 
which  would  seem  to  indicate  that  the 
house  which  stood  there  was  either  of 
later  date  or  better  construction  than 
the  others.  It  was,  in  fact,  both.  It  was 
standing  and  occupied  long  after  the 
others  had  passed  away ;  and  connected 
with  it  is  a  story,  the  outlines  of  which 
can  be  found  in  the  old  records  of  the 
Society  of  Friends  in  Rhode  Island,  and 
which  is  an  illustration  of  the  strange 
springs  which  govern  our  human  nature. 

This  house  was  built  and  for  many 
years  occupied  by  Isaiah  Scott,  a  wealthy 
man  for  his  times,  who  to  the  dignity  of 
an  elder  in  the  Friends'  meeting  added 
the  "claims  of  long  descent."     I  should 


78 


THE    GOULD  ISLAND  MYSTERY. 


like  to  describe  the  house  as  gambrel- 
roofed  and .  large,  with  dormer  windows 
and  a  handsome  railing  around  the  top, 
—  and  such  a  house  would  be  suggested 
by  the  stately  owner,  who  always  rode  a 
blooded  horse  and  wore  the  finest  of 
broadcloth.  But  I  am  sorry  to  say  it  was 
nothing  of  the  kind.  Though  of  a  better 
build  and  larger  size  than  its  neighbors,  it 
was  still  by  no  means  large ;  it  had  a 
barn  roof,  and  was  of  quite  commonplace 
appearance.  Those  who  were  privileged 
to  enter  the  house,  however,  noticed  that 
the  plain  furniture  was  solid  and  expen- 
sive ;  that  Friend  Scott's  wife  and  daugh- 
ter wore  the  finest  and  daintiest  of  Quaker 
costumes  ;  that  the  well-supplied  table  was 
waited  on  by  a  smart  negro  boy ;  in  fact, 
that  the  owner,  though  he  prided  himself 
on  his  plainness  and  sobriety,  had  all  of 
the  comforts  and  most  of  the  luxuries  at- 
tainable at  that  time  and  place. 

The  time  at  which  our  story  begins 
antedates  the  Revolution  some  ten  or 
twelve  years.  It  is  an  afternoon  in  Octo- 
ber, and  Dorothy,  Isaiah  Scott's  only 
daughter,  stands  on  the  front  doorstep  of 
the  house  and  looks  earnestly  toward  the 
Tiverton  shore.  As  she  stands  thus,  let 
us  take  her  portrait.  Her  figure  is  slight, 
but  graceful ;  her  features  are  small,  but 
regular  and  pretty ;  the  dark  eyes  are 
perhaps  a  trifle  too  near  together ;  there 
is  a  straight  nose,  a  short  upper  lip,  a 
beautifully  moulded  chin.  Her  light 
brown  hair  is  partially  covered  by  a 
dainty  lace  cap.  Her  dress,  of  course,  is 
drab,  and  she  wears  no  jewelry  except 
the  plain  gold  pin  which  holds  in  place 
her  white  muslin  neck-kerchief. 

As  she  gazes,  a  row  boat  puts  out  from 
the  Tiverton  shore  and,  driven  by  strong 
and  swift  strokes,  rapidly  approaches  the 
island.  Dorothy  goes  in  and  gets  her 
"work,"  and  seats  herself  on  the  door- 
step to  wait  its  arrival.  It  is  less  than  a 
miie  to  Tiverton,  and  the  boat  keel  is 
soon  grating  on  the  shore  in  front  of  the 
house.  A  handsome,  well-built  young 
fellow,  fashionably  dressed,  jumps  out, 
secures  the  boat,  and  runs  up  the  bank 
to  the  house,  where  Dorothy  cordially 
greets  him.  There  is  no  mistaking  his 
errand  :  we  see  at  once  that  he  comes  a' 
wooing,  and  also  that  Dorothy    is  thor- 


oughly mistress  of  the  situation.  Can  it 
be  that  she  is  a  flirt  —  this  sweet,  demure 
Quaker  maiden? 

Presently  the  door  opens,  and  Isaiah 
Scott  steps  out.  With  stately  courtesy  he 
shakes  hands  with  the  young  man,  and 
says,  "  How  does  thee  do,  John  Brow- 
nell?  "  He  does  not  add  "  I  am  glad  to 
see  thee,"  for  he  is  not.  John  Brownell 
is  well  aware  of  this  ;  but  although  in  gen- 
eral an  exceedingly  well-bred  fellow,  he 
is  now  in  that  state  of  mind  in  which  he 
does  not  hesitate  to  go  where  he  is  not 
wanted  :  —  he  is  in  love. 

As  the  three  talk,  a  dapper  little  fellow, 
clad  in  complete  Quaker  costume  and 
walking  briskly,  comes  round  the  corner 
of  the  house  and  joins  them.  He  is 
kindly  greeted  by  Isaiah,  who  does  say  in 
this  case,  "  I  am  glad  to  see  thee,  Joseph 
Smith ;  "  and  Dorothy,  giving  him  her 
hand  and  a  smile  that  amply  rewards  him 
for  his  six-mile  walk,  moves  along  the 
step  and  makes  room  for  him  at  her  side, 
—  a  favor  she  did  not  accord  to  John 
Brownell.  He  looks  happy,  but  John 
Brownell  is  not  jealous ;  he  does  not  fear 
this  rival. 

Suddenly  on  the  still  October  air  comes 
the  sharp  ringing  of  a  horse's  hoofs  on  the 
hard  bridle  path  that  skirts  the  beech, 
and  they  see  a  horseman  mounted  on  a 
powerful  chestnut  horse  approaching  the 
house  at  an  easy  canter.  Like  John 
Brownell,  he  is  dressed  in  the  best 
fashion  of  the  period,  and  rides  as  only 
they  ride  who  have  been  accustomed  to 
the  saddle  from  childhood. 

"  There  comes  Peter  Burton,"  said 
Dorothy  quietly ;  and  the  expression  on 
Isaiah  Scott's  face,  as  he  notices  the  faint 
flush  on  her  cheek,  is  not  a  pleasant  one. 
Can  this  be  another  wooer?  Unques- 
tionably it  is  —  and  one  regarded  by 
Isaiah  as  the  most  dangerous  of  all.  True, 
though  a  good-looking  enough  fellow,  he 
had  neither  the  good  looks,  the  ease  of 
manner,  nor  the  polish  of  John  Brownell, 
nor  the  spotless  reputation  of  Joseph 
Smith ;  and,  though  his  estate  was  suffi- 
cient for  the  wants  of  those  times,  he  was 
poorer  than  either,  which  in  itself  was 
enough  to  condemn  him  in  Isaiah's  eyes. 
Isaiah  knew  that  maidens  do  not  always 
choose  with    reference    to  these  points  : 


THE    GOULD  ISLAND  MYSTERY. 


79 


and  though  Dorothy  was  really  no  more 
in  love  with  him  than  with  her  other  ad- 
mirers, she  was  certainly  much  more  inter- 
ested in  him,  which  was  a  bad  sign. 

Like  John  Brownell,  Peter  would  take 
no  hints  from  Isaiah  ;  any  coldness  or  lack 
of  welcome  was  lost  on  him.  Isaiah  had 
often  wished  he  might  tell  him  plainly  to 
discontinue  his  visits.  A  true  gentleman, 
however,  he  felt  that  he  could  not  do  this 
as  long  as  he  knew  nothing  definite 
against  his  character  or  social  standing ; 
but  recently  he  had  heard  things  which 
he  thought  warranted  him  in  taking  this 
step,  and  it  gave  him  a  feeling  of  relief 
to  think  that  he  would  soon  be  rid  of  one 
annoyance,  and  that  this  would  probably 
be  Peter  Burton's  last  visit. 

There  was  a  row  of  hitching-posts  and 
a  horse-block  in  front  of  the  house  ;  but 
Peter,  who  was  careful  of  his  horse,  rode 
straight  to  the  stable  and  gave  the  animal 
into  the  charge  of  black  Pascal.  Peter, 
who  always  tipped  him  handsomely,  and 
often  lingered  in  the  stable  for  a  little 
talk  about  the  horses,  was  great  friends 
with  Pascal ;  and  on  this  occasion  the  lat- 
ter remarked,  with  a  tone  of  genuine  re- 
gret in  his  voice  : 

"  I've  got  bad  news  for  yer,  Mars' 
Burton  :  I'm  afeard  this  is  yer  las'  visit 
to  this  place.  Mars  Brownell,  he  play 
a  mean  trick  on  yer." 

Peter  grew  pale.  "What  is  it?"  he 
asked. 

"  Well,  las'  evenin'  I  overheard  Mars' 
Brownell  telling  massa  'bout  yer  bettin' 
an'  racin'  hosses  long  with  Tom  Briggs 
las'  Sunday  —  " 

"The  devil  he  did!  " 

"  Yes,  Mars'  Burton ;  an'  he  said  how 
ye'd  overdrew  yer  'count,  an'  it  took  yer 
three  weeks  ter  make  it  right." 

"The  infernal  li  — ,"  began  Peter, 
and  then  checked  himself,  knowing  that 
the  story  was  true,  and  knowing  also  that 
in  the  eyes  of  Isaiah  Scott  his  faults  would 
not  be  condoned. 

"  It's  just  my  luck,  Pascal,"  he  said, 
"  and  probably  this  is  my  last  visit.  You 
needn't  put  up  my  horse  —  I'll  be  back," 
and  he  walked  toward  the  house. 

His  face  was  very  pale  as  he  joined 
the  little  group  at  the  door.  No  one 
said  much  by    way    of  greeting,    but  all 


shook  hands  with  him,  except  John 
Brownell,  who  offered  his  hand,  but  was 
refused. 

"  No,  I  will  not  shake  hands  with  you," 
said  Peter  hotly.  "  You  have  proved 
yourself  to  be  no  gentleman.  Without 
any  cause  or  any  provocation,  you  have 
been  maligning  me  and  blackening  my 
character  to  Mr.  Scott." 

John  started  at  this  sudden  explosion, 
but  Isaiah  replied  with  a  quiet  rebuke  in 
his  manner : 

"  It  would  have  been  in  better  taste, 
Peter,  to  introduce  this  subject  at  some 
other  time.  As  thee  has  introduced  it 
however,  let  me  say  that  thy  charges 
are  wrong.  John  did  not  volunteer  his 
information,  but  I  asked  him  some 
questions  about  thee  —  and  questions 
which,  as  thee  has  been  a  frequent  guest 
at  my  house,  I  had  the  right  to  ask ;  and 
he  simply  told  me  what  he  knew." 

"Very  kind  in  him!"  retorted  Peter 
with  a  sneer.  "  Black  sheep  as  you 
choose  to  think  me,  I  would  not  have 
stooped  to  such  dirty  work." 

Isaiah  laid  his  hand  on  the  young  man's 
shoulder.  "  Peter,"  said  he,  "  I  am  sorry 
to  hear  thee  use  such  language.  Under- 
stand that  I  do  not  consider  thee  a  black 
sheep.  I  know  thee  has  many  excellent 
traits.  But  in  betting  and  racing  horses, 
in  disregard  of  the  Sabbath,  and  in  thy 
carelessness  in  money  matters,  thee  has 
shown  a  recklessness  and  lack  of  princi- 
ple which  augur  poorly  for  thy  future. 
And  therefore,  while  I  would  have  preferred 
to  speak  to  thee  privately,  let  me  say  for 
myself  and  my  wife  that  thy  visits  here 
do  not  give  us  pleasure,  and  we  ask  thee 
to  discontinue  them." 

Anger,  mortification,  and  sorrow  strug- 
gled in  the  young  man's  mind.  His  eyes 
filled  with  tears  as  he  looked  at  Dorothy. 
So  here  was  an  end  of  it  all.  "  Farewell, 
Dorothy,"  he  said.  "  I  have  loved  thee 
very  dearly." 

Dorothy  rose  and,  giving  him  her  hand, 
said  sweetly,  "  Farewell,  Peter ;  I  cannot 
tell  thee  how  sorry  I  am  for  all  that 
has  happened.  I  shall  miss  thee  much." 
But  she  was  very  calm.  For  an  instant, 
but  only  an  instant,  the  thought  flashed 
through  his  mind,  "  Does  she,  after  all, 
really  care  anything  for  me?  " 


80 


THE    GOULD  ISLAND  MYSTERY. 


He  bade. farewell  to  Isaiah  curtly  ;  then, 
stepping  close  to  Brownell,  he  said  in  a 
low  voice,  with  flashing  eyes  and  through 
his  set  teeth  :  "  For  the  part  that  you 
have  had  in  this  business  I  shall  call  you 
to  account." 

"As  you  like,"  answered  Brownell  in 
the  same  tone. 

All  overheard  them,  and  as  Peter  dis- 
appeared around  the  house  Isaiah  said  : 
"  I  trust,  John,  thee  is  too  much  of  a  man 
to  pay  any  attention  to  his  threat.  It 
often  shows  more  courage  and  a  higher 
sense  of  honor  to  refuse  a  challenge  than 
to  accept  one."  To  which  John,  anxious 
to  keep  Isaiah's  good  opinion,  answered, 
"  Of  course." 

He  was  less  anxious  on  that  score  how- 
ever, when  he  pushed  off  his  boat  that 
evening ;  for  when  he  rose  to  depart 
Isaiah  accompanied  him  to  the  water's 
edge  and  said  :  "  This  has  been  a  hard 
afternoon  for  me,  John.  It  was  a  painful 
thing  to  have  to  speak  to  Peter  as  I  did  ; 
but  I  may  now  speak  out  all  that  is  on 
my  mind,  and  I  have  a  few  words  for 
thee.  It  is  but  right  for  thee  to  know 
that,  while  I  believe  thy  character  to  be 
excellent,  there  is  no  better  chance  for 
thee  than  for  Peter,  so  far  as  Dorothy  is 
concerned.  Even  if  she  returned  thy 
feelings  —  which  she  does  not  —  it  is 
out  of  the  question  for  her  to  wed  a  man 
of  thy  estate  ;  and  it  is  better  for  thee  to 
understand  this  thing  in  the  beginning, 
and  delude  thyself  with   no  false  hopes." 

John  Brownell  had  despised  himself 
when  he  gave  the  information  against 
Peter.  Now  that  he  saw  that  no  advan- 
tage to  himself  could  result  from  it,  he 
despised  himself  more. 


CHAPTER  II. 

Dorothy  was  up  betimes  the  next 
morning,  looking  as  fresh  and  sweet  as  if 
nothing  had  made  a  ripple  on  the  placid 
waters  of  her  life.  Evidently,  the  unpleas- 
ant events  of  the  previous  day  had  not 
disturbed  her  night's  rest.  Why  should 
they?  True,  she  had  lost  a  lover,  and 
one  who  had  interested  her  more  than 
any  of  her  other  admirers,  and  she  felt 
rather  sorry ;  but  doubtless  it  was  all  for 


the  best  —  and  she  had  never  lacked  for 
lovers.  Still,  she  did  not  eat  her  break- 
fast with  quite  her  usual  appetite,  and 
she  spent  much  of  the  forenoon  in  gazing 
from  her  chamber  window  over  the  shin- 
ing waters  of  the  bay.  She  knew  no 
meeting  could  take  place  between  the 
two  young  men  without  one  or  the  other 
crossing  the  bay  ;  and  knowing  them  both 
much  better  than  her  father  did,  she  had 
no  doubt  that  Peter  would  carry  out  his 
threat,  and  she  put  little  faith  in  John's 
meek  "  Of  course"  to  her  father's 
advice.  The  forenoon  wore  away  how- 
ever without  any  boat  putting  out  from 
either  shore.  After  the  noon  meal  she 
resumed  her  vigil,  feeling  more  hopeful, 
as  the  afternoon  passed,  that  the  quar- 
rel might  blow  over.  As  the  sun  began 
to  sink  behind  the  western  hills  she  was 
turning  away  from  her  window  with  a  sigh 
of  relief,  when  she  saw  a  boat  put  out  from 
Tiverton,  which  she  instantly  recognized 
as  John  Brownell's,  and  almost  simulta- 
neously from  the  Rhode  Island  shore  an- 
other, which  she  knew  was  Peter  Bur- 
ton's. No  other  vessel  was  in  sight,  ex- 
cept a  small  boat  far  to  the  south,  appar- 
ently containing  two  men  and  just 
disappearing  behind  Gould  Island. 

Dorothy's  heart  gave  a  bound  of  fear 
and  excitement  as  she  saw  the  two  boats 
move  swiftly  toward  Gould  Island,  a  place 
where  more  than  one  dispute  had  been 
settled  by  sword  or  pistol.  But  this  feel- 
ing was  quickly  replaced  by  astonishment 
when,  as  they  drew  nearer,  she  saw  only 
one  man  in  each  boat.  What  did  it 
mean?  If  a  duel  was  to  be  fought,  where 
were  the  seconds?  With  breathless  in- 
terest she  watched  John  Brownell,  who 
reached  Gould  Island  first,  draw  his  boat 
up  on  the  beach,  climb  the  rugged  cliff 
above  it,  and  disappear  in  the  woods. 
Peter  reached  it  a  few  minutes  later  and, 
drawing  up  his  boat  alongside  John's, 
took  the  same  path  up  the  cliff  and  into 
the  woods. 

Several  minutes  passed,  and  it  was  rap- 
idly growing  darker,  but  Dorothy  kept 
her  straining  gaze  riveted  on  the  island. 
Presently  from  the  spot  where  the  two 
men  entered  the  woods,  she  saw  one  of 
them  come  out.  He  descended  the  cliff 
hurriedly,  pushed  off  his  boat,  and  in  the 


THE    GOULD  ISLAND  MYSTERY. 


81 


fast-gathering  gloom  she  could  just  dis- 
cover that  he  headed  for  the  Rhode  Is- 
land side ;  then  the  darkness  shut  out 
the  view,  and  heartsick  she  went  down  to 
the  dining-room,  where  her  parents  were 
already  seated  at  the  tea  table.  She  con- 
trolled herself  however,  and  if  they  no- 
ticed her  slight  paleness  and  abstraction 
they  attributed  it  to  the  events  of  the 
previous  day.  She  said  nothing  of  what 
she  had  just  seen ;  it  would  be  of  no  use 
now,  she  reasoned,  and  they  would  blame 
her  for  not  telling  them  of  her  apprehen- 
sions in  the  morning. 

That  night,  for  perhaps  the  first  time 
in  Dorothy's  life,  her  sleep  was  broken, 
and  the  first  glimmer  of  dawn  found  her 
again  gazing  toward  Gould  Island.  John 
Brownell's  boat  still  lay  where  she  saw 
him  draw  it  up  ! 

Dressing  quickly,  she  ran  downstairs, 
feeling  that  she  must  get  some  news  as  to 
what  had  passed  on  the  island.  She  got 
it  sooner  than  she  expected.  In  the 
dining-room  was  her  father,  booted  and 
spurred  and  with  a  grave  look  on  his  face. 
"  I  have  just  been  to  the  Ferry,  Dorothy," 
said  he,  "  and  I  have  sad  news.  John 
Brownell  was  found  this  morning  on 
Gould  Island,  dead,  with  a  bullet  through 
his  heart,  and  Peter  Burton  is  nowhere  to 
be  found." 


CHAPTER  III. 

Fifteen  years  have  passed  away,  and 
Rhode  Island,  lovely  as  ever,  is  again 
basking  in  the  October  sun.  Isaiah 
Scott's  house  and  farm  at  Ferry  Neck  are 
unchanged,  and  as  on  that  day  when 
Peter  Burton  received  his  dismissal  and 
departed  in  bitterness  of  soul,  the  fleecy 
clouds  are  floating  above,  the  skies  and 
waters  have  the  same  prismatic  hues,  and 
the  meadows,  verdant  with  grass  or  yellow 
with  golden  corn,  are  sloping  in  peaceful 
beauty  to  the  shore.  Changes  have  taken 
place  nevertheless.  Isaiah  and  his  wife  have 
long  since  been  gathered  to  their  fathers, 
and  Dorothy  and  her  husband  reign  in 
their  stead.  Did  she  marry  Joseph  Smith  ? 
Joseph  Smith,  indeed !  She  married 
Elkanah  Perkins,  the  wealthiest  merchant 
in  Newport,  and  now  spends  only  a  part 


of  her  time  at  Ferry  Neck ;  and  if  you 
will  examine  the  records  of  the  Friends, 
you  will  find  that  poor  Joseph,  "  faithful 
unto  death,"  lived  and  died  a  bachelor. 
Other  changes  have  taken  place  on  Rhode 
Island.  There  is  very  little  live-stock  to 
be  seen ;  many  of  the  farms  look  dilapi- 
dated and  poor ;  and  across  the  north 
end  of  the  island  runs  a  line  of  fortifica- 
tions, garrisoned  by  British  soldiers.  We 
understand  the  poverty  now :  King 
George  is  master  here,  and  at  whatever 
cost,  Rhode  Island  must  contribute  to  the 
support  of  his  army. 

On  the  opposite  hills  of  Tiverton  are 
the  American  forces,  having  in  their  ranks 
many  of  the  unfortunate  Rhode  Islanders 
whose  homes  are  going  to  ruin  before 
their  eyes.  Miserable  as  many  of  the 
farms  look,  there  is,  near  the  centre  of 
the  island,  one  rather  worse  for  wear  than 
any  of  the  others.  For  fifteen  years  it 
has  been  unoccupied ;  its  dooryard  is 
overrun  with  blackberry  vines ;  its  stone 
walls  are  broken  and  falling  down,  and 
the  neighbors'  cattle  graze  in  its  fields 
without  let  or  hindrance.  Several  times 
has  application  been  made  to  the  Probate 
Court  to  have  it  divided  amongst  the 
heirs,  but  the  objection  has  always  been 
made  that  its  owner,  Peter  Burton,  may 
be  still  alive.  And  now,  this  bright  Oc- 
tober day,  comes  the  news,  not  only  that 
he  is  alive,  but  that  he  has  come  home. 
Yesterday  he  landed  in  Newport  from  the 
Cuban  vessel,  it  is  said,  a  widower,  bring- 
ing with  him  his  little  son  and  a  negro  ser- 
vant ;  and  that  he  has  ridden  out  to  look 
at  his  dilapidated  place  and,  wretched  as 
it  is,  is  making  arrangements  to  occupy 
it. 

It  is  Sunday, —  and  as  the  Friends 
gather  at  the  meeting-house,  Peter's  re- 
turn is  the  universal  topic  of  conversation 
among  them.  Many  regarded  him  as 
little  better  than  a  murderer :  in  that  un- 
precedented duel  without  seconds,  who 
knew  whether  there  were  foul  or  fair  play? 
A  few,  however,  were  more  charitable, 
among  them  Joseph  Simpson,  a  venerable 
man,  long  an  "  approved "  preacher. 
"Friends,"  he  says,  "we  must  have 
charity  for  all  men.  Our  church  holds, 
with  reason,  that  to  take  human  life  under 
any  circumstances  is  murder ;  but  many 


82 


THE    GOULD  ISLAND  MYSTERY. 


of  our  younger  Friends,  especially  since 
the  war  broke  out,  have  adopted  the 
standard  of  the  world.  And  as  to  the 
Gould  Island  affair,  who  knows  anything 
about  it?  Why  there  were  no  seconds, 
we  cannot  tell ;  it  was  a  singular  affair. 
But  let  us  not  add  the  suspicion  of  foul 
play  to  the  odium  that  already  attaches  to 
Peter  Burton." 

There  was  some  discussion  as  to  the 
probability  of  his  coming  to  meeting. 
Most  thought 
he  would  come. 
To  be  sure, 
his  name  and 
poor  John  Brown- 
ell's  were  long 
ago  stricken  out 
of  the  books,  but 
he  was  a  birthright 
member,  and  surely 
after  being  away 
so  long  he  would 
want  to  see  the  old 
meeting-house  and 
the  familiar  faces 
of  the  Friends. 
They  were  not  left 
long  in  doubt,  for 
while  they  talked 
the  clattering 
of  horses'  feet  was 
heard,  and  pres- 
ently Peter  Burton, 
richly  dressed  and 
well  mounted,  his 
little  son  on  a  smart 
pacer  at  his  side, 
and  his  negro  ser- 
vant following  at  a 
little  distance,  rode 
into  the  meeting- 
house yard.  Nearly 
every  one  was  look- 
ing   at    him   as   he 

and  his  son  dismounted  and  gave  the 
horses  to  the  servant. 

Well,  he  is  changed,  but  not  as  much 
as  one  would  expect,  is  the  general  com- 
ment. There  are  lines  on  his  clean-shaven 
face  that  were  not  there  when  he  went 
away ;  his  hair  is  gray  and  he  has  grown 
stout.  He  has  a  cynical  expression  that 
is  not  exactly  pleasant  to  see,  but  he  does 
not  look  as  if  devoured  by  remorse,  or  as 


Dorothy   looked  earnest'y  toward  the  Tiverton   Shore 


if  the    recollection    of  his  misdeeds  had 
affected  his  health. 

It  rather  pleased  the  Friends  that  he 
attended  meeting  so  soon  after  his  arrival 
and  many  of  them  unconsciously  began  to 
have  a  better  opinion  of  him.  But  if  they 
knew  the  only  motive  that  actuated  him  in 
coming  they  would  perhaps  have  felt  dif- 
ferently. It  is  not  on  account  of  the  meet- 
ing or  to  revive  old  associations,  but  to  see 
Dorothy  that  he  is  here.  Though  he  has 
been  married,  and 
since  his  departure 
has  seen  much  of 
the  world,  he  has 
never  been  in  love 
with  any  other  wo- 
man. She  has  taken 
precedence  of 
everything  else  in 
his  thoughts,  and 
though  he  doubtless 
knows  it  would  be 
better  for  his  peace 
of  mind  never 
to  see  her  again,  he 
has  come  here  for 
that  express  pur- 
pose. As  he  walks 
toward  the  meet- 
ing-house, Elkanah 
Perkins's  yellow 
coach  —  the  only 
coach  on  the  island 
—  comes  into  the 
yard,  and  his  heart 
gives  a  great  throb 
as  Dorothy  alights. 
Her  face  is  hidden 
by  the  Quaker  bon- 
net, but  he  would 
know  her  among 
a  thousand.  He 
has  not  yet  spoken 
to  any  of  the 
Friends,  most  of  whom  he  recognizes; 
but  passing  hurriedly  by  them,  he  steps 
up  to  her  and,  holding  out  his  hand,  says 
huskily,  "  Dorothy  !  does  thee  know 
me?" 

Dorothy  was  not  startled :  she  was 
calm,  as  usual,  for  she  had  heard  of  his 
arrival  and  was  prepared  for  this  meeting. 
She  replied  very  sweetly,  and  as  with  her 
old  coquettish   manner  she  took  his  hand 


THE    GOULD  ISLAND  MYSTERY. 


83 


and  looked  up  from  under  the  deep 
Quaker  bonnet,  for  the  first  time  in  fif- 
teen years  he  sees  her  face.  It  is  a  pretty 
face.  Except  that  the  first  freshness  and 
bloom  of  youth  are  gone,  it  has  changed 
but  little,  and  yet  somehow  it  gives  him 
a  shock,  and  a  great  and  sudden  change 
comes  over  him  as  he  gazes.  Was  this, 
after  all,  the  face  that  had  haunted  him 
and  held  him  captive  for  so  many  years  ? 
How  he  has  idealized  it !  Can  it  be  that 
it  really  was  as  insipid  as  it  looks  now 
when  he  last  saw  it?  He  does  not  under- 
stand his  own  feelings,  for  he  almost  feels 
a  dislike  for  the  pretty  woman  whom  he 
has  so  longed  to  see.  Then  a  great  throb 
of  joy  thrills  through  him.  He  is  in  love 
no  longer ;  the  shackles  which  have  kept 
him  a  slave  for  so  many  years  have  fallen 
to  the  ground  and  he  is  free  ! 

After  a  few  polite  inquiries  and  com- 
monplace remarks  he  entered  the  house 
where  most  of  the  Friends  were  now 
assembled,  and  sat  down  in  his  old  place. 
Never  did  air  seem  so  sweet  as  that 
which  streams  in  through  the  open  door ; 
never  did  sky  look  so  blue  as  the  little 
patch  he  sees  through  the  window  back 
of  the  gallery ;  never,  it  seems  to  him, 
even  in  his  boyhood,  did  his  blood  so 
leap  and  throb  through  his  veins.  He 
was  a  man  at  last,  and  life  seemed  to 
open  up  before  him  with  new  possibilities, 
new  hopes,  and  new  aspirations. 

Then  his  thoughts  went  back  over  his 
life,  so  spoiled  and  wasted  by  his  passion 
for  this  woman  who  never  cared  for  him, 
and  who  passed  unmoved  through  the 
trials  that  stirred  his  soul  to  its  depths. 
He  thought  of  the  many  irregularities  by 
which  he  had  sought  to  forget  it ;  of  how 
in  his  bitterness  he  had  lost  all  faith  in 
God  and  man ;  and  the  face  of  his  dead 
wife  rose  before  him  —  whose  beseeching 
eyes  always  seemed  asking  for  the  love 
which  he  never  gave,  but  which  he  kept 
for  this  soulless  statue  of  flesh  and  blood. 
His  face  lost  its  cynical  expression,  and 
his  eyes  filled  with  tears  as  he  bowed  his 
face  in  his  hands. 

For  nearly  an  hour  the  Friends  sat 
silent.  At  length  Joseph  Simpson  rose 
and  said  impressively  :  "  Dear  Friends, 
the  charge  I  have  had  laid  upon  me  to 
give  you  this  morning  is  a  short  one.     As 


I  took  my  seat  the  Lord  was  very  near 
me,  and  the  language  of  my  soul  was,  '  I 
am  the  resurrection  and  the  life,  saith  the 
Lord ;  he  that  believeth  on  me,  though 
he  were  dead,  yet  shall  he  live,  and  who- 
soever liveth  and  believeth  on  me  shall 
never  die.'  ' 

Like  balm  the  beautiful  words  fell  on 
Peter's  heart.  Life  !  yes,  that  was  what 
he  wanted.  He  had  never  lived  before, 
but  he  would  now,  and  he  would  believe, 
for  belief  is  life-giving.  And  again  he 
bowed  his  head,  this  time  in  silent  thanks- 
giving. 

Presently  the  shaking  of  hands  in- 
dicated that  the  meeting  was  over.  When 
Peter  came  to  meeting  he  did  not  think 
he  would  soon  want  to  repeat  the  experi- 
ence, but  now  everything  seemed  changed. 
He  remained  in  his  seat  till  Friend  Simp- 
son passed  down  the  aisle,  when,  after 
exchanging  cordial  greetings  with  the  old 
man,  he  astonished  him  by  asking  if  he 
might  be  restored  to  membership  with 
the  Friends.  "It  is  impossible,  Peter," 
said  he.  "We  disowned  thee  because 
thy  hands  had  shed  blood,  and  we  cannot 
receive  thee  back.  But  we  shall  be  glad 
to  have  the  assurance  of  thy  repentance, 
and  always  pleased  to  have  thee  sit  with 
us." 

Peter's  face  fell.  Ever  since  he  left 
Rhode  Island  he  had  lived  among  people 
who  knew  nothing  of  the  Gould  Island 
affair,  and  for  the  first  time  he  realized 
the  full  weight  of  the  stigma  that  rested 
upon  him  in  this  community.  For  an  in- 
stant a  touch  of  his  old  dogged  reckless- 
ness came  back  to  him  ;  but  his  better 
spirit  asserted  itself.  "  I  ought  to  have 
known,"  said  he,  "that  you  cannot  re- 
ceive me  back ;  and  it  is  probably  best 
for  all  concerned  that  you  cannot.  I 
suppose  I  am  in  bad  odor  with  the 
Friends.  But  I  have  come  home  to 
stay." 

"  I  am  glad  thee  has,  Peter.  The  past 
cannot  be  mended,  but  thee  has  probably 
many  years  of  life  before  thee  yet,  and  I 
feel  sure  thee  will  live  them  to  better  ad- 
vantage." 

The  emotion  incident  to  a  change  such 
as  had  come  over  Peter  soon  passes  off; 
and  on  the  following  morning  he  felt  glad 
that  his  desire  to  reunite  himself  with  the 


84 


THE    GOULD  ISLAND  MYSTERY, 


Friends  had  been  nipped  in  the  bud. 
Though  by  birth  and  early  education  a 
Friend,  he  had  seen  nothing  of  the 
Friends  since  he  left  the  island,  and  all 
his  habits  of  life  and  thought  were  so 
different  from  theirs  that  he  would  not 
have  made  a  good  Quaker.  He  con- 
tinued, however,  to  attend  their  meet- 
ings, though  not  as  regularly  as  Friend 
Simpson  had  hoped ;  and  as  the  weeks 
passed,  a  kindlier  feeling  toward  him  took 
root  among  them. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Along  the  two  roads  which  then,  as 
now,  extended  down  Rhode  Island,  known 
as  the  East  and  West  roads,  the  British 
had  stationed  sentinels  at  stated  intervals 
of  from  one  to  two  miles.  By  this  means 
they  could  keep  posted  as  to  the  move- 
ments of  the  farmers,  and  detect  any  in- 
clination on  their  part  to  extend  aid  or 
comfort  to  the  enemy.  The  rules,  how- 
ever, were  very  lax.  There  were  few 
ways  in  which  the  farmers  could  be  of 
any  assistance  to  the  Americans,  and  the 
majority  of  those  left  on  the  Island,  being 
Quakers,  were  non-partisans,  and  were 
allowed  to  pass  and  repass  unchallenged. 
Though  Peter  Burton  was  a  stranger,  no 
exception  was  made  in  his  case,  and  he 
came  and  went  as  he  chose.  But  his  was 
not  a  nature  that  could  long  remain 
neutral  on  any  issue.  His  house  was 
near  the  headquarters  of  General  Pres- 
cott,  with  whom  he  soon  became  ac- 
quainted, and  several  times,  by  the  in- 
formation thus  obtained,  he  was  able  to 
put  his  countrymen  at  Tiverton  on  their 
guard  and  to  defeat  plans  for  surprising 
them  and  carrying  off  their  cattle,  grain, 
and  supplies. 

In  spite  of  the  devastation  of  the  is- 
land and  the  uncertain  issue  of  the  war, 
those  were  happy  days  to  Peter.  The 
sensation  of  being  of  some  use  in  the 
world,  and  of  doing  things  from  other 
than  selfish  motives,  was  a  new  and  deli- 
cious sensation ;  and  as  he  frequented 
the  houses  of  the  British  officers,  or 
stealthily  crossed  the  bay  at  night  to  con- 
vey some  needed  information  to  the 
Americans,  the  ambition  filled  his  mind 


to  take  his  place  and  use  his  talents  in 
the  great  struggle  that  was  going  forward. 
He  was  naturally  a  leader  of  men,  and 
when,  some  weeks  after  his  arrival,  he 
was  offered  a^captain's  commission  in  the 
Continental  army,  he  gladly  accepted  it. 
Instead,  however,  of  proceeding  at  once 
to  Tiverton  to  take  his  command,  he  de- 
cided to  remain  a  few  days  longer  on  the 
island,  as  a  scheme  was  on  foot  to  sur- 
prise the  Americans  at  Quaker  Point  in 
Tiverton  and  carry  off  a  large  flock  of 
sheep  and  a  quantity  of  grain ;  and  he 
wanted,  if  possible,  to  get  the  particulars 
of  this  plan  before  leaving  the  island. 

It  happened  one  evening,  as  he  went 
to  call  on  General  Prescott,  who  liked 
company  and  liked  to  have  him  come  in 
and  take  a  social  glass,  he  was  told  the 
general  had  gone  to  Newport.  Waiting 
for  a  moment  in  the  room,  his  eye  fell  on 
the  general's  desk,  where  lay  carelessly 
an  open  letter  addressed  to  Lieutenant 
Forbes,  giving,  as  his  glance  at  once  took 
in,  complete  directions  for  the  manage- 
ment of  the  Quaker  Point  expedition. 
Requesting  the  negro  servant  to  go  and 
fetch  him  a  glass  of  wine,  he  slipped  the 
letter  into  his  pocket,  —  thinking  only, 
in  the  anxiety  of  the  moment,  of  how  he 
could  save  the  men  at  Tiverton.  Then, 
drinking  the  general's  health  and  asking 
the  servant  to  give  his  compliments  to 
him  when  he  returned,  he  hurried  home, 
had  his  horse  saddled,  and  prepared  for 
immediate  departure.  The  negro,  how- 
ever, was  not  so  dull  as  he  thought ;  and 
just  as  Peter  was  buckling  on  his  spurs, 
while  his  horse  stood  at  the  door,  two 
stalwart  fellows  entered  and,  laying  each 
a  hand  on  his  shoulders,  arrested  him  as 
a  spy. 

Peter  saw  that  his  case  was  desperate. 
He  well  knew  the  punishment  of  a  spy. 
With  the  strength  born  of  desperation 
he  hurled  his  captors  from  him,  and,  leap- 
ing upon  his  horse,  disappeared  in  the 
darkness.  The  men  were  on  their  feet 
in  an  instant  and  shouting  at  the  top  of 
their  voices  ;  and  not  daring  to  go  along 
the  road,  where  he  felt  sure  he  would  be 
stopped,  Peter  turned  into  an  adjoining 
field,  hoping  to  get  across  to  the  East 
Road  and  beyond  the  sentinels  stationed 
there,   before    his    pursuers,    who    would 


THE    GOULD  ISLAND  MYSTERY. 


85 


•  w  --■-' 


t? 


shali  caii  you  to  account 


probably  keep  to  the  road,  could  over- 
take him.  He  would  also  save  by  this 
course  some  two  miles.  But  the  night 
was  excessively  dark,  and  his  horse,  not 
being  used  to  "cross  country"  work, 
refused  many  of  the  leaps,  compelling 
circuitous  journeys  through  gateways  and 
gaps ;  and  when  he  came  in  sight  of  the 
East  Road,  the  unusual  number  of  mov- 
ing lights  and  the  noise  of  horses'  feet 
left  him  no  doubt  that  his  pursuers  had 
reached  it  before  him.  There  was  but 
one  chance  left,  and  that  a  desperate 
one.  By  still  keeping  to  the  fields,  he 
might  work  northward  to  the  line  of  for- 
tifications, then,  entering  the  road,  run  the 
gauntlet  of  sentinels,  and  escape  to  the 
low  land  of  Ferry  Neck,  where,  from  its 
proximity  to  Tiverton,  they  would  hardly 
dare  follow  him. 

Scarcely  had  he  made  up  his  mind  to 
this,  and  turned  his  horse's  head  toward 
the  north,  when  from  behind  the  low 
stone  wall  just  in  front  of  him  up  jumped 
three  men.     Two  bullets  whizzed  by  his 


head  and  a  third  struck  him  in  the  leg. 
He  was  discovered,  and  in  an  instant  a 
large  body  of  horsemen  were  in  hot  pur- 
suit. 

It  is  said  by  those  who  have  narrowly 
escaped  drowning,  that  in  a  few  seconds 
a  review  of  their  whole  lives  has  passed 
before  them.  It  is  so  in  many  cases  of 
danger.  Following  the  blind  instinct  of 
self-preservation,  Peter  had  urged  his 
horse  to  a  run,  but  he  knew  that  prac- 
tically there  was  no  hope.  As  the  bullets 
whistled  past  his  head,  his  mind  went 
back  with  the  rapidity  of  a  dream  to  his 
happy  boyhood ;  then  he  seemed  to  be 
riding  down  to  Ferry  Neck  to  see 
Dorothy;  and  one  dark  night  very  like 
this  rose  before  him,  when  he  rode  over 
these  same  fields  after  his  dark  errand  to 
Gould  Island.  Then  passed  before  him 
the  wearisome  and  wasted  years  that  he 
had  since  passed ;  his  marriage,  which 
but  for  himself  might  have  been  a  happy 
one  ;  and  a  picture  of  his  little  son,  who 
was  now  fast  asleep  at  home. 


86 


THE    GOULD  ISLAND  MYSTERY. 


A  bullet  struck  him  in  the  shoulder, 
wounding  him  severely,  and  by  the  sway- 
ing, uncertain  motion  of  his  horse  he 
knew  that  he  too  was  severely  wounded. 
In  a  vague  way  he  wondered  how  long 
this  would  last,  and  like  a  man  falling 
asleep  while  listening  to  the  ticking  of  a 
clock,  he  heard  the  measured  hoof-beats 
of  his  pursuers'  horses.  Faint  from  loss 
of  blood,  his  eyes  involuntarily  closed ; 
but  he  kept  his  seat  and  his  hold  upon 
the  reins.  Still  swept  rapidly  before  him 
the  panorama  of  his  life.  Again  he  was 
landing  at  Newport ;  again  he  was  at  the 
Friends'  meeting;  and  again  like  balm 
there  fell  upon  his  ear  the  beautiful  words, 
"  I  am  the  resurrection  and  the  life  ;  he 
that  believeth  on  me,  though  he  were 
dead,  yet  shall  he  live." 

Another  shot,  and  the  curtain  fell ;  the 
panorama  was  over.  Shot  through  the 
heart,  he  fell  forward  upon  his  horse's 
neck,  and  both  came  heavily  to  the 
ground. 


CHAPTER  V. 

By  a  singular  coincidence,  on  the  same 
day  that  Peter  met  his  death,  a  mulatto 
named  Joshua  Nipson  was  arrested  as  a 


'    Dorothy  watcned  trom   her  Window 

spy  by  the  Americans  at  Tiverton,  was 
tried,  found  guilty,  and  sentenced  to  be 
hanged.  Tradition  describes  Nipson  as 
a  man  of  more  than  ordinary  intelligence, 


Gouid   Island  lay  dark  against  the  horizon. 


THE    GOULD  ISLAND  MYSTERY. 


87 


though  of  ungovernable  passions.  He 
had  always  lived  in  Tiverton,  and  had 
been  the  trusted  and  confidential  servant 
of  John  Brownell  up  to  the  time  of  the 
latter's  tragic  death.  Before  his  execu- 
tion, which  took  place  on  the  following 
day,  he  stated  that  he  had  a  confession  to 
make  in  regard  to  the  Gould  Island 
affair.  His  guard  took  it  down  in  wri- 
ting ;  and  though  but  for  Peter's  return  the 


money,  and  it  had  occurred  to  Nipson 
that  in  case  of  his  master's  death,  which 
he  thought  almost  certain,  as  he  was  a 
bad  shot,  he  might  appropriate  these 
funds  without  detection,  as  no  one  else 
knew  anything  about  them.  He  was 
therefore  sorry  for  this  change  ;  and 
while  crossing  the  bay  on  his  errand  he 
devised  a  plan  by  which  he  might  still 
possess  himself  of   the  money.     Instead 


The  Old    Friends'   Meeting  House. 


whole  thing  had  been  well-nigh  forgotten, 
it  created  quite  a  sensation  in  the  camp. 
It  seems  that  John  Brownell,  on  re- 
turning from  his  last  visit  to  Dorothy, 
had  told  Nipson  of  his  rejection  by 
Isaiah  Scott,  and  also  that  he  expected 
to  be  called  out  by  Peter  Burton.  Later 
in  the  evening  he  called  Nipson  and  told 
him  that  he  was  sorry  for  the  part  he  had 
played  in  Peter's  dismissal ;  that  further- 
more, as  they  had  both  been  rejected, 
there  was  now  nothing  to  quarrel  over; 
and  ordered  him  to  cross  the  bay  and 
convey  his  apologies  to  Peter  and  request 
him  to  meet  him  at  Gould  Island,  alone, 
the  next  day  at  four  o'clock,  that  he 
might  make  explanations  and  effect  a 
reconciliation.  Now  it  happened  that 
Brownell  had  with   him  a  large  sum  of 


of  delivering  his  full  message  to  Peter, 
he  merely  requested  him  to  meet  his 
master  alone  on  Gould  Island,  naming 
the  hour  as  half-past  four,  and  giving  him 
no  hint  as  to  the  purpose  of  the  meeting. 
The  next  day,  after  his  master  had  landed 
on  Gould  Island,  he  approached  the 
island  from  the  south  with  a  companion 
whom  he  had  taken  into  his  confidence, 
and  landed  in  a  little  cove,  where  he 
could  not  be  seen  either  from  Tiverton 
or  Rhode  Island.  Entering  the  woods, 
and  making  his  way  close  to  his  master, 
who  asked  in  surprise  what  had  brought 
him  there,  he  shot  him  through  the 
heart,  and  then  quickly  appropriated  the 
money,  but  left  the  watch  and  other  val- 
uables. It  had  been  his  intention  to  kill 
Peter  also,  reasoning  that,  after  what  had 


88 


THE    GOULD  ISLAND  MYSTERY. 


happened  at  Isaiah  Scott's,  the  public 
would  believe  that  a  duel  had  been  fought 
which  resulted  fatally  to  both  parties. 
But  hearing  Peter,  who  was  doubtless 
armed,  approaching,  much  sooner  than 
he  expected,  and  not  having  had  time  to 
re-load  his  pistol,  he  hastily  retreated, 
and  had  just  time  to  conceal  himself 
behind  some  bushes  when  Peter  reached 
the  spot.  From  his  place  of  conceal- 
ment he  saw  Peter  carefully  examine  the 
body  and  the  still  smoking  pistol  which 
lay  beside  it  —  then  with  a  muttered  ex- 
clamation which  he  could  not  understand 
rapidly  descend  the  cliff,  get  into  his 
boat,  and  pull  away.  Nipson  divided 
his  booty  with  his  companion,  who  had 
remained  with  their  boat,  and  under 
cover  of  the  darkness  returned  to  Tiver- 
ton. 

Why  had  Peter  chosen  not  to  tell 
what  he  knew  about  this  matter?  As  he 
could  not  have  suspected  the  presence  of 
any  one  else  on  the  island,  he  must  have 
believed  it  a  case  of  suicide.  In  his 
bitterness  of  soul,  was  he  willing  for 
Dorothy  to  look  upon  him  as  John  Brow- 
nell's  slayer?  or  did  he  believe  that  the 
circumstantial  evidence  against  him  was 
so  strong  that  no  denial  or  explanation 
on  his  part  would  be  of  any  use?  We 
cannot  tell.  He  had  apparently  nothing 
to  gain   by   his  silence,  and  the  motives 


that  actuated  him  must  always  remain  a 
mystery. 

To  the  Quakers  who,  though  they  had 
disowned  him,  could  never  get  rid  of  the 
feeling  that  in  a  certain  way  he  still  be- 
longed to  them,  the  knowledge  of  his 
innocence  was  most  grateful.  The  black 
stain  on  his  reputation  was  removed. 
His  life  had  not  indeed  been  what  they 
could  have  wished,  but  he  had  "  lived 
without  fear,  and  died  without  reproach," 
and,  non-partisans  as  they  were,  they 
did  not  think  the  less  of  him  that 
he  had  lost  his  life  in  the  service  of  his 
country. 

In  the  graveyard  behind  the  old 
Friends'  meeting-house  —  an  obscure 
place  and  seldom  visited  —  can  be  seen 
the  graves  of  Dorothy  Perkins  and  her 
family,  Isaiah  Scott  and  his  wife,  Joseph 
Simpson,  and  Joseph  Smith.  But  Peter 
Burton's  resting-place  is  still  more  ob- 
cure.     This  inscription  : 

Here  Lyeth  ye  Bodye  of 

Peter  Burton 

Who  Died  in  the  Service  of  his  Countrye 

November  ioth,  1778, 

Aged  42  Years. 

is  found  in  the  old  family  burying- 
ground  on  the  Burton  farm,  far  from  the 
travelled  road,  and  overgrown  with  black- 
berry vines  and  briars,  on  a  rough  slab  of 
Rhode  Island  slate. 


Daniel  C.  Gilman.  First  President  of  the  University  of  California. 

FROM   A   PHOTOGRAPH   TAKEN   IN    1875. 

THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 


By   C/iar/es  Howard  Shinn. 


THE  University  of  California  is  the 
most  important  educational  institu- 
tion west  of  the  Mississippi.  If 
we  consider  the  quality  of  the  work  done 
there,  the  national  reputation  of  many 
of  its  teachers  and  graduates,  or  the 
merely  material  subject  of  its  endowment 
and  resources,  it  is  entitled  to  rank  among 
the  half  dozen  leading  universities  in  the 
United  States.  The  story  of  its  develop- 
ment from  a  frontier  school  founded  by 


a  few  New  England  men  marks  the  finer 
and  better  side  of  California  life. 

Thomas  Douglass,  of  Connecticut,  a 
graduate  of  Yale,  of  the  class  of  1831, 
who  had  reached  San  Francisco  from 
Honolulu  in  1847,  began  a  school  there 
in  April,  1848,  with  thirty-seven  pupils. 
Within  two  months  the  mines  opened ; 
four  of  the  five  trustees  and  twenty-eight 
of  the  children  were  in  the  famous  stam- 
pede which  almost  depopulated  the  sleepy 


90 


THE    UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 


village  in  the  sandhills.  Mr.  Douglass 
closed  his  school  and  followed  the  cur- 
rent. 

A  number  of  college  graduates  were 
among  the  "Argonauts,"  and  in  the  sum- 
mer of  California's  famous  '49,  several 
genuine  outdoor  schools  were  taught  un- 
der spreading  live-oaks,  by  graduates  of 
Yale,  Bowdoin,  Amherst,  Harvard,  and 
Princeton^  in  various  growing  mountain 
camps. 

The  first  State  Constitutional  Conven- 
tion, which  met  at  Monterey,  in  Septem- 
ber, 1849,  contained  many  well-educated 
men,  who  were  fully  conscious  of  the  im- 


Thomas  O.  Larkin  of  Monterey  to  aid  in 
founding  a  college  in  California.  In 
April,  in  1849,  while  nearly  all  the  men, 
women,  and  children  in  California  were 
crazy  after  gold,  Dr.  Willey  and  Mr. 
Larkin  were  sitting  in  the  old  adobe 
custom-house  at  Monterey,  trying  to  find 
out  how  to  start  a  college.  Dr.  Willey 
and  Dr.  Rogers  corresponded  on  the 
subject  all  that  summer.  Then  Larkin, 
Willey  and  their  friends  did  what  they 
could  to  extend  the  college  idea  else- 
where. ±\X  last  two  gentlemen  owning 
land  on  the  Guadaloupe  river  near  San 
Jose    offered    to    give    a    site.      Trustees 


The   Berkeley   Foothills. 


portance  of  organizing  a  complete  school 
system.  A  provision  for  chartering  col- 
leges and  caring  for  State  University 
funds  was  inserted  in  the  constitution. 
"  Let  us  build  up  with  the  gold  from  our 
hills  a  university  as  great  as  Oxford,"  said 
one  of  the  members  in  a  speech.  The 
temper  of  the  founders  of  the  state  was 
broad  and  liberal.  The  debates  of  the 
time,  and  the  constitution  they  adopted, 
show  them  in  an  admirable  light. 

But  a  beginning  had  been  made  al- 
ready in  another  direction.  Rev.  Dr. 
Willey,  in  his  "  History  of  the  College  of 
California,"  published  in  San  Francisco 
in  1887,  says  that  Rev.  Dr.  William 
A.  Rogers,  of  Boston,  one  of  the  over- 
seers of   Harvard,   influenced    the  noted 


were  named,  among  whom  were  Dr. 
Willey ;  Thomas  Douglass,  the  first  San 
Francisco  teacher  ;  S.  AT.  Blakeslee  ;  and 
Rev.  T.  D wight  Hunt,  first  pastor  of  the 
Congregational  Church  of  San  Francisco. 
This  organization  failed,  and  in  Decem- 
ber, when  the  first  session  of  the  legisla- 
ture was  held  in  San  Jose,  the  trustees  of 
the  proposed  college  were  Frederick  Bil- 
lings ;  Sherman  Day,  son  of  old  President 
Jeremiah  Day,  of  Yale  ;  Dr.  Willey  ;  For- 
rest Shepard ;  and  Chester  S.  Lyman. 
Acting  with  them  in  all  important  mat- 
ters were  Rev.  J.  A.  Benton,  Rev.  T.  D. 
Hunt,  and  Rev.  J.  W.  Douglass,  Xew 
Englanders,  every  one  of  them.  A  bill 
providing  for  college  charters  was  passed 
by    the     legislature.       Twenty     thousand 


THE    UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 


91 


Henry   Durant. 


dollars  worth  of  prop- 
erty was  required,  and 
owing  to  the  condition 
of  land  titles  at  that 
time,  the  proposed 
institution  could  not 
then  be  legally  estab- 
lished. Besides,  the 
friends  of  higher  edu- 
cation were  compelled 
to  give  all  their  ener- 
gies to  the  organiza- 
tion of  the  public  school  system,  and  the 
college  idea  had  to  wait  for  the  fitting 
time  and  the  trained  idea. 

In  1853  the  man  came,  and  the  hour. 
He  was  again  from  the  heart  of  a  New 
England  college, 
this  time  from  Yale. 
Rev.  Henry  Dur- 
ant, a  former  tutor 
at  Yale,  with  letters 
from  the  president 
of  that  institution, 
came  to  California 
to  devote  his  life 
to  teaching  and  to 
the  founding  of  a 
college.  Horace 
Bushnell  and  Henry 
Durant  graduated 
in  the  same  class  at 
Yale,  and  entered 
the  ministry  to- 
gether; later  in  life 
they  were  working 
side  by  side  in  Cali- 
fornia.   But  Durant 

was  the  pioneer,  the  real  founder  of  the 
present  University  of  California. 

Mr.  Durant  decided  to  begin  work 
with  a  preparatory  school  in  Oakland, 
then  a  sandy  cattle  pasture  thickly  cov- 
ered with  immense  live-oaks,  beginning 
to  attract  a  few  settlers.  Here,  in  a  shanty 
the  rent  of  which  was  one  hundred  and 
fifty  dollars  per  month,  gold  coin  in  ad- 
vance, he  taught  from  three  to  eight  pupils. 
Four  blocks  of  land,  covering  perhaps 
eight  acres,  in  the  very  finest  part  of  the 
oak  forest,  were  chosen  for  the  permanent 
site  of  the  school.  But  land  titles  were  in 
a  state  of  chaos,  and  no  man  except  Henry 
Durant  could  have  secured  the  property. 
He  stood  among  the  squatters  and  pio- 


James  Lick 


neers,  the  representative  of  the  higher 
education,  and  so  won  their  respect  and 
affection  that  in  all  the  years  of  growth 
which  changed  the  village  of  tents  and 
huts  of  1853  to  the  present  city  of  fifty 
thousand  people,  the  name  and  memory 
of  Henry  Durant  have  remained  first  in 
the  history  of  Oakland. 

When  it  was  decided  to  move  the 
school  to  the  new  site,  the  contractors, 
who  were  rascals,  determined  to  jump 
the  property.  Durant  suspected  trouble, 
and  made  up  his  mind  to  block  the  game. 
He  described  the  results  in  an  article 
quoted  in  Willey's  "  History  of  the  Col- 
lege of  California"  : 

"  I  came  over  at  night,  took  a  man  with  me, 
went  into  the  (unfur- 
nished) house,  put  a 
table,  chairs,  etc.  into 
one  of  the  rooms  up- 
stairs, and  went  to  bed. 
Pretty  early  in  the 
morning  the  contractor 
came  into  the  house 
and  looked  about.  Pres- 
ently he  came  to  our 
door.  Looking  in,  said 
he  :     '  What  is  here?  ' 

"  I  was  getting  up. 
I  told  him  I  didn't 
mean  any  hurt  to  him, 
^  but  I  was  a  little  in  a 
5ft  hurry  to  get  into  my 
new  home,  and  I 
thought  I  would  make 
a  beginning  the  night 
before.  I  asked  him 
if  he  would  not  walk 
in  and  take  a  seat.  I 
claimed  to  be  the  pro- 
prietor and  in  posses- 
sion.      He     went    oft. 

My  friend  went  away,  and  in  a  little  while    the 

contractor    came    back   with    two    burly    fellows. 

They  came  into  the  room  and  helped  themselves 

to  seats.  I  had  no  means  of  defence  except  an  axe 

under  the  bed.     The  contractor  said  to  one  of  the 

men:   'Well,  what  will  you  do?'     Said  he :   'If 

you  ask   my  advice,  I  say, 

proceed    summarily,"    and 

he   began  to  get   up.        I 

rose     too,     then,  —  about 

two  feet  taller  than  usual; 

I  felt  as  if  I  was  monarch 

of  all  I  surveyed.      I  told 

him  that   if   I    understood 

him  he  intended  to  move 

into    the   room.       Said  I : 

'  You   will  not   only   com- 
mit   a    trespass    upon   my 

property,  but   you  will  do 

violence  upon  my  body.     I 

don't  intend  to  leave  this  s  C.  Hastings. 


92 


THE   UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 


X 


Edward  Tompkins, 


H.  D.  Bacon. 


H.    H.  Toland. 


room  in  a  sound  condition.  If  you  undertake 
to  do  that,  you  will  commit  a  crime  as  well  as  a 
trespass.'  That  seemed  to  stagger  them,  and 
finally  they  left  me  in  possession." 

In  1855,  the  Academy  Board  of  Trus- 
tees was  reorganized  and  a  charter  for 
"  The  College  of  California  "  was  obtained 
from  the  state.  Among  the  first  trustees 
were  many  of  the  leaders  of  the  San  Jose 
movement  of  1849  —  Frederick  Billings, 
Sherman  Day,  S.  H.  Willey,  J.  A.  Benton, 
Reverend  T.  Dwight  Hunt,  and  others, 
with  younger  men,  and  Henry  Durant  as 
the  master  mind  of  the  enterprise.  The 
next  thing  was  to  raise  more  money,  and 
Dr.  Willey  made  a  personal  canvass  at 
the  East.  But  California  was  pouring  out 
its  millions  of  gold,  and  men  said  ;  "  Go 
to  your  own  people."  The  effort  was  al- 
most a  failure  ;  the  work  of  founding  a 
new  college  rested  upon  the  shoulders  of 
a  few  men,  young  then,  and  full  of  hope 
and  energy,  who  had  made  their  homes 
in  California.  The  Academy  or  College 
school,  had  sixty  pupils  and  some  of  them 
were  almost  ready  for  the  chartered,  but 
not  yet  established,  college. 

Durant  turned  for  help  to  Horace 
Bushnell,  who  came  to  California  for  a 
"camping  out  summer"  in  March,  1856. 


It  was  pleasant  to  see  how  the  great  New 
England  clergyman  "  took  hold  "  with  all 
his  might.  He  was  invited  to  the  tempo- 
rary presidency  of  the  college,  and  at 
once  started  off  on  a  horseback  tour,  look- 
ing for  a  suitable  site,  thus  combining  his 
own  health-seeking  plans  with  the  idea 
of  a  great  university,  which  would  fitly 
crown  the  public  school  system  of  the 
state.  Those  who  feel  an  interest  in  this 
picturesque  episode  in  Dr.  Bushnell's 
career  will  find  it  amply  set  forth  in  his 
"  Life  and  Letters."  His  descriptions  of 
California  scenes  and  people  often  pos- 
sess a  permanent  value.  It  is  rare  to  find, 
among  the  hundreds  of  later  California 
writers,  so  exact  and  scientific  observa- 
tions of  climate  and  resources  as  Dr. 
Bushnell  showed  in  his  personal  corre- 
spondence during  this  period.  He  went 
over  the  whole  Bay  region,  the  Martinez 
and  Monte  Diablo  districts,  the  old  Mis- 
sion San  Jose,  the  Sunol  and  Livermore 
valleys,  the  Napa,  Sonoma  and  Santa 
Rosa,  and  after  some  nine  months  spent 
in  the  open  air,  he  made  a  detailed  re- 
port to  the  trustees,  and  wrote  an  elo- 
quent "  Appeal  "  for  the  college  :  then 
returned  to  Hartford,  restored  in  health, 
and  resumed  his  pastorate  work. 


A.  K.  P.  Harmon. 


Michael   Reese. 


D.  O.   Mills. 


THE    UNIVERSITY  OE  CALIFORNIA. 


',[:-:/>'^:  1       '  " 


i*£  ..„*._,. 


General   View  of  the  University   Buildings. 


One  may  observe  the  "  out-door 
elements  "  of  early  education  here.  The 
first  school  teacher  in  San  Francisco  fol- 
lowed his  pupils  to  the  mines ;  the  early 
teachers  in  the  mountain  counties  taught 
under  the  oaks  and  pines,  or  in  blue  drill- 
ing tents ;  the  first  president  of  the  Col- 
lege of  California  spent  his  entire  term 
of  office  in  exploring  the  foothills  and 
valleys  of  seven  or  eight  counties,  to  dis- 
cover the  best  permanent  site  for  the  in- 
stitution. He  occupied  his  whole  time 
"  examining  views  and  prospects,  explor- 
ing water-courses,  determining  their  levels, 
and  gauging  their  quantities  of  water,  dis- 
covering quarries,  finding  supplies  of 
sand  and  gravel,  testing  climates,  inquir- 
ing, and  even  prospecting  to  form  some 
judgment  of  the  possibilities  of  railroads, 
obtaining  terms,  looking  after  titles,  and 
neglecting  nothing  necessary  to  prepare 
the  question  for  proper  settlement." 
The  report  defined  the  requirements  for 
a  permanent  site  so  well  that  the  sub- 
sequent purchase  of  the  Berkeley  prop- 
erty was  but  the  natural  conclusion  from 
his  careful  investigations. 

Dr.  Bushnell,  in  his  "Appeal"  to  the 
people,  asked  for  an  endowment  of  half 
a  million  of  dollars,  but  thought  that 
three  hundred  thousand  dollars  would 
do  to  begin  with.  There  is  hardly 
another    document    in    the    educational 


history  of  California  so  replete  with 
dignity  and  common  sense  as  this  note- 
worthy "Appeal."  A  finer  plea  for  the 
founding  of  a  great  Pacific  Coast  univer- 
sity was  never  made,  before  or  since. 
The  eloquence  of  men  like  Thomas 
Starr  King,  Frederick  Billings,  John  W. 
'Dwindle,  Edward  Tompkins,  John  B.  Fel- 
ton,  and  others  of  the  group  of  intel- 
lectual leaders  who  founded  the  college 
and  the  university,  only  broadened  the 
highway  opened  by  Dr.  BushnelPs  Ap- 
peal. That  struck  the  keynote.  He 
could  go  back  to  old  President  Jeremiah 
Day,  at  New  Haven,  and  say :  "  The 
Yale  men  mean  to  have  a  university  out 
there  in  California." 

In   1857,  the  Berkeley  site  was  deter- 
mined upon,  and  the  "College   school" 
was  enlarged.     During  1858,  the  Berkeley 
tract  was  nearly  paid 
for;  and  in  1859,  the  „- — 

college  organization 
was  begun  to  receive 
the  senior  class  of  the 
academy.  Mr.  J.  S. 
Brayton  took  Mr. 
Durant's  place,  and 
the  latter,  with  Rev. 
Martin  Kellogg  orga- 
nized the  first  fresh- 
man class  of  the  Col- 
lege  of  California   in 


F.L.  A.   Pioche. 


94 


THE    UNIVERSITY  OE  CALIFORNIA. 


June,  1 860.  There  were  eight  students  ad- 
mitted, four  of  whom  graduated.  Profes- 
sor Kellogg  was  then  sent  to  the  Atlantic 
States,  to  present  the  needs  of  the  col- 
lege. President  Woolsey  of  Yale,  Dr. 
Leonard  Bacon,  President  Mark  Hopkins, 
and  many  other  college  men  heartily  in- 


California.  It  could  only  be  supported 
by  direct  contributions.  In  the  last 
annual  report  of  the  College  of  Cali- 
fornia, that  of  1868,  Dr.  Willey  summed 
up  the  results  of  sixteen  years'  canvas- 
sing for  supplies.  The  total  was  a 
little     over     sixty-three     thousand     dol- 


Professor  John   Le  Conte. 


dorsed  the  plans  of  the  institution.  But, 
as  Professor  Kellogg  reported,  people 
said :  "  You  are  rich  enough  to  endow 
your  own  college." 

The  friends  of  the  college  received  no 
encouragement    from    the    rich    men    of 


lars.  It  all  came  in  comparatively 
small  sums  from  men  who  were  not 
wealthy.  The  millionnaires,  for  sixteen 
years  after  Henry  Durant  had  settled 
among  the  oaks  "  to  start  an  academy 
which    should    stow    into    a    universitv,*' 


THE    UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 


95 


had  been  urged  to  give  the  young  institu- 
tion a  fit  endowment,  but  they  saw  no 
need  of  it ;  they  had  come  to  California 
to  make  money,  and  they  looked  upon 
Durant,  Bushnell,  Tompkins,  Willey,  Ben- 
ton, and  all  the  rest  as  very  troublesome 
and  crack-brained  beggars.  It  is  a  strange 
and  sad  story.  The  first  great  group  of 
California  millionnaires,  who  ruled  the 
Pacific  Coast  from  1853  to  1868,  gave 
in  the  aggregate  less  than  the  price  of  a 
third-rate  racehorse  to  the  university 
idea.  "California  liberality"  did  not 
"  pan  out."  Men  of  many  millions  figure 
in  the  lists  of  those  days  for  a  grudging 
hundred  dollars  given  at  long  intervals. 
It  was  the  college  graduates,  chiefly  from 
New  England,  who  built  up  the  College 
of  California. 

There  was  a  famous  alumni  dinner  in 
1864,  when  one  hundred  and  twenty-five 
college  graduates  sat  down  together. 
Thirty-four  colleges  were  represented. 
Yale  had  twenty  sons ;  Williams,  eleven  ; 
Harvard  and  Union,  nine  each ;  Dart- 
mouth, seven.  The  "  Associated  Alumni  " 
lasted  some  years,  to  be  succeeded  by 
separate  college  clubs,  as  the  number  of 
alumni  on  the  coast  increased.  Now  there 
has  been  a  University  Club  established 
in  San  Francisco  on  the  plan  of  the  Uni- 
versity Club  of  New  York,  and  it  is  a 
great  success. 

The   College    of   California    graduated 

twenty-three   men    during   its   time,  who 

are,  of  course,    accepted   alumni   of  the 

University  of  California. 

Dr.  Willey  in   his  book 

gives    a    list    of    nearly 


;.--v  ':,v 


^1* 


Professor  Joseph    Le  Conte. 

seven  hundred  alumni  of  various  colleges 
and  universities  who  were  residents  of 
this  coast  in  1865.  These  were  the  men 
who  did  most  to  build  up  the  State 
University,  and  to  advance  higher  educa- 
tion in  every  possible  manner. 

While  this  small  group  of  singularly  de- 
voted men  were  doing  such  pioneer  work, 
and  were  holding  up  a  standard  of  scholar- 
ship as  high  on  the  whole  as  that  of  any 
other  college  in  the  country,  the  coming 
State  University  was  being  endowed  from 
another  direction.  In  1853,  an  "Act  of 
Congress "  gave  California  seventy-two 
sections    of  land,    "  for    the     use     of    a 


HIP  111! 

'fa  ri 


2ftl3|saj 


The  New  Chemistry   Building. 


96 


THE    UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 


seminary  of  learning."  Ten  additional 
sections  granted  by  the  same  act  "  for 
public  buildings  "  were  set  apart  by  the 
state      for     university     buildings.       This 


and  industrial  college."  If  the  larger 
scheme  of  a  true  university  could  be 
adopted,  then  the  valuable  lands,  build- 
ings, and  whole  organization  of  the  Col- 


The   Berkeley  Oaks. 


magnificent  land  gift  remained  long  un- 
used. It  could  not  be  obtained  by  the 
College  of  California.  The  political 
difficulties  long  prevented  the  location  of 
these  lands,  and  thus  the  state  failed  to 
secure  the  full  possibilities  of  the  gift. 
In  1862,  however,  the  "Agricultural  and 
Mechanical  Arts  College  Act"  gave  Cali- 
fornia about  150,000  additional  acres. 
The  project  of  a  "  single  state  college  " 
took  shape  by  a  legislative  act  of  1866, 
and  in  June,  1867,  the  Governor  and 
State  Commissioners  chose  a  site  in 
Alameda  County,  near  Berkeley,  where 
the  College  of  California  had  already 
purchased  one  hundred  and  sixty  acres. 
But  the  state  idea  was  as  yet  crude, 
narrow,  and  undeveloped.  It  was  left 
for  Henry  Durant  and  his  friends  to 
create  the  university.  The  plan  of  the 
state  was  to  have  an  "  exclusively  scientific 


lege  of  California  could  be  merged  into  it. 
Governor  Low  wrote  on  behalf  of  the 
state  :  the  state  had  money ;  it  must  also 
have  the  "  scholarship,  organization,  en- 
thusiasm, and  reputation"  of  the  College 
of  California.  And  so,  with  the  under- 
standing that  the  college  of  Letters  should 
be  "  second  to  none  in  the  country,"  the 
men  of  the  old  college  gave  themselves 
and  all  they  had  to  the  state.  March 
23,  1868,  the  act  creating  the  university 
was  passed,  and  the  Berkeley  students 
annually  celebrate  the  day. 

The  first  president  of  the  State  L^niver- 
sity  was  Daniel  C.  Gilman ;  and  he  laid 
its  foundations  broad  and  deep.  When 
he  decided  to  go  to  Johns  Hopkins. 
California  lost  the  greatest  organizer  of 
educational  work  ever  known  on  the 
Pacific  Coast. 

President  Gilman  was  fortunatelv  able 


THE    UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 


97 


to  secure  the  active  co-operation  of  many 
men  of  means  who  had  hitherto  held 
aloof.  Michael  Reese  gave  the  univer- 
sity the  "Francis  Lieber  library"  of 
three  thousand  volumes  of  history  and 
political  economy.  Dr.  Adams  of  Johns 
Hopkins,  in  a  lecture,  once  pointed  out 
the  interesting  circumstances  that  both 
Lieber  and  Bluntschli,  who  were  lifelong 
friends  and  associates  in  the  same  lines 
of  work,  gathered  important  libraries. 
The  Lieber  collection  went  to  the  Uni- 
versity of  California,  the  Bluntschli  was 
secured  by  Johns  Hopkins.  This  is  only 
one  of  the  many  bonds  of  union  between 
Berkeley  and  Baltimore.  Michael  Reese 
also  gave  the  university  $50,000  for  pur- 
chasing books.  A  pioneer  banker,  Pioche, 
gave  his  private  library  and  fine  collec- 
tion of  shells,  ores,  and  minerals.  Fred- 
erick Tompkins  founded  the  Agassiz 
Chair  of  Oriental  Languages.  D.  O.  Mills, 
now  of  New  York,  endowed  the  Mills 
Chair  of  Philosophy.  Judge  Hastings 
established  the  Law  College  by  a  gift  of 
$100,000.  Henry  Bacon,  in  1877,  gave 
$25,000,  besides  books  and  works  of  art 
to  the  library.  A.  K.  P.  Harmon  built 
the  gymnasium.  Harry  Edwards  of  the 
old  California  theatre,  James  Keene,  and 
others,    added     largely    to   the    museum. 


Professor  Irving  Stringham. 


Professor  Martin    Kellogg. 

James  Lick  gave  $700,000  to  erect  the 
Lick  Observatory,  on  Mount  Hamilton. 

Notwithstanding  such  gifts,  and  the 
growth  of  the  public  support,  the  univer- 
sity labored  under  a  great  difficulty  —  it 
was  more  or  less  "in  politics."  The 
"granger  movement,"  which  began  in 
the  closing  days  of  President  Oilman's 
administration,  threatened  to  destroy  the 
whole  fabric.  The  terms  of  the  magnifi- 
cent gift  of  the  College  of  California 
were  ignored  by  the  promoters  of  the 
movement,  and  the  effort  to  confine  the 
functions  of  the  State  University  to  "  agri- 
culture and  industrial  arts  "  was  the  lead- 
ing political  issue  for  several  years.  In 
one  form  or  another  it  lasted  through  the 
administration  of  the  late  Prof.  John  Le- 
Conte,  which  closed  in  1881  ;  and  even 
now  some  of  the  ancient  embers  oc 
casionally  blaze  out  again. 

In  every  department  the  university  has 
kept  well  abreast  of  progress.  Its  classical 
department  is  in  no  wise  inferior  to  that 
of  Yale.  The  scientific  requirements  are 
well  on  a  level  with  those  of  the  Sheffield 
Scientific  School.  Professor  Eugene  W. 
Hilgard,  head  of  the  Agricultural  College, 
has  a  national  reputation.  The  gardens, 
experimental  stations,  and  other  depart- 
ments under  his  charge  are  scattered 
over  the  whole  state,  and  comply  in  letter 
and    spirit   with    the    various   acts  under 


98 


THE    UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 


Professor  W.  B.  Rising. 

which  the  university  holds  its  lands.  His- 
tory, English  literature,  and  philology 
have  also  received  especial  attention,  and 
have  been  in  the  hands  of  strong  men. 

The  two  brothers,  John  and  Joseph 
LeConte,  the  former  of  whom  died  April 
29th  of  the  present  year,  have  been  the 
leaders  of  the  university  in  science  ever 
since  its  foundation.  The  late  Professor 
Edward  Rowland  Sill  was  one  of  the  wisest 
teachers  of  literature  in  the  United  States. 
Among  the  prominent  professors  connected 
with  the  university  are  Professor  Martin 
Kellogg,  Professor  Bernard   Moses,  Pro- 


fessor Charles  Gayley,  Professor  George 
Howison,  Professor  Irving  Stringham,  and 
Professor  W.  B.  Rising.  The  present 
"academic  senate  "  at  Berkeley  consists  of 
seventy  members,  professors,  associates, 
and  instructors,  a  number  of  whom  were 
with  Henry  Durant  in  the  old  College  of 
California.  The  entire  staff  in  all  the  col- 
leges, and  at  Mount  Hamilton,  contains 
one  hundred  and  thirty-nine  members. 

Dr.  Durant  lived  to  see  the  university 
organized,  and  was  everywhere  honored 
as  the  pioneer  in  the  field.  President 
Gilman  was  succeeded  by  President  John 
LeConte,  who  continued  his  professor- 
ship. President  W.  T.  Reid,  formerly 
principal  of  the  Boys'  High  School  in 
San  Francisco,  was  inaugurated  in  1881. 
In  1885  he  resigned  to  take  charge  of  a 
school  of  his  own,  and  Professor  Edward  S. 
Holden,  the  well-known  astronomer,  was 
elected  president.  Pie  resigned  in  1888, 
to  become  director  of  the  Lick  Obser- 
vatory, and  Hon.  Horace  Davis  of  San 
Francisco,  a  Harvard  man  of  long  busi- 
ness training  and  high  executive  ability, 
became  his  successor,  but  resigned  in 
1890.  Professor  Martin  Kellogg,  dean 
of  the  faculty,  has  since  served  as  acting 
president.  Too  many  changes,  it  must 
be  confessed ;  but  the  university  has 
grown  steadily  all  the  while,  the  classes 
have  increased  in  size,  the  endowment 
has  grown,  university  alumni  are  better 
represented  on  the  Board  of  Regents, 
political  influences   have   been    shorn  of 


The  Golden   Gate,  from    Berke'ey. 


THE    UNIVERSITY  OE  CAIIFORNIA. 


99 


their  power,  and  the  people  of  California 
are  more  heartily  in  accord  with  the 
spirit  of  the  workers  at  Berkeley. 

The  "  Board  of  Regents  "  is  a  cumbrous 
and  badly  constituted  body.  There  are 
seven  ex-officio  members,  the  governor 
of  the  state,  the  lieutenant-governor,  the 
speaker  of  the  assembly,  the  state  super- 
intendent of  schools,  the  president  of 
the  agricultural  society,  the  president  of 
the  Mechanics'  Institute,  and  the  univer- 
sity president.  Several  of  them  are  very 
apt  to  be  obscure  and  ignorant  politi- 
cians. There  are  also  sixteen  other 
regents  appointed  by  the  governor,  and 
approved  by  the  State  Senate.  The  aver- 
age of  intelligence  and  business  training 
has  undoubtedly  been  higher  among  the 
appointed  members,  and  when  alumni 
of  the  university  constitute  a  working 
majority  of  the  Board,  the  political  diffi- 
culties that  have  beset  the  university 
since  its  organization  will  be  reduced  to 
a  minimum. 

Since  the  university  was  organized, 
there  have  been  about  six  hundred  and 
forty  graduates,  besides  the  twenty-three 
of  the  College  of  California.  At  the 
present  time  there  are  over  450  students  in 
the  colleges  of  letters  and  science  at 
Berkeley.  The  associated  colleges  of  law, 
medicine,  dentistry,  and  pharmacy,  in 
San  Francisco,  have  313  students,  so  that 
the  total  is  nearly  eight  hundred.  Canada, 
Australia,  the  Hawaiian  Islands,  Mexico, 
Japan,  and  many  other  countries  are,  or 
have  been,  represented  among  the  stu- 
dents. Tuition  is  free,  and,  as  in  the 
University  of  Michigan,  co-education  has 
been  the  principle  from  the  first.  One 
young  lady  graduated  in  the  class  of  '74, 
and  about  eighty-five  have  graduated 
since  that  time.  The  women  have  all 
taken  good  rank  in  their  classes ;  some 
have  made  exceptionally  fine  records  as 
students.  They  take  an  active  part  in 
the  University  Alumni  Association,  and 
they  also  have  an  organization  of  their 
own,  a  branch  of  the  Association  of  Col- 
legiate Alumnae. 

The  University  of  California  has  sent 
out  many  men  of  mark.  Professor  Josiah 
Royce,  of  Harvard,  is  one  of  the  gradu- 
ates, as  is  Dr.  E.  C.  Sanford,  of  Clark 
University    at    Worcester.      So    also    are 


five  or  six  of  the  brightest  young  men 
and  women  in  newspaper  and  magazine 
work  in  the  West,  and  on  the  Pacific 
Coast.  The  college  publications  have 
always  shown  more  mature  thought  than 
is  usual  among  undergraduates.  Much 
of  this  is  undoubtedly  due  to  the  faith- 
fulness of  the  late  Prof.  E.  R.  Sill  and 
his  successor,  Professor  Cook,  now  of 
Yale  ;  but  part  of  it  comes  from  the  fact 
that  freshmen  here  are  older  and  have 
seen  more  of  life  than  is  usual  in  Eastern 
colleges.  The  volumes  of  the  Berke- 
leyan  and  the  Occident,  the  former,  under 
several  administrations,  a  magazine,  con- 
tain much  work  that  runs  well  up  toward 
first-class  magazine  standards.  More 
than  a  dozen  undergraduate  poems  writ- 
ten at  Berkeley  have  appeared  in  the 
Century,  lippincotfs,  the  Atlantic  and 
similar  publications.  There  was  a  little 
volume  of  "College  Verses"  printed  in 


Professor  G    H.  Howison. 

1883,  which  contained  about  sixty  poems, 
full  of  the  charm  of  individuality  and 
what  critics  like  to  call  "  the  flavor  of  the 
soil." 

Berkeley,  the  spot  chosen  by  the  trus- 
tees of  the  College  of  California,  is  one 
of  the  most  beautiful  places  in  California. 
No   university  in  the  world  has   a   more 


100 


THE    UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 


sightly  home.  It  is  on  the  high  rim  of  a 
valley,  at  the  base  of  the  mountains,  and 
it  faces  the  Bay  of  San  Francisco.  The 
whole  East  Shore,  from  North  Berkeley, 
south,  past  Oakland,  to  Fruitvale,  a  dis- 
tance of  ten  miles,  is  becoming  a  city  of 
homes.  In  this  region  the  oaks,  streams, 
and  high,  frostless  slopes  of  Berkeley, 
justify  the  rare  judgment  of  Dr.  Bush- 
nell,  Henry  Durant  and  Dr.  Willey.  It 
is  a  fit  place  to  be  the  educational  centre 
of  California.  Strawberry  Creek,  Grizzly 
Peak,  the  wild  canons  behind  the  univer- 
sities, and  the  ancient  live-oaks  that 
might  have  been  visited  by  Nee,  the 
Spanish  botanist,  a  century  ago,  all  re- 
main nearly  as  they  were  when  Berkeley 
was  established.  A  botanical  garden  is 
being  planted  on  the  extensive  grounds 
by  Professor  Hilgard  and  his  assistants, 
but  the  natural  beauties  of  the  site  are 
retained  and  increased. 

The  property  and  income  of  the  Uni- 
versity of  California  represent  a  total  of 
about  $7,000,000,  which  fairly  entitles 
it  to  rank  among  the  six  or  seven 
best  endowed  universities  in  America. 
The  plants  and  lands  are  worth  $2,859,- 
790.  The  cash  capital  funds  and  endow- 
ments, aside  from  the  state  tax,  are  more 
than  $2,000,000.  The  state  tax  now  yields 
nearly  $100,000  yearly.  All  but  $90,000  of 
the  Lick  fund  of  $700,000  was  spent  in 
building  the  observatory,  and  the  university 
spends  nearly  $15,000  annually,  from  its 
general  fund,  for  the  running  expenses 
of  this  great  "watch    tower  of  the  skies. 


*  0T^ 


Professor  Eugene  W.   Hilgard. 


Dr.  J    H    C    Bonte. 

The  future  growth  of  the  university " 
largely  depends,  in  a  material  sense,  on 
the  growth  of  the  income  from  the  state 
tax  of  one  cent  on  every  hundred  dollars 
of  taxable  property. 

The  educational  lack  of  California  at 
present  is  in  the  line  of  preparatory 
schools.  There  are  not  enough  univer- 
sity feeders  in  different  parts  of  the  state. 
The  "new  constitution"  of  California, 
in  1879,  cut  off  the  high  schools  from 
the  state  school  provisions,  and  threw 
them  on  the  charity  of  local  boards  of 
education.  This,  which  was  one  of  the 
worst  results  of  the  granger  agitation 
before  alluded  to,  soon  began  to  affect 
the  freshman  classes  of  the  university. 
As  soon  as  the  present  system  can  be 
unified,  and  the  lower  schools  graded  up, 
the  attendance  at  Berkeley  may  well  in- 
crease from  four  hundred  and  fifty  to 
three  times  that  number. 

President  Horace  Davis,  in  his  report 
for  1888,  says,  on  this  point,  that  the 
California  institutions  of  secondary  edu- 
cation 

"  form  three  groups,  without  any  organic  connec- 
tion. First,  the  primary  and  grammar  schools; 
second,  the  normal  schools,  partly  overlapping 
the  grammar,  but  not  reaching  the  university; 
and  third,  the  high  schools,  which  are  local  in- 
stitutions, cut  off  from  State  aid,  and  varying  in 
quality  according  to  the  community  they  repre- 
sent. Over  all  these  is  the  university,  with  no 
power  over  any  of  them  and  having  direct  con- 
nection with  only  six  high  schools  through  its 
system  of  entrance  on  diploma.  The  university 
has  thus  accomplished  by  moral  force  what  it  had 
no  legal  power  to  do  :  it  has  forged  a  link  of  con- 
nection with  the  public  school  system;    and  now 


THE   GROWTH  OF  A    VEGETARIAN. 


101 


we  want  to  go  on  and  bring  all  the  schools  into 
direct  communication  with  us,  First,  the  normal 
schools  should  be  graded  up  to  university  require- 
ments; thus  two  objects  would  be  accomplished. 
The  graduates  of  the  normal  schools  would  then 
be  fit  to  teach  the  lower  grades  of  the  high 
schools;  and  secondly,  the  university  could  es- 
tablish a  chair  of  pedagogics  and  train  those 
normal  graduates  who  enter  the  university  in  the 
higher  methods  of  instruction,  while  now  the 
graduate  of  the  normal  school  is  unable  to  pass  our 
entrance  requirements  without  private  instruction." 

On  the  principles  thus  clearly  denned, 
the  friends  of  the  University  of  Califor- 
nia, and  its  more  than  six  hundred  alumni 
are  endeavoring  to  undo  the  work  of  the 
politicians  of  '79.  The  standard  of 'the 
University  must  be  maintained,  and  ad- 
vanced so  as  to  keep  pace  with  other 
first-class  institutions.  The  lower  schools 
must  "grade  up  "  and  fall  into  line.  For 
twenty  years  to  come  the  most  important 
work  of  California  educators  must  be  in 
this  field ;  and  the  men  of  the  State 
University  must  furnish  the  leaders  in  the 
future  as  in  the  past.  It  is  an  old  saying, 
that    an    educational    institution    is    not 


fully  established  until  the  sons  of  its 
graduates  are  students  in  its  halls.  For 
the  University  of  California  that  time  is 
close  at  hand ;  its  earlier  graduates  are 
already  men  of  mark  in  the  rapidly  grow- 
ing communities  west  of  the  Rocky 
Mountains,  and  their  children  are  being 
fitted  for  the  Berkeley  college-group. 
University  men  are  teachers  in  the  com- 
mon schools,  high  schools,  and  private 
academies  of  the  state.  Each  succeed- 
ing year  sees  the  influence  of  the  Uni- 
versity stronger  and  more  widely  diffused 
over  the  country.  Another  university, 
of  great  capacities  for  extended  useful- 
ness, is  almost  ready  for  students  at  Palo 
Alto.  It  must  be  the  work  of  every  citi- 
zen that  both  institutions  may  worthily 
uphold  the  standards  of  higher  scholar- 
ship. Both  are  needed,  nor  is  there  any 
serious  danger  that  their  interests  can 
clash,  now  or  hereafter.  May  they  stand 
a  thousand  years  hence,  the  Oxford  and 
Cambridge  of  the  millions  of  prosperous 
people  of  the  Pacific  Coast. 


THE  GROWTH  OF  A  VEGETARIAN. 

By  Mary  L.  Adams. 


rT"*HE  garden-patch  in  front  of  Widow 
|  Lathe's  house  was  brilliant  with 
x  flowers.  The  vivid  colors  of  the 
blossoms  seemed  to  intensify  the  perfume 
that  floated  out  to  the  passers-by.  The 
sweet-peas  caught  with  their  fingers  the 
pickets  of  the  fence  over  which  they 
poked  their  heads  to  see  what  was  going 
on  outside,  —  suffering  for  their  curiosity 
by  being  torn  from  the  vines  by  small 
purloining  hands. 

The  house  that  stood  behind  the  flower 
bed  was  hip-roofed,  and  freshly  painted. 
It  had  a  little  porch  covered  with  vines. 
At  one  side  of  the  door  there  was  a  large 
hook,  from  which  Dr.  Lathe's  lantern 
had  hung.  When  the  light  of  that  good 
man's  life  went  out,  the  lamp  of  his 
profession  was  taken  in.  In  its  place 
swung   a   cage    containing    a   parrot  —  a 


gray  bird  with  crimson  trimmings,  whose 
character  was  not  in  keeping  with  his 
beauty.  The  bird  was  the  only  surviving 
member  of  Widow  Lathe's  family.  It  had 
been  sent  to  her  as  the  sole  remaining 
possession  of  her  one  child,  her  son  who 
was  lost  at  sea.  The  widow  worshipped 
the  bird.  It  seemed  to  her  as  if  the 
creature  were  apart  of  her  lamented  Billy  ; 
and  indeed  it  had  a  certain  resemblance  to 
him  in  its  affectionate  disposition  and  in  its 
glib  use  of  oaths.  This  last  quality  was  a 
great  cross  to  the  widow,  and  she  remon- 
strated often  and  earnestly  with  the  bird, 
as  she  had  with  her  son  before  —  and  with 
much  the  same  result. 

For  three  whole  weeks  the  parrot  had 
been  in  Widow  Lathe's  possession,  at 
once  a  comfort  and  a  torment  to  her, 
and   no  one   knew  of   his    arrival.     His 


102 


THE  GROWTH  OF  A    VEGETARIAN 


mistress  was  waiting  to  cure  him  of  his 
unfortunate  habit  before  she  introduced 
him  to  her  friends. 

One  afternoon,  when  the  bird  seemed 
pining  for  fresh  air,  she  preached  a  touch- 
ing sermon,  to  which  Billy  listened,  bri- 
dling on  his  perch  and  gently  pecking  her 
pale  cheek,  pressed  against  the  wires. 
When  she  finished,  she  wiped  the  tears 
from  her  eyes,  and  hung  the  cage  on 
the  lantern  hook  above  the  luxuriant 
flowers. 

"Ah,  Billy,"  she  said,  —  she  had  got 
into  the  way  of  calling  him  by  her  son's 
name,  and  had  she  been  an  Egyptian 
she  would  have  believed  that  her  son's 
soul  was  imprisoned  in  the  bird,  —  "Ah, 
Billy,  if  you  are  only  good,  you  can  stay 
out  in  the  sunshine  every  day,  from  morn- 
ing till  night,  and  smell  the  flowers. 
And  there's  not  such  a  garden  in  all  the 
town  as  this  one,  Billy.  The  flowers 
seem  to  love  to  grow  for  me  here." 

She  glanced  about  with  tender  pride 
and  sniffed  the  fragrant  air.  Billy,  too, 
appeared  impressed  by  the  scene.  He 
was  quite  subdued  when  she  turned  again 
for  a  last  word. 

"  Now,  remember  !  It's  your  own 
fault  if  you  have  to  stay  shut  up  in  the 
house.  It  breaks  my  heart  to  punish 
you,"  she  said,  in  the  same  pleading  tone 
she  had  once  used  to  her  son.  She  went 
in  and  left  him,  and  the  bird  laughed 
and  whistled  ;  no  oaths  or  curses  reached 
the  listening  ear  indoors. 

For  some  time  Billy  thus  swung  hap- 
pily and  virtuously  above  the  flowers. 
Then  his  bright  eye  fell  on  a  thin  figure 
with  black  flapping  coat-tails,  stumbling 
up  the  road.  It  was  the  Rev.  Joseph 
Maynard,  coming  to  administer  to  the 
Widow  Lathe  the  weekly  condolence. 
He  walked  nervously,  his  clumsy  feet 
sending  the  dust  over  his  shrunken  pan- 
taloons and  his  broadcloth  coat.  He  did 
not  look  up  as  he  approached  the  gate, 
but  mechanically  put  out  his  hand  to 
push  it  open.  There  was  a  subdued 
sound  from  somewhere  as  he  did  so,  but 
he  caught  no  distinct  words.  He  glanced 
timidly  into  the  yard,  but  he  saw  no  one, 
when  suddenly  a  clear,  low  voice  as- 
saulted his  shocked  ear  with,  "  You 
d d  fool,  go  about  your  business." 


There  was  no  mistaking  this  profane 
command.  The  reverend  gentleman 
sprang  back,  and  peered  under  the  bushes. 
He  saw  nobody ;  but  with  the  instinctive 
deception  to  which  the  best  are  sometimes 
prone,  he  exclaimed  in  a  hesitating  tone, 
with  an  attempt  at  firmness  : 

"  Young  man,  if  the  worthy  Widow  Lathe 
heard  you  use  such  blasphemous  words,  she 
would  not  allow  you  to  weed  her  garden. 
You  need  not  hide.  I  know  you  are 
there ;  and  I  am  astonished  and  dis- 
tressed at  your  irreverence." 

While  he  spoke,  the  bewildered  divine 
was  ducking  his  head  this  side  and 
that,  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  offender. 

"  D d  fool  !  d d  fool !  reef  your 


topsail  !  d d  fool !  " 

This  burst  of  unholiness  seemed  surely 
to  come  from  above.  The  Rev.  Joseph 
Maynard  jerked  up  his  head.  All  he 
saw  was  a  bird  hopping  on  his  perch 
above  the  flowers,  and  laughing  in  the 
sun. 

"  Tra  la  la,  tra  la  la  !  Oh,  Lor'  !  Oh, 
Lor'!  Four  o'clock!  All's  well!  Wind's 
northeast !     Blows  —  " 

The  Rev.  Mr.  Maynard  did  not 
wait  for  more.  He  turned  and  hurried 
down  the  street,  pursued  by  Billy's 
fiendish  laughter.  When  the  dust  that 
he  raised  in  his  retreat  had  settled,  the 
widow  appeared  in  her  doorway.  Her 
face  was  stern,  and  she  looked  at  the 
innocent  occupant  of  the  cage  in 
stony  despair.  Billy  swung  to  and  fro, 
apparently  unconscious  of  her  presence. 
Each  remained  silent  for  a  moment ; 
then  the  widow  grasped  the  cage.  She 
carried  it  resolutely  into  the  house,  hold- 
ing it  out  before  her,  and  walked  with  it 
to  the  store  closet.  The  store  closet  was 
large,  with  one  little  window  looking  out 
upon  the  shed.  It  was  a  great  contrast 
to  the  garden  with  the  flowers.  She 
placed  the  cage  in  a  dark  corner,  and 
after  opening  the  window  to  let  in  the 
air,  she  went  out  and  locked  the  door. 
Then  she  tramped  into  the  little  sitting- 
room,  dreary  with  its  unpapered  walls,  its 
air-tight  stove,  its  hair-cloth  furniture  and 
rag  carpet,  and  took  out  her  "  work."  Her 
mouth  was  very  grim  as  she  pinned  one 
end  of  a  sheet  to  her  knee  and  began  to 
hem.      Through    the    afternoon    she    sat 


THE  GROWTH  OF  A    VEGETARIAN. 


103 


there,  never  looking  up,  except  when  the 
old  clock  wheezed  out  the  hours  and 
half  hours. 

About  three  Billy  began  to  call.  The 
sounds  issuing  from  the  store  closet  came 
in  at  the  sitting-room  window ;  but  the 
widow  was  seemingly  unmoved  by  the 
whistles  and  the  screams.  She  listened 
calmly  to  coaxings  and  to  oaths,  never 
going  near  the  reprobate,  except  to  give 
him  some  food  and,  as  night  came  on, 
to  close  the  window. 

A  few  days  later,  Billy  began  to  pine 
and  lose  his  appetite.  Then  once  more 
the  widow  resorted  to  prayers  and  tears. 
After  an  earnest  plea  she  took  the  bird 
out  of  his  cage  and  held  him  in  her  lap. 
He  had  been  very  lonely  without  the 
affection  which  he  was  wont  to  receive, 
and  at  her  forgiving  touch  he  nestled 
against  her  in  a  way  which  brought  tears 
to  the  poor  woman's  eyes. 

"  I  believe  you  will  be  good  now, 
Billy,"  she  said,  pressing  him  to  her  for- 
lorn heart.  "  You're  a  sight  of  company 
and  a  real  comfort  when  you're  good." 

She  rocked  him  for  a  little  while,  and 
then  replaced  him  in  his  cage  and  hung 
it  outdoors  over  the  flowers.  For  a  time 
Billy  was  quiet ;  but  after  the  sun  bright- 
ened him  up  and  the  soft  wind  ruffled 
his  feathers  he  began  to  whistle  and  call 
as  of  old.  The  widow  watched  from  be- 
hind the  closed  blinds  of  the  sitting-room, 
and  her  heart  beat  quicker  and  her  cheek 
grew  pale  as  she  saw  the  limp  form  of 
the  minister  coming  down  the  road. 
She  pressed  her  hands  tightly  together  as 
he  turned  in  at  her  gate.  The  parrot 
gazed  at  him  out  of  his  bright  eyes  with- 
out opening  his  beak.  The  Rev.  Mr. 
Maynard  surveyed  him  a  moment  when 
he  arrived  at  the  top  step,  and  stretched 
his  head  toward  the  bird.  "  Pretty  Polly  !  " 
he  said  soothingly.     "  Pretty  Polly  !  " 

At  this  there  came  an  explosion.  Billy 
flew  to  the  side  of  his  cage,  vainly  trying 
to  get  at  the  offender.  He  was  unable 
to  reach  him,  but  he  gave  vent  to  his 
feelings  by  a  volley  of  oaths.  The 
widow  behind  the  blinds  gave  a  sigh. 
The  minister  pushed  open  the  door,  and 
hurried  into  her  presence,  trembling  with 
excitement. 

"  Woman  !  "   he   exclaimed,  "  how  can 


you — how  dare  you,  —  you  who  profess 
to  be  a  Christian,  —  keep  such  a  creature 
as  that  bird  in  your  house?  " 

The  widow  drew  herself  up.  "Sir!" 
said  she,  "I  allow  no  man  to  call  me 
woman  in  that  tone  !  " 

"  You  should  not  keep  a  bird  who  has 
twice  cursed  a  minister  of  the  gospel," 
retorted  the  reverend  man. 

"Sir!"  said  the  widow,  "a  minister 
of  the  gospel  should  not  insult  a  woman 
in  her  own  house,  else  he  is  no  better 
than  an  ignorant  bird." 

"  Pardon  me,  madam,"  he  said,  "  I 
forgot  myself  in  my  astonishment." 

"We  both  forgot  ourselves,"  said  she, 
quick  to  be  reconciled  —  "  I,  in  protect- 
ing my  parrot,  as  a  mother  her  offspring." 

"  Heaven  forbid  that  you  should  be 
the  mother  of  such  a  creature  !  " 

The  widow  felt  the  justice  of  the  re- 
mark and  made  no  defence. 

"  I  feel  terribly  enough,"  she  said 
presently,  "  about  this  bad  habit  my  bird 
has  got.  But  we  all  of  us  have  bad 
habits,  and  I  try  to  be  patient  with  this 
one.  I've  talked  to  him  for  hours  to- 
gether. I've  prayed  with  him.  I'm  be- 
ginning to  think  he'll  never  be  any 
better."  She  wiped  her  eyes.  "Oh, 
Mr.  Maynard,  you,  with  your  ten  children, 
don't  realize  what  it  is  to  be  alone  in  the 
world  with  nothing  but  a  parrot  who 
swears.  Yet  he's  such  a  loving  creature  ! 
I  tell  him  he's  a  sight  of  company  when 
he's  good." 

The  minister  sat  perplexed ;  he  had 
never  before  met  with  such  a  case. 

"One  thing  is  sure,"  he  said  at  last, 
"  it  isn't  right  to  keep  such  a  creature, 
who  is  so  bad  an  example  for  the  young. 
It's  your  Christian  duty  not  to." 

"  I  can't  give  him  away,"  she  said. 

"It  would  be  the  same  thing  over  again," 
he  observed. 

"  And  I  couldn't  bear  to  part  with 
him  !      He's  the  last  of  my  family  !  " 

"  But  if  it  were  shown  you  that  it  was 
your  duty  to  rid  yourself —  and  the  town 
—  of  such  a  creature,  you  would  do  it?" 

The  widow  bowed ;  and  he  went  to 
work  to  convince  her  that  it  was  a  sin  to 
keep  the  bird  any  longer. 

"What  shall  I  do  with  him?"  she 
sobbed  at  last. 


104 


THE   GROWTH  OF  A    VEGETARIAN. 


li  Shoot  him  !  "   said  the  parson. 

When  he  took  his  departure  abruptly, 
Mrs.  Lathe  threw  herself  upon  the  slippery 
little  lounge  and  wept  aloud.  Billy  ex- 
hausted his  oaths  upon  the  receding 
clergyman,  and  then  amused  himself  by 
calling  the  broken-hearted  widow  pet 
names  in  his  gentlest  voice.  At  this 
she  only  sobbed  the  harder.  When  she 
had  quieted  herself  she  went  out  to  get 
the  bird.  He  looked  curiously  at  her 
red  eyes  and  swollen  face.  She  took 
him  back  to  the  store -closet,  and  there 
he  remained  for  two  days,  during  which 
the  widow  was  undergoing  a  ceaseless 
struggle  for  light  as  to  her  duty. 

One  morning,  after  a  sleepless  night, 
when  everything  was  quiet  and  she  knew 
she  would  be  safe  from  interruption,  she 
carried  the  parrot  out  to  the  barn.  She 
was  pale  and  faint.  The  doors  on  the 
opposite  sides  of  the  barn  were  open,  and 
the  sweet  summer  air  filled  the  old  cob- 
webbed  building.  Billy's  drooped  head 
lifted,  and  she  saw  his  pleasure  through 
her  tears,  and  heard  his  soft  words  with 
anguish.  She  turned  resolutely  into  the 
adjoining  shed,  and  when  she  came  back 
she  carried  an  old  musket  in  her  trembling 
hands.  She  shut  all  the  doors,  and  in 
the  dim  light  examined  the  weapon.  It 
was  loaded,  as  she  had  left  it.  She 
placed  it  in  a  corner  and  looked  at  it 
nervously.  It  had  not  been  fired  since 
her  son's  youth.  For  a  long  time  she 
regarded  it,  rubbing  her  hanrls  together, 
and  not  once  looking  on  the  bird,  who 
was  calling  her.  Billy  lost  patience,  and 
began  to  swear.  The  widow  shouldered 
the  gun.  "  This  cannot  be  allowed  !  " 
she  muttered ;  and  while  her  forced 
anger  was  maintained  at  its  height,  she 
took  aim,  shut  both  eyes,  pulled  the 
rusty  trigger,  and  —  ! 

The  next  thing  she  knew  she  was  lying 
on  her  back  in  the  straw,  with  the  gun  in 
pieces  around  her,  and  the  parrot  screech- 
ing and  fluttering  in  his  cage.  Her  heart 
almost  stopped  beating.  She  tried  to 
get  up,  but  fell  back.  She  tried  again, 
and  this  time  managed  to  pull  herself 
upon  her  feet. 

She  was  only  jarred,  after  all,  and  her 
strength  came  back  as  she  stepped  for- 
ward.    She  reached  the  cage.     She  gave 


a  cry,  and  encircling  the  cage  with  both 
her  arms,  laid  her  face  down  on  the 
top. 

"  Oh,  I  have  killed  him  !  I  have  shot 
him  !  "  she  moaned,  while  the  unharmed 
bird  furiously  pecked  her  cheek.  She 
began  to  realize  that  Billy  was  lively  for  a 
dying  creature.     "  I'm  a  wicked  woman 

—  a  wicked  woman!"  she  cried,  when 
she  had  failed  to  find  a  scratch  on  him. 
"  I  deserve  to  be  shot  myself.  Oh,  how 
could  I  have  been  so  cruel  ?  Oh,  Billy  ! 
Billy  !  " 

Billy  kicked  and  clawed  and  tried  to 
get  away. 

"  He  knows  I  am  wicked  —  he  feels 
it  !     How  can  he  ever  trust  a  person  so 

—  so  —  so  bloodthirsty  !  " 

She  put  the  parrot  from  her.  His  fear 
gradually  subsided,  and  in  half  an  hour 
he  was  quiet  on  his  perch.  The  widow 
sat  in  an  old  cow-stall,  long  unused  and 
empty,  and  watched  him,  listening  to  his 
oaths  even  with  secret  rejoicing  and 
with  self-condemnation.  At  last,  stiff  and 
worn  out  from  her  fall  and  her  emotion, 
she  got  upon  her  knees  and  picked  up 
the  pieces  of  the  exploded  musket  and 
hid  them  in  the  straw ;  and  while  still 
upon  her  knees,  she  thanked  her  Creator 
that  she  had  not  been  allowed  to  carry 
out  her  murderous  design. 

She  took  Billy  into  the  house,  up  the 
back  stairs,  to  an  old  chamber  overlook- 
ing the  orchard.  It  was  an  antiquated 
storeroom,  with  odd  pieces  of  furniture, 
blue  bandboxes,  old  bonnets  and  old 
clothes  in  various  stages  of  decay.  There 
was  a  large  window  which  opened  into 
the  boughs  of  an  apple  tree,  and  in  the 
spring  time  the  scent  of  apple  blossoms 
mingled  with  the  odor  of  the  musty 
relics.  Mrs.  Lathe  opened  this  window 
and  placed  Billy  in  his  cage,  on  a  table 
before  it. 

"  It's  far  away  from  the  street,  and 
from  the  neighbors,"  she  said,  as  she 
surveyed  him.  "  No  one  can  hear  him 
even  if  he  screams.  He'll  get  sun  and 
air.  I  will  tell  Mr.  Maynard  I  shot  him. 
I  will  let  him  believe  —  a  lie  !  I  —  Oh, 
how  sinful  I  have  become  !  But  it  is 
better  to  say  I  killed  him  than  to  have 
reallv  done  it  !  What  if  I  had  killed 
him?     Oh,  Billy  !     What  if  I  had  killed 


THE   GROWTH  OF  A    VEGETARIAN 


105 


him  —  a  living  creature  !  —  sent  him  into 
—  no  one  knows  what  ?  " 

She  bowed  her  head,  and  tottered 
from  the  room.  In  the  course  of  a  day  or 
two  she  regained  her  self-possession,  but 
her  mind  was  filled  with  new  ideas  while 
she  worked  to  make  Billy's  prison  seem 
like  the  great  out-of-doors  he  loved  so 
much.  She  took  a  ladder  and  climbed 
upon  the  roof  of  the  shed.  From  there 
she  reached  the  storeroom  window  and 
nailed  some  slats  across  the  lower  half. 
She  pushed  the  apple  boughs,  which  had 
tapped  on  the  glass  for  admittance  so 
many  years,  into  the  room,  to  make  "a 
green  perch  for  Billy.  She  stowed  away 
all  the  old  traps  in  the  attic,  working 
incessantly,  scarcely  stopping  to  eat  or 
sleep.  Out  in  the  garden  she  dug  up 
many  of  her  handsomest  flowering  plants, 
and  these  she  potted  and  put  into  the 
freshly  cleaned  chamber.  When  every- 
thing was  done  that  could  be  done  to 
make  the  place  bright  and  sweet  and 
airy,  she  set  wide  the  door  of  Billy's 
cage,  and  did  not  shut  it  again. 

The  bird  seemed  timid  at  first,  but  he 
soon  became  used  to  his  surroundings, 
and  perched  first  on  one  green  branch, 
then  on  another ;  and  the  widow  watched 
him  pull  the  blossoms  from  her  choicest 
geranium  with  a  feeling  almost  ecstatic, 
while  the  tears  rolled  down  her  cheeks. 
She  fed  him  with  dainties,  and  then  went 
away  and  left  him  to  his  new-found  bliss. 

She  could  not  accomplish  much  in  the 
way  of  work,  for  her  mind  was  filled  with 
Billy.  She  would  pause,  broom  in  hand, 
and  pinch  her  lower  lip  meditatively 
while  she  looked  out  of  the  open  door 
into  the  hen-yard.  The  chickens  strutted 
about  looking  for  worms ;  and  she  forgot 
Billy  for  a  moment  as  her  eyes  followed 
the  particular  greedy  chicken  she  had 
intended  to  kill  for  Sunday's  dinner. 

"  I  thought  I'd  begin  with  that  one, 
it  seems  so  grasping  and  mean 
spirited,"  she  said,  as  the  selfish  creature 
pulled  a  plump  worm  from  a  weaker  sis- 
ter. "  I  was  going  to  have  it  killed  for 
to-day's  dinner,"  she  added,  talking  aloud 
to  herself,  after  her  manner,  "  but  I  guess 
I'll  wait  till  Sunday.  I  believe  I'll  have 
just  vegetables  to-day.  I  don't  believe 
I'd  have  relished  it  to-day.     I'll  have  it 


for  Sunday,  and  get  Sam  Mathews  to  kill 
it  for  me  to-night." 

She  turned  from  the  door  and,  without 
finishing  her  sweeping,  began  to  wash  the 
potatoes  for  dinner.  When  they  were  in 
the  pot  she  remembered  that  she  had  for- 
gotten to  feed  her  hens.  "  I'm  getting 
more  and  more  forgetful  and  —  and  sloth- 
ful," she  said  as  she  mixed  the  feed. 
"  Perhaps  after  a  day  or  two  I  can  think 
of  something  besides  Billy  and  myself." 

She  took  the  yellow  bowl  on  her  arm 
and  went  out  into  the  yard. 

"  Chick  !  Chick  !  Chick  !  "  Billy  from 
his  apple-bough  echoed  her  words  : 
"Chick!  Chick!   Chick!  " 

The  hens,  big  and  little,  tumbled  over 
each  other  in  their  hurry  ;  and  the  doves 
from  the  roof  of  the  barn  circled  about 
and  finally  joined  in  the  feast.  "  Get 
out  of  the  way,  Spotty,"  said  she  to  the 
greedy  chicken  to  whom  she  was  in  the 
habit  of  talking.  "  You  want  all  there 
is  !  "  She  pushed  her  away  and  let  the 
weak  sister  have  her  place.  One  or  two 
of  the  chickens  hopped  into  her  lap  as 
she  stooped  down,  and  she  fed  them 
from  her  spoon.  The  blue  sky  smiled 
above  her  and  the  soft  wind  blew  about 
her  as  she  ministered  to  her  feathered 
family.  Billy  from  the  window  sent  down 
his  approval. 

"  How  tame  they  are  !  "  she  said  aloud. 
"  They're  almost  like  folks ;  and  the  doves 
too,"  she  added,  scattering  a  few  handfuls 
of  grain  to  the  cooing  pigeons.  She  turned 
toward  the  house  again,  shaking  the  re- 
mainder of  the  meal  from  the  bowl  as 
she  walked.  On  the  doorstep  she  turned 
and  surveyed  the  peaceful  scene  once 
more.  Her  heart  was  softened,  even  to- 
ward the  greedy  chicken,  who  was  gob- 
bling as  fast  as  she  could,  and  crowding 
with  all  her  little  might.  "  Poor  things, 
poor  things  !  "  she  muttered ;  "  born  just 
to  die  ! " 

That  afternoon  the  widow  saw  the  min- 
ister coming  cautiously  toward  the  house. 
He  looked  well  about  him  before  he 
opened  the  gate.  There  seemed  to  be 
no  profane  element  in  the  quiet  little  gar- 
den, and  he  walked  softly  up  the  path 
and  knocked  at  the  door.  Mrs.  Lathe, 
with  a  calm  face,  let  him  in,  and  led  the 
way   to  the    sitting-room.     The  minister 


106 


THE   GROWTH  OF  A    VEGETARIAN. 


fidgeted  in  his  chair  and  listened  to  the 
ticking  of  the  clock.  The  widow  re- 
mained silent  opposite  him. 

"  A  pleasant  day,"  he  ventured. 

"Very,"  she  answered. 

"  I  noticed  as  I  came  along  that  old 
Deacon  Mears  was  out  in  his  wheel-chair, 
taking  the  air." 

"  I'm  sure  I'm  glad  to  hear  it.  I  be- 
gan to  think  he  had  been  out  for  the  last 
time.     Wonderful  how  he  clings  to  life  !  " 

"Just  what  I  told  his  wife,"  said  the 
minister,  a  little  more  at  ease.  He  looked 
about  inquisitively,  first  on  one  side,  then 
on  the  other,  as  if  he  expected  a  gun  or 
something  else  might  explode.  He  talked 
on  in  an  aimless  way  about  Sister  Mar- 
tin's rheumatism  and  the  ailments  of  his 
other  parishioners,  interspersing  these 
remarks  with  more  words  on  the  weather. 
At  last  the  widow  asked  abruptly  : 

"  Why  don't  you  ask  where  the  parrot 
is?" 

The  parson  jumped  as  if  the  gun  had 
actually  exploded.  "I  —  I  was  coming 
to  that,"  he  said.     "Where  is  he?" 

"  I  shot  him  !  "  she  exclaimed  in  a  firm 
tone,  telling  her  lie  with  heroic  strength. 

"You  did?"  said  the  parson  feebly. 

"Yes,  I  shot  him,"  she  repeated  — 
and  they  stared  at  each  other. 

"  'Twas  a  good  work,"  said  he  at  last. 

"  It  was  not  !  "  cried  the  widow  in  an 
explosive  way  that  made  him  jump  again. 
"  It  was  the  wickedest  thing  I  ever  did'  in 
my  life  !  "  and  there  the  subject  was  left. 

When  Sunday  came  Mrs.  Lathe  looked 
out  at  the  hen-yard,  there  in  its  church- 
like stillness.  She  was  glad  she  did  not 
have  Sam  Mathews  kill  the  chicken  for 
that  day.  She  decided  to  have  all  the 
various  vegetables,  especially  those  she 
liked  best.  She  would  cook  the  kinds 
she  usually  ate  with  chicken,  but  she 
would  go  without  the  chicken.  She  lis- 
tened to  the  cooing  of  the  doves  and  the 
soft  clucking  of  the  hens,  and  thought 
that  they  too  felt  the  holy  calm  of  the 
day.  When  the  bell  rang  she  put  on  her 
best  black  silk  and  her  new  bonnet,  with 
its  fresh  folds  of  crape,  and  went  to 
church,  her  mind  still  on  her  peaceful 
hen-yard.  Even  the  denunciations  of  the 
Reverend  Mr.  Maynard  could  not  disturb 
her  revery ;  and  as   soon   as   the   service 


was  over  she  hastened  home  and  went 
out  to  the  back  stoop,  in  the  shade,  to 
look  at  the  hens  again.  She  ate  her  vege- 
table dinner  with  good  appetite ;  and 
when  the  dishes  were  cleared  away  she 
returned  to  the  hens.  At  the  end  of 
the  day  she  said  good  night  to  Billy  me- 
chanically and  went  to  bed,  but  she  lay 
there  half-conscious  and  wakeful  all  night. 
The  next  morning  she  was  still  in  a  brown 
study,  but  at  noon,  when  she  sat  down  to 
another  vegetable  dinner,  she  had  formed 
her  resolutions.  When  Freddy  Johnson 
went  by  to  school,  she  called  him  in  and 
gave  him  a  big  doughnut,  and  when  she 
had  further  won  his  heart  by  tucking  a 
couple  of  ginger  cookies  into  his  pocket, 
she  told  him  to  stop  at  the  minister's  and 
ask  him  if  he  would  come  to  see  her  that 
afternoon. 

At  two  o'clock  she  was  walking  ner- 
vously about  the  house,  when  she  saw  the 
minister  approaching.  She  met  him  at 
the  door  and  unconsciously  ushered  him 
into  the  stuffy  parlor,  which  was  used 
only  on  state  occasions.  After  the  tribute 
to  the  weather  Mr.  Maynard  cleared  his 
throat. 

"  Young  Frederick  Johnson  said  you 
wished  to  see  me,"  he  said. 

"I  did,"  said  the  widow,  looking  un- 
easily about  her  and  turning  paler.  "  I 
—  I  wanted  to  say  something  which  I 
ought  to  say.  I  —  "  She  stopped  and 
swallowed  convulsively  again.  It  was 
difficult  for  a  woman  who  had  always 
been  the  soul  of  honor  to  make  such 
a  confession  as  she  had  to.  She  looked 
beseechingly  toward  the  minister.  He 
remained  immovable.  "I — I  —  I  have 
deceived  you,"  she  faltered.  "Hear 
me  first,  then  judge  me,"  she  implored, 
as  he  rose  in  amazement.  They 
both  stood  for  a  moment,  looking  in 
each  other's  face.  "There  is  no  ex- 
cuse for  me  —  none,  except  my  love  for 
that  parrot.  He  was  the  only  human- 
seeming  creature  about  me.  Mr.  May- 
nard, if  I  had  killed  that  bird  I  should 
have  been  a  criminal .'  And  I  am  no 
less  a  criminal,  because  I  tried  to  do  it  — 
and  the  Lord  interfered  !  "  She  thrust 
out  her  hands  dramatically.  "  Yes. 
I  tried  to  do  it  !  I  took  that  cruel 
gun    and  shot  at   him!"       At  this    she 


THE  GROWTH  OF  A   VEGETARIAN. 


107 


sobbed  aloud.  When  she  gained  control 
of  herself  she  continued  :  "  But  the  Lord 
interfered  to  save  me  from  murder  !  The 
gun  exploded,  and  knocked  me  down. 
But  Billy  was  saved  !  And  when  I  came 
to,  I  found  my  senses,  and  I  repented 
having  allowed  any  one  to  influence  me 
to  do  something  that  was  wicked,  to  keep 
the  good  opinion  of  people  !  " 

The  minister  looked  at  her  in  amaze- 
ment. 

"  Mr.  Maynard,"  she  went  on,  "  that 
bird  was  sent  to  me  as  all  that  was  left  of 
my  dear  son.  He  loved  the  bird  as  I 
loved  it,  and  he  bequeathed  it  to  my 
care,  and  I  believe  that  parrot  is  no  more 
to  blame  for  the  words  he  speaks  than  an 
untaught  child.  He  repeats  what  he 
hears.  It  is  his  human  associates  who 
are  to  blame.  And  have  I  a  right  to  kill 
what  my  son  —  the  Lord  forgive  me  — 
may  have  helped  to  corrupt  ?  I  will  keep 
that  bird  till  he  dies.  He  shall  have 
everything  I  can  give  him  ;  and  I  have 
made  a  vow  never  to  kill  a  living  thing  so 
long  as  I  live,  and  not  to  eat  or  use  any 
living  creature  !  "  As  she  gave  utterance 
to  these  astounding  sentiments  she  ap- 
proached nearer  the  parson,  who  kept 
backing  before  her  until  he  sat  down 
upon  the  sofa.  The  widow  continued 
her  discourse. 

"  I  will  never  eat  a  piece  of  any  animal 
again  !  "  she  repeated.  "  I  believe  it  is  as 
wicked  to  eat  the  creatures  God  made  to 
beautify  the  earth  as  it  is  to  kill  them ; 
and  that  it  is  wicked  to  kill  them,  the 
Lord  himself  has  shown  me  !  " 

"What  will  you  do  for  food?"  asked 
the  parson,  summoning  together  his  argu- 
mentative powers. 

"  I  will  eat  vegetables,  as  I  have  this 
last  four  days.  Vegetables  were  made  to 
eat.     Animals  were  not  !  " 

Mr.  Maynard  rose  to  his  feet. 

"  How  dare  you  say,  after  what  you  have 
read  in  your  Bible,  that  animals  were  not 
made  to  eat?"  he  exclaimed.  "Did 
not  the  Lord  himself  let  down  a  sheet 
with  animals  to  Peter,  in  a  vision,  and 
tell  him  to  kill  and  eat?  And  how  was 
Peter  rebuked  for  refusing  what  the  Lord 
•offered  him?  " 

"We  can't  explain  everything  in  the 
Bible,"  said  she.     "  Lots  of  things  we  be- 


lieve aren't  meant  literally.  There  are 
the  parables.  I  will  eat  no  animal,"  she 
cried  with  growing  exaltation,  "  no  fowl 
of  the  air,  no  creeping  thing,  nor  any- 
thing of  the  kind  !  " 

"  Have  you  taken  into  consideration 
what  this  means?"  asked  the  minister. 
"You  must  never  touch  fish,  flesh,  nor 
fowl?  The  very  soup  you  eat  is  made 
from  one  of  these." 

"  I  have  done  nothing  but  think  and 
pray  for  the  last  week ;  and  as  for  soup,  I 
shall  use  peas  and  beans." 

"The  trimmings  on  your  bonnets!" 
he  added.     She  cast  down  her  eyes. 

"  I  am  in  mourning ;  when  I  lighten  it 
I  can  wear  jets.  Ostrich  feathers  are 
taken  from  the  live  animal." 

"  I  fear  you  are  sadly  misguided,"  he 
said  solemnly.  "  It  sounds  —  somehow 
it  sounds  —  popish  !  —  What  shall  you  do 
with  your  hens?  "  he  suddenly  asked. 

"  Keep  them  till  they  die  of  old  age  ! 
I  can  eat  the  eggs.  Should  I  be  any  less 
wicked  if  I  killed  the  hens  to  gratify  my 
appetite,  because  I  do  not  love  them, 
than  I  should  be  if  I  killed  Billy,  whom  I 
love  more  than  any  one  on  earth?  I  am 
going  to  love  my  hens  and  all  God's 
creatures  that  he  has  given  me  to  pro- 
tect, so  that  on  the  day  of  judgment  I 
shall  not  be  afraid  to  look  Him  in  the 
face  !  " 

The  minister  was  reduced  to  absolute 
silence.  He  could  not  now  even  pray. 
"  I  must  go  away,"  he  said,  "and  take  it 
to  the  Lord  in  prayer." 

The  next  day  he  came  again.  The 
widow  received  him  with  her  face  still 
calm.  "Speak  right  out,"  she  said,  her 
new  ideas  seeming  to  give  her  a  feeling 
of  supremacy  over  him.  "  It's  the  only 
way.     Say  what  you  think  !  " 

Mr.  Maynard  gathered  himself  to- 
gether. "  I've  been  praying  and  con- 
sulting the  word  of  God,"  he  said.  "I  — 
I  —  at  first  I  thought  to  bring  the  case 
before  the  church  —  ;  but  —  you 
are  pretty  well  along  in  years  — " 
Mrs.  Lathe  coughed  —  "  and  —  and  —  I 
know  you've  been  a  good  church  worker 
and  member,  and  I  know"  —  he  halted 
again,  "  to  a  certain  extent  —  to  a  cei-tain 
extent,  we  can't  help  our  views  —  and  so  I 
believe  we'll  say  no  more  about  it.     This 


108 


A  BURIED  CITY. 


notion  of  yours  can  harm  no  one  but 
yourself,  and  —  if  you  really  feel  you  are 
inspired  in  it  —  that  you  are  led  in  that 
direction,  why  —  I  don't  see  —  so  long 
as  you  keep  it  to  yourself —  we  might  let 
it  rest  as  it  is." 

Mrs.  Lathe  said  nothing.  She  only 
smiled.  The  Rev.  Mr.  Maynard  returned 
the  smile  in  a  weak  manner.  Just  then 
he  sniffed  the  odor  of  steaming  cabbage, 
which  penetrated  even  to  the  sacred  pre- 
cincts of  the  parlor ;  and  there  was  a  hiss 
of  boiling-over  water,  which  called  the 
widow  to  the  kitchen. 

"  Excuse  me  —  the  cabbage  is  boiling 
over,"  she  said.  She  returned  in  a  few 
minutes  with  a  beaming  face.  "Won't 
you  step  out  and  have  a  bit  of  boiled 
dish?  "  she  asked. 


The  parson  hesitated  a  moment,  and 
then  followed  the  widow  into  the  kitchen. 

"  It's  boiled  dish  without  corned- 
beef,"  she  announced  almost  gayly.  "  It 
seems  funny,  but  it's  real  relishing.  Some- 
how the  thought  of  eating  an  animal  now 
makes  me  sort  of  sick.  I  feel  like  a 
cannibal.  I  have  the  same  dinners  I 
would  have  with  meat,  but  I  leave  the 
meat  out ;  green  peas  and  such  things  on 
lamb  days,  without  the  lamb — and  so  on." 

They  sat  down,  and  the  minister  asked 
a  fervent  blessing.  The  widow  ate  more 
than  usual,  and  so  did  the  Rev.  Mr. 
Maynard.  While  they  ate,  they  could 
hear  the  cheerful  clucking  of  the  hens, 
who  seemed  aware  of  their  renewed  lease 
of  life  ;  and  Billy  whistled  from  his  branch 
of  the  apple  tree. 


A   BURIED    CITY. 


By  Arthur  L.  Salmon. 


DOWN,  down,  beneath  the  water's  ebb  and  flow, 
A  buried  city  lies  with  homes  and  towers  : 
There,  when  the  sun  has  set  and  winds  are  low, 
I  rock  and  dream  for  hours  ; 
And  softly  floating  on  the  dusky  tide 

In  listless  twilight  rest, 
I  hear  far  chimes  of  buried  belfries  glide 
Along  the  water's  breast. 

At  times,  methinks,  when  from  the  quiet  sky 

A  cloudless  moon  in  silver  glory  peers, 
Its  streets  and  gabled  houses  meet  mine  eye, 

As  in  the  by-gone  years  ; 
The  murmurings  of  many  voices  rise 

In  solemn  mystic  strain, 
And  vanished  faces  under  brighter  skies 

Return  to  smile  again. 

The  voices  of  my  childhood's  happy  days 

Come  stealing  upwards  through  the  hush  of  night ; 
And  through  the  lonely,  long-deserted  ways, 

There  streams  a  flood  of  light. 
But  ah,  it  is  a  dream,  when  winds  are  low, — 

Too  dear  a  dream  to  last  ; 
And  mournfully  the  waters  ebb  and  flow 

Above  my  buried  past. 


THE   FRENCH   CANADIAN    PEASANTRY. 

By  Prosper  Bender. 


HE  cession  of  Canada  in 
1760,  in  ending  the  long 
duel  between  the  two  great 
colonies  of  the  two  leading 
European  powers,  is  an  ever 
memorable  event,  from 
which  the  greatest  bless- 
ings have  already  sprung, 
with  a  broad  horizon  .  of 
hope  for  the  future.  The 
French  Canadians,  by  their  manly  and 
philosophic  resignation  to  the  decree  of 
destiny,  asserted  the  best  title  to  the  con- 
fidence of  their  conquerors,  which  they 
have  since  generally  enjoyed.  For  years 
they  had  reason  to  complain  of  the  ex- 
actions of  their  new  masters ;  but  the 
Quebec  Act  of  1774,  recognizing  the  offi- 
cial use  of  the  French  language  and 
granting  French  civil  laws,  proclaiming 
free  religious  and  civil  rights,  removed 
many  of  their  grievances  and  gradually 
led  to  their  becoming  attached  to  British 
rule.  After  181 2,  political  and  constitu- 
tional differences,  which  had  lain  dor- 
mant during  the  struggle  with  the  Amer- 
ican colonies,  revived  between  the  Lower 
Canada  (Quebec)  elective  Legislative 
Assembly,  mainly  French,  and  the  Gov- 
ernor-General of  the  Executive  Council, 
appointed  by  the  Crown,  and  they  soon 
took  menacing  form.  The  Assembly  had 
not  the  coveted  power  over  the  public 
expenditures  and  public  appointments, 
both  sides  struggling  bitterly  for  the  suc- 
cess of  their  respective  views.  Race  and 
religious  prejudices  imported  into  the 
country  aggravated  the  dispute,  and  ex- 
cited, on  the  part  of  extremists,  radical 
views,  with  revolutionary  object.  At 
length  after  a  good  deal  of  local  disturb- 
ance and  political  agitation  among  the 
French  Canadians,  stimulated  by  Louis 
Papineau,  a  clever  lawyer,  who  declared 
for  a  Canadian  Republic,  the  rebellion  of 
1837  broke  out  under  his  leadership. 
The  revolutionary  party  being  imperfectly 
armed,  led  by  politicians  instead  of  mili- 
tary men,  and  seriously  opposed  by  the 


Roman    Catholic    clergy,  was    soon  sup- 
pressed. 

The  union  of  Upper  and  Lower  Can- 
ada in  1840,  under  a  system  of  responsi- 
ble government,  based  upon  that  of  Great 
Britain,  was  accepted  enthusiastically  by 
the  English  of  Upper  Canada  (Ontario)  ; 
but  with  distrust  by  many  of  the  French 
Canadians  of  Lower  Canada.  The  latter, 
however,  guided  by  sagacious  statesmen 
and  the  clergy,  decided  to  give  it  a  fair 
trial.  The  relations  between  the  two 
elements  continued  somewhat  strained 
until  1849,  when  full  and  final  acknowl- 
edgment of  the  principles  of  ministerial 
authority  and  related  responsibility  was 
granted.  Those  rights  and  privileges  the 
French  Canadians  fully  appreciated. 
They  naturally  desired  the  full  benefits  of 
the  British  system,  despite  the  fossil  no- 
tions and  prejudices  of  some  of  the  arbi- 
trary bureaucrats  sent  to  represent  Roy- 
alty in  Canada,  and  administer  their 
affairs.  On  receiving  the  full  measure  of 
responsible  government,  the  political  trou- 
bles of  the  French  and  other  Canadians 
speedily  died  out,  and  their  loyalty  to 
Great  Britain  is  decidedly  gratifying  to 
English  statesmen  of  whatever  party,  who 
are  proud  of  the  sentiment  of  French 
Canadians,  happily  expressed  by  the  late 
Sir  George  Cartier :  "  We  are  English- 
men speaking  French."  None  more 
keenly  appreciate  the  feeling  voiced  by 
the  late  Sir  Etienne  Tache,  that  "  the 
last  gun  fired  for  British  supremacy  in 
Canada  would  be  fired  by  a  French 
Canadian." 

In  1 86 1,  Upper  Canada  had  an  excess 
of  population  over  Lower  Canada  of  285,- 
427,  and  the  increase  of  the  surplus  ex- 
cess continued  till  it  reached  nearly  half 
a  million  in  1866.  This  was  made  the 
basis  of  a  demand  by  the  Liberals  (the 
bulk  of  them  Western  men)  for  represen- 
tation by  population ;  but  it  was  resisted 
successfully  by  the  Conservatives,  chiefly 
French,  till  1867,  when  a  crisis  ensued. 
The  leaders  of  neither  party  could  com- 


110 


THE  FRENCH  CANADIAN  PEASANTRY. 


mand  a  working  majority  in  parliament, 
and  a  deadlock  followed.  Under  those 
circumstances,  a  coalition  of  the  hostile 
parties  was  formed  and  the  union  of  all 
the  British  North  America  provinces  was 
decided  upon,  under  the  title  of  the  Con- 
federation or  Dominion  of  Canada.  Not- 
withstanding the  greater  increase  still  of 
British  numbers  after  confederation,  due 
to  the  addition  of  Nova  Scotia,  New 
Brunswick,  Prince  Edward  Island,  Man- 
itoba and  the  other  Western  provinces  to 
the  Union,  the  French  in  Canadian  politics 
retain  an  immense  influence.  This  is 
one  of  the  wonders  of  our  new  world  pol- 
itics. In  fact,  without  the  aid  of  the 
French,  no  important  political  step  can 
be  taken  in  Dominion  affairs.  They  hold 
the  balance  of  power.  Their  leaders  have 
generally  evinced  not  only  sagacity,  but 
remarkable  courage  and  party  loyalty. 
These  qualities  render  them  most  useful 
colleagues  on  the  one  hand,  and  power- 
ful opponents  on  the  other. 

The  ablest  and  most  distinguished  of 
the  French  Canadian  leaders,  in  the  first 
quarter  of  this  century,  was  Sir  Hypolite 
Lafontaine.  Appearing  at  a  critical  time 
in  the  history  of  his  country,  he  rendered 
his  people  valuable  service,  politically 
and  socially.  It  was  his  mission  to  intro- 
duce to  his  countrymen  the  benefits  of 
the  new  privileges  given  them  by  the  Act 
of  1838,  and  to  obtain  from  unwilling 
governors  their  complete  assent  to  the 
full  operation  of  those  reforms.  Truly  is 
it  said  that,  when  he  retired  from  the 
government,  the  new  system  of  self-gov- 
ernment was  in  thorough  working  order, 
though  not  so  perfect  in  its  details  as  it 
has  since  been  made.  M.  A.  N.  Morin 
worthily  followed  in  his  footsteps,  but 
with  easier  duties  to  perform.  While 
continuing  the  training  of  the  people  in 
the  work  of  responsible  self-government, 
he  succeeded  in  allaying  the  apprehen- 
sions of  the  British  and  gaining  their 
respect  by  the  moderation  and  wisdom 
of  his  public  acts.  Mr.  Robert  Baldwin 
of  Upper  Canada  truly  appreciated  the 
merits  and  services  of  this  statesman,  his 
French  colleague,  for  which  he  suffered 
at  the  hands  of  extremists  of  his  province, 
and  lost  his  parliamentary  seat.  But  M. 
Morin    did    both  himself  and  colleague 


honor  in  securing  his  election  by  a  French 
constituency,  which  did  not  contain  half 
a  dozen  of  English  votes  at  the  time. 

Sir  George  Cartier  followed  those 
statesmen,  having  the  advantage  of  their 
experience  to  guide  him,  no  less  than  the 
co-operation  of  that  able,  energetic, 
and  sagacious  British  chieftain,  Sir  John  A. 
Macdonald.  Each  worked  hard  for  coun- 
try and  party,  rendering  valuable  service 
to  both  for  many  years.  Sir  George  pos- 
sessed the  courage,  determination,  and 
fidelity  of  the  Briton,  united  with  the 
vivacity,  cleverness,  and  courtesy  of  his 
race.  Only  a  short  time  since,  Sir  John 
A.  Macdonald  in  speaking  of  his  former 
colleague's  gifts,  remarked :  "  He  was 
the  most  far-seeing  and  practical  of 
any  politicians,  I  have  ever  known." 
Most  of  the  great  undertakings  and  re- 
forms carried  in  the  Canadian  Parliament 
since  1840,  either  originated  with  or  were 
fostered  by  him,  such  as  the  act  abolish- 
ing the  remaining  commercial  and  poli- 
tical restrictions ;  the  repeal  of  the 
navigation  laws  and  differential  duties ; 
construction  of  the  Grand  Trunk  Rail- 
way ;  Reciprocity  Treaty  with  the  United 
States  ;  the  abolition  of  seignorial  tenure  ; 
and  the  settlement  of  the  clergy  reserves. 
Some  of  these  measures  aroused  feelings 
equal  in  violence  to  those  which  have 
drawn  universal  attention  to  the  Irish 
question.  The  civil  code,  the  code  of 
procedure,  the  cadastre,  the  revision  of 
the  various  educational  laws  in  favor  of  a 
more  complete  and  uniform  system,  were 
other  enactments  previous  to  the  union  of 
all  the  British  provinces  under  the  Act  of 
Confederation.  The  Treaty  of  Washing- 
ton, the  Intercolonial  Railway,  the  great 
improvement  and  extension  of  the  canal 
system  of  Canada,  now  the  equal  of  any 
in  the  world,  were  followed  by  the  pur- 
chase of  the  Northwest,  giving  a  new  and 
a  vast  empire  to  Canada.  To  open  up 
and  foster  the  settlement  of  the  new  re- 
gion, as  well  as  to  bind  all  parts  of  the 
new  union  from  the  Atlantic  to  the  Pacific 
close  together  for  mutual  benefit  and 
support,  the  Canadian  Pacific  Railway 
was  built.  Most  of  these  great  enter- 
prises Sir  George  lived  to  see  completed 
before  his  lamented  death,  and  he  truly 
deserved  this  gratification.     Such  labors 


THE  FRENCH  CANADIAN  PEASANTRY. 


Ill 


and  achievements  form  the  staple  of  his 
fame,  which  will  long  be  a  sacred  trea- 
sure to  his  countrymen. 

Sir  George  Cartier's  successor,  Sir 
Hector  Langevin,  has  certainly  shown 
much  ability  and  tact  in  securing  the 
loyal  support  of  the  British  Protestant 
population  of  Ontario  and  the  other  prov- 
inces. The  eminent  qualifications  for 
leadership  of  the  French  Canadians 
are  daily  manifested  in  the  course 
of  the  Liberal  chief  at  Ottawa, 
Hon.  Wilfrid  Laurier,  who  has  gained  the 
confidence  and  good-will  of  his  own 
party,  two-thirds  of  whom  are  Protes- 
tants. Able  men  like  Hon.  Edward 
Blake,  the  late  leader  of  the  Liberals,  and 
his  clever  colleagues,  Hon.  Alexander 
Mackenzie  and  Sir  Richard  Cartwright, 
heartily  co-operate  with  him,  not  only  on 
account  of  his  brilliant  oratorical  power 
and  statesmanship,  but  his  consistency, 
sterling  honesty,  and  pure-minded  patriot- 
ism. Another  clever  representative  of 
this  race  is  the  Hon.  Honore  Mercier, 
Prime  Minister  of  the  Province  of  Que- 
bec, a  man  of  vast  political  resources,  ex- 
cellent judgment,  and  the  best  debater  in 
the  local  house. 

The  present  condition  and  prospects 
of  the  Dominion  have  for  some  time 
commanded  a  considerable  share  of  the 
attention  of  the  leading  men  of  all  races 
and  parties.  That  its  actual  position  is 
not  devoid  of  difficulties  calculated  to 
excite  no  ordinary  uneasiness  in  many 
quarters,  as  well  as  a  sense  of  the  necessity 
of  a  prudent  policy  by  both  the  leading 
parties,  or  by  the  sections  of  them  averse 
to  a  revolutionary  change,  it  would  be  ab- 
surd to  deny.  Popular  opinion  on  some 
of  the  important  issues  of  the  day  is  much 
divided.  Many  Canadians,  British  and 
French,  undoubtedly  favor  a  further  trial 
of  the  existing  constitution,  on  the  ground 
of  uncertainty  as  to  whether  a  new  one, 
or  one  much  different  from  the  present, 
would  be  an  improvement.  On  the  other 
hand,  many,  especially  among  the  work- 
ing classes,  favor  more  intimate  relations 
with  the  United  States.  Such  questions 
as  "the  future  of  Canada,"  "the  best 
commercial  policy  for  Canada,"  and  "the 
proper  attitude  for  Canada  toward  the 
United  States,"  etc.,  are   topics  of  daily 


discussion,  both  in  the  press  and  at  public 
meetings.  The  impression  is  steadily 
gaining  ground  that,  despite  more  or  less 
obstructive  tariffs,  or  party  political  con- 
trivances, the  trade  of  Canada  and  the 
Republic  is  certain  to  keep  growing,  and 
at  a  rapid  rate,  too.  With  expanded  ma- 
terial, we  usually  look  for  and  witness  ex- 
tended social  relations ;  results  which 
the  recent  history  of  the  United  States 
and  the  Dominion  emphatically  ex- 
emplifies. 

The  idea  of  the  possibility  of  some  de- 
cided change  in  the  mutual  relations  of 
the  several  provinces,  and  some,  also,  in 
their  relations  with  Great  Britain  and  the 
United  States  ere  long,  has  been  generally 
admitted  of  late  years.  Many  British 
Canadians  openly  extol  a  legislative  union 
of  the  provinces,  believing  it  would  prove 
more  economical  than  the  actual  system 
of  confederation,  with  its  various  local 
legislatures  and  official  systems,  besides 
the  general  government  at  Ottawa.  And 
recently  a  certain  number  have  pronounced 
in  favor  of  a  Federation  with  Great  Bri- 
tain.1 But  the  French  Canadians  so  far 
regard  both  schemes  with  disfavor  and 
apprehension,  stating'  they  would  be  at  a 
numerical  disadvantage  at  Ottawa  in  any 
settlement  of  provincial  questions,  and 
overshadowed  as  a  foreign-ruled  province, 
of  a  world-encircling  empire  like  Great 
Britain's.  They  strongly  desire  to  pre- 
serve their  autonomy,  and  to  exercise 
supreme  power  in  the  management  of 
their  local  affairs.  And  when  these 
political  reforms  are  urged  upon  them, 
they  deal  freely  in  prediction  and  menace. 
Politicians  and  litterateurs  speculate  as  to 
the  probable  consequences  of  the  gravita- 
tion of  any  large  province  in  the  Domin- 
ion to  the  Republic,  many  naturally  per- 
ceiving the  vast  increase  of  the  moral 
and  material  difficulties  that  would  be 
cast  in  the  path  of  the  weakened  power, 
and  the  much  greater  likelihood  of  an 
early  similar  settlement  of  the  other  prov- 
inces within  the  same  great  prosperous 
constellation.  It  would  not  be  wise  on 
the  part  of  the  friends  of  British  connec- 
tion to  alarm  French  Canadian  interests, 

1  "  A  united  empire,  with  all  the  colonial  possessions 
scattered  throughout  the  world  joined  in  a  confederacy,  in 
which  all  will  be  co-ordinate  in  power  and  equal  in  re- 
sponsibility." 


112 


THE  FRENCH  CANADIAN  PEASANTRY. 


or  offend  their  susceptibilities  on  such 
questions. 

The  ill-feeling  and  strained  relations 
for  some  time  existing  between  the 
French  and  British  in  Quebec  and 
Ontario  are  a  relic  of  the  old  troubles 
mainly  arising  from  national  and  religious 
prejudice,  from  which  the  country  has 
greatly  suffered  at  times,  ever  since  the 
conquest.  Fanatics  have  always  been 
numerous  enough  in  each  rival  camp  to 
supply  subjects  for  quarrels,  as  well  as 
disputants  at  short  notice,  to  the  danger 
of  the  public  peace.  In  this  way  the 
growth  of  mutual  confidence  between 
Protestants  and  Catholics,  and  English 
and  French  is  slower  than  it  ought  to  be. 
At  election  times  such  prejudices  are 
often  found  ready  and  effective  weapons 
by  either  party,  with  mischievous  results 
felt  long  afterwards.  The  terrifying  pic- 
tures the  French  Canadian  opponent  will 
often  draw  of  the  British  candidate,  and 
of  the  woful  consequences  of  his  election, 
to  the  French  and  Catholic  element,  the 
shocking  descriptions  given  of  the  past 
iniquities  and  probable  future  persecutions 
of  the  British  tyrant,  would  be  amusing, 
if  not  so  liable  to  prove  hurtful.  On  the 
other  hand,  to  their  honor  be  it  said, 
even  agricultural  constituencies  containing 
a  French  Canadian  majority,  have  re- 
turned British  or  Protestant  representa- 
tives mainly  influenced  by  political  or 
party  motives,  and  sometimes  despite  the 
vigorous  efforts  of  French  fanatics.  The 
appeals  of  liberal,  broad-minded  leaders, 
of  either  race,  at  critical  seasons,  fortu- 
nately prevail  to  overthrow  prejudice, 
procure  concessions,  and  avert  disasters 
to  the  constitutional  fabric. 

One  often  hears  portions  of  the  British 
element  in  the  province  of  Quebec  com- 
plain that  they  are  not  fairly  treated  by 
the  majority.  In  reply  to  this  accusation 
a  recent  Quebec  paper,  E  Electeur,  says 
that  the  British  have,  in  reality,  a  larger 
representation  in  parliament  than  they  are 
entitled  to  according  to  population.  It 
fixes  the  Protestant  population  at  188,309 
out  of  a  total  of  1,859,027,  and  states 
that  the  Protestants  are  in  a  majority  only 
in  six  out  of  the  sixty-five  electoral  districts 
of  the  province  ;  viz.,  Compton,  Stanstead, 
Brome,  Missisquoi,  Huntington,  and  Ar- 


genteuil.  And  yet  there  are  ten  Protes- 
tant members  in  the  local  house.  In  the 
legislative  council,  where  Protestants  have 
a  right  to  only  three  seats,  they  have  five  ; 
and  in  the  five  districts  they  represent 
the  Catholics  are  in  a  majority  of  123,127. 
And  the  article  concludes  with  the  fur- 
ther statement  that  the  Protestants  are 
equally  well  treated  in  other  directions. 
The  Toronto  Globe,  a  newspaper  not  by 
any  means  friendly  to  the  French  Cana- 
dians, says  on  this  subject : 

"  Those  who,  influenced  by  the  vagaries  of  cer- 
tain newspapers,  doubt  that  the  population  of  the 
province  of  Quebec  is  generally  exempt  from  reli- 
gious intolerance,  should  study  the  treatment  of  the 
Protestant  minority  in  the  matter  of  education. 
The  two  hundred  thousand  Protestants  have  nine 
hundred  and  sixteen  elementary  schools  supported 
by  the  government,  and  under  the  control  of  a 
Protestant  committee  of  the  council  of  public 
instruction.  ...  In  fact,  the  Protestants  of  the 
province  receive  much  more  than  their  share, 
based  upon  numbers,  of  the  sum  total  of  the' 
appropriations  voted  for  public  instruction." 

The  annexation  party  is  composed  of 
both  French  and  British  Canadians,  and 
although  not  large  in  numbers,  is  influen- 
tial in  the  principal  centres  of  business 
and  population.  It  has  been  quietly 
working  for  a  good  many  years  to  leaven 
the  surrounding  community  with  its  prin- 
ciples and  its  objects.  In  a  young  coun- 
try with  a  tentative  constitution  like 
Canada,  such  an  organization  can  hardly 
fail  to  spread  its  opinions  rapidly  and 
gain  in  numbers  fast.  ^Most  of  the  mem- 
bers possess  the  advantages  conferred  by 
travel,  the  comparison  of  the  business 
conditions  of  the  rival  nations,  with  that 
useful  and  practical  experience  of  the 
working  of  their  respective  institutions. 
The  annexationists  have  not  sought 
strength,  much  less  mere  notoriety,  bv 
idle  boasting  or  vainglorious  predictions 
of  early  success.  Their  policy  is  to  avoid 
ridiculous  bombast  and  childish  display 
which  might  be  turned  to  the  disadvan- 
tage of  either  of  the  great  parties  with 
which  any  of  their  members  are  con- 
nected. In  that  way  they  secure  the 
sympathy  of  intelligent,  sensible  critics. 
In  some  directions  they  have  to  contend 
against  prejudice,  owing  to  the  unfriendly 
attitude  of  the  United  States  toward 
Canada ;  but  in  the  main  this  feeling  is 
being  rapidly  replaced   by    esteem    and 


THE  FRENCH  CANADIAN  PEASANTRY. 


113 


good  will.  Annexation,  many  believe, 
would  raise  the  country  from  an  unpros- 
perous,  dispirited  condition,  to  one  of 
great  prosperity  and  importance.  In 
truth,  Canada  needs  and  must  have  free 
•trade  with  her  nearest,  wealthy  and  pow- 
erful neighbor,  whether  under  the  form 
of  Annexation  or  a  Reciprocity  Treaty. 
The  striking  success  of  great  numbers  of 
their  fellow  countrymen  in  the  United 
States  causes  Canadians  to  realize  the 
great  importance  of  more  extensive  in- 
dustrial and  social  relations  with  it,  and 
further  they  recall  the  rapid  increase  of 
'  Canadian  prosperity  under  the  old  Recip- 
rocity Treaty,  although  it  only  admitted 
a  few  Canadian  products  to  the  American 
market.  A  liberal  policy  on  the  part  of 
the  Republic  might  promptly  bring  about 
such  results  as  the  true  patriots  on  both 
sides  must  desire. 

Political  as  well  as  other  experiments 
are  in  this  generation  judged  by  their 
fruits.  Many,  French  and  British,  be- 
lieve that  the  last  experiment  in  con- 
stitution moulding  has  not  evinced  signs 
of  great  wisdom.  The  rapid,  the  startling 
growth  of  the  debt  of  Canada,  which  has 
increased  from  $78,209,742  in  1870,  to 
$238,000,000  in  1890,  with  a  population 
almost  at  a  standstill  and  a  stagnant 
trade,  has  struck  calm,  impartial  ob- 
servers with  the  idea  that  there  has  been 
something  wrong  in  the  government  of  a 
peaceful  young  state  of  enormous  extent 
and  great  natural  resources.  Of  course,  a 
large  portion  of  this  debt  was  incurred 
for  the  construction  of  railways,  improve- 
ments of  canals,  and  similar  political  and 
commercial  works  ;  but  the  results  or  re- 
turns do  not  compensate  for  the  vastness 
of  the  new  debt  with  its  oppressive  load 
of  interest.  They  freely  comment  upon 
the  fact  that  while  the  United  States  have 
reduced  their  debt  from  $59  to  $16.50 
per  head  in  twenty  years,  Canada  has  run 
up  her's  from  $21  to  $47. 

Other  sources  of  discouragement  are 
the  local  troubles,  the  large  and  steady 
emigration  of  Canadians  of  all  origins  to 
the  United  States.  Actually  twenty-eight 
thousand  left  the  country  last  year.  An- 
other of  the  influences  quietly  yet  vigor- 
ously promoting,  among  French  and  other 
Canadians,  annexation  feelings  is  the  al- 


ready huge  debt  of  the  Province  of 
Quebec,  with  its  heavy  burdens  and  dis- 
couraging prospects  of  early  and  yet  fur- 
ther considerable  augmentation,  for  a  new 
loan  of  nine  or  ten  millions  is  contem- 
plated at  an  early  day. 

No  secular  subjects  elicit  such  remark- 
able differences  between  men  of  similar 
intelligence  and  abilities,  even  in  the  same 
community,  as  those  connected  with  pol- 
itics. However  well  informed  or  honest, 
neighbors  and  fellow  citizens  and  even 
friends  will  often  see  public  transactions 
in  the  most  different  lights,  forming  op- 
posite conclusions.  Thus,  I  am  sorry  to 
dissent  from  some  of  the  opinions  of  a 
well-known  Canadian  writer  for  the  press. 
I  sincerely  wish  I  could  see  the  condition 
of  my  native  land  in  that  rose-colored 
light  present  to  Dr.  George  Stewart,  Jr., 
at  the  banquet  to  the  Comte  de  Paris  at 
Quebec  City  in  October,  1890.  A  judi- 
cious critic,  charming  essayist,  and  reliable 
historian,  his  remarks  on  the  state  of  the 
country,  on  that  occasion,  naturally  elicited 
considerable  applause.  The  subjoined  ex- 
tract will  give  an  idea  of  the  learned  doc- 
tor's views  : 

"  We  are  here  a  happy,  a  loyal,  an  indus- 
trious, and  a  religious  people.  We  enjoy 
the  freest  system  of  Government  in  the 
world.  Our  Parliamentary  methods  have 
been  borrowed  from  the  splendid  experi- 
ences of  England  and  the  United  States. 
WTe  think  we  have  embodied  the  better 
features  of  both.  We  make  our  own 
laws.  We  regulate  our  own  tariff.  WTe 
afford  our  people  perfect  liberty  of 
action  as  regards  their  politics,  their  reli- 
gion, and  their  way  of  life  and  movement. 
Our  press  is  independent  and  free.  The 
door  to  our  highest  offices  is .  never  shut. 
We  have  unbounded  confidence  in  the 
ballot  box,  and  our  appointed  officers 
rarely  afford  grounds  for  criticism.  Two 
great  oceans  wash  our  shores,  and  the 
land  is  rich,  from  the  Atlantic  to  the 
Pacific,  in  the  choicest  products  of  the' 
field,  the  farm,  the  forest,  and  the  prairie. 
Our  soil  from  end  to  end,  is  abundantly 
watered  by  thousands  of  rivers  and  lakes, 
and  population  only  is  the  demand  of 
Canada.  In  time  population  will  come. 
Our  people  are  self-reliant.  The  best 
blood  of  France,  of  England,  of  Scotland, 


114 


THE  FRENCH  CANADIAN  PEASANTRY. 


and  of  Ireland  flows  in  their  veins,  and 
side  by  side  the  lusty  young  sons  of  an 
older  civilization,  born  three  thousand 
miles  away,  are  working  out  a  destiny, 
which  three  centuries  ago  was  begun 
under  conditions  which  more  than  once 
appalled  the  heart,  but  never  crushed  the 
spirit.  Side  by  side,  English  Canadians 
and  French  Canadians  are  developing 
the  resources  of  the  land,  rivalling  each 
other  in  a  friendly  way  only,  dwelling 
together  amicably,  and  working  out,  with 
equal  intelligence  and  hope,  the  political 
and  social  problems  which,  from  time  to 
time,  press  for  solution." 

I  heartily  indorse  the  speaker's  re- 
marks concerning  the  loyalty  of  the  peo- 
ple, their  piety,  industry,  and  excellent 
moral  qualities,  their  free  government, 
admirable  parliamentary  system,  their 
independence,  the  freedom  of  the  press, 
and  particularly,  their  great  natural  re- 
sources ;  but  in  a  complete,  survey  of  a 
subject,  the  shadows  of  the  picture  must 
be  noticed  as  well  as  the  lights.  The 
perils  of  the  political  fabric,  the  serious 
disagreements  among  different  races  and 
creeds,  the  unfortunate  condition  of  sev- 
eral of  the  provinces,  some  of  them 
heavily  indebted  and  poor,  with  no  signs 
of  early  improvement,  are  entirely  over- 
looked. Into  the  ill-governed  provinces 
few  capitalists  enter,  and  few  or  no  immi- 
grants, while  multitudes  of  their  own 
people,  chiefly  natives,  continually  move 
off  to  the  United  States.  The  prospect 
for  the  Dominion  is  not  flattering,  many 
writers  and  speakers  openly  declaring, 
from  time  to  time,  that  Quebec  and  some 
of  the  other  provices  have  no  other  re- 
source than  an  early  call  upon  the  federal 
government  for  increased  subsidies  in 
order  to  make  ends  meet.  Present  allow- 
ances come  lamentably  short  of  this  re- 
sult. And  the  provinces  cannot  safely 
levy  heavier  taxes  upon  the  farmers,  busi- 
ness men,  and  artisans,  while  the  foreign 
creditors  insist  upon  the  payment  of  all 
their  interest.  Much  discontent  prevails 
among  the  farmers ;  they  complain  of 
constant  increasing  difficulties  in  their 
position,  owing  to  heavier  taxation  of  re- 
cent years,  the  greater  cost  of  labor,  and 
poor  markets  for  their  various  products. 
In  consequence  of  these  drawbacks,  there 


has  been  a  material  fall  in  the  value  of 
farms,  even  in  the  best  districts.  The 
American  trade  is  sadly  missed,  and  will 
be  more  so,  and  they  sigh  for  a  Recipro- 
city Treaty.  But  I  do  not  wish  to  fur- 
ther enlarge  upon  such  painful  topics, 
and  therefore  return  to  the  main  subject 
of  this  paper. 

The  intelligent  and  educated  French 
Canadians  are  easily  moulded  into  poli- 
ticians. They  have  a  natural  taste  for 
politics,  and  possess  the  qualifications 
necessary,  being  fluent  speakers,  demon- 
strative, and  excitable,  with  pleasing 
manners,  which  give  a  decided  advantage 
over  men  less  attractive,  though  other- 
wise as  able.  The  system  of  education 
favored  by  their  clergy,  of  combining 
classical  with  religious  instruction,  al- 
though adopted  for  the  preparation  of 
suitable  candidates  for  their  order,  has 
been  the  means  of  preparing  many  a  suit- 
able man  for  the  political  arena.  Of 
course,  as  regards  immediate  results,  the 
clergy  soon  saw  that  only  a  portion  of 
their  pupils  or  beneficiaries  entered  their 
ranks,  the  majority  always  drifting  to  the 
learned  professions  ;  but  with  true  patriot- 
ism they  continued  to  prepare  the  French 
Canadian  youth  for  the  higher  callings, 
and  start  them  in  careers  of  honor  and 
usefulness.  In  this  way  popular  chief- 
tains are  prepared,  the  race  enjoying  an 
advantage  over  some  others  in  the  matter 
of  a  large  proportion  of  college-bred 
political  leaders.  These  facts  explain 
the  extent  of  the  intellectual  hiatus  be- 
tween a  set  of  distinguished  politicians 
and  professionals,  and  a  large  body  of 
ignorant  peasantry.  Most  of  the  notable 
figures  in  French  Canadian  politics  and 
literature  have  been  the  sons  of  farmers. 
Often,  indeed,  too,  was  their  education 
obtained  at  the  cost  of  much  self-denial 
on  the  part  of  parents.  The  clergy, 
friends,  and  relatives,  realizing  the  im- 
portance of  education,  often  encourage  in 
substantial  ways  promising  young  men  to 
devote  themselves  to  the  religious  and 
other  professions.  Such  distinguished 
men  as  Sir  Hypolite  Lafontaine,  Morin, 
Papineau,  Laberge,  Etienne  Parent,  F.  X. 
Garneau,  L'Abbe  Ferland,  Bedard,  Sir 
George  Cartier,  Lieutenant  -  Governor 
Letellier,  and  many  others,  were  of  such 


THE  FRENCH  CANADIAN  PEASANTRY. 


115 


humble  origin,  beginning  life  as  clerks  in 
notaries'  or  lawyers'  offices. 

The  fluent,  quick-witted  rhetoricians  of 
this  people,  with  fair  oratorical  powers, 
soon  acquire  much  ascendancy  over 
the  habitants.  This  influence  some  of 
them  often  put  to  a  base  use.  The  chief 
strength  of  such  politicians  lies  in  their 
knowledge  of  human  nature,  and  mastery 
over  the  passions.  Shrewdly,  by  means 
of  varied  and  solid  inducements,  they 
secure  not  a  few  followers  in  the  political 
arena.  To  young  lawyers  they  hint  of 
promotion  to  the  bench ;  to  others,  lucra- 
tive civil  service  appointments  for  them- 
selves or  relatives,  or  valuable  aid  to  local 
railways  and  other  projects  in  which  they 
are  interested.  There  would  appear  to  be 
some  truth  in  the  theory  that  most  poli- 
ticians have  their  price,  especially  when 
we  watch  the  course  of  these  gentlemen. 
It  must  be  admitted  that  such  leaders 
have  also  British  followers  at  their  beck 
and  call,  men  likewise  willing  to  turn 
their  talents  and  opportunities  in  public 
life  to  the  best  account,  and  they  usually 
leave  it  not  a  little  the  better  as  to  finan- 
cial condition.  Rebellious  member's  of 
the  House  are  often  made  tractable  by 
other  means,  too,  such  as  the  sale,  at 
fabulously  low  prices,  of  excellent  tracts 
of  land  in  the  Northwest  and  elsewhere, 
for  ranches  or  mining  purposes. 

The  average  peasant  is  not  easily  ex- 
cited by  questions  of  administration,  ac- 
cusations, and  counter-accusations  of  cor- 
ruption, extravagant  management,  and 
increase  of  taxation.  Free  mutual  abuse 
and  detraction  is  looked  for  at  the  hands 
of  political  opponents  when  they  meet  on 
the  hustings,  the  strict  limits  of  fact  and 
politeness  are  sometimes,  as  in  other 
democratic  countries,  overlooked.  Poli- 
tical principles  and  ideals  being  by  many 
little  understood,  worthy  party  interests 
often  count  for  naught.  One  county 
will  return  a  Liberal  for  the  provincial 
chamber  one  day,  and  a  Tory,  a  man  of 
the  opposite  camp,  for  the  Dominion 
party  the  next,  as  in  Montmorency 
County  last  August,  1890.  The  farmer 
is  more  sympathetic  and  confiding  than 
logical,  and  it  is,  therefore,  easy  to  prac- 
tise upon  his  credulity.  The  politician 
possessing  personal  magnetism   or  some 


charm  of  manner  will  generally  capture 
his  susceptible  heart ;  reason  too  readily 
yielding  to  personal  prejudice.  None 
more  enjoys  befooling  him  than  the  poli- 
tician, who  will  often  entertain  his  in- 
timate friends,  after  an  election  campaign, 
with  humorous  sketches  of  how  he  duped 
the  farmers.  To  illustrate  the  extent  to 
which  many  of  the  people  may  be  im- 
posed upon,  I  shall  mention  the  case  of 
a  notorious  French  Canadian  politician, 
known  to  many  by  the  sobriquet  Le  Grand 
Moulin,  to  designate  his  wind-mill  style 
of  oratory,  doubtless.  In  spite  of  having 
committed  his  native  province  to  all  sorts 
of  undertakings,  each  one  more  reckless 
than  the  preceding,  this  politician  could 
yet  stump  many  counties  without  raising 
a  howl  of  indignation.  While  prime 
minister  of  the  province,  with  only  a 
numerically  weak  opposition  to  contend 
against,  and  many  needy  sycophants  to 
humor  and  assist  in  various  speculations, 
in  return  for  their  support,  he  ran  up  the 
provincial  debt  during  his  regime  many 
millions  of  dollars.  Notwithstanding 
these  facts  he  could,  because  possessed 
of  a  fluent  tongue  and  plausible  manners, 
appear  among  the  farmers,  pretend  undy- 
ing patriotism,  often  boast  of  valuable 
services  never  rendered,  and  so  befool 
them  generally  that  they  would  return 
him  and  even  his  creatures  to  Parliament. 
This  self-seeking  politician,  by  such  arts 
and  the  ready  use  of  melodramatic  airs, 
contrived  to  maintain  himself  Premier  of 
Quebec  for  several  years  to  the  great  in- 
jury of  the  province.  In  their  native 
innocence  many  of  the  habitants  cannot 
believe  that  so  good  a  speaker  {un  si  beau 
parleur)  could  be  such  an  arrant  humbug, 
and  unprincipled  schemer. 

The  good  name  and  financial  condition 
of  the  province  of  Quebec  have  suffered 
much  on  both  sides  of  the  Atlantic,  owing 
to  the  deeds  of  corrupt  politicians  and 
unprincipled  speculators.  The  province 
started  in  1867,  at  the  time  of  the  forma- 
tion of  the  confederation,  equal  with  On- 
tario. The  Western  province  has  now  a 
surplus  of  over  seven  millions  dollars, 
while  the  Eastern  has  a  debt  of  over 
twenty  millions  dollars.  The  former  has 
also  been  very  generous  to  all  sorts  of 
public  or  promising  undertakings,  inclu- 


116 


THE  FRENCH  CANADIAN  PEASANTRY. 


ding  railroads,  but  taking,  due  precaution 
not  to  legislate  in  a  way  to  put  much 
money  into  the  pockets  of  contractors 
and  jobbers.  Reckless  politicians,  like 
the  one  above  referred  to,  never  fail  in 
Quebec  to  make  out  a  strong  case  for  the 
most  visionary  or  dishonest  projects  if 
they  promise  large  profits  or  advantages 
to  party.  A  gratifying  contrast  to  such 
a  charlatan  is  Hon.  Wm.  Joly,  who 
was  premier  of  the  province  of  Quebec 
for  about  eighteen  months.  This  gentle- 
man's name  is  a  synonym  with  all  parties, 
races,  and  creeds,  for  probity  and  political 
honor. 

One  day,  conversing  with  an  able 
French  Canadian  journalist  on  the  regret- 
tably backward  condition  of  education 
among  the  masses,  and  the  lamentable 
ease  with  which  quacks  and  plausible 
political  humbugs  can  carry  their  points 
outside  or  inside  of  parliament,  he  re- 
marked :  "  There  is  no  such  thing  as 
public  opinion  among  French  Canadians, 
though  the  press  will  talk  habitually  of 
public  opinion.  We  tell  the  people  they 
think  this  or  thus  on  such  a  subject,  and 
whether  they  think  so  or  not  in  the  first 
instance,  they  finally  persuade  themselves 
they  did  originally."  Without  undertak- 
ing to  strictly  define  the  line  of  error  or 
indifference  at  which  a  great  number  of 
those  people  halt  in  public  or  political 
action,  I  must  admit  that  in  this  way,  as 
also  through  weakness  or  apathy,  too  many 
come  far  short  of  duty  to  themselves  and 
honest  party,  or  country,  by  which  all 
suffer  and  run  serious  danger.  More 
knowledge,  intelligent  study  of  political 
questions,  as  well  as  firmness  and  justice 
in  judging  between  political  rivals,  are 
urgently  needed  to  secure  that  wise  and 
honest  system  of  government  essential  to 
the  peace  »and  prosperity  of  this  impor- 
tant central  province.  No  matter  how 
trivial  or  improbable  may  be  an  accusa- 
tion against  a  political  opponent,  if  he  be 
not  eloquent  and  ready  to  reply  at  the 
instant  —  donner  la  replique,  and  with  wit 
or  force  as  well,  he  falls  at  once  in  the 
estimation  of  the  people.  Even  if  he  be 
undoubtedly  wrong,  let  him  make  an 
earnest  and  stirring  defence,  a  little  in 
the  tu  quoque  style,  and  he  will  be  sure 
to    win    much    sympathy,    if   he    do    not 


actually  turn  the  tables  on  a  much  better 
and  honester  man  than  himself.  A  poli- 
tician, of  unenviable  reputation,  whose 
long  flowing  locks  and  charlatan  looks  are 
familiar  to  most  of  the  people  in  the 
province,  on  one  occasion  was  aggravated 
by  the  offensive  personalities  of  a  political 
opponent.  He  denounced  from  the 
public  hustings  the  course  of  his  adver- 
sary, characterizing  it  as  the  most  infa- 
mous and  ignominious  he  had  ever 
known,  stamping  the  base  perpetrator  of 
it  as  the  vilest  creature  on  earth.  "  But 
let  him  beware,"  he  exclaimed,  in  his 
usual  melodramatic  tones,  throwing  his 
head  backward  and  at  the  same  time 
nervously  raising  one  of  the  stray  locks 
from  his  forehead  with  his  right  hand, 
"  if  he  continue  to  pursue  such  slander- 
ous methods,  I  shall  follow  him  on  his 
chosen  ground  and  repay  him  in  his  own 
coin."  {Je  le  saiverai  sur  son  propi'e 
terrain  et le paierai  de  sapropre  monnaie.) 
This  unique  style  of  defence  aroused  the 
speaker's  unsophisticated  hearers  to  no 
ordinary  enthusiasm  and  admiration. 

One  unfortunate  habit  of  the  people  is 
that  of  looking  to  the  government,  or 
their  rulers,  for  everything.  If  a  bridge  is 
wanted  in  a  parish,  a  wharf  or  landing  on 
a  river  bank,  or  a  highway,  or  a  public 
structure  of  any  kind,  the  government 
must  be  appealed  to  through  the  popular 
representatives,  or  other  leading  citizens. 
Much  money  has  been  injudiciously  spent 
in  this  manner,  instead  of  the  people 
being  taught  to  depend  upon  their  own 
efforts  and  resources.  In  Ontario  we 
find  a  material  contrast  in  this  respect. 
Local  councils  or  rulers  look  mainly  to  the 
people  for  local  improvements,  from  the 
cutting  out  of  the  newest  road  into  the 
last  surveyed  patch  of  bush,  to  the  con- 
struction of  the  last  schoolhouse  erected 
for  the  children  of  the  pioneer  settlers. 
It  would  appear  from  a  remark  of  Napo- 
leon III.  to  the  late  Mr.  Washburn, 
minister  to  France  in  1870-71,  that  the 
same  tendency  exists  among  the  French. 
"The  great  trouble  with  the  French," 
said  Napoleon,  "was  that  they  always 
looked  to  the  government  for  everything, 
instead  of  depending  upon  themselves." 

A  Gascon  politician  secured  his  elec- 
tion   by    acclamation,    by    assuring    the 


THE  FRENCH  CANADIAN  PEASANTRY. 


117 


voters  he  had  the  ear  and  good-will  of 
the  government,  and  could  obtain  for 
them  a  new  bridge,  a  new  schoolhouse, 
better  mail  facilities,  with  other  advan- 
tages. On  presenting  himself  for  re- 
election, he  declared  that  the  ministers 
had  been  too  busy  in  other  directions  to 
grant  what  he  had  promised  them;  but 
they  might  expect  them  at  an  early  day. 
No  performance  followed  those  promises 
either.  He  again  sought  re-election  ;  this 
time,  also,  assuring  the  voters  the  prom- 
ised benefits  were  sure  to  come.  He  ex- 
plained that  the  deputy  minister  of  public 
works  had  informed  him  that  the  govern- 
ment proceeded  methodically  in  such 
matters,  and  could  not  have  acted  other- 
wise. They  had  a  long  list  of  counties 
to  serve  this  way,  which  came  in  alpha- 
betical order,  and  the  turn  of  his  and 
their  county  had  almost  arrived.  By 
such  declarations,  enforced  by  a  genial, 
plausible  manner,  the  knave  secured  his 
third  election,  the  people  not  distrusting 
his  honesty  after  all. 

Election  day  in  the  rural  constituencies 
is  an  exacting  time.  The  habitant,  with 
an  air  of  pride  and  defiance  wears  the 
colored  ribbon  of  his  party  in  his  hat  or 
buttonhole.  All  work  is  thrown  aside 
for  the  day,  and  he  gives  himself  up  to 
the  pleasure  of  the  political  contest.  The 
sightseer  joins  the  voters  on  the  way  to 
and  from  the  polls,  and  even  the  women, 
regardless  of  the  weather,  feel  the  excite- 
ment and  interest  of  the  day.  The 
touters  or  cabaleurs  call  for  the  voters  in 
wagons,  with  fluttering  ribbons  of  the 
color  of  their  chosen  candidate  at  the 
horses'  heads.  They  rake  every  cabin, 
hole  and  corner  for  a  voter  (e/ectei/r), 
disregarding  fatigue,  snubs,  or  rebuffs. 
They  eloquently  laud  the  character  and 
merits  of  their  favorite,  drawing  on  their 
imagination,  in  order  that,  like  charity,  it 
may  cover  a  multitude  of  sins.  Their 
story  of  coming  benefits  from  his  election 
is  often  brighter  than  a  fairy  tale.  At 
times  they  will  almost  use  force  to  bring 
some  recreant  voter  to  the  polls;  and 
they  have  been  known  to  imprison  active 
touters  or  influential  citizens,  to  prevent 
their  using  their  influence  in  behalf  of  the 
opposite  candidate,  during  the  day  of 
struggle.     The  Hon,  M.  P.  Pelletier  was 


thus  disposed  of  during  the  recent  local 
elections  in  Quebec  in  1890.  The  com- 
mon folk  have  a  curious  habit  of  mixing 
titles  in  connection  with  candidates. 
During  the  canvass  they  will  refer  to  the 
party  candidate  as  "our member"  (  notre 
membre),  though  not  yet  elected,  while 
after  his  return  they  will  speak  of  him 
merely  as  "  our  candidate  "  (  notre  can- 
did at) . 

A  meeting  of  the  rival  cabaleurs  on  the 
road,  either  with  or  without  a  voter 
"aboard,"  usually  results  in  that  prime 
test  of  party  or  personal  superiority,  a 
good  race.  The  shouts  of  excited  com- 
petitors and  lashing  of  horses  are  thus 
made  a  prominent  feature  of  the  day; 
and  indeed  the  goal  itself  sometimes 
hardly  arrests  the  contest,  the  foaming 
horses  and  reckless  drivers,  unconquered 
in  spirit,  demanding  another  trial  on  the 
return  trip. 

The  French  Canadians  regard  political 
events  with  calm  enough  tempers  the 
greater  part  of  the  year,  or  the  life  of  a 
parliament :  but  toward  election  time 
they  become  rapidly  excited  and  perform 
acts  —  or  many  of  them  do  —  the  like  of 
which  on  other  occasions  would  be  con- 
sidered very  reprehensible.  Different 
rules  of  conduct  seem  permissible  in  po- 
litical matters.  The  offences  committed 
are  often  injurious,  and  their  concealment 
calls  forth  more  acuteness  still.  The  use 
of  the  ballot  in  French  as  well  as  British 
Canada  has  doubtless  assisted  in  dimin- 
ishing considerably  those  frauds  at  elec- 
tions, formerly  rather  common  and  mis- 
chievous. All  parties  habitually  accused 
each  other  of  being  the  chief  offenders. 
Some  of  the  plain-spoken  disputants  oc- 
casionally plead  in  defence  the  necessity 
of  their  respective  parties  resorting  to 
corruption,  fraud,  or  violence  now  and 
then,  just  to  prevent  their  opponents 
having  it  all  their  own  way  by  the  sole 
use  of  such  rascally  practices.  Clever 
dodgers,  cunning  plotters,  and  muscular 
roughs  all  had  their  uses  at  elections  in 
the  old  time,  or  in  the  pretty  evenly- 
divided  constituencies,  particularly  when 
political  gladiators  were  the  contestants, 
or  the  fate  of  parties  hung  in  the  balance. 
If  the  contest  at  the  polls  had  been  close, 
the  excitement  ran  high,  and  the  stronger 


118 


THE  FRENCH  CANADIAN  PEASANTRY. 


party  would  take  possession  of  the  polling 
register  and  fill  it  with  votes  for  their 
candidate.  Hot-blooded  appeals  to 
muscle  would  also  occasionally  follow 
among  the  bullies  (fiers  a  bras  ) .  After 
struggles,  howls,  and  uproar,  the  fracas 
would  end  with  "  the  survival  of  the 
fittest  "  and  their  manipulation  of  the 
registers  for  their  particular  man.  After- 
wards, the  blood  of  the  "  martyrs  "  often 
proved  the  seed  of  the  lawyers  and  the 
harvest  as  well. 

Less  violence  but  more  ingenuity  is  re- 
sorted to  since  the  use  of  the  ballot  boxes. 
Not  long  ago  a  leading  politician  found  him- 
self defeated  at  the  close  of  the  poll.  In 
the  evening  a  crowd  of  admirers,  the  ma- 
jority of  the  residents  of  his  own  village 
called  at  his  house  to  sympathize  and 
cheer  him  with  promises  of  future  more 
successful  support.  He  ordered  them 
out,  with  hostile  looks,  calling  them  a 
pack  of  hypocrites,  for  their  village 
showed  a  majority  for  his  opponent. 
They  one  and  all  protested  they  had 
voted  for  him,  and  offered  to  take  their 
oaths  in  support  of  their  statement. 
This  led  to  an  investigation,  and  the  dis- 
covery that  during  the  absence  of  the  poll 
clerk  at  the  mid-day  meal,  emissaries  of 
the  opposite  party  had  entered  the  poll 
house  through  a  cellar  trap-door,  opened 
the  ballot-box  and  extracted  some  of  the 
bulletins  and  replaced  them  with  a  suffi- 
cient number  of  fictitious  ones  to  insure 
the  election  of  their  own  candidates. 

Experience  has  proved  that  however 
honest  and  wise  may  be  the  law  in  favor 
of  legitimate  elections,  even  in  the  least 
intelligent  or  progressive  country,  due 
care  and  vigilance  are  required  for  its 
proper  carrying  out.  Among  the  tricks 
employed  by  rival  politicians,  I  have 
heard  of  clerks  who  are  paid  by  the  pub- 
lic and  should  be  fair  or  impartial  to  each 
side,  deftly  misusing  their  position  to 
track  the  course  of  voters  and  give  hints 
and  reports  in  aid  of  some  favorite  candi- 
date, who  can  turn  this  help  to  the  be^t 
account  before  the  close  of  voting.  I 
have  heard  of  this  trick,  also  :  one  voter 
is  sent  with  a  counterfeit  ballot,  which  he 
deposits  in  the  box,  bringing  back  the 
proper  paper  given  him  by  the  chief  poll- 
clerk    or  returning   officer ;     this  one  is 


now  regularly  crossed  and  marked  and 
given  to  another  person,  with  the  promise 
of  a  reward  should  he  duly  deposit  it  and 
come  back  with  a  fresh  ballot,  to  be  used 
again  in  the  same  way.  The  law  has 
been  improved  of  late  years,  with  the  ob- 
ject of  rendering  gross  irregularities  diffi- 
cult, if  not  impossible  ;  but  vigilance  and 
honesty  on  the  part  of  its  executors  con- 
tinue still  indispensable  in  the  public 
interest.  Many  of  the  rustics  are  liber- 
ally furnished  with  the  material  of  the 
average  politician.  They  have  an  easier 
or  more  elastic  law  of  conscience  in  regard 
to  public  voting  than  to  various  other 
duties.  They  look  upon  the  franchise  as 
a  species  of  private  property  which  they 
have  a  right  to  sell  to  the  highest  bidder. 
The  absence  of  exacting  issues  leaves  a 
pretty  large  field  open  to  the  speculator 
and  corruptionist.  No  wonder  the  re- 
sources of  ingenuity  are  exhausted  by  the 
canvassers  to  devise  means  of  evading  the 
law,  the  most  ridiculous  bribes  being 
resorted  to.  In  certain  cases,  in  addition 
to  money  deposited  in  the  palms*  of  the 
children  or  of  the  voter's  wife,  stock- 
breeding  privileges,  presents  of  groceries, 
sucking  pigs  of  popular  breeds,  etc.,  are 
cleverly  employed.  In  fact  all  that  can 
be  extracted  from  either  political  candi- 
date, or  from  both,  is  considered  legiti- 
mate spoil.  Such  patriots  will  visit  the 
different  election  committees,  accept  all 
drinks  and  money  offered  them,  indifferent 
as  to  the  promised  return.  The  warnings 
of  the  priests  and  exhortations  of  moral- 
ists will  often  be  laughed  at  as  idle  wind. 
It  is  not  seldom  difficult  to  find  out  on 
which  side  they  intend  voting ;  and  they 
are  often  seen  to  join  in  the  jubilation  of 
the  victors  when  they  should  be  mourn- 
ing with  the  defeated  party.  If  told  their 
course  is  discreditable,  they  defend  it 
with  the  reply  that  the  candidate  cares 
nothing  for  their  interests  and  seeks  their 
vote  only  for  his  own  election  and  future 
advantage,  often  adding  that  he  will  not 
show  himself  until  he  desires  re-election. 
They  no  doubt  see  too  much  reason  to 
conclude  that  politics  is  too  often  pur- 
sued as  a  game  mainly  for  individual  and 
party  advantages ;  and  therefore  believe 
that  the  candidate  should  pay  for  the 
votes  he  solicits. 


THE  FRENCH  CANADIAN  PEASANTRY. 


119 


Of  course,  all  peasants  are  not  alike  in 
this  respect.  There  are  many  who  are 
sensitive  to  party  views  or  appeals  on 
grounds  of  principle,  and  will  form  opin- 
ions and  honorably  back  them  at  the 
polls.  There  are  also  the  old  families 
connected  with  political  traditions,  who 
adhere  to  them  strictly.  This  is  so  well- 
known  to  canvassers  during  election  times 
that  in  computing  the  votes  of  a  county 
they  always  place  to  one  side  a  certain 
number  known  beforehand  to  belong  to 
one  side  or  the  other,  and  consequently 
unapproachable  or  unpurchasable. 

The  triumphal  procession  immediately 
after  the  election  in  a  constituency  is  an 
important  feature  of  the  campaign,  arous- 
ing general  attention  and  exciting  un- 
usual interest  among  the  friends  of  the 
victor.  The  turnout  is  often  attractive  as 
regards  decorations,  numbers,  and  trium- 
phal insignia.  The  party,  preceded  by 
the  Union  Jack,  is  headed  by  the  carriage 
containing  the  new  member  with  a  guard 
of  friends,  the  bulk  of  the  voters  following 
in  a  train  of  carriages,  two-wheeled  open 
carts,  and  other  vehicles.  A  few  fiddlers 
and  clarionet  players  accompany  the  cor- 
tege. The  route  is  generally  gay  with 
flags  of  various  forms  and  colors,  displays 
of  evergreens,  and  triumphal  arches  set 
up  in  conspicuous  places.  Should  the 
procession  pass  a  schoolhouse,  an  address 
and  a  bouquet  is  often  presented  to  the 
member  elect.  These  demonstrations 
frequently  take  place  by  torchlight,  when 
the  effect  is  picturesque,  and  often  weird, 
as  they  proceed  by  hill  and  valley.  After 
a  pleasant,  jolly  parade  enlivened  by 
songs  in  which  all  join,  or  to  the  strains  of 
music,  the  procession  returns  to  the 
house  of  the  member,  or  that  of  some 
friend,  where  speeches  follow  and  a  round 
of  festivities  to  suit  the  tastes  and  wants 
of  all  present.  Such  rejoicing  and  gener- 
ous hospitality  is  the  more  welcome  that 
treating  or  other  favors  to  the  voters, 
however  slight,  are  now  strictly  forbidden 
by  law  before  the  elections. 

The  French  Canadians  continue  to 
cherish  kindly  feelings  towards  La  Belle 
France  as  the  mother  country  of  their  race, 
the  great  nation  of  whose  glory  also  they 
inherit  no  small  share.  They  are  proud 
of  her,  despite  material  changes  of  time 


and  lamentable  reverses  of  fortune.  Her 
power  may  be  somewhat  reduced,  and 
her  dazzling  fame  partially  eclipsed  through 
the  bad  errors  and  insane  ambition 
of  unworthy  rulers ;  yet  her  wondrous 
vigor,  irrepressible  spirit,  and  invincible 
patriotism  enable  her  to  sweep  forward 
again  majestically  to  the  front  rank  of 
nations,  to  play  once  more  a  leading  part 
on  the  world's  imposing  stage.  The  very 
name  France  remains  an  inspiration  to 
her  children  in  North  America,  asso- 
ciated with  scenes,  events,  and  characters 
which  must  ever  occupy  a  brilliant  posi- 
tion on  the  historic  page.  The  worthy 
descendants  of  the  old  Gallic  colonists 
follow  all  the  mother  country's  experi- 
ences, woful  or  glorious,  with  the  deepest 
interest,  sympathy,  and  pride.  But  while 
mindful  of  ancient  traditions  and  faithful 
to  the  duties  of  kinship,  they  are  sensible 
and  patriotic  enough  to  respect  the  ob- 
ligations of  their  present  position.  Eng- 
land's policy  touching  Canada  has  re- 
flected a  spirit  of  justice  and  friendly 
consideration  truly  wise  and  honorable, 
and  it  has  been  to  the  present  hour 
heartily  appreciated.  In  this  way  only 
can  colonies  of  vigorous  freemen  be  re- 
tained and  developed  into  loyal,  prosper- 
ous nations.  The  French  Canadians  have 
acted  upon  the  counsel  of  the  dying  soldier 
to  his  son  in  M.  P.  A.  de  Gaspe's  clas- 
sical work,  Les  Anciens  Canadiens  : 
"  Serve  thy  new  sovereign  with  as  much 
zeal,  devotion,  and  loyalty,  as  I  have 
served  the  King  of  France,  and  may  God 
bless  thee  !  "  M.  Faucher  de  Saint  Mau- 
rice on  a  memorable  occasion,  but  voiced 
the  sentiment  of  his  race,  in  the  remark : 
"  The  French  Canadians  while  truly  loyal 
to  England  will  never  forget  France."  It 
is  only  natural,  then,  that  in  all  their 
patriotic  banquets  and  public  celebrations 
the  toast  of  La  France  is  honored  in  con- 
nection with  those  expressing  the  well- 
known  loyalty  to  Great  Britain. 

One  of  their  orators  at  the  banquet 
given  in  October,  1890,  at  Quebec,  to 
the  Comte  de  Paris,  thus  apostrophized 
the  old  land  : 

"  Oh  France,  dear  France,  who  could  know 
and  not  admire  and  love  thee  !  Who  could  deny 
thy  glory  and  thy  genius  —  thy  constant  worship  of 
art,  thine   aspirations  so   elevated,  thy  noble   and 


120 


THE  FRENCH  CANADIAN  PEASANTRY. 


generous  character !  What  people  has  loved 
truth,  justice,  and  liberty  more  than  thine  —  has 
struggled  more  for  their  triumph  !  What  nation 
has  a  more  brilliant  mind,  a  warmer  heart, 
or  feels  more  deeply  that  constant  desire  for 
higher  and  better  things  !  " 

At  the  same  public  banquet  in  honor 
of  the  claimant  to  the  throne  of  France, 
the  distinguished  guest  himself,  in  due 
appreciation  of  the  high  compliment  paid 
him,  as  well  as  of  the  spirit  and  attitude 
hitherto  manifested  towards  his  family  by 
the  nation  under  whose  flag  he  finds  wel- 
come shelter,  said : 

"  .  .  .  .  Gentlemen,  in  your  midst  we  forget 
that  we  are  in  exile.  Is  this  not,  in  effect,  a 
corner  of  France?  At  each  step  we  take  on  your 
soil,  we  meet  a  familiar  aspect,  or  a  heroic  sou- 
venir. The  proud  and  touching  device  of  your 
province,  is  it  xvo\.,je  me  souviens  ('  I  remember'). 
Your  old  city  resembles  one  of  the  towns  of  Nor- 
mandy whose  sons  colonized  the  shores  of  the  St. 
Lawrence.  ...  I  have  seen  your  monument 
raised  to  the  joint  memory  of  Wolfe  and  Mont- 
calm. England  was  generous  when  she  inscribed 
on  this  column  the  names  of  the  two  great  ad- 
versaries reunited  in  death  and  associated  in 
glory." 

His  Royal  Highness  concluded  an  able, 
pathetic  address  with  this  toast,  credit- 
able to  both  heart  and  mind  — "  Eng- 
land, Canada,  and  France." 

As  already  intimated,  French  visitors  of 
respectability  or  distinction  invariably  meet 


with  a  hearty  welcome  in  this  province, 
no  pains  being  spared  to  make  the  travel- 
lers from  outre  mer  feel  at  home.  Until 
recently,  it  was  not  an  unusual  thing  to 
hear  a  peasant  say,  "  But  our  good  kin  will 
come  again." 

Making  all  due  allowance,  however,  for 
the  claims  of  kinship  and  legitimate  com- 
munity of  natural  sentiment,  it  is  only 
right  to  make,  at  this  point,  particular 
acknowledgment  of  the  fact  that  the 
French  Canadian  to-day  is  as  sensible  of 
the  privileges  of  British  citizenship  as  any 
other  section  of  Her  Majesty's  subjects ; 
nor  would  many  of  them  return  to  the 
French  rule  were  that  option  presented 
them  to-morrow.  Hon.  Wilfrid  Laurier 
exclaimed  in  the  Dominion  Parliament 
only  the  other  day  :  "  If  I  had  my  choice, 
I  would  not  return  to  French  alliance," 
adding  :  "  If  a  poll  were  taken  in  Canada, 
all  my  countrymen  would  declare  to  the 
same  effect."  This  exhibits  a  state  of 
feeling  no  less  than  a  measure  of  in- 
telligence well  calculated  to  render  them 
more  useful  and  congenial  citizens  than 
if  animated  by  "mere  French  ideas," 
whether  it  be  their  destiny  to  continue 
British  subjects,  or  become  citizens  of 
the  American  Republic  in  the  not  distant 
future. 


PHILIP,    PONTIAC,  AND   TECUMSEH. 

AN    OLD    SOUTH    PRIZE    ESSAY.  * 


By   Caroline   Christine  Stecker. 


[ROM  the  "Mauvaises 
Terres  "  of  the  South 
Dakota  lately  came 
the  news  of  an  Indian 
uprising,  speedily- 
quelled  by  the  inter- 
vention of  the  United 
States  troops.  There 
came  too,  the  news  of  the  death  of  Sitting 
Bull.  By  the  fate  of  this  Sioux  leader, 
progressive  civilization  added  another 
name  to  its  list  of  victims ;  history  once 
more  repeated  itself  for  the  benefit  of 
the  American  public.  The  Sioux  diffi- 
culty sprang  out  of  no  new  causes.  It  is 
the  old  story  of  Indian  wrongs,  inflicted 
by  an  inconsistent  governmental  policy, 
and  resulting  in  internecine  warfare. 
Territorial  encroachment  has  ever  been 
the  primary  grievance  of  the  red  race. 
That  their  complaints  on  this  score  have 
been  just  must  be  admitted  ;  and  if  under 
the    cloak    of  the  alleged    grievance  the 

*  This  essay  was  one  of  the  first-prize  essays  for 
1890,  the  full  subject  as  prescribed  being"  Philip, 
Pontiac,  and  Tecumseh :  compare  their  characters 
and  discuss  their  plans  for  Indian  Union."  Miss 
Stecker  is  a  graduate  of  the  Dorchester  High 
School,  Boston.  Her  prize  essay  of  the  previous 
year,  on  "  Washington's  Interest  in  Education," 
has  been  noticed  in  our  pages;  and  her  Old  South 
lecture  of  last  summer,  on  "King  Philip's  war,"  was 
printed  in  the  December  number  of  the  magazine. 

In  the  preparation  of  the  present  essay  the  fol- 
lowing works  were  consulted  :  Adams's  History  of 
the  United  States,  Arnold's  History  of  Rhode 
Island,  Bancroft's  History  of  the  United  States, 
Church's  Entertaining  Passages  relating  to  King 
Philip's  War,  Dodge's  Our  Wild  Indians,  Colton's 
Tecumseh  :  A  Poem,  Doyle's  English  Colonies, 
Drake's  Book  of  the  Indians,  Drake's  Life  of 
Tecumseh,  Dunn's  Indiana,  Ellis's  The  Red  Man 
and  the  White  Man,  Everett's  Oration  at  Bloody 
Brook,  Fiske's  Beginnings  of  New  England, 
Gookin's  Historical  Collections  of  the  Indians, 
Hollister's  Mount  Hope  :  an  historical  romance, 
Hubbard's  Present  State  of  New  England,  Irving's 
Philip  of  Pokanoket,  Lossing's  Our  Country, 
Lowell  Lectures  on  Massachusetts  and  its  Early 
History,  The  Memorial  History  of  Boston,  Palfrey's 
History  of  New  England. 


implacable  resentment  of  a  conquered 
to  a  conquering  people  has  been  con- 
cealed, it  is  not  unnatural. 

The  savage,  in  a  more  primitive  age, 
was  essentially  a  child  of  nature.  The 
love  of  country  was  inherent  with  him. 
We  who  admire  the  sentiment  in  the 
lines  of  the  poet, — 

"  Breathes  there  a  man  with  soul  so  dead, 
Who  never  to  himself  hath  said, 
This  is  my  own,  my  native  land  !" 

can  surely  appreciate  this  love  of  country 
in  the  Indian  race.  Beholding  as  they 
did  the  rapid  invasion  of  their  land  by  a 
foreign  people,  into  whose  hands  the  im- 
memorial birthright  of  the  red  man  was 
being  transferred,  it  is  no  wonder  that 
they  were  roused  to  desperate  action. 
And  each  of  the  three  centuries  which 
have  passed  since  the  settlement  of  the 
Europeans  in  America  has  in  its  course 
produced  a  great  mind,  under  whose  di- 
rection the  Indian's  cherished  idea  of 
expelling  the  intruders  seems  to  have 
been  less  hopeless  than  it  might  at  first 
seem  in  the  face  of  the  facts.  The  names 
of  the  three  who  stand  pre-eminent 
among  many  conspicuous  sons  of  the  wil- 
derness, are  Metacom (Philip),  Pontiac, 
and  Tecumseh. 

From  their  earliest  occupancy  of  this 
country,  the  English-speaking  race  ad- 
mitted that  the  Indian  tribes  had  natural 
rights  to  the  soil  they  occupied,  which 
could  only  be  extinguished  by  "  honora- 
ble treaty  and  fair  compensation."  As 
treaties  can  only  be  made  between  inde- 
pendent nations,  this  was  a  virtual  recog- 
nition of  the  independence  of  the  savage 
tribes. 

It  was  ordained,  strange  as  it  seems, 
that  Puritan  New  England  should  be 
foremost  in  losing  sight  of  the  fact  that 
the  Indian  tribes  were  independent  na- 


122 


PHILIP,   PONTIAC,   AND    TECUMSEH. 


tions  by  right.  A  cardinal  error  is  appar- 
ent in  her  dealings  with  the  natives  :  she 
assumed  that  the  merely  nominal  submis- 
sion of  the  Indian  tribes  was  something 
more.  When  the  Pilgrims  came  to  New 
England,  it  was  as  a  "  friend  and  ally  " 
that  Massasoit,  the  chief  of  the  Wampa- 
noags,  made  the  first  cession  of  a  large 
tract  of  territory  and  entered  into  a  treaty 
of  peace  with  the  Pilgrims,  then  few  and 
feeble.  Later,  when  the  Plymouth  settlers 
increased  in  number,  they  seemed  to  lose 
sight  of  the  fact  that  the  submission  of 
the  tribes  to  the  British  crown,  which  the 
colonists  construed  as  acts  of  subjection 
to  themselves,  was  in  the  Indian  mind 
the  voluntary  submission  of  an  ally.  Re- 
garding the  savages  as  subjects,  the  Eng- 
lish considered  them  amenable  to  English 
law.  Now  the  rule  of  an  Indian  sachem 
was  absolute ;  how  then  could  he  be 
reconciled  to  the  interference  of  alien 
authority,  or  how  could  he  brook  his  own 
arraignment  before  a  foreign  tribunal? 
It  is  here  that  the  trouble  arose  which 
led  to  the  estrangement  of  the  two  races. 

Massasoit,  the  Wampanoag  sachem, 
always  faithfully  maintained  the  treaty 
made  on  the  arrival  of  the  Pilgrims. 
Dying  nearly  forty  years  after  that  treaty 
was  signed,  he  left  two  sons,  Wamsutta 
and  Metacom,  called  by  the  English 
Alexander  and  Philip.  The  former  suc- 
ceeded his  father ;  but  his  was  but  brief 
authority.  Reports  came  to  Plymouth 
that  he  was  plotting  with  the  Narragan- 
sett  tribe  against  his  white  neighbors. 
He  was  apprehended  and  brought  before 
the  colonial  magistrates,  who  "  issued  the 
matter  peaceably"  and  dismissed  him  to 
return  home.  Before  he  had  got  clear 
of  English  territory  he  was  seized  with  a 
fever,  of  which  he  died ;  and  his  brother 
Philip  became  sachem. 

Thirteen  years  passed.  By  this  time 
the  ancient  domain  of  his  tribe  had  been 
reduced  until  only  two  narrow  peninsulas 
on  the  eastern  coast  of  Narragansett  Bay 
remained.  What  blame  could  be  attached 
to  the  new  comers?  They  claimed  they 
had  honestly  come  by  the  land,  as  a  letter 
written  by  Governor  Winslow  in  1676 
proves  :  "  I  think  I  can  clearly  say  that 
before  these  present  troubles  broke  out 
the  English  did  not  possess   one  foot  of 


land  in  this  colony  but  what  was  fairly 
obtained  by  honest  purchase  of  the  Indian 
proprietors."  But  Washington  Irving's 
words  throw  a  different  light  on  the  sub- 
ject :  "  It  may  be  said  that  the  soil  was 
originally  purchased  by  the  settlers.  But 
who  does  not  know  the  nature  of  Indian 
purchases  in  the  early  period  of  colon- 
ization? The  Europeans  always  made 
thrifty  bargains,  through  their  superior 
adroitness  in  traffic ;  and  they  gained 
vast  accessions  of  territory  by  easily-pro- 
voked hostilities.  An  uncultivated  savage 
is  never  a  nice  inquirer  into  the  refine- 
ments of  law,  by  which  an  injury  may  be 
gradually  and  legally  inflicted.  Leading 
facts  are  all  by  which  he  judges ;  and  it 
was  enough  for  Philip  to  know  that  before 
the  intrusion  of  the  European  settlers  his 
countrymen  were  lords  of  the  soil,  and 
that  now  they  were  becoming  vagabonds 
in  the  land  of  their  fathers." 

It  is  probable  that  all  this  time  Philip 
was  conscious  of  a  vague  injustice  which 
he  could  not  define.  This,  added  to  a 
mutual  distrust,  was  not  diminished  by 
the  frequent  collisions  between  his  tribe 
and  the  Plymouth  colony.  Affairs  came 
to  a  crisis  when,  in  1674,  Philip  was  ac- 
cused, on  the  evidence  of  John  Sausamon. 
a  "  praying  "  Pokanoket,  of  "  undoubt- 
edly endeavoring  to  raise  new  troubles,' y 
by  "  engaging  all  the  sachems  round  about 
in  a  war."  Without  summons  Philip  came 
to  Plymouth,  where  his  protestations  of 
innocence  did  not  satisfy  the  colonists, 
although  they  "  dismissed  him  friendly." 
He  returned  to  his  home  at  Mount  Hope. 
The  murder  of  Sausamon  followed.  This 
was  without  doubt  committed  at  the  in- 
stigation of  Philip  who,  as  sachem,  had 
power  of  jurisdiction  over  a  delinquent 
subject.  Sausamon,  in  the  opinion  of  his 
tribe,  merited  the  fate  of  a  traitor.  Was 
it  not  ill  policy  then  for  the  Plymouth 
magistrates  to  set  aside  Philip's  tribal  au- 
thority and  mete  out  punishment  to  the 
executors  of  their  chief's  sentence  ? 

This  event  alone  seems  to  warrant  the 
outbreak  which  followed,  known  in  history 
as  King  Philip's  war.  It  is  unnecessary 
to  give  its  minute  details.  Hostilities 
began  with  small  depredations  followed 
by  bloodshed,  at  Swanzey,  on  June  20, 
1675.     The  alarm  of  war  spread  at  once 


PHILIP,   PONTIAC,    AND    TECUMSEH. 


123 


all  over  the  country.  Within  three  days, 
colonial  troops  hurried  to  the  scene  of 
hostilities.  In  less  than  a  month  Philip 
had  fled  to  join  the  Nipmucks  in  Massa- 
chusetts. Bancroft  thus  describes  the 
Indian  conduct  of  hostilities  :  "  On  the 
part  of  the  Indians  the  war  was  one  of 
ambuscades  and  surprises.  They  never 
once  met  the  English  in  open  field,  but 
always,  even  if  eightfold  in  number,  fled 
timorously  before  infantry.  By  the  rap- 
idity of  their  descent  they  seemed  omni- 
present among  the  scattered  villages  which 
they  ravaged  like  a  passing  storm ;  and 
for  a  full  year  they  kept  all  New  England 
in  a  state  of  terror  and  excitement." 

Before  the  autumn  was  spent,  town  after 
town  in  the  Connecticut  Valley  had 
learned  to  know  too  well  the  sound  of 
the  Indian  war-whoop.  In  the  winter  the 
English  declared  war  against  the  Narra- 
gansetts,  who  had  adopted  Philip's  cause, 
and  an  expedition  was  sent  to  their  coun- 
try. The  destruction  of  nearly  three 
thousand  of  the  tribe,  and  also  of  their 
stronghold,  near  what  is  now  South  Kings- 
ton, Rhode  Island,  was  the  result.  Can- 
onchet,  their  chief,  joined  Philip  with  his 
remaining  warriors,  and  remained  Philip's 
ablest  ally  until  his  capture.  The  spring 
saw  one  Massachusetts  town  after  another 
consumed  to  ashes.  But  as  the  season 
advanced,  the  Indians  lost  hope.  Their 
starving  condition  had  induced  many  of 
Philip's  allies  to  become  suppliants  for 
peace.  His  forces  were  thus  reduced. 
He  was  hunted  from  place  to  place  by 
the  English.  He  retreated  to  Mount 
Hope,  to  the  "  den  whence  he  had  ori- 
ginally gone  forth,  and  was  shot  inglori- 
ously  while,  unattended,  he  was  attempt- 
ing to  run  away." 

Philip  has  been  the  theme  of  much 
speculation.  The  circumstances  of  his 
life,  the  war  which  bears  his  name  in 
history,  his  unfortunate  fate,  and,  most  of 
all,  the  ignominy  with  which  his  Puritan 
contemporaries  have  loaded  his  name  — 
all  have  conspired  to  render  him  an  ob- 
ject of  compassionate  interest.  The  efforts 
of  "  Washington  Irving  as  his  biographer 
and  Southey  as  his  bard"  have  insured 
his  claim  to  the  title  of  patriot,  if  nothing 
more.  But  there  are  writers  who  will  not 
admit  as  much  as  this.     They  claim  that 


Philip  had  "  no  grounds  of  complaint 
against  the  white  man."  They  forget  to 
take  into  consideration  the  fact  that  the 
very  nature  of  the  Indian  precluded  the 
possibility  of  a  clear  comprehension  of 
the  Englishman's  "benevolent  intentions." 
"  It  is  one  of  the  commonest  things  in 
the  world,"  says  Mr.  Fiske,  "  for  a  savage 
tribe  to  absorb  weak  neighbors  by  adop- 
tion, and  thus  increase  its  force,  prepara- 
tory to  a  deadly  assault  upon  other  neigh- 
bors." Is  it  then  improbable  that  Philip 
should  have  regarded  the  effort  to  convert 
members  of  his  tribe  as  an  undertaking 
of  this  kind  on  the  part  of  his  English 
neighbors  ? 

War  and  pillage  were  the  ruling  inter- 
ests of  the  Indians.  With  what  impa- 
tience then  must  Philip  have  regarded 
the  efforts  of  the  English  to  keep  peace 
between  various  tribes  !  A  feature  too 
of  Philip's  Indian  faith  was  that  the  spirits 
of  friends  and  kindred  must  be  propi- 
tiated by  vengeance  on  those  who  had  in- 
jured the  departed.  Three  of  the  sachem's 
subjects,  one  his  confidential  friend, 
had,  while  fulfilling  his  commands,  met 
their  death  by  the  English  law.  Did  not 
their  blood  cry  out  for  vengeance  ?  Defi- 
ance of  Philip's  tribal  authority,  interfe- 
rence in  the  administration  of  his  govern- 
ment, total  disregard  of  Indian  custom  — 
of  all  these  the  English  had  been  guilty. 
It  was  a  sufficient  list  of  humiliations  for 
a  sachem  to  endure  —  one  whose  haugh- 
tiness of  character  was  evinced  by  the 
reply  made  to  the  Massachusetts  Gover- 
nor's ambassador  :  "  Your  governor  is  but 
a  subject  of  King  Charles  of  England.  I 
shall  not  treat  with  a  subject.  I  shall 
treat  of  peace  only  with  the  king,  my 
brother.     When  he  comes  I  am  ready." 

If  Philip  had  in  truth  uttered  the  elo- 
quent declaration  which  the  genius  of 
Edward  Everett  has  put  into  his  mouth, 
I  think  that  I  have  shown  that  he  had 
sufficient  ground  for  it.  Philip's  reputed 
speech  to  John  Borden  of  Rhode  Island, 
quoted  by  Arnold,  and  rejected  by  Palfrey 
as  "no  material  for  history,"  is  not  far 
behind  Everett's  words  in  eloquence  ;  and 
if  Mr.  Easton's  "  Relation  of  the  Indians  " 
is  of  historical  value,  we  may  confidently 
assert  that  behind  the  "envy  and  malice  " 
which  Hubbard  ascribes    to  him,   Philip 


124 


PHILIP,    PONTIAC,    AND    TECUMSEH. 


cherished  sentiments  of  a  very  different 
temper. 

Whatever  had  been  the  disposition  of 
Philip  before  the  death  of  Sausamon,  it  is 
certain  that  after  it  he  took  no  pains  to 
conceal  his  hostility  to  the  English.  As  re- 
gards his  plan  of  union,  there  is  much 
difference  of  opinion.  One  of  our  pres- 
ent historians  writes  on  the  subject  ■ 

"  It  is  hard  to  tell  how  far  Philip  was  personally 
responsible  for  the  storm  which  burst  upon  New 
England.  Whether  his  scheme  was  as  compre- 
hensive as  that  of  Pontiac  in  1763,  whether  or  not 
it  amounted  to  a  deliberate  combination  of  all  the 
red  men  within  reach  to  exterminate  the  white 
men,  one  can  hardly  say  with  confidence.  The 
figure  of  Philip  in  the  war  which  bears  his  name, 
does  not  stand  out  so  prominently  as  the  figure  of 
Pontiac  in  the  later  struggle.  This  may  be  partly 
because  Pontiac's  story  has  been  told  by  such  a 
magician  as  Mr.  Francis  Parkman.  But  it  is 
probably  because  the  data  are  too  meagre.  In  all 
probability,  however,  the  schemes  of  Sassacus  the 
Pequot,  of  Philip  the  Wampanoag,  and  of  Pontiac 
the  Ottawa  were  substantially  the  same.  That 
Philip  plotted  with  the  Narragansetts  seems  cer- 
tain, and  the  earlier  events  of  the  war  point 
clearly  to  a  previous  understanding  with  the  Nip- 
mucks." 

The  early  historians  seem  to  have  had 
but  a  vague  idea  of  a  concerted  design 
on  Philip's  part.  Hubbard  mentions  that 
the  sachem  had  been  "  plotting  with 
all  the  Indians  round  about"  to  make  a 
general  insurrection  against  the  English; 
his  authority  is,  however,  only  vague 
rumor  from  captives  at  Hadley  and  else- 
where. Cotton  Mather  never  mentions  a 
widespread  conspiracy,  nor  does  Increase 
Mather  seem  to  have  heard  of  one.  The 
testimony  of  Captain  Church  is  perhaps 
the  most  satisfactory.  In  his  narrative  of 
the  war  he  states  that  it  was  "  daily  sug- 
gested to  him  that  the  Indians  were  plot- 
ting a  bloody  design ;  that  Philip,  the 
great  Mount  Hope  sachem,  was  leader 
therein  ;  and  so  it  proved ;  he  was  send- 
ing his  messengers  to  all  the  neighboring 
sachems  to  engage  them  in  a  confederacy 
with  him  in  the  war."  And  again  Church 
mentions  that  he  was  told  by  an  Indian 
that  "  there  would  certainly  be  war ;  for 
Philip  had  held  a  dance  of  several  weeks 
continuance,  and  had  entertained  the 
young  men  from  all  parts  of  the  country." 

The  opinions  of  our  later  historians  on 
the  subject  are  very  conflicting.  Palfrey 
makes  out  that,  "  instead  of  being  a  far- 


reaching  and  well-organized  campaign, 
what  we  commonly  call  King  Philip's  war 
was  merely  a  succession  of  unconsidered 
and  indiscriminate  murders  and  pillages, 
taken  up  by  one  body  of  savages  after 
another,  as  the  intelligence  of  the  at- 
tractive example  of  others  reached 
them."  Arnold  thinks  the  testimony  of 
Church  and  Hubbard  conclusive  of  a 
concerted  design,  and  regards  the  first 
hostilities  as  a  premature  outbreak  pre- 
cipitated by  Sausamon's  murder.  Ban- 
croft's view  of  the  subject  appears  from 
the  following : 

"  There  exists  no  evidence  of  a  deliberate  con- 
spiracy on  the  part  of  all  the  tribes.  The  com- 
mencement of  war  was  accidental;  many  of  the 
Indians  were  in  a  maze,  not  knowing  what  to  do, 
and  disposed  to  stand  for  the  English,  —  sure 
proof  of  no  ripened  conspiracy." 

Dr.  Palfrey  has  certainly  weighed  the 
subject  most  carefully,  but  we  cannot 
concede  the  accuracy  of  his  opinion,  for 
it  is  evident  that  his  reverence  for  the 
Puritans  has  somewhat  prejudiced  his 
opinion.  Furthermore,  we  are  not  in- 
clined to  defraud,  as  he  has  done,  a 
chapter  of  New  England  history  of  all 
the  elements  of  romance.  He  sees  in 
Philip  only  a  "squalid  savage,"  one 
whose  nature  "  possessed  just  the  capa- 
city for  reflection,  and  the  degree  of  re- 
finement which  might  be  expected  to  be 
developed  from  the  mental  constitution 
of  his  race."  This  seems  to  me  to  show 
as  unlucky  a  bias  of  opinion  on  Dr. 
Palfrey's  part  as  mention  of  the  fact  that 
Philip  daubed  his  face  with  red  paint. 
The  question  arises :  were  the  ancient 
Celtic  chieftains  much  higher  in  social 
status  than  was  Philip  ?  And  yet  we  do 
not  call  in  question  the  patriotic  spirit  of 
Cassivelaunus,  or  deny  that  he  possessed 
the  mental  capacity  to  confederate  the 
British  tribes  against  the  Romans,  on  the 
score  that  the  Briton  in  all  probability, 
painted  his  body  blue,  and  that  his  man- 
ner of  living  was  hardly  more  luxurious 
than  was  Philip's  in  the  wigwam  which 
Palfrey  terms  a  "sty." 

We  will  then  assert  that  Philip  pos- 
sessed the  mental  capacity  to  plan  a 
union  of  the  tribes  ;  that,  moreover,  he 
did  plan  one  with  the  Massachusetts  and 
Rhode    Island    Indians  :    that    his    plans 


PHILIP,   PONTIAC,   AND    TECUMSEH. 


125 


did  not  go  so  far  as  to  include  the  north- 
eastern Indian,  for  if  they  had,  instead 
of  retreating  to  Mount  Hope  before  his 
death,  he  would  have  taken  refuge  with 
them ;  that  the  troubles  concerning 
Sausamon  occasioned  the  premature  out- 
break of  the  hostilities  which  he  was  en- 
gaged in  planning.  This  would  account 
for  the  reasons  adduced  by  Dr.  Palfrey 
as  to  the  lack  of  evidence  of  a  wide- 
spread conspiracy;  that  Philip  entered 
into  the  war  without  sufficient  munition ; 
that  there  was  some  delay  on  the  part  of 
the  Nipmucks  and  Narragansetts  before 
joining  his  party.  It  would  account,  too, 
for  the  tradition  that  Philip  and  his  older 
chiefs  were  averse  to  the  beginning  of 
the  war. 

The  magnitude  of  the  design,  and  the 
momentous  change  which  a  more  success- 
ful execution  of  it  might  have  occasioned 
in  history,  must  ever  make  the  inquiry 
whether  there  is  a  sufficient  amount  of 
evidence  of  a  comprehensive  plan  on 
Philip's  part,  embracing  all  the  New 
England  tribes,  one  of  the  greatest  inter- 
est and  importance.  Were  such  testi- 
mony forthcoming,  the  claim  would  be 
proved  without  the  shadow  of  a  doubt  to 
the  title  of  "great  prince,  sagacious 
warrior,  and  high-minded  politician," 
with  which  romancers  already  invest 
Philip  of  Pokanoket,  maintaining  with 
the  authors  of  "  Yamoyden,"  that 

"  He  fought  because  he  would  not  yield 
His  birthright,  and  his  father's  field; 
Would  vindicate  the  deep  disgrace, 
The  wrongs,  the  ruin  of  his  race; 
He  slew,  that  well  avenged  in  death 
His  kindred  spirits  pleased  might  be; 
Died  for  his  people  and  his  faith, 
His  sceptre  and  his  liberty." 

Nearly  a  century  after  the  death  of 
Philip  another  chieftain,  who,  like  him, 
boasted  the  blood  of  the  Algonquin  race, 
but  whose  tribal  seat  was  in  the  region 
of  the  Great  Lakes,  opened  another 
bloody  chapter  in  the  nation's  history. 
This  was  Pontiac,  the  Ottawa,  a  warrior 
known  and  respected,  not  only  within 
the  limits  of  the  three  confederated 
tribes,  Ottawas,  Ojibwas,  and  Pottawatta- 
mies,  whose  chief  sachem  he  was,  but 
throughout  the  length  and  breadth  of 
the  Mississippi  Valley. 


The  surrender  of  Quebec,  in  1759, 
which  wrought  the  downfall  of  French 
dominion  in  America,  brought  about  a 
gloomy  crisis  for  the  Indian  tribes. 
Throughout  the  struggle  between  France 
and  England  for  the  ascendency  in  Amer- 
ica, they  had  borne  the  marked  part  of  a 
powerful  nation  whose  alliance  was  neces- 
sary and  who  must  therefore  be  conciliated 
at  any  cost.  To  the  French,  a  race  of 
courtiers,  flattery  had  been  easy,  and  it  is 
therefore  not  wonderful  that  they  man- 
aged to  secure  the  firm  friendship  of  the 
Indian  tribes  of  the  Northwest.  We  can 
judge  then  how  deeply  the  latter  must 
have  felt  the  changed  condition  of  affairs 
after  the  capitulation  of  Montreal.  The 
English  treated  the  Indians  with  studied 
neglect ;  supplies  were  withheld ;  the 
Indians  were  cheated  and  plundered  by 
the  English  fur-traders,  and  treated  with 
disrespect  by  the  soldiers  and  officers  of 
the  military  posts.  But  what  most  aroused 
the  discontent  of  the  Indians  was  the 
steady  advance  of  the  English  settlements, 
which  already  were  beginning  to  spread 
beyond  the  Alleghanies.  The  growing 
wrath  of  the  red  men  was  still  further 
aggravated  by  the  representations  of  the 
French  Canadians.  The  latter  declared 
that  their  French  father,  being  old  and 
infirm,  had  fallen  asleep  ;  that  in  this  sleep 
the  English  had  possessed  themselves  of 
Canada  ;  but  that  he  had  again  awakened, 
and  would  soon  send  an  army  to  utterly 
demolish  the  English.  The  rising  of  a 
prophet  among  the  Dela wares,  who  called 
upon  his  followers  to  return  to  the  primi- 
tive life  of  their  ancestors,  and  declared 
that  by  so  doing  their  original  power 
would  return  and  they  would  succeed  in 
expelling  the  white  intruders  from  the 
country,  was  another  influence  which 
combined  to  work  up  Indian  passion  to 
fever  heat.  With  so  many  causes  to  ex- 
cite the  wild  fury  of  the  Indians,  peace 
could  not  long  be  preserved.  At  this 
time  Pontiac  assumed  direction  of  affairs, 
and  by  his  genius  changed  what  might 
have  been  but  a  momentary  outbreak, 
into  a  long  and  well-organized  campaign. 

The  first  distinct  appearance  of  this 
Ottawa  chief  in  history  had  been  in  1760, 
when  Major  Robert  Rogers  was  sent  to 
relieve  the  French   military  posts  in  the 


126 


PHILIP,   PONTIAC,    AND    TECUMSEH. 


Lake  region,  included  in  the  capitulation 
of  Montreal.  Rogers  had  been  detained 
a  few  hours  by  the  great  chief,  but  ap- 
parently only  to  impress  the  English  with 
proper  respect,  for  he  remained  on  friendly 
terms  with  them  for  some  time  afterwards. 
Before  his  meeting  with  Rogers  he  had 
been  the  sworn  friend  of  France  ;  indeed, 
in  the  French  and  Indian  war  he  had 
fought  on  the  French  side,  and  it  is  said 
that  he  commanded  the  Ottawas  at  Brad- 
.dock's  defeat.  When  he  saw  that  the 
cause  of  France  was  a  lost  one,  he  was 
politic  enough  to  make  friends  with  the 
English,  deceiving  himself  with  the  idea 
that  the  latter  would  honor  him  as  the 
French  had  always  done.  But  a  few 
months  were  a  revelation.  He  saw  the 
peril  threatening  his  race  in  the  territorial 
encroachment  of  the  English.  He  felt 
that  there  was  no  hope  of  deliverance 
from  this  peril  save  in  opposing  some 
check  to  the  advance  of  the  intruders. 
This  he  knew  could  only  be  done  by  the 
restoration  of  French  dominion  in  the 
Mississippi  Valley.  Hence  he  was  only 
too  ready  to  give  credence  to  the  lies  of 
the  French  Canadians.  It  did  not  take 
him  long  to  decide  upon  war  as  the  only 
alternative  to  the  gradual  but  inevitable 
subversion  of  his  race.  And  not  only 
patriotism,  but  ambition  urged  him  on. 
Before  the  beginning  of  the  year  1763 
the  emblematic  tokens  —  the  war-belt  of 
wampum  and  the  tomahawk  stained  red 
—  were  sent  far  and  wide  among  the 
Indian  tribes  of  the  Ohio  valley,  and  were 
received  everywhere  with  approval. 

The  tribes  who  were  included  in  Pon- 
tiac's  conspiracy  were  the  Ottawas,  Chip- 
pewas,  Pottawattamies,  Miamis,  Sacs, 
Foxes,  Menominies,  Wyandots,  Mississa- 
gas,  Shawnees,  Delawares  and  Senecas. 
Pontiac's  plan  of  operation  was  for  a  sudden 
and  simultaneous  attack  upon  the  western 
military  posts,  followed  by  the  destruc- 
tion of  the  English  frontier  settlements. 
The  time  for  striking  the  blow  was  set  in 
May,  1763.  With  the  beginning  of  spring, 
the  Indians  were  prepared  for  war.  In 
Pontiac  himself  was  vested  the  particular 
glory  of  opening  hostilities.  On  the 
twenty-seventh  of  April  a  general  coun- 
cil of  the  various  tribes  was  held  at  the 
River  Ecorse   near  Detroit.     Here  Pon- 


tiac exerted  his  powers  of  oratory  with 
distinguished  effect.  He  recounted  the 
wrongs  of  the  Indian  race  ;  he  spoke  of 
the  impending  danger,  and  he  appealed 
to  the  superstition  of  his  auditors,  as  well 
as  their  passion  for  blood  and  vengeance, 
by  relating  an  Indian  allegory.  In  it  the 
Great  Spirit  was  supposed  to  say  :  "  As 
for  these  English  —  these  dogs  dressed 
in  red,  who  have  come  to  rob  you  of 
your  hunting  grounds  and  drive  away  the 
game  —  you  must  lift  the  hatchet  against 
them.  Wipe  them  from  the  face  of  the 
earth,  and  then  you  will  win  my  favor 
back  again  and  once  more  be  happy  and 
prosperous  !" 

We  can  imagine  how  effective  such  an 
appeal  must  have  been  to  the  assembly 
of  excited  warriors.  All  were  eager  to 
attack  Detroit,  then  the  most  important 
post  in  the  Northwest.  Pontiac's  Indian 
ingenuity  had  already  devised  a  plan  of 
treachery,  which  was  to  be  the  first  move- 
ment in  his  sanguinary  scheme.  He  pro- 
posed it  to  the  council  and  it  was  readily 
adopted. 

On  May  1st,  1763,  Pontiac  came  to 
Detroit  with  forty  Ottawas,"  and  on  the 
pretext  of  performing  a  calumet  dance 
for  the  edification  of  the  garrison,  received 
admittance  to  the  fort  from  the  comman- 
dant, Major  Gladwyn.  In  this  way  the 
Indians,  by  taking  note  of  the  strength  of 
the  garrison  and  fortifications,  were  ena- 
bled to  form  the  best  plan  of  attack. 

On  May  eighth,  Pontiac  again  presented 
himself  before  Gladwyn,  with  about  three 
hundred  warriors,  and  requested  to  hold 
a  friendly  council.  By  this  means  he  ex- 
pected to  gain  admittance  to  the  fort  with 
his  warriors,  each  of  whom  carried  con- 
cealed weapons  under  his  blanket ;  and  at 
a  given  signal  these  armed  Indians  were 
to  fall  upon  the  English  and  massacre  all 
within  the  fort.  Unfortunately  for  Pon- 
tiac, Major  Gladwyn  had  received  secret 
information  —  from  whom  it  cannot  be 
said  with  certainty  —  of  the  plot,  so  that 
he  had  prepared  himself  for  the  emer- 
gency. Pontiac  was  admitted  to  the  fort, 
but  barely  had  he  entered  the  gateway 
when  he  perceived  his  good  intentions 
were  suspected.  The  garrison  were  under 
arms,  the  guards  doubled,  and  the  officers 
armed  with  sv/ords  and  pistols. 


PHILIP,   PONTIAC,   AND    TECUMSEH. 


127 


Before  the  council  began,  Pontiac  de- 
manded of  Gladwyn  why  "so  many  of 
the  young  men  were  standing  in  the 
street  with  their  guns."  Gladwyn  re- 
plied, "For  the  sake  of  discipline." 
Pontiac  began  the  business  of  the  council 
-with  a  speech  of  hollow  friendship  to  the 
English.  In  the  course  of  his  address, 
he  raised  the  wampum  belt  to  give  the 
signal  of  attack  agreed  upon.  Simulta- 
neously Gladwyn  made  a  sign,  and  the 
roll  of  English  drums  and  the  clash  of 
English  arms  resounded  throughout  the 
fort.  Pontiac,  knowing  his  design  be- 
trayed, was  utterly  disconcerted.  Glad- 
wyn, however,  allowed  the  council  to 
break  up  without  "open  rupture,"  and 
Pontiac  withdrew  to  his  camp  in  wrath 
and  mortification. 

On  the  tenth  of  May,  Pontiac  threw 
off  all  pretence  of  friendship,  and  made 
a  furious  attack  on  the  fort.  This  was 
the  beginning  of  a  siege  lasting  for  many 
months.  Though  Pontiac  was  personally 
unsuccessful,  his  allies  were  more  fortu- 
nate. Every  post  west  of  Oswego,  ex- 
cept Niagara,  fell  into  their  hands. 
Pontiac  thus  became  lord  of  the  whole 
Ohio  valley.  As  soon  as  the  forts  were 
taken,  war  began  on  the  western  frontiers 
of  Pennsylvania,  Maryland,  and  Virginia. 
Parkman  thus  describes  the  state  of 
affairs  : 

"  The  Indian  scalping  parties  were  ranging 
everywhere,  laying  waste  the  settlements,  destroy- 
ing the  harvests,  and  butchering  men,  women 
and  children  with  ruthless  fury.  Many  hundreds 
of  wretched  fugitives  flocked  for  refuge  to  Car- 
lisle and  the  other  towns  of  the  border,  bringing 
tales  of  inconceivable  horror.  Strong  parties  of 
armed  men  who  went  out  to  reconnoitre  the 
country  found  every  habitation  reduced  to  cinders, 
and  the  half-burned  bodies  of  the  inmates  lying 
among  the  smouldering  ruins." 

While  these  horrors  reigned  supreme 
on  the  frontier,  Detroit  was  still  invested 
by  Pontiac  ;  but  the  fort  held  out  bravely. 
A  letter  written  from  the  fort,  dated  July 
9th,  gives  the  condition  of  the  garrison 
at  this  time. 

"You  have  long  ago  heard  of  our  pleasant 
situation,"  it  reads,  "  but  the  storm  is  blown  over. 
Was  it  not  very  agreeable  to  hear  every  day  of 
their  cutting,  carving,  boiling,  and  eating  our 
companions, — to  see  every  day  dead  bodies  float- 
ing down  the  river,  mangled  and  disfigured  ?  But 
Britons,  you  know,  never  shrink;  we  always  ap- 
peared gay  to  spite  the  rascals." 


On  the  twenty-ninth  of  July,  a  convoy 
of  reinforcements  and  supplies  arrived 
at  Detroit.  Captain  Dalzell,  who  com- 
manded it,  proposed  to  make  a  sally 
from  the  fort  to  attack  the  Indians  in 
their  camp.  Gladwyn  was  finally  in- 
duced to  give  his  consent ;  and  in  the 
night  of  July  31st,  Dalzell  marched  with 
two  hundred  and  fifty  men  to  surprise 
the  Indian  camp.  But  Pontiac  was  on 
the  alert.  His  warriors  encountered  the 
English  near  a  small  stream,  called  now 
Bloody  Run,  and  Dalzell's  forces  were 
obliged  to  beat  a  retreat,  with  twenty  of 
their  number,  including  Dalzell,  killed 
and  forty-two  wounded.  This  victory  en- 
couraged the  Indians,  and  they  swarmed 
more  than  ever  around  Detroit  and  Fort 
Pitt.  To  the  relief  of  the  latter  came 
Colonel  Bouquet,  in  August,  routing  the 
Indians  at  Bushy  Run,  on  his  advance,  in 
one  of  the  best  contested  battles  between 
red  and  white  men. 

Towards  the  end  of  September, 
Pontiac's  allies,  growing  tired  of  the 
siege  of  Detroit,  fell  off.  Vainly  trying 
to  rally  them,  he  was  forced  to  abandon 
the  siege  in  October,  taking  his  stand  in 
the  Illinois  country,  where  the  French 
were  still  in  possession. 

The  double  campaign  of  the  English, 
in  1764,  was  a  fearful  blow  to  Pontiac's 
hopes.  On  the  side  of  the  northern 
lakes,  Colonel  Bradstreet  had  relieved 
Detroit  and  crushed  the  Indian  insurrec- 
tion. Bouquet,  on  his  part,  had  subju- 
gated the  Shawnees  and  Delawares. 
Still  Pontiac  did  not  despair.  The  wav- 
ering Illinois  tribes  were  brought  into 
alliance  by  the  threat  of  their  destruc- 
tion. Then,  determined  to  obtain  the 
aid  of  the  French,  Pontiac  sent  the  war 
belt  to  the  Governor  of  New  Orleans. 

Assured  that  the  French  Father  could 
not  aid  his  red  children,  Pontiac  saw 
that  his  cause  was  lost,  and  he  made  up 
his  mind  to  accept  peace.  Accordingly, 
he  took  his  way  to  Ouiatanon,  and  there 
announced  to  George  Croghan,  the 
deputy  of  Sir  William  Johnson,  that  he 
was  ready  to  bury  the  tomahawk,  and 
stand  no  longer  in  the  path  of  the  Eng- 
lish. In  August,  1765,  this  peace  was 
ratified  at  Detroit.  Nearly  a  year  after- 
wards,   Pontiac    came    to    Oswego,    and 


128 


PHILIP,    PONTIAC,   AND    TECUMSEH. 


there  concluded  a  treaty  of  peace  with 
Sir  William  Johnson  in  behalf  of  the 
confederated  tribes.  This  sealed  his 
submission  to  the  English.  The  follow- 
winter  was  spent  by  him  on  his  hunting 
grounds  by  the  Maumee. 

Although  the  ill-feeling  of  the  tribes 
did  not  diminish  for  some  time,  Pontiac's 
movements  are  lost  sight  of  until  1769, 
when  he  came  once  more  to  the  country 
of  the  Illinois.  Here,  at  the  little  settle- 
ment of  Cahokia,  the  great  Ottawa  chief 
was  destined  to  meet  his  fate,  under  the 
blow  of  a  tomahawk  from  an  Illinois  In- 
dian, bribed  with  a  barrel  of  rum  by  an 
English  trader.  The  French  buried  his 
body  with  military  honors  near  Fort  St. 
Louis.  Writes  Parkman,  his  biographer  : 
"  Neither  mound  nor  tablet  marked  the 
burial  place  of  Pontiac.  For  a  mauso- 
leum a  city  has  risen  above  the  forest 
hero  ;  and  the  race  whom  he  hated  with 
such  burning  rancor  trample  with  unceas- 
ing footsteps  over  his  forgotten  grave." 

Dr.  Ellis  speaks  of  Pontiac  as  "  the 
ablest  and  most  daring  and  resolute  sav- 
age chieftain  known  in  our  history. 
There  have  been,"  he  says,  "  three  con- 
spicuous men  of  the  native  race  —  the 
towering  chieftains  of  the  forest,  signal 
types  of  all  the  characteristics  of  the 
savage,  ennobled,  so  to  speak,  -by  their 
lofty  patriotism  —  who  have  appeared  on 
the  scene  of  action  at  the  three  most  crit- 
ical eras  for  the  white  man  on  this  conti- 
nent. If  the  material  and  stock  of  such 
men  are  not  exhausted,  there  is  no  longer 
for  them  a  sphere,  a  range,  an  occasion 
or  opportunity  in  place  or  time  here. 
The  white  man  is  the  master  of  this  con- 
tinent. An  Indian  conspiracy  would 
prove  abortive  in  the  paucity  or  discord- 
ancy of  its  materials.  WThat  the  great 
sachem,  Metacomet,  or  King  Philip,  was 
in  the  first  rooting  of  the  New  England 
colonies,  which  he  throttled  almost  to  the 
death  throe  ;  what  Tecumseh  was  in  the 
internal  shocks  attending  our  last  war  with 
Great  Britain,  —  Pontiac,  a  far  greater 
man  than  either  of  them,  in  council  and 
on  the  field,  was  in  the  strain  and  stress 
of  the  occasion  offered  to  him  after  the 
cession  of  Canada." 

Half  a  century  had  not  passed  after  the 


death  of  Pontiac  when  the  evil  which  he 
had  foreseen  and  tried  to  avert  became 
more  apparent  than  ever.  The  Indians 
of  the  Northwest  were  fast,  withering 
away  before  the  steady  advance  of  the 
white  man.  Soon  after  the  conspiracy  of 
1763  the  English  colonies  had  been  en- 
grossed in  their  struggle  with  the  mother 
country ;  but  upon  the  establishment  of 
their  national  independence  it  was  im- 
possible that  the  growing  republic  should 
not  come  into  collision  with  the  Indian 
tribes  on  the  western  borders. 

With  the  beginning  of  the  nineteenth 
century,  settlers  began  to  pour  into  the 
Ohio  valley ;  with  what  rapidity  may  be 
seen  when  the  fact  is  presented  that  in 
1800  there  were  probably  twenty-five 
hundred  whites  in  Indiana  and  Illinois  — 
in  1810,  twenty-five  thousand.  The  con- 
tact between  red  and  white  men  was  at- 
tended by  serious  evils,  and  as  usual  the 
Indian  was  the  sufferer.  Contrary  to  law 
and  existing  treaties,  the  settlers  entered 
the  Indian  hunting  grounds.  A  rapid 
diminution  of  game  followed  ;  hence  the 
lands  became  worthless  for  Indian  sub- 
sistence. The  tribes  were  forced  to  re- 
move elsewhere,  or  sell  the  territory  to 
the  United  States  government.  Inter- 
course with  the  white  man  and  the  white 
man's  whiskey  led  to  the  utter  demorali- 
zation and  ruin  of  the  Indian  tribes. 
"  No  acid  ever  worked  more  mechani- 
cally on  a  vegetable  fibre,"  says  Adams, 
"  than  the  white  man  acted  on  the 
Indian." 

The  French  had  left,  fifty  years  before, 
an  after-penalty  of  savage  warfare  to  the 
English.  This  the  English  left  in  turn  to 
the  Americans.  Self-interest  now  occu- 
pied the  place  of  sentimental  attachment 
on  the  part  of  the  Indians  of  the  North- 
west, for  their  principal  trade  was  on  the 
line  of  the  lakes,  where  were  the  British 
trading  posts.  So  they  were  as  ready  now 
to  listen  to  the  British,  as  they  had  been 
to  hearken  to  the  French  Canadians. 
And  these  British  traders  stimulated  the 
growth  of  discontent  among  the  savages. 
Cessions  of  land  by  some  of  the  Indian 
tribes  to  Governor  Harrison  of  the  In- 
diana Territory,  in  1S05,  occasioned  a 
fermentation  of  anger  among  the  other 
tribes  of  the  Northwest.      Earlv  in   1S06 


PHILIP,   PONTIAC,    AND    TECUMSEH. 


129 


an  Indian  of  the  Shawnee  tribe,  claiming 
to  be  a  prophet,  gathered  great  numbers 
of  followers  about  him.  Although  this 
Shawnee  seems  to  have  been  less  of  an 
impostor  than  the  prophet  of  Pontiac's 
time,  his  doctrine  was  somewhat  similar. 
He  called  upon  the  Indians  to  renounce 
all  innovations  on  their  original  mode  of 
life,  declaimed  against  witchcraft  and 
drunkenness,  and  proclaimed  that  he  had 
received  power  from  the  Great  Spirit  to 
confound  enemies  and  cure  diseases.  Al- 
though he  exercised  much  influence  by 
means  of  his  supposed  supernatural  power, 
he  was  only  nominally  the  leader  of  the 
Indian  movement  which  ensued  —  but 
really  the  agent  of  another,  who  came 
forward,  as  Pontiac  and  Philip  each  in 
turn  had  done,  to  champion  the  cause  of 
his  race.  This  was  Tecumseh,  the  twin 
brother  of  the  Prophet. 

The  aim  of  these  two  brothers,  or  more 
properly  of  Tecumseh,  was  to  establish  an 
Indian  confederacy,  in  which  the  war- 
riors, not  the  chiefs,  should  have  author- 
ity and  act  as  an  Indian  congress.  The 
object  of  the  confederacy  was  to  prevent 
"  piecemeal  sale  of  Indian  lands  by  petty 
tribal  chiefs  under  pressure  of  govern- 
ment agents."  Tecumseh  maintained 
that  the  ownership  of  tribal  lands  was  a 
communal  ownership, —  that  no  tract  of 
territory  could  be  sold  by  one  tribe  with- 
out the  consent  of  the  rest.  At  what 
time  or  period  of  his  life  Tecumseh  re- 
solved upon  his  plan  of  union  is  uncer- 
tain. It  was  probably  before  1806.  To 
unite  the  tribes  as  he  proposed  was  a 
work  so  difficult  that  it  is  astounding  how 
much  he  accomplished. 

In  1809  several  enormous  cessions  of 
land,  amounting  to  about  three  million 
acres,  were  obtained  by  Harrison  from 
the  tribes  in  the  Wabash  valley.  Creating 
wide-spread  anger,  it  increased  the  in- 
fluence of  Tecumseh  and  4he  Prophet. 
New  chiefs  joined  the  Shawnee  confed- 
eracy, which  in  1810  included  the  Wyan- 
dots,  Kickapoos,  Pottawattamies,  Ottawas 
and  Winnebagoes,  Miamis,  Weas  and 
Chippewas.  All  was  quiet  through  the 
winter,  but  events  in  the  early  part  of  the 
year  18 10  made  Harrison  suspect  that 
hostilities  were  intended.  In  August  he 
invited  the  brothers  to    a  conference  at 


Vincennes.  Tecumseh  accordingly  came 
from  Tippecanoe,  where  was  a  settlement 
of  the  confederacy,  with  four  hundred 
warriors.  The  council  took  place  on  the 
twelfth  of  the  month.  Tecumseh' s  bear- 
ing was  very  haughty  throughout  the  in- 
terview. He  opened  the  meeting  with 
an  eloquent  speech,  in  which  he  declared 
that  the  Americans  had  driven  the  In- 
dians from  the  sea-coast  and  would  soon 
push  them  into  the  lakes ;  that,  while  his 
party  had  no  intention  of  making  war 
upon  the  United  States,  they  were  resolved 
to  resist  further  cessions  of  land,  and 
moreover  wished  to  recover  what  had 
already  been  ceded.  The  governor  told 
him  plainly  that  the  lands  just  ceded  had 
been  the  property  of  the  tribes  which  had 
sold  them,  and  that  the  Shawnees  had  no 
right  to  interfere.  Tecumseh  broke  into 
such  violent  denunciations  of  the  United 
States  government  that  the  conference 
was  broken  up.  Later,  however,  in  a  pri- 
vate conference  with  the  governor, 
Tecumseh  was  more  moderate.  He 
stated  that  if  Harrison  would  prevail  on 
the  President  to  give  up  the  late  purchases, 
and  agree  not  to  make  another  treaty 
without  consent  of  all  the  tribes,  he  would 
pledge  himself  to  remain  at  peace  with 
the  United  States ;  otherwise  he  must 
seek  an  alliance  with  the  British.  Harri- 
son replied  that  there  was  no  probability 
of  the  President's  agreement  to  the  Indian 
claim.  "Well,"  said  Tecumseh,  "  I  hope 
the  Great  Spirit  will  put  sense  enough 
into  the  great  Chief's  head  to  induce  him 
to  give  up  this  land.  It  is  true  he  is  so 
far  off  he  will  not  be  injured  by  the  war ; 
he  may  sit  still  in  his  town  and  drink  his 
wine  whilst  you  and  I  will  have  to  fight  it 
out." 

Notwithstanding  ill-feeling,  the  winter 
of  1810-11  passed  without  hostilities. 
Tecumseh  seemed  still  indisposed  to  an 
outbreak.  On  June  24,  181 1,  Harrison 
transmitted  an  address  to  the  Prophet 
and  Tecumseh,  intended  to  force  an 
issue.  In  answer  to  it,  Tecumseh  sent 
word  that  he  would  come  to  Vincennes 
to  explain  his  conduct.  On  the  twenty- 
seventh  he  appeared  with  a  large  follow- 
ing. He  stated  that  after  much  trouble 
he  had  induced  all  the  northern  tribes  to 
unite,  under  his  direction,   in  a  confed- 


130 


PHILIP,    PONTIAC,    AND    TECUMSEH. 


eracy,  the  example  of  which  the  United 
States  had  set ;  that  he  was  soon  to  start 
for  the  South  to  prevail  on  the  tribes 
there  to  unite  with  the  others,  and  he 
hoped  that  no  attempt  would  be  made  by 
the  Americans  to  enter  the  new  purchase 
before  his  return  in  the  spring. 

A  few  days  later,  Tecumseh  set  off  on 
his  mission,  strictly  ordering  the  Indians 
to  keep  peace  while  he  was  gone.  Mean- 
while the  Americans  resolved  upon  ac- 
tion. On  the  thirty-first  of  July,  the 
citizens  of  Vincennes  voted  that  the 
Prophet's  settlement  at  Tippecanoe 
should  be  broken  up.  Harrison,  exer- 
cising discretion  given  by  the  govern- 
ment, raised  a  large  force,  and  late  in 
September  marched  up  the  Wabash 
valley.  On  November  6,  the  governor 
encamped  near  the  Prophet's  town.  The 
Prophet  sent  a  pacific  message,  and  it 
was  agreed  that  no  hostilities  should  be 
committed ;  but  early  in  the  morning  of 
the  seventh,  the  Americans  were  attacked 
by  the  Indians.  A  very  sharp  battle  en- 
sued, and  the  Indians  were  defeated. 
The  result  of  this  action  materially 
diminished  the  Prophet's  influence,  for  he 
had  promised  the  Indians  an  easy  victory. 
The  incantations  by  means  of  which  he 
had  controlled  their  actions  were  discov- 
ered to  be  impotent. 

Tecumseh  returned  from  his  southern 
mission  to  Wabash.  "  He  reached  the 
banks  of  the  Tippecanoe,"  writes  Drake, 
"just  in  time  to  witness  the  dispersion  of 
his  followers,  the  disgrace  of  his  brother, 
and  the  final  overthrow  of  the  great  ob- 
ject of  his  ambition,  a  union  of  all  the 
Indian  tribes  against  the  United  States, — 
and  all  this  the  result  of  a  disregard  of 
his  positive  commands." 

Until  March  1812,  there  was  peace 
along  the  border.  Then  Indian  depre- 
dations began  again.  But  Tecumseh  was 
not  yet  ready  for  war.  On  May  16th,  a 
grand  council  was  held  at  Massassinway 
on  the  Wabash,  in  which  the  tribes  still 
expressed  themselves  in  favor  of  peace. 
Here  Tecumseh  made  the  following 
speech  : 

"  Governor  Harrison  made  war  on  my  people 
in  my  absence.  It  was  the  will  of  God  that  he 
should  do  so.  We  hope  it  will  please  God  that 
the    white  people  may  let  us  live  in  peace;   we 


will  not  disturb  them,  neither  have  we  done  it, 
except  when  they  came  to  our  village  with  the 
intention  of  destroying  us.  We  are  happy  to 
state  to  our  brothers  present  that  the  unfortunate 
transaction  that  took  place  between  the  white 
people  and  a  few  of  our  young  men  at  our  village 
has  been  settled  between  us  and  Governor  Harri- 
son; and  I  will  further  state,  had  I  been  at  home 
there  would  have  been  no  bloodshed  at  that 
time." 

Up  to  the  time  war  was  declared  be- 
tween the  United  States  and  Great % 
Britain,  Tecumseh  was  unwilling  to  strike 
a  blow  against  the  United  States.  But 
the  declaration  of  June  18,  181 2,  altered 
his  position.  He  soon  after  went  to 
Maiden  to  join  the  British  standard. 

With  the  British  assumption  of  the 
quarrel  in  the  northwest,  it  ceases  to  bear 
the  character  of  a  distinctive  Indian 
struggle.  We  therefore  need  not  follow 
it  through  all  of  its  details.  Tecumseh, 
indeed,  remained  conspicuous  in  every 
important  action  —  at  the  battle  of 
Maguaga,  the  capture  of  Detroit,  the 
assault  on  Fort  Meigs,  and,  last  of  all. 
the  encounter  on  the  Thames.  It  is  re- 
ported that  Tecumseh  entered  this  last 
battle  with  the  firm  conviction  that  he 
would  not  survive  it ;  and  such  was  the 
case,  for  he  fell  gallantly  fighting  at  the 
head  of  his  warriors.  With  his  fall 
perished  the  last  great  confederacy  of 
the  Indian  tribes. 

Of  the  three  great  leaders  whose  efforts 
I  have  tried  to  relate,  it  is  hardest  to 
judge  the  character  of  Metacom.  Born 
in  an  early  age,  having  the  misfortune  of 
being  compelled  to  leave  his  biography 
to  the  mercy  of  his  enemies,  so  much  of 
his  life  is  shrouded  in  mystery,  or  rather 
in  oblivion,  that  what  can  be  positively 
asserted  in  the  case  of  his  two  com- 
patriots is,  in  his  case,  mere  supposition. 
It  is  not,  perhaps,  fair,  then,  to  compare 
his  character  with  that  of  Pontiac  and 
Tecumseh.  But  surely,  we  can  say  this  : 
that  he  was  their  equal  in  patriotism, 
though  probably  he  possessed  neither 
their  force  of  character,  their  power  of 
combination,  nor  their  indomitable  cour- 
age ;  otherwise,  the  results  of  King 
Philip's  war  would  have  been  vastly 
different. 

Pontiac,  the  Ottawa,  inherited  the 
sagacious  policy  of  Philip,  adding  to  it  a 


TWO  MAIDENS.  131 

philosophy  of  his  own.     Very  differently         Though  to  the  Indian  mind  Pontiac  is 

from  that  of  Philip  stands  forth  the  figure  pre-eminently  the    hero    of  his   race,  to 

of  Pontiac   in  the  pages  of   history,  for-  the    civilized    mind  Tecumseh    occupies 

cing  even  his  enemies  to  admiration.     An  that  position.     To   us  he   seems  a   purer 

Englishman,  writing  of  him  in  1764,  calls  patriot  than  was  Pontiac.     Taking  Pon- 

him  the  Mithridates  of  the  West.     Rogers  tiac  for  his  model,  he   was  an  improve- 

described   him    thus  :   "  He    puts    on    an  ment  on  the  original.     Something  of  the 

air   of    majesty    and    princely    grandeur,  baser  passions  seems  to  have  been  omitted 

and    is  greatly  honored  and  revered  by  in  the  imitation.     Tecumseh  did  not,  like 

his  subjects."     In  Pontiac  was  embodied  Pontiac,  hide  treachery  under  a  coat  of 

the  ideal  Indian   leader  —  possessing,  as  dissimulation;     he     openly    and     frankly 

he  did,  all  the  strong  savage  qualities  of  avowed   his    intentions.     He    fought    for 

his  race,  yet  not  without  traits  of  nobility  his    country,   with  "redress,"  not   "ven- 
of  character  —  patriotic,   eloquent,  brave,  -  geance,"  as  his  war  cry;  and  when  the 

and  ambitious,  yet  fierce,  treacherous,  re-  futility  of  his  hopes  became  apparent,  he 

vengeful,  and  subtle.  His  patriotism  seems  was  ready  to  find  a  manly  death  in  the 

to  have  been  subservient  to  his  ambition.  midst  of  battle. 


TWO    MAIDENS. 

By  Zitella    Cocke. 

A    LADDIE  sailed  out  on  a  calm  blue  sea ; 
And  two  maidens  fell  a-weeping. 
"  Alas,"  said  they, 
"  '  Tis  a  doleful  day  ; 
Mayhap  nevermore 
To  the  sweet  green  shore 
Shall  lover  to  me 
And  brother  to  thee, 
Shall  lover  to  thee 
And  brother  to  me, 
Come  back  from  the  treacherous,  smiling  sea." 

A  good  ship  went  down  in  a  wild,  wild  sea ; 
And  two  maidens  fell  a-weeping. 

The  years  passed  by, 

And  two  cheeks  were  dry  :  — 
A  wife  and  a  mother,  with  babe  on  her  knee, 
Sat  crooning  a  tender  old  lullaby, 
Nor  thought  of  the  lover  beneath  the  sea ;  — 

But  at  eventide, 

By  a  lone  fireside, 
A  sister  sat  weeping  for  him  who  had  died, 

Who  came  nevermore 

To  the  bright  green  shore, 
To  wander  with  her  the  sweet  meadows  o'er. 


THE  EDITORS'  TABLE. 


The  subject  of  moral  education  in  the  public 
schools  is  at  present  enlisting  more  attention  from 
teachers  and  the  educational  conventions  than 
almost  any  other  subject  which  comes  before  them 
for  discussion.  Rightly  or  wrongly,  it  is  held  by 
many  that,  whatever  is  to  be  said  of  the  in- 
tellectual training  given  the  boys  and  girls  in  the 
schools,  the  moral  training  given,  the  influence 
of  the  system  upon  character,  is  inadequate. 
How  shall  morals  be  taught  in  the  schools?  how 
shall  we  give  the  young  people  stronger  and  better 
wills  and  higher  motives  ?  —  are  questions  constantly 
asked.  As  in  the  case  of  some  other  questions 
often  asked  nowadays  in  connection  with  the  public 
schools  and  general  education,  no  little  confusion 
and  misapprehension  result  from  many  of  these 
discussions  of  morals  and  moral  training.  Many 
of  them  have  been  directly  connected  with  the 
discussions  of  religious  teaching  in  the  schools; 
and  many  advocates  of  a  kind  of  religious  teach- 
ing in  the  schools  which  most  good  people  in 
America  deem  unwise  are  rather  eager,  in  their  in- 
sistence upon  the  necessity  of  religious  teaching 
everywhere  and  always  in  order  to  good  conduct, 
to  paint  the  moral  condition  of  the  schools  and 
the  problem  of  moral  education  vastly  darker 
than  there  is  any  ground  for.  The  moral  condi- 
tion of  the  public  schools,  so  far  as  their  own 
regime  goes,  is  almost  invariably  excellent,  prob- 
ably better  than  ever  before  in  the  history  of  the 
public  schools  in  America.  There  was  probably 
never  before  so  fine  a  body  of  men  and  women 
engaged  in  the  work  of  school-teaching  in 
America  as  to-day.  There  is  no  class  in  the  com- 
munity whose  aims  are  higher,  whose  devotion  is 
greater,  or  whose  moral  influence  is  more  exten- 
sive or  salutary;  and  what  the  teacher  is,  the 
school  is.  The  greatest  factor  in  the  moral  life 
and  culture  of  the  school,  whatever  books  are 
conned  there,  will  always  be  the  high-minded 
teacher.  Keep  the  high-minded  teacher  in  the 
school,  inspire  the  teacher  with  a  proper  sense  of 
his  vocation,  and  moral  education  will  radiate 
from  that  teacher,  whether  the  subject  before  the 
class  be  the  Ten  Commandments  or  the  rule  of 
three.  Let  this  also  be  never  forgotten  :  that  far 
more  moralizing  than  any  particular  study  of 
morals  in  the  schools  is  the  very  life  and  regimen 
of  the  school  itself.  This,  if  the  life  and  regimen 
be  worthy  at  all,  is  what  —  day  in  and  day  out,  year 
in  and  year  out  —  is  training  the  child  to  habits  of 
punctuality,  obedience,  order,  neatness,  attention, 
industry,  truthfulness,  respect  for  others,  and  ap- 
preciation of  merit,  as  no  amount  of  definitions  of 
obedience,  attention,  and  the  rest,  or  of  study  of 
such  definitions,  could  ever  do.  And  this,  we  take 
it,  is  what  is  desired,  when  we  talk  of  moral  educa- 
tion in  the  schools  —  such  education  as  shall  make 
obedient,  industrious,  and  truthful  boys  and  girls, 
rather  than  boys  and  girls  who  can  tell  us  cleverly 
and  accurately  what  truth  is,  and  what  industry  is, 
and  what  obedience  is.  We  are  of  those  who  dis- 
trust the  good  of  very  much  direct  moral  teaching  in 
the  schools  —  very  much  analytical  study,  we  mean, 


on  the  part  of  the  young  folks,  of  the  subject  of 
duty  and  duties.  We  would  not  say  absolutely 
that  moral  science,  well  presented,  has  no  place 
in  the  public  school,  in  the  high  school  at  any  rate; 
but  we  do  believe,  generally  speaking,  that  it  is  a 
study  of  very  questionable  advantage  there.  We 
hear  much  said  nowadays,  sometimes  too  much, 
about  making  education  concrete.  If  there  be 
any  place  where  education  should  be  concrete,  it 
is  in  what  concerns  the  moral  education  of  boys 
and  girls.  What  is  wanted  here  is  inspiration, 
something  that  shall  kindle  the  sense  of  duty, 
something  that  shall  give  aim  and  impulse  to  the 
larger  and  better  life,  something  that  shall  give 
the  public  and  generous  spirit,  instead  of  the 
selfish  and  private  spirit. 

We  are  prompted  to  these  remarks  by  looking 
over  the  pages  of  the  little  book,  just  published, 
by  Charles  F.  Dole,  on  "  The  American  Citizen," 
which  distinctly  claims  as  its  end  and  aim  the 
teaching  of  morals  in  the  schools.  "  We  have  in 
the  great  and  interesting  subjects  of  the  conduct 
of  governments,  business,  and  society,"  says  the 
author,  "  precisely  the  kind  of  material  to  furnish 
us  indirectly  with  innumerable  moral  examples. 
The  consideration  of  the  public  good,  the  welfare 
of  the  nation,  or  the  interests  of  mankind,  lie  in 
the  very  region  where  patriotic  emotion  and  moral 
enthusiasm  are  most  naturally  kindled."  Mr. 
Dole's  book  belongs  to  an  entirely  different 
category  from  that  of  the  various  text-books  of 
civil  government  —  some  of  them  excellent  —  of 
which  we  have  lately  had  so  many.  It  is  a  min- 
gling of  ethics  and  politics  in  a  simple,  picturesque, 
and  enthusiastic  manner,  which  shows  in  Mr. 
Dole  a  very  remarkable  genius  as  a  teacher  of 
young  people.  The  five  parts  of  the  book  have 
the  captions,  "The  Beginnings  of  Citizenship," 
"  The  Citizen  and  the  Government,  or  the  Rights 
and  Duties  of  Citizens,"  "  Economic  Duties,  or 
the  Rights  and  Duties  of  Business  and  Money," 
"  Social  Rights  and  Duties,  or  the  Duties  of  Men 
as  they  live  together  in  Society,"  and  "  Interna- 
tional Duties,  or  the  Rights  and  Duties  of  Na- 
tions." In  some  of  these  sections  essentially  the 
same  subjects  are  treated  as  in  the  common  text- 
books of  civil  government  or  the  elementary 
works  in  political  economy;  but  the  strength  of 
the  book  as  a  work  for  moral  education  lies  in 
the  way  in  which  these  subjects  are  treated,  and 
the  way  in  which  there  are  mixed  with  them  such 
lessons  as  those  on  the  Family  and  its  Govern- 
ment, the  Schoolroom  and  its  Government,  the 
Playground  and  its  Lessons,  Personal  Habits,  the 
Principles  that  bind  men  together,  the  Abuses 
and  Duties  of  Wealth,  and  the  Great  Social  Sub- 
jects. Nothing  could  exceed  the  tact  and  beauti- 
ful spirit  in  which  Mr.  Dole  brings  home  these 
subjects  to  the  young  people  for  whom  his  book 
is  prepared.  There  is  not  a  dull  page  in  the 
book,  nor  a  page  that  is  not  stimulating.  We 
cannot  conceive  of  a  boy  or  girl  being  conducted 
through  the  book  without  being  made  more 
moral  and  noble  by  it;    while  we  can  easily  con- 


THE    EDITORS'    TABLE. 


133 


ceive  this  of  many  a  boy  and  girl  schooled  to  ex- 
act definitions  of  morality  and  nobility. 

*   * 

We  have  spoken  in  these  columns  of  the 
Society  recently  organized  for  the  Preservation  of 
Beautiful  and  Historical  Places  in  Massachusetts, 
a  society  of  which  Senator  Hoar  is  president, 
and  which  numbers  among  its  trustees  such  men 
as  Hon.  William  S.  Shurtleff,  Philip  A.  Chase, 
Charles  S.  Sargent,  Henry  P.  Walcott,  George 
Wigglesworth,  Charles  Eliot,  Frederick  L.  Ames, 
Christopher  Clarke,  Charles  R.  Codman,  Ehsha 
S.  Converse,  Deloraine  P.  Corey,  John  J.  Russell, 
Leverett  Saltonstall,  Nathaniel  S.  Shaler,  George 
Sheldon,  Daniel  D.  Slade,  Joseph  Tucker,  George 
H.  Tucker,  and  General  Francis  A.  Walker. 
These  names  are  a  pledge  that  the  new  society 
will  bring  something  to  pass;  and  in  truth  it  is 
already  actively  exerting  itself.  It  has  recently 
engaged  Mr.  J.  B.  Harrison  as  a  kind  of  mis- 
sionary, to  make  a  tour  of  the  state  for  the  pur- 
pose of  arousing  interest  in  the  objects  of  the 
organization,  of  interesting  local  officials  and  the 
press,  and  making  reports  to  the  Society  upon 
existing  and  proposed  reservations.  It  was  Mr. 
Harrison  who  aroused  the  sentiment  for  setting 
aside  the  land  about  Niagara  Falls  as  a  state 
reservation,  and  whose  efforts  resulted  in  the 
establisnment  of  the  great  state  forest  in  the 
Adirondacks.  We  shall  watch  with  interest  his 
present  work;  and  meantime  we  ask  the  atten- 
tion of  our  readers  to  the  following,  from  the 
Society's  latest  document.  It  contains  much 
information  of  interest  far  beyond  the  bounds  of 
New  England. 

"  Places  of  historical  interest  or  remarkable 
beauty  should  be  withdrawn  from  private  owner- 
ship, preserved  from  harm,  and  opened  to  the 
public  for  the  following  reasons  : 

Because  it  is  eminently  true  that 

'  where  great  deeds  were  done, 
A  power  abides,  transfused  from  sire  to  son.' 

Because  the  contemplation  of  natural  beauty  is 
found  to  refresh  the  tired  spirits  of  townspeople 
as  nothing  else  can. 

Because  the  visitation  of  such  places  educates 
the  people  in  the  love  of  nature,  of  beauty,  and 
of  native  land. 

Because  the  private  ownership  of  such  places 
deprives  the  people  of  a  source  of  education  and 
refreshment  which  they  need  to  enjoy. 

Because  the  private  ownership  of  such  places 
usually  results  in  the  destruction  of  that  special 
beauty  or  interest  in  which  their  value  to  the 
Commonwealth  consists. 

Because  the  public  ownership  of  such  places 
means  not  only  enjoyment  and  enlargement  for 
the  people,  but  also,  by  reason  of  their  attractive- 
ness, an  increased  resort  of  visitors,  and  a  cor- 
responding increase  of  wealth  in  the  neighbor- 
hood of  the  reservations,  and  throughout  the 
state. 

Public  reservations  in  the  United  States  have 
been  established:  I,  by  national  action;  2,  by 
state  action;  3,  by  municipal  action;  and  4.  by 
private  action. 

1.  The  following  are  examples  of  national 
reservations : 


The  Yellowstone  National  Park :  three  thou- 
sand square  miles  of  the  public  domain  re- 
served from  sale  and  settlement. 

The  Chickamauga  and  Chattanooga  National 
Military  Park  :  seven  thousand  six  hundred  acres 
of  private  land  condemned  and  purchased. 

The  approaches  to  the  Chickamauga  Park : 
twenty-six  miles  of  highway  accepted  by  the  na- 
tion as  a  gift  from  the  States  of  Virginia  and  Ten- 
nessee. 

2.  The  following  are  examples  of  state  reserva- 
tions : 

The  New  York  State  Forest  Reserve  in  the 
Adirondack  Mountains:  many  thousands  of  acres 
of  the  state  domain  reserved  from  sale  and  settle- 
ment. 

The  New  York  State  Reservation  at  Niagara : 
about  one  hundred  acres  of  private  land  con- 
demned and  purchased. 

The  Connecticut  State  Reservation  in  the 
townships  of  Bethel  and  Redding  (The  Putnam 
Memorial  Camp)  :  thirty-eight  acres,  accepted  by 
the  state  as  a  gift  from  two  citizens. 

3.  The  following  are  examples  of  municipal 
reservations  : 

Boston  Common  :  reserved  from  sale  and  settle- 
ment by  the  first  colonists. 

Franklin  Park,  Boston :  condemned  and  pur- 
chased by  the  city. 

Institute  Park,  Worcester:  accepted  by  the 
city  as  a  gift  from  a  citizen. 

The  following  are  examples  of  reservations 
secured  by  private  persons,  with  the  approval  of 
various  legislatures. 

The  Mount  Vernon  Estate,  in  Virginia:  the 
property  of  a  corporation,  which  is  exempted  from 
taxation. 

The  Serpent  Mound  Park,  in  Ohio :  the  gift  of 
a  few  persons  to  the  corporation  of  Harvard 
University.  The  park  is  open  to  the  public  and 
it  is  not  taxed. 

The  Chittenango  Falls  Park  in  the  townships  of 
Cazenovia  and  Fenner,  New  York :  the  gift  of 
several  citizens  to  an  incorporated  board  of  trus- 
tees, who  are  required  to  keep  the  park  open  to 
the  public  forever. 

The  Old  South  Church,  in  Boston  :  presented  by 
a  large  body  of  subscribers  to  an  incorporated 
board  of  trustees,  who  hold  it  as  a  memoral, 
exempt  from  taxation. 

The  Longfellow  Memorial  Garden,  in  Cam- 
bridge, Massachusetts;  presented  by  the  Long- 
fellow family  to  an  incorporated  board  of  trustees, 
whose  property  is  exempted  from  taxation. 

It  is  proposed  to  establish  in  Massachusetts  a 
corporation  to  be  called  the  "  Trustees  of  Public 
Reservations."  It  is  proposed  to  give  these  trus- 
tees the  power  to  acquire,  by  gift  or  purchase, 
beautiful  or  historical  places  in  any  part  of  the 
state,  to  arrange  with  cities  and  towns  for  the 
necessary  policing  of  the  reservations  so  acquired, 
and  to  open  the  reservations  to  the  public  when 
such  arrangements  have  been  made.  This  Board 
of  Trustees  should  be  established  without  further 
delay,  and  for  the  following  reasons  : 

1.  Because  the  existing  means  of  securing  and 
preserving  public  reservations  are  not  sufficiently 
effective.  Every  year  sees  the  exclusion  of  the 
public  from  more  and  more  scenes  of  interest  and 


134 


THE  EDITORS'   TABLE. 


beautv,  and   every  year  sees  the  irreparable   de- 
struction of.  others. 

2.  Because,  if  it  is  desirable  to  supplement  the 
existing  means  of  securing  and  preserving  the 
scenes  in  question,  no  method  can  be  found  which 
will  more  surely  serve  the  desired  end  than  that 
by  means  of  which  Massachusetts  has  established 
her  successful  hospitals,  colleges,  and  art  muse- 
ums; namely,  the  method  which  consists  in  setting 
up  a  respected  Board  of  Trustees,  and  leaving  all 
the  rest  to  the  munificence  of  public-spirited  men 
and  women.  When  the  necessary  organization  is 
provided,  the  lovers  of  nature  and  history  will 
rally  to  endow  the  trustees  with  the  care  of  their 
favorite  scenes,  precisely  as  the  lovers  of  art  have 
so  liberally  endowed  the  art  museums. 

3.  Because  a  general  Board  of  Trustees  estab- 
lished with  power  to  accept  or  reject  whatever 
property  may  be  offered  it  in  any  part  of  the 
state,  will  be  able  to  act  for  the  benefit  of  the 
whole  people,  and  without  regard  to  the  principal 
cause  of  the  ineffectiveness  of  present  methods, 
namely,  the  local  jealousies  felt  by  townships  and 
parts  of  townships  towards  each  other. 

4.  Because  the  beautiful  and  historical  Com- 
monwealth of  Massachusetts  can  no  longer  afford 
to  refrain  from  applying  to  the  preservation  of  her 
remarkable  places  every  method  which  experience 
in  other  fields  has  approved.  The  state  is  rapidly 
losing  her  great  opportunity  to  insure  for  the  fu- 
ture an  important  source  of  material  as  well  as 
moral  prosperity." 

*  * 
There  is  in  England  what  is  called  an  Art  for 
Schools  Association.  This  society,  whose  head- 
quarters are  in  London,  and  which  has  among  its 
officers  and  patrons  some  of  the  best-known  literary 
and  artistic  and  philanthropic  people  of  England, 
exists  for  the  purpose  of  encouraging  an  interest 
in  good  art  among  the  boys  and  girls  in  the 
schools,  and  of  providing  good  copies  of  the 
masterpieces  of  art,  at  low  cost,  to  be  placed  in 
the  schoolrooms  for  the  education  of  the  pupils. 
The  founders  of  this  Art  for  Schools  Association 
believe  that  it  is  a  good  thing  for  the  boys  and 
girls  to  grow  up  thus  in  daily  companionship  with 
what  the  world's  best  judgment  has  stamped  as 
most  beautiful,  and  that  if  this  familiarity  with 
the  best  works  of  art  on  the  part  of  the  school 
children,  coming  together  promiscuously  from  all 
sorts  of  homes,  can  be  made  universal,  it  will  do 
little  less  than  revolutionize  the  public  taste, 
besides  adding  so  much  to  the  true  pleasure  of 
life.  There  is  no  reason  why  in  this  day,  when 
by  the  sundry  heliotype,  autotype,  photogravure 
and  other  processes  such  excellent  copies  of  the 


great  pictures  can  be  made  so  cheaply,  any  school 
or  any  home  should  be  altogether  destitute  of 
beauty.  We  note  with  pleasure  the  large  number 
of  engravings  and  photographs  and  casts  that  have 
already  found  their  way  into  many  of  our  public 
schools.  In  the  hall  of  the  Girls'  High  School  in 
Boston  is  a  complete  set,  we  think,  of  casts 
of  what  remains  of  the  frieze  of  the  Parthenon. 
Our  higher  institutions  are  doing  much  in  this 
direction.  The  art  galleries  of  Amherst  College 
and  Smith  and  Wellesley  and  other  colleges  are 
admirable.  But  much  more  needs  to  be  done  to 
arouse  our  people  to  a  proper  appreciation  of  the 
place  of  art  in  public  education.  Especially,  to 
our  thinking,  is  effort  needed  here  in  connection 
with  the  public  schools,  affecting  those  places 
where  almost  all  of  our  people  get  all  the  regular 
education  that  they  ever  get,  and  affecting  them 
at  the  time  of  life  when  they  are  most  sensitive 
and  impressible.  There  should  be  no  school  in 
the  land  where  through  the  years  of  school  life 
the  boy  and  girl  are  not  influenced  by  the  Raphael 
or  Rembrandt  or  Murillo  or  Millet  hanging  on  the 
wall.  There  should  be  no  city  in  the  land  with- 
out its  Art  for  Schools  Association  —  or  if  we 
please,  since  in  this  country  we  "  promote " 
things,  its  Society  for  Promoting  the  Study  of  Art 
—  to  see  that  this  interest  is  intelligently  roused 
and  intelligently  met. 

But  until  such  societies  do  exist  in  our  cities,  it 
is  very  pleasant  to  hear  of  individuals  devoting 
themselves  to  this  thing.  Such  an  individual, 
such  an  Art  for  Schools  man,  is  Mr.  Ross  Turner, 
the  artist.  Mr.  Turner's  home  is  in  Salem,  and  it 
is  for  one  of  the  public  schools  of  Salem  that  he 
has  done  his  good  work,  making  its  rooms  beauti- 
ful and  eloquent  with  the  pictures  which  he  has 
placed  there  for  the  culture  and  pleasure  of  the 
young  people.  Here,  surely,  is  a  hint  for  the 
educator  and  the  philanthropist.  Why  may  Ave 
not  have  in  America  a  great  phalanx  of  Art  for 
Schools  men,  like  Mr.  Turner?  When  so  many 
are  quick  with  their  money  to  found  the  library, 
to  endow  the  college,  to  give  the  park,  shall  not 
this  fine  duty  have  attention  also? 
,  * 

We  wish  to  express  our  obligations  to  the 
Gravure  Etching  Company  of  Boston  for  the  use 
of  the  two  cuts  after  paintings  by  Halsall  which 
appear  with  the  article  on  "  Mr.  Burgess  and  his 
Work,"  in  the  preceding  pages.  The  original  of 
"  The  Burgess  Trio  "  —  the  Puritan  ,  Mayflower 
and  Volunteer  —  is  in  the  possession  of  the  Mas- 
sachusets  Yacht  Club;  the  original  of  the  Vol- 
unteer is  in  the  possession  of  William  F.  Weld, 
Esq. 


THE  OMNIBUS. 


Some  Quaint  Supplications. 

The  question  of  liturgical  or  non-liturgical  wor- 
ship has  called  out  warm  discussion,  and  perhaps 
will  continue  to  do  so;  it  is  a  matter  of  which 
taste  and  training  cause  widely  differing  views. 
One  argument  is  always  in  order :  he  who  de- 
pends on  a  "  form  "  is  certainly  sure  to  escape  the 
shoals  and  quicksands  which  may  wreck  his  less 
fortunate  brother.  He  may  be  "  cold,"  but  at 
least  he  will  not  be  absurd.  It  may  be  that  some 
fervent  soul,  glowing  with  devotion,  will  not  need 
to  "  seek  words,"  but  with  ready  tongue  pour  out 
his  prayers  and  supplications;  but  many  a  wor- 
shipper has  writhed  as  the  person  appointed  to 
express  the  supplications  and  aspirations  of  a 
multitude  has  said  things  which  the  rules  of  de- 
cency forbade  the  listener  to  interrupt. 

The  English  Civil  War,  which  caused  such  an 
upheaval  of  the  nation,  gave  opportunity  to  "  all 
sorts  and  conditions "  of  religionists  to  display 
their  gifts.  There  are  said  to  have  been  over  two 
hundred  different  sects  in  England  at  that  period. 
Preaching  was  heard  in  season  and  out  of  season, 
and  the  ministrants  addressed  their  Maker  in  very 
familiar  terms. 

On  one  occasion  the  Parliamentarian  forces  had 
suffered  a  severe  defeat,  and  a  fast  was  appointed 
in  consequence.  On  the  morning  of  the  fast-day 
came  news  of  another  defeat.  King,  a  minister 
in  Coventry,  thus  expressed  his  feelings  in  view  of 
this  double  trial :  "  Lord,  we  thine  own  people 
come  here  to  humble  ourselves  for  the  defeat  of 
our  forces  at  Banbury,  under  the  command  of 
Colonel  John  Fynes,  whose  brother  Nathaniel 
Fynes  but  lately  had  showed  himself  a  coward  at 
Bristol,  so  we  might  expect  little  better  by  trust- 
ing him;  but  Lord,  —  which  is  worse  than  both  — 
thou  hast  even  now  sent  us  the  news  of  our  army's 
defeat  at  Lestithiall  in  Cornwall,  and  had  we 
heard  it  sooner  we  would  not  have  been  humbled 
at  this  time." 

On  a  similar  occasion,  another  preacher  took 
high  ground,  saying :  "  Lord,  thou  hast  given  us 
never  a  victory  this  long  while,  for  all  our  frequent 
fasting.  What !  dost  Thou  mean,  O  Lord !  to 
cast  us  in  the  ditch  and  there  leave  us?" 

That  quaint  phrases  were  not  peculiar  to  the 
Puritans,  witness  the  prayer  of  a  brave  old  Cav- 
alier, Sir  Jacob  Astley,  before  the  battle  of  Edge- 
hill  :  "  Lord,  thou  knowest  how  busy  I  shall  be 
this  day;  if  I  forget  Thee,  do  not  thou  forget 
me  !  "  —  adding  to  his  men,  "  March  on,  boys  !  " 

After  the  landing  of  Charles  Edward  in  Scot- 
land, in  1745,  a  Presbyterian  minister  in  Edin- 
burgh added  to  his  customary  petition  for  King 
Ceorge :  "  And  for  this  young  person  who  has 
come  among  us  seeking  an  earthly  crown,  do 
Thou  of  Thy  gracious  favor  grant  him  a  heavenly 
one  !  " 

Equally  quaint  but  touching  is  the  prayer  of 
Hearne,  the  Oxford  antiquarian  :  "  O  most  gracious 
and  merciful  God,  wonderful  in  thy  Providence,  I 
return  all  possible  thanks  to  Thee  for  the  care 
Thou  hast  always  taken  of  me.  I  continually 
meet  with  the  most  signal  instances  of  this  thy 
Providence,    and    one    yesterday   when    I    unex- 


pectedly met  with  three  old  manuscripts,  for 
which  in  a  particular  manner  I  return  my  thanks, 
beseeching  Thee  to  continue  the  same  protection 
to  me,  a  poor  helpless  sinner." 

An  eccentric  minister  in  Maine  —  to  come 
from  old  England  to  New  —  was  once  conducting 
a  prayer-meeting  in  a  private  house.  It  was  a 
time  of  great  religious  excitement,  and  there  were 
many  meetings.  Among  the  persons  present  on 
this  particular  evening  was  a  woman  who  went 
about  from  place  to  place  spinning,  and  un- 
fortunately had  not  a  reputation  for  honesty.  So 
many  skeins  of  yarn  were  reckoned  a  day's  work, 
—  forty  threads  to  the  knot,  seven  knots  to  the 
skein.  But  she  was  often  known  to  "  cheat  in 
the  count."  She  had  now  "  experienced  a  hope," 
and   was   loud   and    fervent    in    exhortation    and 

prayer.     Elder ,  who    believed    in  works    as 

well  as  faith,  lifted  his  voice  at  the  close  of  her 
address.  "  O  Lord,  bless  Sister  Lyddy,"  he  cried, 
"  bless  her,  and  teach  her  to  count  forty." 

—  Pamela  Mc Arthur  Cole. 


How  John  PIooker  Became  a  D.  D. 

The  following  story  is  told  in  the  Religion 
Philosophical  Journal:  AT  a  reunion  of  the 
Thomas  Hooker  Association  at  Hartford,  Conn., 
which  is  composed  of  descendants  of  Rev. 
Thomas  Hooker,  one  of  the  founders  of  that  city, 
and,  as  one  of  the  speakers  said,  "  as  truly  a 
nobleman  as  if  he  had  been  given  the  patent  of 
nobility  by  some  king,  and  indeed  more  truly 
so,  for  he  derived  his  nobility  from  the  King  of 
kings,"  Hon.  John  Hooker,  President  of  the 
Association,  made  a  noteworthy  speech  in 
response  to  a  call  for  remarks  about  the  doctors 
of  divinity  in  the  Hooker  family.  He  explained 
how,  although  a  lawyer  by  profession,  he  was  also 
a  doctor  of  divinity.  He  placed  his  right  to  the 
doctorate,  he  said,  not  on  the  principle  laid  down 
by  Xenophon,  that  he  was  a  captain  who  had  all 
the  qualities  of  a  commander,  although  he  had 
never  led  an  army,  but  on  a  sound  legal  basis. 

Mr.  Hooker  is  an  able  lawer,  who  has  had 
many  years'  experience  with  judicial  tribunals  and 
is  the  author  of  thirty-three  volumes  of  reports 
of  the  Connecticut  Supreme  Court;  and  it  may, 
therefore,  be  presumed  that  he  knows  what  a 
"  legal  basis  "  is.  When  the  fugitive  slave  law  was 
passed,  he  was  a  young  lawyer  in  Hartford,  where 
Rev.  James  W.  C.  Pennington,  a  colored  preacher, 
was  settled  over  a  church  of  colored  people. 
Mr.  Pennington,  whose  skin  was  very  black,  sought 
a  private  interview  with  the  young  lawyer  and  told 
him  that  he  was  a  fugitive  slave,  that  his  real  name 
was  Jim  Pembroke;  and  he  expressed  fears  that 
he  might  be  caught,  and  wanted  advice.  It  was 
decided  that  the  colored  preacher  should  go  out 
of  the  country  and  that  Mr.  Hooker  should  cor- 
respond with  the  old  master,  "  stating  to  him  that 
Jim  was  out  of  the  country  and  that  he  could  have 
no  hope  of  reclaiming  him,  but  that  he  was  will- 
ing to  give  a  little  something  for  his  freedom." 
The  master  wrote  in  reply  to  Mr.  Hooker's  first 
letter    that    Jim  was    a    good    blacksmith  and  he 


136 


THE    OMNIBUS. 


demanded  $1,200  for  him.  This  was  discourag- 
ing. Months  later  a  letter  came  from  another 
man  who  said  that  Jim's  master  was  dead,  that  he 
was  adminstrator  of  the  estate,  and  in  order  to 
close  up  the  business,  as  Jim  was  out  of  the 
country,  he  would  accept  $150  for  him.  The 
money  was  sent.  Meanwhile  Pennington  had 
gone  to  Europe.  "  While  abroad  he  went  to 
Heidelberg  and  was  by  the  famous  university 
there  made  a  doctor  of  divinity;  which  honor  he 
accepted  with  great  grace,  saying  that  he  was 
perfectly  aware  that  he  did  not  deserve  it  on  his 
own  account,  but  accepted  it  as  a  tribute  to  his 
race.  So  that  at  the  time  this  money  was  sent  he 
was  a  doctor  of  divinity." 

The  administrator  had  written  Mr.  Hooker  that 
Jim  was  a  part  of  the  assets,  that  he  had  no 
power  to  set  him  free  and  that  he  could  only  sell 
him.  "Accordingly  on  receiving  the  $150,"  says 
Mr.  Hooker,  "  he  sent  me  a  bill  of  sale  of  James 
Pembroke,  a  negro  slave,"  and  for  two  or  three 
days  I  was  the  owner  of  Rev.  James  W.  C.  Pen- 
nington, D.  D.;  probably  the  first  instance  in  the 
history  of  the  world  when  a  man  has  been  known 
in  that  sense,  to  own  a  doctor  of  divinity.  Some- 
times they  can  be  bought  very  cheaply,  but  not  in 
this  way.  I  had  then  acquired  the  title  to  him ; 
it  was  in  my  power  to  set  him  free;  and  I  exe- 
cuted the  paper  by  which  I  set  free  '  James  Pem- 
broke otherwise  known  as  Rev.  Dr.  James  W.  C. 
Pennington,'  and  the  deed  of  manumission  is  on 
record  in  the  public  records  of  Hartford.  In 
doing  this  I  merely  took  my  hands  off  from  him; 
I  gave  him  nothing;  I  simply  let  him  go  out  of 
my  hands.  It  was  one  of  the  elementary  princi- 
ples of  slave-law  that  a  slave  could  own  nothing. 
.  .  .  Now  the  doctorate  of  divinity  which  Mr. 
Pennington  fancied  was  his  own  property,  was 
mine,  and  I  never  gave  it  up  at  all.  So  to  this 
day  I  am,  by  the  best  of  legal  titles,  a  doctor  of 
divinity,  and  therefore  it  was  proper  for  me,  if  no 
one  else  responded  to  the  call  for  doctors  of 
divinity  that  are  descended  from  Thomas  Plooker, 
to  present  myself  here,  for  the  honor  of  our 
ancestor  Thomas  Hooker,  as  a  doctor  of  divinity." 
* 

A  Frugal  Swain. 

A  LOW,  brown  cottage  'mid  the  rocks, 
Banked  round  with  blushing  hollyhocks 
And  tawny  daughters  of  the  sun 
Whose  robes  are  of  his  treasure  spun  ! 
My  own,  the  humble  tenement; 
'Tis  here  I  cultivate  content, 
And  also  —  corn  and  Lima  beans. 

Before  my  door  no  elm  trees  grand, 

A  legacy  ancestral,  stand ; 

Instead  of  their  majestic  boles 

And  lordly  shadows  on  the  ground, 

Behold  a  seemly  row  of  poles 

With  curling  vines  enwrapped  and  crowned. 

O  pride  of  Lima  !   seemest  thou 

So  like  some  pale,  scholastic  brow, 

The  throne  of  philosophic  thought ! 

Who  would  suspect  there  lurked  in  thee 

Such  rampant  vegetable  glee? 

Hither  no  insect  horde  unclean, 

No  beetle  bearing  on  his  back 


The  felon  stripes  of  buff  and  black, 
Provokes  the  ban  of  Paris  Green. 
But  where  thy  swarming  tendrils  fly, 
Swings  hammock-like  amid  the  leaves 
And  gleaming  fine  against  the  sky 
The  net  the  garden-spider  weaves, — 
A  pensive  spinster  much  maligned, 
To  geometric  tastes  inclined. 

You  gaze  far  down  the  avenue 
Of  mantling  verdure  wet  with  dew, 
Or  upward  look  to  where  on  high 
'Twould  seem  you  almost  might  espy 
That  mansion  paradoxical, 
The  house  that  was  so  very  small, 
Where  dwelt  the  Giant  tall  and  grim,  — 
That  luckless  ogre,  to  condense 
His  length  of  limb,  his  bulk  immense, 
Within  so  cramped  a  residence  ! 
Sure,  'twas  a  kind  release  to  him 
When  fate  his  exit-bell  had  rung, 
And  hero  Jack  the  hatchet  swung ! 

Close  by  appears,  in  phalanx  met, 

A  friendly  host,  with  drooping  lance 

And  pearl-embroidered  banneret :  — 

Thy  gift,  benignant  Samoset, 

Most  bland  of  aborigines  ! 

Great  Solomon,  who  sang  in  praise 

Of  love  and  herbs,  did  e'er  he  glance 

O'er  goodly  fields  of  growing  maize  ? 

Or  did  he  know,  in  all  his  days, 

The  savor  of  the  milky  ear, 

Or  steam  of  fragrant  succotash? 

Then  would  his  choice  seem  not  so  rash. 

Wave  all  thy  creamy  tassels  high, 
Brave  Indian  corn  !     Some  will  aver 
A  wakeful,  silent  listener 
In  breathless  nights  of  hot  July 
May  hear  the  throbbing  and  the  stir 
Of  limpid  juices  in  thy  veins 
And  crackling  of  thy  stalwart  canes, 
As  fairy  castanets  might  sound. 

I  know  not !  —  Nature  grants  to  me 
The  sleep  she  gives  to  bird  and  bee; 
Her  dusky  tresses,  all  unbound, 
With  drowsy  shadows  fold  me  round. 

What  matter,  if  at  set  of  sun 
Her  loving  tasks  are  never  done? 
The  steadfast  stars  will  wake  with  her. 
Each  zephyr  is  her  minister; 
Those  watchers  of  the  firmament 
Would  scorn  a  spy  impertinent. 

Ye  proud  and  courtly,  do  not  waste 

Disdain  on  my  plebeian  taste  — 

This  mild  midsummer  lunacy; 

It  runs  so  in  the  family, 

From  ancient  grandsire  handed  down,  — 

A  gardener  down  East  was  he, 

Unfortunate,  but  of  renown : 

And  now,  though  distant  miles  and  miles 

That  homestead,  —  lost  by  serpent  wile?. — 

Where'er  a  garden  blooms  and  smiles. 

Our  wandering  and  home-sick  race 

Enjoys  a  glimpse  of  Eden's  grace. 

—  Jauiie  Cotton. 


New  England  Magazine. 


New  Series. 


OCTOBER,   1 89 1 


Vol.  V.     No.  2, 


THE  PUBLIC  LIBRARIES  OF  MASSACHUSETTS. 


By  Henry  S.  Nourse. 


THE  builder  of  the  earliest  store- 
house for  books  of  which  we  have 
any  trustworthy  account  caused  to 
be  inscribed  over  its  portal  the  legend : 
PSYCHES  IATREION  —  A  Treasury  of 
Medicine  for  the  Soul.  There  are  numer- 
ous well- furnished  public  libraries  in 
Massachusetts  not  unworthy  to  wear  the 
same  title,  although  they  have  visibly 
little  in  common  with  their  Egyptian  pro- 
totype. Unlike  those  of  ancient,  me- 
diaeval, or  even  comparatively  modern 
days,  they  are  not  merely  bibliomaniacs' 
museums,  workshops  for  scholiasts,  or 
cloisters  for  the  use  of  an  aristocracy  of 
literary  sybarites ;  but  rather  may  be  said 
to  serve  as  granaries,  wherefrom  to  satisfy 
a  popular  appetite  already  voracious,  and 
one  that  grows  the  faster  the  more  it  is 
fed.  Their  first  aim  might  almost  be 
thought  to  be  to  meet  the  increasing  de- 
mand for  mental  stimulants  and  mental 
opiates ;  for  it  is  not  to  be  denied  that 
their  most  constant  patrons  do  not  crave 
costly  or  rare  intellectual  viands,  nor 
even  strengthening  food  ;  but  seek  amuse- 
ment, distraction  from  care  and  ennui, 
solace  in  loneliness,  occupation  in  hours 
of  idleness  or  weakness.  Many  of  these, 
however,  do  derive,  often  unconsciously 
perhaps,  tonics  for  mental  debility  or 
medicaments  for  the  soul. 

Pessimistic  critics  can  see  little  that  is 
hopeful  in  the  unquestionably  lamentable 
fact  that  a  large  majority  of  book  bor- 
rowers give  evidence  of  a  low  literary 
taste ;   that    the    average    reader    prefers 


the  brummagem  to  solid  worth,  the  vapid 
novel  to  converse  with  genius,  the  buf- 
foonery of  the  clown  to  the  fancy  of  the 
masters  in  wit  and  humor.  But  if  the 
censors  locally  elected  for  the  duty  are 
worthy  their  high  calling,  and  do  their 
duty  in  excluding  that  which  is  unwhole- 
some, the  free  public  library  always 
proves  a  fountain  of  refining  salutary  in- 
fluences. It  awakens  new  aspirations  in 
some,  inspires  effort  in  many,  extends 
the  intellectual  horizon,  and  tends  to 
elevate  the  standard  of  living  in  the  com- 
munity, and  to  add  to  the  sum  of  human 
enjoyment.  Not  its  least  value  is  this, 
that  it  lessens  the  number  of  those  whose 
desire  for  knowledge  and  yearning  for 
romance  find  satisfaction  in  the  dis- 
tortions and  exaggerations  and  inanities 
of  the  cheap  weeklies.  The  youth  who, 
by  the  neighborhood  of  a  choice  read- 
ing-room or  library,  are  privileged  to 
enter  into  intimate  fellowship  with  the 
regal  minds  of  the  ages,  to  commune  with 
"the  assembled  souls  of  all  that  men 
hold  wise,"  can  hardly  fail  to  assimilate 
something  of  value,  to  absorb  many  in- 
structive and  ennobling  lessons,  and  be 
made  by  it  happier  and  better  men  and 
women,  more  valuable  citizens  of  the  re- 
public. If  the  library  served  only  as  an 
anodyne  to  the  weary  and  suffering,  and 
a  pastime  for  the  idle,  it  would,  at  least, 
be  innocent  compared  with  the  narcotics 
with  which,  but  for  books,  these  might 
seek  solace.  Literary  dyspeptics  are  less 
costly  to    the    state    than    dipsomaniacs. 


140 


THE  PUBLIC  LIBRARIES  OF  MASSACHUSETTS. 


When  Mrs,  Sheridan  sought  to  flatter 
Dr.  Johnson  by  telling  him  that  she  had 
always  restricted  her  youthful  daughtec£j_j 
reading  to  the  Rambler,  and  similar  im- 
proving works,  he  said  :  "  Then,  madam,  / 
you  are  a  fool  !  Turn  your  daughter's 
wits  loose  into  your  library.  If  she  is 
well-inclined  she  will  choose  only  nutri- 
tious food ;  if  otherwise,  all  your  precau- 
tions will   avail   nothing   to  prevent   her 


1845,  appropriated  from  the  state's 
school  fund  a  bounty  of  fifteen  dollars  to 
'each  district  which  should  raise  a  like 
":sum,  and  devote  it  to  the  establishing  of 
a  library.  This  plan  of  attaching  to  each 
common  school  a  small  select  collection 
of  books  did  not  originate,  however,  in 
Massachusetts ;  it  was  inspired  by  a  New 
York  enactment  of  1835,  which  has  been 
followed,  with  various  changes  of  detail, 


w 


Public  Library,  Dedhar 


following    the   natural   bent    of    her    in- 
clinations." 

Long  ago,  Thomas  Carlyle,  echoing 
what  Socrates  and  Cicero  had  said  cen- 
turies before,  told  the  world  that  "  the 
true  university  of  these  days  is  a  collec- 
tion of  books."  In  1837,  intelligent 
appreciation  of  this  truth  seems  to  have 
influenced  the  legislators  of  Massachu- 
setts, when  they  fostered  the  establish- 
ment of  district-school  libraries,  by  en- 
acting that  each  legally  constituted  school- 
district  in  the  Commonwealth  might 
found  and  maintain  a  library  for  the  use 
of  its  children,  raising  for  the  purpose  by 
taxation  a  sum  not  exceeding  thirty  dol- 
lars the  first  year,  and  not  to  exceed  ten 
dollars  per  annum  thereafter.  This  law 
failed  to  secure  the  results  anticipated, 
until  a  legislative  resolve  which  was 
passed  in  1842,  with  the  supplementary 
provisions    added    in    1843,    1844,    and 


by  most  of  the  states  of  the  Union.  The 
scheme  has  met  with  very  unequal  suc- 
cess ;  in  many  states  having  failed 
from  the  outset,  or  soon  lost  its  useful- 
ness ;  in  a  few  proving  more  or  less 
satisfactory,  and  flourishing  down  to  the 
present  time.  The  literature  by  this  law 
disseminated  throughout  Massachusetts 
was  of  a  thoroughly  patriotic  and  health- 
ful character,  and  in  most  respects  wisely 
chosen  by  the  town  committees.  Har- 
per's Family  Library  figured  quite  prom- 
inently in  the  lists.  But  books  especially 
adapted  for  the  juvenile  mind  were  con- 
spicuously absent,  and  an  unduly  heavy 
per  centage  of  the  volumes  were  those 
"which  no  well-regulated  library  should 
be  without."  The  lack  of  provision  for 
replenishment  with  new  matter  soon  much 
limited  the  use  of  the  books,  and  in  time 
the  death  of  the  district-school  system 
scattered  them.    Thev  contributed  greatly, 


THE  PUBLIC  LIBRARIES  OF  MASSACHUSETTS. 


141 


Bridgewater  Public   Library. 


and,  in  many  towns  being  included  with 
larger  collections,  continue  to  contribute 
to  the  intellectual  well-being  of  the  com- 
monwealth. 

If  many  instances  of  the  unrestricted 
exercise  of  a  privilege  presume  an  un- 
denied  authority  for  it,  it  might  be  ques- 
tioned whether  the  Massachusetts  legisla- 
tion of  1 85 1,  permitting  municipalities  to 
raise  money  by  taxation  for  libraries,  was 


not  in  the  main  superfluous.  The  gen- 
eral act  of  that  year  seems  a  natural 
corollary  to  a  law  of  1850,  which  pro- 
vided for  the  gradual  abolition  of  the  in- 
dependent school-district  system  which 
had  been  in  vogue  from  revolutionary 
times ;  although  it  is  a  suggestive  coin- 
cidence that  the  first  Public  Libraries  Act 
in  England  was  also  passed  in  1850. 
The   proximate   impulse  that  led  to  the 


-~_ — , 


Thayer  Public   Library.  Braintree. — Gift  of  Gen    Sylvanus  Thayer. 


142 


THE  PUBLIC  LIBRARIES  OF  MASSACHUSETTS. 


law  of  1 85 1  was,  no  doubt,  the  prolonged 
discussion  in  Boston  of  the  social  and 
patriotic  need  of  a  library  which,  unlike 
the  institutions  existing  at  that  day,  should 
be  especially  adapted  to  the  wants  of  the 
less  cultivated  classes  of  citizens  —  a 
library  not  for  scholarship,  but  for 
humanity.  A  special  act  authorizing 
the  supply  of  this  need  was  secured  in 
1848  ;  and  such  leaders  in  public  opinion 
as  Josiah  Quincy,  Edward  Everett,  Robert 
C.  Winthrop  and  George  Ticknor  lent 
their  wisdom  and  energy  to  the  building 
of  the  new  institution  upon  a  popular  and 
substantial  basis.  Mr.  Ticknor's  tireless 
enthusiasm  carried  so  much  influence, 
and  his  liberal  views  have  so  impressed 
themselves  upon  the  constitution  of  pub- 
lic libraries,  that  he  has  not  inaptly  been 
called  the  father  of  the  free  library  system 
in  America. 

The  Massachusetts  law  bestows  upon 
towns  and  cities  the  right  to  establish 
and  support  public  libraries  for  the  use 
of  their  inhabitants,  and  to  provide  rooms 


It  empowered  the  municipality  to  receive 
and  administer  any  devise,  bequest,  or 
donation  for  library  uses  within  its  limits. 
But  the  privileges  accorded  by  this  act, 
which  received  the  approval  of  the  gov- 
ernor May  24,  1 85 1,  had  apparently  been 
assumed  by  a  few  towns  long  before, 
under  a  liberal  interpretation  of  the 
school  library  legislation  of  183 7-1 845, 
and  especially  of  the  resolve  of  1843, 
which  applied  to  the  few  towns  not  dis- 
tricted. Nahant's  School  Library  dates 
from  1 819,  having  its  origin  in  a  dona- 
tion to  the  community.  Arlington's 
library,  it  is  claimed,  has  been  free  to  the 
town's  people,  and  supported  by  annual 
appropriations,  since  1837.  More  than  a 
century  before  this  state  legislation,  how- 
ever, the  idea  of  a  town  library,  was  no 
novelty  in  New  England.  Books  in  early 
colonial  days,  when  rigid  economy  was 
compulsory,  were  far  from  abundant,  were 
chiefly  of  a  devotional  or  theological 
character,  and  their  cost  was  so  consider- 
able that,  even  among  professional  men 


Petersham    Public   Library. 


therefor,  under  such  regulations  for  their 
government  as  may  be  prescribed  from 
time  to  time  by  the  inhabitants  of  the 
towns,  or  the  city  councils.  It  authorized 
for  the  foundation  and  maintenance  of 
such  libraries  a  limited  appropriation 
based  upon  the  number  of  ratable  polls. 


of  the  highest  classical  scholarship,  a  col- 
lection of  one  hundred  volumes  was  very 
rare.  The  town  library,  when  it  existed, 
was  therefore  in  the  form  of  a  few  folios 
or  quartos,  or  perhaps  a  single  huge,  en- 
cyclopaedic tome,  kept  in  the  meeting- 
house for  general  reference. 


THE  PUBLIC  LIBRARIES  OF  MASSAHUCSETTS. 


143 


Duxbury   Free   Library.  —  Gift  of  Mrs.  George  W.  Wright. 


What  weighty  lore  was  stored  in  the 
first  "public  library"  of  Boston,  men- 
tioned in  the  will  of  John  Oxenbridge, 
and  under  what  regulations  it  was  man- 
aged, is  not  discovered ;  but  in  its  in- 
ception and  administration  the  town  ap- 
pears to  have  felt  no  lack  of  the  authority 
conferred  by  the  legislative  action  of 
185 1.  It  accepted  the  legacy  of  pounds 
sterling  and  volumes  which  founded  it 
from  the  estate  of  the  eccentric  merchant 
tailor,  Captain  Robert  Keayne,  and  as- 
signed a  room  to  it  in  the  new  Market 
House,  built  in  1658.  Of  the  original 
nucleus  of  the  collection  we  have  only 
this  description  from  the  will  of  Captain 
Keayne  :  "  And  though  my  bookes  be  not 
many  nor  very  fitt  for  such  a  worke, 
being  English  and  smale  bookes,  yet  after 
the  beginning  the  Lord  may  stirr  vp 
some  others  that  will  add  more  to  them ; 
and  helpe  to  carry  the  worke  on  by 
bookes  of  more  valew,  Antiquity,  vse,  and 
esteeme."  In  1682,  the  selectmen  paid 
David  Edwards  thirty-four  pounds  ten 
shillings  "  for  severall  things  he  brought 
from  England  for  ye  vse  of  the  Library," 


that  sum  being  credited  to  "  Captain 
Robert  Keayne's  legacie  for  ye  vse  of 
sd  Library."  In  1695,  some  of  this 
literary  property  of  Boston  seems  to  have 
gone  astray,  for  the  voters  in  town-meet- 
ing assembled  instructed  the  selectmen 
to  demand  wherever  found,  and  take  care 
of  "  all  Bookes  or  other  things  belonging 
to  the  Library."  In  1747,  the  Town 
House  was  burned,  and  with  it  probably 
Boston's  first  free  public  library. 

That  Concord  had  a  public  circulating 
library  in  1672  is  attested  by  instructions 
that  year  given  by  the  freeholders,  "  That 
care  be  taken  of  the  Bookes  of  Marters 
and  other  bookes  that  belong  to  the 
Towne,  that  they  be  kept  from  abusive 
usage,  and  not  be  lent  to  persons  more  than 
one  month  at  one  time."  Among  the 
chief  treasures  of  print  in  Wayland's  public 
library  are  some  folio  works  of  Richard 
Baxter,  part  of  a  gift  from  the  Hon. 
Samuel  Holden  of  London,  received  in 
1 73 1  for  the  use  of  the  church  and  con- 
gregation in  the  East  Precinct  of  Sudbury. 
Church  and  town  in  Massachusetts  were 
then  practically  inseparable,  the  meeting- 


144 


THE  PUBLIC  LIBRARIES  OF  MASSACHUSETTS. 


house  being  the 
public  arena  where 
the  people  dis- 
cussed and  settled 
in  due  form  all 
matters  of  local 
improvement  and 
finance,  as  well  as 
of  parish  adminis- 
tration. These  fo- 
lios formed  a  town 
or  precinct  library 
in  the  modern 
meaning  of  the 
words.  The  voters 
of  Lancaster,  at  a 
regular  town-meet- 
ing,     March       22, 

1 731,  established  a  free  public  reference 
library,  by  ordering  the  purchase  of  a 
single  folio,  a  ponderous  volume  of  nine 
hundred  pages — Rev.  Samuel  Willard's 
"  Complete  Body  of  Divinity  "  —  and  in- 
structing the  selectmen  to  make  suit- 
able "  provision  for  the  keeping  of  it 
in  the  meeting-house  for  the  town's 
use,  so  that  any  person  may  come  there 
and  read  therein  as  often  as  they  shall 
see  cause  ;  and  said  book  is  not  to  be 
carried  out  of  the  meeting-house  at  any 


Stockbrids 


Public   Library.  — Gift  of  Hon. 
John   Z.  Goodrich. 


except    by    order 


Public   Library,  Princeton.  —  Gift  of  Edward   A.  Goodnow 


time    by    any  person, 
of  the    selectmen." 

Among  libraries  historically  famous  is 
that  of  the  town  of  Franklin,  established 
in  1785  by  one  who  was  described  by 
the  grateful  pastor  of  the  parish  in  a  dis- 
course celebrating  the  memorable  event 
as  "  the  ornament  of 
genius,  the  patron  of 
science,  and  the  best  of 
men."  In  the  September 
and  October  numbers  of 
this  magazine,  for  the  year 
1889,  were  published 
some  interesting  notes  re- 
lating to  this  old  library, 
at  Franklin,  including  a 
note  from  Rev.  William 
M.  Thayer,  stating  that 
ninety  of  its  original  116 
volumes  still  remained  in 
the  library,  and  giving  the 
titles  of  some  of  the  more 

5  important     works.       This 

y-  f§  town  was  named  in  honor 

of  Dr.  Benjamin  Franklin, 
and  it  was  suggested  to 
him  by  a  nephew  that  he 
could  most  appropriately 
acknowledge  the  compli- 
ment paid  him  by  giv- 
ing   the     townspeople     a 


THE  PUBLIC  LIBRARIES  OE  MASSACHUSETTS. 


145 


bell  for  their  meeting-house.  Franklin, 
who  was  then  the  American  minister  at 
the  court  of  France,  had  his  own  opinion 
of  suitability,  and  sent  the  nephew  to  his 
and  America's  friend,  Dr.  Richard  Price, 
with  a  letter  in  which  he  requested  a  list 
of  books,  to  cost  twenty-five  pounds, 
giving  preference  to  such  works  as  incul- 
cate principles  of  sound  religion  and  just 


are  enough  to  give  our  Puritan  ancestors 
reasonable  right  to  a  caveat  against  the 
claim  that  the  free  town  library  in  Massa- 
chusetts is  a  modern  invention. 

Some  astute  thinkers  have  dared 
to  blame  our  boasted  system  of  common- 
school  education  for  its  overstimulative 
processes.  They  charge  that  the  public 
schools,  even    of  the    lower   grades,  are 


ilfilSilii! 


Damon   Memorial,  Holden.  —  Gift  of  Hon.  S.  C  Gale. 


In  the  letter  was  the  fol- 


government. 
lowing  : 


"A  new  town  in  the  State  of  Massachusetts 
having  done  me  the  honor  of  naming  itself  after 
me,  and  proposing  to  build  a  steeple  to  their 
meeting-house  if  I  would  give  them  a  bell,  I  have 
advised  the  sparing  themselves  the  expense  of  a 
steeple  for  the  present,  and  that  they  would  accept 
of  books  instead  of  a  bell,  sense  being  preferable 
to  sound.  These  are,  therefore,  intended  as  the 
commencement  of  a  little  parochial  library  for  the 
use  of  a  society  of  intelligent,  respectable  farmers, 
such  as  our  country  people   generally  consist  of." 

About  ninety  of  the  one  hundred  and 
sixteen  volumes  received  in  1758  have 
survived,  and  add  to  the  weight,  if  not  to 
the  circulation,  of  the  present  free  public 
library  of  Franklin.  Research  might  dis- 
cover many  other  examples  of  early 
libraries  in  New  England,  similar  to 
those  here  noticed,  but  though  few,  these 


too  often  caricatures  in  little  of  the  uni- 
versity, devoted  to  the  alphabet  of  orna- 
mental accomplishments  instead  of  simply 
furnishing,  as  they  should,  the  initial 
training  for  social  and  political  useful- 
ness, and  that  they  are,  therefore,  waste- 
ful of  youthful  energy  and  enthusiasm, 
and  unsatisfactory  in  moral  and  intel- 
lectual results.  A  rational  remodelling 
of  the  methods  of  public  instruction  must 
sooner  or  later  come,  when  some  portion 
of  the  complex  curriculum  through  which 
all  juvenile  classes  are  now  dragged  will 
be  left  to  the  volition  of  such  as  are 
richest  in  mental  endowments,  or  have 
developed  special  tastes,  to  pursue  in 
academic  institutions,  the  laboratory  or 
the  public  library,  where  omnivorous 
cravings  or  dillettanteism  can  be  indulged 
without  fret  of  examination  papers  or  the 


146 


THE  PUBLIC  LIBRARIES  OF  MASSACHUSETTS. 


persistent  memorizing  of  verbiage.  The 
best  education  is  self-education,  that 
which  follows  the  discipline  of  the  school, 
being  won  from  the  study  of  books,  man, 
and  nature.  But  the  public,  despite  the 
state's  happy  experiment  of  fifty  years 
ago,  has  been  very  slow  to  realize  the 
fact  that,  while  the  town  library  fills  its 
highest  vocation  as  a  social  factor  in  the 
community,  it  can  also  be  wisely  managed 
so  as  to  become  a  potential  help  to  the 
free  school,  a  co-ordinate  power  in  our 
system  of  education.  Many  of  our  libra- 
rians as  well  as  boards  of  library  trustees 
have,  for  several  years,  been  using  the 
literary  stores  in  their  custody  with  a  full 
understanding  of  this  truth,  and  with 
noteworthy  helpfulness  to  teachers  and 
pupils. 

Induced  by  records  of  such  experience, 


and  directed  to  expend  in  the  founding 
of  a  free  library,  in  any  town  having 
none,  the  sum  of  one  hundred  dollars  for 
books,  whenever  such  town  shall  have 
formally  accepted  the  provisions  of  the 
act,  elected  a  board  of  trustees  in  accord- 
ance with  the  existing  state  laws  relating 
to  libraries,  and  satisfactorily  provided  for 
the  care,  custody,  and  distribution  of  books. 
The  act,  in  recognition  of  the  disposition 
of  mankind  to  esteem  of  little  value  that 
which  has  been  won  without  labor  or  per- 
sonal sacrifice,  stipulates  that,  to  secure 
the  state's  bounty,  an  annual  appropria- 
tion must  be  made  by  the  town  of  not 
less  than  $50  if  its  last  assessed  valua- 
tion was  $1,000,000  or  upward;  not  less 
than  $25,  if  said  valuation  was  less  than 
$1,000,000,  and  not  less  than  $250,000; 
or  not  less  than  $15  if  said  valuation  was 


Nevins   Memorial    Library,  Methuen.  —  Gift  of  Heirs  of  David   Nevins. 


and  other  strong  testimony  to  the  educa- 
tional value  of  the  public  library,  the 
legislature  of  Massachusetts,  in  1890, 
created  a  commission,  whose  defined  duty 
it  is  "  to  promote  the  establishment  and 
efficiency  of  free  public  libraries."  The 
board,  which  consists  of  five  members, 
appointees  of  the  governor,  has  merely 
advisory  powers  so  far  as  established  in- 
stitutions are  concerned,  but  is  authorized 


less  than  $250,000.  The  commission 
serves  without  compensation,  but  is 
allowed  $500  yearly  for  clerical  assis- 
tance and  incidental  expenses.  The 
present  members  of  the  commission 
are  C.  B.  Tillinghast  of  the  State 
Library  (Chairman),  Samuel  S.  Green 
of  the  Worcester  Free  Public  Lib- 
rary, Henry  S.  Nourse  of  Lancaster, 
Miss  E.  P.  Sohier  of  Beverly  (Secretary), 


THE  PUBLIC  LIBRARIES  OE  MASSACHUSETTS. 


147 


#   #:.  #< 


'.         E        ■>        S;>  ..,.* 


i:'r  ■■'*""  •':• 


Fitchburg  Public   Library.  —  Gift  of  Hon.    Rodney  Wallace. 


and  Miss  Anna  E.  Ticknor  of  Boston. 
The  commissioners  met  for  organization 
October  30,  1890,  and  issued  an  earnest 
appeal  to  the  towns  favored  by  the  act. 
They  hold  regular  meetings  on  the  third 
Thursday  of  each  month.  Such  legisla- 
tion as  this  of  1890  must,  of  course,  meet 
the  taunt  that  it  is  of  the  "  grandmother 
type,"  another  advance  in  benevolent 
educational  despotism  on  the  part  of  the 
state,  although  it  in  no  way  disturbs 
local   control    and    support,   but    hastens 


self-development  by  demanding  local 
initiative  as  a  prerequisite  to  the  assis- 
tance granted.  Already,  in  England,  cer- 
tain political  economists,  under  the  head 
of  Herbert  Spencer,  are  bewailing  the 
"  burden  of  impotence  being  day  by  day 
laid  on  all  classes  by  the  perpetual  fore- 
stalling of  human  endeavor  in  every  con- 
ceivable relation  of  life."  They  bitterly 
protest  against  what,  with  a  touch  of 
peculiarly  ingenious  malice,  is  styled 
"the   attempt   of   Free  Library  agitators 


Hingham   Public  Library. —  Gift  of  Hon.   Albert  Fearing. 


148 


THE  PUBLIC  LIBRARIES  OE  MASSACHUSETTS. 


to  make  their  own  favorite  form  of  re- 
creation a  charge  on  the  rates."  But  the 
arguments  and  objurgation  of  these  in- 
dividual philosophers  will  hardly  be 
listened  to  with  patience  in  a  democracy 
like  ours  —  at  least  until  we  are  prepared 
to  indict  as  superfluous  and  tyrannical 
all  state  and  municipal  regulations  which 
hamper  private  enterprise  with  the  pur- 
pose of  serving  the  common  weal ;  until 
we  are  willing  to  abolish  free  education 
because  "extravagant,"  tending  to  "  de- 
grade the  teacher  to  an  automaton,"  and 
interfering  with  "parental  responsibility  ;  " 
until  we  abandon  our  national  postal 
system  as  a  government  monopoly,  peren- 
nially borrowing  from  the  public  purse  to 
meet  its  deficits.  The  dominant  tenden- 
cies all  point  the  other  way.  The  critics 
will  be  very  few  who  will  care  to  charge 
that  this  novelty  in  Massachusett's  legisla- 
tion is    a   very  radical  advance   towards 


the  constitution  which  declares  :  "  Wis- 
dom and  knowledge,  as  well  as  virtue 
diffused  generally  among  the  body  of 
people,  being  necessary  for  the  preserva- 
tion of  their  rights  and  liberties,  and  as 
these  depend  on  spreading  the  opportuni- 
ties and  advantages  of  education  in  the 
various  parts  of  the  country  and  among 
the  different  orders  of  people,  it  shall  be 
the  duty  of  legislators  and  magistrates  in 
all  future  periods  of  this  commonwealth 
to  cherish  the  interests  of  literature  and 
science,  and  all  the  seminaries  of  them." 
The  first  annual  report  of  the  Free 
Public  Library  Commission  covers  the 
action  of  the  board  for  three  months 
only,  and  inasmuch  as  all  steps  in  the 
main  purpose  of  its  creation  had  to  await 
the  motion  of  the  interested  towns  at 
their  regular  March  and  April  meetings, 
record  of  great  progress  was  not  to  be 
expected.     But  the  report  is  an  unusually 


lH* 


iP 

J  ^\ 

r%l#   J^>*** 

if\       :: 

*       1 

^H  ii 

^-^^ 

i     T-    #s 


>■■■  -„.>.--5i8 


City   Library,  Springfield. 


state  socialism,  or  deem  it  a  mischievous 
intermeddling  with  individual  effort.  It 
does  not  obtrude  aid  in  a  way  to  paralyze 
local  endeavor,  but  to  encourage  it.  It 
is  in  direct  sympathy  with  the  clause  in 


elaborate  one,  giving  a  full  review  of  past 
library  legislation,  and  the  present  con- 
dition of  municipal  libraries,  including  a 
classification  of  them  with  reference  to 
the  provisions  of  the  new  law.     It  forms  a 


THE  PUBLIC  LIBRARIES  OF  MASSACHUSETTS. 


149 


volume  of  two  hundred  and  ninety  pages, 
contains  numerous  illustrations,  and  is 
full  of  interesting  matter  not  readily 
accessible  elsewhere.  Its  chief  feature  is 
a  comprehensive  historical  study  of  ex- 
isting popular  libraries,  to  which  the 
chairman  of  the  board  has  devoted  long 
and  careful    labor.     This    includes   brief 


selves  for  books.  This  was  due  in  great 
degree  at  least  to  the  existence  of 
numerous  and  excellent  "  social  libraries  " 
in  all  parts  of  the  commonwealth.  In 
the  closing  decade  of  the  last  century, 
one  of  the  most  promising  signs  of  grow- 
ing prosperity,  giving  assurance  that  the 
oppressive    burdens    inherited    from    the 


II'  i! 


i 


Ifc^^^^r J 


Warren   Public   Library. 


records  of  the  generosity  of  many  in- 
dividuals who  have  founded  such  libraries, 
contributed  liberally  to  their  increase,  or 
been  prominent  in  the  erection  of  build- 
ings for  them.  The  "  solvent  power  of 
free  human  initiative,"  which  Herbert 
Spencer  and  his  disciples  laud  so  much, 
and  claim  to  be  ultimately  potent  for  the 
removal  of  all  obstacles  that  can  beset  the 
path  of  humanity's  advance,  has  done 
very  much  for  Massachusetts  in  the 
founding  of  free  institutions,  religious  and 
secular,  charitable  and  educational.  It  is 
exactly  forty  years  since  its  municipalities 
were  specifically  endued  with  the  right  to 
levy  taxes  upon  their  citizens  for  the 
building  and  maintenance  of  libraries. 
At  first  they  were  very  slow  to  take  ad- 
vantage of  the  privilege  of  taxing  them- 


long  war  for  independence  were  fast  dis- 
appearing, was  the  growth  of  library 
associations,  until  in  each  considerable 
village  there  was  a  group  of  readers  and 
thinkers  combined  for  the  purchase  of 
standard  authors,  which  every  one  perused 
in  his  turn.  The  number  and  beneficial 
influence  of  these  increased  under  the 
legislation  of  1 798  and  1806,  which  favored 
the  incorporation  of  social  library  pro- 
prietors for  the  convenience  of  acquiring 
and  managing  property ;  and  few  towns 
but  soon  had  one  or  more  choice  literary 
collections,  cared  for  and  slowly  aug- 
mented by  contributions  and  annual 
assessments  paid  by  the  shareholders. 
Quite  often  these  were  accessible  to  read- 
ers not  proprietors,  upon  payment  of  a 
small    fee    per    volume    borrowed,    or   a 


150 


THE  PUBLIC  LIBRARIES  OF  MASSACHUSETTS. 


%  1  \  '*■ 

7  V 

♦ 

M 

...5 



Free  Public  Library,   New  Bedford. 


'  ';      -  ''  ' '■  rr 


IK   L 

in  i  til 


Free  Public   Library,   Worcester. 


THE  PUBLIC  LIBRARIES  OF  MASSACHUSETTS. 


151 


stated  sum  by  the  year,  and  a  few 
of  the  more  wealthy  or  liberal  as- 
sociations sometimes  offered  their  col- 
lection for  reasonable  public  use  with- 
out compensation.  The  free  library  of 
Oakham  is  a  rare  survival  of  the  latter 
class. 

A  little  before  the  middle  of  the  present 
century  there  arose  a  marked  increase  of 
popular  interest  in  better  methods  of 
farming  and  horticulture,  which  found 
expression  in  the  organization  of  numer- 
ous local  agricultural  societies   or  clubs, 


and  patriotic  generosity  of  some  citizen 
who  would  not  wait  for  the  slow  move- 
ment of  public  opinion  and  town-meeting 
discussion.  But  the  town  libraries  are 
few,  upon  the  shelves  of  which  there  are 
not  many  well-thumbed  works  of  standard 
character,  received  as  a  legacy  from  col- 
lections which,  though  superseded,  thus 
perpetuate  their  beneficent  influence. 

The  Library  Act  of  1857  was  the  di- 
rect result  of  a  doubt  as  to  the  legality 
of  Wayland's  action  in  establishing  its 
free   library,    which   was   opened    to    the 


Berkshire  Athenaeum,    Pittsfield. —  Gift  of  Hon.   Thomas  Allen. 


each  of  which  soon  had  its  small  accumula- 
tion of  volumes  devoted  to  the  profes- 
sion that  boasts  itself  as  old  as  Adam. 
The  social,  district  school,  and  agricul- 
tural club  libraries,  jointly  and  severally, 
laid  the  foundations  of,  and  made  pos- 
sible, the  modern  town  library  —  the 
library  of  the  people,  fashioned  to  the 
needs  and  tastes  of  all  classes,  and  free 
to  all.  The  historic  evolution  was  far 
from  uniform.  Sometimes,  as  in  Ashby, 
the  new  institution  seems  to  have  been 
built  upon  the  district  libraries  solely; 
or,  as  in  Sutton,  upon  the  agricultural 
club's  collection  as  a  nucleus.  Far 
oftener  it  grew  out  of  the  social  library, 
as  in  Harvard  and  Medford,  or  from  the 
union  of  two,  or  all  three  classes,  as  in 
Framingham  and  Hatfield.  Some  sprang 
full  panoplied  from  the  wise  forethought 


public  August  7,  1850.  Instead  of  pass- 
ing special  legislation,  as  had  been  done 
for  Boston  in  1848,  a  general  law  was 
enacted.  New  Bedford  was  the  second 
town  to  take  action  under  this  law,  and 
Southborough,  the  third,  both  in  1852, 
although  the  library  of  the  former  was 
not  in  use  until  1853.  Chicopee  and 
Lunenburg   established    free    libraries   in 

1853,  Boston,  Groton,   and   Peabody   in 

1854,  Lenox,  Beverly,  Framingham,  and 
Newburyport  in  1855,  Bolton,  Harvard, 
Leominster,  Medford,  Wakefield,  and  Wo- 
burn  in  1856.  Now  175  of  the  351 
towns  and  cities  of  Massachusetts  pos- 
sess and  wholly  control  libraries  free  for 
circulation  to  all  their  citizens  ;  28  have 
free  libraries  wherein  the  management 
is  shared  by  the  town  with  some  asso- 
ciation  of    individuals,   or    with    trustees 


152 


THE  PUBLIC  LIBRARIES  OF  MASSACHUSETTS. 


who  hold  their  authority  by  terms  of  a 
special  act  of  incorporation  or  under  the 
provisions  of  a  founder's  will;  22  have 
libraries  free  for  circulation  —  with  the 
exception  of  the  Westfield  Athenaeum,  in 
which  the  books  are  free  for  use  of  the 


books  of  this  richly  endowed  institution 
were  free  to  the  public  to  use  only  "  on 
the  premises,"  an  annual  fee  of  one  dol- 
lar being  required  of  those  who  desired 
the  enjoyment  of  their  home  use.  For 
fifteen    years  the  associated  founders  of 


Temple   Hall    Library,    Mashpee 


general  public  only  in  the  reading-room 
—  over  which  the  municipality  has  no 
control,  but  which  receive  the  aid  of 
annual  appropriations  from  the  public 
treasury.  In  21  towns  there  are  free 
public  libraries,  in  the  support  and  man- 
agement of  which  the  municipality  has 
no  part. 

Besides  the  four  classes  thus  desig- 
nated, there  is  one  other,  which  once 
had  more  numerous  examples  in  the 
state,  but  is  now  represented  only  in  the 
towns  of  Conway  and  Rockport.  Early 
in  the  history  of  town  libraries  the  at- 
tempt was  sometimes  made  to  derive  an 
income  from  fees  charged  for  the  use  of 
books,  copying  the  custom  among  the 
old-time  social  libraries.  The  fee,  how- 
ever insignificant,  of  course  shuts  out 
from  the  privileges  of, the  institution  a 
majority  of  those  who  most  need  what 
the  public  library  can  and  should  give, 
and  is  therefore  no  true  economy.  Of 
this  the  records  of  the  City  Library  of 
Springfield  afford  a  remarkable  illustra- 
tion.    Until  within   a  very  few  years  the 


the  library  labored  to  secure  such  appro- 
priations from  the  city  as  would  warrant 
extension  of  privilege  to  the  circulation 
of  books.  The  desired  end  was  at  length 
attained  May  25,  1885.  At  that  date, 
under  the  fee  system,  in  this  wealthy  city 
of  over  37,000  inhabitants,  having  55,000 
volumes  in  its  public  library,  there  were 
but  1 100  card  holders,  and  the  circulation 
was  41,000  volumes.  Within  a  year 
thereafter,  the  card  holders  of  the  free 
library  numbered  over  7,000  and  the 
circulation  of  books  had  risen  to  154,- 
000.  So  extraordinary  an  increase  of 
usefulness  was  no  less  astonishing  than 
gratifying  to  those  who  had  long  argued 
that  a  more  liberal  policy  would  bear 
fruits  far  outweighing  the  few  hundreds 
of  dollars  collected  in  fees,  and  that  the 
necessary  increase  in  expenditure  would 
prove  in  every  way  a  sound  business  in- 
vestment. The  experience  of  other 
towns  wherein  a  restrictive  system  has 
given  place  to  entirely  free  circulation 
has  invariably  been  similar  to  that  of 
Springfield.     The   two  towns  that   retain 


THE  PUBLIC  LIBRARIES  OF  MASSACHUSETTS. 


153 


the  fee   system  cannot  too  soon  imitate 
the  majority. 

Of  the  248  public  libraries  hereinbefore 
classified,  most  of  the  smaller  and  some 
of  the  larger  occupy  rooms  in  buildings 
partly  devoted  to  other  uses,  usually  the 
town  hall ;  but  for  fully  one-half  the 
whole  number  special  accommodations 
have  been  provided,  at  an  aggregate  cost, 
including  two  or  three  not  yet  completed, 
of  over  $4,600,000.  Several  are  so  roy- 
ally domiciled  as  to  afford  a  liberal  edu- 
cation in  architecture  to  the  communities 
about  them.  The  buildings  as  a  class  are 
among  the  most  tasteful  in  the  common- 
wealth, many  of  them   being  from  happy 


absorbed.  They  vary  in  style  of  construc- 
tion through  all  orders  of  architecture, 
from  the  plain,  rectangular  edifice  of 
brick  known  as  the  Cushman  Library  of 
Bernardston,  the  octagonal  Goodnow 
Library  of  Sudbury,  the  little  cubical 
fire-proof  building  of  native  stone  given 
to  the  town  of  Cummington  by  the 
poet  Bryant,  to  those  elaborate  and 
picturesque  piles  of  massive  masonry 
which  owe  their  being  to  the  genius 
of  the  great  architect,  H.  H.  Rich- 
ardson, at  Easton,  Maiden,  Quincy,  and 
Woburn.1  They  vary  no  less  in  their 
interior  finish  and  furniture  than  in  their 
exterior   constructive  features.     The   un- 


Sawyer  Free   Library,   Gloucester. — Gift  of  Samuel   F.   Sawyer. 


designs  of  noted  architects.  They  vary  in 
costliness  from  the  little  wooden  structure 
built  for  the  native  Indian  community  of 
Mashpee  by  the  Temple  Hall  Library 
and  Reading-room  Association,  in  1888, 
at  a  cost  of  $1,500,  to  the  many-roomed 
palace  of  wrought  stone  which  fronts  upon 
Copley  Square  in  Boston,  in  which,  though 
incomplete,  about  $2,000,000  have  been 


adorned  simplicity  of  the  many,  that  pre- 

1  The  Woburn  Library  was  the  subject  of  a  special  article, 
fully  illustrated,  entitled  "  A  Model  Village  Library,"  in 
the  New  England  Magazine  fpr  February,  1890.  Views 
of  the  Easton,  Maiden,  and  Quincy  libraries,  as  well  as 
others  mentioned  here,  will  appear  in  connection  with 
other  articles  in  the  magazine,  which  is  the  reason  why  they 
are  not  here  inserted.  A  view  of  the  Manchester  library 
appeared  in  the  last  number  of  the  magazine.  The  pur- 
pose of  the  present  illustrations  is  not  to  show  the  finest 
library  buildings  in  the  state,  although  some  of  the  finest 
are  included,  so  much  as  the  various  types  of  buildings. — 
Editor. 


154 


THE    PUBLIC  LIBRARIES  OF  MASSACHUSETTS. 


tend  only  to  give  convenient  shelter  and 
shelving  for  books,  is  in  marked  contrast 
with  the  sumptuous  fittings  in  hard  woods 
marbles  and  metal,  the  luxurious  appoint- 


and  so  useful  in  its  object  lessons,  that  it 
is  strange  to  find  that  very  few  towns  have 
such  a  museum.  In  the  larger  cities, 
and  wherever  there  exist  local  historical, 


Public  Library,   Boston. 


ments  and  artistic  decorations  of  such 
memorial  halls  as  those  of  Manchester, 
Methuen,  Northampton,  and  Fitchburg. 
In  Barnstable,  Chelsea,  Duxbury,  and 
Gloucester,  private  residences  have  been 
adapted,  quite  successfully,  to  library 
uses,  the  spacious  grounds  about  them 
adding  a  charming  setting  too  often  lack- 
ing in  the  site  of  town  buildings.  The 
library  buildings  or  halls  in  twelve  towns 
—  Acton,  Andover,  Bridgewater,  Canton, 
Foxborough,  Framingham,  Lancaster, 
Leicester,  Milford,  Northampton,  North 
Reading,  and  Palmer  —  are  dedicated  to 
the  memory  of  the  soldiers  of  the  lo- 
cality who  gave  their  lives  for  their  coun- 
try in  the  Rebellion,  thus  appropriately 
serving  as  permanent  lessons  in  patriot- 
ism. Among  the  city  libraries,  a  few  of 
those  most  richly  endowed  by  the  bene- 
factions of  individuals  have  special  rooms 
devoted  to  art  collections.  The  most 
noteworthy  of  this  class  are  those  of 
Cambridge,  Fitchburg,  Woburn,  Maiden, 
Gloucester,  and  Pittsfield.  The  estab- 
lishment of  a  museum  accessory  to  the 
library,  containing  local  relics  illustrative 
of  New  England  domestic  life  in  colonial 
or  revolutionary  days,  miscellaneous  me- 
morials of  historic  persons,  events  or 
epochs,  and  cabinets  of  minerals,  birds, 
collections  from  all  the  departments  of 
Nature's  realms,  curiosities  from  foreign 
countries,  etc.,  offers  so  permanent  an 
attraction,  and    one    so    easily  attainable 


antiquarian,  or  scientific  societies,  the 
purposes  of  the  museum  are  best  served 
by  such  associations.  Thus  in  Deerfield, 
under  the  wise  and  enthusiastic  leader- 
ship of  the  Hon.  George  Sheldon,  the 
Pocumtuck  Valley  Memorial  Association 
has  accumulated  and  appropriately  pre- 
serves specimens  of  the  clothes,  furniture, 
farmer's  and  mechanic's  tools,  kitchen 
utensils,  weapons  of  war  and  chase,  prod- 
ucts of  home  industries,  scores  of  arti- 
cles such  as  now  are,  or  are  becoming, 
very  rare,  which  tell  of  vanished  customs, 
revolutionized  labor,  and  all  the  struggles 
and  economies  of  that  primitive  rural 
life  which  developed  New  England  patri- 
otism, wealth,  and  independence.  Such 
records  of  our  ancestors'  daily  thought  and 
work  disclose  a  mode  of  living  almost  as 
foreign  to  the  youth  of  to-day  as  the 
civilization  of  Pompeii,  or  the  commun- 
ism of  the  aboriginal  Nipmucs  ;  and  they 
have  not  only  their  anthropological  inter- 
est to  the  student,  but  a  patriotic  and 
educational  value  to  the  people  of  all 
classes.  For  the  unstudious  youth  they 
do  more  than  supplement  printed  history 
and  inherited  tradition,  —  they  "  create 
a  soul  under  the  ribs  of  death."  Little 
museums  of  greater  or  less  historic  and 
scientific  interest  add  to  the  perennial  at- 
tractiveness, and  sensibly  extend  the  use- 
fulness, of  the  libraries  in  Ashfield,  Becket, 
Bridgewater,  Hingham,  Lancaster,  Lex- 
ington, and  Wayland. 


THE  PUBLIC  LIBRARIES  OF  MASSACHUSETTS. 


155 


Besides  the  annual  expenditures  met 
by  appropriations  from  the  tax  levies, 
which  amount  to  about  $400,000,  the 
income  of  over  $2,000,000  in  endowment 
and  special  funds  is  available  for  the  pur- 
chase of  books  and  support  of  the  public 
libraries  of  Massachusetts.  The  number 
and  amount  of  endowment  funds,  no  less 
than  the  number  of  library  buildings 
which  have  been  erected  as  memorials 
of  individuals  or  families,  clearly  point 
to  the  fact  that  the  "  free  initiative," 
even  in  New  England,  is  not  always  the 
intelligent  vote  of  a  town-meeting  accept- 
ing a  financial  burden  for  the  public  good. 
Quite  as  often  it  is  the  generous  impulse 
of  some  individual,  one  resolved  to  jus- 
tify to  the  world  his  possession  of  super- 
abundant wealth,  or  who  seeks  to  secure 
for  himself  or  those  dear  to  him  grateful 
and  imperishable  remembrance.  En- 
dowments and  bequests  have  not  been 
more  numerous  than  might  have  been 
anticipated,  and  they  may  be  expected  to 
increase  as  wealth  and  taste  and  general 
culture  increase  ;  for  it  would  be  difficult 
to  imagine  a  cenotaph  more  permanently 
conspicuous,  and  yet  popularly  useful, 
than  that  assured  by  the  gift  of  a  memo- 
rial structure,  consecrated  in  the  donor's 
name  to  the  gathering  and  garnering  of 
deathless  relics  of  genius,  which  genera- 
tion after  generation  will  make  the  goal 
or  resting  place  of  their  daily  walks. 
The  name  of  Munroe  will  not  soon  fade 
from  the  people's  memory  in  Concord, 
nor  that  of  Winn  be  forgotten  in  Woburn. 
The  Ames  family  will  long  have  honor  in 
Easton,  the  Nevins  in  Methuen.  Con- 
verse will  ever  be  a  household  word  in 
Maiden,  Wallace  in  Fitchburg,  Clapp  in 
Belchertown,  Thayer  in  Braintree,  Wilde 
in  Acton,  Rindge  in  Cambridge,  Robbins 
in  Arlington,  Heywood  in  Gardner,  Gale 
and  Damon  in  Holden  ;  and  many  another 
name  has  won  undying  local  respect,  at 
least,  through  well-considered  beneficence. 

In  the  248  public  libraries  of  the  state 
referred  to  in  the  classification  previously 
given,  there  are  2,468,000  volumes, besides 
pamphlets ;  or  one  and  one-ninth  books 
for  each  man,  woman,  and  child  of  the 
248  towns  and  cities  owning  them.  The 
old  town  of  Lancaster  has  long  boasted 
possession   of   one   of   the   best  selected 


libraries  as  well  as  the  largest  library  in 
proportion  to  its  population  in  the  com- 
monwealth. It  now  has  11,776  pam- 
phlets and  21,585  bound  books — that 
is,  over  ten  bound  volumes  for  each  soul 
of  the  town.  It  has  an  annual  circulation 
in  between  six  and  seven  volumes  to  each 
inhabitant,  or  29  to  each  family.  This 
library  is  supported  chiefly  by  town  ap- 
propriations, but  has  trust  funds  amount- 
ing to  $8,200.  Phillipston's  free  library, 
with  5000  volumes,  ranks  next  in  ratio  of 
books  to  population,  having  also  about 
ten  bound  books  to  each  citizen.  This 
prominence  it  owes  in  part  to  the  endow- 
ment fund  of  $5,000  received  in  i860 
from  Jonathan  Phillips  —  for  the  town 
makes  no  appropriation  for  books  —  and 
partly  to  that  persistent  decrease  in  pop- 
ulation, which  is  so  sadly  universal  in 
exclusively  agricultural  towns  through 
which  no  railway  passes.  This  decrease 
for  the  period  of  thirty  years  is  over 
thirty-three  per  cent,  a  ratio  of  loss  ex- 
ceeded by  but  one  town  in  Worcester 
County,  and  by  but  very  few  in  the  state. 
In  Sudbury,  the  Goodnow  Library  having 
nearly  11,000  volumes,  the  ratio  is  about 
nine  books  to  each  inhabitant  of  the  town. 
An  endowment  fund  of  $20,000  gives  it 
this  rank,  as  the  income  of  this  only  is 
devoted  to  the  library's  maintenance. 
In  Cummington  the  Bryant  Free  Library 
has  over  eight  volumes  for  each  of  the 
inhabitants,  and  Nahant  shows  the  same 
proportion.  Bernardston,  with  a  fund  of 
$10,000,  has  six  volumes  to  each  soul; 
Concord  with  funds  amounting  to  $33,- 
000,  Wayland,  Petersham,  and  Tyngs- 
borough  have  each  five ;  Weston,  Little- 
ton, Lincoln,  Lexington,  and  Hubbards- 
ton  four  volumes  respectively  to  each  soul 
within  their  limits.  The  records  of  cir- 
culation are  very  defective,  and  it  is  not 
certain  that  a  uniform  method  of  reporting 
the  facts  has  been  adopted  by  librarians. 
Moreover  the  various  local  conditions 
affecting  the  public  use  of  privileges 
offered  are  important  factors  to  be  con- 
sidered. Hence  a  comparison  of  the 
statements  of  various  librarians  would  be 
of  very  doubtful  value.  It  may  be  in- 
ferred, in  a  general  way,  that  the  circum- 
stances most  favorable  to  a  large  home 
circulation  are  not  so  much  a  great  num- 


156 


THE  PUBLIC  LIBRARIES  OF  MASSACHUSETTS. 


ber  of  volumes  in  proportion  to  the  num- 
ber of  families  having  access  to  them,  or 
the  high  average  culture  of  the  people, 
but  a  concentration  of  population,  the 
frequent  accession  of  new  literature, 
opening  the  library  every  day  and  even- 
ing, and  a  liberal  recognition  of  the  pop- 
ular and  juvenile  tastes.  The  hill  town, 
with  its  widely  scattered  households  and 
a  library  which  is  open  only  on  Saturday 
afternoons  —  or,  as  is  reported  to  be  the 
fact  in  one  such  town,  like  the  Sabbath 
School  library  open  only  on  Sunday 
noons  —  with  seventy-five  per  cent,  per- 
haps, of  its  reading  matter  standard  au- 
thors antedating  the  last  war,  cannot 
expect  to  boast  a  circulation  of  books 
comparable  with  that  which  is  so  often 
reported  from  a  compact  village  where 
the  library,  with  its  cozy  reading-room 
attached,  is  open  three  hundred  days  in 
the  year,  and  fifty  per  cent  of  its  shel- 
ving is  devoted  to  the  latest  fiction,  illus- 
trated juveniles  and  periodicals.  Given 
a  thickly  settled  community  in  which 
youthful  humanity  predominates,  as  is 
often  the  case  in  a  manufacturing  town, 
and  all  that  is  necessary  in  order  to  ob- 
tain a  phenomenal  circulation  is  to  in- 
clude in  the  annual  accessions  an  undue 
proportion  of  sensational  or  flashy  novels. 
The  social  library  of  half  a  century  or 
more  ago  was  wont  to  assign  the  proprie- 
tors a  six  weeks'  lease  of  the  volume 
borrowed,  which  fact  gives  some  true 
indication  of  the  leisurely  manner  of 
reading  then  in  vogue,  a  manner  which 
the  book  devourers  of  to-day  may  at 
least  excuse,  for  the  culture  it  produced. 
Now  a  third  part  of  six  weeks  is  the 
longest  time  most  book  borrowers  desire 
for  the  conquest  of  an  octavo,  and  many 
librarians  restrict  the  loan  of  any  very 
popular  new  work  to  a  single  week.  By 
the  Baconian  dictum,  "  some  books  are 
to  be  tasted,  others  to  be  swallowed,  and 
some  few  to  be  chewed  and  digested." 
The  patrons  of  the  old  social  libraries 
mostly  read  to  digest,  but  in  the  free 
public  library  the  tasters  demand  most 
attention.  It  is  the  taster  that  swells  the 
circulation.  Fortunately,  from  this  class, 
by  the  normal  development  of  the  appe- 
tite for  reading  when  means  for  its  quali- 
fication are  accessible,  the  army  of  book 


lovers  and  students  of  literature  is  largely 
recruited. 

With  such  variety  in  the  administrative 
boards  as  the  classification  of  public  libra- 
ries before  given  discloses,  it  is  inevitable 
that  there  should  be  found  very  variable 
economy  of  management.  Those  trustees 
who  are  subject  to  the  jealous  watchful- 
ness of  the  tax  payer  are  less  likely  to 
be  wasteful  in  their  expenditure  of  mu- 
nicipal appropriations  than  those  who 
expend  the  income  of  private  endow- 
ments. Experience  also  tends  to  show 
that  the  library  wholly  under  municipal 
control  is  more  likely  to  be  popularly 
useful  than  the  one  independent  of  the 
town-meeting ;  and  though  the  literary 
standard  may  not  be  kept  quite  so  high 
as  it  would  be  by  an  incorporated  associ- 
ation, it  is  not  often  seriously  degraded. 
If,  as  occasionally  happens,  personal  ani- 
mosities or  local  politics  have  an  untoward 
influence  in  the  selection  of  trustees,  any 
check  from  this  cause  will  be  but  tem- 
porary. As  at  the  festival  of  Apollo  in 
Delos  of  old  all  hostile  thoughts  were 
banished  as  a  profanation  of  the  sacred 
rites,  and  Greek  and  Persian  reverentially 
joined  in  the  common  cult,  so  into  the  pub- 
lic library  the  fume  of  faction  rarely 
enters.  It  is  the  one  spot  sacred  to 
peace.  The  cost  of  administration  in 
the  smaller  towns  generally  seems  to  be 
reduced  to  its  lowest  terms,  while  among 
the  larger  municipalities  an  instance  can 
occasionally  be  found  where  but  a  meagre 
share  of  a  generous  appropriation  adds 
interest  or  weight  to  the  book  shelves 
and  reading  tables  j  an  extravagant  per 
centage  having  been  lavished  upon  need- 
lessly fine  catalogues  and  high-salaried  or 
numerous  assistants,  employed  in  the 
development  and  support  of  an  elaborate 
system,  where  simple,  inexpensive  meth- 
ods would  serve  the  public  as  well  or 
better.  Sometimes  a  year's  income,  or  a 
sum  that  would  give  from  five  hundred  to 
a  thousand  volumes  to  the  library,  is 
wasted  upon  the  printing  and  binding  of 
a  catalogue,  which  the  people  are  ex- 
pected to  purchase  at  cost,  but  which 
experience  proves  must  be  given  away, 
or  three-fourths  of  the  edition  will  remain 
stored  in  some  corner,  soon  to  become 
superannuated  and  about  as  useful  as  the 


THE  PUBLIC  LIBRARIES  OF  MASSACHUSETTS. 


157 


same  weight  of  last  year's  almanacs. 
Such  costly  enterprises,  if  undertaken  at 
all,  are  legitimate  only  in  libraries  the 
income  of  which  is  not  only  extraordinary 
but  derived  from  other  sources  than  tax- 
ation. The  card  catalogue,  with  manu- 
script lists  of  additions  posed,  in  the 
library,  and  cheaply  printed  annual  but- 
letins  of  accessions,  is  all  that  is  needfull 
in  the  majority  of  towns. 

In  the  cities,  the  question  of  opening 
the  library  on  Sunday  afternoons  is  one 
that  merits  and  has  excited  much  debate. 
The  Worcester  Free  Public  Library  was 
the  first  to  try  the  experiment  of  admit- 
ting the  people  to  its  reading-room  and 
to  the  use  of  books  for  reference,  on 
Sunday.  This  it  did  as  early  as  Decem- 
ber, 1872.  But  seven  other  cities  are 
known  to  have  followed  Worcester's  ex- 
ample. These  are  Boston,  Brockton, 
Chelsea,  New  Bedford,  Pittsfield,  Salem, 
and  Springfield.  The  town  of  Belmont, 
after  a  trial  of  about  eight  years,  has 
recently  abandoned  the  custom,  it  being 
the  unanimous  decision  of  the  trustees 
"  that  the  benefit  derived  by  the  public 
was  not  sufficient  to  warrant  the  expense 
incurred  in  the  employment  of  a  suitable 
care-taker."  In  Worcester,  every  Sun- 
day, from  two  hundred  to  three  hundred 
persons  avail  themselves  of  the  privileges 
extended  them,  and  the  resulting  benefit 
to  individuals  and  to  the  city  is  reported 
to  be  obvious  and  eminently  satisfactory. 

There  were  in  Massachusetts,  when  the 
first  report  of  the  Library  Commission 
was  published,  one  hundred  and  three 
towns  in  which  there  was  no  library  freely 
open  to  the  public.  But  of  these  towns 
Washington  has  coequal  rights  with 
Becket  in  the  library  and  reading-room 
known  as  the  Athenaeum,  in  the  latter 
locality ;  Bradford  has  an  association  in- 
corporated and  a  fund  accumulating  for 
the  purpose  of  establishing  a  free  library 
u  in  the  near  future";  Marshfield  has  a 
foundation  and  building  fund  for  library 
purposes,  which  will  become  available  in 
1892  ;  Brewster,  Nantucket,  and  Shel- 
burne  have  within  their  bounds  valuable 
libraries  now  open  to  the  public  upon 
payment  of  an  annual  fee.  Many  other 
towns  in  the  list  have  small  association 
libraries  supported  by  annual  payment  or 


subscriptions.  Thirty-five  have  at  their 
late  town  meetings  accepted  the  statute 
provisions  which  entitle  them  to  the  ap- 
propriation promised  from  the  state ;  and 
the  Free  Public  Library  Commissioners 
are  busy  in  the  work  of  studying  the 
peculiar  needs  and  local  conditions  of 
these  towns  —  for  each  furnishes  a  dis- 
tinct problem  —  and  have  already  col- 
lected and  forwarded  the  books  which  are 
to  constitute  the  foundations  of  28  new 
libraries.  The  total  population  of  the  103 
towns,  by  the  census  of  1890,  was  131,102. 
Only  11  of  them  had  a  population  of 
over  2,500  each,  and  52  had  less  than 
1,000  each.  Classed  by  counties,  19  are 
of  Berkshire,  13  of  Hampden,  11  of 
Hampshire,  10  of  Bristol,  9  of  Franklin, 
8  of  Essex,  7  of  Plymouth,  7  of  Barn- 
stable, 5  of  Norfolk,  5  out  of  the  6  towns 
of  Dukes,  4  of  Middlesex,  4  of  Worcester 
and  Nantucket.  A  majority  are  examples 
of  that  much-to-be-lamented  decadence  in 
prosperity  which  each  census  emphasizes 
anew  —  the  blight  that  threatens  the  in- 
dependent existence  of  those  smaller 
rural  towns  which  lie  on  the  hill  slopes 
away  from  the  great  highways  of  human 
intercourse,  or  possess  no  watercourses 
suitable  to  drive  the  wheels  of  manufac- 
ing  industries.  Several  are  coast  towns, 
without  harbors  to  entice  commerce  or  a 
soil  that  rewards  agriculture.  The  heart 
and  soul  of  these  little  democracies,  the 
native  youth,  year  by  year  are  wiled  away 
to  the  industrial  and  commercial  centres, 
leaving  a  heavier  burden  in  life  for  those 
remaining  behind  to  bear.  If  the  free 
library  is  an  added  inducement  to  con- 
tent in  the  young,  one  that  can  serve, 
even  in  the  smallest  degree,  to  restrain 
this  exodus  from  a  life  which  is  patriotism's 
best  school,  the  state's  small  expenditure 
in  its  behalf  is  made  in  pursuance  of  the 
wisest  policy. 

The  results  of  the  step  in  educational 
legislation  which  Massachusetts  has  taken 
in  advance  of  her  sister  commonwealths 
will  be  watched  with  great  interest  through- 
out the  republic.  Already  New  Hamp- 
shire and  New  York  have  taken  prelim- 
inary action  in  the  same  direction.  Others 
will  follow  if  the  success  here  equals  its 
present  promise ;  for  at  no  time  in  the 
history  of  the  republic  has  it  been  more 


158 


THE  PUBLIC  LIBRARIES  OF  MASSACHUSETTS. 


evident  that  the  permanency  of  our  in- 
stitutions and  national  character  rests 
upon  the  average  culture  of  the  people 
—  their  intelligence  in  the  management 
of  their  own  government.  That  culture 
must  be  self-culture  —  an  education  com- 
ing after  the  teachings  of  the  common 
schools,  wisdom  gained  by  experience 
of  life,  personal  labor  and  thought, 
aided  by  what  other  men  have  lived  and 
labored  and  thought,  as  it  has  been  told 
in  books.  The  free  public  library  becomes 
therefore  a  national  need,  to  create  and 
encourage  a  love  for  reading  as  one 
efficient  means  in  raising  the  standard  of 
public  intelligence.  Its  power  is  greater 
here  than  in  other  countries,  because  the 
free  school  has  fitted  all  classes  to  become 
readers,  and  all  are  ready  to  yield  to  the 
stimulus  and  enjoy  the  means  of  gratifica 
tion  when  set  before  them. 

To  attempt,  in  the  founding  of  free 
libraries,  to  impose  any  inflexible  plan 
upon  our  New  England  towns,  with  their 
varying  social  conditions,  would  be  neither 
easy  nor  judicious.  The  local  situation 
and  present  or  possible  heritage  affect 
even  the  proper  selection  of  a  list  of 
books.  But  there  are  certain  general 
principles  which  may  be  formulated, 
some  of  which  deserve  especial  considera- 
tion, from  the  fact  that  they  are  practically 
ignored  in  a  large  proportion  of  existing 
town  libraries.  Those  who  would  build 
wisely  a  free  library  in  the  average  rural 
village  will  begin  by  catering  to  the  ap- 
petites and  digestion  of  those  they  wish 
to  benefit.  They  will  aim  to  win  the 
attention  and  good-will  of  their  audience 
before  lecturing  it  about  the  higher  cul- 
ture. They  will  innocently  amuse  before 
too  anxiously  striving  to  instruct.  They 
will  try  to  entice  the  many  into  the  habit 
of  reading,  in  the  sure  hope  that  while 
the  moiety  may  never  rise  above  super- 
ficialities, a  few  will  acquire  sound  literary 
taste,  become  at  least  thinkers,  if  not 
scholars,  or  be  stimulated  to  noble. aims 
in  life  ;  while  all  will  be  stirred  to  greater 
mental  activity,  or  derive  pleasant  relief 
from  tedium  and  care.  From  its  founda- 
tion such  a  public  library  should  be 
especially  rich  in  lessons  of  patriotism 
directed  to  the  young ;  for  the  hope, 
the  very    life,  of  republican   institutions 


hang  upon  the  patriotic  enthusiasm  of  its 
youth. 

In  many  a  Massachusetts  town,  if  the 
student  seeks  for  full  details  of  its  early 
political  growth,  for  the  stories  of  its 
founders  and  military  or  civic  heroes, 
for  even  the  writings  of  its  dead  authors, 
unless  they  are  very  famous,  he  must 
go  to  the  musty  manuscript  archives 
at  the  state  house  and  county  re- 
gistry, and  to  the  great  granaries  of  the 
historical  and  antiquarian  societies, —  any- 
where but  to  the  shelves  of  the  town's 
own  library.  This  is  not  as  it  should  be. 
The  town  library  fails  in  one  of  the  most 
important  reasons  for  its  being,  if  it  does 
not  become  a  treasury  of  local  history 
and  biography,  a  popular  repository  of 
anything  procurable,  whether  printed 
page,  manuscript,  or  picture,  that  tells 
aught  of  the  trials  and  pluck  of  the  town's 
pioneers ;  that  serves  to  illustrate  the 
social,  intellectual,  and  religious  move- 
ments among  its  people  ;  that  preserves 
faithful  record  of  accidents  and  incidents, 
saying  and  doings,  amusements  and  in- 
dustries, manners  and  customs.  The 
garnering  of  such  local  matter  need  cost 
but  little.  The  most  valuable  part  of  it, 
perhaps,  will  be  gleanings  of  one  or  two 
enthusiastic  searchers  in  the  few  old 
attics  that  were  not  ravaged  during  the 
rebellion  to  feed  the  mordacious  paper 
mill.  From  a  dark  corner  in  such  a  gar- 
ret, not  many  months  ago,  was  brought  to 
light,  with  many  another  unique  local,  a 
parchment-bound  volume  of  ancient 
parish  records,  inestimable  in  value  to 
town  and  church  history.  But  the  bulk 
of  discoveries  will  be  of  "  unconsidered 
trifles."  Even  these  rarely  fail  to  tell 
something  about  the  lives,  thoughts,  or 
deeds  of  the  Fathers.  And  what  is  his- 
tory, whether  it  be  of  town  or  of  an  age, 
but  a  procession  of  trifles  seen  from  an 
exalted  standpoint?  A  chronologically 
arranged  collection  of  olden-time  waifs 
and  estrays,  such  as  can  be  gathered  by  a 
little,  well-directed  diligence  in  any  old 
town,  will  prove  of  more  abiding  interest 
in  a  town  library  than  most  modern 
novels,  besides  subserving  more  useful 
purpose,  as  a  mirror  reflecting  the  man- 
ners of  the  past  far  more  clearly  than 
many  a  solid  octavo.     A  like  collection 


WHEN  THOU  ART  FAR  FROM  ME. 


159 


of  ephemeral  printed  locals  of  the  day, 
judiciously  preserved  from  the  waste- 
basket,  will  grow  more  and  more  valuable 
with  the  march  of  years,  and  a  century 
hence  rank  as  historic  treasure.  It  is  a 
good  rule  to  accept  every  gift  of  book  or 
pamphlet  offered.  Pamphlets  can  be 
simply  classified  and  tied  in  bundles,  or 
kept  in  pasteboard  boxes.  Duplicates 
can  be  made  very  useful  by  exchanges 
with  other  libraries.  The  worthless  or 
worse  can  be  condemned  to  their  proper 
limbo ;  but  there  should  be  a  conserva- 
tive hesitation  in  even  classing  things 
merely  trivial  as  worthless.  Books  of  the 
controversial  type,  if  given  place,  should 
always   come    by   gift,  not   by   purchase 


from  the  tax  paid  by  the  people.  The 
reading  public  will,  directly  or  indirectly, 
dictate  in  some  degree  what  books  shall 
be  bought  for  their  free  library ;  but  for 
every  two  or  three  shelves  filled  by  pur- 
chase, another  will  be  needed  for  gifts 
and  gleanings,  if  the  librarian  and  trustees 
in  charge  are  properly  enthusiastic  and 
wise  in  their  work.  But  diligence  in 
accumulation  is  of  less  importance  than 
discretion  in  the  choice  of  books.  For 
the  builders  of  the  town  library  should 
never  forget  that  it  is  a  part  of  the 
American  scheme  of  free  education ;  it 
is  to  become,  in  the  prophetic  words  of 
George  Ticknor,  "  the  crowning  glory  of 
our  public  schools." 


WHEN  THOU  ART  FAR  FROM  ME. 

By  Philip  Bourke  Mars  ton. 


WHEN  thou  art  far  from  me,  while  days  go  by 
In  which  I  may  not  hear  thy  voice  divine, 
Or  kiss  thy  lips,  or  take  thy  hand  in  mine, 
I  walk  as  'neath  a  dark  and  hostile  sky. 
And  the  Spring  winds  seem  void  of  prophecy, 
Nor  is  there  any  cheer  in  the  sun's  shine, 
But  present  Grief  and  future  Fear  combine 
To  overthrow  me,  when  on  Love  I  cry. 
I  am  as  one  who  through  an  alien  town 

Journeys  alone,  some  wild  and  wintry  night, 
And  from  the  windows  sees  warm  light  stream  down, 

While  for  the  wanderer  is  no  heat  nor  light  — 
But  far,  far  off,  he  has  a  lordlier  home, 
Whereto,  one  day,  his  weary  feet  shall  come. 


NEWBURYPORT. 


£1 


By  Ethel  Par  ton. 


HIRTY  years  ago, 
Doctor  Holmes,  in  the 
opening  chapters  of 
"  Elsie  Venner,"  gave 
the  public  a  delightful 
description  of  the  three 
old  towns,  each  with  a 
port  in  its  name,  which 
lie  in  line  with  one 
another  on  the  New 
England  coast  as  the 
traveller  goes  down 
East  —  Newburyport, 
Portsmouth,  and  Port- 
land. Mellow  with  age,  blessed  with  fine 
square  mansions  and  sunny  gardens,  he 
found  in  them  a  certain  Oriental  char- 
acter in  common ;  while  about  the  two 
first  named  there  hung  besides  a  glamour 
of  departed  greatness  and  of  the  social 
state  and  magnificence  which  belonged 
to  the  day  of  cocked  hats  and  foreign 
commerce. 

In  Newburyport,  the  first  of  Doctor 
Holmes's  trio,  the  era  of  the  city's  great- 
est prosperity  is  doubtless  also  that  of  its 
highest  historic  interest ;  nevertheless, 
the  local  annals  are  not  without  interest 
from  the  first,  and  there  remain  relics  of 
a  very  early  date  as  fine  in  their  way  as 


the  imposing  homes  of  the  old-time  mer- 
chants. 

The  colony  of  Newbury  was  founded 
in  1635  by  a  band  of  settlers  who  came 
from  Ipswich,  where  they  had  passed  the 
winter,  by  boat,  landing  upon  the  bank 
of  the  little  river  Parker,  some  miles 
south  of  the  Merrimac,  along  the  shores 
of  which  extends  the  city  of  to-day. 
Here  they  built  their  first  meeting-house 
on  a  spot  which  they  expected  would 
become  the  central  point  of  the  settle- 
ment, and  around  it,  within  a  radius  of 
half  a  mile  —  a  further  distance  being 
prohibited  on  account  of  danger  from 
the  Indians  —  were  clustered  the  first 
homes  of  the  colonists.  The  site  was  no 
doubt  selected  on  account  of  the  abun- 
dance of  meadow  land  for  pasturage, 
being  surrounded  on  three  sides  by  salt 
marshes  which  extended  far  up  the  course 
of  the  river,  along  its  creeks,  and  from 
its  mouth  to  that  of  the  Merrimac,  sep- 
arated from  the  sea  only  by  a  low  range 
of  sand  hills.  Other  settlers  joined  them 
within  a  few  months,  and  the  number  of 
cattle  owned  among  them  was  so  large 
that  for  the  first  few  years  the  salt  marsh 
was  almost  essertial  to  the  existence  of 
the  community.     But  a  few  years    later, 


^#t^  ^mm&zms^ 


Parker  River   Bridge. 


NE  WB  UR  YPORT. 


161 


feeling    the     necessity    for    more    good  few  years  ago  found  there  a  secret  closet, 

ploughing    land    and    accessible    fencing  built  into  the  substance  of  the  structure 

stuff,  the  majority  of  the  colonists  deter-  itself,  with  no  access  from  any  story,  in 

mined  upon  removal,  selecting  this  time  such    a   way    that    it    could    have    been 


The  Old  Stone  House. 


a  spot  a  short  distance  from  the  Mer- 
rimac  around  a  little  green  which  still 
marks  the  lower  end  of  the  town.  With 
them  came  their  minister,  the  Rev. 
Thomas  Parker,  a  person  of  much  note 
in  his  day,  in  whose  honor  the  settlement 
had  been  named,  —  he  having  been  for 
some  time  minister  in  Newbury,  England, 
before  coming  to  Massachusetts.  He 
took  up  his  abode  in  the  new  house 
erected  for  his  nephew,  the  Rev.  James 
Noyes,  who  had  been  chosen  teacher  to 
the  community  at  the  same  time  that  his 
uncle  was  chosen  pastor ;  and  this  house, 
the  oldest  in  Newbury  is  still  standing, 
its  inmates  being  sixth  in  descent  from 
the  original  owner. 

It  is  a  well-preserved  and  dignified  old 
house,  time-stained,  and  with  a  sharply 
sloping  roof,  yet  wearing  its  antiquity 
unobtrusively.  Within,  it  is  full  of  the  odd- 
ity, unevenness,  and  unexpectedness  which 
make  the  charm  of  so  many  ancient 
houses.  But  its  glory  is  its  chimney. 
This  is  a  mighty  structure  of  brick,  mea- 
suring twelve  feet  square  and  looking 
large  enough  for  a  small  house  in  itself. 
Workmen  busy  at  some  repairs  about  it  a 


reached  only  from  the  cellar.  No  one 
for  many  years  had  known  of  its  exist- 
ence, but  it  was  doubtless  designed  as  a 
hiding-place  for  gold  or  valuables,  perhaps 
in  case  of  Indian  raids.  Nothing  there 
hidden  could  have  been  found,  though 
the  house  were  ransacked  by  the  keenest 
enemy  or  even  burned  to  the  ground. 
The  old  Noyes  house  is  244  years  old. 
Several  other  houses  remain  of  a  date  but 


The  Noyes  House. 


162 


NE  WB  UR  YPORT. 


The  Coffin   House. 


a  few  years  later,  and  of  these  the  most 
interesting  are  perhaps  the  Stone  House 
and  the  old  Coffin  house.  This  latter  is 
a  picturesque  dark  building  set  a  little 
back  from  the  street,  the  particular  boast 
of  which  is  two  hearths  adorned  with 
small,  square  Dutch  tiles,  upon  which  are 
represented  Scripture  scenes  in  blue,  the 
quaintest  depicting  Jonah,  just  delivered 
up,  seated  on  the  shore  gazing  at  a  whale 

—  of  a  species  unknown  to  natural  history 

—  whose  ferocious  jaws  are  provided  with 
teeth  like  an  alligator's.  The  Stone 
House,  or  old  garrison-house,  stands  by 
itself  at  the  head  of  a  green  lane.  It 
is  a  building  delightful  to   the   eye,  both 


Jonah  and  the  Whale  — Tile  in  the  Coffin   Hous 


within  and  without,  its  chief  exterior 
beauty  being  its  deep  and  hospitable 
porch  with  great  rough  doorstone,  arched 
doorway  and  overhanging  vines.  The 
place  was  formerly  called  the  Pierce 
Farm,  and  belonged  to  the  ancestors  of 
President  Pierce.  The  town  at  one  time 
stored  its  powder  here,  and  the  old  rec- 
ords relate  that  an  explosion  once  oc- 
curred which  blew  out  one  end  of  the 
house  and  landed  an  old  negro  woman 
in  her  bed,  safe,  but  astonished,  among 
the  boughs  of  an  apple  tree. 

The  history  of  old  Newbury  cannot 
be  called  eventful,  but  even  its  triviali- 
ties —  as  they  now  seem  —  make  pleasant 
reading.  Aquilla  Chase  and  his  wife 
are  presented  and  admonished  for  pick- 
ing peas  on  the  Sabbath  day.  Elizabeth 
Randall  is  presented  for  using  reproach- 
ful language  to  Goody  Silver,  whom  she 
so  far  forgot  herself  as  to  call  a  "  base 
lieing  divell,"  "tode"  and  "  sow."  A 
jury  of  twelve  women  hold  an  inquest  on 
the  body  of  one  Elizabeth  Hunt  and 
return  a  verdict  that  the  death  of  "  the 
said  Elizabeth  was  not  by  any  violens  or 
wrong  dun  to  her  by  any  parson  or  thing 
but  by  som  soden  stoping  of  her  breath." 
There  are  many  entries  concerning  earth- 
quakes, which  come  frequently  "  with  a 
great  roreing  noise"  and  cause  much 
terror,  but  do  no  harm.  The  weather  is 
faithfully  recorded,  and    there    is    some- 


NE  WB  UR  YPOR  T. 


163 


thing  pathetic  in  such  an  entry  as  this  of 
January  24,  1686  :  "So  cold  that  ye  sac- 
ramental bread  is  frozen  pretty  hard  and 
rattles  sadly  into  ye  plates."  A  differ- 
ence between  the  Rev.  Mr.  Parker  and 
his  flock  upon  a  matter  of  church  govern- 
ment stirs  the  community  to  its  very 
depth  and  calls  forth  interminable  letters, 
protests,  explanations,  decisions,  and  ap- 
peals from  decisions.  Mingled  with  all 
this  are  the  records  of  crops,  the  appor- 
tionment   of    land,    and    all    the    careful 


reprieved  and  afterwards  set  free.  During 
the  three  years  of  Sir  Edmund  Andros's 
rule  the  townsfolk  keenly  resented  the 
tyrannical  restraints  imposed  upon  them ; 
and  there  is  a  tradition  that  when  the 
rumor  came  of  the  uprising  against  him. 
Samuel  Bartlet,  the  village  basket-maker 
and  fiddler,  was  so  eager  to  have  a  hand 
in  his  overthrow  that  he  flung  himself  on 
his  horse  with  his  long  sword  hanging  to 
the  ground  and  rode  full  speed  to  Bos- 
ton, the  steel  tip  as  it  struck  against  the 


The  Old    Elm   of  Newbury. 


business   routine    of   a   growing  town   in 
the  olden  time. 

Here  and  there  occur  items  connect- 
ing the  village  life  with  the  larger  spiritual 
and  political  movements  of  the  country, 
as  that  which  notes  how  Robert  Pike  is 
disfranchised  and  fined  twenty  marks  for 
maintaining  the  right  of  Quakers  to  preach  ; 
or  that  relating  how  the  young  Quakeress, 
Lydia  Wardwell,  is  "severely  whipt  "  for 
appearing  naked  in  Newbury  meeting- 
house as  a  sign  to  the  ungodly.  More- 
over, the  town  had  a  case  of  witchcraft 
of  its  own,  and  its  witch,  one  Goody 
Morse,  was  actually  tried  and  sentenced 
to  death  several  years  before  the  great 
outbreak  of  the  witchcraft  delusion  at 
Salem ;  but  through  the  persistent 
efforts  of  her  husband,  and  the  cle- 
mency of  Governor  Bradstreet,  she   was 


stones  in  the  road  leaving  a  trail  of  fire 
behind  him  all  the  way. 

The  home  life  of  the  people  was  for 
many  years  simple,  primitive,  and  im- 
mensely laborious.  There  was  little 
variety  of  trade.  Most  of  the  citizens 
were  farmers,  whose  day's  work  began 
at  dawn  and  ended,  sometimes,  at  dark ; 
though  often  there  was  husking  to  be 
done  by  the  light  of  the  moon  or  of  lan- 
terns hung  in  the  barn,  or  the  mending 
of  harness  and  repairing  of  implements 
beside  the  hearth,  where  the  women  sat 
at  their  sewing  or  spinning.  The  farmers 
wore  homespun  clothes,  and  once  a  year 
the  tailor  with  his  goose  went  from  house 
to  house,  staying  a  few  days  at  each. 
The  wives  and  daughters  were  notable 
needlewomen,  and  the  outfit  of  a  bride 
was  expected  to  be  proof  of  the  skill  of 


164 


NE  WB  UR  YPOR  T. 


"%m 


Nathaniel  Tracy. 

her  hands.  A  bride  who  could  afford  to 
have  her  wedding  gown  brought  from 
England  was  looked  upon  with  awe  and 
envy,  and  her  children  were  allowed 
peeps  at  the  treasured  garment  as  a 
special  treat  in  after  years.  There  were 
few  festivals  to  break  the  year-long  round 
of  toil,  and  these  were  celebrated  with 
hearty  eating,  vigorous  dancing,  rather  too 
much  rum  and  hard  cider,  and  no  attempt 
at  elegance  beyond  muslin  gowns  and 
extra  candles. 


House  of  W.  R.  Johnson,  where  Tracy  entertained  Tallyrand. 


Such  was  the  little  town,  sturdy  and 
primitive,  dependent  upon  the  soil. 
Very  different  was  the  city  which  grew 
from  it  and  absorbed  it  a  few  years  later, 
rich,  prosperous,  powerful,  conscious  of 
its  importance,  and  not  without  a  sober 
magnificence,  finding  the  source  of  its 
wealth  not  in  the  soil,  but  in  the  sea,  and 
lands  beyond  the  sea. 

The  change  came  about  naturally 
through  the  altered  situation  of  the 
town  itself,  which,  uncoiling  as  it  were 
from  the  original  little  knot  of  houses 
nestled  between  salt  marshes  and  inland 
fields,  had  crept  slowly  toward  the  Mer- 
rimac,  and  now  lay  stretched  at  length 
along  its  shore  with  the  harbor  bar  close 
in  sight,  and  the  sound  of  waves  heard  in 
its  streets  whenever  the  wind  blew  from 
the  east.  Commerce  became  the  main- 
stay of  the  inhabitants.  Ship-yards  were 
established  and  shipbuilding  became  a 
thriving  industry.  During  the  Revolu- 
tion, armed  vessels  were  built  in  the  town 
by  government  order.  Privateers  swarmed 
out  of  the  port  and  rendered  good  ser- 
vice to  their  country,  besides  bringing 
rich  profit  to  their  owners.  There  were 
gay  scenes  on  the  wharves  when  the 
townsfolk  gathered  to  witness  the  arrival 
of  prizes  or  the  return  of  one  of  their 
own  victorious  vessels.  An  English  ship, 
the  Friends,  from  London 
for  Boston,  was  captured  by 
stratagem  at  the  mouth  of 
the  river  within  view  of  the 
town.  A  native  of  the  place, 
Captain  Ofrm  Boardman,  hav- 
ing guessed  from  her  move- 
ments that  she  was  mistaken 
in  her  course,  put  off  with 
seventeen  companions  to 
take  advantage  of  her  error. 
Hailing  her  and  finding  that 
she  supposed  herself  to  be  off 
Boston  Harbor,  they  offered 
their  services  to  pilot  her  in  : 
but  no  sooner  were  they  al- 
lowed to  come  on  board 
and  gathered  with  their  arms 
on  deck  than  Captain  Board- 
man  ordered  the  ship's  colors 
to  be  struck.  Taken  entirely 
by  surprise,  and  most  of  his 
crew  being  forward,  the  Eng- 


NEWBURYPORT. 


165 


lish  captain  could  but  comply,  and  his 
vessel,  which  was  well  armed  and  proved 
to  be  loaded  with  coal,  wine,  vinegar, 
and  live  hogs  for  the  use  of  the  British 
troops  in  Boston,  was  brought  into  port 
amidst  great  rejoicings.  But  this  was 
an  exceptional  event.  Most  of  the 
prizes    brought    in   were    won  by    hard 


mouth,  England,  where  many  of  them 
remained  two  or  three  years.  Nor  were 
these  the  only  prisoners  from  the  patriotic 
port,  since  there  were  Newburyport  men 
in  the  crews  of  vessels  hailing  from  other 
places,  a  large  number  of  whom  endured 
cruel  experience  of  British  prisons  and 
prison     ships.      Among     the     Plymouth 


The  Clam    Houses  at  Joppa. 


fighting,  and  often  against  heavy  odds, 
the  privateers  being  frequently  absurdly 
small  and  ill-equipped.  It  was  customary 
to  put  up  prayers  in  the  churches  at  their 
sailing,  and  there  is  a  characteristic  blend- 
ing of  audacity,  anxiety,  and  piety  in  the 
note  sent  up  to  the  pulpit  by  the  captain 
of  a  little  twenty-five  tonf  sloop,  the  Game 
Cock,  carrying  four  swivels  and  a  handful 
of  men,  requesting  the  congregation  to 
pray  for  his  success  in  "  scouring  the 
coast  of  our  unnatural  enemies." 

There  was,  unhappily,  a  dark  side  to  this 
brilliant  picture.  Twenty-two  vessels, 
carrying  a  thousand  men,  left  Newbury- 
port during  these  eventful  years,  and  were 
never  afterwards  heard  from,  some  per- 
ishing no  doubt  from  storm  or  wreck, 
while  others  were  sunk  or  burned  in 
combat.  Many  more  were  lost  and  their 
fate  known.  The  entire  crews  of  two 
Newburyport  privateers  were  consigned 
to   the    famous  Old  Mill    prison  at   Ply- 


prisoners  were  the  three  brothers,  Henry, 
Cutting,  and  Daniel  Lunt,  of  whom  the 
two  former  were  afterwards  lieutenants 
under  the  command  of  Paul  Jones  on 
board  the  Bonhomme  Richard.  Henry 
Lunt  tried  twice  to  escape,  and  in  one 
attempt  was  severely  wounded  in  striving 
to  force  himself  through  an  iron  grating, 
yet  on  his  recapture  he  was  punished  by 
being  thrown  into  the  "black  hole"  of 
the  prison,  and  no  care  given  his  wound 
until  mortification  set  in,  and  he  nearly 
lost  his  life.  He  obtained  his  liberty  at 
last  with  many  others  through  the  efforts 
of  Benjamin  Franklin  in  negotiating  the 
exchange  of  prisoners.  A  fourth  brother 
of  this  family,  Ezra,  it  may  be  added, 
was  a  captain  in  the  army  and  was  close 
beside  General  Lee  at  the  battle  of  Mon- 
mouth, and  within  hearing  of  the  words 
addressed  to  him  by  Cxeneral  Washington 
when  he  rode  up  in  his  historic  rage  and 
saved  the  day. 


166 


NEWBURYPORT. 


Launch  of  the  "  R.  S.  Spofford. 


But  perhaps  the  most  picturesque 
figure,  and  certainly  one  of  the  most 
important  in  Newburyport  during  the 
Revolution  was  that  of  Nathaniel  Tracy, 
a  rich  merchant  of  the  place  who  ven- 
tured all  his  fortune  on  the  sea.  It  was 
he  who  owned  and  sent  out  of  Newbury- 
port Harbor  in  August,  1775,  the  first 
privateer  fitted  out  in  the  United  States. 
Between  that  time  and  1783  he  was 
chief  owner  of  no  merchant  vessels, 
valued  with  their  cargoes  at  $2,733,300; 
23  of  these  were  letters-of-marque, 
mounting  298  guns,  and  registering  over 
1,600  men.    During    the    same    time    he 


On  the  Landing  at  Joppa. 


was  also  principal  owner  of  24  cruising 
ships,  carrying  340  guns,  and  nearly  3000 
men.  At  the  end  of  the  war  there  re- 
mained of  his  fleet  of  merchantmen  but 
13  vessels.  Of  the  24  cruisers  but  1  was 
left ;  but  he  could  show  for  them  a 
record  of  120  vessels  taken  from  the 
enemy,  with  2225  prisoners  of  war; 
while  the  sale  of  these  vessels  and 
their  cargoes  had  brought  $3,950,000  in 
specie,  of  which  Mr.  Tracy  gave  more 
than  $1,670,000  for  various  public  uses. 
Surely  his  cruisers,  before  they  were  lost, 
captured,  or  destroyed,  had  amply  ful- 
filled their  mission  toward  their  country. 
But  the  fortunes  of 
-1  their  generous  owner 
never  recovered 
from  the  shock  of  so 
many  and  such  heavy 
losses. 

He  was  indeed  a 
merchant  prince, 
both  liberal  and  mag- 
nificent. He  pos- 
sessed a  town  house 
and  country  seats. 
He  had  beautiful 
gardens,  shrubbery, 
hot-houses,  and  arti- 
ficial fish-ponds. 
He  must  have  also 
owned  lands  beyond 
the  bounds  of  his 
native    citv.     for     it 


2r:*-  --^1 


NE  WB  UR  YPORT. 


167 


used  to  be  said  of  him  that  he  could 
travel  to  Virginia  and  sleep  every  night 
beneath  his  own  roof-tree.  He  kept 
fine  horses  with  splendid  equipages  and 


is  composed  of  different  terraces.  There 
is  likewise  a  hot-house  and  a  number  of 
young  trees.  The  house  is  handsome 
and  well  finished,  and  everything  breathes 


Curson's  Mill. 


liveries.  His  wife  wore  notable  laces 
and  embroideries,  and  they  entertained 
with  lavish  hospitality.  His  house  was 
provided  with  a  deep,  cool  wine-cellar 
—  such  as  many  Newburyport  houses 
can  still  show,  although  the  visitor  who 
to-day  peeps  into  their  dark  recesses 
is  not  likely  to  behold  there  aught  but 
empty  blackness  and  ancient  cobwebs ; 
and  it  is  related  that  Mr.  Tracy  on 
one  occasion  caught  two  of  his  negroes 
in  this  sacred  precinct,  one  with  a  lifted 
silver  goblet  in  his  hand,  filled  to  the 
brim  with  rare  old  wine  in  which  he 
was  just  about  to  drink  to  better  times. 
Another  very  different  anecdote  reminds 
us  of  this  same  cellar  and  its  contents. 
Talleyrand,  during  his  stay  in  the  city  in 
1780,  spent  an  evening  in  the  Tracy 
household,  with  his  friend  the  Marquis  de 
Chastellux  and  two  other  distinguished 
French  gentlemen.  The  Marquis  has 
left  a  record  of  their  visit. 

"This  is  in  a  very  beautiful  situation," 
he  says,  speaking  of  the  house,  "but  of 
that  I  could  myself  form  no  judgment,  as 
it  was  already  night.  I  went,  however, 
by  moonlight   to   see   the   garden,  which 


that  air  of  magnificence  accompanied 
with  simplicity  which  is  to  be  found  only 
among  merchants.  The  evening  passed 
rapidly  by  the  aid  of  agreeable  conversa- 
tion and  a  few  glasses  of  punch.  ...  At 
ten  o'clock  an  excellent  supper  was  served. 
We  drank  good  wine,  Miss  Lee  sang,  and 
prevailed  upon  Messrs.  Talleyrand  and  de 
Vaudreuil  to  sing  also.  Towards  mid- 
night the  ladies  withdrew,  but  we  con- 
tinued drinking  Madeira  and  Xery.     Mr. 


Tracy,  according 
country,  offered 
accepted  by  M. 
de  Talleyrand 
and  M.  de  Mon- 
tesquieu, the 
consequence  of 
which  was  that 
they  became  in- 
toxicated and 
were  led  home, 
where  they  were 
happy  to  get  to 
bed.  As  to  my- 
self, I  remained 
perfectly  cool, 
and      continued 


to   the   custom  of  the 
us    pipes,    which    were 


Lord  Timothy   Dexter. 

FROM    AN    OLD    PRINT. 


168 


NEWBURYPORT. 


to  converse    on   trade    and    politics  with 
Mr.  Tracy." 

It  may  have  been  the  pipes  that  so 
overcame  M.  de  Talleyrand  and  his 
friend,  but  I  think  we  may  doubt  it  with- 
out uncharitableness,  since  it  was  then  no 


The  Old  South  Church,  and   Birthplace  of  William   Lloyd   Garrison 


very  uncommon  occurrence  for  natives 
of  the  place,  bred  up  in  that  custom  of 
the  country,  to  suffer  in  the  same  way. 

Nor  was  Mr.  Tracy's  establishment  by 
any  means  the  only  one  conducted  on  a 
magnificent  scale.  The  wife  of  Tristram 
Dalton,  another  wealthy  merchant  and 
the  first  Massachusetts  senator,  "  rode 
out  bride "  in  a  coach  with  six  white 
horses  decorated  with  wedding  favors, 
coachmen  and  footmen  in  brilliant  new 
liveries,  and  accompanied  by  four  out- 
riders. His  return  from  the  seat  of  gov- 
ernment with  his  family  was  announced 


as  that  of  "The  Hon.  Tristram  Dalton, 
lady,  and  suite."  Newspapers  of  the 
day  contain  advertisements  of  porters, 
gardeners,  waiters,  skilled  ladies'  maids, 
and  others  whose  services  are  required  only 
where  life  is  carried  on  liberally  and 
r luxuriously.  Teach- 
ers of  dancing  and 
fencing  were  in  re- 
quest. Dinners, 
balls,  and  other  fes- 
tivities were  fre- 
quent, and  beside 
private  entertain- 
ments the  city 
boasted  an  elegant 
assembly-room  with 
parlors  and  draw- 
ing-rooms attached, 
where  the  beaux 
and  belles  displayed 
their  grace,  their 
laces,  and  their 
French  velvets  on 
the  dancing  floor, 
while  their  elders 
played  at  cards. 
Jellies,  fruit,  cakes, 
wines,  and  hot 
punch  were  the 
favorite  evening 
refreshments,  with 
the  "whips"  of 
delicately  flavored 
cream  which  pre- 
ceded the  introduc- 
tion of  ices.  Sylla- 
bub, an  earlier  fav- 
orite, a  mixture  of 
milk,  wine,  sugar, 
and  spice,  served 
from  a  glass  bowl  standing  upon  a  little 
square  table  made  for  the  purpose,  had 
not  wholly  gone  out  of  fashion,  though  its 
place  was  being  rapidly  usurped  by  tea. 
The  costumes  were  often  of  great  rich- 
ness, the  finest  fabrics  being  especially 
brought  from  Paris  and  Lyons  to  the 
ladies  of  the  Port. 

Nor  was  this  society  brilliant  merely  in 
an  external  sense.  There  was  a  small 
proportion  of  roystering  young  blades 
whose  antics  met  with  more  toleration 
than  would  be  granted  them  now,  while 
it   was    considered    one    of  the    plainest 


NE  WB  UR  YPORT. 


169 


rules  of  friendly  courtesy  to  overlook  en- 
tirely the  occasional  excesses  at  festal 
times  of  gentlemen  of  sedater  character. 
But  during  the  twenty-five  years  of  the 
city's  great  prosperity,  the  open-handed 
patriots,  Tracy  and  Dalton,  were  but  two 
in  a  group  of  notable  men,  among  whom 
were  numbered  Theophilus  Parsons,  in 
whose  office  were  the  three  brilliant  young 
students,  Rufus  King,  Robert  Treat  Paine, 
and  John  Quincy  Adams,  studying  law  at 
the  same  time ;  the  Rev.  Edward  Bass, 
afterwards  first  bishop  of  Massachusetts ; 
Theophilus  Bradbury,  judge  and  member 
of  Congress ;  Jona- 
than Jackson,  long 
in  the  public  ser- 
vice ;  Ralph  and 
Stephen  Cross,  ship- 
builders and  patri- 
ots ;  and  Jacob 
Perkins,  the  inven- 
tor, then  employed 
in  making  for  the 
government,  dies  for 
the  stamping  of  coin, 
and  plates  for  stere- 
otyping bank  bills. 
Other  rich  and  gen- 
erous merchants 
there  were  too,  and 
always  a  sprinkling 
of  fine  old  sea  cap- 
tains and  dashing 
young  officers,  at 
home  for  a  sight  of 
wife  or  sweetheart 
between  two  priva- 
teering trips  or  mer- 
chant voyages. 

The  first  of  the 
series  of  disasters 
that  befell  the  thriv- 
ing city — the  third 
in  Massachusetts, 
only  Boston  and 
Salem  outranking  it 
in  importance — was 
great    and     sudden. 

The  Embargo  was  proclaimed  in  De- 
cember, 1807  ;  the  city's  trade  was 
soon  reduced  to  a  few  coasters  and 
smugglers ;  the  wharves  were  lined  with 
idle  ships  and  crowded  with  muttering 
sailors ;    the   sound    of  hammers    ceased 


in  the  ship-yards,  and  snow  drifted  win- 
ter long  through  the  ribs  of  unfinished 
vessels  on  the  stocks.  The  first  anni- 
versary of  the  issue  of  the  Act  of  Em- 
bargo was  signalized  by  the  tolling  of 
bells,  firing  of  minute  guns  and  hanging 
of  flags  at  half  mast.  A  procession  of 
sailors  with  crape  on  their  arms  marched 
to  the  sound  of  muffled  drums,  escorting 
a  dismantled  ship  on  a  cart,  bearing  a 
flag  inscribed  "  Death  to  Commerce." 
A  young  man  dressed  like  an  old  sailor 
stood  on  the  quarter  deck  with  a  spy- 
glass   in    his    hand,  beside  whom  was   a 


The  Whitefield   Cenotaph. 

painted  motto,  "  Which  way  shall  I  steer?" 
Every  little  while  he  cast  the  lead,  as  if 
taking  soundings  among  shoals,  and  on 
arriving  opposite  the  Custom  House  the 
car  was  halted  and  he  made  a  speech  re- 
flecting severely  upon  the  Government. 


170 


NE  WB  UR  YPORT. 


Four  years  later  occurred  the  great 
fire  of  Newburyport,  which  swept  away 
in  a  night  the  very  heart  of  the  city, 
clearing  a  tract  of  sixteen  and  a  half 
acres  and  consuming  nearly  two  hundred 
and  fifty  buildings,  many  of  them  among 
the  most  valuable  in  the  place.  The  loss 
was  about  a  million  —  not  very  terrible  in 
this  day  of  treble  and  quintuple  million- 
naires,  but  a  calamity  of  appalling  mag- 
nitude in  that  more  moderate  time. 
Prompt  and  generous  help  was  sent  from 
cities,  religious  societies,  and  individuals, 
the  city  of  Boston  leading  with  $24,000. 
One  of  the  best-remembered  gifts  was 
that  of  the  Shaker  communities  of  New 
Hampshire  who  sent  five  wagon  loads  of 
wisely  selected  goods  —  food,  clothing, 
bedding  and  the  like  —  such  as  were 
among  the  first  needs  of  the  burned-out 
citizens.  On  the  road  a  driver  of  one 
of  the   loads  was   asked  to  sell  some   of 


it  was  the  accident  of  his  thus  losing  his 
employment  which  caused  him  to  leave 
the  town  and  enter  elsewhere  upon  that 
career  with  which  the  world  is  familiar. 

Following  close  upon  the  fire  came  the 
War  of  181 2.  Disapproved  throughout 
New  England,  it  was  nowhere  more  hear- 
tily detested  than  in  Newburyport.  An 
adventurous  minority,  it  is  true,  saw  in  it 
a  chance  for  further  privateering,  and 
some  very  brilliant  achievements  were 
the  result  of  the  little  fleet  which  they 
sent  forth.  The  sloop  of  war  Wasp — 
named  doubtless  for  the  famous  Wasp  of 
the  fight  with  the  Frolic  —  was  built  and 
manned  at  Newburyport,  and  sailed 
thence  with  a  crew  of  young  and  green 
hands  (all  of  whom  were  sea-sick  for  the 
first  week  out),  a  few  days  after  celebra- 
ting Washington's  Birthday  by  a  ball  on 
board.  In  three  months  she  took  and 
destroved  twelve  British  merchant  vessels 


Brown  Square. 


his  commodities.  "The  goods  are  not 
for  sale,  friend,"  was  the  answer,  "but 
if  thou  art  a  sufferer,  take  what  thou 
needest."  None  were  taken,  and  the 
wagon  reached  Newburyport  with  its  load 
unlightened.  One  of  the  burned-out 
storekeepers  was  an  uncle  of  George 
Peabody  with  whom  the  famous  banker 
was  at  the  time  employed  as  clerk,  and 


and  sent  a  thirteenth  into  port,  having 
been  several  times  fiercely  engaged  with 
armed  vessels  of  greatly  superior  strength. 
Her  fate  was  long  unknown,  but  it  was  at 
last  made  certain  that  she  went  down  at 
sea  in  the  night,  after  having  fought  a 
British  frigate  until  quite  disabled.  Fifty 
thousand  dollars  of  prize  money  was  dis- 
tributed by  the  government  to  the  heirs  of 


NEWBURYPORT. 


171 


her  officers  and  crew.  Yet  in  spite  of  a 
maritime  record  like  this,  much  of  the 
Newburyport  shipping  remained  hauled 
up  at  the  wharves  during  the  years  of  the 
war,  useless,  the  masts  crowned  with  those 
inverted  tar  barrels  for  the  protection  of 
the  rigging,  which  were  jocularly  known 
as  "Madison's  Nightcaps." 

The  period  of  depression  in  the  city's 


years  ago  has  not  been  replaced ;  while 
the  largest  has  been  emptied  of  its 
looms,  men  and  machinery  being  now 
employed  in  the  South  ;  nor  is  it  likely 
to  be  used  for  the  same  industry 
again. 

Shipbuilding  experienced  a  moderate 
revival,  and  old  men  can  remember  see- 
ing eighty  vessels   on   the   stocks  at  the 


High  Street. 


fortunes  was  about  as  long  as  had  been 
that  of  its  wealth  and  importance.  There 
were  no  large  capitalists  left ;  after  so 
much  disaster  and  so  many  losses  men 
had  become  timid  and  slow  to  risk  their 
money  in  large  enterprises ;  many  of  the 
old  trades  had  been  of  necessity  aban- 
doned and  others  did  not  quickly  take 
their  places,  and  commerce  had  betaken 
itself  to  other  ports.  But  at  the  end  of 
nearly  a  quarter  of  a  century,  matters 
began  to  mend.  Very  gradually  the  city 
ceased  to  decay  —  then  began  once  more 
to  live.  Some  of  the  ancient  industries 
were  revived,  and  new  ones  were  intro- 
duced. A  cotton  mill  was  built.  Others 
followed,  and  at  one  time  it  was  supposed 
that  Newburyport  was  destined  to  become 
a  factory  town  of  which  this  business 
should  be  the  chief  support.  But  it  does 
not  now  appear  that  this  expectation  is 
to  be  realized.    A  mill  burned  down  some 


same  time.  But  it  decayed  again,  and 
for  six  years  no  vessels  were  built.  Now, 
though  work  in  the  old  ship-yards  has  been 
resumed  and  the  number  built  tends  to 
increase,  it  is  not  yet  a  large  one.  Sev- 
eral other  businesses  are  carried  on  in 
the  place,  which  are  interesting  from  the 
length  of  time  they  have  been  established. 
The  new  fancy  for  gold  beads,  for  instance, 
creates  a  demand  which  Newburyport 
does  much  toward  supplying,  but  it  is  no 
new  fancy  there.  Since  the  time  when 
the  string  of  little  yellow  spheres  consti- 
tuted the  sole  and  cherished  adornment 
of  the  frugal  farmers'  wives,  there  has 
been  a  Moulton  of  Newburyport  engaged 
in  their  manufacture.  The  business  was 
founded  at  least  as  early  as  1717,  and 
possibly,  as  recently  discovered  records 
seem  to  show,  a  quarter  of  a  century 
before  that. 

The  manufacture  of  shoes  in  the  New 


172 


NEWBURYPORT. 


England  towns  dates  back  to  the  middle 
of  the  last  century,  when  small  coasting 
vessels  carried  the  produce  of  their  farms 
to  New  York,  returning  with  hides,  which, 
during  the  long  winters  when  no  farm 
work  could  be  done,  were  made  by  hand 
into  shoes.  Later,  the  use  of  machinery 
of  course  changed  the  entire  character 
of  the  business,  and  its  introduction  into 
Newburyport  under  the  new  form  is  due 


easy  walking  and  driving  distance  of  the 
town, —  the  High  Street  of  which  indeed 
continues  on  through  Newbury  across  the 
River  Parker  and  is  lined  on  both  sides, 
as  it  merges  from  a  street  into  a  country 
road,  with  farms,  fields  of  onions,  and 
plenteous  apple  orchards.  The  farming 
lands  of  the  Newburies  are  in  many  parts 
so  singularly  fertile,  green  and  beautiful 
as    to    suggest    a    scene     of    rural    Old 


The   Mall. 


to  a  few  persons,  of  whom  the  present 
mayor,  Mr.  Elisha  P.  Dodge,  has  been 
the  most  prominent.  It  has  so  grown 
and  thriven  that  we  now  not  infrequently 
see  the  city  referred  to  in  the  direct  if 
unpoetic  English  of  the  newspapers  as 
one  of  the  "  shoe  towns  "  of  Massachu- 
setts. Cinderella  should  be  its  patron 
lady,  for  the  shoes  made  there  are  chiefly 
of  the  feminine  gender. 

The  Newburyport  of  to-day  yet  keeps, 
amid  much  that  is  modern,  many  things 
reminiscent  of  each  of  its  different  stages 
of  development.  Set  apart  from  the 
mother  colony  of  Newbury  in  1764  as  a 
separate  township,  the  boundaries  of 
which  were  later  altered  and  enlarged, 
Newburyport  lies  along  the  Merrimac  in 
a  strip  too  narrow  to  include  much  beside 
the  city  itself.  But  Newbury  and  West 
Newbury,  its  near  neighbors  and  rela- 
tions,   abound    in    ancient    farms    within 


England  rather  than  of  New  England. 
There  is,  too,  an  unusual  persistence  of 
the  old  names  and  ownership,  that  re- 
minds one  of  the  older  country.  Kent's 
Island,  for  instance,  —  a  farm  occupying 
a  "Marsh  Island"  so  like  that  of  Miss 
Jewett's  story  as  to  have  been  claimed  for 
its  veritable  scene  —  bears  the  name  of 
one  of  the  original  settlers,  to  whom  it 
was  granted  in  1647,  and  stiU  belongs  to 
the  same  family.  The  estate  was  entailed 
to  the  oldest  male  heir,  and  so  descended 
until  an  unforeseen  trouble  arose  —  the 
birth  of  twin  sons,  of  whom  not  even  a 
tedious  legal  suit  and  investigation  could 
decide  which  was  the  elder  —  in  conse- 
quence of  which  the  property  was  equally 
divided.  In  Oldtown,  as  that  part 
of  Newbury  adjacent  to  the  city  called, 
everybody  is  cousin  to  everybody  else, 
and  some  of  the  ancient  names  have 
become  so  common    as   to  serve  hardly 


NEWBURYPORT. 


173 


Theophilus  Parsons. 

better  than  no  name  at  all.  A  stranger 
is  entirely  bewildered,  and  even  among 
natives  brought  up  under  the  shadow  of 
the  family  tree  there  is  confusion,  and 
some  curious  devices  are  resorted  to,  to 
distinguish  different  members  of  the 
family. 

The  Oldtown  church,  which  replaces 
a  much  older  edifice  destroyed  by  fire, 
is  not  especially  interesting ;  but  the 
little  graveyard  opposite  it,  occupying  a 
partially  terraced  slope  descending  to  a 
pond,  contains  a  number  of  such  epi- 
taphs as  delight  the  antiquary.  That  of 
Timothy  Noyes,  who  died  in  1718,  reads 
thus  : 

"  Good  Timothy  in 
HisYouthfull  days 
He  liued  much 
Unto  Gods  prayse 
When  age  came  one 
He  and  his  wife 
Thay  liud  a  holy 
&  a  pious  life 
Therefor  you  children 
Whos  nams  are  noyes 
Make  Jesus  Christ 
Your  only  Choyse. 

The  lower  waterside  region  of  the  city, 
called  Joppa,  possesses  interest  alike 
through  picturesqueness  and  association. 
Its  dingy  houses  and  clam  sheds  at  the 
verge  of  the  tide  are  hardly  pleasing  in 
themselves,  and  if  at  some  times  one's 
nostrils  are  there  filled  with  the  delicious 
savor  and  saltness  of  the  sea  breeze,  at 


others  they  encounter  a  very  ancient  and 
fish-like  smell,  which  the  native  of  New- 
buryport  does  not  wholly  enjoy,  and  the 
inland  visitor  still  less.  But  the  river 
view,  seen  at  first  in  glimpses  between 
the  houses  and  further  down  in  its  full 
breadth  and  beauty  from  the  long  open 
stretch  of  the  sea  wall  —  this  view  is 
entirely  beautiful. 

The  Merrimac,  widening  to  its  mouth, 
there  spreads  sparkling  over  the  broad 
expanse  of  the  Flats,  full  and  blue  at 
high  tide  with  white  sails  skimming  its 
ripples ;  at  low  tide  leaving  in  the  curve 
of  the  shore  wide  stretches  of  green  eel 
grass,  shallow  water,  and  glistening  mud 
where  the  clammers  wade  and  bend  at 
their  work.  The  two  points,  Salisbury, 
and  Plum  Island,  a  light-house  brilliant 
in  dazzling  whiteness  upon  the  latter, 
mark  where  the  river  narrows  again  two 
miles  below  to  meet  the  sea,  and  the  line 
of  white-caps,  if  the  wind  is  fresh,  can 
plainly  be  seen  breaking  across  the  bar. 
If  it  blows   hard,  their   steady  roar  is  in 


Statue  on  the  Mall. 


174 


NEWBURYPORT. 


Caleb   Cushing. 

one's  ears  ;  and  after  listening  awhile  it  is 
not  difficult  to  distinguish  the  separate 
crashing  stroke  of  each  great  wave.  If 
it  blows  a  gale,  spray  fills  the  air  and 
drives  across  the  street ;  thick  yellow 
flakes  of  foam  strike  against  the  windows 
of  the  opposite  houses,  where  some  fall 


entire  crest  of  a  wave  of  especial  height 
and  violence  will  sweep  across  the  narrow 
roadway  and  whirl  its  dying  eddies 
against  the  threshold  of  a  dwelling. 
Some  of  the  Joppa  houses  still  retain  the 
little  railed  platform  on  the  roof,  which 
in  the  city's  seafaring  day  was  used  not 
to  enjoy  the  view,  but  to  scan  the  sea  for 
incoming  sails.  Often  have  the  women 
of  the  household  crouched  there  in  squally 
weather,  the  family  telescope  steadied  on 
the  railing  before  them,  gazing  at  the 
tempestuous  white  fury  of  the  South 
Breaker,  a  perilous  shoal  well  known  to 
mariners,  extending  seaward  from  Plum 
Island,  where  some  black  mass  of  wreck- 
age would  be  tossed  and  tumbled  and 
dashed  to  pieces  as  they  looked.  Nor 
do  all  the  tragedies  of  the  waterside 
belong  to  time  of  storm. 

It  was  on  the  15  th  of  March,  but 
in  bitterly  cold  weather,  that  a  boy,  a 
fisherman's  son,  playing  about  the  street, 
chanced  to  look  out  upon  the  harbor,  and 
saw  there  a  boat  manned  by  five  men. 
He  continued  his  play,  but  some  time 
after  looked   again,  and   noticed   that   it 


Residence  of  Mrs.  Harriet  Prescott  Spofford. 


back  and  some  adhere,  while  others  hang, 
a  strange  burden,  on  the  boughs  of  the 
lilac  bushes  at  the  door.  In  the  wild 
gales  of  the  equinoxes  or  the  fierce 
storms  of  winter,  it  sometimes  happens 
that   not   spray   and   foam    only,  but  the 


had  made  no  progress.  He  thought  it 
odd,  but  went  on  playing,  looking  up 
again  and  yet  again  to  see  the  boat  still 
in  almost  the  same  position.  At  last  his 
curiosity  was  sufficiently  aroused  to  impel 
him  to  go  into  the  house  for  a  telescope. 


NEWBURYPORT. 


175 


Looking  through  that,  he  observed  that 
the  men,  though  sitting  in  their  places  as 
if  to  row,  were  not  rowing.  He  spoke  to 
a  neighbor,  and  soon  a  dory  was  manned 
and  put  off  to  investigate.  As  they  ap- 
proached, they  saw  the  men  in  the  other 
boat  sitting  straight  and  still,  each  in  his 
seat  as  if  nothing  was  amiss,  —  only,  they 


ories  of  old-fashioned  sermons  of  vigor- 
ous doctrine  and  frequently  of  violent 
politics,  of  long-drawn  hymns  "  deaconed 
out "  verse  by  verse,  of  prayers  for  ves- 
sels outward  bound,  of  the  annual  con- 
tribution taken  up  the  Sunday  before 
Thanksgiving  for  the  ransom  of  captive 
sailors    in  Algiers  —  the   Old    South    has 


Residence  of  Hon.  E.  P.  Dodge. 


did  not  row  nor  move.  As  they  came 
nearer  they  saw  why.  Every  man  was 
dead,  with  staring  eyes  wide  open.  Their 
boat,  it  was  ascertained,  had  been  cap- 
sized, but  they  had  succeeded  in  right- 
ing her  and  climbing  into  her.  There, 
drenched  with  the  icy  water,  the  mercury 
at  zero,  their  oars  lost  while  they  strug- 
gled in  the  river,  they  had  sat  helpless, 
and  had  frozen  stark  and  stiff  in  sight  of 
home.  One  of  them  was  the  father  of 
the  boy  who  had  first  discovered  the 
drifting  boat. 

Not  far  from  Joppa,  but  nearer  to  the 
heart  of  the  city,  stands  the  First  Presby- 
terian Church  of  Newburyport,  commonly 
called  the  Old  South  Church,  one  of  the 
buildings  most  full  of  historic  associations. 
Besides  such  memories  as  it  shares  with 
other  old  churches  of  the  place  —  mem- 


other  claims  upon  public  interest.  There 
George  Whitefield,  to  whose  eloquence 
the  founding  of  the  church  was  due, 
often  preached.  Almost  next  door  to  it 
he  died  on  the  morning  of  the  Sabbath 
when  he  had  expected  to  preach  there 
once  again ;  within  its  precincts  his 
bones  now  lie,  and  a  cenotaph  of  marble 
has  been  erected  to  his  memory.  It 
does  not  cover  his  remains,  however,  for 
his  bones  are  underneath  the  pulpit,  and 
can  be  viewed  by  the  curious  visitor. 
The  bones  of  the  right  arm  were  once 
stolen  from  the  coffin  and  taken  to  Eng- 
land, but  were  restored  several  years 
later  by  the  conscience-stricken  possessor, 
accompanied  by  proofs  that  the  restora- 
tion was  genuine.  It  is  certainly  a  sin- 
gular fate,  that  the  bones  of  the  great 
English  preacher  should  thus  be  on  ex- 


176 


NEWBURYPORT. 


hibition  in  a  New  England  church,  like 
those  of  a  saint  in  Catholic  Italy.  The 
first  minister  of  the  church,  a  friend  of 
Whitefield,  the  Rev.  Jonathan  Parsons, 
assumed  his  charge  in  1746,  having  him- 
self urged  at  his  ordination  all  the  reasons 
he  could  find  against  his  fitness,  conclu- 
ding by  asking  the  congregation  if  they 
still  desired  him  for  their  minister.  Their 
reply  being  in  the  affirmative,  he  accepted 
the  call,  and  the  services  proceeded. 
He  must  have  been  a  man  of  unusual 
force  and  spirit.  At  the  outbreak  of  the 
Revolution,  when  patriotic  feeling  ran 
high,  many  ministers  treated  the  burning 
questions    of  the   hour   from   the  pulpit, 


Hall   in  the   Dodge   House. 

and  urged  their  hearers  to  the  resistance 
of  tyranny.  But  Jonathan  Parsons  did 
more.  He  closed  one  of  his  sermons 
with  an  appeal  to  his  hearers  to  form 
volunteer  companies,  and  invited  such  as 
were  ready  to  enlist  to  step  out  into  the 
broad  aisle.     There  was  no  hanging  back. 


Ezra  Lunt  was  the  first  to  come  forward 
before  the  eyes  of  the  congregation ; 
others  followed ;  and  before  the  meeting 
broke  up  there  had  been  raised  within 
the  church  walls  the  first  volunteer  com- 
pany organized  for  service  in  the  Con- 
tinental Army.  Afterwards,  under  Cap- 
tain Lunt,  it  rendered  a  good  account  of 
itself  at  Bunker  Hill. 

Yet  another  interesting  scene  was  en- 
acted there  during  the  Revolution.  The 
expedition  against  Quebec  under  Bene- 
dict Arnold,  which  embarked  from  New- 
buryport  for  the  Kenneftec,  was  quartered 
in  the  city  for  several  days,  the  troops 
being  in  part  accommodated  in  the  rope- 
walks  of  the 
place,  while 
others  camped 
near  Oldtown 
Green,  and  the 
higher  officers, 
Arnold,  Aaron 
Burr,  Daniel 
Morgan,  Henry 
Dearborn,  and 
others,  were  lav- 
ishly entertained 
by  representative 
citizens  —  a  cour- 
tesy which  was 
repaid  by  treating 
the  inhabitants  to 
a  grand  review 
before  their  de- 
parture. One 
day  of  their  stay 
was  Sunday,  when 
the  troops,  with 
flags  flying  and 
drums  rolling, 
marched  to  the 
Old  South,  where 
their  chaplain, 
the  Rev.  Samuel 
Spring,  had  been 
invited  to  preach. 
Tradition  tells  us 
that  citizens  crowded  the  galleries  and 
every  available  standing  point  elsewhere, 
but  the  body  of  the  church  was  given  up 
to  the  soldiers,  who  were  halted  in  the 
aisles  until  his  arrival.  As  he  entered 
and  passed  through  their  lines  to  take  his 
place  in  the  high,  carved  pulpit  —  a  stal- 


NEWBURYPORT. 


177 


wart,  handsome,  bright-eyed  young  man, 
six  feet  tall  and  of  fine  military  carriage  — 
they  presented  arms,  then  stacked  their 
muskets  in  the  side  aisles,  and  took 
their  seats,  and  the  service  began,  the 
preacher's  text  being,  "  If  thy  Spirit  go 
not  up  with  us,  carry  us  not  up  hence." 
Two    days    later,    amidst    a    tumult    of 


the  Sabbath."  But  of  the  sixteen  others, 
most  are  modern  and  of  religious,  not 
historic,  interest.  Two,  however,  have 
pleasing  associations  and  traditions.  The 
church  of  the  First  Religious  Society 
(Unitarian)  does  not  date  back  further 
than  1 80 1,  but  is  notable  for  its  fine, 
old-fashioned    architecture.      The    inte- 


W.   R.  Johnson's  House. —  Formerly  Tracy's  Country  Seat. 


popular  excitement,  the  expedition  em- 
barked upon  eleven  transports,  and  glided 
out  of  the  harbor  on  a  fine  breezy  morn- 
ing, with  music  on  the  decks  and  white 
sails  shining  in  the  sun.  But  some  of 
those  who  had  heard  the  young  minister's 
discourse  had  been  so  pleased  and  im- 
pressed, that  when  in  two  years'  time  the 
new  North  Church  desired  a  pastor,  a 
letter  was  written  inviting  his  acceptance 
of  the  charge.  He  was  still  with  the 
army,  and  his  reply,  dated  "  Ticonderoga, 
August  12,"  declined  the  offer  on  the 
ground  of  his  engagements  as  chaplain. 
But  no  sooner  was  he  released  from  those 
engagements  than  he  accepted  the  re- 
newed request.  He  was  for  forty-two 
years  the  pastor  of  the  North  Church  of 
Newburyport,  and  was  father  of  the  noted 
Gardiner  Spring  of  the  Brick  Church, 
New  York. 

Newburyport  is  well  provided  with 
churches ;  so  well  that  it  is  not  difficult  to 
believe  the  statement  of  an  old  local 
geography,  that  the  place  has  always  been 
remarkable  for  its  "  strict  observance  of 


rior  remains  substantially  unaltered  to- 
day, and  the  minister  still  preaches  from 
a  tall  pulpit  reached  by  two  narrow 
flights  of  stairs,  lifted  so  far  above  the 
congregation  that  every  time  he  sits  down 
he  becomes  invisible.  The  present  build- 
ing replaces  one  which  occupied  the  site 
of  the  present  Market  Square,  and  was 
purchased  and  destroyed  by  the  city. 
It  was  in  front  of  this  former  church  that 
a  crowd  of  ship  carpenters,  under  the 
lead  of  Eleazer  Johnson,  made  a  fine 
bonfire  from  a  pile  of  boxes  of  tea,  some 
time  before  the  Boston  Tea  Party  had 
made  the  destruction  of  the  hated  article 
a  favorite  act  with  patriots.  The  spire 
of  this  church  was  once  struck  by 
lightning,  and  as  Benjamin  Franklin 
chanced  to  be  in  town,  he  of  course 
visited  it  to  investigate  ;  a  letter  of  his  is 
preserved  in  which  he  minutely  describes 
the  effect  of  the  electric  fluid,  and  its 
manner  of  passing  from  the  belfrey  to  a 
room  below  along  a  clock  wire  "  no  bigger 
than  a  common  knitting  needle,"  which  it 
"blew  all  to  smoke." 


178 


NEWBURYPORT. 


The  society  was  organized  in  1725, 
and  the  Rev.  John  Lowell  settled  as  its 
first  pastor.  A  curious  fact  in  its  history 
is  that  Mr.  Fox,  at  one  time  its  minister, 
was  the  first  to  introduce  the  idea  of 
Sunday-school  picnics  to  the  people  of 
the    staid    old    city,    who    were    at    first 


Pulpit  of  the  Old  South   Church. 


greatly  shocked  and  then  much  amused 
thereby.  It  struck  them  as  undignified 
and  absurd  to  see  a  minister  driving  out 
into  the  country  in  a  wagon  with  a  crowd 
of  young  folks  and  a  pile  of  lunch  baskets. 
The  spectacle,  now  so  familiar,  excited 
laughter  and  ridicule,  and  these  gay  and 
simple  pioneer  picnic  parties  were  dub- 
bed derisively  "  Fox's  Caravans."  The 
fashion  soon  became  popular,  however, 
as  indeed  picnics  without  the  special 
countenance  of  the  church  had  been  from 
a  very  early  day.  No  city  can  show  a 
more  delightful  variety  of  attractions  of 
wood    and    field,    riverside    and    seaside, 


than  can  Newburyport,  and  every  sum- 
mer sees  an  almost  universal  outflocking 
of  the  inhabitants  to  enjoy  them.  The 
two  beaches,  Salisbury  and  Plum  Island 
are  in  particular  the  scene  of  summer 
long  festivity. 

The  Episcopal  Church  of  St.  Paul's 
had  for  its  minister 
during  the  Revolu- 
tion, the  Rev.  Ed- 
ward Bass,  afterwards 
first  bishop  of  Massa- 
chusetts. He  can- 
not have  been  as 
ardent  in  his  politics 
as  the  other  clergy 
of  the  town,  or  he 
could  hardly  have 
made,  nor  his  congre- 
gation have  accepted, 
the  compromise 
which  was  effected  in 
the  church  service. 
He  would  not  pray 
for  the  success  of  the 
patriots,  and  his  flock 
would  not  allow  him 
to  pray  for  the  king, 
so  all  prayers  of  a 
public  and  political 
nature  were  omitted 
entirely.  He  was 
nevertheless  occa- 
sionally hooted  in  the 
streets  as  a  Tory. 
Nor  were  his  sup- 
porters in  England 
satisfied  with  his  half- 
way position,  and 
they  withdrew  the 
assistance  formerly  given  him,  on  the 
ground  that  had  he  been  truly  loyal 
he  could  not  have  remained  in  such  a 
nest  of  disaffection  as  Newburyport. 
The  church  lost  by  theft  a  few  years 
ago  a  silver  communion  service  given 
by  William  and  Mary  to  King's  Chapel. 
Boston,  and  by  the  society  there,  which 
was  already  well  provided,  presented  to 
the  younger  and  poorer  church.  A 
former  rector  of  St.  Paul's,  Rev.  William 
Horton,  left  a  public  bequest  in  the  form 
of  a  sum  of  money  to  build  an  almshouse, 
which  was  erected  three  years  ago  in  a 
beautiful  rural  situation  on  the  outskirts 


NEWBURYPORT. 


179 


of  the  city,  and  is  a  fine  and  substantial 
building. 

Among  other  buildings  of  note  in  the 
city  is  the  Public  Library,  founded  in 
1854  by  Josiah  Little,  with  a  gift  of  five 
thousand  dollars,  since  supplemented  by 
others  from  citizens  and  friends.  George 
Peabody  in  1868  gave  it  fifteen  thousand 
dollars.  Within  recent  years  an  annex 
has  been  built  through  the  munificence 
of  the  late  Mr.  Michael  Simpson,  and  a 
reading-room  established  and  maintained 
by  Mr.  William  C.  Todd.  The  library 
building  was  originally  the  town  house  of 
Nathaniel  Tracy.  It  has  been  enlarged 
and  altered  of  necessity  to  accommodate 
both  the  books  and  the  public ;  but  the 
two  rooms  are  preserved  in  one  of  which 
George  Washington  held  his  reception  on 
his  visit  to  the  place,  while  the  other  was 
used  for  the  same  purpose  by  Lafayette. 
The  latter  contains  many  interesting  por- 
traits, the  property  of  the  Historical  So- 
ciety, while  autographs  and  other  relics 
are  displayed  in  different  parts  of  the 
building.  Next  door  to  this  fine  old 
edifice  stands  the  fine  new  one  of  the 
Young  Men's  Christian  Association,  re- 
cently completed,  the  generous  gift  of 
Mrs.  George  Corliss,  as  a  memorial  of 
her  husband. 

But  the  charm  of  Newburyport  is  its 
High  Street,  three  miles  in  length,  wind- 
ing in  beautiful  curves  along  the  summit 
of  the  slope  upon  which  the  city  is  built, 
lined  on  both  sides  with  trees,  the  noble 
old  elms  in  many  places  meeting  in  an 
arch  of  green  above  the  roadway.  On 
the  upper  side  of  the  street  many  of  the 
houses  are  set  back  upon  the  Ridge,  a 
higher  crest  of  the  slope,  and  are  ap- 
proached by  lawns  or  terraces.  The 
houses  are  both  of  the  old  style  and  the 
new,  mingled  not  inharmoniously  ;  but  to 
the  eye  of  a  stranger  the  old  —  square, 
dignified,  ample,  simple  in  outline  and 
hospitable  in  suggestion  —  would  seem  to 
preponderate,  lending  as  they  do  its  dis- 
tinctive character  to  the  street.  Not  far 
from  midway  of  its  length  is  a  public 
park,  encircling  a  pond,  which  tradition 
states  was  created  in  a  night  by  an  earth- 
quake in  the  early  days  of  the  town. 
This  pond  is  in  a  deep  depression  sur- 
rounded by  green  terraces,  which  are  in 


turn  surrounded  at  their  upper  level  by 
broad  walks  shaded  by  drooping  elms. 
Close  back  of  this  park  rise  the  two  old 
Burying  Hills ;  at  one  end  of  it  is  a 
statue  of  Washington  by  Ward,  at  the 
other  a  large  grammar  school ;  the  build- 
ing of  the  High  and  Putnam  schools  is 
opposite  to  it,  and  the  Court  House 
stands  within  its  precincts.  Green  Street, 
which  leads  from  it  to  the  river,  shows  at 
the  foot  of  its  shady,  sloping  avenue  a  de- 
lightful glimpse  of  blue  water;  and  of 
this  the  citizens  can  never  be  deprived, 
since  land  has  recently  been  secured 
there  for  a  future  riverside  park.  Few 
cities  can  show  a  more  pleasing  and 
characteristic  public  ground  than  the 
park  already  existing,  nor  a  more  fit  and 
attractive  situation  than  that  of  the  one 
to  come. 

Newburyport    is    associated    with    the 


St  Paul's  Church. 

names  of  a  number  of  noted  persons, 
besides  those  already  mentioned.  William 
Lloyd  Garrison  was  born  here,  in  a  house 
still  standing,  next  but  one  to  the  Old 
South  Church.  From  the  age  of  four- 
teen to  that  of  twenty-one  he  was  a 
printer  in  the  office  of  the  Newburyport 


180 


NEWBURYPORT, 


The   Leigh   House,  Newbury. 


Herald,  and  the  first  paper  which  he 
edited  was  published  in  Newburyport. 
A  fellow-townsman,  Isaac  Knapp,  was  his 
partner  in  the  publication  of  the  famous 
Liberator.  Caleb  Cushing,  the  city's 
first  mayor,  was  born  across  the  river  in 
Salisbury,  but  is  always  considered,  and 
considered  himself,  a  Newburyport  man. 
Major  Ben  :  Perley  Poore's  charming  resi- 
dence at  Indian  Hill  has  long  been  noted 
for  its  beauty,  and  for  the  many  curiosi- 


ties collected  within  its  picturesque  walls 
during  the  late  owner's  lifetime.  Gen- 
eral A.  W.  Greely  is  a  native  of  the 
place,  and  it  is  a  pleasing  incident  that 
on   the   return  voyage    after  his   terrible 


-'t-KW'-* 


Indian   Hii!   Farm, 


NE  WB  UR  YPOR  T. 


181 


Arctic  sojourn,  the  ship  in  which  he  was 
on  its  way  to  Portsmouth,  first  neared  the 
coast  off  the  mouth  of  the  Merrimac,  thus 
giving  him  for  his  first  sight  of  his  own 
country  the  familiar  outlines  of  the  Old- 
town  hills  and  the  white  spire  of  a  church 
near  his  home.  William  Wheelwright, 
the  great  projector  of  public  enterprise  in 
South  America,  was  also  a  native  of  New- 
buryport,  and  remembered  the  city  of  his 
birth  in  his  will,  bequeathing  to  it  a  hun- 
dred thousand  dollars  for  the  purpose  of 
scientific  education,  the  income  of  which 
is  at  present  expended  in  sending  students, 
to  the  Institute  of  Technology  in  Boston. 


of  tobacco,  with  a  motto  above,  in  Latin, 
"  In  essentials,  united  ;  in  non-essentials, 
liberty ;  in  all  things,  charity."  The 
name  of  another  poet,  the  late  John  Boyle 
O'Reilly,  neither  a  native  nor  a  resident 
of  the  city,  is  yet  one  closely  connected 
with  it.  A  lover  of  the  old  town,  his 
face  was  well-known  upon  its  streets ; 
he  had  within  it  many  personal  friends, 
and  was  a  frequent  visitor  to  the  large 
Parochial  School,  where  all  the  children 
knew  and  welcomed  him.  A  reading 
circle  recently  founded  bears  his  name. 

The   poet  Whittier,  born  in   Haverhill 
and    long  a    resident    of  Amesbury,  has 


Mrs.  Harriet  Prescott  Spofford's  beauti- 
ful home,  Deer  Island,  midway  of  the 
Merrimac  and  connected  with  the  New- 
buryport  shore  by  Chain  Bridge,  the 
oldest  suspension  bridge  in  New  England 
and  a  most  picturesque  structure,  is  well- 
known  to  the  public  through  pictures  and 
descriptions.  The  ancestors  of  both  Long- 
fellow and  Lowell  were  Newbury  men ; 
and  Mr.  Lowell  preserved  at  Elmwood 
the  panel  which  formerly  adorned  the 
mantelpiece  of  the  Rev.  John  Lowell  of 
Newburyport.  Upon  it  is  a  painting  rep- 
resenting a  group  of  ministers  seated 
around  a  table  bearing  a  bowl  and  a  dish 


Bridge 


spent  much  time  in  Newburyport,  and 
seems  to  belong  to  it  as  much  as  to  either 
of  the  other  towns.  He  has  indeed  made 
the  Merrimac  the  most  musical  of  our 
rivers,  and  bestowed  upon  the  inhabitants 
of  its  whole  seaward  valley  the  delight  of 
dwelling  in  a  region  lovely  not  alone  in  its 
natural  aspect,  but  filled  with  the  beauty 
of  a  poetry  that  uplifts  and  glorifies  alike 
its  traditions,  household  tales,  and  visible 
nature.  If  no  line  has  here  been  quoted 
of  the  many  he  has  written  at  once  apt 
and  beautiful,  descriptive  of  scenes  and 
persons  mentioned,  it  is  only  through  fear 
of  the   temptation    to    quote    too   much. 


182 


NEWBURYPORT. 


The  Y.   M.  C.   A.    Building. 


Almost  every  portion  of  the  Essex  land- 
scape has  somewhere  been  touched  by 
Whittier ;  and  upon  no  portion  has  he 
dwelt  with  greater  frequency  than  upon 
the  places  round  about  old  Newbury  port. 
John  Pierpont,  the  writer  of  hymns  ; 
George  Lunt,  the  poet ;  Hannah  Gould, 
a  literary  light  of  some  magnitude  in  her 
day,  whose  verses  celebrating  what  Dr. 
Holmes  rather  slightingly  calls  that 
"  stately  vegetable,"  the  old  elm  of  New- 


bury, are  not  yet  forgotten ;  John  B. 
Gough,  the  temperance  orator  —  better 
known  to  the  old  town,  however,  in  the 
days  of  his  shame  than  those  of  his 
fame  ;  Golonel  T.  W.  Higginson,  once 
the  young  minister  of  the  old  Unitarian 
church ;  Jane  Andrews,  most  inspiring 
of  teachers,  and  writer  of  exquisite  stories 
for  children  —  all  these  names,  too,  belong 
more  or  less  intimately  to  the  city's  his- 
tory. 


JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL. 

By  Edward  Everett  Hale. 


IF  any  journal  in  the  world  should 
express  love  and  regret  upon  the 
death  of  James  Russell  Lowell  it 
is  the  New  England  Magazine.  For 
he  has  been  a  New  Englander,  through 
and  through,  of  the  best  stock.  And 
since  he  knew  what  he  was,  or  indeed 
that  he  was  anything,  he  has  been  proud 
that  he  was  a  New  Englander.  No  per- 
son has  understood  our  dialect  better 
than  he,  no  one  has  used  it  to  more  pur- 
pose, no  one  has  gone  to  the  root  of  our 
character  and  history  better  than  he,  no 
one  stood  for  us  more  loyally  when  fools 
or  knaves  attacked  us,  and  no  one  has 
done  us  more  credit  in  the  fields  of  litera- 
ture and  history. 

And  we  remember  how  much  of  his 
life  has  been  given  to  the  periodical  lit- 
erature of  New  England.  Before  he  was 
twenty  years  old  he  was  an  editor  of  the 
college  magazine,  Harvardiana.  In 
1842,  he  was  one  of  the  pack-horses, 
who  worked  in  the  team  of  my  brother's 
magazine,  the  Boston  Miscellany.  The 
masterly  papers  he  published  there,  in 
prose  and  in  verse,  immediately  com- 
manded attention.  The  essays  on  the 
Old  English  Dramatists  were  first  pub- 
lished there.  So  soon  as  that  magazine 
was  given  up,  therefore,  when  his  friend 
Mr.  Carter  projected  the  Pioneer,  as  a 
sort  of  successor  to  it,  with  just  the  same 
form,  type,  and  purpose,  he  became  the 
editor  of  the  Pioneer.  It  speaks  of  the 
school  in  which  all  these  young  men 
were  bred,  that  the  page,  the  type,  the 
width  of  columns  of  these  magazines 
were  taken  from  the  two-column  pam- 
phlet editions  of  Chapman,  the  English 
publisher,  in  which,  at  that  time,  they 
were  reading  their  Browning. 

It  was  in  1843  that  the  three  numbers 
of  the  Pioneer  were  published,  —  and 
that  the  Pioneer  ceased  to  be.  This  was 
fourteen  years  before  Messrs.  Phillips  and 
Sampson  gave  the  dinner  party  at  which 
the  Atlantic  was  born,  —  and  Mr.  Lowell 
then  became   its  first  editor.     Mr.  Phil- 


lips, —  who  should  be  gratefully  remem- 
bered as  a  true  publisher,  a  spirited  and 
forward-looking  man,  to  whom  Boston, 
not  to  say  American  literature  is  largely 
indebted,  —  convoked  a  party  of  gentle- 
men to  dine  with  him  and  his  partner 
Mr.  Sampson.  At  that  party  there  were 
present,  I  think,  Mr.  Emerson,  Mr.  Pres- 
cott,  Mr.  Parkman,  Dr.  Holmes,  Mr. 
Lowell,  and  Mr.  Underwood.  I  will  not 
dare  name  other  guests.  When  the  din- 
ner was  wellnigh  ended,  Mr.  Phillips 
made  a  little  speech,  in  which  he  said 
that  the  firm  of  Phillips  &  Sampson  were 
going  to  establish  a  magazine.  He  said  : 
"We  do  not  pretend  that  we  can  write 
such  prophecies  as  Mr.  Emerson,  such 
history  as  Mr.  Prescott  and  Mr.  Parkman, 
such  poetry  as  Dr.  Holmes  or  Mr. 
Lowell ;  but  we  do  pretend  that  we 
know  the  American  people  better  than 
any  of  you."  This  was  perfectly  true,  — 
and  each  of  these  gentlemen  knew  it. 
All  of  those  I  have  named,  excepting 
perhaps  Mr.  Emerson,  became  contribu- 
tors to  the  new  magazine,  and  Mr. 
Lowell  for  some  years  was  the  editor  in 
chief —  with  the  constant  assistance,  I 
believe,  of  Mr.  Underwood.  Afterward, 
at  the  request  of  Ticknor  &  Fields,  he 
took  charge  of  the  North  American  Re- 
view, —  and  he  continued  this  charge,  in 
connection  with  Professor  Norton,  for 
several  years.  Mr.  Lowell  was,  there- 
fore, his  life  through  almost,  one  of 
the  honorable  craft  of  editors.  He  is  to 
be  remembered  first  of  all  as  the  most 
distinguished  editor  of  New  England 
magazines. 

Mr.  Lowell,  like  his  kinsman  Dr. 
Plolmes,  has  again  and  again,  in  joke  or 
in  earnest,  dwelt  on  the  advantage  to  any 
man  of  having  a  good  New  England 
ancestry.  Dr.  Holmes  has  insisted  on 
the  value  of  having  this  ancestry  made  up 
in  part  of  old  New  England  ministers ; 
and  I  think  we  could  find  passages  to 
that  effect  in  Mr.  Lowell's  backward- 
looking    glimpses.     He    had    this    good 


184 


JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL. 


fortune.  His  father  was,  for  half  a  cen- 
tury and.  more,  the  beloved  and  honored 
minister  of  the  West  Church  in  Boston. 
This  was  the  radical  church  of  its  day 
when  it  was  under  the  ministry  of  May- 
hew,  who  has  been  called  "  the  John 
Baptist  of  the  Revolution."  Mayhew  met 
Sam  Adams  in  the  street  one  morning, 
and  said  to  him,  "  Adams,  we  have  com- 
munion of  churches  ;  why  do  we  not  have 
communion  of  states?  "  And  from  those 
words  of  his,  it  is  said,  grew  the  Com- 
mittees of  Correspondence,  which  ri- 
pened into  the  Confederacy,  which  ripened 
into  the  Union.  The  West  Church  never 
lost  its  attitude  of  independence.  Dr. 
Lowell  would  never  take  any  theological 
name,  which  should  part  him  from  other 
Congregationalists  ;  and  his  successor,  Dr. 
Bartol,  has  always  been  true  to  such  tradi- 
tion. The  grandfather  of  Dr.  Lowell  was 
also  one  of  the  New  England  ministers. 
He  was  one  of  those  who  preached  ser- 
mons when  young  men  went  out  to  fight 
the  French,  and  preached  sermons  again 
in  memory  of  their  death  when  they  had 
been  slain  in  battle.  He  was  of  New- 
buryport,  and  for  two  generations  the 
family  counts  as  of  Essex  County.  But 
Lowell's  grandfather,  he  who  comes  be- 
tween the  Newbury  minister  and  the  Bos- 
ton minister,  is  the  John  Lowell  to  whom 
Massachusetts  men  owe  the  phrase  in  our 
constitution,  "  All  men  are  created  free 
and  equal."  Lowell  was  in  the  Con- 
stitutional Convention  of  1780.  He  in- 
troduced into  the  Bill  of  Rights  this 
passage  from  the  Bill  of  Rights  of  Vir- 
ginia, with  the  avowed  determination  of 
emancipating  every  slave  in  Massachu- 
setts ;  and  the  freedom  of  every  slave 
followed  as  soon  as  that  constitution  went 
into  effect.  There  is  a  good  sort  of 
grandfather  for  the  author  of  the  "  Biglow 
Papers  !  "  Farther  back  they  were  Boston 
people  for  a  generation ;  but  the  origin 
of  the  family  is  in  old  Newbury.  A  John 
Lowell  arrived  there  in  1639,  with  a  son 
who  was  also  John  Lowell,  and  he  was 
a  cooper.  In  those  days  they  spelled  it 
Lowle,  but  the  other  name  has  got  too 
well  established  to  permit  anybody  to 
change  it  back  again.  To  this  day,  New 
York  people,  unless  they  have  the  ad- 
vantage   of  a    New   England    education, 


pronounce  the  name  Lowle  or  Lole.  But 
this  may  be  as  they  say  "  chick'n."  The 
city  of  Lowell  in  Massachusetts  is  named 
in  honor  of  an  uncle  of  the  poet  Lowell, 
a  son  of  the  constitution-maker,  who  was 
among  the  first  to  see  that  Massachusetts 
was  to  become  a  manufacturing  region, 
and  to  introduce  the  manufacture  of  cot- 
ton. Another  relative,  a  son  of  this 
gentleman,  is  the  John  Lowell,  Jr.,  who, 
dying  without  issue,  made  the  people  of 
Massachusetts  his  heirs  by  establishing 
the  free  courses  of  education  which  are 
known  in  Boston  as  the  Lowell  Institute, 
so  admirably  administered  to  this  day. 

My  own  personal  relation  with  Lowell 
began  when  we  were  both  boys  in  Har- 
vard College,  He  was  a  little  older  than 
I,  and  was  one  class  in  advance  of  me. 
My  older  brother,  with  whom  I  lived  in 
college,  and  he  were  most  intimate 
friends.  He  had  no  room  within  the 
college  walls,  and  was  a  great  deal  with 
us.  The  fashion  of  Cambridge  was  then 
literary.  Now  the  fashion  of  Cambridge 
runs  to  social  problems.  But  then  we 
were  interested  in  literature.  We  read 
Byron  and  Shelley  and  Coleridge  and 
Keats,  and  we  began  to  read  Tennyson 
and  Browning.  I  first  heard  of  Tennyson 
from  Lowell,  who  had  borrowed  from 
Mr.  Emerson  the  little  first  volume  of 
Tennyson,  ■ —  which,  by  the  way,  contains 
some  poems  which  have  never  been 
printed  elsewhere.  We  actually  passed 
about  Tennyson's  poems  in  manuscript. 
Carlyle's  Essays  were  being  printed  at  the 
same  time,  and  his  French  Revolution. 
In  such  a  community,  —  not  two  hundred 
and  fifty  students  all  told,  —  literary 
effort  was,  as  I  say,  the  fashion,  and 
literary  men,  among  whom  Lowell  was 
recognized  from  the  very  first,  were 
special  favorites.  Indeed,  there  was  that 
in  him  which  made  him  a  favorite  every- 
where. 

The  Alpha  Delta  Phi  was  introduced 
in  Cambridge  in  those  days<  It  was 
formed  without  the  knowledge  of  the 
members  of  the  government,  and  in 
actual  defiance  of  college  laws.  This, 
of  course,  made  it  all  the  more  interest- 
ing. It  was  a  purely  literary  society,  and 
the  members  were  eager  to  do  good  lit- 
erary work    in    it.     Practica'ly.  the  little 


JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL 


185 


society  of  Alpha  Delta  Phi  edited  Har- 
vardiana  for  1837  and  1838.  Lowell 
went  into  this  enterprise  eagerly.  He 
contributed  some  little  poems,  but  more 
of  his  work  was  in  short  essays,  and  he 
wrote  two  numbers  of  what  they  called 
"Skillygoliana."  All  magazines  then 
followed  the  lead  of  Blackwood,  and  this 
was  their  faint  imitation  of  the  miscel- 
laneous chat  with  which  every  number  of 
Blackwood  ended.  Then  there  was  what 
one  might  call  the  stereotyped  imitations 
which  college  magazines  of  those  days 
thought  it  funny  to  print.  The  Hasty 
Pudding  Club  in  those  days  had  two  ora- 
tions and  two  poems  in  every  year.  The 
poems  of  the  class  of  '38  were  by  Lowell 
and  the  late  Rev.  J.  F.  W.  Ware.  Here 
are  a  few  lines  from  Lowell's  poems.  It 
should  be  remembered  that  railroads  were 
a  novelty  in  those  days. 

"Perchance  improvement,  in  some  future  time, 
May  soften  down  the  rugged  path  of  rhyme, 
Build  a  nice  railroad  to  the  sacred  mount, 
And  run  a  steamboat  to  the  muses'  fount ! 
O  happy  days  !  when  "  steaming  "  to  renown, 
Each  bard  shall  rise,  the  wonder  of  his  town  ! 
Oh  happy  days !   when  every  well-filled  car 
With  stubborn  rhymes  in  rugged  strife  shall  jar, 
And  every  scribbler's  tuneless  lyre  shall  squeak, 
While  whizzing  swiftly  up  Parnassus'  Peak  !" 


"  Fain  would  I  more ;  —  but  could  my  muse  as- 
pire 
To  praise  in  fitting  strains  our  college  choir? 
Ah,  happy  band !   securely  hid  from  sight, 
Ye   pour   your   melting   strains    with    all    your 

might;  — 
And  as  the  prince,  on  Prosper's  magic  isle, 
Stood  spell-bound,   listening   with    a    raptured 

smile 
To  Ariel's  witching  notes,  as  through  the  trees 
They  stole  like  angel  voices  in  the  breeze,  — 
So  when   some  strange  divine  the  hymn  gives 

out, 
Pleased  with  the  strains  he  casts  his  eyes  about, 
All  round  the  chapel  gives  an  earnest  stare, 
And  wonders  where  the  deuce  the  singers  are, 
Nor  dreams  that  o'er  his  own  bewildered  p?.te 
There  hangs  suspended  such  a  tuneful  weight." 

It  was  a  matter  of  course  that  he  should 
be  chosen  the  poet  of  the  class.  The 
feeling  of  the  class  was  as  distinct  then 
as  would  now  be  the  feeling  of  those  who 
survive,  that  here  was  the  poet  of  New 
England.  And  Lowell  wrote,  with  more 
care  than  he  had  then  given  to  anything, 
his  class  poem.     But  at  that  time  he  was 


incurring  college  censure,  chiefly  for  non- 
attendance  at  morning  chapel.  It  is  to 
be  remembered  that  this  meant  being  up 
and  dressed  and  present  at  six  in  the 
morning,  if  it  was  then  light  enough  for 
the  chaplain  to  read,  —  and  as  the  sun 
rose  later  the  hour  for  chapel  was  pushed 
along  to  match  it.  I  remember  that 
Lowell  had  a  curious  superstition  that  if 
he  were  only  in  place  Monday  morning, 
the  "faculty"  would  see  him  there,  and 
that  that  would  answer,  with  evening 
chapel  regular,  as  it  was.  But  it  would 
not  answer.  The  bolt  fell,  to  the  distress 
of  his  near  friends  who  had  been  hoping 
to  pull  him  through.  It  was  perfectly 
known  that  the  government  did  not  want 
to  dismiss  him.  His  father  was  the  inti- 
mate friend  of  all  of  them,  and  every- 
body knew  his  promise.  He  was  in  no 
sort  a  rebel  against  college  rules  or  sys- 
tems. He  was  a  sufficiently  good  student, 
and  every  one  knew  how  well  his  literary 
work  was  done.  I  remember  that  he  al- 
ways received  forty-eight,  which  was  the 
highest  number  which  could  be  given  for 
themes,  by  the  critical  Edward  Tyrrel 
Channing,  who  had  marked  his  charac- 
teristics at  that  early  time.  But  Lowell 
could  not  bring  himself  to  prayers,  and 
accordingly,  when  the  last  term  came,  he 
was  suspended,  and  sent  to  Concord  for 
the  rest  of  the  term.  The  indignity  was 
added  that  he  should  not  be  present  at 
Class  Day,  the  last  day  of  the  term,  to 
deliver  his  own  poem.  Sadly  the  class 
had  to  print  the  poem,  which  is  now 
among  the  rare  nuggets  of  American  lit- 
erature, and  to  go  through  their  ceremo- 
nies without  a  poet.  I  have  heard  in 
later  years,  what  I  did  not  know  then, 
that  he  rode  down  from  Concord  in  a 
canvas-covered  wagon,  and  peeped  out 
through  the  chinks  of  the  wagon  to  see 
the  dancing  around  the  tree.  I  fancy  he 
received  one  or  two  visits  from  his  friends 
in  the  wagon,  but  in  those  times  it  would 
have  been  treason  to  speak  of  this. 

"  We  must  go  !   for  already  more  near  and  more 

near 
The  tramp  of   the  paleface  falls  thick   on    the 

ear  — 
Like  the  roar  of  the  blast  when  the  storm-spirit 

comes 
Is  the  clang  of  the  trumps  and  the  death-rolling 

drums. 


186 


JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL. 


Farewell  to  the  spot  where  the  pine-trees  are 

sighing 
O'er    the    flowery   turf  where    our    fathers    are 

lying ! 
Farewell  to  the  forests  our  young  hunters  love, 
We  shall  soon  chase  the  deer  with  our  fathers 

above ! 

"  We  must  go  !  and  no  more  shall  our  council- 
fires  glance 

On  the  senate  of  chiefs  or  the  warrior's  dance, 

No  more  in  its  light  shall  youth's  eagle  eye 
gleam, 

Or  the  glazed  sight  of  age  become  young  in  its 
beam. 

Wail!   wail!   for  our  nation;   its  glory  is  o'er; 

These  hills  with  our  war-songs  shall  echo  no 
more, 

And  the  eyes  of  our  bravest  no  more  shall  look 
bright, 

As  they  hear  of  the  deeds  of  their  fathers  in 
fight ! 

"  In  the  home  of  our  sires  we  have  lingered  our 

last, 
Our    death-song   is   swelling  the    moan    of  the 

blast; 
Yet  to  each  hallowed  spot  clings  fond  memory 

still, 
Like  the  mist  that  makes  lovely  yon  far  distant 

hill. 
The  eyes  of  our  maidens  are  heavy  with  weeping, 
The  fire  'neath  the  brow  of  our  young  men  is 

sleeping, 
And   the    half-broken   hearts   of  the    aged  are 

swelling. 
As  the  smoke  curls  its  last  round  their  desolate 

dwelling ! 

"  We  must  go  !  but  the  wailings  yewring  from  us 
here 

Shall  crowd  your  foul  prayers  from  the  Great 
Spirit's  ear, 

And  when  ye  pray  for  mercy,  remember  that 
Heaven 

Will  forgive  (so  ye  taught  us)  as  ye  have  for- 
given ! 

Ay,  slay !   and  our  souls  on  the  pinions  of  prayer 

Shall  mount  freely  to  Heaven  and  seek  justice 
there, 

For  the  flame  of  our  wigwams  points  sadlv  on 
high 

To  the  sole  path  of  mercy  ye've  left  us  —  to  die  ! 

"  God's  glad  sun  shone  as  warm  on  our  once 
peaceful  homes 

As  when  gilding  the  pomp  of  your  proud  swell- 
ing domes, 

And  his  wind  sang  a  pleasanter  song  to  the 
trees 

Than  when  rustling  the  silk  in  your  temples  of 
ease; 

For  He  judges  not  souls  by  their  flesh-garments' 
hue, 

And  His  heart  is  as  open  for  us  as  for  you; 

Though  he  fashioned  the  Redman  with  duskier 
skin, 

Yet  the  Paleface's  breast  is  far  darker  within  ! 


"  We  are  gone  !     The  proud  Redman  hath  melted 

like  snow 
From  the  soil  that  is  tracked  by  the  foot  of  his 

foe; 
Like  a  summer  cloud  spreading  its  sails  to  the 

wind, 
We  shall  vanish  and  leave  not  a  shadow  behind. 
The  blue  old  Pacific  roars  loud  for  his  prey, 
As  he  taunts  the  tall   cliffs  with  his  glittering 

spray ; 
And  the  sun  for  our  glory  sinks  fast  to  his  rest, 
All  darkly  and  dim  in  the  clouds  of  the  west !  " 

I  have  looked  in  vain  in  Mr.  Cabot's 
"Life  of  Emerson"  for  any  allusion  to 
Mr.  Lowell's  making  Emerson's  acquain- 
tance at  that  time.  I  should  like  to  know 
whether  they  did  not  meet  then,  and  I 
have  some  vague  impression  that  they 
did.  Lowell  was  already  an  enthusiast  in 
what  it  is  fair  to  call  the  worship  of  Mr. 
Emerson.  In  "My  Study  Windows,"  he 
says  of  the  first  Phi  Beta  oration,  which 
Dr.  Holmes  calls  "  our  literary  Declara- 
tion of  Independence,"  that  it  was  "  an 
effort  without  any  former  parallel  in  our 
literary  annals,  a  scene  always  to  be  trea- 
sured in  memory  for  its  picturesqueness 
and  its  inspiration." 

Mr.  Lowell  never  maintained  any  ani- 
mosity against  the  college  for  the  suspen- 
sion which  sent  him  to  Concord.  In 
fact,  he  profited  by  the  time  he  spent 
there.  He  was  under  the  tender  and 
satisfactory  oversight  of  Dr.  Ripley  and 
Mrs.  Ripley,  —  names  loved  and  honored 
in  all  New  England  memories,  —  and  un- 
doubtedly spent  the  months  to  great  ad- 
vantage. Let  the  young  reader  observe 
that  he  was  always  a  reader.  To  the  end 
of  his  life  he  enjoyed  reading,  read  with 
an  iron  memory,  and  knew  what  he  was 
reading  for.  He  left  college  well  for- 
ward in  lines  of  literary  life  which  were 
really  not  known  at  that  time  by  many 
men  much  older  than  he  who  had  literary 
aspiration.  Here  is  a  little  note  of  his, 
which  I  find  in  an  old  portfolio,  which 
must  have  been  written  in  1839  or  1840, 
—  that  is  to  say,  when  he  was  about 
twenty  years  old.  I  think  the  note  worth 
copying,  as  showing  his  interest  in  a  line 
of  research  which  is  not  yet  followed  by 
many  students,  and  which  then  was  known 
by  an  even  smaller  proportion  of  thought- 
ful men. 

M  Wednesday. 

"  Dear  L.,  —  I  have  been  at  the  book-auctior. 


JAMES  R  USSELL  L  O  WELL.  1 8  7 

and  bought  Jacob  Behmen's  "  Philosophy,"  small  compatible  with  extensive  legal  attainments.     One 

quarto,  for  $i.io,  ditto  "  Epistles  "  for  $1.45,  and  side  was  occupied  by  a  large  book-case,  the  green 

Randolph's  "  Poems  "  for  $.55.     Burnham  ran  me  silk  behind  whose  glass  doors  made  an  impene- 

up,  but  they  are  good  books.       I  have  just  got  a  trable  mystery  of  the  learning  within,  and  whose 

letter  from  the   Man.     Come  up  this  evening  if  mahogany  had  assumed  a  sympathetic  similitude 

nothing  prevents,  will  you?  of  hue  with  law-sheep." 

T  R   L  " 

J'  Then  follow    two    or    three    pages    of 

In  1838,  the  career  of  letters  did  not  amusing    incidental    good    precepts    for 

exist  in  New  England.     For  a  man  to  say  incipient  attorneys,  and  at  last  the  first 

that  he  was  going  to  live  as  a  man  of  client  appears. 

letters  would  be  as  if  a  man  should  say  „Iwas  aroused  from  my  reverie  by  a  shadow 

tO-day   that  he   was   going   to   live    as   the  against  my  glass  door.     It  was  a  client-like  shadow. 

director    of    Steam     air-vessels.       Nat.     P.  It  had  a  well-to-do-in-the-world  look,  and  a  liti- 

Willis  was  perhaps  the  only  instance  of  a  §atinS  one  withal.    It  was  a  shadow  that  would 

,        ij-            1  ■         -tr           1  pay  well.     It  was  perhaps   a  shadow  that  had   a 

man  who   had   given   himself   to   letters,  claim  on  the  0cean  insurance  office.    I  was  sure 

and  his  success  was  not    such  as  to  excite  it  was  not  Peter  Schlemel's  shadow,  because  that 

ambition    in    that    line.      Lowell   certainly  was  pinned  up  forever  in  Hawthorne's  '  Virtuoso's 

knew  that,  in  theory,  he  must  attach  him-  Collection '    That  it  was  the  shadow  of  a  real 

,_              '       r    .               iTij          r      •  man   admitted   not  the  shadow  ot  a  doubt.     My 

self  to  one  of  the  established  professions,  cottage  in  the  countryj  with  the  white  lilac  and  the 

and    he    Studied    law.      The    habit    of  the  honeysuckle    in    front,    and    the    seat  just   large 

time  was  for  a  pupil   to  take  three  or  four  enough  for  two  under  the  elm-tree,  drew  ten  years 

terms   in   the  Cambridge    law   school,  and  nearer  in  as  many  seconds.     I  debated  in  my  own 

.      .                     r     i                           •  mind  the  hgure  tor  the  carpet  in  the  back  parlor, 

spend   the   rest   of  these   years    in   some  and  decided  to  leave  it  to  my  wife#     T  determined, 

lawyer's     office.       His    name,    therefore,  if  I   met  Jones,  to   buy   that  bay   mare   he   had 

will   be   found   as   a  Bachelor   of  Laws  on  spoken  of  so  highly.     I  should  take  little  Tommy 

the    Cambridge     catalogue     of     the    year  J?  the   Boston   Museum   to  see  the  man  swallow 

,    /.         ,                   •            r   1  •  himself  (as  he  had  done  under  the  patronage  of 

1840;  and  for  the   practice  of  his  pro-  the  Emperor  of  Russiaj  and  seVeral  other  great 

fession  he    Studied     in    the    office     of   Mr.  princes)  and  whom  I  thought  the  greater  wonder, 

Loring,  a  gentleman  distinguished  through  inasmuch  as  most  men  are  such  impostures  that 

New    England    as    a    counsellor    and    ad-  they  must   find   it    easier   to    make    their  friends 

,      r           1          j  •       •               j  swallow  them    than    to    do    it    themselves.     And 

vocate    and     for     the     dignity    and    true  little  Mary  ^«/^  have  the  rocking-horse,  —  that 

loyalty  of  all  his  work,  in  court  or  before  was  certain. 

the  public.      But  Mr.  Lowell   did  not  pre-  "The  door  opened,  and  a  man,  whose   face  I 

tend,  and  nobody  else  pretended,  that  he  dimly  remembered,  came  in.     He  was   certainly 

,.     ,    ,             .  /                                   ,       .  somebody  I    had   met   somewhere.     It  was  very 

Studied    law   With    any    great    enthusiasm.  flattering  in  him  to  remember  me.     I  asked  him 

He   and   Story,  his    classmate,  with   many  to  take  a  chair,  at  the  same  time  putting  an  easy 

Of    their    Other    friends,    were    marked    as  arm-chair  in  the  place  of  the  very  hard  one  with 

men    of   letters.      He    opened    his    office  forward-sloping   slippery  bottom,   which  I  keep 

.           _                        ,r    .      ..  n.                .  for  bores.      He    did  not  sit  down,  but,  taking  off 

Virtuously.      It  was   in  the  building  at  the  his  hat>  eradicated  a  small  file  of  papers  from  the 

foot   of  Court   Street,  on    the    site    of  that  mass   of   red    bandanna    and    other    merchandise 

which   was   well  burned  out    a  year   ago.  which  filled  it,  and,  selecting  one,  handed  it  to 

In    the    Boston    Miscellany    in     1842,    he  ^;    It  was  doubtless  a  succinct  statement  of  his 

gives  an  amusing  sketch,  which  he  calls,  °a!f  j;  was  right>    It  read  as  follows,  and  was  a 

"My    First    Client,"   which    is    probably  model  of  its  kind. 

more  than  half  true.  "Thomas  Mortmain,  Esq.  to  John  Brown,  Dr. 

"I  sat  in  my  new  attorney's  office.     I  had  just  '(]T°  2  ^  signs'  at  &1*  £2-°° 

been  admitted  to  the  venerable  fraternity  of  the  '        l     .         ' — " I,25 

Bar.     As   I   turned  my  admiring  gaze   from  one  "  l  slgnhoard 1.25 

part  to  another,  I  thought  —  perhaps  it  was  preju-  "    "  painting  and  lettering  do., 

dice  — that   I  never  saw  a  room  into  which,  as  4  ft-  at  #1.50 . 6.00 

from  a  natural  taste   and  instinct,   the  wronged  "    "  lettering  name  on  glass 50 

and  oppressed  portion  of  the  community  would 

flock  more   readily.     It  seemed  exactly  suited  to  „           #11.00 

the    circumstances  and   wants  of  that   numerous  "  ^ec  "  payment. 

and  highly  respectable  class  of  our  fellow-citizens,  j  am  afmjd  that  the  first  client  was  the 

It  was  large,  well  lighted,  and  of  easy  access.     It  ,              ^    ,    ,u_    ^    u-\;„„4-;^„    ^f   u\    \r^^^c 

had  no  clrpet,  nor  any  other  sign  of  comfort  or  last'      But   the    Publication   01    "A   Year  S 

taste,  both   of  which  are  generally  esteemed  in-  Life,"  his   first  volume  of  poems,  as  early 


188 


JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL. 


as  1 84 1,  challenged  the  attention  of 
every  one  in  America  who  knew  what 
poetry  was.  It  is  what  it  says  it  is.  It 
presents  many  memories,  tender  and  even 
personal,  of  the  year  of  his  engagement 
with  Anne  Maria  White,  —  to  whom  he 
was  married  in  1844,  and  with  whom  he 
lived  in  the  happiest  union  conceivable 
until  her  death  in  1853. 

We  write  of  schools  and  college  as  the 
scenes  of  a  man's  education.  A  happy 
home  and  a  wife  with  whose  life  his  life 
was  absolutely  one  were  Lowell's  educa- 
tion to  the  life  before  him.  Miss  White 
was  a  charming  girl,  —  of  remarkable 
genius,  of  perfect  simplicity,  of  exquisite 
beauty,  of  entire  self-forgetfulness,  who 
was  willing  to  enjoy  the  luxury  of  love. 
And  Mr.  Lowell  was  a  young  man,  of 
almost  exactly  her  age,  with  an  eye  for 
every  beauty  of  nature,  as  she  had,  curi- 
ous in  literature  as  she  was,  with  the  in- 
born love  for  rhythm  and  melody  which 
she  had,  unselfish  and  careless  of  circum- 
stances, as  she  was.  They  had  both 
grown  in  the  fearless  school  of  religion ; 
they  had  been  taught  to  love  God  and  to 
love  their  neighbor  —  and  both  of  them 
did  so,  "from  native  impulse,  elemental 
force."  Neither  of  them  had  ever  sup- 
posed that  they  were  children  of  wrath, 
or  were  in  any  danger  of  hell.  They 
saw  each  other ;  they  talked  with  each 
other  on  the  most  serious  themes,  as  on 
the  slightest ;  they  walked  .  together ; 
they  loved  each  other.  There  was  the 
natural  doubt  whether  they  should  not 
wait  before  they  were  married  till  a  more 
fixed  income  was  secured  by  the  husband. 
But  he  had  a  home  in  his  father's  house, 
—  a  home  where  his  father  loved  her  as 
a  daughter,  —  and  to  that  home  he  car- 
ried her.  Their  marriage  was  in  1844. 
He  was  twenty-five  years  old,  and  she 
was  twenty-one. 

Never  were  love's  anticipations  more 
real ;  never  was  a  home  more  happy. 
It  is  fair  to  say  that  the  necessities  of 
married  life,  that  his  wife's  eager  and 
close  connection  with  the  philanthropic 
endeavors  of  the  best  transcendental 
schools,  quickened  him  to  his  best  work. 
If  there  were  an  innate  vein  of  laziness 
in  his  constitution,  such  as  that  avoid- 
ance   of    morning    chapel    intimated,  — 


her  eager  determination  that  this  world 
should  be  a  better  world  drove  that 
away,  and  set  him  to  work  in  lines  far 
nobler  than  the  study  of  laws  of  rhythm 
or  of  the  structure  of  verse.  He  would 
have  said  himself,  that  if  there  had  been 
no  Maria  White  there  would  have  been 
no  "Biglow  Papers." 

She  died  in  1853.  They  had  had 
two  children,  one  of  whom  died  young. 
Mrs.  Lowell's  poem,  "  The  Alpine 
Sheep,"  addressed  to  a  friend  who  had 
lost  a  child,  has  gone  everywhere,  —  with 
a  word  of  courage  that  hardly  any  other 
words  have  borne. 

"  When  on  my  ear  your  loss  was  knelled 
And  tender  sympathy  upburst, 
A  little  spring  from  memory  welled, 

Which  once  had  quenched  my  bitter  thirst." 

After  her  early  death,  Mr.  Lowell 
printed,  privately,  and  not  for  publica- 
tion, twenty  of  these  poems.  Some  of 
them,  like  "  The  Alpine  Sheep,"  had 
been  already  published.  That  is  one  of 
the  perfect  poems.  "  The  Morning 
Glory"  is,  perhaps,  not  so  widely  known. 

THE  MORNING  GLORY. 

We  wreathed  around  our  darling's  head  the  morn- 
ing glory  bright; 

Her  little  face  looked  out  beneath,  so  full  of  love 
and  light, 

So  lit  as  with  a  sunrise,  that  we  could  only  say, 

She  is  the  morning  glory  bright,  and  her  fair  types 
are  they. 

So  always  from  that  happy  time  we  called  her  by 

that  name, 
And  very  fitting  did  it  seem,  for  sure  as  morning 

came, 
Behind  her  cradle-bars  she'd  smile  to  catch  the 

first  faint  ray, 
As  from  the  trellis  smiles  the  flower,  and  opens  to 

the  day. 

But  not  so  beautiful  they  rear  their  airy  cups  of 

blue 
As  turned  her  sweet  eyes  to  the  light,  brimmed 

with  sleep's  tender  dew; 
And  not  so  close  their  tendrils  fine  round  their 

supports  are  thrown, 
As    those    dear    arms   whose    outstretched    plea 

called  all  hearts  to  her  own. 

We   used  to   think  how  she  had  come,  even  as 

comes  the  flower, 
The  last  and  perfect  added  gift  to  crown  Love's 

morning  hour, 
And  how  in  her  was  imaged  forth  the  love  we 

could  not  say, 
As  on  the  little  dewdrops  round  shines  back  the 

heart  of  day. 


JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL. 


189 


We  never  could  have  thought,  oh  God  !  that  she 
would  wither  up 

Almost  before  the  day  was  gone,  like  the  morn- 
ing glory's  cup; 

We  never  could  have  thought  that  she  would  bow 
her  noble  head, 

Till  she  lay  stretched  before  our  sight  withered 
and  cold  and  dead  ! 

The   morning   glory's   blossoming   will    soon   be 

coming  round, 
We  see  their  bows  of  heart-shaped  leaves  upspring- 

ing  from  the  ground; 
The   tender  things  the  winter  killed  renew  again 

their  birth, 
But  the  glory  of  our  morning  has  passed  away 

from  earth 

In  vain,  oh  Earth  !   our  aching  eyes  stretch  over 

thy  green  plain; 
Too  harsh  thy  dews,  too  cold  thine  air,  her  spirit 

to  detain; 
But  in  the  years  of  Paradise,  full  surely  shall  we 

see 
Our  morning  glory  beautiful  twine  round  our  dear 

Lord's  knee. 

In  1855,  Mr.  Lowell  was  appointed 
Mr.  Longfellow's  successor  as  the  Smith 
Professor  of  Modern  Languages  at  Cam- 
bridge. This  was  fourteen  years  after  he 
published  his  first  volume  of  poems,  — 
twelve  years  after  he  edited  the  Pioneer. 
The  years  had  been  well  spent.  Almost 
every  year  saw  a  new  volume  of  poems  or 
of  prose  essays.  In  July,  1 85 1 ,  he  crossed 
the  ocean  with  his  wife  and  child.  They 
spent  the  winter  in  Rome,  and  renewed 
the  old  daily  intimacy  with  their  dear 
friends,  William  and  Emily  Story.  They 
returned  in  December,  1852.  He  was 
active  in  political  work,  more  with  his 
pen  than  on  the  platform  ;  and  the  "  Big- 
low  Papers"  made  him  known  where  no 
mere  literary  reputation  would  have  gone. 
All  the  same,  he  was  all  the  time  a 
student.  He  lectured  a  good  deal  in  the 
Lyceum  courses  in  different  parts  of  the 
country.  In  the  winter  of  1854-185 5,  he 
delivered  his  first  full  course  of  twelve 
lectures  on  the  British  poets,  in  the  series 
of  the  Lowell  Institute,  founded  by  his 
cousin,  and  bearing  the  family  name. 

I  bid  young  poets  and  young  critics 
and  young  authors  to  observe  that  these 
years  in  which  his  reputation  was  made 
in  England  and  America  were  years  of 
hard  work.  There  was,  perhaps,  a  streak 
of  indolence  in  his  physical  make-up, 
which  hindered  him  in  matters  requiring 
bodily  endeavor.     But  none  the  less  he 


was  always  at  work.  He  is  to  be  counted 
in  as  on  the  side  which  says  in  literature, 
that  if  you  mean  to  publish  anything  it 
must  be  finished  before  you  publish  it. 
He  stands  with  Horace  at  the  beginning 
of  that  list  and  Dr.  Holmes  at  the  end  of 
it.  There  is  none  of  the  happy-go-lucky 
nonsense,  —  the  "  go  as  you  please  " 
craziness.  He  does  not  send  an  editor  a 
copy  of  verses,  saying,  "  I  have  just  dashed 
this  off,"  or,  "  I  could  do  a  great  deal 
better."  When  he  can  do  better,  he 
does.  Mr.  Higginson,  his  neighbor  and 
friend,  has  preserved  an  anecdote  which 
tells  us  how  very  early  in  life  he  had  laid 
out  a  course  of  personal  reading  and 
study  on  the  methods  of  English  verse- 
writing  ;  and  to  the  day  of  his  death  he 
would  have  been  the  first  authority  on  the 
mere  mechanics  of  poetry,  as  well  as  a 
sympathetic  enthusiast  in  its  noblest 
flights.  He  was  "  a  maker  and  a  poet," 
—  yes ;  but  he  would  as  soon  have  been 
a  farmer  without  plough  or  hoe,  or  a 
printer  without  types,  or  a  singer  when 
born  dumb,  as  he  would  have  pretended 
to  be  a  poet  without  diligent  study  of 
what  other  poets  had  done,  and  of  their 
ways  of  doing  it. 

In  1855,  as  has  been  said,  he  was 
appointed  Smith  Professor  at  Cambridge. 
The  charge  implies  a  general  supervision 
over  the  study  of  the  modern  languages 
of  Continental  Europe  and  their  litera- 
ture. It  had  been  well  filled  by  Henry 
W.  Longfellow  since  1836,  —  and  with 
him,  as  with  Mr.  Ticknor,  his  successor, 
Lowell  had  lived  on  friendly,  even  inti- 
mate terms.  He  gave  himself  loyally  and 
diligently  to  his  college  duties.  He  was 
an  admirable  lecturer,  —  and  he  did  not 
disdain  the  work  of  teaching  a  language 
itself,  if  he  had  not  a  fit  teacher  at  hand. 
I  remember  that  at  one  time,  in  some 
vacancy  of  other  teaching,  he  taught  both 
Italian  and  German.  He  was  always 
kind  to  young  men  ;  and  any  one  who 
had  at  heart  a  real  cultivation  in  language 
or  literature  was  wellnigh  sure  of  his 
personal  friendship. 

Six  years  after,  the  war  broke  out. 
Immediate  relations  of  his  were  among 
the  most  distinguished  young  officers  of 
the  Massachusetts  contingent ;  and  the 
death   I   dare  not   say  of  how  many   of 


11)0 


JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL. 


these  fine  young  men  in  the  very  crash 
of  battle  called  out  all  the  noblest  sympa- 
thies of  those  around  him,  and  seemed 
to  bring  him  more  than  ever  into  every 
effort,  public  or  private,  by  which  he 
could  help  in  the  struggle.  The  "  Com- 
memoration Ode,"  which  is  spoken  of 
by  critics  the  most  competent  as  the 
American  poem  most  likely  to  stand  for- 
ever among  the  first  in  our  language,  is  a 
fit  monument  of  such  duties. 

This  may  be  a  fit  place  to  say  that  when- 
ever it  was  his  place  to  appear  as  a  speaker, 
his  manner  was  absolutely  simple,  and 
in  the  same  proportion  natural  and  effec- 
tive. He  was  wholly  at  his  ease  before 
an  audience,  and  knew  nothing  and 
therefore  needed  none  of  the  acquired 
arts  of  elocution. 

In  no  reference  to  Mr.  Lowell's  life 
should  his  invariable  kindness  be  forgot- 
ten, particularly  as  it  was  shown  to  young 
and  unknown  authors.  There  is  a  gen- 
eral feeling  that  editors,  as  such,  dislike 
young  authors.  My  experience  has  been 
exactly  in  the  other  direction.  I  have 
edited  magazines  and  newspapers  myself ; 
I  have  been  on  familiar  terms,  which  I 
may  call  in  many  cases  the  terms  of 
friendship,  with  Mr.  Hale  of  the  Boston 
Miscellany ;  with  Mr.  Lowell,  Mr.  Bowen, 
and  Dr.  Peabody  of  the  North  American 
Review ;  with  Mr.  Alden  of  Harper's; 
with  Mr.  Gilder  of  the  Century  ;  with  Mr. 
Mead  of  the  New  England  Magazine; 
with  Messrs.  Merriam,  Mabie,  and  Abbott 
of  the  Christian  Union  ;  with  Mr.  Ward 
and  Mr.  Richardson,  of  the  Independent; 
with  Mr.  Thorndike  Rice  of  the  North 
American  Review;  with  Mr.  Metcalf  of 
the  Forum;  and  Mr.  Walker  of  the  Cos- 
mopolitan ;  and  in  every  instance  I  may 
say  that  those  men  were  eagerly  on  the 
lookout  for  ability,  freshness,  for  what  I 
call  a  light  pen,  among  authors  as  yet 
unknown.  Certainly,  Mr.  Lowell  was 
most  careful  in  this  regard.  If  he  read, 
in  a  magazine  of  which  he  had  no  charge, 
something  which  he  thought  good,  he 
would  write  a  note  of  sympathy  or  en- 
couragement to  the  author.  You  remem- 
ber him  as  interested  in  the  first  steps  of 
tottering  young  authors,  to  whom  he 
would  gladly  lend  a  hand. 

I  do  not  know  how  far  his  diplomatic 


career  was  a  surprise  to  him.  The  elec- 
tion of  President  Hayes  was  due,  in  large 
measure,  to  the  determination  of  thought- 
ful and  conscientious  men  that  their 
opinion  should  be  respected  in  the 
choice  of  candidates ;  and  they  never 
had  any  reason  to  regret  the  share  they 
took  in  that  election.  "  It  was  such  a 
pleasure,"  as  one  of  them  once  said  to 
me,  "  to  wake  up  in  the  morning  and  not 
to  be  afraid  to  read  your  newspaper,"  for 
the  four  years  of  that  perfectly  clean  ad- 
ministration. The  newspapers  have  told 
the  interesting  story  of  the  way  by  which 
Mr.  Kasson,  who  had  been  appointed  to 
Spain,  exchanged  that  post  for  the  mis- 
sion to  Austria,  so  that  Mr.  Lowell  was 
sent  to  Spain.  I  was  afterwards  in  Spain, 
with  letters  of  introduction  from  Mr. 
Lowell,  and  was  in  a  position  to  see  how 
cordially  and  gladly  he  was  received 
among  cultivated  men.  His  knowledge 
of  the  Spanish  language  was  admirable 
when  he  went  there,  but  he  at  once  took 
the  most  careful  pains  that  his  pronunci- 
ation and  accent  should  be  more  ac- 
curate ;  and  during  the  time  of  his  stay 
there  he  made  himself  the  friend  of 
everybody  who  was  engaged  in  the  im- 
provement and  uplifting  of  Spain  itself. 
If  the  government  had  thought,  or  if 
anybody  had  thought,  that  his  appoint- 
ment there  was  merely  the  appointment 
of  a  literary  man  to  a  place  of  literary 
leisure,  such  people  were  mistaken.  He 
was  always  a  man  of  genius,  who  under- 
stood the  demands  of  office,  and  he 
never  would  have  undertaken  any  duty 
to  which  he  was  not  willing  to  lend  him- 
self. So  it  proved  that  his  correspond- 
ence was  accurate,  that  it  enlightened 
the  secretary  of  state  on  just  the  points 
on  which  he  wanted  to  be  enlightened. 
And  thus,  as  a  perfect  matter  of  course, 
when  a  vacancy  occurred  in  the  mission 
to  England,  Mr.  Lowell,  probably  more 
to  his  surprise  than  to  that  of  anybody 
else,  was  appointed  there. 

A  curious  incident  delayed  his  transfer 
to  England.  The  health  of  Mrs.  Lowell 
at  that  time  was  so  delicate  that  she 
could  not  be  moved  from  the  room  in 
which  she  was.  Mr.  Lowell,  therefore, 
wrote  to  Washington  that  he  should  be 
unable  to  accept  the  appointment  which 


JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL. 


191 


was  so  honorable  to  him.  Just  at  this 
moment  it  befell  that  the  curtains  of 
Mrs.  Lowell's  bed  took  fire.  Nurses  and 
attendants  were  frightened  out  of  their 
senses,  she  alone  retaining  her  presence 
of  mind.  She,  who  had  been  helpless 
but  just  before,  sat  up  and  gave  direc- 
tions for  extinguishing  the  conflagration, 
and,  in  one  word,  she  received  such 
vitality,  if  one  may  so  speak,  that  she 
was  a  new  person.  The  physicians  were 
delighted  with  the  result  of  this  fortunate 
misfortune.  They  told  Mr.  Lowell  that 
no  difficulty  would  follow  her  removal ; 
and  it  was  thus  that,  I  think  by  telegram, 
he  withdrew  the  letter  which  he  had  sent 
to  Washington.  To  the  fortunate  inci- 
dent of  the  lighting  of  a  bed-curtain 
with  a  candle  was  due  Mr.  Lowell's  dip- 
lomatic career  in  England. 

Of  that  career  this  is  hardly  the  place, 
and  I  am  hardly  the  person,  to  speak  in 
detail.  But  it  belongs  to  the  best  lines 
of  American  diplomacy.  Our  diplomatic 
service  does  not  train  men  to  the  diplo- 
matic profession.  Franklin  used  to  say 
that  he  won  all  his  successes  by  telling 
the  truth ;  and  he  certainly  was  all  the 
better  a  negotiator,  that  he  never  stepped 
upon  the  lower  steps  of  the  diplomatic 
ladder.  This  country  has  never  appeared 
to  better  advantage  in  the  eyes  of 
thoughtful  people  in  Europe,  than  when 
it  sent  such  men  as  the  Everetts,  Mr. 
Irving,  Mr.  Motley,  Mr.  Abbot  Lawrence, 
Mr.  George  Bancroft,  Mr.  John  Bigelow, 
or  Mr.  Lowell,  into  its  diplomatic  service, 
—  men,  none  of  whom  had  been  trained 
in  the  lower  grades,  as  they  are  called, 
of  what  is  called  the  diplomatic  profes- 
sion. With  England  our  relations  are 
specially  intimate.  We  do  speak  the 
same  language ;  some  of  us  think  we 
speak  it  better  than  she  does.  Our 
cousins  are  there,  our  grandfathers' 
gravestones  are  there,  and  we  have  as 
good  a  right  to  Shakespeare  as  they,  and 
a  good  deal  more  right  to  Milton.  Some- 
body who  can  rightly  express  the  inborn 
sympathy  which  makes  the  two  nations 
one  is  of  more  use  to  both  nations  than 
anybody  who  knows  only  the  fine  details 
of  histories  of  forgotten  treaties,  or  of 
the  points  on  which  former  ages  have 
managed  to  differ. 


His  diplomatic  correspondence  is  ex- 
cellent reading.  I  wonder  that  no  pub- 
lisher has  made  a  collection  of  these  let- 
ters, which  are  the  property  of  the  public. 
I  had  meant  to  give  some  passages  from 
them  here,  but  I  must  reserve  them  for 
some  other  opportunity.  His  career  in 
England  made  him  a  personal  favorite 
there,  as  he  was  already  in  America.  It 
was  said,  on  high  authority,  that  no  man 
not  an  Englishman  was  so  widely  loved 
and  honored.  And  he  gained  this  hold 
on  men's  regard  by  gaining  a  hold  on 
their  respect.  No  American  has  been 
more  true  to  the  principles  on  which 
alone  our  Republic  stands,  nor  are  there 
any  better  statements  of  those  principles 
than  there  are  in  some  of  his  addresses. 

An  effort  was  made,  at  some  public 
meetings  of  Irishmen,  to  show  that  he 
had  been  sluggish,  or  worse,  in  the  failure 
to  attend  to  the  interests  of  naturalized 
Irishmen  who  had  been  arrested  in  Eng- 
land. The  correspondence  shows,  on  the 
other  hand,  the  most  diligent  care.  But  it 
was  perfectly  true,  as  he  says  in  one  of  his 
letters,  that  "  naturalized  Irishmen  seem 
entirely  to  •misconceive  the  process  through 
which  they  have  passed  in  assuming  Ameri- 
can citizenship,  looking  upon  themselves 
as  Irishmen  who  have  acquired  a  right 
to  American  protection,  rather  than  as 
Americans  who  have  renounced  the  claim 
to  Irish  nationality."  In  an  earlier  letter 
he  had  called  attention  to  Parnell's  letter 
of  Paris,  February  13,  "in  which  he 
makes  a  distinction  between  the  Ameri- 
can people  and  '  the  Irish  nation  in 
America.'  This  double  nationality  is 
likely  to  be  of  great  practical  inconveni- 
ence whenever  the  coercion  bill  becomes 
law.  The  same  actor  takes  alternately 
the  characters  of  a  pair  of  twins  who  are 
never  on  the  stage  simultaneously." 

The  innate  humor  of  Mr.  Lowell  shows 
itself  in  almost  all  these  despatches ;  — 
and  who  knows  what  good  things  have 
been  left  out !  Congress  is  very  hard  on 
the  State  Department,  and  compels  it  to 
cut  down  the  despatches  to  the  minimum, 
so  that  it  is  to  be  feared  that  we  lose 
what  might  be  the  most  readable  things. 
He  ends  one  of  these  Irish  despatches 
by  saying,  of  a  man  who  lived  in  Ireland 
thirteen  years,  and  then  claimed    to    be 


192 


JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL. 


an  American  :  "  I  cannot  help  thinking 
that  the  British  government  would  be  jus- 
tified in  questioning  the  final  perseverance 
(if  I  may  borrow  a  theological  term)  of 
adopted  citizenship  under  adverse  cir- 
cumstances like  these." 

Probably  it  was  an  advantage  to  both 
countries  that  the  Foreign  Secretary  was 
the  late  Lord  Granville.  Between  him 
and  Mr.  Lowell  there  existed  warm  per- 
sonal regard.  Lord  Granville  once  wrote 
to  Mr.  Lowell  to  ask  him  to  dinner.  He 
said  in  the  note  that  it  was  absurd  to  give 
so  short  notice  as  he  gave  to  "  the  most 
engaged  man  in  London."  Lowell  re- 
plied, "  '  The  most  engaged  man  in  Lon- 
don '  is  very  glad  to  dine  with  the  most 
engaging." 

Since    his    return    from    England,   Mr. 


Lowell's  health  had  not  been  strong.  For 
some  years  he  was  resident  with  his 
daughter ;  but  he  enjoyed  his  return  to 
Elmwood,  after  the  lease  had  expired 
under  which  it  had  been  occupied  in  his 
absence.  Still  he  said  to  me  one  day 
when  I  met  him,  "  Yes,  I  am  glad  to  be 
at  Elmwood.  —  but  the  house  is  full  of 
ghosts."  Since  he  had  lived  there  be- 
fore, the  second  Mrs.  Lowell  had  died ; 
Cambridge  was  not  the  Cambridge  of  his 
boyhood  nor  of  his  college  professorship. 
Still,  he  was  always  cheerful,  singularly 
cordial  to  visits  of  strangers,  who  must 
often  have  bored  him  badly,  and  quite 
ready  to  lend  a  hand  wherever  there 
was  an  opportunity.  His  was  one  of 
those  lives  which  we  were  not  ready  to 
part  from. 


JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL. 

By  Sarah  K.  Bolton. 


T 


HE  great  trees  murmur  at  the  midnight  hour ; 
The  birds  in  silence  wait : 
A  soul  is  passing  to  the  Fount  of  Power,  — 
Elmwood  is  desolate. 


Lover  of  nature,  lover  of  his  race, 

Learned,  and  true,  and  strong : 
Using  for  others,  with  surpassing  grace, 

The  matchless  gift  of  song,  — 

When  clouds  hung  darkest  in  our  day  of  pain, 

He  prophesied  the  light ; 
He  looked  adown  the  ages  for  the  reign 

Of  Brotherhood  and  Right. 

Proud  of  his  country,  helping  to  unbind 

The  fetters  of  the  slave  : 
Two  worlds  their  wreaths  of  honor  have  entwined 

About  an  open  grave. 

Great  in  his  simple  love  of  flower  and  bird, 

Great  in  the  statesman's  art, 
He  has  been  greatest  in  his  lifting  word 

To  every  human  heart. 

He  lived  the  lesson  which  Sir  Launfal  guessed 

Through  wandering  far  and  wide  ; 
The  giver  must  be  given  in  the  quest : 

He  gave  himself,  and  died. 


Mont  Saint   Michel. 


MONT  SAINT  MICHEL. 

By  A.  M.  Mosher. 


'HE  interest  which  all  musi- 
cal Americans  are  now 
feeling  in  the  Parsifal  is  a 
quite  sufficient  reason  for 
asking  the  company  of 
some  in  a  visit  to  the 
scene  of  so  many  of  the 
legends  of  the  Round 
Table ;  although  surely 
no  ulterior  inducement  need  be  urged 
for  a  visit  to  beautiful  Mont  Saint 
Michel. 

Standing  boldly  off  the  coast  of  Nor- 
mandy, at  the  point  where  Brittany  comes 
to  touch  hands  with  her  sister  province, 
rises  Mont  Saint  Michel.  In  reality  this 
gigantic  rock  stands  in  an  estuary  of  the 
river  Couesnon,  which  separates  the  two 
provinces.  According  to  old  chronicles, 
both  Normans  and  Bretons  claimed  the 
Mount,  and  some  mildly  scornful  rhymes 
passed  to  and  fro.  The  Bretons  put  it 
thus  : 

"  Le  Cou'esiion  dans  sa  folie 
A  mis  le  Mont  en  Normandie." 

to  which  the  Normans  retorted  : 


\       "  Si  bon  n'etait  Normandie 

Saint  Michel  ne  s*y  serait  mis." 

Normandy,  whether  by  the  gentle  logic 
of  her  rhymes,  or  by  more  material 
methods,  appears  to  have  gained  undis- 
puted possession,  and  to-day  has  for 
rival  only  the  Bay  of  Cancale,  which  at 
high  tide  turns  the  Mount  into  an  island, 
while  in  low  waters  one  may  reach  the 
place  on  dry  land. 

An  English  poet  has  named  Cancale 
"  the  blue,  savage  Norman  bay "  — 
savage,  because  when  the  tide  rises, 
instead  of  the  gradually  advancing  and 
receding  waters,  one  great  wave  sweeps 
to  the  base  of  the  rock  and  surrounds  it ; 
and  woe  betide  the  belated  traveller  if 
caught  in  its  swift  course.  At  low  tide 
the  danger  is  no  less,  because  of  the  quick- 
sands, which  for  centuries  have  been  a 
terror  to  pilgrims  and  travellers,  many 
thousands  having  perished  in  their 
treacherous  snares.  Several  years  ago,  a 
road,  raised  to  a  point  of  safety,  was  con- 
structed, and  to-day  the  journey  is  made 
without  danger. 


194 


MONT  SAINT  MICHEL. 


Mont  Saint  Michel  was  already  famous 
in  those  days  when  brave  knights  rode 
away  to  the  wars  of  the  Holy  Land. 
To-day  it  is  valued  as  a  monument  of  art, 
and  for  its  ecclesiastical,  military,  and 
civil  history.  "  Rock,  city,  stronghold, 
cathedral"  —  representing  the  idea  of 
chivalry  through  Charlemagne,  and  of 
Christianity  through  St.  Louis,  it  stands, 
one  harmonious  mass  of  grandeur  and 
beauty. 

We  had  turned  our  backs  on  Paris  at 
the  moment  when  that  city  loses  the 
charm  which  May  bestows,  which  June 
holds  fast  to,  which  July  has  not  quite 
taken  away,  but  which  August  has  shat- 
tered. For  when  the  nightingales  of  the 
Woods  of  Meudon  have  ceased  their 
singing,  and  the  little  balcony-cafes  along 


large,  have  lost  their  charm.  What 
wonder,  then,  if  the  surest  road  to  comfort 
seems  to  lead  shorewards?  and  what 
wonder  that  of  all  places  we  choose  Mont 
Saint  Michel?  A  day  there,  even  under 
dull  skies,  must  be  set  down  among  the 
white  days.  How  then  when  under  the 
bluest  of  skies  touched  with  white  woolly 
clouds,  with  a  cool  sea  air,  and  the  full 
of  an  August  moon  to  lend  charm  to  the 
scene  at  night? 

All  the  way  down  from  Paris  we  felt 
and  acted  like  four  children  let  loose 
upon  a  holiday.  One  of  us  is  a  scholar 
with  archaeological  tendencies;  another, 
a  veritable  poet,  a  dreamer  of  dreams ;  a 
third  carries  a  sketching  book,  and  that 
conglomeration  of  utensils  which  a  student 
at   the  Julian   studio   in  Paris  is  seldom 


The  Cloister. — A  View  taken  from  the   Gallery. 


the  Seine  near  St.  Cloud,  where  in  spring- 
time we  were  sure  of  quiet  suppers,  with 
gay  chats  over  our  bifteck  au  Chateau- 
briand and  Romaine  salad,  —  the  slow, 
yellow  sunsetting  and  plashing  river-boats 
being  the  best  of  the  feast  —  when  these 
joys  are  at  an  end,  because  the  crowds 
seek  our  favorite  nooks,  then  the  heart 
turns  elsewhere.  The  boulevards,  now 
resonant  with  the  voice  of  the  world  at 


seen  without ;  the  fourth  is  only  a  per- 
son who  cannot  paint,  but  sees  pictures, 
who  cannot  rhyme,  but  feels  poems,  and 
as  for  archaeology,  would  rather  toss  up 
an  omelet  or  whisk  together  a  Welsh 
rarebit  than  read  a  musty  book  or  remem- 
ber a  musty  date  ;  indeed,  people  say 
that  her  artistic  and  poetic  capacities 
have  vented  themselves  in  her  omelets 
and  rarebits.     Here  then  were  four  points 


MONT  SAINT  MICHEL. 


195 


of  view  from  which  to  see  Mont  Saint 
Michel,  and  all  four  found  their  satisfac- 
tion. 

The   journey   through  Normandy  is   a 
joy.       Millet's    brush    has    turned     into 
pictures  the  green  fields,  pretty  cottages, 
and  quaint  churches  of  his  native  prov- 
vince.     His  "  Sower "   surely  went  forth 
to  sow  among  these  fields   and  streams. 
Could  we  catch  sight  of  the  interior  of 
the  thatched  cottage  past  which  our  train 
rushes,  we  should  doubtless  see  his  "  Wo- 
man at  the  Churn."       Off  there  on 
that  green  slope  we  see  a  little  church 
with  a  ragged  stone  wall    around  it, 
and  flocks  of  birds  about  the  tower 
—  a  perfect  mate  to  the  "  Church  of 
Greville  "  which  adorns  the  walls  of 
the   Louvre.     Three  hours  hence,  at 
the    sound    of  the    sunset   bell,  that 
couple  at  work  in   the  field,  a  half- 
mile    away,    will    stand    with    bowed 
heads,    and    we     should    see    "  The 
Angelus  "  as  Millet  saw  it  before  he 
gave  it  to  the  world.      Thus   Millet 
everywhere.     A  peasant  woman  car- 
rying   a    hamper    of  cream    cheeses 
daintily    arranged,    each    in    its    tiny 
straw   basket  lined    with    fresh   grass 
and    clover,  comes    into  our  railway 
carriage,  and  three  blue  nuns,  looking 
like    beauties    in   their  faultless  pale 
blue  robes    with   white    girdles,    also 
join  us,  all  being  bound,  as  we  are, 
for  the  Sacred  Mount.      It  is  nearly 
sunset  when    we  reach  Pontorson  — 
a  pretty  little  Norman  town,  famous 
as  the  old  fief  of  Bertrand  du  Gueslin. 
We    are    glad  to    leave     the    railway 
carriage,   and  we   speedily   climb    to 
the   top   of  the   queer   old  diligence 
which  will    take    us  to    the    end    of  our 
journey. 

Miles  of  sand  lie  between  us  and  the 
Mount.  The  heat  of  the  sun  is  tem- 
pered by  the  fresh  air  from  the  sea.  The 
sky,  softly  blue,  seems  like  a  silken  tent 
spread  over  us.  No  noise  is  heard  save 
the  dull  roar  of  the  tide,  which  will  soon 
sweep  landward.  The  flocks  of  sheep 
feeding  upon  the  salt  marshlands  know 
this  sound  of  warning,  and  simply  betake 
themselves  to  safer  pastures.  The  swing 
of  our  sleeply  old  diligence,  rolling  noise- 
lessly  along   the    sands,    provokes    quiet 


fancies  and  revery.  We  think  of  the  old- 
time  pilgrimages  made  hither.  Charle- 
magne in  his  day,  the  pious  king  St. 
Louis,  and  kings  and  emperors  of  less 
piety  came  as  pilgrims  to  the  Mount. 
It  is  related  that  on  the  8th  of  June, 
1450,  Duke  Francis  of  Brittany  made  a 
famous  pilgrimage,  to  obtain  from  heaven 
the  repose  of  the  soul  of  his  brother 
Gilles,  who  had  some  time  before  died 
imprisoned  in  the  castle  of  his  brother 
Francis.     And  much  need  there  was  that 


Galerie  de    I'Aquilon. 

this  soul  should  be  quieted ;  for  strange 
tales  were  whispered  from  castle  to  castle 
of  the  poisoning  of  Gilles  of  Brittany  in 
his  castle-prison,  and  that  it  was  Duke 
Francis  himself  who  had  done  the  deed. 
A  restless  ghost,  liable  to  appear  at  un- 
expected moments  and  corners,  must 
have  lessened  the  pleasures  of  Duke 
Francis's  life  in  his  Chateau  de  la  Hai'- 
douinays.  At  all  events,  he  desired  that 
a  mass  should  be  said  for  the  soul  of  his 
brother  in  the  basilica  of  Mont  Saint 
Michel,  and  hence  it  came  to  pass  that  the 
fine  old  town  of  Avranches,  asres  ago  con- 


196 


MONT  SAINT  MICHEL. 


QMm 


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quered  and  reconquered  by  the  dukes  of  Nor- 
mandy and  Brittany,  and  so  long  quarrelled  over 
by  French  and  English  kings,  but  to-day  holding 
its  ecclesiastical  place  in  grim  state,  on  this  June 
morning  in  the  fifteenth  century  was  full  of  excite- 
ment. The  mass  was  to  be  held  at  noon.  At  eleven 
o'clock  a  cannon  fired  from  the  Mount  announced 
the  fact  of  low  tide  —  a  special  attention  paid  to 
Duke  Francis  and  his  suite,  who  otherwise  might 
have  been  swallowed,  ducal  crests  and  all,  in  the 
dangerous  quicksands,  and  the  restless  soul  of 
poor  Gilles  might  even  now  be  loitering  in  limbo. 

At  the  moment  of  the  firing  of  the  cannon, 
all  the  bells  of  Avranches  rang  out  a  noisy  peal, 
and  the  gates  of  the  castle  swung  open  to  let  pass 
the  noble  cavalcade,  and,  with  drums  and  trumpets 
sounding  and  banners  flying,  the  start  was  made. 
It  is  related  that  Duke  Francis  was  very  pale  that 
day  and  trembled  in  his  saddle,  and  his  face  wore 
a  troubled  look.  The  dukes  of  Brittany,  we  know, 
led  strange  lives,  and  were  given  to  unhandsome 
doings.  The  veritable  Bluebeard's  castle  was  not 
far  from  that  of  Duke  Francis,  and  the  ungentle 
recreations  of  that  ungentle  man  were  the  talk 
of  the  province  even  in  those  days. 

All  these  queer  tales  come  into  the  mind  as 
we  plod  our  way,  following  a  motion  that  only 
a  Norman  diligence  has  the  kink  of  achieving. 
But  now  we  round  a  curve,  and  lo  !  as  if  swung 
against  the  sky,  whose  blue  is  fast  turning  into 
gold  as  the  sun  goes  down,  looms  the  mighty 
Mount,  all  shining  in  the  sunlight,  its  walls  and 
towers  and  heaped-up  battlements  ablaze,  while 
at  its  base  the  grays  and  violet  blend  hazily  into 
a  harmonious  mass,  turning  the  solid  masonry 
into  the  dreamy  lines  of  some  fantastic  castle. 
Oh  !  wonder  of  wonders.  Even  so  Mont  Saint 
Michel  shone  out  in  the  middle  century  days, 
and  we  feel  ourselves  set  back  into  those  times. 
Tales  of  the  crusades,  of  knights  and  the  old 
dukes  of  Normandy  and  Brittany  come  to  the 
fore.  The  legends  of  the  Mount  flash  into  the 
mind.  So  given  over  to  the  mediaeval  spirit 
are  we,  that  we  might  easily  mistake  that  flitting 
cloud  that  seems  to  touch  the  western  wall  of  the 
abbey,  for  the  "White-veiled  Fairy  of  the  Sands," 
the  same  who  saved  the  life  of  her  cavalier-lover 
Aubry,  he  being  cruelly  imprisoned  in  one  of  the 
dungeons  of  the  monastery,  made  by  digging  into 
the  solid  rock.  Flitting  along  the  sands  in  the 
moonlit  midnight,  on  these  errands  of  love,  no 
wonder  the  creeps  went  down  the  backs  of  the 
super  -  superstitious  Normans,  who  whispered 
strange  tales  to  their  children  of  the  "Veiled 
Fairy    of    the    Sands."      Only    her    true    knight 


MONT  SAINT  MICHEL. 


197 


knew,  when  she  whispered  "  Aubry " 
into  the  one  small  opening  of  his  dun- 
geon, that  the  voice  was  a  girl's  voice, 
and  that  the  bread  and  wine  were  actual 
food  and  drink  brought  by  his  "  Reine." 
He  whispers  his  thanks  and  his  love. 
The  whispers  seem  to  her  to  come  from 
the  bowels  of  the  earth  —  so  deep  and 
underground  are  these  dungeons.  She 
shivers,  half  for  love,  half  for  fear,  and 
speeds  away,  flitting,  flitting 
over  the  sands,  to  return  with 
each  successive  midnight.  It 
is  the  memory  of  this  old 
tale  that  causes  the  little 
cloud  to  resemble  the  white- 
veiled  fairy,  and  bring  to 
mind  other  old-time  stories 
of  monks  and  knights  and 
sets  the  rhythm  of  the  middle 
ages  agoing  in  the  fancy. 

There  is  no  knowing  how 
long  this  dreaming  might 
have  gone  on  had  not  our 
diligence  put  an  end  to  it  by 
coming  to  a  full  stop ;  and 
instead  of  knights  and  dukes 
and  fairies  we  see  everyday 
nineteenth-century  travellers 
descending  from  their  places 
and  hurrying  to  the  gateway. 

Entering  the  town,  which 
is  mostly  one  street,  encir- 
cling the  base  of  the  rock  in 
a  gradual  ascent,  we  are  con- 
fronted by  a  bit  of  French 
history  in  the  shape  of  two 
pieces  of  cannon,  abandoned 
by  the  besieging  English  in 
1434.  We  pass  through  a 
second  gate  and,  following 
the  queer,  narrow  street,  find 
ourselves  at  the  entrance  of 
the  most  enticing  of  kitchens. 
The  day  has  grown  into  twilight,  deep- 
ened by  the  high  walls  and  narrowness 
of  the  streets  ;  and  the  interior  of  Madame 
Poulard's  kitchen  affords  a  good  subject 
for  a  picture,  one  that  Teniers  would 
have  delighted  in. 

Before  a  deep,  broad  chimney  with  its 
roaring  log-fire  stands  our  famous  hostess, 
sung  by  poets,  painted  by  artists,  and 
known  all  over  France  as  "  the  Queen  of 
Mont     Saint     Michel."       Two    rows    of 


chickens,  strung  upon  long  spits,  revolve 
slowly  before  the  fire,  and  have  reached 
that  climax  of  color  and  crispness  that 
might  tempt  a  saint  into  the  sin  of  glut- 
tony. Madame  herself,  standing  in  the 
firelight,  holds  a  six-feet-long  handle  of  a 
large  fryipg-pan,  in  which  an  omelet  fit 
for  the  gods  is  forming  and  browning. 
Madame  is  pretty,  brunette  and  bright- 
eyed.     Her  hair  is  faultlessly  arranged ; 


Tk^foX 


Street  in  Saint  Michel. 


she  wears  the  daintiest  of  collars  and 
cuffs,  and  a  large  blue  apron  protects 
her  tidy  black  gown.  She  has  never 
been  known  to  lose  her  temper  and  she 
has  never  lost  her  complexion,  albeit  for 
a  score  of  years  she  has  roasted  the 
chickens  and  cooked  the  omelets  that 
have  made  famous  her  little  hostelry. 
We  must  not,  however,  give  to  our  host- 
ess the  credit  of  having  invented  the  rare 
omelet  that  gives  the   name  to  her  little 


198 


MONT  SAINT  MICHEL. 


The   King's  Gate  and   Watch  Tower. 

inn.  It  is  to  the  clergy  of  France  that 
we  owe  this,  as  well  as  many  another  good 
dish.  Monks  of  two  orders  gave  the 
name  to  the  famous  Chartreuse  and  Bene- 
dictine liqueurs.  The  delicate  Floguard 
cakes,  the  sausages  of  the  Abbe  Lamou- 
roux,  the  sauce  of  the  Abbe  Bergougnoux, 
yea,  even  the  historic  omelet  of  Mont 
Saint  Michel,  the  secret  of  which  has 
come  down  through  centuries  from  the 
ancient  abbes  of  the  place  —  all  have 
come  from  the  clergy.  Meanwhile,  Ma- 
dame's  omelet,  tossed  lightly  from  the  pan 
to  the  platter,  has  come  to  the  table  ;  we 
have  eaten  and  drunk  of  her  good  fare, 
served  by  her  own  hands  ;  we  have  taken 
our  coffee  outside,  sitting  at  one  of  the 
small  tables  in  the  narrow  street;  the 
poet  and  the  scholar  have  sat  lost  in  their 
thoughts  and  looking  things  unutterable 
over  their  cigars  ;  and  it  has  come  to  be 


ten  o'clock,  with  the  twi- 
light of  that  region  still 
upon  us.  To-morrow  we 
are  to  explore  the  monas- 
tery which  crowns  the 
summit  of  the  rock.  Sleep 
should  come  between,  and 
we  go  to  our  dormitories. 
In  this  unique  inn  there 
is  no  office ;  no  hotel 
clerk  presses  a  button, 
and,  by  virtue  of  a  bell- 
boy, a  glib  order  and  a 
lighted  candle,  launches 
us  into  the  assigned  quar- 
ters. Instead,  each  trav- 
eller receives  from  the 
hostess  a  smiling  good- 
night, and  a  small  paper 
lantern  lighted  by  a  bit 
of  candle  inside,  and  bear- 
ing outside  the  legend 
"Poulard."  A  narrow 
flight  of  stone  stairs  brings 
us  from  the  little  street  to 
the  top  of  the  inner  wall 
of  the  town ;  we  cross  a 
bastion,  round  a  tower  of 
the  eleventh  century,  creep 
timidly  through  dark 
arches,  climb  long  flights 
of  stone  steps,  mossy  and 
worn,  and  at  last  reach  the 
building  where  the  sleep- 
ing-rooms are.  Each  separate  bedroom 
is  as  it  were  a  balcony  built  out  from  the 
rocky  mountain,  and  commands  a  splendid 
view.  We  look  down  into  the  narrow 
street  where  we  lately  took  our  coffee, 
and  see  other  little  lanterns  like  ours 
dancing  hither  and  thither  ;  we  look  up 
into  the  mysterious  arches  and  windows 
of  the  monastery  standing  solemnly  up 
there  against  the  night  sky,  or  we  look 
out  and  away  across  the  sands  to  the  sea. 
Whether  below,  above,  or  seaward,  all  is 
weird  and  shadowy  and  dreamy  in  the 
light  of  the  August  moon  which,  swung 
low  in  the  sky,  looks  red  and  swollen  out 
of  its  natural  size,  and  seems  to  be  droop- 
ing earthward.  This  moon  has  witnessed 
strange  scenes  in  her  time.  Far  away  there 
where  the  Bay  of  Cancale  now  lies  shin- 
ing once  stood  vast  oak  forests,  and 
therein  Druids  celebrated  their  mysterious 


MONT  SAINT  MICHEL. 


199 


rites  and  offered  their  horrible  sacrifices. 
An  ancient  rhyming  monk  of  the  sixth 
century  has  sung  of  this  forest,  which 
bore  the  name  of  Scissy.  Black-robed 
priestesses  garlanded  with  vervain,  swing- 
ing their  lighted  torches,  their  white  arms 
gleaming  in  the  streaming  light  as  they 
swung  and  circled  among  the  shadows  of 
the  sombre  oaks,  must  have  made  a  weird 
picture  under  a  moon  like  this  ! 

Such  matters  and  fancies  fill  our  minds, 
and  to  say  that  our  quartette  slept  much 
that  night  would  not  be  to  tell  the  truth. 
The  solemn  antiquity  of  the  place  made 
havoc  with  the  .nerves  of  the  man  of 
dates ;  the  poet  rhymed  his  thought  and 
set  his  song  asinging ;  the  little  painter 
perched  herself  in  her  casement  and 
caught  bits  of  the  scene  in  pastel;  and 
the  fourth  body  thought  long  upon  the 
historical  omelet,  and  laid  schemes  for 
securing  the  secret  of  its  perfection.  But 
lest  injustice  be  done  her,  let  us  say  that 
her's  was  the  last  head  of  the  four  to  be- 
take itself  to  sleep  ;  for  not  until  the  moon 
had  gone  down  into  the  waves  of  Can- 
cale,  and  the  star  lagging  after  had 
vanished,  did  she  disappear  from  her  win- 
dow. At  last  the  bats  and  the  night- 
birds  had  it  to  themselves  —  the  Mount 
slept.  Madam  Poulard,  too,  rested  from 
her  labors ;  and  not  until  the  coffee  and 
fresh  rolls  and  butter  were  brought  to  our 
rooms  did  we  rise  to  meet  the  next  day's 
plans.  At  ten  o'clock  a  guide  came  to 
conduct  us  through  the  monastery. 

We  are  indebted  to  legends  and  tradi- 
tion for  whatever  is  known  of  Mont 
Saint  Michel  before  the  eighth  century. 
The  disappearance  of  the  druidical  forests 
where  the  Bay  of  Cancale  now  is,  is  an 
undisputed  fact,  well  proven  by  the  char- 
acter of  the  deposits  in  the  soil.  Just 
how  this  transformation  was  brought 
about  has  always  been  clear  to  the  Gallic 
mind,  through  the  "  Legend  of  the  Bre- 
ton Flood,"  which  is  one  of  innumerable 
tales  stored  away  in  Breton  families,  like 
so  much  linen  and  silver,  passing  down 
through  many  generations,  and  told  to 
the  children  of  Normandy  and  Brittany 
to-day.  This  particular  legend  is  an 
agreeable  one,  and  is  said  to  have  been 
arranged  expressly  for  the  benefit  of  a 
bishop  of  St.  Malo.     It  relates  that  "  as 


the  waters  increased,  Amel  the  pastor 
and  Penhor  his  wife,  together  with  their 
child,  Raoul,  were  upon  the  point  of  being 
submerged.  At  the  moment  when  the 
peril  is  greatest,  Amel  places  Penhor, 
holding  the  child  in  her  arms,  upon  his 
head  for  safety.  As  the  water  still  rises 
Penhor  places  the  little  one  upon  her 
head.  The  flood  mounts  higher  and 
higher  until  only  the  blond  hair  of  the 
child  and  a  bit  of  its  blue  dress  appear 
upon  the  surface  of  the  water.  An  angel, 
flying  heavenward,  perceives  upon  the 
water  this  bit  of  blue  and  gold,  and  says, 
'There  is  a  little  one  who  belongs  to 
me,'  and  proceeds  to  raise  it.  She  finds 
it  difficult,  because  attached  to  the  little 
Raoul  is  Penhor  his  mother,  and  she  in 
turn  is  held  fast  by  Amel  the  husband. 
The  angel,  smiling,  drops  a  tear  as  she 
be  holds  this  '  grappe  des  cceurs  '  —  this 
cluster  of  hearts  —  and  will  not  separate 
them."  The  legend  adds,  "  Families  in 
which  there  is  love  on  earth  remain 
united  even  in  heaven." 

There  is  also  a  Norman  legend  of  this 
same  flood,  of  a  much  less  delicate  and 
tender  quality.  Indeed,  when  one  knows 
what  weird  and  horrible  tales  serve  as 
bedtime  stories  for  the  little  folk  of  these 
coasts,  one  is  not  surprised  at  the  quiet, 
serious,  even  sad  faces  of  the  children 
one  sees  there.  Fancy  the  effect  of  such 
a  paragraph  as  this,  from  a  legend  con- 
cerning Judas  Iscariot,  when  put  into 
nursery  rhymes,  and  whispered  into  the 
ear  of  a  half-asleep  child  : 

"  St.  Brandan  met  Judas  upon  a  rock 
in  the  middle  of  the  Polar  Sea.  Judas 
passes  one  day  of  each  week  there,  in 
order  to  cool  himself  from  the  fires  of 
hell.  A  garment  that  he  had  given  in 
charity  to  a  leper  is  suspended  before 
him  and  tempers  his  sufferings,  etc." 
The  Norman  small  boy  goes  off  into 
dreamland  on  such  like  stories,  as  a  Ger- 
man child  would  doze  off  on  a  Grimm 
tale,  or  an  American  baby  on  its  Mother 
Goose. 

In  the  druidical  days,  and  through 
the  Roman  conquests,  indeed  until  the 
eighth  century,  the  Mount  was  called 
Tombeleine ;  several  legends  serve  to 
account  for  this  name.  Later  on  Saint 
Michael  came  upon  the  scene,  and  there- 


200 


MONT  SAINT  MICHEL. 


after  played  a  great  part  in  France,  both 
in  church  and  state.  The  pagan  idea  of 
deity,  as  a  god  of  force,  a  fighting  god, 
expressed  by  Odin  and  Thor,  found 
satisfaction  in  St.  Michael,  slayer  of 
dragons,  who  also  had  been  a  prince  of 
the  Chosen  People  —  a  patron  saint  in 
their  synagogue.  We  now  see  St. 
Michael  becoming  the  guardian  of  the 
Church  and  of  France.  He  it  was  who 
furnished  the  vial  of  oil  at  the  baptism 
of  Clovis,  the  first  Christian  king  of 
France.  He  also  drove  the  Germans 
from  the  soil ;  and  having  accomplished 
these  things  he  cast  eyes  about  the  coasts 
of  France  in  search  of  a  spot  worthy  of 
him,  and  a  fit  person  to  serve  his  purpose. 
Mount  Tombeleine  and  Saint  Aubert  then 
came  into  conjunction. 

Near  Avranches,  in  the  year  660,  St. 
Aubert  was  born.  His  family  was  rich 
and  noble.  In  those  days  a  man  who 
had  not  slain  at  least  one  dragon  could 
lay  small  claim  to  distinction  in  the  best 
circles.  St.  Aubert  had  slain  his  mon- 
ster, and  in  the  year  704  had  been  made 
Archbishop  of  Avranches.  He  loved 
solitude,  and  was  wont  to  dream  and 
meditate  in  the  forests  of  Scissy.  The 
story  goes  that  in  this  forest,  Michael 
appeared  to  St.  Aubert  in  a  dream,  com- 
manding him  to  build  upon  the  summit 
of  Tombeleine  an  edifice  in  honor  of  him. 
St.  Aubert  at  first  put  no  faith  in  the 
vision  —  nor  did  the  second  appearance 
move  him  ;  but  a  third  manifestation  and 
command  to  go  to  the  mountain  and  re- 
main there  until  his  task  was  ended  con- 
vinced his  doubtful  mind.  It  is  claimed 
that  the  finger  of  the  archangel,  in  the 
strenuousness  of  his  appeal,  chanced  to 
make  its  impress  upon  the  forehead  of  St. 
Aubert,  and  some  ardent  polemics  have 
been  the  result ;  but  the  skull  of  St. 
Aubert,  treasured  among  other  relics  in 
the  church  of  St.  Gervais  at  Avranches, 
with  "  an  oblong  opening  in  the  right 
parietal  bone,  large  enough  for  a  finger 
to  enter  it,"  ought  to  settle  the  matter 
surely  !  The  story  proceeds  :  St.  Au- 
bert goes  to  the  mountain  accompanied 
by  a  multitude  of  peasants,  singing  hymns 
as  they  march  thither.  Great  difficulties 
are  overcome  in  miraculous  ways.  Fresh 
water  being  needed,  Michael  finds  a  way 


out  of  the  dilemma  by  piercing  a  rock, 
whence  a  fountain  bursts  forth  !  This 
still  exists.  St.  Aubert's  edifice  was  at 
first  little  more  than  a  grotto,  but  finally 
a  small  temple  was  raised  and  a  college  of 
twelve  monks  established.  Aubert  died 
in  725,  seeing  his  work  already  venerated 
by  the  whole  world,  Tombeleine  thus  be- 
came Mont  Saint  Michel,  and  the  cross 
took  the  place  of  the  dolmen. 

Already  many  pilgrimages  had  been 
made  to  the  Mount.  The  old  French 
King  Childebert  went  in  great  pomp  and 
placed  his  royal  crown  at  the  feet  of  the 
statue  of  the  archangel  which  surmounted 
the  temple.  In  713,  Pope  Constantine 
sent  many  valuable  relics  to  St.  Aubert. 
Saints,  popes,  kings,  and  peasants  con- 
spired to  glorify  the  Mount,  with  which 
great  victories  and  many  miracles  are 
associated.  Charlemagne,  with  his  mil- 
itary, political,  and  intellectual  power, 
added  much  to  the  fame  of  the  place. 
To  him,  St.  Michael  was  the  celestial 
chevalier  of  France,  and  the  figure  of 
this  saint  was  emblazoned  upon  the  ban- 
ners that  led  his  great  armies  wherever 
they  marched.  His  pious  attentions  to 
the  shrine  of  Saint  Michael  were  not 
without  their  influence  abroad,  and  Mont 
Saint  Michel  became,  if  a  modern  word 
may  be  used  to  express  a  mediaeval  con- 
dition, a  "fad"  among  kings,  popes,  and 
people. 

Throughout  the  "  Song  of  Roland,"  — 
that  early  epic  of  France,  Mont  Saint 
Michel  figures  under  its  most  ancient 
surname:  "  Ange  du  Peril"  Afterwards 
it  came  to  be  called  '■  Saint  Michel  du 
Peril"  ;  finally  "Saint  Michel  au  Peril 
de  la  Mer"  which  name  it  still  holds. 
Roland  and  Oliver  and  Ogier,  the  Dane, 
figure  in  the  old  legends  of  the  place, 
and  a  story  is  told  of  St.  EfTlane,  who 
had  married  a  princess  more  beautiful 
than  the  day,  but  had  left  her  to  go  and 
spread  abroad  the  faith  in  Brittany.  He 
landed  at  Mont  Saint  Michel  at  the  mo- 
ment when  his  cousin  Arthur  was  about 
to  attack  a  horrible  dragon  whose  breath 
was  fire  and  whose  eye  was  like  lances. 
He  is  said  to  have  assisted  Arthur  out  of 
his  strait  by  a  miracle. 

Naturally  the  legends  of  Arthur  and 
the  Knights  of  the  Round  Table  abound  at 


MONT  SAINT  MICHEL. 


201 


the  Mount,  since  Brittany  claims  to  have 
contributed  to  literature  these  wonderful 
Arthurian  legends.  Says  one  chronicler  : 
"Arthur,  son  of  the  Duke  of  Cornou- 
ailles,  married  Guinivere,  daughter  of  a 
duke  of  Brittany,  who  died  in  542." 
Arthur  slays  the  terrible  giant  who  had 
lived  for  seven  years  upon  young  chil- 
dren only,  but  who  had  by  way  of  variety 
one  day  seized  upon  the  Duchess  of 
Brittany  and  carried  her  away  to  his  cave 
on  Mont  Saint  Michel.  Arthur  and  two 
chosen  knights  rode  alone  at  night  to  the 
Mount.  Arthur,  leaving  the  two  at  the 
foot,  went  up  alone  to  the  encounter. 
"At  the  crest  of  the  mountain  he  sees 
the  giant  sitting  at  supper,  gnawing  on 
the  limb  of  a  man,  warming  his  huge 
frame  by  the  fire  where  three  damsels 
turned  three  spits,  whereon  were  spitted, 
like  larks,  twelve  newly  born  children." 
The  struggle  which  follows  Arthur's  furious 
attack  is  thus  described  :  "  They  fiercely 
wrestled  and  both  fell,  rolling  over  one 
another,  then  tumbled,  wrestling  and 
struggling  and  fighting  frantically,  from 
rock  to  rock  till  they  came  to  the  sea." 
Arthur,  having  won  the  battle,  desires  the 
Duke  of  Brittany  to  "  build  a  church 
upon  the  Mount  and  dedicate  it  to  the 
Archangel  Michael."  Thus  Mont  Saint 
Michel  figures  in  the  Arthurian  Legend 
fully  two  hundred  years  before  we  meet 
it  in  that  of  St.  Aubert. 

The  stories  of  Tristram  and  Isault  and 
of  Sir  Galahad  are  linked  with  those  of 
the  Mount,  and  the  legend  of  Parsifal 
(in  English,  Percival),  follows.  After  a 
series  of  striking  adventures,  Parsifal 
comes  to  the  Court  of  Arthur,  then  held 
at  Nantes,  in  Brittany,  where,  after  giving 
proof  of  his  chivalry  in  various  exploits, 
he  is  received  into  the  order  of  the 
Knights  of  the  Round  Table.  He  sets 
out  in  quest  of  the  Holy  Grail,  suffers 
some  trials,  and  being  expelled  from  the 
Circle  of  the  Knights  wanders  for  four 
years  in  despair.  He  is  received  once 
more  into  the  Brotherhood.  He  is  puri- 
fied by  suffering,  and  becomes  a  true 
Knight  of  the  Holy  Grail  —  an  order 
representing  spiritual  chivalry,  in  contrast 
with  the  Knights  of  the  Round  Table, 
which  order  represents  the  glories  of  sec- 
ular chivalry. 


Poets  and  novelists  have  found  rich 
material  in  the  legends  of  Mont  Saint 
Michel.  The  Lutheran  Uhland  employs 
one  of  the  best  known,  called  "  La  Croix 
des  Greves,"  in  a  poem  beginning : 

"  Es  ist  die  Kirche  wohlbekannt, 
Sankt  Michael  von  Berg  genannt, 
Am  Ende  vom  Normannenlande, 
Atif  eines  hohen  Felsen  Rande" 

Paul  Feval  also  has  written  charming 
stories  in  which  these  legends  play  a 
part. 

After  the  death  of  Charlemagne,  in 
814,  the  monastery  continued  to  increase 
in  power  and  glory ;  but  it  was  the  first 
Duke  of  Normandy  who  was  to  add  lustre 
to  this  glory.  Rollo,  desirous  of  expiat- 
ing former  iniquities,  bestowed  rich  gifts 
upon  the  monastery.  Thus  Pope  of 
Rome,  King  of  France,  and  Duke  of 
Normandy  joined  in  making  glorious  this 
shrine  of  Saint  Michael  —  a  rare  trium- 
virate of  power  and  influence  ! 

Under  the  rigors  of  Rollo's  reign,  many 
families  sought  safety  within  the  walls, 
among  others,  the  family  of  Bertrand  du 
Gueslin  —  that  Breton  of  Bretons  ;  and 
here  dates  the  origin  of  the  little  town  at 
the  base  of  the  Rock. 

In  996,  Duke  Richard  I.,  grandson  of 
Rollo,  established  at  Mont  Saint  Michel 
the  Benedictine  Monks,  then  come  to  be 
the  most  celebrated  order  in  Europe. 
Richard  II.  added  greatly  to  the  struc- 
tures of  the  monastery,  intrusting  the 
details  to  Hildebert  II.,  fourth  abbe  of 
the  Mount.  The  transept  and  a  part  of 
the  nave,  built  by  him,  remain  to-day. 

Early  in  the  eleventh  century,  the 
audacious  young  Norman  Duke,  Robert 
le  Viable,  was  having  his  day.  In  fact, 
Falaise,  where  lived  the  pretty  Harlette 
who  won  his  heart  and  gave  to  Nor- 
mandy her  William  the  Conqueror,  is  not 
far  from  Mont  Saint  Michel ;  and  to-day 
we  see  the  women  of  Falaise  at  their 
work,  at  the  same  spot  on  the  river  bank 
where  the  little  Harlette  bent  over  her 
washing  when  Robert  spied  her  from  his 
window  and  fell  captive  to  her  beauty. 
The  mad  pranks  of  Robert  had  given 
material  for  many  tales  connected  with 
Mont  Saint  Michel ;  but  the  deeds  of  his 
son,  William  the  Conqueror,  contributed 


202 


MONT  SAINT  MICHEL. 


much  more  gloriously  to  its  history.  For 
the  Mount  makes  its  first  and  only  ap- 
pearance on  any  tapestry,  in  connection 
with  the  story  woven  by  Duchess 
Matilda's  fair  hands,  as  she  sat  among 
her  women  and  sang  the  praises  of  her 
gallant  lord  in  the  curious  web  of  the 
Bayeux  Tapestry.  The  story  is  told,  how 
Duke  William  had  invited  his  Saxon  guest 
Harold  to  go  with  him  to  conquer  the 
great  Conan,  Earl  of  Brittany.  They  came 
to  the  river  Couesnon,  and  the  Tapestry 
describes  the  disasters  which  befell  them 
and  their  army  in  crossing  the  treacher- 
ous quicksands  which  surround  the  Mount. 
Above  this  panel  is  the  legend  :  "  et  hie 
transieruntflumen."  Another  panel  shows 
Harold  dragging  two  of  his  companions 
out  of  the  quicksands,  the  inscription 
above  reading :  "  hie  Harold  dux  tra- 
herat  eos  de  arena."  The  Mount  figures 
comically  in  the  drawing,  both  as  to  the 
elevation  and  architecture  of  the  minute 
temple  perched  on  top  of  a  green  hillock. 

Abbe  Robert  de  Torigni  seems  to  have 
brought  with  his  advent  a  period  of 
prosperity  for  the  abbey.  During  the 
thirty- two  years  of  his  government,  1154— 
1 1 86,  "the  study  of  the  sciences,  letters, 
poetry  even,  received  a  fruitful  impulse." 
But  to  King  Philip  Augustus  are  due  the 
most  magnificent  additions  to  the  abbey, 
especially  the  north  battlement  named 
La  Merveille,  while  the  great  St.  Louis, 
during  his  pilgrimage  in  1256,  increased 
the  fortifications  and  built  the  north 
tower,  thus  assuring  the  defence  of  the 
abbey.  The  place  suffered  many  times 
from  lightning,  but  the  ruined  parts  were 
as  often  restored.  King  Philip  the  Hand- 
some, after  a  pilgrimage,  rebuilt  the  town 
and  undertook  many  enterprises  there. 

From  the  year  13 14,  Mont  Saint  Michel 
became  an  important  point  in  the  wars 
of  the  period,  and  was  guarded  in  the  in- 
terests of  the  kings  of  France  as  well  as 
of  the  Holy  Michael.  King  Charles  VI., 
late  in  the  fourteenth  century,  when  on  a 
pilgrimage,  confirmed  Abbe  Le  Roy  as 
captain  of  Mont  Saint  Michel.  He  was 
the  first  of  the  abbes  to  place  armories 
upon  the  walls  of  the  abbey.  His  coat 
of  arms  ornaments  the  stalls  of  the  choir 
which  he  rebuilt  in  1389.  It  was  during 
the  reign  of  Charles  VII.  that  the  longest 


siege  made  by  the  English  occurred,  last- 
ing from  1423  to  1434,  and  ending  in 
the  English  abandoning  their  artillery, 
two  pieces  of  which  we  saw  as  we  entered 
the  first  gate  of  the  town.  This  obstinate 
resistance  was  made  under  command  of 
a  monk,  John  Enault,  supported  by 
valiant  Norman  warriors,  thus  preserving 
to  France  the  only  point  on  the  coast 
that  has  never  been  surrendered.  While 
this  famous  siege  went  on  at  Mont  Saint 
Michel,  the  Maid  of  Orleans  was  fulfilling 
her  sacred  mission  of  driving  the  English 
from  France,  —  this  short  but  brilliant 
episode  of  the  Hundred  Years  War,  cover- 
ing the  years  1428-31  only.  And  so 
goes  on  the  history  of  Mont  Saint  Michel. 
Thirty-four  abbes  successively  governed 
the  place.  In  161 5,  Louis  XIII.  named 
Henry  of  Lorraine  as  commandant  ;  his 
son  the  Duke  of  Guise  succeeded  him. 
Then  followed  the  troubles  with  the  Hu- 
guenots, and  the  thrilling  story  of  Mont- 
gomery appears  among  the  records  of 
Mont  Saint  Michel. 

As  we  wander  with  our  guide  through 
the  gloomy  arches,  seeing  on  one  hand 
the  dungeons,  —  veritable  holes,  whence 
prisoners  were  seldom  brought  out  alive 
—  and  on  the  other  the  oubliettes,  all 
those  underground  horrors  which  some 
writer  has  called  "  the  black  entrails  of 
Mont  Saint  Michel,"  we  feel  a  sense  of 
despair  and  our  hope  is  chilled  ;  we  are 
oppressed  with  the  stories  these  granite 
blocks  tell  us.  Some  event  in  the  his- 
tory of  France  is  recorded  at  ever}7  turn. 
Here  in  one  of  the  lower  vaults  of  the 
abbey  stood  the  Iron  Cage  of  the  Car- 
dinal. In  the  darkest  of  the  dungeons, 
Dubourg,  imprisoned  by  Louis  XIV.,  died 
of  cold  and  hunger,  gnawed  by  rats. 
Through  these  gloomy  corridors  walked 
the  Man  with  the  Iron  Mask.  It  is  a 
dark,  a  terrible  record  ! 

The  crypt  named  des  gros  piliers  ex- 
cites our  wonder  —  twelve  enormous 
pillars,  each  one  twelve  feet  in  circumfer- 
ence. But  it  is  a  relief  to  leave  these 
dismal  regions,  and  ascend  to  the  more 
cheerful  salle  des  chevaliers,  which  shows 
the  human  side  of  the  monaster}-.  It  is 
pleasant  to  imagine  the  gatherings  of 
knights  in  the  mediaeval  times,  when, 
bent  on  quest  or  tourney,  they  were  wont 


THE   UNDERCURRENT 


203 


to  flock  to  the  Mount,  where  they  were 
sure  of  right  royal  entertainment ;  for  the 
monks  of  Mont  Saint  Michel  were  noted 
for  their  hospitality.  What  turning  of 
spits  and  unearthing  of  rare  old  wines 
took  place  then  !  What  fires  must  have 
roared  in  their  wide-throated  chimneys, 
inside  of  which  a  score  of  knights  could 
stand ;  what  rattling  of  armor  and  clank- 
ing of  spurs  and  greeting  of  brothers-in- 
arms rang  through  these  spacious  halls  ! 

What  words  could  describe  aright  the 
beauty  of  the  basilica  and  the  wonderful 
cloister,  with  their  two-hundred  columns 
of  polished  porphyry,  no  two  carved  in 
the  same  design  !  A  legend  of  this  clois- 
ter tells  that  the  sculptor  Gaultier  was  a 
prisoner  in  the  monastery,  whose  liberty 
was  promised  him  as  a  reward  for  carving 
the  pillars  of  the  cloister ;  but  when  he 
had  finished  this  work  of  greatest  beauty, 
he  went  mad  and  threw  himself  into  the 
abyss  beneath. 

So  we  wander  on,  up  and  down,  —  and 
outside  we  stand  on  giddy  heights.  From 
one  of  the  towers  we  admire  the  delicate 
flying  buttresses  ;  from  a  parapet  we  see 
the  pinnacles,  and  the  dainty  stone  carv- 
ings of  the  escalier  des  dentelles.  We  find 
ourselves  in  grim  company  up  among  the 


gargoyles  —  dogs,  dragons,  griffins,  all  sorts 
of  fantastic  and  impossible  beasts,  a  solemn 
and  silent  company,  sternly  guarding  the 
secrets  they  know. 

Louis  XIV.  turned  parts  of  the  abbey 
into  a  prison.  Louis  XV.  continued  to 
use  it  in  the  same  way.  In  1790,  the 
monks  were  dispersed  and  the  entire 
abbey  was  used  as  a  prison,  into  which 
the  revolutionists  hustled  three  hundred 
priests  of  Avranches  and  Rennes.  Finally, 
the  Convention  converted  the  place  into 
a  state  prison.  In  181 1,  Napoleon  made 
of  it  a  house  of  correction,  and  the  Re- 
storation turned  it  into  a  central  prison 
of  correction.  Many  mutilations  are  the 
result  of  these  various  changes.  The 
prisons  were  abolished  in  1863;  but 
between  the  years  1793  and  1863  more 
than  fourteen  thousand  prisoners  had 
been  placed  at  Mont  Saint  Michel.  In 
1865,  the  abbey  was  leased  to  the  bishop 
of  Avranches  for  a  term  of  nine  years,  and 
he,  aided  by  Napoleon  III.,  made  many 
repairs.  It  has  remained  for  the  Society 
of  Fine  Arts  to  do  justice  to  the  value  of 
this  historic  spot,  by  purchasing  it,  thus 
restoring  to  France  a  monumental  trea- 
sure, alike  valuable  to  archaeologist,  artist, 
historian,  and  poet. 


THE  UNDERCURRENT. 


By   C.  H.    Crandall. 


THE  times  drag  on.     Why  is  it  thus  that  men 
Are  but  the  subjects  of  dull,  soulless  things, 
When  God  said  unto  them  :   Be  ye  as  kings  ? 
Why  is  there  such  applause  tumultuous  when 

One  man  becomes  what  all  were  meant  to  be  ? 
Why  see  so  many  faces  at  life's y?/<? 
Hard-formed  and  blinded  with  an  irksome  weight, 

Men  gazing  hard  for  what  a  child  may  see  ? 
Why  is  life's  dew  thus  dried  in  early  morn? 
The  answer  falls  as  lightning  from  above  :  — 
More  than  my  spirit  do  ye  prize  your  dust! 
O  ruin-fronting  rabble,  ye  do  turn, 

With  eyes  averted,  from  your  angel  —  Love, 
A  demon  leads  you,  and  his  name  is  Lust. 


THE  INNOCENT. 

By  Frances  Courtenay  Baylor. 


T  was  in  the  evening,  and 
the  party  assembled  at 
the  Harford's  country 
place  in  Virginia  was 
grouped  about  a  glorious 
wood  fire  that  glowed 
and  flamed  up  under  the 
high-shouldered  mantel- 
piece, with  its  wreaths  of 
fine  wood  carvings  be- 
longing to  the  Grinling 
Gibbons  period  of  deco- 
ration, barbarously  pain- 
ted by  the  preceding  gen- 
eration and  restored  by  the  present 
one.  It  was  a  fire  to  draw  reminis- 
cences, stories,  old  memories,  strange 
adventures,  sighs  and  laughter  out  of 
Timon  of  Athens.  It  was  a  room  of 
rooms  to  talk  in,  with  its  wainscotted 
walls,  its  ancestral  portraits,  its  rows 
of  English  classics  (first  editions,  that 
would  have  made  the  mouth  of  the  bib- 
liophile water  with  envy),  its  polished 
floors,  its  serious  old  mahogany  furniture 
as  background  for  much  modern  elegance 
and  luxury.  It  was  the  time  when  peo- 
ple talk  best,  —  somewhere  near  mid- 
night, say ;  and  it  was  a  party  of  all  ages 
and  both  sexes ;  people  who  knew  each 
other  well,  but  not  too  well ;  people  who 
were  not  dull,  not  tired,  not  engaged,  not 
even  too  much  in  love,  although  there  were 
young  men  and  maidens  among  them. 

They  had  been  "  telling  stories  "  for 
an  hour ;  and  a  highly  respectable  lean 
and  slippered  pantaloon  of  an  old  justice 
had  been  talking  of  a  cause  celebre,  that 
had  been  "  the  most  remarkable  that  he 
could  recall  in  the  course  of  a  long  pro- 
fessional career,  and  a  wide  acquaintance 
with  the  criminal  classes."  A  good  deal 
of  comment,  grave  and  careless,  had  fol- 
lowed his  narrative.  Suddenly  Theodora 
Grey  —  "  one  of  the  Greys  of  Hatton,"  as 
the  pantaloon  would  have  called  her,  he 
being  a  Virginian  of  the  old  school,  and 
as  much  in  the  habit  of  classifying  people 
into  families,  as  if  they  had  been  plants 


instead,  and  he  a  botanist  of  the  strictest 
sect  —  sat  bolt  upright  in  her  chair  and 
took  the  words  out  of  his  mouth,  her  face 
bright  with  the  thoughts  that  animated 
her. 

"The  criminal  classes,"  she  quoted. 
"  Don't  talk  of  the  criminal  classes,  judge. 
The  ground  is  hollow  beneath  your  feet. 
Oh,  Pve  got  a  story  that  I  shall  insist 
upon  telling,  whether  anybody  wants  to 
hear  it  or  not !  —  a  regular  Miss  Braddon, 
Wilkie  Collins,  Gaboriau,  of  a  story,  —  my 
connection  with  the  criminal  classes." 

The  judge  looked  shocked.  A  Grey  of 
Hatton  connected  with  the  criminal  classes 
was  an  idea  that  positively  refused  to 
enter  his  respectable  head ;  in  all  its 
hoary  or  sunny  days,  and  in  all  its  wide 
experience,  it  had  never  encountered 
anything  so  astounding,  or  reflected  that 
the  poles  of  virtue  and  vice,  respectability 
and  disreputability,  are  really  shaded  into 
each  other  so  finely  that  it  is  only  the 
All-seeing  Eye  that  can  tell  where  one 
begins  and  the  other  ends.  "There  is 
none  good.  No!  not  one,"  and  "Call 
thou  nothing  common  nor  unclean,"  were 
not  texts  that  the  judge  had  pondered 
over.  His  creed  would  have  shown  fam- 
ilies like  his  own  and  the  Greys  set  dis- 
tinctly on  the  right  hand,  as  sheep,  who 
could  do  no  wrong  that  society  was  not 
bound  to  forgive ;  and  the  rest  of  the 
world  as  distinctly  set  on  the  left,  as  goats, 
from  whom  everything  or  nothing  was  to 
be  expected.  So  he  arched  his  eyebrows 
and  said,  "You  jest,  Miss  Theodora. 
Ah  !  let  me  see.  You  are  thinking  of 
that  rascally  factor  of  your  grandfather's 
—  Higgs,  Briggs,  some  such  name."  His 
aristocratic  memory  could  not  be  bur- 
dened with  such  a  patronymic.  There 
was  no  such  family  as  the  Higgses  in 
Virginia. 

"  O  Theodora,  tell  your  story  !  "  ex- 
claimed Anna  Barstow,  a  gushing  and 
giggling  maiden  of  this  period,  who  was 
as  eager  to  hear  a  new  thing  as  any 
Athenian  of  old,  and  feared  besides  that 


THE  INNOCENT 


205 


the  flood-gates  of  anecdotage  were  about 
to  be  opened  upon  her. 

"Oh,  no!  not  that,"  said  Theodora, 
ignoring  the  interruption  and  addressing 
the  judge.  "  Miggs  the  name  was.  It 
was  dreadful,  wasn't  it?  He  ruined  my 
grandfather  almost,  you  know.  No,  this 
is  quite  a  recent  thing  comparatively,  and 
vastly  more  interesting,  I  can  promise 
you. 

"  About  six  years  ago  —  I  feel  myself 
growing  impressive  already,  you  all  look 
so  interested,  —  no  it  was  seven  years 
ago,  the  winter  I  came  out  —  I  went  to 
New  Orleans  to  be  with  Kate.  My  mar- 
ried sister,"  she  explained  to  a  gentleman 
on  her  right,  whom  she  had  met  three 
weeks  before,  and  with  whom  she  had  had 
such  an  almost  unbroken  tete-a-tete,  after 
the  manner  of  country-houses,  that  he 
already  knew  more  about  her  and  her 
family  than  if  they  had  met  casually  in 
London  or  New  York  for  fifty  years  run- 
ning. 

"Ah!  yes,  —  Mrs.  Manning,"  he  re- 
plied, with  a  little  nod,  placing  her  with- 
out the  least  difficulty,  although  Theodora 
was  one  of  five  girls,  four  of  whom  were 
married,  all  the  way  from  California  to 
Paris. 

"Yes,"  resumed  Theodora.  "Well,  it 
was  delightful  there  —  New  Orleans  al- 
ways is  delightful,  in  season  and  out  of 
season,  to  me ;  its  gutters  and  all  its 
vices  are  so  much  more  to  me  than  the 
virtues  of  any  other  place,  —  " 

"Miss  Theodora!"  exclaimed  the 
judge.     "A  Virginian  talking  of"  — 

"Go  on,  Theodora,"  urged  Anna  Bar- 
stow,  cutting  him  short  again. 

"Yes,  I  can't  help  it,"  said  Theodora, 
going  on  and  looking  at  the  judge. 
"The  climate  is  so  delicious,  for  one 
thing.  I  hate  cold  weather.  It  always 
makes  one  feel  vaguely  unhappy  about 
everything,  although  I  am  as  strong  as  — 
as  —  " 

"Samson,"  put  in  Mrs.  Barstow,  a  ner- 
vous wreck  in  bombazine,  who  had  been 
knitting  up  the  ravelled  sleave  of  her 
cares  into  an  afghan,  for  five  years  past  — 
a  huge  and  ineffably  hideous  affair,  six 
by  six,  and  intended,  she  said,  "just  to 
lay  over  her  feet  when  she  wanted  to 
lounge  on  the  sofa,"  —  which  was  saying 


a  great  deal,  for  her  feet  as  well  as  her 
industry. 

"Yes.  Well,  I  was  delighted  to  find 
that  mamma  and  I  were  to  be  with  Kate 
for  the  whole  winter,"  said  Theodora; 
"  and  now,  I  warn  you,  my  story  is  really 
going  to  begin  !  The  very  first  Sunday 
after  I  got  there,  the  rector  of  Kate's 
church  (I  mean  St.  Boniface),  an  English- 
man, and  a  great  friend  of  the  house, 
came  to  call ;  and  in  the  course  of  his 
talk  he  told  us  about  the  Mothers'  Meet- 
ing, and  the  Guild  tea,  and  gave  the 
parish  news  generally,  and  then  said  that 
there  was  a  great  deal  of  sickness  and 
destitution  that  winter,  and  that  it  was  a 
grief  not  to  be  able  to  relieve  it  more 
fully.  And  then  he  said,  'An  application 
of  some  sort  is  made  to  me  every  day. 
Yesterday,  for  instance,  I  had  a  most  dis- 
tressing appeal  —  not  that  it  was  so  pain- 
fully urgent,  but  that  it  should  be  made 
at  all !  The  fellow  was  a  gentleman,  an 
English  gentleman  !  His  name  is  Sey- 
mour. He  is  a  son  of  Sir  John  Seymour, 
Governor  of  the  Bank  of  England.  Such 
a  pleasant,  manly  young  fellow  —  hardly 
more  than  a  lad  !  It  seems  that  he  has 
quarrelled  with  his  father,  and  been  kicked 
out,  and  thought  this  just  the  place  to  make 
a  future  in.  He  has  been  here  three  weeks 
now,  and  hasn't  got  anything  to  do,  and 
his  money  is  all  gone,  and  the  poor  boy 
is  in  an  awful  way.  His  harpy  of  a  land- 
lady has  seized  his  luggage,  if  you  please. 
So  he  came  to  me,  very  properly,  as  a 
clergyman  and  a  fellow  countryman. 
Family  quarrel,  apparently  !  Sad  things, 
family  quarrels,  —  everybody  right,  and 
everybody  wrong,  and  no  getting  any- 
body to  concede  anything  or  yield  an 
inch  !  I  felt  awfully  sorry  for  him,  of 
course.  And  I  can't  doubt  him.  You 
never  heard  a  straighter  story.  And  then 
he  is  evidently  such  a  simple-hearted  lad. 
So  I  did  what  I  could.  But  we  of  the 
cloth  are  not  gold  mines  exactly,  and  are 
bad  things  to  fall  back  upon  when  people 
quarrel  with  the  Bank  of  England.  I 
really  don't  see  what  is  to  be  done.  I 
am  boarding  myself,  you  see ;  otherwise, 
I  would  shelter  him  until  he  could  look 
about  him  a  bit.'  The  moment  he  had 
finished  Kate  burst  out  with  —  " 

"  Is   there   such   an   institution  as   the 


206 


THE  INNOCENT. 


Bank  of  Scotland?"  interrupted  Miss 
Monroe,  a  spinster  with  a  thirst  for  accu- 
rate information. 

"  Not  to  my  knowledge,  madam,"  said 
the  judge,  with  a  benignant  wave  of  his 
hand,  "  although  under  the  charter  of 
union  with  Great  Britain — " 

"Theodora,  we  are  waiting,"  said 
Anna  Barstow  impatiently. 

"Yes,  I  know,"  replied  Theodora  smil- 
ing. "  Well,  Kate,  you  know,  is  the  kind- 
est, most  warm-hearted,  impulsive  crea- 
ture in  the  world."  (The  gentleman  on 
the  right,  encountering  her  glance,  nod- 
ded confirmation) .  "  So  she  said,  '  Oh, 
if  that  is  all,  don't  worry  about  that. 
Send  him  right  up  here  to  us.  We'll 
take  care  of  him  for  a  month  or  so,  and 
I'll  make  Rob  find  him  something  some- 
where. Rob  ought  to  —  I  remember  his 
telling  me  that  he  met  Sir  John  Seymour 
in  London  when  he  was  there,  and  went 
over  the  bank  with  him.  And  oh,  the 
money  in  it !  And  now  to  think  of  this 
poor,  foolish  fellow  being  out  here  with- 
out a  cent !  It's  too  dreadful !  And  it 
was  just  like  a  coarse  wretch  to  keep  his 
luggage,  and  turn  on  him  !  Mind  you 
tell  him,  Mr.  Curtis,  that  Rob  is  away  and 
can't  call,  but  that  we  know  his  father, 
and  insist  on  his  making  us  a  nice,  long 
visit.  Do  go  and  have  his  luggage  sent 
right  out  of  that  horrid  woman's  house, 
and  pay  whatever  he  owes,  and  let  me 
know  what  it  is.' 

"  Mr.  Curtis  seemed  rather  surprised 
by  the  success  of  a  dimly  seen  '  chance 
for  his  protege  J  and  by  the  infectious 
nature  of  his  own  enthusiasm.  It  reacted 
upon  himself,  for  he  thanked  Kate  warmly, 
agreed  to  do  as  she  suggested,  and  colored 
when  mamma  said,  '  Hadn't  you  better 
wait  until  Robert  returns,  dear?  What 
would  he  say  ?  '  '  Rob  always  says,  "  Do 
as  you  please  and  you  will  please  me," 
mamma ;  you  know  that,  perfectly  well,' 
was  Kate's  reply,  and  Mr.  Curtis  said 
warmly,  '  Have  no  fear,  Mrs.  Grey.  The 
boy  is  a  boy  to  all  intents  and  purposes, 
and  is  a  perfect  gentleman,  I  assure  you. 
If  I  know  anything,  I  know  an  English 
gentleman  when  I  see  one.'  'Oh,  that  is 
all  right,  of  course,'  Kate  said.  'Sup- 
pose you  bring  him  up  to  call  first  —  to- 
morrow.    It  will  be  less  awkward  for  him, 


less  embarrassing.  His  position  is  such 
a  mortifying  one.  And  then  when  he 
goes  I  will  write  him  a  formal  invitation 
and  say  that  I  hear  he  is  travelling  for 
pleasure  in  this  country,  and  that  I  hope 
he  will  like  it  as  much  as  I  did  in  Eng- 
land, and  that  as  I  am  so  much  in  the 
debt  of  his  countrymen  for  their  extreme 
hospitality,  my  husband  and  I  would  be 
gratified  —  Oh,  I'll  make  that  all  right! 
Do  you  bring  him  to  call,  —  about  four, 
Mr.  Curtis?'" 

"  WThat  are  the  correct  hours  for  call- 
ing in  New  Orleans?  Among  the  best 
people,  I  mean?"  asked  Miss  Munroe. 

"  In  my  time  "  —  began  the  judge. 

"  Miss  Grey,  you  are  not  comfortable. 
Let  me  put  this  at  your  back,"  said  the 
gentleman  on  her  right ;  but  he  got  only 
a  smile  in  acknowledgment,  as  Theodora 
continued  : 

"  When  Mr.  Curtis  had  gone,  mamma 
still  looked  very  dubious,  and  said, 
'  Katherine,  what  will  your  brother  James 
say  to  this?  Have  you  thought  of  that?  ' 
And  Kate  laughed  and  said,  '  Oh,  Jim  is 
sure  to  say  that  we  shall  all  certainly  be 
robbed  and  murdered,  and  advise  me  to 
shut  my  doors  in  poor  young  Seymour's 
face,  and  see  to  all  the  bolts  from  garret 
to  cellar.  You  know  Jim  is  always  sure 
when  the  day  is  warm  that  there's  going 
to  be  an  earthquake ;  but  all  the  same  it 
never  comes.  Don't  you  worry,  little 
mother.  It  is  all  right,  I  tell  you.  How 
would  you  like  it  if  Jim  happened  to  get 
stranded  in  a  foreign  country,  and  was 
suspected  and  ill-treated,  and  not  ad- 
mitted into  respectable  families?  Just 
tell  me  that:  " 

"A  great  risk,  I  must  say,"  said  the 
judge.  "But  my  father  used  to  say  that 
even  a  rogue  might  be  the  better  for 
association  with  honest  men,  and  misfor- 
tune has  put  many  an  honest  gentleman 
below  the  salt  around  our  mahogany.  I 
trust  you  had  no  reason  to  regret  your 
timely  hospitality." 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  your  sister  should 
have  thought  of  you,  Miss  Theodora," 
said  the  gentleman  on  the  right. 

"  Should  you  say,  now,  that  Americans 
are  not  well  received  abroad?  "  asked  the 
spinster  opposite. 

"  Wait  a  minute  —  chain  six,  loop,  knit 


THE  INNOCENT. 


207 


two,  and  repeat.  I  can't  keep  it  in  my 
head,"  said  Mrs.  Barstow. 

"  Go  on,  Theodora.  You  were  saying 
—  "  said  Anna  Barstow. 

"Very  well,"  said  Theodora,  going  on. 
"  Next  afternoon  two  cards  were  brought 
up ;  that  of  our  clergyman,  and  a  narrow 
bit  of  pasteboard  on  which  was  inscribed 
in  plain  text,  '  Mr.  Seymour  ;  '  '  Junior 
Carleton'  had  been  traced  out,  and  the 
address  of  the  flinty-hearted  landlady 
substituted.  Kate  and  I  both  examined 
it,  and  agreed  that  it  was  very  nice,  and 
we  went  downstairs  together.  Mr.  Curtis 
shook  hands  with  us  and  introduced  his 
friend,  with  whom  Kate  shook  hands 
warmly.  I  bowed,  and  while  the  other 
three  members  of  the  party  were  carrying 
on  a  triangular  talk  about  the  weather 
and  so  on,  I  took  a  good  look  at  Mr.  Sey- 
mour, as  well  as  I  could  without  seeming 
to  stare  rudely.  He  was  very  tall,  very 
slim,  very  fair,  as  rosy  as  a  girl.  His 
eyes  were  blue,  set  in  a  long,  narrow 
fashion,  extremely  candid  in  expression. 
'Candor,  the  limpid  clearness  of  a  child's 
eyes,  the  innocence  of  an  animal's,'  was 
what  I  thought  of  them.  His  nose  was 
long,  but  handsome  for  all  that.  His 
forehead,  a  retreating  one,  was  redeemed 
by  a  lot  of  soft  little  waves  of  light  hair, 
that  gave  him  a  '  good-little-boy-out-for- 
a-visit '  air.  His  whole  appearance  was 
eminently  gentlemanlike  and  very  youth- 
ful. He  had  the  manner,  or  rather  the 
absence  of  manner,  of  a  well-bred  English 
youth,  quite  careless  of  the  impression  he 
is  creating,  at  ease  without  being  forward. 
He  talked  little,  and  said  nothing  — 
nothing  in  the  least  original,  or  startling, 
or  clever,  that  is.  He  seemed  immensely 
good-natured  and  a  trifle  clumsy,  and 
more  than  a  trifle  stupid,  but  responded 
pleasantly  to  Kate's  efforts  to  be  friendly, 
and  kind,  and  hospitable.  I  had  a  few 
words  with  him  before  they  left,  and 
partially  echoed  Kate's  fervently  ex- 
pressed hope  that  he  would  '  give  us  the 
great  pleasure  of  a  lo ng  visit.'  He  thanked 
her  cordially,  in  simply  constructed  stac- 
cato phrases,  such  as  '  Thanks,  awfully,' 
and  'You  are  very  good,  really,'  and 
agreed  to  all  that  was  proposed.  '  It  is 
really  most  kind  of  you,'  he  repeated, 
just  as  he  was  putting  on  his  hat. 


"  '  Not  at  all,'  said  Kate,  determined  to 
make  the  way  of  the  forlorn  foreigner  as 
satin-smooth  as  possible,  and  rob  the 
affair  of  the  abnormal  air,  speaking  cheer- 
fully and  chattily  as  of  an  everyday 
occurrence.  '  Not  at  all.  My  husband 
and  I  are  quite  devoted  to  entertaining 
any  and  every  Englishman  who  comes  to 
New  Orleans,  for  we  have  immense 
arrears  to  pay  up  in  the  way  of  hospitality. 
You  can't  think  how  much  kindness  we 
have  received  in  England.  And  then, 
my  husband  knows  your  father.  Didn't 
Mr.  Curtis  tell  you?  O  yes  !  He  break- 
fasted, or  dined,  or  walked,  or  something 
with  Sir  John,  and  went  over  the  bank 
with  him,  when  he  was  in  London.  I 
really  forget  what  they  did  exactly,  but  I 
know  he  liked  him  immensely.'  Mr. 
Seymour  stopped  caressing  his  hat  and 
said,  'Oh,  he  did,  did  he?  Met  the 
Governor  !  Mr.  Curtis  hadn't  mentioned 
it.     Let  me  see  —  when  was  that?  ' 

"  '  Oh,  a  long  time  ago,  five  years,  quite,' 
said  Kate. 

"  '  Very  nice  to  meet  friends  of  my 
father,  I'm  sure.  When  did  you  hear 
from  him  last,  might  I  ask?  He  doesn't 
waste  much  ink  on  me,  nowadays.  I  was 
such  a  little  chap  then,  don't  you  see. 
I  don't  remember  hearing  him  speak  of 
Mr.  —  ah,  Manning.' 

"'Oh,  you  wouldn't,  of  course  —  the 
acquaintance  was  so  very  slight?  And 
we  have  not  had  any  correspondence 
with  him,  ever.  It  was  only  a  pleasant 
coincidence,  knowing  him  at  all,'  ex- 
plained Kate. 

" '  Oh,  yes  —  quite  so  —  most  pleasant,' 
Mr.  Seymour  agreed,  and  again  caressed 
his  hat. 

'"And  you  will  come  to-morrow, 
won't  you?  I  shall  send  for  your  lug- 
gage at  one,  shall  I  ?  '  asked  Kate,  having 
previously  made  sure  from  Mr.  Curtis 
that  it  was  redeemed  and  that  all  was 
'  settled  ' ;  and  he  thanked  her  quietly 
again,  accepted  quietly,  and  bowed  him- 
self away. 

"  'What  a  shy,  nice  young  fellow,'  said 
mamma  as  soon  as  he  was  gone,  and  Kate 
had  sunk  on  the  nearest  sofa  and  de- 
manded breathlessly,  '  Well,  what  do  you 
think  of  him ?  '  'My  dear,  I  think  he 
is  charming!     Such  good  manners,  such 


208 


THE  INNOCENT. 


a  frank,  honest  expression,  —  delightful ! 
Did  you  see  how  careful  he  was  to  screen 
me  from  the  draught,  and  how  nice  about 
getting  the  cream  and  sugar  quite  right 
for  my  tea?  And  bidding  me  so  espe- 
cially goodby,  too  !  Our  young  men 
are  never  civil  to  an  old  woman  scarcely, 
and  when  they  are  it  is  so  evident  that 


ence,  and  that  Sir  John  was  a  curmud- 
geon and  not  nice;  and  finally  that  it 
would  be  delightful  if  he  should  take  a 
fancy  to  Bessie  Turner,  who  was  rolling 
in  money  and  a  dear  little  thing,  and 
would  make  the  '  very  nicest  possible  wife 
for  him.' 

"  Kate   wrote    her    husband    a   perfect 


He  was  awfully  comfortable. 


they  consider  it  a  dreadful  tax  upon  their 
time  and  courtesy  ?  One  can  see  that  he 
has  been  most  carefully  bred  and  trained 
in  the  best  drawing-rooms  of  England. 
As  a  Seymour  he  would  be,  naturally. 
I  knew  he  was  an  English  gentleman  the 
moment  I  saw  him.  And  really  there  are 
few  things  more  charming  than  a  high- 
born, high-bred  English  gentleman,  young 
or  old.  He  seems  quite  a  boy.  Don't 
you   think  so  ?  ' 

"  '  Yes,'  said  Kate,  —  *  and  how  simple 
he  is  !  I  like  him  so  much.  Don't  you, 
Theo  ?  '  And  I  replied  that  I  did,  —  for 
I  did ;  and  we  all  agreed  in  a  grand  fem- 
inine chorus  that  he  was  extremely  nice ; 
that  it  would  be  very  nice  to  have  him 
visit  us ;  that  it  was  monstrous  for  a 
father  to  turn  his  son  out  on  a  cold,  cold 
world  for  nothing  except  a  family  differ- 


volume  that  night,  all  about  the  charms, 
the  woes,  the  wants,  past,  present,  and 
future,  of  the  family  protege  and,  seal- 
ing it,  said  rather  dubiously,  '  I  hope 
Rob  won't  take  up  any  ideas,  mamma.' 
We  understood  her,  for  our  minds  were 
choke-full  of  the  same  subject ;  and 
mamma  said  decidedly,  '  My  dear  Kath- 
erine,  it  is  only  necessary  to  look  at  Mr. 
Seymour  and  hear  him  talk  for  five  min- 
utes, to  know  that  he  is  a  perfect  gentle- 
man ; '  and  we  all  went  to  bed. 

"  Kate,  always  a  charming  hostess,  out- 
did herself  next  morning  in  little  prepa- 
rations for  the  coming  guest.  He  should 
see  that  we  knew  how  to  receive  misfor- 
tune within  our  gates,  and  how  to  honor 
it,  too.  So  all  the  morning  long  she  was 
flitting  into  the  room  that  was  to  be  Mr. 
Seymour's,  with  fresh  flowers,  with  writ- 


THE  INNOCENT 


209 


ing  materials,  with  flasks  of  Jean  Maria 
Farina  and  bay  rum,  and  what  not.  The 
room  was  Jim's  when  he  was  at  home, 
and  as  sacred  as  a  shrine,  as  a  rule,  when 
he  was  absent,  he  being  the  most  partic- 
ular of  men.  All  of  Jim's  possessions 
were  recklessly  displaced  and  consigned 
to  closets,  —  all  except  his  favorite  Turk- 
ish dressing-gown  and  fez,  which  with  his 
meerschaum  and  a  package  of  perique 
and  an  armchair  made,  as  Kate  justly 
expressed  it,  '  a  comfortable,  suggestive 
corner.'  Rob's  shaving-stand  and  its 
appurtenances  were  brought  down,  and 
his  liqueur-stand  filled,  for  other  corners. 
Heaps  of  books  and  periodicals  and  late 
papers  were  heaped  on  his  table,  and  a 
student-lamp  (taken  out  of  my  room), 
placed  beside  them.  Kate  sent  her  maid 
out  and  bought  a  pair  of  slippers,  there 
not  being  a  shoe  in  the  house  that  would 


He  was  so  careful  of  mamma, 


fit  an  English  foot.  His  bath  was  pre- 
pared, and  enough  towels,  sponges,  gloves, 
straps,  and  Coudray  soaps  filched  from  a 
private  and  sacred  store  of  such  things 
that  Jim  kept  in  his  wardrobe  to  have 
satisfied  the  most  fastidious  supporter  of 
zinc  institutions. 

"  In  the  course  of  the  morning,  the 
exercise  of  our  benevolent  sentiments 
had  so  expanded  the  family  heart  that  it 
became  a  furore  of  feeling  for  an  inno- 
cent exile  whom  a  wicked  parent  had 
basely  banished  from  his  heart  and 
home,  —  for  a  martyr.  That  women  love 
a  martyr  was  shown  very  clearly.  Even 
Glaudine,  the  maid,  on  being  given  the 
tragic  outlines  of  the  sad  story,  by  Kate, 
with  certain  reserves  (her  mouth  full  of 
pins,  as  she  '  did  over  '  the  pincushion) , 
even  Glaudine  was  all  softness  and  sym- 
pathy, and  presently  volunteered  '  with 
the  permission  of  Ma- 
dame '  to  add  a  whisk- 
broom  to  the  toilet 
outfit ;  and  Kate,  as  a 
last  touch,  bade  fare- 
well to  every  fear  and 
got  down  a  box  of 
Jim's  "  Reinas  "  and  put 
them  on  the  mantel, 
in  case  'the  poor  fel- 
low should  be  eccen- 
tric enough  to  prefer  a' 
good  cigar  to  a  pipe.' 
Mamma,  at  the  last 
moment,  brought  down 
a  Bible  and  Prayer- 
book  and  put  them  on 
the  table  near  his  bed, 
together  with  her  pet 
album  of  English 
views,  photographs 
that  '  might  remind 
the  poor  boy  of  home.' 
At  two,  his  luggage 
came,  and  as  to  quan- 
tity and  quality  was  so 
British  that  we  could 
but  smile  as  it  was 
brought  in.  Boot- 
trees,  sticks,  gun-case, 
travelling-clock,  de- 
spatch -  box,  dressing- 
case,  two  '  boxes  '  fairly 
papered     with     labels, 


210 


THE  INNOCENT. 


a  Gladstone  bag,  three  umbrellas,  a 
medicine  -  chest,  —  they  were  all  there, 
and  a  lot  of  parcels  not  to  be  identified 
besides.  At  five  came  Mr.  Seymour, 
swinging  a  fourth  umbrella,  and  walking 
briskly.  He  was  received  warmly,  the 
whole  garrison  presented  arms,  as  it 
were,  and  he  was  duly  installed.  We  had 
rather  dreaded  breaking  the  ice ;  but 
there  seemed  no  ice  to  break.  He 
showed  no  sort  of  embarrassment  or 
confusion,  he  was  not  depressed  or  mor- 
tified, or  anything  that  was  likely  to  make 
us  or  himself  uncomfortable,  and  ac- 
cepted the  strange  position  in  which  he 
found  himself  without  demonstration  of 
any  kind,  which  we  set  down  as  a  triumph 
of  good-breeding  over  circumstances ; 
he  talked  simply  and  naturally,  blushed 
rosily  and  engagingly ;  '  hoped  we 
shouldn't  find  him  a  tremendous  nui- 
sance,' had  five  o'clock  tea  with  us,  and 
disappeared  to  dress  for  dinner.  He 
looked  extremely  well  when  he  rejoined 
us  in  full  canonicals,  so  much  so  that 
mamma  whispered  to  me,  '  What  a  thing 
race  is  !  How  good  blood  tells! '  as  we 
went  in  to  dinner. 

"  '  You  have  made  me  awfully  comfort- 
able,' he  had  said  to  Kate  previously. 
'  It  was  really  awfully  good  of  you,  and  I 
am  sure  I  am  awfully  indebted.'  He 
looked  very  pleased  and  grateful,  and 
colored  higher  and  higher  with  each 
'awfully.'  His  talk  all  through  the  meal 
was  of  the  most  commonplace  character ; 
but  his  manners  were  so  good  that  they 
would  have  covered  a  multitude  of  plati- 
tudes, and  we  all  read  in  each  other's 
eyes  that  we  liked  him,  and  thought  him 
a  manly,  modest,  ingenuous  youth,  a  de- 
lightful Desdichado,  —  not  witty,  not 
agreeable,  it  was  true,  but  still  delightful. 
We  had  a  pleasant  evening  together,  and 
he  helped  to  shut  up  the  house,  turned 
out  the  gas  in  the  lower  hall,  laughingly 
quoting  Kate  that  he  was  to  make  himself 
quite  at  home,  and  saying  that  he  '  must 
really  be  made  useful,'  and  went  to  bed  a 
member  of  the  family,  to  all  intents  and 
purposes. 

"  And  a  very  great  honor  for  him,  I  am 
sure.  Wouldn't  you  like  a  footstool,  Miss 
Theodora?"  said  the  gentleman  on  the 
right. 


"  Hum,  hum  !  "  said  the  judge,  and 
said  no  more. 

"  WTould  you  use  dark  brown,  the  very 
darkest  shade,  or  light  brown,  almost  on 
the  yellow,  next?"  asked  Mrs.  Barstow 
of  everybody  in  general. 

"  I  know  what's  coming  !  You  were 
all  robbed  and  murdered  that  very  night  ! 
Don't  stop,  Theodora,"  exclaimed  Anna 
Barstow.  "  Oh,  delightful  !  —  dark  lan- 
terns and  knives,  and  all  that,  don't  you 
know  !  " 

The  gentleman  on  the  right,  at  whom 
she  was  looking,  was  so  moved  at  the 
thought  of  an  even  possible  past  danger 
for  a  certain  person,  that  he  was  impelled 
to  protect  her  even  at  that  date  by  put- 
ting his  chair  two  inches  nearer  her's. 

"Robbed  and  murdered,  indeed!" 
said  Theodora  sidling  into  the  opposite 
corner  of  her  chair,  and  hoping  devoutly 
that  she  did  not  look  as  conscious  as  she 
felt.  "  You  couldn't  imagine  a  pleasanter 
member  for  any  family  than  Mr.  Reginald 
Pomfret  John  de  Bathe  Seymour  made. 
That  was  his  name.  We  saw  it  on  his 
letters,  and  admired  its  aristocratic  sound 
and  culminating  consequence  vastly." 

The  gentleman  on  the  right,  having 
been  cruelly  christened  "Jeremiah"  and 
further  doomed  to  be  known  as  "  Pills- 
bury,"  felt  afresh  and  more  keenly  than 
ever  before  how  sharper  than  a  serpent's 
tooth  it  is  to  have  an  absurd  name, 
especially  when  you  are  thinking  of  ask- 
ing the  most  charming  woman  in  the 
world  to  exchange  a  pretty  one  for  it. 
With  instant  and  complete  comprehen- 
sion Theodora  hastily  resumed  her  story. 

"  He  spent  six  weeks  with  us,  and  I 
must  say  that  his  conduct  was  faultless. 
We  were  never  done  telling  each  other 
what  a  good  fellow  he  was,  though  we 
could  not  deny  that  he  was  dull,  without 
accomplishments  or  resources,  and  rather 
heavy,  consequently,  on  our  hands  now 
and  then.  But  always  so  amiable,  so 
gentlemanly,  holding  Kate's  skeins, 
plunging  after  my  scissors  if  I  chanced 
to  drop  them,  shutting  doors,  opening 
windows,  moving  about  the  drawing-room 
like  a  cat,  without  ever  displacing  or 
knocking  over  anything !  So  different 
from  Rob,  who  always  stumbled  over  two 
chairs  and  a  footstool  whenever  he   left 


THE   INNOCENT. 


211 


the  room,  and  broke  three  of  Kate's  best 
pieces  of  bric-a-brac  in  one  year  !  And 
then  his  behavior  to  mamma  !  Every 
morning  he  knocked  at  her  door,  and 
brought  her  down  to  breakfast,  which  was 
more  than  Jim  had  ever  dreamed  of 
doing.  '  James  has  no  idea  of  the  defer- 
ence due  a  woman  of  my  age  and  station, 
to  say  nothing  of  my  relation  to  himself, 
although  he  is  a  good  son  in  the  essen- 
tials,' said  mamma.  Every  evening,  when 
she  sat  on  the  veranda,  he  saw  that  she 
had  the  chair  she  liked,  her  shawl  or 
book,  or  whatever  it  might  be.  Her 
wishes  were  commands,  her  commands 
obeyed  with  a  pleasant  eagerness  that 
was  most  winning,  as  of  a  pleasure  con- 
ferred instead  of  a  service  rendered. 
He  never  seemed  to  forget  or  neglect  her, 
had  always  a  pleasant  word  and  smile  for 
her,  never  seated  himself  until  she  either 
took  her  chair  or  left  the  room,  and  liked 
her  extremely,  I  am  sure.  '  She's  got  a 
look  of  my  mother,'  he  said  one  day, — 
and  that  pleased  mamma  most  of  all. 
He  actually  went  to  work  and  made  a 
very  pretty  screen  of  bamboo  and  Japanese 
paper  for  her  room.  He  played  by  the 
hour  with  the  children,  and  seemed  to 
get  as  much  fun  as  they  did  out  of  it. 
He  gathered  roses  by  the  handful  in  the 
garden  every  morning,  and  arranged  them 
in  the  vases  most  tastefully.  He  was 
great  friends  with  all  the  animals  —  the 
horses,  the  cat,  the  dog.  He  spent 
hours  in  catching  chameleons,  and  would 
exclaim,  '  See  !  the  beggar,'  delightedly, 
when  one  of  them  would  puff  himself  out 
like  a  pouter-pigeon.  He  took  long 
walks  and  brought  us  back  flowers  from 
the  swamp.  He  went  shooting  and 
brought  us  back  birds.  He  went  fish- 
ing and  brought  us  back  fish.  He  was 
never  tired  of  catching  tree-frogs,  was 
enchanted  when  he  found  one  in  the  key- 
hole-of  the  front  door  and  another  sound 
asleep  in  the  heart  of  a  rose,  and  when 
he  was  tired  of  them  would  put  the  '  little 
chaps '  down  on  the  grass  as  gently  as 
though  they  had  been  babies  and  he  a 
woman.  He  would  play  at  cat's-cradle 
on  the  veranda  for  a  whole  morning 
with  a  neighbor's  child,  with  the  most 
perfect  patience  and  good-humor,  saying 
that  he  Miked  little  kids,  of  all  things.' 


He  went  to  church  regularly  with  us  and 
put  his  rosy  face  in  his  hat  before  service 
a  V Anglais,  and  then  looked  to  see  that 
we  all  had  hassocks.  He  took  a  class  in 
Sunday  school  at  Mr.  Curtis's  request, 
and  created  quite  a  sensation  among  the 
young  ladies  who  had  other  classes  across 
the  way,  he  was  so  evidently  a  good- 
looking  and  distinguished  stranger.  I 
passed  by  one  day  and  heard  him  saying, 
'  It's  tremendous  work  hammering  this 
Calvary  catechism  into  your  heads,  young 
'uns  !  I  never  was  a  clever  chap  myself, 
but  you  needn't  mix' em  all  up  as  you  do  ; 
Moses  wasn't  the  strongest  man,  and 
Adam  wasn't  the  meekest  man  at  all,  and 
I've  got  the  birch  for  less  in  my  day,  I 
can  tell  you.' 

"  He  was  always  most  polite  and  con- 
siderate to  the  servants,  who  liked  him  to 
a  woman.  We  had  no  men  about  the 
place.  He  seemed  to  care  very  little 
about  society,  but  made  no  objection  to 
going  out  with  us,  was  wonderfully  popular 
and  made  much  of,  especially  by  certain 
mondaines,  and  the  Anglomaniacs  were 
a  unit  as  to  his  perfections.  A  Liverpool 
bagman,  commercially  received  and  so- 
cially disliked,  brought  up  in  the  fear 
and  admiration  of  a  lord,  said  of  him  at 
one  party,  that  he  was  *  a  toppin  h'aris- 
tocrat  and  no  mistake  ;  an  out-and-outer  !  ' 
and  added  that  '  there  was  no  mistakin' 
an  English  gentleman,  and  that  there 
were  no  what-would-be-called-in-the-old- 
country  gentlemen  in  America  at  all,'  — 
by  way  of  being  particularly  civil  to  his 
host,  and  showing  that  he  knew  whereof 
he  spoke. 

We,  of  course,  had  kept  what  we  knew 
of  Mr.  Seymour  to  ourselves,  and  he  was 
generally  thought  to  be  a  prize  matri- 
monial, instead  of  a  detrimental.  All 
the  manoeuvring,  mammas  were  sweetly 
civil  to  him,  all  the  ambitious  young 
women  prepared  themselves  to  be  trans- 
lated to  another  and  higher  sphere. 
Du  reste,  he  was  young,  good-looking, 
good-mannered,  and  made  the  one  ap- 
peal that  the  most  hospitable  of  com- 
munities can  never  resist,  in  being  a 
stranger.  His  social  success  was  there- 
fore really  remarkable ;  but  it  did  not 
turn  his  head  in  the  least.  He  remained 
simple,    modest,    stupid,     irreproachable. 


212 


THE   INNOCENT 


He  did  not  inaugurate  so  much  as  a 
single  flirtation ;  and  when  the  greatest 
coquette  of  the  day  showed  him  no  small 
favor,  he  said  that  he  wondered  what  she 
meant  when  she  said  thus  and  so.  Alto- 
gether I  was  so  much  struck  by  all  these 
circumstances  that  I  christened  him  '  The 
Innocent,'  and  talked  of  him  always  as 
such  when  Kate  and  I,  before  retiring,  re- 
viewed the  events  of  the  day,  sitting  in 
her  dressing-room.  Once  or  twice,  three 
or  four  times  indeed,  he  lapsed  into  little 


susceptibilities.  She  treated  him  as 
though  he  had  been  the  Prince  of  Wales 
in  exile.  She  was  always  all  goodness 
and  graciousness  to  him,  and  never  per- 
mitted herself  the  luxury  of  being  dull  or 
preoccupied,  lest  he  should  fancy  that  we 
were  tired  of  him,  and  that  he  was  an  un- 
welcome guest.  It  was  for  a  week  an 
agonizing  problem  with  her  how  to  give 
him  the  money  she  suspected  he  needed 
for  his  small  personal  expenses.  At  last 
she    hit    upon    the    plan    of  putting  ten 


W'"t:(::Mm^^:Mimh 


%miu 


"He   Played   by  the   House  with  the  Children." 


vulgarisms  of  speech  or  behavior,  that 
struck  us  as  extraordinary ;  but  Kate 
always  accounted  for  them  on  the  ground 
that  his  life  as  a  child  had  been  so  un- 
fortunate, and  he  left  to  maids  and 
grooms,  as  he  had  told  us,  owing  to  his 
wicked  father's  indifference  and  aversion. 
As  for  Kate's  treatment  of  him,  you  can 
fancy  nothing  more  entirely,  beautifully, 
delicately  kind  and  considerate.  She 
was  all  nervousness  lest  something  should 
be  said  or  done  to  wound  his  diseased 


dollars  at  a  time  in  small  change  in  a  cer- 
tain vase  on  the  drawing-room  table,  and 
saying  to  us  collectively :  '  If  anybody 
wants  any  money  for  car-fare  or  anything, 
it  is  in  the  pink  Minton  bowl  in  there,' 
and  further  perjuring  her  dear  soul  by 
telling  him  that  it  was  a  habit  of  ours  to 
help  ourselves  from  a  general  fund  of  this 
kind.  We  all  went  solemnly  through  the 
farce  of  going  trippingly  across  the  room 
to  this  vase,  and  extricating  small  coins 
from  it  when  we  were  going  out,  by  way 


THE   INNOCENT, 


213 


of  example  —  an  example  followed  by 
Mr.  Seymour. 

"  Mr.  Seymour's  wishes,  wants,  prob- 
able feelings,  actual  needs,  were  studied, 
met,  pondered  over,  prayed  over  almost, 
all  during  his  stay ;  and  rather  than  have 
hurt  his  feelings,  I  do  believe  that  Kate 
would  cheerfully  have  been  minced  and 
served  on  toast.  She  was  vexed  with 
Rob  for  writing  that  he  '  hoped  it  was  all 
right,'  and  perfectly  indignant  with  Jim's 
letter  to  mamma,  in  which  he  said  :  '  Get 
rid  of  the  fellow  as  soon  as  possible. 
What  is  Kate  thinking  of?  She  must  be 
mad  —  taking  a  fellow  with  no  known 
antecedents,  credentials,  nothing,  into 
her  house  !  Rob  has  spoiled  her  en- 
tirely.' 

"'  Isn't  that  too  like  Jim  for  words?' 
she  cried  to  me.  '  Jim  wouldn't  take  St. 
Paul  in  without  perfectly  satisfactory  let- 
ters of  introduction,  shipwrecked  or  not.'  " 

"Well,  it  is  all  very  well  to  call  him 
*  the  apostle  of  Great  Britain,'  but  he 
would  certainly  not  be  received  there 
now-a-days  without  something  of  the 
sort,"  said  the  gentleman  on  the  right ; 
"and"  (with  a  meaning  glance  at  Theo- 
dora), "  under  the  circumstances,  I  think 
your  brother  was  perfectly  right,  —  per- 
fectly right." 

"  Letters  are  of  the  first  importance 
when  one  goes  abroad,  are  they  not,  Miss 
Grey?  I  am  told  that  however  evidently 
refined  and  accomplished  one  may  be, 
one  is  ignored  completely  without  them," 
said  the  spinster. 

"That  is  not  my  experience,"  said  the 
judge.  "  Perhaps  I  have  had  exception- 
ally good  fortune,  but  the  fact  is  that 
when  I  was  abroad  I  found  no  difficulty 
whatever  in  taking  my  proper  place 
among  gentlemen.  It  had  not  occurred 
to  me  to  take  any  precautions  in  the 
matter,  it  seemed  so  entirely  a  matter  of 
course.  And  to  be  quite  frank,  I  cannot 
say  that  I  should  have  particularly  cared 
had  it  been  otherwise,  —  or  mortally  af- 
fronted. In  my  own  state,  of  course, 
non-recognition  would  have  meant  some- 
thing very  different,  but  abroad  —  How- 
ever, as  it  chanced,  I  had  nothing  to 
complain  of.  I  remember  I  fell  into  con- 
versation with  the  Duke  of  Ledford  in  a 
railway  carriage,   in  Sussex,  and  we  ex- 


changed cards  at  parting,  and  he  was 
really  most  polite  in  urging  me  to  make 
him  a  visit.  And  afterwards  I  met  the 
Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer  at  my  hotel 
in  London,  and  we  had  a  number  of  talks 
about  matters  of  general  interest,  and 
there  was  no  stiffness,  no  pretence,  what- 
ever." 

Theodora,  are  you  never  going  on?  " 
asked  Miss  Barstow.  "What  happened? 
How  long  did  he  stay?  " 

"Why  this  happened,"  replied  Theo- 
dora, as  she  accepted  a  fan  from  the  gen- 
tleman on  the  right.  "  One  day,  as  I 
was  walking  around  the  garden,  Mr.  Sey- 
mour joined  me.  His  face  was  very 
much  flushed.  He  looked  troubled. 
His  sentences  were  more  staccato  and 
choppy  than  ever.  And  troubled  he 
was,  —  might  well  be,  —  as  appeared 
when  after  some  sympathetic  remarks 
and  questions  he  told  his  tale.  His 
father  was  thought  to  be  dying.  His 
sister  had  written  him  to  return  at  once, 
as  he  was  in  further  danger  of  being  dis- 
inherited, thanks  to  a  scheming  step- 
mother. He  had  no  money.  His  efforts 
to  get  or  earn  some  had  been  a  failure. 
It  was  all  '  miserable,'  he  said,  and  he 
looked  miserable  enough.  He  unbut- 
toned his  coat  and  got  out  two  letters, 
which  he  gave  me  in  support  of  his  state- 
ments ;  and  I  said  all  the  kind  things 
that  I  could  think  of,  and  promised  to 
consult  Kate  and  see  what  could  be  done. 
I  went  in,  found  Kate,  and  went  into 
secret  session  with  her  over  it,  with  closed 
doors.  Together  we  talked  it  all  over; 
together  we  read  the  two  letters.  The 
first  was  written  in  a  large,  bold  hand  on 
the  paper  of  the  '  Guards  Club,'  and  ran 
as  follows  : 

"'  Dear  Seymour  : — Your  letter  of  the  15th 
followed  me  up  to  Town.  Sorry  to  see  that 
things  are  going  so  ill  with  you.  You  certainly 
have  had  a  confounded  run  of  luck,  or  America 
is  a  humbug.  I  always  said  it  was  all  rot,  going 
out  there.  I'd  help  you  out  of  the  muddle  with 
all  the  pleasure  in  life,  but  the  fact  is  that  I  am 
in  the  hands  of  the  Jews,  myself,  and  have  only 
three  shillings  left  of  my  last  fiver.  I've  half  a 
mind  to  put  on  my  swagger  suit  and  go  down  to  the 
'  Oaks '  and  cheek  the  Governor  out  of  a  fifty 
pound  note  before  he  could  catch  his  breath ! 
I've  got  a  cab  at  the  door  and  must  be  off. 

"  '  Yours  faithfully,         Herbert  de  Vere.' 

"  Kate  smiled.     *  That  seems  genuine 


214 


THE   INNOCENT 


enough,'   sne    said,  giving   expression   to 
long-repressed  doubts. 

"The  second  letter  was  an  unpreten- 
tious production  after  the  striking  pot- 
hooks, huge  square  envelope  and  crest 
of  the  De  Veres.  It  was  written  on 
ruled  paper,  in  a  semi-educated  hand. 
It  was  not  well  expressed  or  indeed  well 
spelled,  and  most  final  and  fatal  of  all, 
it  smelled  of  musk.  Kate  cried  out 
'  Too  !  '  and  '  Pooh  !  '  and  made  a  very 
wry  face  as  she  took  it  and  then  handed 
it  back  and  bade  me  read  it.  I  did  so. 
It  was  long,  rambling,  was  signed  '  Your 
fond  sister,  Maude  Egerton  Seymour,' 
and  the  gist  of  it  was  a  deceived  father 
couchant,  dying  alienated  from  his  only 
son  ;  a  wicked  step-mother  rampant,  with 
teeth  and  claws  like  a  griffin ;  and  a  sis- 
ter regardant,  who  implored  her  brother 
to  return  to  England  at  once.  When  I 
had  finished  and  folded  it,  Kate  and  I 
exchanged  glances,  and  I  said  firmly, 
'That  is  not  the  letter  of  an  English 
lady,  Kate.  Look  at  the  handwriting, 
and  the  nursery-maid  English  :  "  what- 
ever shall  I  do  if  you  don't  come  soon," 
—  and  then  that  smell  !  '  And  Kate,  the 
dear,  loyal  thing,  said,  '  Oh,  well,  you 
know,  Theo,  how  they  have  been  neg- 
lected in  childhood  !  I  dare  say  she  was 
left  to  the  servants,  too.'  This  seemed 
to  account  for  everything,  and  we  then 
went  on  to  consider  ways  and  means  of 
helping  the  Innocent.  As  to  means,  we 
were  only  modestly  furnished  ;  but  Kate 
said  she  had  a  way  of  managing  if  neces- 
sary, and  did  not  think  it  necessary  to  go 
into  particulars.  At  dinner  that  day  she 
atoned  for  some  disloyal  thoughts  by  an 
even  increased  cordiality  to  her  guest, 
and  after  dinner  he  opened  his  heart  to 
her  fully  —  so  fully  that  she  came  up 
stairs  with  tears  in  her  eyes  and  told  me 
that  I  ought  to  be  perfectly  ashamed  of 
myself  to  harbor  base  suspicions  against 
Mr.  Seymour,  and  added  that  she  had 
been  feeling  a  good  deal  disappointed  in 
me  lately,  for  I  had  never  been  the  same 
girl  since  I  had  lived  with  Uncle  Bogardus 
in  Paris  for  two  winters.  And  I  felt  this 
to  be  so  unjust  that  I  had  some  words 
with  her,  and  we  both  went  to  bed  in  a 
small  tempest  of  grief  and  wrath.  Next 
morning    Kate    went    down    town    early. 


She  came  bacK  in  excellent  spirits,  and 
meeting  me  said,  '  Are  you  such  a  goose 
as  to  mind  anything  I  said  last  night?' 
And  then  she  kissed  me  and  whispered 
so  that  mamma  should  not  hear,  '  I've 
got  the  money  !  I  sold  that  ring  that 
Mrs.  Dill  gave  me  when  I  married,  and 
was  only  too  glad  of  an  excuse  to  get 
rid  of  it.  Only  don't  tell  Rob,  for  he 
likes  Mrs.  Dill,  and  it  has  always  been 
my  belief  that  she  was  engaged  to  Rob 
with  that  ring  once,  she  was  so  sweetly 
sweet  when  she  gave  it  to  me,  and  talked 
with  such  reserve  of  him.' 

"Well,  Mr.  Seymour  looked  as  bright 
as  she  did  at  luncheon,  and  that  very 
afternoon  began  to  pack.  We  all  helped 
him ;  we  were  all  extremely  sorry  to  lose 
him.  We  all  felt  suddenly  reinspired 
with  untold  faith  in  him.  We  all  gave 
him  little  souvenirs  of  one  kind  or 
another,  which  he  took  with  genuine  af- 
fection shining  in  his  blue  eyes,  and  hon- 
est gratitude  mantling  itself  in  the  vivid 
blushes  of  his  always  rosy  cheeks. 
Mamma  was  quite  overcome.  '  Go  down, 
Theodora,'  she  said,  'and  tell  him  that  I 
particularly  wish  him  to  accept  that 
Turkish  fez  and  dressing-gown  of  James's, 
that  he  has  found  so  comfortable.'  She 
put  him  up  Jim's  Himalaya  travelling- 
rug,  which  was  almost  equal  to  giving 
him  Jim's  front  teeth.  Kate  presented 
him  with  Rob's  brandy-flask,  given  him 
by  Mrs.  Dill  on  his  marriage.  When  the 
time  came  to  say  good-by,  we  were  all  on 
the  verge  of  tears, — what  with  his  dying 
father,  his  wicked  stepmother,  the  uncer- 
tainty as  to  whether  he  would  be  cursed 
and  disinherited,  or  blessed  and  forgiven, 
and  the  certainty  that  we  should  never  see 
the  charming  young  fellow  again,  —  our 
own  poor,  forlorn,  unhappy  Innocent !  He 
felt  it  himself.  His  face  got  redder  than 
ever,  his  utterance  choky,  and  when  he 
bolted  into  his  cab  at  last,  I  am  certain 
that  he  was  a  most  unhappy  man.  We 
thought  we  had  seen  the  last  of  him, 
but  we  were  mistaken,  for  presently  he 
bolted  back  again,  holding  a  bouquet  that 
one  of  the  children  had  given  him 
through  the  window  of  the  carriage. 
'  Mrs.  Manning,'  I  heard  him  say  to  Kate, 
who  was  alone  on  the  veranda  outside, 
'you    have    given    me   a   great   deal    too 


THE   INNOCENT. 


215 


much  money.  I  can't,  I  won't  take  it 
all.  A  hundred  and  fifty  will  be  quite 
enough  to  take  me  —  home.  Here  ! 
take  this.' 

" '  Oh,  no  !  no  !  I  can't  really  !  I 
can't  indeed,'  said  Kate.  '  Pray  keep  it, 
Mr.  Seymour.  You  must.  Something 
might  happen.     And  you  are  so  far  from 


millionnaires  from  the  cradle  to  the 
grave  !  Poor  fellow  !  I  never  said  any- 
thing, but  I  thought  horrid  things,  some- 
times, after  talking  to  Theo,  —  and  that 
was  just  as  bad  —  worse,  far  worse  !  ' 

" *  The  midday  post  brought  a  letter 
from  Rob,  in  which  he  said  that  he  was 
coming  home,  and   that  he   hoped    •  the 


A   Dash,   a    Flash   and    He  was   Gone! 


home  !  I  wouldn't  for  the  world  have 
you  placed  in  a  false  position  where  you 
were  not  known.  I  insist  upon  your 
keeping  it,  and  you  can  return  it  at  your 
convenience,  you  know.'  Then  there 
was  a  silence,  and  then  I  heard  him  walk 
away,  after  saying,  '  You  are  so  good.  I 
never  can  —  good-by  !  ' 

"'Oh,  poor  fellow,'  said  Kate,  when 
he  had  driven  off  and  she  had  joined  me. 
1  Poor  fellow,  his  eyes  were  full  of  tears, 
and  he  almost  shook  my  hand  off.  Such 
a  grateful  heart !  and  we  have  really  done 
very  little.  Oh  dear,  I  wish  I  hadn't 
doubted  him,  ever?  I  can't  forgive  my- 
self, and  all  because  he  wasn't  prosper- 
ous ;  just  as  if  everybody  can  always  be 


Britisher  had  got  his  remittances  and 
been  restored  to  his  friends.'  It  brought 
another  from  Jim,  who  said  that  he  was 
coming  home,  and  that  if  that  English- 
man had  not  already  been  kicked  out  of 
the  house,  it  would  give  him  the  greatest 
possible  pleasure  to  perform  that  office 
for  him.  In  a  week  they  both  came. 
They  arrived  late  at  night,  and  next 
morning  (my  room  was  next  to  Jim's)  I 
heard  the  sound  of  doors  —  cupboard, 
closet,  wardrobe  doors,  being  opened 
and  shut,  and  Jim  walking  excitedly  up 
and  down  his  room.  I  laughed,  for  I 
knew  what  was  going  on,  and  Jim's  wrath 
never  alarms  anybody,  it  is  tempered 
with   so  much  kindness   and  generosity. 


216 


THE   INNOCENT. 


Then  I  heard  him  give  the  bell  a  furious 
jerk,  and  when  Glaudine  answered  it,  I 
heard  him,  '  what-the-mischief -ing  and 
'  what-the-devil'-ing  her,  demanding  to 
know  what  had  become  of  about  fifty  of 
his  most  private,  particular,  and  sacred 
possessions.  Her  timid  replies  did  not 
satisfy  him,  and  her  respectful  manner 
gave  him  no  peg  on  which  to  hang  a 
quarrel  and  vent  his  anger,  so  I  heard 
him  bounce  into  mamma's  room  over- 
head presently,  when  every  possible  con- 
cession and  explanation  was  given,  and 
restitution  promised ;  but  all  the  same  a 
grievance  the  whole  episode  was  to  him 
at  that  time,  and  a  grievance  it  has 
always  remained,  and  it  has  colored 
his  views  about  every  English  institu- 
tion, from  whitebait  to  the  land  laws. 
How  he  abused  poor  Mr.  Seymour ! 
Taken  with  Rob's  laughing  and  chaffing 
remarks,  we  got  very  sensitive  on  the  sub- 
ject, which  did  more  to  divide  a  united 
family  than  anything  else  has  ever  done. 
'  It  is  that  dressing-gown,'  said  mamma 
to  me.  'James  has  the  best  heart  in  the 
world,  but  I  have  never  been  able  to  get 
another  at  all  like  it.  And  then  you 
know  poor  Reginald  Seymour  was  so  un- 
fortunate as  to  spill  some  ink  on  his  new 
carpet,  and  it  can't  be  matched,  and  James 
was  always  particular  from  a  child,  like 
his  dear  father.' 

"  At  the  end  of  the  season,  mamma  and 
I  came  home,  and  that  summer  we  all 
went  to  England  very  unexpectedly.  In 
all  that  time  not  one  word  or  line  had 
reached  us  from  Mr.  Seymour.  But  the 
first  person  introduced  to  us  at  the  very 
first  dinner  that  we  went  to  in  London 
was  Miss  Maude  Seymour,  daughter  of 
Sir  John  Seymour.  Kate  and  I  both 
beamed  at  her,  and  Kate  said,  '  I  am  so 
glad  to  meet  you,  Miss  Seymour.  I 
know  your  brother  Reginald  very  well. 
He  stayed  with  us  last  winter,  and  we 
liked  him  so  much.'  Miss  Seymour 
looked  as  though  she  were  amiably  in- 
clined to  '  do  the  civil,'  as  her  brother 
used  to  put  it,  but  seemed  also  much 
puzzled.  '  My  brother  Reginald,'  she 
said.  '  Oh,  here  in  London  I  suppose 
you  mean  !  ' 

" '  Oh,  no.  In  New  Orleans,  where 
we    live.     We    have    only  just    come    to 


London,'  said  Kate.  'Allow  me  to  pre- 
sent my  husband  to  you.' 

"  '  In  New  Orleans  !  That's  in  America 
somewhere,  isn't  it,'  asked  Miss  Seymour. 
'Reginald  has  never  been  to  America.' 

"  '  Why,  he  spent  six  weeks  with  us,  I 
tell  you,  last  winter  —  all  January  and 
part  of  February,'  exclaimed  Kate. 

" '  That  is  impossible,'  said  Miss  Sey- 
mour calmly.  '  Reginald  was  with  us  in 
Italy  all  winter,  and  never  left  us  for  a 
day.' 

"  'He  was,1  said  Kate.  '  But  how  can 
that  be  when  he  was  with  me  ? ' 

" '  Reginald  was  not  with  you,  excuse 
me,  he  was  with  papa  and  me  at  Mentone 
first,  then  in  Florence  and  Rome,'  said 
Miss  Seymour  severely.  She  looked  at 
Kate  coldly,  and  repeated,  '  He  has  never 
been  in  America  at  all.' 

" '  Well,  I  certainly  met  a  gentleman 
who  called  himself  Reginald  Pomfret 
John  de  Bathe  Seymour,  and  said  that  he 
was  the  son  of  Sir  John  Seymour,  the 
Governor  of  the  Bank  of  England,  and 
that  he  had  a  sister  named  Maude.  Why, 
I  read  one  of  your  letters  to  him,'  said 
Kate  with  warmth,  resenting  her  tone  a 
little. 

"'That  is  papa's  name  and  my  name, 
and  Reggie's  name.  But  my  brother  has 
never  left  home.  He  is  a  confirmed  in- 
valid, and  you  can't  have  read  my  letter, 
for  I  never  wrote  him  in  America  in  all 
my  life  —  he  was  never  there  J  Miss  Sey- 
mour insisted. 

"  Dinner  was  announced  just  then,  and 
Rob  laughed  out,  loudly,  and  whispered 
'  Sold !  little  woman  ;  regularly  sold !  I 
always  said  so.  Jim  must  know  this,'  and 
Kate  turned  away  angrily  from  them  both 
and  took  the  arm  of  her  escort,  and 
would  not  so  much  as  look  at  Rob  while 
the  meal  lasted,  she  was  so  vexed.  The 
moment  it  was  over  and  the  ladies  went 
upstairs  to  the  dressing-room,  Kate  seized 
my  arm,  and  together  we  tackled  the 
Seymour,  and  told  her  all  about  the 
affair.  She  listened  placidly,  but  with 
reserve,  remarked  several  times  that  it 
was  '  very  curious,'  repeated  all  that  she 
had  previously  said,  and  whenever  we 
met  her  afterwards  —  as  it  happened 
quite  often  —  was  distant  and  distinctly 
avoided  us,  evidently  having  labelled  us 


THE   INNOCENT. 


217 


in  her  mind  as  'queer/  or  'shady,'  pos- 
sibly as  'dangerous.'  She  made  Kate  so 
angry  by  this  that  she  declared  that  she 
'should  not  believe  one  word  that  girl 
had  said ;  that  charming  Mr.  Seymour 
was  much  more  likely  to  be  what  he  had 
declared  himself  to  be,  than  that,  etc., 
etc'  And  it  was  so  funny  to  see  the 
superb  scorn  with  which  Kate  treated  her 
when  they  met  at  the  American  minis- 
ter's !  But  between  ourselves,  we  were 
aghast,  staggered,  obliged  to  admit  that 
there  was  '  something  wrong,'  something 
rotten  in  —  New  Orleans.  Mamma  alone 
refused  to  doubt,  and  would  not  be  con- 
vinced. '  He  was  a  mere  boy  —  such  a 
charming  boy,'  she  said ;  and  Kate  said, 
'  He  was  always  playing  with  the  children  ; ' 
and  I  said,  '  He  was  much  too  stupid  to 
have  played  such  a  part ;  '  and  while  we 
were  talking  Rob's  cab  drove  up,  and  he 
came  back  from  our  banker's  with  our 
letters. 

" '  I  say,  Kitty,  I've  news  for  you  as  is 
news,'  he  said  when  he  came  in.  '  I've 
a  letter  from  Canada  asking  me  what  I 
know  about  my  friend  Sir  Hugh  Le  De- 
spencer,  who  stayed  with  me  in  New 
Orleans  last  winter.  He's  staying  with 
the  Ashtons  there,  and  they  are  delighted 
with  him.  He  introduced  himself  to 
them  as  a  friend  of  ours,  if  you  please. 
Here's  a  go,  Mrs.  N.'  There's  a 
note  for  you,  enclosed,  from  Mrs.  Ash- 
ton  ;  read  it,  —  read  them  both.' 

"  '  It  can't  be  him,'  cried  Kate,  regard- 
less of  grammar.  '  It  isn't  Mr.  Seymour 
at  all,  —  it  is  some  other  man  ?  '  '  Do 
take  off  those  boots,  Robert,  they  creak 
abominably,'  said  mamma. 

"  '  //  is,  it  must  be  the  Innocent! '  I 
cried ;  and  Kate  and  I  fell  upon  the  let- 
ters and  devoured  their  contents.  Sum- 
marized, they  amounted  to  this.  Sir 
Hugh  was  charming.  They  had  been 
charmed  to  meet  such  a  great  friend  of 
ours,  and  with  such  late  and  full  news  of 
us,  and  all  our  doings.  Sir  Hugh  was 
stopping  with  them.  It  was  delightful 
to  have  him  do  so.  Sir  Hugh  was  a 
great  favorite  in  society  and  invaluable  at 
home,  so  kind  to  the  children,  so  beauti- 
fully attentive  to  dear  mamma,  for  whom 
he  had  made  '  a  most  lovely  bamboo 
screen.'     It  was  very  sad  that  he  should 


have  quarrelled  with  his  father,  but  fathers 
were  often  so  unreasonable,  and  all  the 
Despencers  were  noted  for  their  tempers. 
Sir  Hugh  was  not  at  all  clever,  certainly, 
but  one  could  see  in  every  act  and  word 
that  he  was  a  gentlejnan  born.  Harry 
had  lent  Sir  Hugh  twenty  pounds  when 
he  first  came,  and  had  introduced  him 
to  Mr.  Duncan  Maclntyre,  the  Premier, 
who  had  been  most  kind  to  him.  Sir 
Hugh  had  been  recently  called  back 
home  to  be  reconciled  to  a  dying  father, 
and  Mrs.  Maclntyre,  a  woman  of  inde- 
pendent fortune,  had  given  him  a  check 
for  a  hundred  pounds  in  the  most  de- 
licate manner  possible,  which  would  cer- 
tainly be  a  service  for  the  time  being  to 
poor,  dear  Sir  Hugh,  in  his  awkward 
position,  and  would  certainly  be  returned. 
Sir  Hugh  was  full  of  gratitude  to,  and  ad- 
miration for,  each  and  every  member  of 
the  Manning  household,  and  it  would  be 
pleasant  to  know  more  about  a  mutual 
friend,  so  we  must  write  by  return  post. 

" '  Gracious  mercy,  Rob /  It  is  the 
same  man  ?  My  goodness  !  He  must 
be  an  adventurer  !  He  must  have  taken 
in  the  Ashtons  just  as  he  did  us  !  He 
has  seen  them  all  in  our  album,  and  heard 
us  talk  about  them,  of  course  !  Oh,  isn't 
it  dreadful  !  I  can't  believe  it,  Theo. 
He  was  so  good  and  gentle  with  baby  1 
He  had  tears  in  his  eyes  when -he  went 
away,'  said  Kate,  moved  to  tears  herself 
almost ;  '  and  I  liked  him  so  much,  — 
and  just  think  what  he  was  to  mamma  ! 
I  can't  believe  it.  If  you  laugh,  Robert, 
I  shall  perfectly  hate  you.' 

"  Mamma  still  insisted  there  was  some 
mistake  —  perhaps  Sir  Hugh  had  come 
into  a  property  and  changed  his  name  !  — 
and  at  last  went  to  her  room.  Rob  did 
not  laugh  then.  He  was  too  much 
annoyed  himself  about  the  whole  affair. 
The  Ashtons  were  intimate  friends  of 
many  years  standing,  luckily,  —  Colonel 
Ashton  in  command  of  a  regiment  of  the 
Household  troops  stationed  in  Canada. 
Rob  wrote  him  at  once  and  enclosed  a 
check  for  the  twenty  pounds  Sir  Hugh 
had  borrowed  of  him  as  our  friend,  and 
begged  his  acceptance  of  it,  told  him  the 
whole  story,  regretted  that  the  Mac- 
Intyres  had  lost  so  much,  and  in  time 
had  his  check  returned,  and  heard  from 


THE  INNOCENT. 


219 


the  colonel  that  Sir  Hugh  had  disappeared, 
and  that  Mrs.  Maclntyre  had  made  him 
the  thirty-nine  articles  of  her  faith,  and 
declared  that  adventurer  or  not,  he  was 
heartily  welcome  to  what  she  had  given 
him,  —  but  that  he  was  nothing  of  the 
sort.  Nobody  could  deceive  her  about 
an  English  gentleman.  '  I  thought  / 
knew  one,'  added  the  colonel;  'I  could 
have  sworn  that  that  fellow  was  one,  and 
I  have  known  a  good  many  of  them,  and 
shoals  of  men  who,  alas  !  were  once  Eng- 
lish gentlemen  —  on  the  Continent,  and 
all  over  the  world,  blackguards  of  every 
variety.  It  is  not  remarkable  that  your 
wife,  an  American  lady,  should  have  been 
victimized,  when  I,  a  man,  and  an  Eng- 
lishman of  no  small  experience,  have 
been  completely  taken  in.  I  liked  the 
fellow.  My  wife  swears  by  him  still,  and 
her  mother,  who  is  a  Frenchwoman,  and 
a  very  prejudiced  one,  declares  that  he  is 
the  only  polite  and  agreeable  Englishman 
that  she  has  ever  known.  So  you  see 
there  is  no  one  here  who  bears  him  any 
malice,  much  less  you,  or  yours.'  " 

"He  was  quite  evidently  a  gentle- 
man," said  the  judge,  and  nodded  ap- 
provingly. 

"  I  suppose  now  that  there  is  a  great 
deal  of  feeling  between  the  French-Cana- 
dians and  the  English?"  inquired  the 
spinster. 

The  gentleman  who  had  been  on  the 
right,  but  unable  to  bear  the  thought  of 
Miss  Theodora  "  actually  under  the  same 
roof  with  —  with  a  —  anything,''1  had 
picked  up  the  poker  and  viciously  mended 
the  fire,  thereby  relieving  his  feelings  in 
some  measure,  now  said,  "  I  can't  think 
how  they  could  have  subjected  you  to 
such  an  association,  —  I  really  can't, 
now." 

"  What  next,  Theodora  ?  I  hope  some- 
thing that  will  make  "  crillies  "  run  down 
my  back,"  gushed  Miss  Barstow.  "  I 
hope  he  turned  up  one  night  in  London, 
or  at  some  country  house,  with  a  crape 
mask  on.  and  carried  his  shoes  and  a 
dark  lantern  in  his  hand.     Ugh  !  " 

"  Not  he,"  said  Theodora.  "  I  may  as 
well  say  at  once  that  we  never  saw  him 
again  ;  but  we  heard  of  him  often  enough, 
although  we  did  not  at  the  time  know  it. 

"  After  spending  a  year  abroad  we  came 


home,  and  two  years  later  one  of  my 
cousins,  May  Carruthers,  wrote  me  a  con- 
fidential letter.  A  great  friend  of  her's 
wished  to  know,  '  for  private  reasons  that 
need  not  be  made  known,'  whether  we  had 
ever  heard  in  England  of  a  very  charming 
man,  Lord  Vivian  Vavasour,  who  had 
been  for  some  weeks  creating  a  great 
sensation  in  Cincinnati.  '  My  uncle, 
Mr.  Boehm  of  Boehm  &  Company,  bank- 
ers, Paris,  who  is  staying  with  them,  says 
that  nobody  could  deceive  him  as  to 
being  an  English  gentleman,'  wrote  May, 
'  and  the  moment  he  set  his  eyes  on  Lord 
Vivian  he  knew  that  he  could  be  no  other 
than  a  man  of  distinguished  lineage,  and 
of  the  best  ton,  but  still  my  friend  has 
reasons  for  wishing  to  know  a  great  deal 
more  ;  in  fact,  all  that  is  to  be  known.'  I 
wrote  disclaiming  all  knowledge  of  Lord 
Vivian,  and  very  soon  had  a  second  letter 
from  May.  Lord  Vivian  had  disappeared, 
and  had  forgotten  to  return  a  very  valu- 
able diamond  ring  that  May's  friend,  a 
belle  and  beauty,  had  given  him  to  wear ; 
had  gone  off  owing  Uncle  Boehm  fifteen 
hundred  dollars,  owing  to  some  irregularity 
of  a  check  drawn  by  him,  but  of  course 
it  would  be  explained  —  fifteen  hundred 
dollars  was  nothing  to  a  Vavasour. 

"  Three  years  later  a  friend  of  ours,  a 
lawyer,  on  a  visit  here,  was  giving  an 
amusing  account  of  the  capture  of  a 
chevalier  d'industrie,  Viscount  Tollemache, 
in  San  Francisco,  by  the  New  York 
detectives.  Pinkerton  had  sent  out  two 
of  his  best  men  he  said,  and  they  found 
the  fellow,  the  petted,  curled  darling 
of  the  best  circle  in  the  city.  The 
leader  of  the  German  was  his  shadow. 
The  mothers,  daughters,  and  dudes  lived 
for  him,  and  babies  licked  the  spoon, 
as  the  advertisements  say.  Any  enter- 
tainment that  he  graced  was  a  grand 
success.  Any  affair  that  lacked  that 
honor  was  more  or  less  of  a  failure. 
All  the  beauties  were  scrambling  for  a 
seat  in  the  Peeresses  Gallery,  and  the 
belles  schemed  to  get  so  much  as  a  but- 
ton from  his  uniform  when  he  appeared 
in  his  naval  toggery.  The  grandmothers 
to  a  man  were  all  on  his  side,  and  bets 
were  being  made  at  the  clubs  as  to  how 
much  the  leading  fathers  would  give  as  a 
dot  for    the    daughter    whom    he    might 


220 


THE  INNOCENT 


select.  All  the  clubs  had  given  him 
cards  of  admission,  and  meant  to  renew 
them  indefinitely.  All  the  would-be 
fashionable  youths  wrere  dressed  after 
him,  and  his  popularity  was  something 
phenomenal.  Pinkerton's  men  were  stag- 
gered. They  were  old  foes  in  the  force, 
and  were  on  their  mettle.  They  dis- 
agreed about  the  case,  and  both  went  to 
work  cautiously  and  independently.  Vis- 
count Tollemache  was  living  at  the  best 
hotel,  paid  his  bills,  had  no  vices,  was 
universally  admitted  to  be  '  a  perfect 
gentleman,'  and  considered  irreproach- 
able in  his  conduct.  The  detectives  saw 
him  for  the  first  time  at  the  theatre.  '  No- 
thing in  it ;  wrong  scent,'  said  A.  '  You 
can't  fool  me  when  it  comes  to  an  Eng- 
lish gentleman.  I  was  gamekeeper  to. 
the  Earl  of  Seaforth  in  the  old  country 
for  fifteen  years.'  '  I'm  not  so  sure  of 
that,'  said  B.  '  He  looks  the  swell,  but 
I've  been  longer  in  the  force  than  you, 
and  I've  seen  more  paste  diamonds  in 
consequence.  I  don't  say  he  is,  but  I 
don't  say  he  ain't,  neither.'  They  both 
worked  for  a  month,  and  then  on  the 
same  day  ran  him  down  from  different 
starting-points,  were  reconciled,  arrested 
him,  and  took  him  to  the  hotel.  Arrived 
there,  they  took  him  to  his  room.  He 
offered  no  sort  of  resistance.  And  then, 
unfortunately,  they  began  to  discuss  the 
conduct  of  the  case.  Each  claimed  the 
entire  credit  of  the  capture.  They  both 
got  more  and  more  angry,  excited,  ab- 
sorbed. Meanwhile,  Viscount  Tollemache, 
unobserved,  slipped  nearer  and  nearer  to 
the  window  behind  them ;  a  dash,  a 
flash,  and  he  was  gone  ! 

"  Two  years  after  that,  a  friends  of  our 
introduced  Jim  to  an  English  gentleman 
who  had,  as  he  said  '  gone  in  for '  an 
orange  plantation  in  Florida.  They  spent 
several  days  at  a  country-house  together, 
and  one  night  in  the  smoking-room,  when 
they  chanced  to  speak  of  English  immi- 
gration to  this  country,  Jim  mounted  his 
favorite  hobby-horse,  which  is  the  reck- 
less way  in  which  Americans  open  their 
doors  to  any  and  every  Englishman,  with 
or  without  credentials,  taking  his  posi- 
tion, character,  respectability,  for  granted 
if  he  presents  none,  and  never  being  at 
the   pains   of   verifying  such  as   he   may 


have  provided.  His  views,  so  far  from 
provoking  opposition,  were  heartily  ech- 
oed by  his  companion.  'You  can't  be 
too  careful,'  he  said.  '  Why,  only  last 
year,  I  was  regularly  done  myself.  I'll 
tell  you  how  it  happened.  I  drove  into 
my  post-town  one  day,  and  went  up  to 
the  station  where  I  had  some  matter  to 
look  to,  and  there  I  saw  a  tall  chap  walk- 
ing about,  and  I  saw  at  once  that  he  was 
an  Englishman.  I  took  a  good  look  at 
the  fellow  and  said  to  myself,  "I  can't 
be  mistaken  in  an  English  gentleman," 
so  I  went  up  to  him  and  said  my  name 
was  Charteris,  and  he  said  his  name  was 
Bellamy,  and  we  shook  hands,  and  then 
we  had  a  good  deal  of  talk  about  people 
and  things  at  home,  which  was  very 
agreeable  —  at  least  to  me.  He  knew  a 
lot  of  my  people,  and  had  seen  my 
brother  a  few  weeks  before,  and  his 
cousin,  Montagu  Bellamy,  had  married  a 
cousin  of  mine,  Mabel  Effingham,  and  I 
knew  quite  well  who  he  was,  had  often 
heard  my  brother  speak  of  Dick  Bellamy, 
Hightowers's  brother  in  the  Guards,  at 
least.  So  the  upshot  of  it  was  that  I 
asked  him  to  make  me  a  visit.  He  was 
down  there,  he  said,  to  look  at  some 
plantations,  and  I  carried  him  off  home 
that  very  day  in  my  dog-cart.  He  spent 
several  weeks  with  me,  and  all  went  well. 
My  wife  was  charmed  with  him,  and  my 
mother-in-law  quite  in  love  with  him, 
and  no  wonder,  for  he  was  positively  ten- 
der to  her,  —  always  shutting  doors,  fetch- 
ing shawls,  and  picking  up  pocket  hand- 
kerchiefs—  you  know  the  sort  of  thing. 
Yet  the  fellow  was  not  a  drawing-room 
poodle  merely,  he  was  a  capital  shot, 
and  caught  more  fish  in  a  week  than  I 
could  in  a  year.  So  everything  went  on 
for  some  time  and  at  first  I  had  not  a 
shadow  of  suspicion  that  anything  was 
wrong,  but  finally  he  did  one  or  two  little 
things,  said  something  that  struck  me  as 
not  at  all  the  thing  I  had  a  right  to  ex- 
pect from  him ;  and  then  he  talked  one 
day  rather  too  much  about  that  stupid 
banker  of  his  in  London,  and  I  got  un- 
easy. So  without  saying  a  word  to  the 
ladies,  I  went  into  town  and  wired  my 
cousin  St.  Albans  in  Canada,  and  he 
wired  back,  "Your  friend  is  a  swindler." 
The  fellow  must  have  seen  something  in 


THE  INNOCENT. 


221 


my  manner  anu  have  taken  fright,  for 
without  waiting  for  me  to  return,  he  had 
gone,  leaving  a  note  for  me,  "  pressing 
business,  etc.,  etc.,"  as  I  found  when  I 
got  back,  and  saved  me  the  trouble  of 
kicking  him  out.  And  about  a  year 
later,  some  relatives  of  my  wife  in  Boston 
gave  us  all  the  news  we  have  ever  had  of 
him,  for  he  turned  up  there,  looked  them 
up  at  once,  presented  himself  as  Lord 
Alfred  Manners,  and  swindled  them  out 
of  nine  hundred  dollars,  captivated  the 
entire  community  and  departed  "uni- 
versally regretted "  as  the  obituary  no- 
tices put  it.' 

"As  an  Anglophobist,  Jim  was  highly 
gratified  by  this  recital,  and  wrote  us  all 
about  it  by  the  next  post,  having  made 
some  confidences  in  return,  you  may  be 
sure,  and  compared  notes  with  Mr.  Char- 
teris,  greatly  to  their  mutual  entertain- 
ment. 

"Some  little  time  after  this  a  friend 
of  mine  went  abroad ;  and  this  friend 
had  the  strength  of  mind  to  keep  a  diary 
of  his  European  tour  and  not  merely  to 
intend  to  keep  one.  And  on  his  return 
to  this  country  I  found  matter  for  reflec- 
tion in  his  account  of  that  very  common- 
place transit,  a  voyage  from  New  York  to 
Liverpool.  Soon  after  starting,  he  said 
it  was  rumored  that  there  was  a  criminal 
on  board  who  was  to  be  delivered  up  to 
English  justice ;  and  as  everybody  was 
in  that  vacant  state  of  mind  in  which  a 
reported  nautilus  sends  half  the  passen- 
gers to  one  or  the  other  side  of  the  ship, 
and  confidences  had  been  exchanged 
between  entire  strangers  that  surprised 
confider  and  confidant  ever  afterwards, 
such  thrilling  tidings  naturally  caused  a 
pretty  stir.  By  night  a  hundred  different 
rumors  were  afloat  about  the  affair,  and 
the  ladies  all  in  a  buzz  appealed  with 
swift  instinct  to  the  captain.  The  cap- 
tain sifted  the  stories  and  admitted  the 
fact.  There  was  a  criminal  on  board, 
charged  by  John  Clapp  of  London  with 
forging  an  acceptance  of  a  bill  of  ex- 
change for  one  hundred  pounds  sterling, 
and  arrested  in  Montreal.  He  was  to  be 
turned  over  to  the  police  authorities  of 
Liverpool,  and  was  in  his  charge  and  that 
of  a  detective.  '  Oh  !  poor  thing,'  said 
the  ladies.     '  What  does  he  look  like  ?  — 


Have  you  seen  him  ?  —  Can't  we  see  him  ?' 
Do  let  us  see  him  ! — What  will  his  sen- 
tence be  ?  '  The  captain  shook  his  head 
at  the  last  demand,  and  answered  the  last 
question  :  '  There  is  no  saying ;  but  he 
will  probably  get  six  months  at  hard  labor 
in  Clerkenwell  Prison.'  And  then  he 
said,  '  I  have  had  several  talks  with  the 
fellow.  You'd  never  take  him  for  a  crim- 
inal —  in  fact  it  isn't  proven,  you  know. 
And  I  have  my  doubts  !  I'm  giving  him 
the  benefit  of  them  in  my  treatment  of 
him,  allowing  him  a  good  deal  more  lib- 
erty than  is  generally  accorded.  He's  a 
particularly  nice  fellow,  quite  the  English 
gentleman,  really,  and  in  my  position  I 
know,  coming  into  contact  with  so  many 
of  them,  and  belonging  as  I  do  to  the 
Naval  Reserve,  as  it  were  in  the  Royal 
Navy,  practically.  I  am  confident  that  I 
am  right  that  far.  He  may  be  entirely 
innocent  of  the  offence  with  which  he  is 
charged.  He  may  be  a  bit  of  a  scape- 
grace, a  sprig  of  nobility  sowing  wild  oats 
over  in  America,  is  my  theory ;  but  a 
gentleman  born,  a  gentleman  bred,  I'd 
lay  a  thousand  pounds  !  Not  a  clever 
fellow,  but  sound  views ;  detests  Glad- 
stone ;  very  good-looking  fellow,  too/ 
The  ladies  on  hearing  this  unanimously 
resolved  that  see  him  they  must,  could, 
would,  and  should.  See  him  they  did, 
on  deck,  and  heard  him,  too,  —  for  what 
should  he  do  the  next  evening  (Sunday) 
but  burst  out  with  Hymns  Ancient  and 
Modern,  Moody  and  Sankey,  Adam's 
"Holy  Night,"  and  Gounod's  "Ave 
Maria,"  all  sung  in  a  rich,  sweet,  if  not 
particularly  cultivated  tenor  voice  !  The 
captain  was  human,  and  yielded  to  the 
pressure ;  and  once  knowing  the  truth, 
there  were  not  ropes  enough  on  board  to 
keep  the  ladies  away  from  Mr.  Lionel 
Dalrymple  Bouverie.  The  consequence 
was  that  the  ladies  talked  to  him,  heard 
him  talk,  heard  him  sing,  saw  his  profile 
against  several  good  sunsets,  heard  him 
read  Keble,  and  Robertson's  Sermons, 
learned  that  he  was  a  nephew  of  the 
Bishop  of  Sodor  and  Man  (Soda  &  Man, 
a  wag  on  board  put  it,  alluding  to  a  well- 
known  combination  ordinarily  expressed 
as  a  Soda  &  B.),  and  the  feminine  mind 
was  made  up.  There  was  a  mistake  some- 
where, a  conspiracy.     A  man  with  a  good 


222 


THE  INNOCENT. 


tenor  voice,  and  such  a  name,  a  classical 
profile,  an  uncle  who  was  a  bishop  in  the 
English  church,  a  forger  !  —  preposter- 
ous !  The  ladies  did  not  brood  over  the 
matter  in  the  cabins  merely.  They  sent 
him  wine,  books,  notes.  They  talked 
themselves,  each  other,  and  their  male 
belongings  and  slaves  on  board  into  a 
firm  belief  in  a  blackly  wronged  Bou- 
verie,  shot  baleful  glances  and  sarcastic 
little  speeches  at  the  anti-Bouverites,  a 
respectable  minority,  chiefly  male  and 
middle-aged.  A  subscription  list  was 
taken  around  for  the  purpose  of  furnish- 
ing Mr.  Bouverie  with  legal  advice 
and  protection,  and  his  popularity  stood 
even  this  supreme  test.  By  the  time 
they  reached  Liverpool,  even  the  detec- 
tive had  ceased  detecting,  all  barriers  had 
been  burned  away  by  his  ardent  admirers, 
and  he  mingled  with  the  passengers  as  a 
victim.  The  captain  had  sent  his  own 
servant  to  wait  on  him,  two  school  girls 
from  Topeka  had  begged  for  a  lock  of 
his  hair,  and  other  fair  ones  for  photo- 
graphs, and  in  all  the  autograph  books 
on  board  nearly  was  to  be  seen  in  huge 
dashing  characters,  '  Lionel  Dalrymple 
Bouverie,'  opposite  such  appropriate 
verses  as  Tennyson's  '  Oh  !  selfless  man 
and  stainless  gentleman  ! '  —  with  the 
name  of  the  steamer  and  date.  My 
friend  was  a  wretch  of  an  Anti-Bouverite. 
He  declared  that  it  was  his  belief  that 
the  gentleman  in  question  got  a  good 
round  sum  in  loans  alone  from  suscepti- 
ble sentimentalists,  having  detected  three 
such  in  the  act  of  giving  him  a  roll  of 
bank  bills,  —  three  old  ladies.  He  talked 
by  the  hour  with  a  particularly  meek  little 
man  from  Utah  who  was  '  most  sure  '  and 
willing  to  '  bet  his  bottom  dollar '  that 
'  that  there  man  was  the  same  man  that 
was  out  in  Salt  Lake  City  two  years  ago 
and  played  about  the  smartest  confidence 
game  off  on  a  merchant  there  of  the 
name  of  Pope,  William  D.  Pope,  pre- 
tended to  be  adjuster  for  some  estate  in 
England,  and  worked  the  thing  in  so 
fine  with  what  he  knowed  of  the  law  in 
both  countries  and  the  family,  that  he 
had  cleared  out  with  a  pile  and  hadn't 
never  been  heard  tell  of,  though  a  reward 
for  a  thousand  dollars  had  been  offered 
by  Jefferson  Ott,  Pope's  lawyer,  who  was 


mad  enough  to  have  killed  him  on  sight, 
most.'  My  friend  was  foolish  enough  to 
repeat  this,  but  the  ladies  were  a  match 
for  him.  They  had  found  out  from  the 
stewardess  that  the  little  man  was  a  Mor- 
mon, and  a  Mormon  could  not  give  evi- 
dence against  the  nephew  of  a  bishop, 
say  what  he  might.  They  told  the  Vic- 
tim, who  remarked  without  heat,  'What 
extraordinary  tales  do  get  about,  to  be 
sure  ! '  and  was  said  by  them  to  have 
taken  it  '  as  a  Christian  should.'  But  as 
much  cannot  be  said  for  the  detective, 
when  in  the  confusion  of  landing  ai 
Liverpool  and  in  consequence  of  the  re- 
laxation of  all  discipline,  the  bogUb 
nephew  of  a  venerated  prelate  slipped 
out  of  his  grasp,  baggage  and  all,  as 
neatly  as  possible,  leaving  him  in  a  swear- 
ing, tearing  fury,  quite  painful  to  witness. 
"  Lastly,  —  dear,  dear  !  just  look  at  the 
clock  !  1  had  no  idea  it  was  so  late,  but 
my  story  is  nearly  done  —  lastly,  I  went 
on  to  New  York  last  winter  to  be  brides- 
maid to  my  friend,  Edith  Williams,  and 
at  the  wedding  I  met  the  best  man,  who 
proved  to  be  an  old  acquaintance,  Comte 
de  Grenouillac.  I  had  known  him  in 
Paris  very  well  and  was  glad  to  see  him 
again,  saw  a  good  deal  of  him  when  the 
wedding  was  over.  He  gave  me  a  full 
account  of  himself,  and  I  could  almost 
have  shut  my  eyes  and  imagined  myself 
back  at  the  Hotel  Verville,  where  he  used 
to  dine  every  Sunday  with  Uncle  Bo- 
gardus  and  me,  —  it  was  so  familiar,  the 
sound  of  his  high,  chirruping  voice,  his 
queer  French-English  ;  these  had  not 
changed,  although  the  little  man  was  so 
bronzed,  bearded,  altered  otherwise,  that  I 
did  not  recognize  him  at  first.  ( I  am  bach- 
eldore  !  Je  roide  partottt  comme  les  balles. 
I  come  to  arrive  from  the  Indes,'  he 
explained.  He  had  been  all  around  the 
world  and  had  had  many  strange  adven- 
tures. He  related  a  good  many  of 
them  to  me,  and  in  this  way  it  came 
about  that  we  '  returned  to  our  muttons,' 
as  he  always  would  say.  For  one  morn- 
ing he  told  me  of  a  visit  he  had  made  to 
the  Governor-General  of  India,  of  the 
house-full  of  guests  assembled  there,  and 
their  mode  of  life,  amusements,  and  so 
on,  and  finally  of  a  *  young  English  '  who 
was  of  the  party,   '  ires  poll  ei  distingue 


THE  INNOCENT. 


223 


pour  un  Anglais ; '  but  not  clever  the 
least  in  the  world,  quoique  handsome  as 
I  could  not  imagine,  the  ladies  say ;  but 
'  essentiellement  le  John  Bull.1  He  went 
on  to  say  how  he  was  '  named  Airle  de 
Valdegrave,'  how  he  had  created  'furore' 
'  un  succes  fou  '  and  then  '  He  las!  fragility 
of  glory  of  this  planet-here,  honors  of 
the  popularity  —  there  arrives  un  coup 
terrible!  Another  young  English  le  beau- 
Secretaire  de  Milord,  rival  of  Airle  Valde- 
grave, has  the  suspicions,  send  telegrajne 
to  Angleterre,  and  Lady  Valdegrave  send 
back  word  "  Ce  n' est  point  mon  fils?  11  est 
ici."  What  do  these  droles  of  English  ! 
They  explode  not,  speak  nothing  !  The 
Secretaire  assembled  with  all  in  smoking- 
room,  gives  the  paper  to  Valdegrave,  and 
he,  as  cucumber  cool,  goes  to  Milord, 
admirably  makes  compliments,  ses  adieux, 
all  regarding,  tears  the  paper  and  puts  it 
in  the  fireplace,  et  puis — '  Here  the 
count  kissed  his  fingers  as  to  a  vanishing 
friend.  He  was  full  of  enthusiasm.  A 
Frenchman  could  not  have  done  it  better 
in  his  opinion.  He  had  cried  '  Bravo  ! 
Bravissimo  ! '  in  himself,  he  said.  And 
of  one  thing  he  was  certain.  The  fellow 
was  'English  gentleman,  ' pur  sang  if 
menteur  of  the  occasion.'  The  comte 
said  that  he  had  been  '  yaires '  in  Eng- 
land, and  had  '  grandmawther  dame 
d'honneur  de  sa  Majeste  la  Reine  d' Angle- 
terre—  naturellement^  on  that  point  he 
was  connoisseur  and  could  not  be  de- 
ceived. Well,  Kate  and  I  gave  always 
our  New  Orleans  Roland  in  exchange  for 
each  of  these  Olivers,  as  they  came  in, 
and  would  always  say  to  each  other  when 
we  heard  them,  '  Can  that  have  been  the 
Innocent  ? '  And  we  always  ended  by 
agreeing  that  it  was  impossible.  But  all 
the  same  it  was  the  Innocent  in  every 
case.' 

"  '  He  was  the  cook,  and  the  captain  bold, 
And  the  mate  of  the  Nancy  brig, 

And  the  midshipmite, 
And  the  boatswain  tight, 

And  the  crew  of  the  captain's  gig.' 

"  And  this  is  how  we  found  it  out ; 
there  is  nothing  mysterious  or  remarkable 
about  that,  whatever.  I  picked  up  the 
New  York  Trumpet  one  morning,  and 
there  it  all  was.  The  Innocent  had  been 
at  his  old  tricks,  and  had  been  arrested. 


There  were  two  columns  of  him,  giving 
first  his  picture,  which  we  recognized  in- 
stantly, and  then  his  history.  The  article 
was  headed  'A  Bogus  Britisher.'  His 
latest  achievement  had  been  getting  a 
large  sum  on  false  pretences  from  an 
eminent  lawyer  in  Maine,  to  whose 
daughter  he  was  engaged.  His  role  and 
name,  Willoughby  Podmore,  Q.  C,  alias 
Reginald  Pomfret  John  de  Bathe  Sey- 
mour—  how  it  stared  at  us — son  of  Sir 
John  Seymour,  Governor  of  the  Bank  of 
England,  alias  Sir  Hugh  Le  Despencer, 
Lord  Vivian  Vavasour,  Viscount  Tolle- 
mache,  Herbert  De  Crespigny,  R.  N., 
Lord  Alfred  Manners,  Mr.  Bellamy  of  the 
'  Blues,'  Lionel  Dalrymple  Bouverie,  etc., 
a  long  list.  He  was  the  son  of  an  Eng- 
lish gamekeeper,  employed  by  a  great 
noble,  in  the  west  of  England.  He  was 
one  of  the  cleverest  and  most  noted 
swindlers  known  to  the  police,  and  there 
were  a  great  many  people  in  Canada, 
America,  England,  Australia,  New  Zea- 
land, who  had  loved  and  mourned  him. 
He  had  served  two  terms  at  Dartmoor ; 
and  by  comparing  dates  we  saw  that  he 
had  been  shipped  to  the  West  Indies 
after  the  first  one,  and  had  come  from 
there  to  us  in  New  Orleans.  Numbers 
of  his  victims  had  declined  to  prosecute 
him,  f  generally  his  female  friends  who 
supplied  him  with  enough  money  to  have 
comfortably  supported  a  man  of  less  ex- 
travagant tastes.'  His  various  exploits 
were  narrated,  and  then  came  a  personal 
description.  We  devored  it.  Weight, 
height,  coloring  of  hair  and  eyes,  age  — 
all  corresponded.  There  could  be  no 
sort  of  doubt.  And  when  it  came  to 
'  mole  on  left  leg,  piece  gone  from  lobe 
of  right  ear,'  we  couldn't  stand  another 
word.  '  Crillies '  ran  down  my  back,  I 
assure  you,  and  Kate  turned  so  sick  and 
faint  that  I  had  to  get  her  some  camphor 
and  a  fan.  'To  think  of  his  having 
stayed  under  our  roof!  The  change 
from  Dartmoor  to  Honeysuckle  Cottage 
and  us  must  have  been  rather  striking,  I 
should  hope,'  I  said  to  Kate.  '  I  have 
no  doubt  that  he  is  going  about  the  world 
this  minute  describing  himself  as  our  most 
intimate  friend.'  'Don't  talk  of  it.  It 
is  too  dreadful  for  words,'  cried  she,  and 
would    not    hear    anything   more    at    the 


224 


POSSESSION. 


time.  Now  she  always  insists  that  there 
must  have  been  some  good  in  him  some- 
where — '  so  gentle  with  baby,  and  then 
the  tears  in  his  eyes  when  he  said  good- 
by,  Theodora.  He  couldn't  have  put 
those  there  ! '  Mamma  has  never  been 
able  to  bring  herself  to  do  more  than 
speak  of  him  as  that  '  misguided,  unfor- 
tunate youth.'  Marked  copies  of  the 
Trumpet  poured  in  upon  us  for  two 
weeks,  and  two  of  them  came  from  Rob 
and  Jim  who  were  both  away.  We  had 
weakly  hoped  that  they  might  not  see  it, 
but  when  did  an  article  of  this  kind  ever 
escape  the  wrong  eyes  ?  Being  so  abun- 
dantly supplied,  I  sent  a  few  copies  off 
myself,  one  to  Miss  Seymour,  one  to  Mr. 
Charteris,  and  others  to  the  acquaintances 
of  that  mutual  friend,  the  Innocent.  And 
now  my  story  is  done  !  " 

"  I  have  done  a  sprig  and  a  half  of  em- 
broidery, and  knitted  two  squares  since 
you  began,"  said   Mrs.   Barstow,  holding 


them  up  and  smiling  with  satisfac- 
tion. 

"  My  dear,  we  are  all  very  much  in- 
debted to  you,"  said  the  judge,  rising 
with  some  difficulty,  and  making  a  beauti- 
ful, low  bow  over  the  hand  she  extended 
as  she  said  good-night. 

"It  wasn't  much,  after  all,"  said  Anna 
Barstow  discontentedly ;  and  adding, 
"  Good-night,  everybody,"  she  took  her- 
self off. 

The  gentleman  on  the  right  lighted 
Anna's  bedroom  candle  for  her  as  she 
passed  him,  and  got  a  giggle  and  glance 
of  the  quality  known  as  "  killing  "  in  re- 
turn. It  did  not  kill  or  even  wound  him, 
and  presently  he  was  performing  the  same 
office  for  Miss  Grey.  But  the  candle 
would  not  light  at  first,  went  out,  had  to 
be  rekindled,  and  of  course  there  was  no 
harm  in  talking  while  this  was  being  done. 
And  no  fingers  were  burned,  though  some 
were  held  rather  longer  than  usual. 


POSSESSION. 


By  E.  O.  Boswall. 


EAGERLY,  with  flying  feet, 
The  tide  comes  in  ! 
Possession  must  be  very  sweet, 
For  eagerly,  with  flying  feet, 
The  tide  comes  in. 

Slowly,  with  reluctant  feet, 

The  tide  goes  out. 
Possession  must  be  very  sweet, 
For  slowly,  with  reluctant  feet, 

The  tide  goes  out. 


GENERAL  BUTLER'S  BOYHOOD. 

[  From  the  manuscript  of  General  Butler's  forthcoming  Autobiography.  With  the  consent  of  General  Butler,  and  by 
the  kindness  of  his  Publisher,  Messrs.  A.  M.  Thayer  &  Co.,  of  Boston.  The  illustrations  are  also  loaned  by  them, 
being   taken    from    those    which    are    to    appear    in    the   book.] 


MY  paternal  grandfather  was  born 
in  Woodbury,  Connecticut,  of 
Irish  descent,  and  of  a  most 
strictly  Irish  Presbyterian  family,  as  his 
own  name  Zephaniah,  and  his  uncles', 
Levi  and  Malachi,  most  plainly  show. 
The  branches  of  the  family  were  numer- 
ous, and  the  names  of  those  who  were  of 
the  proper  generation  to  take  part  in  the 
War  of  the  Revolution  will  be  found  in 
the  local  history  of  that  contest  wherever 
Connecticut  men  took  part,  whether  in 
Pennsylvania  or  Wyoming,  or  in  the 
western  reserve  of  Ohio. 

Zephaniah  went  to  Quebec  with  Wolfe, 
and  I  have  the  powder-horn  which  he 
bore,  dated  April  22,  1758. 

He  went  from  Connecticut  to  the  town 
of  Nottingham  in  New  Hampshire,  and 
married  Abigail,  daughter  of  General 
Joseph  Cilley.  They  had  several  children, 
the  youngest  of  whom  was  John,  my 
father,  who  was  born  May  17,  1782.  He 
married  Sarah  Batchelder  of  Deerfield, 
New  Hampshire,  June  5,  1803.  By  her 
he  was  the  father  of  three  girls,  Polly 
True,  born  June  8,  1804;  Sally,  born 
March  n,  1806;  and  Betsey  Morrill, 
born  January  9,  1808.  The  last  of  these 
is  now  living  at  Nottingham,  New  Hamp- 
shire, the  widow  of  the  late  Daniel  B. 
Stevens,  Esq.  Mrs.  Sarah  Batchelder 
Butler    died    February    23,    1809.     John 


Butler  then  married  Charlotte  Elli- 
son, July  21,  181 1.  She  bore  him 
three  children.  The  eldest,  Char- 
lotte, born  May  13,  181 2,  died  in 
August,  1839.  The  second  child, 
Andrew  Jackson,  was  born  February 
13,  181 5,  and  died  February  11, 
1864.  The  third,  Benjamin  F., 
was  born  at  Deerfield,  New  Hamp- 
shire, November  5,  181 8,  about 
four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon. 

Upon  the  breaking  out  of  the  war  of 
181 2,  John  Butler  applied  to  the  war  de- 
partment for  permission  to  raise  a  com- 
pany of  light  dragoons  among  his  neigh- 
bors. Permission  was  granted,  the  com- 
pany was  raised,  and  he  was  commissioned 
its  captain  on  the  23d  of  July,  181 2. 

Captain  Butler  served  with  his  troop 
on  the  northern  frontier  until  he  broke 
his  left  leg.  The  broken  limb  was  so 
badly  set  that  he  could  not  thereafter- 
wards  wear  a  boot,  and  he  resigned  his 
commission.  Unwilling  to  remain  idle 
while  the  war  was  going  on,  and  having  a 
taste  for  the  sea  and  shipping,  he  sailed 
from  Portsmouth  in  a  privateer  fitted  out 
by  himself  and  his  friends.  He  did  some 
harm  to  the  enemy,  and  in  return  there- 
for he  received  a  commission  from  the 
government  to  be  the  bearer  of  de- 
spatches to  General  Jackson  at  New 
Orleans.  He  carried  out  his  mission  and 
was  thus  enabled  to  make  the  acquain- 
tance of  General  Jackson,  for  whom  he 
entertained  the  highest  respect  and  ad- 
miration. Hence,  having  a  son  born  on 
the  13th  of  February,  181 5,  he  named 
him  Andrew  Jackson. 

The  war  being  practically  ended,  as 
the  battle  of  New  Orleans  was  fought 
after  the  treaty  of  peace  had  been  agreed 
upon,  my  father  turned  his  attention  to 
mercantile  voyages,  going  several  trips  to 
the  West  Indies  and  Spanish  Islands  on 
the  coast  of  South  America.  While  so 
engaged  he  took  letters  of  marque  under 


226 


GENERAL  BUTLER'S  BOYHOOD. 


Bolivar,  and  with  his  vessel  formed  a  part 
of  Bolivar's  expedition.  When  Bolivar 
crossed  the  Cordilleras,  my  father  returned 
to  the  West  India  Islands,  and,  in  order 
to  refit,  landed  at  the  Island  of  St.  Chris- 
topher (St.  Kitts),  one  of  the  British 
Islands.      While    there    he    died    of  the 


||lfi« 


Captain  John   Butler. —  The  Father  of  Benjamin   F.   But'e 

yellow  fever,  el  vomito.  So  did  some  por- 
tion of  his  crew  and  one  of  his  officers,  I 
believe  his  first  officer.  That  pestilence 
and  its  terrible  results  was  among  the 
first  diseases  of  which  I  remember  ever 
to  have  learned  from  my  suffering  mother. 
I  mention  this  because  it  made  so  indeli- 
ble an  impression  on  my  memory  that  it 
impelled  me,  when  I  was  older,  to  in- 
vestigate that  scourge  to  such  extent  as  I 
might,  and  this  investigation  had  some 
effect  upon  my  conduct  of  affairs  in  later 
life. 

The  death  of  my  father  in  St.  Kitts, 
and  the  irrecoverable  loss  of  what  he  had 
there,  left  my  mother  in  a  state  of  com- 
parative poverty.  But  against  it  she 
struggled    with    wisdom    and    vigor,   and 


with  some  success.  My  Uncle  Benjamin 
took  charge  of  my  brother  in  his  younger 
years,  and  so  long  as  he  lived  looked 
after  him.  My  mother  and  my  younger 
sister  went  to  live  for  a  period  with  my 
Uncle  William  and  my  grandmother  on 
my  father's  side.  They  owned  and  car- 
ried on  a  small  farm  in  Not- 
tingham, New  Hampshire. 

It  is,  proper,  however, 
that  something  should  be 
said  of  that  mother,  whom  I 
love,  honor,  and  revere  be- 
yond any  other  person  ever 
on  earth.  Her  father  and 
mother  were  Scotch  Presby- 
terians. My  grandfather, 
Richard  Ellison,  when  a 
?v  young    man,    had   fought    at 

the  battle  of  Boyne  Water 
for  King  William,  and  had 
received  some  reward  which 
enabled  him  and  his  wife  to 
come  to  America.  He  joined 
the  colony  about  London- 
derry, New  Hampshire,  and 
took  up  a  farm  at  North- 
field,  on  the  Pemigewassett, 
or  main  branch  of  the  Mer- 
rimack River.  Here  he  had 
several  children,  the  young- 
est of  whom  was  my  mother. 
He  and  his  family  removed 
to  Canada  about  the  time  of 
my  mother's  marriage.  They 
were  respectable  and  hon- 
orable people,  and  were  cer- 
tainly long  lived,  for  my  mother's  sister 
lived  to  exceed  the  age  of  one  hundred 
and  four  years. 

I,  at  four  years  of  age,  was  thought  to 
be  a  puny  child,  —  probably  the  results 
of  my  mother's  anxieties  and  fears  for 
my  father  during  his  absence.  Quiet, 
gentle,  and  eager  to  learn,  I  was  taught 
my  letters  by  my  mother  and  given  a 
slight  advance  in  the  spelling-book.  In 
the  summer  I  was  sent  away  to  school  at 
Nottingham  Square.  This  was  quite  two 
miles  away  from  our  home,  especially  as 
the  last  half  of  the  distance  was  up  a 
very  steep  hill,  on  which  the  Vermont 
traders  in  the  winter,  going  down  to 
Portsmouth  with  their  sleighs  heavily 
loaded  with  produce,  sometimes  had  to 


GENERAL  BUTLER'S  BOYHOOD. 


227 


double  up  their  teams.  I  attended  that 
school  for  six  weeks,  and  learned  to  read 
with  but  little  difficulty.  I  remained  at 
home  during  the  autumn,  and  then  it 
was  that  our  shoemaker  gave  me  the 
book  of  all  books  for  a  boy,  "  Robinson 
Crusoe."  The  question  was  not  whether 
I  wanted  to  read  it,  but  whether  I  could 
be  kept  from  reading  it,  so  as  to  do  the 
little  matters  that  I  ought  to  do,  and  was 
able  to  do,  called  in  New  Hampshire 
nomenclature,  "  chores."  My  mother, 
laying  aside  her  labors  which  were  quite 
necessary  for  our  support,  taught  and  ex- 
plained the  book  to  me  with  great  pains. 
But  being  a  religious  woman  of  the 
strictest  sect  of  Calvin,  she  thought  that 
I  ought  not  to  have  so  much  secular 
reading  without  some  Christian  teach- 
ing; and  so  we  struck  a  bargain  that  I 
should  learn  so  many  verses  in  the  New 
Testament  if  she  would  help  me  read  so 
many  pages  in  Robinson  Crusoe,  she 
agreeing  to  explain  both  to  me.  My 
reading,  thereupon,  was  almost  continu- 
ous, scarcely  anything  but  eating  and 
sleeping  intervening.  To  force  me  out 
of  doors  to  take  required  exercise,  she 
was  obliged  to  send  me  on  errands,  and 
make  me  get  up  the  cows  from  the  pas- 
ture, the  limit  of  which  was  about  a  mile 
away.  I  had  to  get  up  early  in  the 
morning  to  drive  them  forth,  and  go  out 
late  in  the  afternoon  to  drive  them  back ; 
and  as  they  were  by  that  _ time  likely  to 
have  wandered  far  off  from  the  opening 
of  the  lane  into  the  pasture,  it  gave  me, 
in  the  course  of  the  day,  about  two  miles 
to  run.  The  nearest  boy  lived  a  mile 
from  us,  and  as  he  had  his  own  duties  to 
attend  to,  I  saw  very  little  of  him. 

Every  fair  evening,  before  her  labors 
began  by  the  light  of  the  candle,  and 
when  I  had  no  light  to  read  by,  my 
mother,  wrapped  up  if  it  was  cold,  used 
to  sit  teaching  me  the  names  of  the  stars 
and  constellations.  These  she  had 
learned  of  her  father,  who  was  some- 
what of  a  scholar.  She  told  me  about 
the  signs  of  the  zodiac,  and  about  the 
rising  and  setting  of  the  sun.  I  remem- 
ber once  she  stood  in  a  very  terrific 
thunderstorm  by  the  window  fearlessly, 
—  I  now  suppose  that  I  might  be  like 
fearless,  —  and   explained  to  me  all  that 


she  knew  —  or  was  then  known  —  of  the 
lightning.  She  told  me  never  to  be 
afraid  of  it,  because  it  was  in  God's 
hands  ;  that  if  He  willed  my  destruction 
by  it,  it  was  not  to  be  evaded  or  shunned, 
and,  therefore,  was  not  to  be  dreaded. 
When  the  evenings  were  dark,  her  labors 
with  her  needle  began  earlier. 

In  the  following  winter,  my  mother 
and  my  uncle  provided  a  home  for  me 
in  Deerfield,  with  Aunt  Polly  Dame, — 
no  relative  of  mine  save  that  she  was 
aunt  to  all  the  world.  She  was  a  good 
old  lady,  taken  care  of  by  her  daughter, 
and  sat  in  the  corner  spinning  flax  on 
what  was  called  "the  little  wheel,"  to 
distinguish  it  from  the  "great  wheel  "  on 
which  wool  was  spun. 

I  went  to  school,  and  I  think  was  liked 
by  my  teacher,  for  I  was  not  a  trouble- 
some scholar,  except  in  the  way  of  ask- 
ing very  many  questions,  and  of  seeking 


Mrs.  Charlotte  Ellison   Butler.— The  Mother  of 
Benjamin   F.  Butler. 

explanations  about  matters  which  I  was 
not  infrequently  told  did  not  concern 
me.  The  school  at  Deerfield  Parade 
lasted  longer  than  that  at  Nottingham. 
I  remained  during  the  summer  term, 
reading  everything  I  could  find,  almost 
committing  to  memory  the  almanac,  and 


228 


GENERAL  BUTLER'S  BOYHOOD. 


vexing  everybody  who  came  into  the 
house  for  explanations  regarding  the 
signs  of  the  zodiac.  Upon  this  last 
matter  I  could  get  no  further  informa- 
tion, the  usual  answer  being  that  it  did 
not  concern  me.  But  this  did  not  pre- 
vent my  asking  the  next  person  that  I 
thought  could  tell  me.  I  appropriated 
the  full  astronomy  of  the  almanac,  and 
profited  much  by  it. 

In  the  winter  of  my  sixth  year,  I 
walked  from  my  home  every  morning 
down  to  Nottingham  Square  to  school, 
carrying  my  dinner  in  a  little  package. 
Provision  had  been  made,  that  if  it  be- 
came stormy,  I  was  to  be  taken  into  the 
tavern  near  the  schoolhouse,  and  there 
kept  until  the  weather  cleared  and  the 
roads  were  again  passable,  —  which  they 
sometimes  were  not  for  three  or  four 
days.     I   then  learned  that   there  was  a 


according  to  the  chapters.  But  when 
they  began  fighting  with  each  other,  I 
got  mixed  up,  because,  according  to  my 
understanding,  the  first  of  these  ought  to 
have  passed  away  when  the  others  came 
on  the  scene.  My  reading  did  not  inter- 
fere with  my  school  lessons,  which  I  pur- 
sued with  a  great  deal  of  eagerness  and 
pleasure,  and  also  with  much  success, 
owing  to  a  tenacious  and  exact  memory. 
Before  I  was  seven  years  old,  I  could 
answer  all  the  questions  in  Whelpley's 
Compend  of  History,  a  very  bulky  vol- 
ume, the  answers  having  been  picked  out 
for  me  to  learn,  by  being  marked  by  the 
master's  pencil.  I  remember  now  one 
example  which  will  illustrate  the  sort  of 
instruction  that  I  received ;  that  is  to 
say,  I  learned  the  words,  but  what  they 
meant  was  then  utterly  uncomprehended. 
For  example,  one  of  the  questions  was 


Birthplace  of  Benjamin    F.  Butler  at   Deerfield,  N.  H. 


small  town  library  there,  and  of  all  things 
that  a  boy  of  that  age  should  read,  I  was 
allowed  to  take  from  the  library  Rollin's 
Ancient  History,  —  and  I  read  it. 

I  had  not  the  slightest  knowledge  of 
chronology,  and  I  thought  the  events  in 
the  history  followed  one  after  another  in 
point  of  time,  —  the  Assyrians,  the  Per- 
sians,   the     Greeks,    and     the     Romans, 


substantially  this,  as  I  remember  it,  and 
although  I  have  not  seen  it  for  more 
than  sixty  years,  I  think  I  state  it  accu- 
rately :  "  If  these  States  had  not  declared 
their  independence,  what  would  they 
now  be?"  Answer:  "Little  better  than 
British  Provinces."  But  what  a  British 
Province  was,  I  had  no  earthly  idea,  and 
I  asked  the  teacher  one   dav.     He   had 


GENERAL  BUTLER'S  BOYHOOD. 


229 


seventy  scholars  beside  myself,  and  I  do 
not  now  blame  him  for  not  answering 
me.  He  told  me  that  he  did  not  have 
time  to  explain  it  to  me.  Well,  I  do  not 
think  he  had. 

But  there  was  another  part  of  my 
education  which  was  thoroughly  instilled, 
—  the  traditional  history  of  the  Revolu- 
tion, and  its  battles  and  events.  Two  of 
our   neighbors   were  Revolutionary  pen- 


taken,  and  sometimes  saved  by  the  faith- 
ful musket  of  the  husband  or  father. 
Then  they  came  down  to  later  times, — 
the  opening  of  the  Revolutionary  War, 
the  massacre  at  Lexington,  and  the  battle 
of  Bunker  Hill ;  and  so  talked  on  until 
I  had  as  deep-seated  a  prejudice  against 
a  red-coat  as  our  turkey  gobbler  exhi- 
bited to  a  red  petticoat,  when  he  drove 
my    sister  into  the  house.     Thus   I    was 


Waterville  College   in   Benj.    ButJer's  Student   Days 


sioners,  and  our  kitchen  fireside  was  a 
very  pleasant  resort  for  them,  as  the 
cellar  was  furnished  with  an  unlimited 
quantity  of  cider,  which  was  drawn  for 
them  in  a  tall,  yellow  earthen  pitcher 
with  an  overhanging  lip  dropping  away 
from  each  side.  To  fill  it  three-parts 
full,  and  then  bring  it  up  from  the  cellar, 
was  about  the  extent  of  my  physical 
ability ;  but  that  I  was  to  do.  Then  they 
would  take  down  from  the  mantel-tree 
some  red  peppers  which  hung  on  a  string 
under  the  gun,  and  cut  them  up  and  put 
them  into  the  cider.  Next,  they  set  the 
pitcher  down  on  the  hearth  before  a 
blazing  fire,  held  up  by  a  forestick,  —  a 
stick  about  four  feet  long  and  eight  inches 
through,  —  so  that  the  cider  would  get 
very  much  heated  ;  and  then  it  was  drunk 
with  a  gusto  that  almost  makes  me  wish 
I  had  some  now  if  I  could  enjoy  it  half 
as  well.  Then  followed  stories  of  the  In- 
dian wars  ;  of  garrison  houses,  and  of 
women  running  from  the  fields  of  corn, 
pursued  by  savages,  and  sometimes  over- 


taught  that  the  highest  achievement  in 
life  was  to  get  behind  a  stone  wall  and 
shoot  a  Britisher,  and  I  longed  for  the 
time  when  I  should  grow  up  to  do  it.  So 
thoroughly  was  this  drilled  into  me,  that 
in  after  life  it  was  a  matter  for  reasoning 
on  my  part  whether  I  should  treat  an 
Englishman  decently. 

The  difference  between  this  feeling 
and  that  which  I  had  toward  the  French- 
men, who  fought  us  with  the  Indians,  and 
who  helped  the  savages  scalp  us,  was  that 
the  French  were  poor  fellows  who  did  not 
know  any  better ;  and  besides,  the  French 
had  helped  us  in  the  Revolution  against 
the  British,  so  that  we  would  forgive 
them,  but  the  Britishers,  never  ! 

As  time  wore  on,  I  was  literally  adopted 
by  my  grandmother,  my  grandfather 
having  died  several  years  before.  She 
was  a  very  remarkable -looking  woman,  who 
stood  about  five  feet  eleven  inches  in  her 
stockings.  She  was  then  in  the  neigh- 
borhood of  eighty  years  old,  and  walked 
with  a  stick,  yet  she  was  as  erect  as  ever, 


230 


GENERAL  BUTLER'S  BOYLLOOD. 


and  was  the  most  imperious  person  I  have 
ever  seen,  to  everybody  but  me.  She 
had  a  most  inflexible  will,  apparently 
never  yielding  to  others,  and  subjecting 
all  others  to  herself.  She  read  to  me, 
but  inasmuch  as  she  read  as  she  had  been 
taught  in  her  youth,  it  was  almost  unin- 
telligible, and  this  caused  some  difficulties 
between  us.  For  example,  she  always 
pronounced  w-o-u-l-d  as  if  it  were  spelled 
w-o-o-l-d,  and  s-h-o-u-l-d  as  if  spelled 
sh-o-o-l-d,  and   she   taught   me   that  the 


Miss  Sarah   Hilcireth   in   1839.— Five    years   before  her  Mar- 
riage with   Mr.   Butler. 

FROM   A   DAGUERROTYPE. 

name  of  the  sign  of  conjunction  (&)  at 
the  end  of  the  alphabet  was  ampersand,  a 
word  which  I  learned  afterwards,  from  an 
old  spelling  book  of  her  generation,  was 
really  "and  per  se."  She  told  me  the 
history  of  battles  as  they  were  known  and 
seen  by  her,  the  daughter  of  a  general 
and  the  mother  of  a  captain  in  the  first 
and  second  wars  with  England,  and  all 
the  pathetic  incidents  of  the  wars,  like 
the  capture  and  death  of  Jane  McRea, 
who  was  surrendered  to  the  French,  and 
scalped  by  their  Indian  allies,  in  the 
northern  part  of  New  York. 

She  told  me,  boy  as  I  was,  of  the  in- 
justice of  the  men  toward  the  women,  and 
toward  their  own  younger  brothers,  in 
assuming  to  enforce  the  law  of  primogeni- 
ture, and  how,  when  they  failed  to  pass 
it  in  the  constitutional  convention  of 
New    Hampshire,    the    men    made    their 


wills  so  as  to  accomplish  the  same  thing, 
giving  substantially  all  to  the  eldest  son. 
I  reverenced  her. 

She  ate  two  of  her  meals  at  the  same 
time  as  the  rest  of  the  family,  having  a 
table  to  herself,  and  I  alone  had  a  place 
at  it,  generally  sitting  on  the  elbow  of 
her  arm-chair.  She  also  taught  me  fully 
to  understand  her  politics,  which,  so  far 
as  I  could  understand  them,  were  that 
there  ought  not  be  any  kings,  princes, 
barons,  nobles,  or  knights.  She  never 
said  anything  against  aristocrats,  and  my 
memory  of  her  now  is  that  if  ever  there 
was  a  high-priestess  of  the  aristocracy, 
she  was  one,  and  especially  did  she 
dilate  upon  the  fact  that  her  family,  the 
Cilleys,  was  the  best  in  the  state. 

Can  any  one  doubt  where  I  learned 
my  political  status  :  democratic  politics 
in  government  and  personal  aristocracy? 

I  give  these  details,  although  they  may 
seem  puerile.  In  time,  they  had  great 
effect  upon  the  bent  of  my  mind,  though 
not  much  then,  because  the  most  of  what 
was  said  I  did  not  understand.  But  I 
remembered  it  all,  and  it  came  up  to 
meet  every  emergency  of  thought  later  on. 
Hence  my  democracy  ;  for  her's  was  the 
only  political  teaching  I  ever  had  until  I 
learned  political  economy  from  the  books, 
and  that  was  no  teaching  at  all. 

My  grandmother  died  at  the  age  of 
eighty-four.  A  severe  cold  brought  her 
life  to  an  end,  when  her  physical  and 
mental  strength  were  apparently  as  good 
as  ever.  Her  sister,  Alice  Cilley,  married 
Captain  Page  and  went  to  Maine,  first 
settling  in  Hallowell,  and  afterwards  living 
in  Cornville  with  one  of  her  children.  I 
never  saw  her  until  after  I  went  to  col- 
lege in  Maine,  and  I  may  possibly  have 
occasion  to  refer  to  her  hereafter.  She 
died  in  1849,  at  the  age  of  ninety-nine 
and  a  half  years,  and  was  able,  the  sum- 
mer before  she  died,  to  mount  her  own 
horse  without  assistance,  and  ride  out 
some  three  miles  to  visit  a  neighbor. 

I  attended  a  partially  private  school  or 
academy  at  Deerfield  until  I  was  eight 
years  old.  In  this  school  almost  every 
branch  of  practical  learning  was  taught 
except  the  languages.  There  were  many 
young  men  in  the  school,  and  some  young 
women.      My    teacher    was    Mr.    James 


GENERAL  BUTLER'S  BOYHOOD. 


231 


Hersey,  afterwards  postmaster  of  Man- 
chester, New  Hampshire,  a  city  which 
had  no  existence  in  those  days.  His 
specialty  was  English  grammar,  —  at 
least  he  made  it  so  with  his  pupils,  —  and 
he  was  the  most  intelligent  teacher  of  the 
English  language  I  ever  knew.  He  saw 
to  it  that  we  were  thoroughly  versed  in 
the  rules,  and  explained  the  difficulties 
of  construction  of  our  language  with  great 
clearness,  so  that  even  I,  the  youngest, 
understood  them.  His  favorite  exercise 
was  parsing.  We  used  very  different 
text-books  then,  from  those  now  in  use. 
Among  them  were  Pope's  "  Essay  on 
Man "  and  Cowper's  "  Task,"  and  I 
remember  I  got  my  first  feeling  of  hos- 
tility to  slavery  from  being  called  upon  to 
parse  a  half  page  beginning  "  Is  India 
free,  or  do  we  grind  her  still?  " 

Our  teacher  taught  us  to  construe 
verse,  —  that  is,  to  render  it  into  prose, 
so  as  to  show  the  grammatical  construc- 
tion of  the  parts.  There  was  a  sort  of 
constructiveness  about  that  putting  of 
verse  into  prose  which  chimed  in  with 
my  love  of  putting  things  together ;  and 
I  became  quite  an  adept.  I  speak  of 
this  because  an  incident  regarding  it  had 
an  effect  on  my  whole  after  life. 

It  had  been  debated  whether  it  was 
not  desirable  that  I  should  go  to  college, 
for  my  mother's  most  ardent  desire  was 
that  I  should  become  a  Calvinist  Baptist 
clergyman.  Ways  and  means  were  pretty 
narrow,  and  it  was  doubtful  whether  the 
plan  could  be  carried  out.  Boys  went  to 
college  in  those  days  at  the  age  of  from 
twelve  to  fifteen.  Judge  Josiah  G.  Abbott 
of  Boston,  one  of  the  ablest  gentlemen 
now  at  the  bar,  with  whom  I  have  prac- 
tised for  many  years  and  know  how  thor- 
ough his  training  was,  went  to  Harvard 
at  twelve.1 

There  was  an  examination  at  our 
school  at  which  all  the  Methodists  and 
other  clergymen,  and  principal  men  of  the 
vicinity  were  present.  The  first  class  in 
parsing  was  called,  and  I,  naturally  in  size 
and  every  way,  was  at  the  foot  of  it. 
We  had  "Pope's  Essay  on  Man"  as  our 
text-book ;  for  in  those  days  there  were 
no   easy  books  for    children,  —  none    of 

1  Alas !  I  have  lost  my  friend  by  death  since  this  sentence 
was  first  written. 


the  thousand  treatises  that  have  been  in- 
vented since  to  teach  children  not  to 
think,  and  that  are  at  the  present  day,  I 
believe,  a  great  hindrance  to  intelligent 
education.  I  remember  this  paragraph 
was  the  opening  one  of  the  recitation  : 

"  The  lamb  thy  riot  dooms  to  bleed  to-day, 
Had  he  thy  reason  would  he  skip  and  play? 
Pleased  to  the  last,  he  crops  the  flowery  food, 
And  licks  the  hand  just  raised  to  shed  his  blood." 

"Parse  lamb,"  said  the  master  to  the 
pupil  who  stood  at  the  head  of  the  class. 
He  tried. 

"Wrong;   next."     He  tried. 

"  Next."  He  tried,  and  so  down 
through  the  class,  some  eight  in  all. 
Then  came  my  turn. 

I  said  :  "  Lamb  is  a  noun  in  the  ob- 
jective case  and  governed  by  dooms." 

"How  do  you  know  that?"  said  the 
master. 

"Because    I    construe    the   paragraph. 


Benjamin   F.  Butler  in   1839. 

FROM    A    DAGUERROTYPE. 

'Thy  riot  dooms  the  lamb  to  bleed  to- 
day;  had  he  thy  reason,  etc.'" 

"Right,"  said  the  master;  "take  the 
head  of  the  class." 

I  did  so ;  and  it  was  the  proudest 
event  of  my  life.  A  consultation  was 
held  by  all  those  who  had  a  right  to  be 
consulted,  and  it  was  decided  that  I 
should  be  sent  to  Exeter  to  be  fitted 
for  college,  with  the  hope  that  a  free 
scholarship  might  be  found  for  me.  I 
continued    my   studies,   and    late    in   the 


232 


GENERAL  BUTLER'S  BOYHOOD. 


Benjamin    F.    But!er. 


following  autumn  I  went  to  Exeter. 
Here  I  commenced  the  study  of  Latin, 
and  soon  afterwards  that  of  Greek.  I 
must  say,  truthfully,  that  my  learning  at 
Exeter  did  not  amount  to  much.  To  be 
sure,  I  acquired  the  Latin  grammar  with 
a  certainty  of  memory  that  was  excelled 
only  by  my  uncertainty  as  to  the  mean- 
ings of  the  rules  it  contained.  My 
learning  was  nothing  but  memorizing. 
It  was  the  same  in  the  study  of  Greek. 
I  was  far  too  young  to  appreciate  the 
beauties  of  the  "Iliad,"  but  I  was  rea- 
sonably well  taught  in  the  conjugation  of 
Greek  verbs. 

I  attended  the  Unitarian  Church,  as 
the  rules  of  the  school  required.  Boy- 
like, I  was  confused  by  the  new  doctrine 
of  one  God  and  the  Son  of  Man,  as  op- 
posed to  the  doctrine  of  the  triune  God, 
—  Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Ghost.  I  had 
been  taught  the  latter,  and   I  could  not 


permit   myself  to    have   any  doubts  con- 
cerning it. 

In  1825,  there  was  springing  up  on 
Pawtucket  Falls  of  the  Merrimack  River, 
the  second  great  manufacturing  town  in 
Massachusetts,  Waltham  on  the  Charles 
being  the  first.  This  town,  afterwards 
Lowell,  was  then  known  as  East  Chelms- 
ford. It  had  a  growth  unexampled  in 
those  days,  and  almost  equalling  the 
mushroom  growth  of  towns  in  some  of 
the  western  States  at  the  present  day. 
The  constitutional  convention  of  1820, 
by  a  new  section,  made  cities  possible  in 
Massachusetts,  fixing  the  limit  of  popu- 
lation at  which  any  town  could  become  a 
city  at  twelve  thousand.  This  was  the 
population  of  Boston,  and  that  town  be- 
came a  city  in  1822.  But  in  1S36, 
Lowell's  population  had  increased  to 
twelve  thousand,  and  she  became  the 
second  city.     A  clergyman,  who  had  be- 


GENERAL  BUTLER'S  BOYHOOD. 


233 


friended  my  mother,  built  a  house  in 
Lowell  for  her  to  occupy,  and  by  his  ad- 
vice I  came  to  Lowell  from  Exeter  at  the 
end  of  the  winter  term  in  1828,  and 
studied  my  Latin  at  home  during  the 
spring  and  summer.  Seth  Ames,  after- 
wards Justice  of  the  Supreme  Court  of 
Massachusetts,  kindly  permitted  me  to 
read  Virgil  in  his  office.  He  amused 
himself  in  hearing  my  recitation  of  the 
text,  and  taught  me  to  scan  the  versifica- 
tion of  the  original.  Later  in  the  year 
it  became  necessary  that  I  should  earn 
some  money,  and  my  mother  got  me  a 
place  at  Meecham  &  Mathewson's,  the 
Franklin  bookstore,  the  only  establish- 
ment of  the  kind  in  the  town.  I  re- 
mained with  them  until  December  18, 
when  the  Lowell  High  School  was  es- 
tablished, through  the  exertions  of  Rev. 
Theodore  Edson, .  rector  of  St.  Anne's 
Church.  Mr.  Edson,  having  come  to 
Lowell  in  1825,  remained  as  rector  of  St. 
Anne's  for  over  sixty  years,  most  re- 
spected and  most  loved  by  his  fellow- 
citizens.  To  him  more  than  to  any 
other,  Lowell  owes  its  school  system, 
which,  during  its  whole  existence,  has 
been  one  of  the  best  established,  most 
thoroughly  cared  for,  and  most  highly 
successful  of  kindred  institutions  in  the 
State.  Mr.  Edson  was  a  brave  man  as 
well  as  a  good  man.  When  he  perceived 
the  right  thing  to  do,  he  did  it,  regard- 
less of  personal  consideration,  or  of 
danger  to  himself. 

Kirk  Boot,  who  discovered  the  ad- 
vantages of  this  locality  as  a  water 
power,  was  then  the  leading  mind  in 
Lowell.  He  had  been  an  English  cav- 
alry officer,  and  his  family  had  occupied 
what  was  known  as  the  Boot  estate  in 
Boston,  since  changed  into  the  Revere 
House.  He  was  a  very  positive  man, 
and  inclined  to  be  imperious  toward 
everybody,  especially  toward  those  who 
stood  in  apparently  dependent  relations 
to  himself. 

The  edifice  of  St.  Anne's  Church  and 
the  parsonage  attached,  had  been  built 
by  the  Merrimack  Manufacturing  Com- 
pany, and,  as  I  have  said,  Mr.  Edson, 
the  young  clergyman,  had  been  installed 
therein.  Mr.  Boot  had  built  for  himself 
a   mansion    not  far  from  it.     He  was  a 


devout  Episcopalian,  and  had  a  highly 
ornamented  pew  of  large  dimensions, 
after  the  manner  of  English  squires  in 
parish  churches.  To  support  this  church, 
the  operatives  of  the  Merrimack  Manu- 
facturing Company  were  taxed  a  small 
sum,  —  I  think  thirty  cents  each  month, 
—  and  this  sum  was  deducted  from  their 
wages.  Mr.  Boot,  from  his  training,  was 
not  as  much  impressed  as  Mr.  Edson  was 
with  the  necessity  for  the  education  and 
welfare  of  the  common  people,  who 
were,  of  course,  the  operatives  in  the 
mills.  Almost  all  of  the  land  on  which 
the  town  stood  was  held  by  the  proprie- 
tors of  the  Locks  and  Canals  on  the 
Merrimack  River.  They  sold  off  this 
land,  and  they  also  sold  the  water  power 
furnished  from  the  Merrimack  River  by 
a  dam.  This  dam  was  put  across  at  the 
head  of  Pawtucket  Falls,  although  the 
law  said  that  there  should  be  no  dam, 
because  it  would  affect  the  navigation  of 
the  river.  The  water  was  conducted 
through  the  new  town  of  Lowell,  at  first 
by  a  canal,  which  had  been  established 
by  the  Proprietors  of  the  Locks  and 
Canals  about  the  year  1792.  for  the  pur- 
pose of  taking  boats  around  the  falls. 

With  a  foresight  as  sagacious  and  re- 
markable as  was  the  persistency  with 
which  the  scheme  was  carried  out,  Mr. 
Edson,  in  connection  with  a  committee 
of  the  citizens  of  the  new  town,  deter- 
mined that  two  squares  or  commons,  the 
North  and  South  Common,  should  be 
dedicated  to  the  public  use.  It  was 
done  ;  and  the  commons  remain  even  to 
this  day  the  breathing  and  recreation 
points  of  the  citizens.  That  enterprise 
for  the  benefit  of  the  laboring  man  rnd 
woman  and  their  children  was  not  op- 
posed by  Mr.  Boot,  as  the  land  was  com- 
paratively valueless.  But  Mr.  Boot  was 
astounded  when  the  young  clergyman 
proposed  that  two  schoolhouses,  costing 
more  than  $20,000,  should  be  erected 
for  grammar  schools,  —  one  on  the  corner 
of  each  park.  A  very  considerable  num- 
ber of  buildings  for  primary  schools,  then 
termed  infant  schools,  had  been  hired 
and  put  in  use  in  various  parts  of  the 
town,  but  up  to  that  time,  anything  like 
instruction  of  the  elder  classes  of  chil- 
dren was  not  provided  for,  save  that  two 


234 


GENERAL  BUTLER'S  BOYHOOD. 


or  three  small  rooms  had  been  hired  for 
that  purpose.  The  taxation  of  that  day 
for  those  new  grammar  school  buildings 
of  brick  would  be  borne  substantially  by 
the  manufacturing  companies  and  the 
Proprietors  of  the  Locks  and  Canals. 
Mr.  Boot  declared  that  this  could  not 
and  would  not  be  done.  A  town  meet- 
ing was  called,  to  appropriate  for  such 
expenditure  by  the  town.  Mr.  Boot  ap- 
peared in  person  and  opposed  the  prop- 
osition. He  was  backed  by  the  manag- 
ing agents  of  the  several  mills.  They 
made  speeches  against  it.  The  proposi- 
tion seemed  not  to  have  the  slightest 
chance,  when  in  one  corner  of  the  hall 
stood  up  a  slender,  smooth-faced  young 
gentleman  of  winning  manner  and  grace- 
ful ease  of  speech,  and  declared  to  the 
meeting  that  it  was  necessary  for  the 
instruction  and  training  of  the  children 
of  the  people  of  the  town  that  the  appro- 
priation should  be  passed.  He  was  sur- 
prised and  chagrined,  he  said,  at  the 
opposition  of  the  representatives  of  the 
manufacturing  corporations,  because  it 
was  necessary  for  the  safety  of  their 
property  and  the  insurance  of  its  value 
that  the  manufacturing  community  which 
they  were  drawing  around  them,  espe- 
cially the  younger  portion,  should  be 
thoroughly  trained  and  educated,  that 
they  might  know  their  duties  as  men  and 
women,  and  their  rights  as  citizens  and 
freemen. 

His  speech  was  called  at  that  time  rad- 
ical in  an  almost  unheard  of  degree,  al- 
though it  was  accompanied  by  an  appeal 
for  religious  instruction  in  connection 
with  the  secular  instruction.     But  it  evi- 


dently was  carrying  the  meeting.  The 
debate  was  extended  by  several  replies, 
no  man  speaking  in  favor  of  the  proposi- 
tion save  the  young  clergyman.  Never- 
theless it  was  apparent  that  if  the  vote 
were  to  be  taken  then  the  appropriation 
would  prevail.  Accordingly,  a  motion  to 
adjourn  to  a  day  in  another  week  for  its 
consideration  was  made  and  carried  by 
its  opponents.  During  the  adjournment 
Mr.  Boot  informed  Mr.  Edson  that  any 
further  advocacy  of  this  proposition  would 
so  far  meet  with  his  disapprobation  that 
he  should  withdraw  from  his  church  and 
from  attendance  upon  his  ministration ; 
that  he  should  give  his  attendance  and 
influence  to  another  religious  society, 
and  that  all  support  of  St.  Anne's  in  any 
way  by  the  manufacturing  companies 
would  be  withdrawn. 

Few  young  pastors  of  the  fashionable 
churches  of  the  town,  and  certainly  very 
few  of  the  not  very  popular  religious  per- 
suasion, would  have  been  found  at  the 
next  town  meeting  under  such  discourag- 
ing influences  and  surroundings.  The 
day  of  the  meeting  came.  The  young 
pastor  was  there.  With  a  firmness  equalled 
only  by  the  eloquent  appeal  made  for  his 
fellow-citizens  of  the  coming  generation, 
he  answered  every  argument  against  the 
proposition,  and  after  a  long  debate  the 
vote  was  taken  and  the  proposition  was 
carried.  The  schoolhouses  were  built 
and  occupied.  In  the  upper  story  of  the 
southernmost  one  a  Lowell  High  School 
was  taught.  Here  I  received,  if  not  the 
most  part,  the  best  of  all  my  educational 
teaching  in  my  preparation  for  col- 
lege. 


LOWELL'S  "PIONEER." 


By  Edwi?i  D.  Mead. 


HE  history  of 
the  magazines 
which  have  failed 
is  one  of  the  most 
interesting  chap- 
ters in  the  history 
of  literature,  and 
one  of  the  most 
pathetic.  The 
New  England  fields  especially  are  strewn 
with  these  dead  magazines ;  and  sel- 
dom has  the  old  word,  "  whom  the  gods 
love  die  young,"  received  more  striking 
illustration  than  here,  —  with  such  pecu- . 
liarly  high  hopes  and  fine  ideals  and  good 
promise  have  been  born  so  many  of  these 
New  England  magazines  destined  to  early 
death.  No  other  of  these  short-lived 
journals  has  been  quite  so  famous  as  the 
Dial ;  but  the  old  Massachusetts  Maga- 
zine, born  just  as  the  republic  was  born 
in  1789,  the  old  New  England  Magazine, 
started  by  Mr.  Buckingham  in  1 831,  to 
which  Dr.  Holmes  contributed  the  first 
of  his  papers  bearing  the  title  of  "  The 
Autocrat  of  the  Breakfast-Table,"  the 
Massachusetts  Quarterly,  with  which 
Theodore  Parker  was  identified,  the  Radi- 
cal, launched  so  bravely  by  Mr.  Morse,  Mr. 
Hale's  Old  and  New,  and  a  dozen  other 
New  England  magazines  were  so  remark- 
able in  various  ways  that  they  all  deserve 
to  have  their  biographies  written. 

Among  all  these  New  England  ventures 
loved  of  the  gods,  no  other  was  quite  so 
short-lived  as  that  which  is  just  now 
brought  back  to  special  remembrance  — 
Lowell's  Pioneer.  It  was  born  in  Jan- 
uary, 1843,  and  lived  three  months. 
Then  the  publishers  failed,  we  are  told  in 
the  books,  and  this  was  why  the  bantling 
died.  And  this  is  undoubtedly  the  truth  ; 
but  in  order  to  get  the  whole  truth  we 
doubtless  need  to  add  the  notice  printed 
at  the  bottom  of  the  last  page  of  the  last 
number,  —  to  which  we  have  not  seen 
any  reference  in  the  books  : 

"  The  absence  of  any  prose  in  the  present  num- 
ber of  the   Pioneer  from  the  pen  of  Mr.  Lowell, 


and  the  apparent  neglect  of  many  letters  and  con- 
tributions addressed  to  him  personally,  will  be 
sufficiently  explained  by  stating  that,  since  the 
tenth  of  January,  he  has  been  in  the  city  of  New 
York  in  attendance  upon  Dr.  Elliot,  the  distin- 
guished oculist,  who  is  endeavoring  to  cure  him 
of  a  severe  disease  of  the  eyes,  and  that  the  med- 
ical treatment  to  which  he  is  necessarily  subjected 
precludes  the  use  of  his  sight  except  to  a  very 
limited  extent.  He  will,  however,  probably  be 
enabled,  in  time  for  the  fourth  number,  to  resume 
his  essays  on  the  Poets  and  Dramatists,  and  his 
general  supervision  of  the  magazine.         R.  C." 

R.  C.  was  Robert  Carter,  Mr.  Lowell's 
associate  editor  and  proprietor.  This 
notice  was  the  end  of  the  Pioneer. 
The  fourth  number  never  appeared ;  but 
the  notice  shows  that  when  this  third  and 
last  number  was  published,  immediate 
death  was  not  anticipated,  and  also  shows 
that  Mr.  Lowell  was  utterly  disabled  and 
had  been  so  almost  from  the  time  of  the 
preparation  of  the  first  number,  so  that 
the  new  magazine  —  most  hazardous  of 
all  risks  —  was  really  getting  on  as  it 
could,  without  its  editor.  It  is  no  won- 
der that  it  died.  Had  Mr.  Lowell  re- 
mained well,  with  his  remarkable  inven- 
tiveness and  energy,  we  may  be  quite 
sure  that  the  experiment  would  somehow 
have  been  continued  longer. 

Yet  magazines  had  a  way  then  of  dying 
in  the  very  act  of  announcing  their  plans 
for  the  future.  The  Boston  Miscellany 
died  that  way  just  before  the  Pioneer  was 
born.  The  Boston  Miscellany  lived  just 
a  year,  we  think,  —  the  year  1842. 
Nathan  Hale  was  its  editor,  and  Lowell 
wrote  almost  as  much  for  it  as  he  did  for 
the  Pioneer  itself —  it  was  the  first  maga- 
zine with  which  he  was  really  identified. 
At  the  end  of  1842,  Mr.  Hale  retired, 
with  a  valedictory,  —  introductions  and 
valedictories  were  prominent  features  in 
that  time  —  and  it  was  announced  that 
he  would  be  succeeded  by  Henry  T. 
Tuckerman.  But  he  was  not  succeeded 
by  Mr.  Tuckerman,  and  the  number  of 
the  Boston  Miscellany  containing  his  vale- 
dictory was  not  succeeded  by  any  other 
number.     Whether  this  was  because  the 


THE  PIONEER. 


JDiterarjh  an&  Critical  JJtagajhu 


J.  R.  LOWELL  AND  R.   CARTER, 

EDITORS  AND  PROPRIETORS. 


JANUARY,    1843. 


VOL.  !.— NO.  I. 


Reform,  therefore,  without  bravery  or  scandal  of  former  times  and  persons ;  but  yet  set  it  down  to  thyself  | 
as  well  to  create  good  precedents  as  to  follow  them.  lobd  bacon. 


BOSTON: 
LELAND    AND    WHITING, 

67  WASHINGTON  STREET,  OPPOSITE  THE  POST  OFFICE. 


Three  sheet  periodical.  printed  by  freeman  and  bolles.  $3  per.  acn.  in  a^ 


LOWELL'S  "PLONEER: 


237 


" publishers  failed"  we  do  not  know; 
but  promptly  the  next  month  the  Pioneer 
appeared,  and  Mr.  Hale  speaks  of  this, 
in  his  article  in  the  preceding  pages,  as 
the  successor  of  the  Miscellany.  Cer- 
tainly it  was  much  the  same  kind  of  a 
magazine  ;  its  pages  looked  like  those  of 
the  Miscellany,  and  its  contributors  were 
largely  the  same.  The  editor's  Introduc- 
tion was  as  follows.  We  give  it  entire, 
as  it  is  a  characteristic  expression,  and 
the  first  important  one,  of  those  views  of 
our  American  literature  which  continued 
to  control  Mr.  Lowell,  and  of  which  the 
next  notable  expression  was  in  the  "  Fa- 
ble for  Critics." 

Dr.  John  North,  a  man  of  some  mark  in  his 
day,  wrote  on  the  first  leaf  of  his  note-book  these 
significant  words :  "  I  beshrew  his  heart  that 
gathers  my  opinion  from  anything  wrote  here  !  " 
As  we  seated  ourselves  to  the  hard  task  of  writing 
an  introduction  for  our  new  literary  journal,  this 
sentence  arose  to  our  minds.  It  seemed  to  us  to 
point  clearly  at  the  archwant  of  our  periodical 
literature.  We  find  opinions  enough  and  to  spare, 
but  scarce  any  of  the  healthy,  natural  growth  of 
our  soil.  If  native,  they  are  seldom  more  than 
scions  of  a  public  opinion,  too  often  planted  and 
watered  by  the  prejudices  or  ignorant  judgments 
of  individuals,  to  be  better  than  a  upas-tree  shed- 
ding a  poisonous  blight  on  any  literature  that  may 
chance  to  grow  up  under  it.  Or  if  foreign,  they 
are,  to  borrow  a  musical  term,  "  recollections  "  of 
Blackwood  or  the  quarterlies,  of  Wilson,  Macaulay, 
or  Carlyle  —  not  direct  imitations,  but  endeavors, 
as  it  were,  to  write  with  their  cast-off  pens  fresh- 
nibbed  for  Cisatlantic  service.  The  whole  regiment 
comes  one  by  one  to  our  feast  of  letters  in  the 
same  yellow  domino.  Criticism,  instead  of  being 
governed  as  it  should  be  by  the  eternal  and  un- 
changing laws  of  beauty  which  are  a  part  of  the 
soul's  divine  nature,  seems  rather  to  be  a  striving 
to  reduce  Art  to  one  dead  level  of  conventional 
mediocrity  —  which  only  does  not  offend  taste, 
because  it  lacks  even  the  life  and  strength  to 
produce  any  decided  impression  whatever. 

We  are  the  farthest  from  wishing  to  see  what 
many  so  ardently  pray  for  —  namely,  a  National 
literature ;  for  the  same  mighty  lyre  of  the  human 
heart  answers  the  touch  of  the  master  in  all  ages 
and  in  every  clime,  and  any  literature,  as  far  as  it 
is  national,  is  diseased,  inasmuch  as  it  appeals  to 
some  climatic  peculiarity,  rather  than  to  the  uni- 
versal nature.  Moreover,  everything  that  tends 
to  encourage  the  sentiment  of  caste,  to  widen  the 
boundary  between  races,  and  so  to  put  farther  off 
the  hope  of  one  great  brotherhood,  should  be 
steadily  resisted  by  all  good  men.  But  we  do  long 
for  a  natural  literature.  One  green  leaf,  though 
of  the  veriest  weed,  is  worth  all  the  crape  and 
wire  flowers  of  the  daintiest  Paris  milliners.  For 
it  is  the  glory  of  nature  that  in  her  least  part  she 
gives  us  all,  and  in  that  simple  love-token  "of  her's 
we  may  behold  the  type  of  all  her  sublime  mys- 


teries; as  in  the  least  fragment  of  the  true  artist  we 
discern  the  working  of  the  same  forces  which  cul- 
minate gloriously  in  a  Hamlet  or  a  Faust.  We 
would  no  longer  see  the  spirit  of  our  people  held 
up  as  a  mirror  to  the  Old  World;  but  rather 
lying  like  one  of  our  own  inland  oceans,  reflecting 
not  only  the  mountain  and  the  rock,  the  forest 
and  the  redman,  but  also  the  steamboat  and  the 
railcar,  the  cornfield  and  the  factory.  Let  us 
learn  that  romance  is  not  married  to  the  past,  that 
it  is  not  the  birthright  of  ferocious  ignorance  and 
chivalric  barbarity,  —  but  that  it  ever  was  and  is 
an  inward  quality,  the  darling  child  of  the  sweetest 
refinements  and  most  gracious  amenities  of  peace- 
ful gentleness,  and  that  it  can  never  die  till  only 
water  runs  in  these  red  rivers  of  the  heart,  that 
-cunning  adept  which  can  make  vague  cathedrals 
with  blazing  oriels  and  streaming  spires  out  of  our 
square  meeting  boxes 

"  Whose  rafters  sprout  upon  the  shady  side." 

We  do  not  mean  to  say  that  our  writers  should 
not  profit  by  the  results  of  those  who  have  gone 
before  them,  nor  gather  from  all  countries  those 
excellencies  which  are  the  effects  of  detached  por- 
tions of  that  universal  tendency  to  the  Beautiful, 
which  must  be  centred  in  the  Great  Artist.  But 
let  us  not  go  forth  to  them;  rather  let  us  draw 
them  by  sympathy  of  nature  to  our  own  heart, 
which  is  the  only  living  principle  of  every  true 
work.  The  artist  must  use  the  tools  of  others, 
and  understand  their  use,  else  were  their  lives 
fruitless  to  him,  and  his,  in  turn,  vain  to  all  who 
come  after :  but  the  skill  must  be  of  his  own  toil- 
some winning,  and  he  must  not,  like  Goethe's 
magician's  apprentice,  let  the  tools  become  his 
masters.  But  it  seems  the  law  of  our  literature  to 
receive  its  impulses  from  without  rather  than  from 
within.  We  ask  oftener  than  the  wise  king  of 
Ashantee,  "  What  is  thought  of  us  in  England?  " 
We  write  with  the  fear  of  the  newspapers  before 
our  eyes,  every  one  of  which  has  its  critic,  the 
Choragus  of  his  little  circle,  self-elected  expounder 
of  the  laws  of  Nature  —  which  he  at  first  blush 
understands  more  thoroughly  than  they  whom 
nature  herself  has  chosen,  and  who  have  studied 
them  life-long  —  and  who  unites  at  pleasure  the 
executive  with  the  judiciary  to  crush  some  offender 
mad  enough  to  think  for  himself.  Men  seem  en- 
dowed with  an  insane  alacrity  to  believe  that  wis- 
dom elects  the  dullest  heads  for  her  confidants, 
and  crowd  to  burn  incense  to  the  hooting  owl, 
while  the  thoughtful  silence  of  the  goddess  makes 
them  mistake  her  for  her  bird. 

We  boast  much  of  our  freedom,  but  they  who 
boast  thereof  the  loudest  have  mostly  a  secret 
sense  of  fetters. 

"  License  they  mean  when  they  cry  liberty;  " 

and  there  is  among  us  too  much  freedom  to  speak 
and  think  ill  —  a  freedom  matched  with  which  the 
lowest  of  all  other  slaveries  were  as  the  blue  tent 
of  Heaven  to  a  dungeon  —  and  too  little  freedom 
to  think,  and  speak,  and  act  the  highest  and 
holiest  promptings  of  the  eternal  soul.  We  cheat 
to-morrow,  to  satisfy  the  petty  dunning  of  to-day; 
we  bribe  ourselves  with  a  bubble  reputation, 
whose  empty  lightness  alone  lends  it  a  momentary 
elevation,  and  show  men  our  meanest  part,  as  if 


— -v 


'"■"'■  '':W:' 


■■lliil4  *■ 


;*I 


—L^r. 


LOWELL'S  "PIONEER. 


239 


we  could  make  ourselves  base  enough  to  believe 
that  we  should  offend  their  vanity  by  showing  our 
noblest  and  highest.  Are  prejudices  to  be  over- 
come by  grovelling  to  them?  Is  Truth  no  longer 
worthy  of  the  name,  when  she  stoops  to  take 
Falsehood  by  the  hand  and  caresses  her,  and 
would  fain  wheedle  her  to  forego  her  proper  nature  ? 
Can  we  make  men  noble,  the  aim  and  end  of 
every  literature  worthy  of  the  name,  by  showing 
them  our  own  want  of  nobleness?  In  the  name 
of  all  holy  and  beautiful  things  at  once,  no  !  We 
want  a  manly,  straightforward,  true  literature,  a 
criticism  which  shall  give  more  grace  to  beauty 
and  more  depth  to  truth,  by  lovingly  embracing 
them  wherever  they  may  lie  hidden,  and  a  creed 
whose  truth  and  nobleness  shall  be  insured  by  its 
being  a  freedom  from  all  creeds. 

The  young  heart  of  every  generation  looks  forth 
upon  the  world  with  restless  and  bitter  longing. 
To  it  the  earth  still  glitters  with  the  dews  of  a  yet 
unforfeited  Eden,  and  in  the  midst  stands  the  un- 
tasted  tree  of  knowledge  of  good  and  evil.  We 
hear  men  speak  of  the  restless  spirit  of  the  age,  as 
if  our  day  were  peculiar  in  this  regard.  But  it  has 
always  been  the  same.  The  Young  is  radical ;  the  . 
Old,  conservative :  they  who  have  not,  struggle 
to  get;  and  they  who  have  gotten,  clinch  their 
fingers  to  keep.  The  Young,  exulting  in  its  tight 
and  springy  muscles,  stretches  out  its  arms  to  clasp 
the  world  as  its  plaything;  and  the  Old  bids  it  be 
a  good  boy  and  mind  its  papa,  and  it  shall  have 
sugar-plums.  But  still  the  new  spirit  yearns  and 
struggles,  and  expects  great  things;  still  the 
Old  shakes  its  head,  ominous  of  universal  anarchy; 
still  the  world  rolls  calmly  on,  and  the  youth 
grown  old  shakes  its  wise  head  at  the  next  era. 
Is  there  any  more  danger  to  be  looked  for  in  the 
radicalism  of  youth  than  in  the  conservatism  of 
age?  Both  gases  must  be  mixed  ere  the  cooling 
rain  will  fall  on  our  seedfield.  The  true  reason 
for  the  fear  which  we  often  see  expressed  of  a 
freedom  which  shall  be  debased  into  destructive- 
ness  and  license,  is  to  be  found  in  a  false  judg- 
ment of  the  natural  progress  of  things.  Cheer- 
fully will  men  reverence  all  that  is  true,  whether 
in  the  new  or  old.  It  is  only  when  you  would 
force  them  to  revere  falsehoods  that  they  will  re- 
luctantly throw  off  all  reverence,  without  which 
the  spirit  of  man  must  languish,  and  at  last  utterly 
die.  Truth,  in  her  natural  and  infinitely  various 
exponents  of  beauty  and  love,  is  all  that  the  soul 
reverences  long;  and,  as  Truth  is  universal  and 
absolute,  there  can  never  be  any  balance  in  the 
progress  of  the  soul  till  one  law  is  acknowledged 
in  all  her  departments.  Radicalism  has  only 
gone  too  far  when  it  has  hated  conservatism,  and 
has  despised  all  reverence  because  conservatism  is 
based  upon  it,  forgetting  that  it  is  only  so  inas- 
much as  it  is  a  needful  part  of  nature.  To  have 
claimed  that  reverence  should  not  play  at  blind- 
man's-buff  had  been  enough. 

In  this  country  where  freedom  of  thought  does 
not  shiver  at  the  cold  shadow  of  Spielberg  (unless 
we  name  this  prison  of  "public  opinion"  so), 
there  is  no  danger  to  be  apprehended  from  an  ex- 
cess of  it.  It  is  only  where  there  is  no  freedom 
that  anarchy  is  to  be  dreaded.  The  mere  sense 
of  freedom  is  of  too  pure  and  holy  a  nature  to  con- 
sist with  injustice   and  wrong,      We   would    fain 


have  our  journal,  in  some  sort  at  least,  a  journal 
of  progress,  —  one  that  shall  keep  pace  with  the 
spirit  of  the  age,  and  sometimes  go  near  its  deeper 
heart.  Yet,  while  we  shall  aim  at  that  gravity 
which  is  becoming  of  a  manly  literature,  we  shall 
hope  also  to  satisfy  that  lighter  and  sprightlier 
element  of  the  soul,  without  whose  due  culture 
the  character  is  liable  to  degenerate  into  a  morose 
bigotry  and  selfish  precisianism. 

To  be  one  exponent  of  a  young  spirit  which 
shall  aim  at  power  through  gentleness,  the  only 
mean  for  its  secure  attainment,  and  in  which 
freedom  shall  be  attempered  to  love  by  a  rever- 
ence for  all  beauty  wherever  it  may  exist,  is  our 
humble  hope.  And  to  this  end  we  ask  the  help 
of  all  who  feel  any  sympathy  in  such  an  undertak- 
ing. We  are  too  well  aware  of  the  thousand 
difficulties  which  lie  in  the  way  of  such  an  attempt, 
and  of  the  universal  failure  to  make  what  is  writ- 
ten come  near  the  standard  of  what  is  thought  and 
hoped,  to  think  that  we  shall  not  at  first  dis- 
appoint the  expectations  of  our  friends.  But  we 
shall  do  our  best,  and  they  must  bear  with  us, 
knowing  that  what  is  written  from  month  to 
month,  can  hardly  have  that  care  and  study  which 
is  needful  to  the  highest  excellence,  and  believing 
that 

"  We  shall  be  willing,  if  not  apt  to  learn; 
Age  and  experience  will  adorn  our  mind 
With  larger  knowledge:   and,  if  we  have  done 
A  wilful  fault,  think  us  not  past  all  hope, 
For  once." 

The  Pioneer  had  forty-eight  pages  in 
each  number,  or  about  one-third  as 
many  pages  as  the  New  England  Maga- 
zine ;  and  it  was  illustrated  with  what 
the  prospectus  called  "  engravings  of  the 
highest  character,  both  on  wood  and 
steel."  The  steel  engravings  in  the  first 
number  were  certainly  well  executed. 
There  were  two  of  them  —  Flaxman's 
"Circe,"  engraved,  as  were  almost  all  the 
pictures  in  the  three  numbers,  by  John 
Andrews,  and  a  picture  by  G.  Cuitt, 
entitled  "Two  Hundred  Years  Ago." 
These  were  the  only  illustrations  in  the 
first  number,  aside  from  the  "  emblemati- 
cal marginal  drawings"  which  accom- 
panied Mr.  Lowell's  poem,  "The  Rose," 
and  which  the  Advertiser,  in  its  notice 
of  the  magazine,  pronounced  "  a  beauti- 
ful novelty  in  the  line  of  magazine  em- 
bellishments." These  drawings,  with  the 
poem,  occupied  two  pages,  and  were 
highly  praised  by  other  papers  besides 
the  Advertiser.  The  first  of  these  two 
pages  is  reproduced  herewith,  as  showing 
the  style  of  illustration  which  so  won  the 
admiration  of  the  Pioneer'1  s  constituency. 
The  second  number  contained  a  senti- 
mental picture  entitled  "  Genevieve," 
"designed   expressly  for  the  Pioneer,  by 


LOWELL'S  "PIONEER: 


241 


I.  B.  Wright,"  illustrating  Coleridge's 
poem,  "Love,"  and  two  outlines  from 
Flaxman's  well-known  illustrations  of 
Dante.  The  third  number  contained 
another  of  Flaxman's  outlines,  and  an 
etching  by  D.  C.  Johnston,  illustrating  a 
passage  in  Dickens's  "  American  Notes  ;  " 
there  was  also  a  coarse  woodcut  of 
Flaxman  placed  at  the  head  of  an  article 
on  Flaxman,  ,by  W.  W.  Story.  This  com- 
pletes the  list  of  the  illustrations  in  the 
three  numbers,  all  of  which,  except  the 
Flaxman  outlines,  are  here  reproduced. 
The  table  of  contents  of  the  first  num- 
ber was  as  follows  : 

Introduction. 

Hudson  River :  A  Poem,  By  T.  W.  Parsons; 

Voltaire,     A  Poem. 

Aaron  Burr.     By  John  Neal. 

The  Follower  :   A  Poem. 

The  Cold  Spring  in  North  Salem :     A  Poem.     By 

Jones  Very. 
Sixteenth  Exhibition  of  Paintings  at  the  Boston 

Athenceum,  1842.     By  I.  B.  Wright. 
Acceptable    Worship :       A     Poem.       By  W.    H. 

Burleigh. 
The  Armenian's  Daughter.     By  Robert  Carter. 
Sonnet.     By  J.  R.  Lowell. 
Academy  of    Music  —  Beethoven's    Symphonies. 

By  J.  S.  Dwight. 
Longing:  A  Poem.     By  W.  W.  Story. 
The  Tell-tale  Heart.     By  Edgar  A.  Poe. 
The  Poet  and  Apollo:   A  Poem.     H.  P. 
The    Plays    of    Thomas     Middleton.     By   J.    R. 

Lowell. 
The  Rose.     By  J.  R.  Lowell. 

Literary  Notices  :  —  Hawthorne's  Historical 
Tales  for  Youth;  La  Fontaine's  Fables;  Nature, 
a  Parable;  The  Salem  Belle;  The  Career  of 
Puffer  Hopkins;  American  Notes  for  General 
Circulation;  The  Rights  of  Conscience  and  of 
Property;  Sparkes's  Life  of  Washington;  Ameri- 
can Criminal  Trials;  Confessions  of  St.  Augus- 
tine;   Life  in  Mexico. 

Foreign  Literary  Inteeligence. 

Lowell's  own  contributions  to  the 
second  number  were  a  charming  essay  on 
"Song  Writing,"  which  subject  he  prom- 
ised to  "  resume  at  some  future  day," 
and  the  sonnet  "To  M.  O.  S.,"  besides 
three  or  four  book  notices.  The  third 
number  contained  from  his  hand  only 
the  sonnet  entitled  "The  Street." 

Nathaniel  Hawthorne  appeared  as  a 
contributor  to  the  second  number  of  the 
Pioneer,  his  "  Hall  of  Fantasy "  being 
the  opening  piece  in  the  number ;  and 
to  the  third  number  he  contributed 
"The  Birth-mark."  Poe  contributed 
something  to  each  of  the  three  numbers, 


and  so  did  Parsons.  Whittier's  "  Lines 
written  in  the  Book  of  a  Friend "  were 
printed  in  the  second  number ;  and  in 
the  last  number  there  was  a  poem 
by  Elizabeth  Barrett,  "The  Maiden's 
Death." 

On  the  inside  cover  pages  of  the 
second  number,  the  publishers  printed  a 
number  of  notices  of  the  first  number, 
which  had  appeared  in  "  the  most  re- 
spectable journals  of  the  country,"  felici- 
tating themselves  that  "  the  verdict  of 
the  press  had  been  unanimous  in  favor 
of  the  Pioneer.'1''  These  notices  are  al- 
most as  varied  as  those  which  Lowell 
himself  prefixed  to  the  "Biglow  Papers," 
and  we  should  like  to  quote  many  of 
them,  as  showing  the  impression  which 
the  Pioneer  made  upon  the  newspaper 
fraternity  of  1843.  The  Boston  Daily 
Advertiser,  the  Boston  Bay  State  Demo- 
crat, the  Boston  Daily  Mail,  the  Boston 
Transcript,  the  New  York  Union,  the 
New  York  Tribune,  the  Philadelphia 
Saturday  Museum,  and  N.  P.  Willis's 
Brother  Jonathan  are  the  papers  heard 
from.  The  Bay  State  Democrat,  whose 
notice  is  the  only  one  which  we  can  give, 
wrote  : 

There  is  something  refreshing  and  invigorating 
in  the  work,  and  we  have  to  thank  the  editors  for 
a  delightful  evening's  entertainment  in  perusing 
its  contents.  The  introduction,  by  one  of  the 
editors,  probably  Mr.  Lowell,  is  bold  and  manly; 
and  if  the  strong,  clear,  and  somewhat  original 
ideas  there  expressed  are  lived  up  to  in  the  future 
conduct  of  the  work,  we  predict  for  it  a  wide 
and  honorable  popularity  in  the  literary  world. 
Among  the  best  articles,  we  notice  a  graphic 
sketch  of  Aaron  Burr,  done  in  Neal's  best  style; 
but  there  is  contained  in  this  article  some  un- 
called for  and  disgraceful  allusions' to  the  patriot 
Jefferson,  that  any  American,  at  this  day,  ought 
to  be  ashamed  to  pen.  Neal  can  command  pub- 
lic attention  by  his  talents,  without  dabbling  in 
such  filthy  puddles  as  the  partisan  slang  against 
that  great  and  good  man.  For  the  poetry  of  the 
number  not  much  can  be  said.  It  is  about  as 
good  as  the  usual  run  of  magazine  poetry,  and 
serves  as  an  agreeable  relief  to  the  eye.  after  a 
close  application  to  the  solid  columns  of  the 
prose  matter.  From  this,  however,  we  must  ex- 
cept "The  Rose,"  which  is  a  very  pretty  affair, 
and  the  novel  style  of  pictorial  illustrations  that 
accompany  the  piece  will,  we  think,  commend 
itself  to  general  approval.  The  critique  on  the 
last  Athenaeum  Exhibition  of  Paintings  is 
racy  and  spirited.  It  is  by  I.  B.  Wright.  His 
fondness  for  the  art  is  evidently  deep,  and  chas- 
tened by  a  correct  taste ;  and  his  playful  satire  is 
admirable.     The   "  Armenian's    Daughter "  is    a 


Genevieve." — From  the  second   number  of  "The   Pioneer." 


LOWELL'S  «pioneer: 


243 


highly  interesting  and  well  told  tale;  author  not 
stated.  J.  S.  Dwight's  paper  on  Beethoven's 
Symphonies,  as  performed  by  the  Boston  Acad- 
emy of  Music,  is  well  written,  and  calculated  to 
excite  an  increased  interest  in  the  performances 
of  that  society.  We  like  Mr.  Dwight's  style 
much;  with  a  soul  full  of  his  subject,  he  seems 
to  sit  down  and  discourse  of  it  to  the  reader  in  a 
rich  and  flowing  strain  of  unaffected  eloquence. 
The  "  Tell-Tale  Heart,"  by  Edgar  A.  Poe,  is  an 
article  of  thrilling  interest.  It  is  the  tale  of  an 
unconscious  madman.  We  must  try  to  copy  it 
for  our  readers  soon.  The  critique  on  the  Plays 
of  Middleton,  by  the  senior  editor,  is  a  paper  of 
great  power,  well  calculated  to  set  one  a  thinking 
for  himself,  and  this  is  the  greatest  merit  of  criti- 
cal notices.  But  this  is  more;  it  is  a  profound 
investigation  into  the  spirit  of  poetry,  and  an 
able  defence  of  its  influence  over  the  mind.  If 
Mr.  Lowell,  or  any  other  man,  could  come  up  to 
the  ideas  advanced  in  the  article,  in  his  poetical 
productions,  he  would  be  the  poet  of  the  day,  and 
age.  The  beauties  of  Middleton,  as  illustrated 
by  the  editor,  are  highly  attractive.  The  literary 
notices  by  the  editors  are  just  and  discriminating, 
and  betray  sound  judgment  and  refined  taste. 
The  embellishment  of  the  work,  besides  the 
wood  illustrations  of  "  The  Rose,"  are  two  splen- 
did steel  engravings  by  J.  Andrews. 

The  Transcript  was  "  glad  to  perceive 
a  sensible  omission  in  the  usual  fashion 
plate  of  popular  periodicals."  All  of 
the  literary  magazines  of  that  time  had 
published  fashion  plates.  The  Boston 
Miscellany  had  done  so.  The  Pioneer 
abandoned  the  custom  with  some  vehe- 
mence, remarking  to  its  readers,  with 
reference  to  the  Flaxman  outlines  which 
accompanied  its  second  number,  that 
"in  real  value  they  exceed  a  host  of 
tawdry  fashion  plates." 

The  Tribune,  referring  to  Mr.  Lowell's 
word  about  creeds,  in  his  Introduction, 
said : 

"  This  may  be  all  well  enough,  but  we  cannot 
understand  what  definite  meaning  the  writer  at- 
taches to  a  creed  which  consists  in  freedom  from 
all  creeds.  If  he  intends  precisely  what  he  says, 
he  seems  to  us  to  use  words  without  meaning; 
but  if  he  means  a  creed  not  framed  upon  others, 
carrying  its  worth  in  its  truth,  not  in  its  having 
been  believed  before,  he  ought  to  have  said  so." 

But  by  far  the  most  interesting  of 
these  newspaper  notices  is  that  from  the 
Brother  Jonathan,  by  N.  P.  Willis.  One 
can  imagine  Lowell  sanctioning  or  direct- 
ing its  appearance  with  the  rest  —  for 
very  likely  he  did  direct  it  —  with  much 
the  same  humor  with  which  he  afterwards 
prepared    those    imposing    notices    from 


the     Higginbottomopolis     Snapping- turtle 
and  the  Salt-river  Pilot. 

"  J.  R.  Lowell,  a  man  of  original  and  decided 
genius,"  said  the  reviewer,  "  has  started  a  monthly 
magazine  in  Boston.  The  first  number  lies  be- 
fore us,  and  it  justifies  our  expectation,  viz.,  that 
a  man  of  genius,  who  is  merely  a  man  of  genius, 
is  a  very  unfit  editor  for  a  periodical." 

He  then  proceeds  with  his  bill  of  par- 
ticulars against  the  new  magazine,  and 
much  of  his  criticism  is,  to  our  thinking, 
quite  valid ;  but  his  generality  reads 
rather  queerly  now,  as  we  remember  the 
notable  editorial  capacity  displayed  by 
Lowell  in  connection  with  the  Atlantic 
and  the  North  American. 

To  many  Boston  people,  turning  the 
pages  of  the  Pioneer,  the  article  on  the 
Exhibition  of  Paintings  at  the  Athe- 
naeum, by  LB.  Wright,  and  that  on  the 
Academy  of  Music  Concerts,  by  John 
S.  Dwight,  will  have  a  peculiar  interest. 
Mr.  I.  B.  Wright  was  evidently  a  man  of 
singular  versatility.  He  was  the  designer 
of  the  picture  of  "  Genevieve "  in  the 
second  number  of  the  magazine,  already 
spoken  of,  and  he  was  the  author  of  a 
remarkable  production,  entitled  "  Dream 
Love,"  of  which  instalments  appeared  in 
the  second  and  third  numbers,  and  which 
was  still  "to  be  continued"  when  the 
magazine  died  —  a  production  which  was 
a  kind  of  cross  between  "  an  eloquent 
article,"  as  which  the  editors  described 
it,  and  the  "  namby-pamby  love  tales  and 
sketches,"  of  which  they  announced  that 
none  were  to  be  admitted  to  the  pages 
of  the  Pioneer.  His  article  upon  the 
Athenaeum  Exhibition,  which  seems  to 
have  been  a  pretty  large  one,  including  a 
considerable  number  of  works  by  the  old 
masters,  as  well  as  works  of  the  contem- 
porary Boston  artists,  is  an  interesting 
revelation  of  the  conditions  of  the  art 
life  of  fifty  years  ago.  There  is  much 
"  fine  writing"  in  it,  and  some  whole- 
some and  courageous  criticism  •  and 
the  closing  reflections  upon  "the  deadly 
hand  of  the  past"  which  lay  so  heavily 
upon  the  Boston  painters  of  1843,  crush- 
ing out  their  genius  and  making  poor 
imitators  of  them,  suggests  that  Emer- 
son's "Nature,"  which  was  then  half  a 
dozen  years  old,  had  been  read  by  Mr. 
Wright. 


244 


LOWELL'S  "PIONEER: 


Dickens  and  the  Arts  si  in  Boots 

From  the  third   number  of   "The   Pioneer." 


"Are  there  no  faces  and  forms,  are  there  no 
lives  and  deaths,  burials  and  marriages,  within 
our  own  land,  and  next  our  own  doors?  Shines 
not  the  sun  upon  America,  gilding  and  coloring 
its  landscape  with  as  various  hues  as  when  the 
masters  breathed  the  atmosphere  of  this  earth? 
Is  nature  used  up?  Is  character  gone?  Is  vir- 
tue extinct?  Is  vice  rooted  out?  Where  were 
the  old  masters  that  taught  the  old  masters? 
Where  was  their  Italy  but  in  their  eyes  and 
soul?" 


Mr.  Dwight's  articles  upon  the  Acad- 
emy of  Music  and  Beethoven's  Sym- 
phonies show  the  same  fine  culture  and 
true  feeling  in  the  field  of  music  that 
have  been  shown  in  everything  in  his 
whole  career  as  a  musical  critic,  which, 
beginning  before  the  Pioneer  was  born, 
and  continued  in  uninterrupted  vigor  to 
the  present  day,  constitutes  him  in  many 
respects  the  most  remarkable  figure  in 
the  musical  life  of  Boston.  The  opening 
of  the  first  article,  in  which  the  writer 
felicitates  himself  and  Boston  upon  the 
manifestly  better  patronage  of  the  best 
things  in  music,  will  be  entertaining  read- 
ing for  those  who  attend  the  present 
symphony  concerts. 

Robert  Carter,  who  was  Mr.   Lowell's 


associate  in  his  magazine  enterprise,  had 
come  to  Boston  from  Albany  only  two 
years  before,  but  at  once  formed  a  strong 
friendship  with  Lowell,  which  lasted  until 
his  death  in  1879.  He  was  of  just  the 
same  age  as  Lowell,  and  full  of  the  same 
pioneering,  reforming  spirit.  He  was 
afterwards,  for  a  time,  private  secretary 
to  Prescott,  the  historian ;  he  was  a 
helper  of  Kossuth  ;  he  became  the  edi- 
tor of  the  Commonwealth,  and  a  leader 
in  the  organization  of  the  free-soil  party, 
and  he  did  much  newspaper  work  of  a 
high  quality.  It  is  stated  that  he  left  a 
volume  of  memoirs  which  remains  un- 
published. If  any  part  of  the  volume 
relates  to  Lowell  and  these  old  days  of 
the  Pioneer,  it  certainly  ought  to  see  the 
light.  To  the  Pioneer  itself  he  con- 
tributed a  serial  story,  entitled  "  The 
Armenian's  Daughter." 

Lowell's  own  poetical  contributions  to 
the  Pioneer  were  all  adopted  afterwards 
into  his  published  collections  —  as.  we 
think,  were  all  the  poems  contributed  to 
the  Boston  Miscellany.  His  prose  con- 
tributions do  not  appear  in  his  collected 
works.      Not  the  least  interesting  of  these 


LOWELL'S  "PLONEER. 


245 


were  some  of  his  book  notices,  especially 
the  notices  of  Dickens's  "  American 
Notes "  which  was  just  then  arousing 
the  waspishness  of  superficial  American 
folk,  and  of  Longfellow's  "  Poems  on 
Slavery."  The  notice  of  Dickens  was 
as   follows  : 

"American  Notes,  for  General  Circulation." 
By  Charles  Dickens.  This  book  has  been  too 
widely  read  to  need  any  elaborate  criticism  on  our 
part.  There  are  one  or  two  points  in  it,  however, 
on  which  we  wish  to  say  a  word.  The  book  has 
been  loudly  complained  of  as  superficial,  and  as 
vilifying  our  country  and  its  institutions.  We  do 
not  think  that  it  can  fairly  be  called  superficial  (in 
a  derogatory  sense),  because  it  was  not  intended 
to  be  deep.  Mr.  Dickens's  philosophy  has  always 
been  rather  of  the  eyes  and  heart,  than  of  that 
higher  and  more  comprehensive  kind,  with  which 
the  inner  eye  and  the  soul  have  to  do.  Such  a 
traveller  as  De  Tocqueville  is  properly  expected 
to  give  a  philosophical  analysis  of  our  govern- 
ment and  its  operations,  and  philosophical  con- 
jecture as  to  its  ultimate  tendencies  and  results. 
But  we  could  not  rightly  expect  from  Mr.  Dickens 
anything  more  than  the  necessarily  cursory  obser- 
vations of  one  who  has  shown  himself  to  be  the 
keenest  and  shrewdest  observer  of  his  time. 

To  judge  from  the  tone  of  a  large  share  of  the 
criticisms  on  this  lively  jeu  d' "esprit  (for  such  it 
may  be  rightly  called),  it  would  seem  that  our 
people  imagined  that,  because  they  had  admired 
Mr.  Dickens's  other  works,  he  had  no  right  to  do 
anything  but  admire  everything  of  theirs  in  turn. 
The  Americans  are  the  only  nation  who  appear  to 
think  that  they  can  say  what  they  please  of  others, 
and  that  others  have  no  right  to  say  what  they 
please  of  them.  Mr.  Dickens's  remarks  on  slavery 
seem  to  have  raised  the  greatest  storm  of  indigna- 
tion, and  yet  the  greatest  part  of  his  chapter  on 
this  system,  which  (call  it  crime  or  misfortune) 
is  surely  the  darkest  plot  on  our  national  char- 
acter, consisted  only  of  quotations  from  our  own 
newspapers.  If  the  eyes  and  mouths  of  our  own 
countrymen  are  to  be  forever  sealed  on  the  ques- 
tion which  more  nearly  concerns  their  interest 
and  honor  than  any  other,  they  should  thank  God 
for  what  little  light  they  are  per  milted  to  gain 
from  an  intelligent  foreigner,  whose  vivid  expo- 
sure of  the  abuses  of  his  own  system  of  govern- 
ment give  him  the  better  right  to  strike  at  those 
of  our  own.  A  man  of  genius,  like  Dickens,  is  a 
citizen  of  the  world,  and  belongs  as  much  to 
America  as  to  England.  If  our  narrowness  and 
cowardice  in  this  matter  are  not  outgrown,  we 
might  as  well  publish  expurgated  editions  of 
Shakespeare  and  all  others  who  satirize  and  revolt 
at  tyranny  (as  all  great  minds  must),  —  nay,  of 
the  Declaration  of  Independence  itself. 

The  greatest  and  deepest  fault  we  have  to  find 
with  the  book  is  the  too  frequent  eulogy  of 
brandy  and  water,  and  the  ill-concealed  satire  of 
the  temperance  reform  —  a  reform  which  has 
been  and  is  doing  incalculable  good  throughout 
the  land;  which  is  spreading  peace  and  inno- 
cence where  only  degradation  skulked  be- 
fore, and  which   is  insuring  stability  to   our  free- 


dom, by  teaching  men  to  set  free  and  respect 
themselves,  without  which  they  can  have  no  true 
reverence  for  anything. 

The  notice  of  Longfellow's  "  Poems  on 
Slavery"  is  the  most  interesting  of  the  no- 
tices, chiefly  on  account  of  the  strong  words 
on  the  anti-slavery  reform,  into  which 
Lowell  was  already  throwing  himself. 

"  Poems  on  Slavery."  By  Henry  Wadsworth 
Longfellow.  Cambridge  :  John  Owen.  This  is  a 
little  volume  which  we  think  likely  to  do  a  great 
deal  of  good.  Professor  Longfellow  is  perhaps 
more  widely  and  popularly  known  and  admired 
in  this  country  than  any  other  writer,  certainly 
than  any  other  poet;  while  many  of  his  poems 
have  been  translated  into  German  by  Freiligrath, 
and  Bentley  has  now  and  then  the  good  taste  to 
steal  them  for  his  Miscellany.  In  this  instance 
we  think  the  popularity  —  interdum  vulgus  rec- 
tum videt — a  proof  of  merit  in  the  author.  His 
style  has  just  enough  peculiarity  to  render  it  at- 
tractive, and,  at  the  same  time  that  it  is  strongly 
tinged  with  romanticism,  the  structure  of  the 
verse,  the  rhythm  of  the  melody,  and  the  develop- 
ment of  the  sentiment  are  so  gracefully  simple  as 
to  be  even  at  once  with  minds  of  the  highest  and 
lowest  range  of  education.  Such  a  man  as  this, 
so  well  known  as  a  polished  scholar  of  general 
literature,  so  always  welcome  to  every  fireside  as 
a  poet  whose  muse  has  never  in  any  way  spotted 
the  virgin  white  of  her  purity,  will  find  a  ready 
hearing,  when  he  comes  as  a  pleader  on  either 
side  of  a  vexed  question,  with  many  who  to  all 
others  would  be  resolutely  deaf. 

We  do  not  join  in  the  torrent  of  eulogy  upon 
the  fearlessness  and  nobleness  of  spirit  evinced 
by  the  author  in  publishing  this  little  pamphlet, 
because  we  think  that  it  is  yielding  quite  too 
much  to  the  exacting  spirit  of  evil  to  say  that  a 
man  does  any  more  than  his  simple  duty  to  his 
instincts  when  he  espouses  the  cause  of  right.  It 
is  always  an  argument  of  greater  courage  in  a 
man  (so  far  as  that  goes)  to  deny  and  refuse  the 
divine  message  that  is  sent  to  him,  as  it  always 
is  sooner  or  later,  for  in  so  doing  he  causes  his 
guardian  angel  to  hide  her  face  from  him  in  sor- 
row, and  defies  the  Spirit  of  God  in  his  own  soul, 
who  is  thenceforth  his  most  implacable  foe  and 
one  that  always  vanquishes  at  last.  The  senti- 
ment of  anti-slavery,  too,  is  spreading  so  fast  and 
so  far  over  the  whole  land,  that  its  opponents  are 
rapidly  dwindling  into  a  minority.  Moreover, 
such  praise,  if  any  there  be,  should  be  given  to 
the  early  disciples  and  apostles  of  this  gospel, 
men  and  women  who  have  endured  for  their  faith 
such  spiritualized  martyrdom  as  the  refined  nine- 
teenth century  is  still  tenacious  of  inflicting. 
There,  for  instance,  is  William  Lloyd  Garrison, 
the  half-inspired  Luther  of  this  reform,  a  man  too 
remarkable  to  be  appreciated  in  his  generation, 
but  whom  the  future  will  recognize  as  a  great  and 
wonderful  spirit.  There,  too,  is  Whittier,  the 
fiery  Koerner  of  this  spiritual  warfare,  who,  Scae- 
vola-like,  has  sacrificed  on  the  altar  of  duty  that 
right  hand  which  might  have  made  him  acknowl- 
edged as  the  most  passionate  lyrist  of  his  time. 
There  is  the  tenderly-loving  Maria  Child,  the  au- 


j^%\ 


In  his  tower  sate  the  poet 

Gazing  on  the  roaring  sea, 

"  Take  this  rose,''*"  he  sighed,  "  and  throw  it 

Where  there  's  none  that  Ioveth  me. 


"  Oa  the  rock  the  billow  bursteth 
And  sinks  back  into  the  seas, 
But  in  vain  my  spirit  thirsteth 
So  to  burst  and  be  at  ease. 


"  Take,  oh  sea,  the  tender  blossom 
That  hath  lain  against  my  breast, 
On  thy  black  and  angry  bosom 
It  will  find  a  surer  rest. 


Life  is  vain  and  love  is  hollow, 
Ugly  death  stands  there  behind, 
Hate  and  scorn  and  hunger  follow 
Him  that  toileth  for  his  kind.'" 


Forth  into  the  night  he  hurled  it 
And  with  bitter  smile  did  mark 
How  the  surly  tempest  whirled  it 
Swift  into  the  hungry  dark. 

6. 

Foam  and  spray  drive  back  to  leeward, 
And  the  gale  with  dreary  moan 
Drifts  the  helpless  blossom  seaward, 
Through  the  breakers  all  alone. 


1, 

Stands  a  maiden  on  the  morrow, 
Musing  by  the  wave-beat  strand, 
Half  in  hope  and  half  in  sorrow 
Tracing  words  upon  the  sand. 

2. 

"  Shall  I  ever  then  behold  him 
Who  hath  been  my  life  so  long,  — 
Ever  to  this  sick  heart  fold  him,  — 
Be  the  spirit  of  his  song  ? 


The  First  Page  of  Lowell's  Poem,  "The  Rose."  —  From  the  first  number  of  "  The  Pioneer 


LOWELL'S  "PIONEER." 


247 


thor  of  that  dear  book,  "  Philothea,"  — a  woman 
of  genius,  who  lives  with  humble  content  in  the 
intellectual  Coventry  to  which  her  conscientious- 
ness has  banished  her  —  a  fate  the  hardest  for 
genius  to  bear.  Nor  ought  the  gentle  spirit  of, 
Follen,  a  lion  with  a  lamb's  heart,  to  be  forgotten 
whose  fiery  fate,  from  which  the  mind  turns  hor- 
ror-stricken, was  perhaps  to  his  mild  nature  less 
dreadful  than  that  stake  and  fagot  of  public  opin- 
ion, in  dragging  him  to  which  many  whom  he 
loved  were  not  inactive,  for  silence  at  such  times 
is  action.  And  Channing,  a  man  great  and  origi- 
nal in  perceiving,  elucidating  and  defending  those 
moral  truths  which  others  were  the  first  to  dis- 
cover. When  we  see  these,  and  such  as  these, 
denounced  as  self-interested 
zealots,  by  those  who  have 
never  read  a  word  of  their 
controversial  writings,  we 
know  not  whether  to  be  most 
surprised  at  the  fearless  ig- 
norance, which  classes  such 
widely  different  natures  to- 
gether, or  at  the  contending 
simplicity  which  receives  such 
oracles  for  gospel,  and  is 
pleased  to  accept  that  as 
knowledge  which  is  truly  but 
the  over-running  of  surplus 
ignorance.  That  some  of 
them  are  "  unguarded  in  their 
expressions"  we  allow,  but  a 
great  idea  has  seldom  time 
to  waste  in  selecting  what 
Hotspur  would  have  called 
"parmaceti  phrases,"  and  the 
spirit  of  reform  does  not 
usually  make  a  fiery  spirit 
more  mild.  Luther  was  the 
greatest  blackguard,  as  well  as 
the  greatest  reformer  of  his 
time,  and  Milton  threw  dirt 
(not,  however,  without  a  few 
chance  fallen  rose  leaves  in 
it)  at  Salmasius,  not  only 
without  stint,  but  with  an 
evident  satisfaction.  Men 
who  feel  that  they  are  in  the 
right  are  prone  to  indigna- 
tion at  those  who  oppose 
them,  and  those  who  do  not 
live  in  glass  houses  some- 
times make  it  their  profession  to  throw  stones. 
To  return,  Professor  Longfellow  rarely  or  never 
touches  the  deepest  instincts  of  our  nature,  but  he 
runs  over  the  wide  scale  of  natural  sentiment 
with  the  hand  of  a  master.  His  strength  lies  in 
what  we  may  call  the  spiritual  picturesque.  His 
mind  is  of  a  reflective  cast.  He  has  little  pas- 
sionateness,  and  his  thoughts  run  so  readily  into 
soliloquy,  that  we  think  a  more  strict  self-judgment 
would  have  deterred  him  from  ever  attempting  the 
dramatic  form  of  expression.  He  has  remark- 
able delicacy  and  grace,  sometimes  rising  into 
vigor,  of  diction,  and  a  delightful  spirit  pervades 
all  that  he  writes,  which  is  never  (as  is  too  often 
the  case)  belied  by  the  private  and  personal  char- 
acter of  the  author,  who  in  an  eminent  degree 
attracts  the  love  as  well  as  the  admiration  of  his 


friends.  We  know  no  writer  whose  poems  tend 
more  decidedly  to  elevate  and  refine  the  feelings 
of  his  readers,  and  so  to  purify  the  source  of  their 
thoughts,  while  at  the  same  time  he  cultivates  their 
romantic  sentiment,  thereby  increasing  the  nicety 
and  extent  of  their  sympathies. 

There  is  no  use  in  quoting  from  any  volume  of 
Professor  Longfellow's.  His  poems  have  such  a 
wonderful  faculty  of  domesticating  themselves  by 
every  fireside  in  the  country,  that  they  are  every- 
where recognized  inmates.  Some  of  those  in  this 
little  volume  seem  to  us  to  be  deficient  in  force, 
and  without  enough  certainty  of  aim.  Perhaps 
the  best  in  conception  is  the  "  Slave  Singing  at 
Midnight,"    and    the    best    in    expression    "The 


John   Flaxman.  —  From  the  third  number  of  "The  Pioneer, 


Slave's  Dream,"  a  subject  which  we  have  seen 
handled  before,  but  never  so  beautifully.  There 
is  nothing  of  the  spirit  of  controversy  in  these 
pages,  and  though  we  might  be  tempted  some- 
times to  ask  for  more  energy,  yet  we  are  sure  that 
those  writings  do  most  good  which  strive  to  make 
the  beauty  of  the  right  more  apparent,  rather 
than  those  wThich  inveigh  against  the  loathsome- 
ness of  the  wrong. 

There  is  an  interesting  review  of  Ma- 
caulay's  "  Lays  of  Ancient  Rome,"  which 
had  then  just  appeared.  It  is  impossible 
to  give  this  here  in  full,  but  we  quote  its 
opening  paragraph  for  the  sake  of  show- 
ing   the    rather    severe    opinion    which 


248 


LOWELL'S  "PLONEER: 


Lowell    held    of   Macaulay  in    1843,  and 
which  very  likely  remained  his  opinion. 

Thomas  Babington  Macaulay  is  the  best 
magazine  writer  of  the  day.  Without  being  a 
learned  man,  he  has  a  vast  fund  of  information 
always  at  command,  the  accumulation  of  a  quick 
eye,  and  a  retentive  memory.  Always  brilliant,  but 
never  profound;  witty,  but  not  humorous;  full  of 
sparkling  antithesis,  polished,  keen,  graceful,  he 
has  more  talent  than  any  prose  writer  living.  He 
is  a  kind  of  prose  Pope,  in  whom  we  can  rind  no 
great  ideas,  no  true  philosophy,  but  plenty  of 
philosophizing,  who  never  writes  above  his  read- 
er's easy  comprehension,  and  whose  sentences  we 
always  acknowledge  as  lucky,  rather  than  admire 
as  new  or  beautiful.  He  has  thoughts  enough, 
but  no  thought.  His  analysis  of  character  are 
like  a  professor's  demonstrations  in  the  dissecting 
room;  we  see  all  the  outward  mechanism  by 
which  the  spirit  made  itself  visible  and  felt,  but 
after  all,  only  a  dead  body  lies  before  us.  He 
galvanizes  his  subjects  till  they  twitch  with  a 
seeming  life,  but  he  has  not  the  power  of  calling 
back  the  spirit  and  making  it  give  answers  from 
the  deep.  In  short,  he  is  not  a  genius.  In  poli- 
tics, he  is  a  whig;  one  of  that  party  which  is 
neither  conservative  nor  radical,  but  which  com- 
bines in  its  faith  some  of  the  faults  of  both,  and 
whose  doctrine  seems  to  be  "  reform,  as  far  as  we 
are  concerned."  His  sympathies  seem  to  be 
fashionable,  rather  than  the  result  of  a  warm 
heart  or  philosophic  thought.  If  there  were  a 
Greek  or  Polish  revolution,  he  would  forget  that" 
freedom  spoke  any  other  language  but  that  of 
Leonidas  and  Sobieski,  and,  overlooking  the 
struggling  mass  of  degraded  humanity  that  pined 
and  murmured  around  his  very  door,  would  sat- 
isfy his  classic  sympathy  for  the  advance  of  man 
by  writing  Greek  and  Polish  war  songs,  to  be  ad- 
mired by  everybody  to-day,  and  then  to  retire 
upon  such  precarious  pittance  of  immortality  as 
is  furnished  by  the  charitable  corner  of  a  country 
newspaper. 

There  is  no  word  which  Lowell  wrote 
for  the  Pioneer  which  is  not  interesting 
as  read  to-day.  There  are  many  pas- 
sages from  the  essay  on  "  Middleton,"  and 
from  the  essay  on  "Song  Writing,"  which 
we  should  like  to  set  upon  a  second  cir- 
culation ;  but  space  is  left  us  for  only  a 
single  passage  from  the  latter  essay,  —  a 
charming  pastoral  picture,  which,  put 
into  the  dialect  of  Hosea  Biglow,  would 
be  the  counterpart  of  "The    Courtin'. " 

We  confess  that  the  sight  of  the  rudest  and 
simplest  love-verses  in  the  corner  of  a  village 
newspaper  oftener  bring  tears  of  delight  into  our 
eyes  than  awaken  a  sense  of  the  ludicrous.  In 
fancy  we  see  the  rustic  lovers  wandering  hand  in 


hand,  a  sweet  fashion  not  yet  extinct  in  our  quiet 
New  England  villages,  and  crowding  all  the  past 
and  future  with  the  blithe  sunshine  of  the  pres- 
ent. The  modest  loveliness  of  Dorcas  has  re- 
vealed to  the  delighted  heart  of  Reuben  count- 
less other  beauties  of  which,  but  for  her,  he  had 
been  careless.  Pure  and  delicate  sympathies 
have  overgrown  protectingly  the  most  exposed 
part  of  his  nature,  as  the  moss  covers  the  north 
side  of  the  tree.  The  perception  and  reverence 
of  her  beauty  has  become  a  new  and  more  sensi- 
tive conscience  to  him,  which,  like  the  wonderful 
ring  in  the  fairy  tale,  warns  him  against  every 
danger  that  may  assail  his  innocent  self-respect. 
For  the  first  time  he  begins  to  see  something 
more  in  the  sunset  than  an  omen  of  to-morrow's 
weather.  The  flowers,  too,  have  grown  tenderly 
dear  to  him  of  a  sudden,  and,  as  he  plucks  a 
sprig  of  blue  succory  from  the  roadside  to  deck 
her  hair  with,  he  is  as  truly  a  poet  as  Burns  when 
he  embalmed  the  "  mountain  daisy  "  in  deathless 
rhyme.  Dorcas  thrills  at  sight  of  quivering  Hes- 
perus as  keenly  as  ever  Sappho  did,  and  as  it 
brings  back  to  her,  she  knows  not  how,  the  mem- 
ory of  all  happy  times  in  one,  she  clasps  closer 
the  brown,  toil-hardened  hand  which  she  holds  in 
hers,  and  which  the  heart  that  warms  it  makes  as 
soft  as  down  to  her.  She  is  sure  that  the  next 
Sabbath  evening  will  be  as  cloudless  and  happy 
as  this.  She  feels  no  jealousy  of  Reuben's  love 
of  the  flowers,  for  she  knows  that  only  the  pure 
in  heart  can  see  God  in  them,  and  that  they  will 
but  teach  him  to  love  better  the  wild-flower-like 
eauties  in  herself,  and  give  him  impulses  of 
kindliness  and  brotherhood  to  all.  Love  is  the 
truest  radicalism,  lifting  all  to  the  same  clear- 
aired  level  of  humble,  thankful  humanity.  Dorcas 
begins  to  think  that  her  childish  dream  has  come 
true,  and  that  she  is  really  an  enchanted  princess, 
and  her  milk-pans  are  forthwith  changed  to  a 
service  of  gold  plate  with  the  family  arms  en- 
graved on  the  bottom  of  each,  the  device  being  a 
great  heart,  and  the  legend,  God  gives,  man  only 
takes  away.  Her  taste  in  dress  has  grown  won- 
derfully more  refined  since  her  betrothal,  though 
she  never  heard  of  the  Paris  fashions,  and  never 
had  more  than  one  silk  gown  in  her  life,  that  one 
being  her  mother's  wedding  dress,  made  over 
again.  Reuben  has  grown  so  tender-hearted, 
that  he  thought  there  might  be  some  good  even 
in  "Transcendentalism,"  a  terrible  dragon  of 
straw,  against  which  he  had  seen  a  lecturer  at  the 
village  Lyceum  valorously  enact  the  St.  George.  — 
nay,  he  goes  so  far  as  to  think  that  the  slave- 
women  (black  though  they  be,  and  therefore  not 
deserving  so  much  happiness)  cannot  be  quite  so 
well  off  as  his  sister  in  the  factory  and  would 
sympathize  with  them  if  the  constitution  did  not 
enjoin  all  good  citizens  not  to  do  so.  But  we  are 
wandering  —  farewell,  Reuben  and  Dorcas  I  re- 
member that  you  can  only  fulfil  your  vow  of  be- 
ing true  to  each  other  by  being  true  to  all,  and 
be  sure  that  death  can  but  unclasp  your  bodily 
hands  that  your  spiritnal  ones  may  be  joined  the 
more  closelv. 


THE  WOMAN'S  MOVEMENT  IN  THE  SOUTH. 


By  A.  D.  Mayo. 


T  is  not  easy  to-day  to  com- 
prehend the  full  signifi- 
cance of  the  revolution 
in  American  society  in- 
augurated by  the  late 
Civil  War.  A  few  of  the 
most  obvious  effects  of 
the  great  war  are  known 
to  all.  The  complete  de- 
struction of  the  most 
powerful  aristocratic  class  in  Christen- 
dom, as  far  as  concerned  its  direct 
influence  upon  national  affairs ;  the 
abolition  of  the  semi-feudal  institution 
of  American  slavery,  and  the  elevation 
of  five  millions  of  people,  to  all  the 
rights  of  American  citizenship ;  the 
overthrow  of  the  leading  industrial 
system  that  had  prevailed  nearly  three 
centuries,  in  a  country  as  large  as 
Europe  outside  the  Russian  Empire ; 
the  bitter  struggle,  perhaps  not  yet 
over,  that  has  accompanied  the  re- 
adjustment of  civil,  social  and  financial 
relations  between  the  two  races  that  peo- 
ple sixteen  great  states,  —  these  and 
other  results  of  that  tremendous  conflict 
are  already  apparent  to  all.  But  other 
and  less  obvious  consequences  are  begin- 
ning to  appear,  in  the  slowly  developing 
life  of  the  new  republic.  These  changes, 
revealed  or  hidden,  in  the  midst  of  which 
we  live  to-day,  may  be  summed  up  as  the 
radical  transformation  of  an  Anglo-Saxon, 
semi-aristocratic  into  an  American,  dem- 
ocratic order  of  human  affairs.  Until 
the  breaking  out  of  the  war,  American 
society,  in  the  old  East  and  through  the 
entire  South,  was  a  gradual  broadening 
of  the  aristocratic  order  of  British  civil- 
ization from  which  it  sprung.  No  less  in 
Boston,  New  York,  and  Philadelphia, 
than  in  Richmond,  Charleston,  and  New 
Orleans,  were  the  claims  of  superior  race, 
family,  inherited  wealth,  culture  and  so- 
cial station  acquiesced  in,  with  only  a 
prospect  of  gradual  change.  Thirty 
years  ago  Emerson  said :  "  Old 
England  extends  to  the  Alleghanies ; 
America  begins  in  Ohio."     The  emanci- 


pation of  the  southern  negro  and  his 
recognition  as  a  full  American  citizen 
completed  the  process,  begun  by  the 
naturalization  of  the  immigrant  European 
peasant  in  the  North,  and  cast  into  the 
trembling  balance  of  national  affairs  a 
make-weight  which  has  finally  committed 
the  Union  to  the  cause  of  popular  gov- 
ernment and  republican  society. 

There  are  still  powerful  organizations 
and  influences  on  the  ground  that  fiercely 
challenge  that  result,  and  threaten  new 
conflicts  of  these  tendencies  on  new 
issues.  What  is  implied  by  the  term 
"  Bourbonism "  in  the  South;  the  con- 
centrated influence  of  a  zealous  and  able 
priesthood  in  more  than  one  division  of 
the  American  church ;  the  attempt,  in 
certain  quarters,  to  rally  the  cultivated 
class,  by  a  sort  of  literary  Free-masonry, 
to  distrust  in  American  ideas  ;  the  affec- 
Vtion  of  narrow  cliques,  in  all  social  cen- 
es,  to  bring  in  the  European  ideal  of  a 
superior  social  caste  ;  the  prodigious  and 
rapid  centralization  of  vast  industrial 
interests  in  the  grasp  of  gigantic  corpor- 
ations, —  here  is  certainly  a  counter 
current,  not  to  be  overlooked  and  not 
without  great  influence,  either  for  whole- 
some restraint  or  mischievous  obstruc- 
tion. But,  however  protracted  may  be 
the  struggle,  and  however  numerous  the 
changes  of  scenery  in  the  shifting  drama 
of  the  future,  no  thoughtful  man  can 
long  doubt  on  which  side  the  victory  will 
rest.  For  evil  or  good,  the  democratic 
idea  is  bound  to  prevail  in  American 
affairs.  That  idea  is  not  communistic, 
anarchical  or  subversive  of  inevitable 
gradations  in  society.  It  is  the  progres- 
sive reconstruction  of  human  affairs 
around  the  idea  that  every  human  being 
shall  have  fair  opportunity  to  develop 
what  has  been  given  him  by  his  Maker, 
with  the  corresponding  obligation  that 
every  human  being  is  bound  to  use  his 
superiorities  and  successes  for  the  uplift- 
ing of  all.  Said  Lord  Napier  to  a  dis- 
tinguished American  clergyman,  forty 
years  ago,  "  Great  Britain  is  on  the  same 


250 


THE  WOMAN'S  MOVEMENT  IN  THE  SOUTH. 


inclined  plane  as  the  United  States.  You 
are  only  a  little  farther  down  the  grade 
than  we."  The  complete  outcome  of 
the  American  experiment  in  our  New 
World  will  be  the  emancipation  of  man- 
kind through  every  nook  and  corner  of 
the  inhabited  earth.  We  can  baffle,  em- 
barrass, and  complicate  the  movement 
through  its  entire  progress.  We  can 
plunge  this  continent  into  new  and  bloody 
wars.  We  may  so  hinder  the  preparation 
of  the  "common  people"  for  their  fu- 
ture dominion,  that  the  rule  of  the  many 
shall  become  the  dominion  of  a  mob, 
only  mitigated  by  the  stolid  resistance 
of  the  select  minority.  But  if  we  bear 
ourselves  in  wisdom  and  patience,  the 
coming  in  of  the  people's  day  will  not  be 
the  sunset  of  liberty,  but  the  sunrise  of  a 
nobler  social  order  than  has  yet  been 
known  to  mankind.  One  of  the  logical 
results  of  this  condition  of  affairs  is  the 
theme  of  the  present  essay. 

When  I  speak  of  "The  Woman's 
Movement  in  the  Southern  States "  I 
encounter  the  risk  of  a  varied  misap- 
prehension. The  enthusiastic  advocate 
of  "Woman's  Rights"  may  fancy  lam 
about  to  announce  a  grand  rally  to  the 
standard  of  woman  suffrage,  and  all  things 
inscribed  on  that  banner,  among  the 
southern  sisters.  A  "stalwart"  politi- 
cian may  suspect  that  I  am  about  to 
reveal  the  existence  of  a  far-reaching 
conspiracy  among  the  mothers  of  sixteen 
states  to  train  their  offspring  for  another 
war  against  the  Union.  The  summer 
correspondent,  whose  knowledge  of  south- 
ern womanhood  is  confined  to  the  obser- 
vation of  the  crowd  of  handsome  lady 
loungers  on  the  piazzas  of  southern 
watering  places,  may  query  whether  there 
is  any  "  movement "  at  all  in  these  slum- 
brous realms  of  "good  society."  Yet 
others  may  think  I  am  to  tell  the  won- 
drous story  of  a  resurrection  into  superior 
womanhood  among  the  freedmen  and 
"  poor  white  trash."  It  is  concerning 
none  of  these  specially,  though  of  some- 
thing including  them  all  incidentally,  that 
I  write. 

I  am  not  speaking  on  this  delicate 
theme  "  as  one  having  authority,"  although 
I  have  seen  many  things.  A  northern 
man,  Puritan  by   descent,  aristocratic   in 


the  grain,  with  liberal  democratic  and 
cosmopolitan  theories  in  religion  and 
public  affairs,  educated  by  thirty  years  in 
Massachusetts,  New  York,  and  Ohio,  I 
never  had  an  intimate  acquaintance  with 
one  woman  of  southern  birth  until  a  dozen 
years  ago,  and  had  scarcely  travelled  in 
the  South  until  "  called  "  on  the  ministry 
of  education  in  which  I  have  been  en- 
gaged for  the  last  twelve  years.  But  my 
opportunities  during  these  years  for  look- 
ing into  southern  society  as  it  is  being 
shaped  by  the  generation  of  young  peo- 
ple born  since  the  opening  of  the  Civil 
War  have  been,  perhaps,  unusual,  certainly 
very  widely  extended.  That  overlook 
includes  a  perpetual  journeying  through 
all  these  states  during  the  entire  school 
year,  with  constant  public  addresses,  in- 
spection of  southern  schools  of  all  grades, 
entertainment  in  the  homes  of  every 
class,  frequent  preaching  in  the  churches 
of  all  denominations,  with  the  friendly 
personal  confidences  of  great  numbers  of 
representative  men  and  women.  And, 
without  changing  a  single  feature  of  my 
theory  of  American  society  and  with  no 
consciousness  of  having  been  swerved 
from  the  right  line  of  fidelity  to  funda- 
mental American  principles  by  the  friend- 
liness of  these  people,  I  have  come  to  a 
few  conclusions  possibly  novel  to  some 
of  my  readers,  but  welcome  surely  to 
every  one  who  rejoices  in  the  name  of 
American  woman. 

Perhaps  there  was  never  a  more  com- 
plete ignorance  of  the  actual  condition 
of  society  between  two  sections  of  the 
same  country  than  between  our  northern 
and  southern  states  for  a  generation  pre- 
vious to  the  late  war.  Whatever  of  in- 
timate commingling  had  existed  in  the 
earlier  days  of  the  republic  had  almost 
passed  away  in  the  growing  estrangement 
that  came  of  the  continued  exasperation 
of  the  slavery  controversy.  The  northern 
people  who  travelled  South  were  chiefly 
of  the  sort  who  sympathized  with  south- 
ern institutions,  and  saw  only  the  sunny 
side  of  that  land.  Our  white  southern 
visitors  were  entirely  of  the  ruling  class, 
on  errands  of  business,  pleasure,  or  poli- 
tics, commonly  the  guests  or  associates 
of  their  special  northern  friends.  Mutual 
distrust    and  misapprehension  ruled    the 


THE  WOMAN'S  MOVEMENT  IN  THE  SOUTH. 


251 


hour.  Slavery  was  a  picturesque  drop- 
curtain,  which  shut  away  the  real  condi- 
tion of  the  southern  people  from  the 
North  as  completely  as  its  prototype 
before  the  stage. 

Among  these  figures,  the  southern 
woman  of  the  ruling  class  (for  the  North 
saw  no  other)  was  prominent.  The 
ordinary  idea  of  this  type  of  American 
womanhood,  even  among  the  masses  of 
intelligent  people  of  the  North,  was  a 
woman  of  tropical  nature,  with  fascinating 
person  and  manners,  a  despot  in  society, 
often  eccentric  and  imperious  after  the 
style  of  the  "  leading  lady  "  on  the  stage, 
averse  to  labor,  contemptuous  of  self- 
support,  listless  and  tempestuous  by  turns, 
a  tyrant  among  her  slaves,  and  a  fury  in 
sectional  politics,  the  most  influential 
factor  in  the  impending  war.  And  still, 
although  the  past  twenty-five  years  has 
virtually  thrown  open  the  southern  states, 
and  the  entire  region  from  Washington 
to  Texas  swarms  with  winter  tourists,  the 
old  notion  dies  hard.  I  am  asked  a 
dozen  times  a  week,  by  excellent  people, 
in  all  parts  of  the  North,  if  I  do  not  find 
the  southern  women  filled  with  bitterness 
over  the  results  of  the  war,  and  if  the 
southern  girl  of  the  period  is  not  that 
contradictory  nondescript,  at  once  a  list- 
less, shiftless,  superficial  butterfly  of  so- 
ciety, and  an  artful  conspirator  against 
the  peace  of  the  nation.  True,  I  have 
noticed  that  whenever  two  young  women 
of  similar  capacity,  culture,  and  social 
status  are  brought  together,  from  Massa- 
chusetts and  South  Carolina,  a  new 
mutual  admiration  society  is  imminent. 
The  most  enthusiastic  crowd  that  an 
elderly  gentleman  can  pilot  through  the 
glories  of  Back  Bay,  Bunker  Hill,  Faneuil 
Hall,  Concord,  and  the  Harvard  campus 
is  the  flock  of  bright  southern  girls  which 
every  season  brings  on  its  flight  to  our 
northern  summer  schools.  Still,  the  aver- 
age New  England  or  western  community 
obstinately  holds  on  to  the  picture  of  the 
southern  woman  painted  on  the  drop- 
curtain,  and  half  suspects  a  northern  man 
of  being  the  victim  of  a  sentimental  craze, 
who  ventures  to  tell  the  story  of  the  new 
woman's  movement  at  the  South  as  it 
looks  to  unprejudiced  though  friendly 
eyes.      I    do    not    pretend    to    know   all 


about  these  matters  of  which  I  write, — 
and  many  a  southern  woman  might 
honestly  believe  me  wrong  in  my  diag- 
nosis of  southern  social  affairs ;  but  I  do 
know  more  than  the  majority  of  my 
northern  friends. 

It  should  be  said,  in  the  first  place, 
that  the  popular  northern  idea  of  the 
southern  woman  of  the  leading  class, 
before  the  war,  was  largely  evolved  from 
the  realm  of  romance.  That  the  superior 
woman  of  the  South  was  characterized  in 
those  days  by  the  early  development  of 
personal  charms,  a  winning  social  grace 
and  friendliness,  and  an  ambition  for  social 
superiority  in  that  concentrated  her  educa- 
tion on  social  culture,  was  doubtless  true. 
But  the  notion  that  the  leading  class  in 
the  South  was  distinguished  by  superior 
descent  or  eminent  culture  from  a  similar 
class  in  the  old  northern  states  was  un- 
true. The  best  "old  families"  of  both 
sections  came  from  similar  original  Brit- 
ish stock,  —  the  great  intelligent,  pro- 
gressive middle  class  that  has  created  the 
new  republic  and  reconstructed  the  Great 
Britain  of  two  centuries  ago. 

The  opportunities  afforded  by  foreign 
travel  and  education  of  the  ordinary 
American  type  for  girls  half  a  century 
ago,  for  the  growth  of  fine  womanly 
qualities  among  these  classes,  was  very 
evenly  distributed  through  the  states  east 
of  the  Alleghanies.  While  the  southern 
schools  for  girls  were  sufficiently  numer- 
ous and  well-appointed  to  meet  the 
ordinary  demand  for  the  education  of 
the  young  woman  of  the  better  class  — 
the  only  woman  who  was  schooled  at  all 
—  and  many  of  the  more  favored  girls 
were  sent  North  or  to  Europe  for  better 
training ;  yet,  on  the  whole,  the  "  female 
seminaries  "  of  the  old  North,  imperfect 
as  they  may  have  been,  were  the  better 
of  the  two,  and  the  average  of  book- 
learning  and  the  scholarly  habit  more 
marked  among  the  young  women  north 
than  south  of  Washington. 

Yet  the  southern  woman  of  thirty 
years  ago  was  just  what  the  woman  of 
New  England,  Pennsylvania,  or  New 
York  would  have  been,  had  her  grand- 
father removed  to  Georgia  or  Texas,  and 
had  she  been  reared  amid  the  influences  of 
the  southern  country  life  of  that  remote 


252 


THE  WOMAN'S  MOVEMENT  IN  THE  SOUTH. 


era.  The  North  saw  our  southern  sister 
at  the  most  and  least  attractive  angles  of 
her  life,  —  as  the  brilliant  idol  of  society, 
and  as  the  listless  victim  of  an  indolence 
largely  the  result  of  enervating  climate, 
unwholesome  habits  of  living,  and  the 
demoralizing  environment  of  a  servile 
class.  But  the  southern  woman  the 
North  did  not  see  was  of  the  same  essen- 
tial type  it  loves  and  honors  at  home. 
On  a  thousand  lonely  plantations,  often 
in  unwholesome  and  discouraging  sur- 
roundings, born  into  a  state  of  society 
from  which  no  woman  could  escape,  the 
majority  of  the  planters'  wives  and 
daughters  bore  themselves,  in  those  old 
days,  with  the  same  womanly  devotion, 
intelligence,  quiet  energy,  and  daily  self- 
sacrifice  that  everywhere  characterized 
the  superior  American  woman  of  the  past 
generations. 

Indeed,  while  all  the  advantages  of 
slavery  were  monopolized  by  the  negro 
savage,  who  was  changed  by  two  centuries 
of  servitude  into  the  "  American  citizen 
of  African  descent"  we  beheld  in  1865, 
and  while  the  aristocratic  man  of  the 
South  did  seem  to  reap  undeniable  re- 
sults in  the  enjoyment  of  personal,  social, 
and  political  power,  the  heavy  end  of 
that  lot  was  always  lifted  by  the  woman. 
The  Christian  wife  and  mother  could  not 
but  look  with  silent  dismay  down  into  the 
black,  bottomless  gulf  of  temptation  that 
yawned  below  the  cradle  of  every  boy. 
Her  husband's  slaves  were  a  mob  of  half- 
civilized  children,  always  under  her  feet, 
and  her  life  at  home,  with  many  redeem- 
ing attractions,  was  a  daily  service  of  toil, 
anxiety  and  often,  half-hopeless  effort  to 
hold  things  together  and  do  her  full  duty 
as  mistress  of  the  mansion.  The  prevail- 
ing idea  of  womanhood  forbade  her  to 
step  out  upon  a  multitude  of  paths  open 
to  her  sister  of  the  North.  To  teach,  to 
engage  in  any  industrial  calling  of  self- 
support,  except  on  the  compulsion  of  dire 
necessity  or  from  the  impulse  of  genius, 
was  not  for  her.  No  rage  for  religious 
speculation  tumbled  the  placid  waters  of 
her  country  church,  and  the  Protestant 
clergy  had  practically  as  thorough  control 
of  her  education  as  the  Catholic  priest- 
hood assumes  for  the  young  women  of 
their  flocks  to-day. 


That  such  a  life,  with  its  peculiar 
romance  and  excitement,  was  a  powerful 
stimulus  to  deep  thought  and  brooding 
sentiment,  giving  to  the  character  of  the 
southern  woman  that  undertone  of  pathos 
and  intensity  that  still  hangs  about  her  like 
the  sad  and  almost  tragic  refrain  of  her 
whole  life,  we  can  easily  understand. 
That  it  developed  a  type  of  woman  most 
powerful  in  her  hold  upon  the  men  of  her 
own  section,  and,  as  she  comes  to  be 
better  known,  destined  to  be  more  largely 
influential  than  ever  before  in  the  na- 
tional life,  we  cannot  doubt.  The  finest 
fruits  of  aristocratic  society  are  always 
garnered  by  the  best  women.  The 
South,  before  the  war,  was  rich  in  ex- 
cellent women  who,  like  their  sex  every- 
where, committed  body  and  soul  to  their 
own  order  of  social  affairs,  were  the 
most  precious  of  the  manifold  treasures  of 
that  mysterious  land. 

Said  a  northern  soldier's  wife  : 

"  I  lived  a  while,  during  the  war,  in  a  camp  of 
Confederate  prisoners,  as  the  wife  of  the  com- 
mander of  the  post,  whose  duty  it  was  to  open  the 
letters  that  came  to  these  men  from  their  families 
and  friends.  As  I  looked  at  the  photographs  of 
women  that  came  in  these  letters,  I  couldn't 
wonder  that  these  men  were  ready  to  fight  to  the 
death  under  the  powerful  spell  of  those  eloquent 
faces  and  flashing  eyes." 

We  are  hearing  great  things  nowadays, 
and  I  have  seen  in  my  numerous  visita- 
tions, something  of  the  vast  mineral 
treasures  of  the  South,  almost  undis- 
covered before  the  year  i860,  now  prom- 
ising to  surpass  the  richest  deposits  in 
any  land.  But  the  one  mine  from  which 
the  South  will  gather  pearls  beyond  price, 
in  the  upward  lift  to  its  enlarging  destiny 
through  the  years  to  come,  is  the  marvel- 
lous treasure-house  of  its  young  woman- 
hood, —  in  the  days  of  the  mothers  hid- 
den from  the  nation  by  the  drop  curtain 
of  slave  society,  now  opening,  in  the 
deeper  realms  of  life,  moving  to  its  right- 
ful influence  and  its  own  peculiar  place  in 
the  American  sisterhood  to  whom  we 
look  for  the  redemption  of  the  land. 

The  great  broom  of  war  swept  the 
eleven  seceding  states  of  the  South  almost 
clean  of  effective  white  manhood  through 
four  awful  years.  For  the  first  time  in 
the    history    of    these  states,    the    white 


THE  WOMAN'S  MOVEMENT  IN  THE  SOUTH. 


253 


women  of  every  class  were  left  in  virtual 
possession  of  the  home  life.  The  South, 
in  i860,  was  a  vast,  sparsely  populated 
country,  with  but  one  great  city  south  of 
Washington,  the  superior  people  dispersed 
through  the  quiet  plantation  life  of  the 
old  regime.  There,  far  from  the  alarm 
of  invasion,  the  va«t  majority  of  these 
women,  through  four  terrible  years,  car- 
ried in  their  arms  the  entire  home  life  of 
these  states  ;  not  only  bearing  the  burdens 
so  nobly  assumed  by  their  northern  sisters, 
the  management  of  children  and  the 
work  for  the  soldier  in  camp,  field,  and 
hospital,  but,  in  large  measure,  occupied 
by  the  management  of  more  than  four 
million  slaves,  in  a  state  of  wild  sup- 
pressed expectancy  such  as  only  they 
could  comprehend.  How  wonderfully 
well  they  went  through  that  awful  period  ; 
how,  day  by  day,  their  faculty  of  ad- 
ministration grew  apace ;  how  they 
thought  and  pondered  and  wept  and 
prayed  and  suffered  on,  thousands  of  the 
best  of  them  in  the  grip  of  relentless 
poverty, —  all  this  was  veiled  from  us. 
What  we  did  hear  was  the  very  obvious 
fact  that  the  woman,  South,  even,  beyond 
her  sister  in  the  North,  was  a  flame  of 
fire  in  the  cause  she  had  been  educated 
from  her  cradle  to  believe  was  the  cause 
of  God,  and  that  its  overthrow  would  in- 
volve the  destruction  of  all  good  things 
given  to  her  in  this  world. 

And  the  strange  thing,  even  yet  not 
fully  comprehended  by  many  of  our  sis- 
ters of  the  South,  is  that  no  schooling 
less  stringent  than  the  frightful  ordeal  of 
a  destructive  civil  war,  which  virtually 
exhausted  the  life  of  an  entire  generation 
of  women,  could  have  brought  the  woman 
of  the  South  up  to  the  threshold  of  the 
magnificent  opportunity  on  which  her 
foot  is  planted  to-day.  Neither  we  nor 
she  could  have  seen  how,  beyond  the 
smoke  and  dust  of  war,  the  glory  of  the 
Lord  was  on  its  way  for  her  deliverance, 
and  that  the  downfall  of  the  cause  for 
which  she  so  bravely  gave  her  life  was  to 
be  the  signal  for  an  uplift  of  which  she 
had  never  dreamed. 

For  the  one  thing  needed  by  the 
southern  white  woman,  of  every  class,  a 
generation  ago,  was  emancipation  from 
the  spell  cast  over  her  executive  energies 


by  the  very  constitution  of  society  into 
which  she  was  born.  With  an  excess  of 
chivalric  devotion  to  women,  that  to  our 
cooler  northern  temperament  appears 
almost  romantic,  the  southern  man,  in 
the  old  time,  never  fully  understood  that 
the  most  genuine  worship  of  woman  is 
shown  by  the  large  appreciation  of  her 
nature  and  her  place  in  the  modern 
world  and  the  ready  offer  of  the  helping 
hand  in  every  honest  and  womanly  effort 
to  do  her  best  for  her  country  and  man- 
kind. Chivalry,  always  the  same  in  es- 
sentials, flowers  out  in  varied  expression 
from  age  to  age.  The  knight  of  five 
centuries  ago,  in  Europe,  was  a  stalwart 
brother,  clad  in  cumbrous  brass  or 
sheathed  in  shining  steel,  ready  to  break 
his  own  heart  or  crack  his  rival's  head  in 
behalf  of  a  blooming  damsel  who  could 
probably  neither  read  nor  write,  but 
whom  he  adored  as  "  queen  of  love  and 
beauty."  The  American  knight  of  to- 
day is  a  fine  young  fellow  in  citizen's 
dress,  who  gives  his  hand,  with  his  heart 
and  his  pocket-book  in  it,  to  his  little 
sister,  his  pretty  cousin,  or  his  youngish 
maiden  aunt,  saying,  "  Go,  dear,  to  the 
university  and  study  to  your  heart's  con- 
tent, —  and  when  you  come  home  with 
your  diploma  in  your  reticule,  we'll  crown 
you  queen  of  love  and  beauty  and  prin- 
cess of  light."  It  is  beginning  to  be 
understood  among  the  noblest  women  of 
the  South  that  in  no  way  save  by  the 
complete  wreck  of  the  old  order  could 
the  young  woman  of  to-day  be  found, 
like  the  wise  virgin,  with  lamp  trimmed 
and  burning,  awaiting  the  bridegroom, — 
the  woman's  "calling  and  election"  in 
the  "grand  and  awful  time"  which  our 
eyes  behold. 

The  slaveholders  of  the  South,  in 
i860,  did  not  number  the  present  popu- 
lation of  Boston,  and  the  entire  body  of 
people  personally  interested  in  the  insti- 
tution could  hardly  have  amounted  to 
three  of  the  eight  millions  of  the  white 
people  of  the  South.  That  class,  in 
i860,  was  the  most  powerful  aristocracy 
in  Christendom.  It  ruled  the  American 
republic,  plunged  the  nation  into  a  civil 
war,  and  almost  swung  the  two  foremost 
powers  of  Europe  over  to  itself.  In 
1865,  that  body  of  people  was  more  com- 


254 


THE  WOMAN'S  MOVEMENT  IN  THE  SOUTH. 


pletely  overwhelmed  than  any  similar 
class  in  modern  times.  Not  only  was  its 
political  domination  in  national  affairs 
forever  gone,  but  it  was  reduced  to  almost 
absolute  poverty,  without  the  severe  in- 
dustrial executive  training  that  makes 
poverty  the  lightest  of  all  burdens  for  the 
young  man  and  woman  of  the  North. 
Not  one  in  ten  of  these  old  respectable 
families  has  emerged  from  this  financial 
wreck,  or  will  ever  stand  again  on  its  feet 
in  the  old  way.  Of  course,  the  woman 
bore  the  cross  in  this  complete  prostra- 
tion of  loftiest  hopes.  In  1865,  many 
thousands  of  the  women  of  the  leading 
class  of  the  South  were  left  with  a  less 
hopeful  outlook  for  the  life  of  comfort 
and  household  ease  so  dear  to  every 
woman  than  multitudes  of  the  servant 
girls  that  swarm  the  pavements  of  our 
northern  towns  on  the  evening  of  a 
summer  day. 

But  to  another  class  of  southern  wo- 
men this  experience  came  in  another 
way.  Far  more  numerous  than  the 
throng  of  suffering  women  of  the  better 
sort  was  the  great  crowd  of  the  wives 
and  daughters  of  the  non-slave-holding 
white  man.  Under  this  class,  minus  the 
fringe  of  "poor  white  trash,"  the  tramps 
of  the  South  in  all  but  their  lazy  deter- 
mination not  to  tramp,  must  be  included 
a  variety  of  people,  from  the  reckless 
woodsman  in  the  pine  forests  of  the 
Atlantic  and  Gulf  Coast,  through  the 
vigorous  farmers  of  the  Piedmont  realm, 
over  among  the  two  million  dwellers  in 
the  interminable  mountain  region,  as 
large  as  Central  Europe,  that  extends 
from  Harper's  Ferry  almost  to  within 
sight  of  the  lovely  capital  of  Alabama. 

Of  the  white  women  of  these  various 
classes  we  at  the  North  knew  nothing  — 
and  know  very  little  to-day.  That  many 
of  them  were  ignorant,  often  vulgar  and 
weak  in  their  womanhood,  living  in 
strange  discomfort,  we  have  been  told, 
with  variations,  by  the  omniscient  metro- 
politan reporter,  by  the  omnipresent 
drummer  and,  later,  by  the  novelists  of 
the  South,  who  have  penetrated  to  their 
homes.  But  the  other  side  of  the  story 
has  not  been  told.  These  people  are 
almost  wholly  of  the  original  British 
stock  that  peopled  the  New  England  and 


the  Middle  States,  radically  kind  and  con- 
fiding, their  vices  and  follies  rather  the 
faults  of  neglected  children  than  of  the 
depraved  class  that  is  the  terror  of  our 
great  American  towns.  Hence  we  need 
not  be  surprised  to  learn  that  to  this 
class  the  war  brought  a  great  era  of 
emancipation  and  found  in  it  a  people 
ready  to  step  out  into  the  light  before 
the  country. 

The  first  result  of  peace  was  to  bring 
multitudes  of  the  men  of  this  class  for- 
ward as  buyers  and  owners  of  better 
lands  than  they  could  obtain  under  the 
old  order  of  affairs.  All  over  the  South, 
especially  on  the  beautiful  slopes  and  in  the 
vast  mountain  regions,  we  see  the  rising 
homes  of  these  new  folk.  We  meet  their 
boys  in  all  the  growing  villages.  They 
swarm  in  Texas.  The  city  of  Atlanta, 
has  almost  been  created  by  them,  with 
Senator  Joe  Brown  as  their  "  best  man." 
In  the  schools  for  girls,  these  shy,  awk- 
ward, shut-up  maidens  are  carrying  off 
the  prizes  and  going  forth  as  teachers. 
They  are  the  "factory  girls"  in  the  new 
cotton  mills,  and  are  ready  to  work,  as 
they  are  taught,  in  the  various  ways  by 
which  thousands  of  American  women  are 
earning  honest  money.  If  I  were  twenty 
years  younger,  I  would  go  in,  as  a  mis- 
sionary of  the  education  of  the  head,  the 
heart,  and  the  hand,  at  Harper's  Ferry, 
and  only  come  out  for  supplies,  till  not 
only  was  my  hair  gray,  but  my  head  bald, 
and  I  ready  to  embark  on  the  long 
journey  to  the  Beyond.  One  of  the 
noblest  of  the  good  women  teachers  of 
North  Carolina,  who  established  a  school 
for  girls  in  the  chief  town  in  that  won- 
derful upland  world  of  the  old  North 
State,  writes  : 

"  The  prospects  for  my  boarding-school  for  the 
more  favored  young  ladies  of  the  vicinity  are 
excellent.  But  oh,  for  money,  money,  money,  to 
educate  the  poor,  dear  ignorant  girls  of  this  glo- 
rious mountain  land  !  " 

What  can  be  done  with  the  children, 
even  of  the  lowest  class  of  this  sort,  the 
"trash"  of  the  coast  country,  may  be 
known  by  sitting  on  the  platform  of  Amy 
Bradley's  Tileston  school,  in  Wilmington, 
North  Carolina,  and  lookirfg  into  the 
faces  of  four  hundred  of  them, — as  fair 
to  look  upon  as  our  own  little  New  En^ 


THE  WOMAN'S  MOVEMENT  IN  THE  SOUTH. 


255 


land  boys  and  girls.  Our  North  is  rich 
in  the  honors  of  philanthropy ;  but  no 
work  done  for  the  uplift  of  the  children 
will  shine  with  a  brighter  record  than  the 
twenty-five  years'  service  of  Amy  Brad- 
ley, a  Boston  schoolmistress,  in  the 
draining  of  the  Wilmington  "  Dry  Pond," 
through  the  steady  financial  backing  of 
Mrs.  Mary  Hemenway,  who,  not  content 
with  her  gift  of  $125,000  for  the  educa- 
tion of  the  poor  of  that  locality,  and  her 
munificence  to  the  colored  folk  at  Hamp- 
ton Institute,  has  now  built  on  even 
broader  foundations,  in  her  school  of  ele- 
mentary learning  and  industrial  arts  in  a 
suburb  of  Norfolk. 

And  what  of  the  negro  women  —  the 
three  millions  of  them  between  the  Poto- 
mac and  the  Rio  Grande?  What  has 
emancipation  and  a  generation  of  freedom 
done  for  them?  For  the  vicious,  weak, 
and  foolish,  what  liberty  always  does  at 
first  for  an  enslaved  race  —  barring  the 
ferocity  that  always  flares  out  from  a 
similar  emancipated  class  in  the  lower 
regions  of  European  life.  Let  us  not  for- 
get that  our  Freedman  is  the  latest  comer 
who  knocks  at  the  door  of  the  world's 
new  civilization.  The  colored  ancestry 
of  the  most  civilized  of  these  people  dates 
back  less  than  three  hundred  years ; 
while  probably  a  third  of  them  would 
find  their  grandfathers  of  a  century  ago 
in  the  jungles  of  the  Dark  Continent. 
Among  these  women  are  as  many  grades 
of  native  intellectual,  moral,  and  execu- 
tive force,  to  say  nothing  of  acquirements, 
as  among  the  white  people.  The  planta- 
tions of  the  Gulf,  the  Atlantic  Coast,  and 
the  Mississippi  bottoms  swarm  with  negro 
women  who  seem  hardly  lifted  above  the 
brutes.  And  I  know  a  group  of  young 
colored  women,  many  of  them  accom- 
plished teachers,  in  Washington,  D.  C, 
who  bear  themselves  as  gently  and  with 
as  varied  womanly  charms  as  any  score 
of  ladies  in  the  land. 

The  one  abyss  of  perdition  to  this  class 
is  the  slough  of  unchastity  in  which,  as  a 
race,  they  still  flounder,  half-conscious 
that  it  is  a  slough,  —  the  double  inheri- 
tance of  savage  Africa  and  that  one  hate- 
ful thing  in  slavery  for  which  even  good 
old  Nehemiah  Adams  could  find  no  ex- 
cuse.    But  here   things  are  mending,  — 


a  good  deal  faster  than  the  average  south- 
ern man  will  allow,  though  all  too  slow  to 
justify  the  fond  enthusiasm  of  those  else- 
where who  only  know  the  negro  as  the 
romantic  figure  in  the  great  war,  and  the 
petted  child  of  the  Christian  church  in 
the  North  and  foreign  lands.  I  have 
looked  upon  many  thousands  of  these 
girls,  in  the  schools  established  by  the 
splendid  philanthropy  of  the  North  and 
in  the  local  public  schools  of  the  southern 
country ;  and  I  am  sure  that  in  the  midst 
of  this  wild,  weltering  sea  of  unstable 
womanhood  is  slowly  forming  a  continent 
of  pure,  honest,  Christian  young  women, 
who  have  before  them  a  nobler  mission 
field  than  the  women  of  any  civilized 
land,  in  the  redemption  and  training  to 
personal  morality  of  their  sisters  of  the 
South. 

For  here  is  the  fulcrum  over  which 
any  lever  that  would  lift  the  younger 
colored  people  must  pry.  No  read- 
juster  politician,  preaching  a  gospel  of 
repudiation  ;  no  clamor  for  the  right  to  eat 
and  sleep  and  ride  and  study  in  the 
same  place  as  the  white  man ;  no  craze 
for  the  higher  education,  or  any  device 
of  mental  or  industrial  culture  that  leaves 
out  of  account  the  foundations  of  a  solid 
and  righteous  life  ;  no  ecstasy  of  senti- 
mental or  passional  religion  that  floats 
away  soul  and  sense  in  a  deluge  of  muddy 
emotion ;  nothing  but  the  severe  training 
of  more  than  one  generation  of  these 
colored  girls  in  the  central  virtue  of 
womanhood  can  assure  the  success  of 
this  entire  region  of  American  citizen- 
ship. Until  the  colored  woman  has  her 
feet  securely  planted  on  that  rock,  all 
that  any  or  everybody  can  do  for  her 
race  is  like  treasure  flung  into  an  abyss. 
As  she  gains  on  that  path,  all  good  things 
will  come  to  her  and  hers.  The  radical 
disability  of  the  negro  to-day  is  the  fatal 
disability  of  a  feeble  morality.  In  all 
else,  though  not  an  imitation  white  man, 
notably  no  revised  edition  of  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  white  man,  he  has  a  wealth  of 
nature  and  a  speciality  of  gifts  that  will 
bring  him  out  one  of  the  most  useful 
and,  by  all  odds,  the  most  picturesque  of 
the  characters  in  our  manifold  American 
life. 

And  now,  how  are  these  women  of  the 


256 


THE  WOMAN'S  MOVEMENT  IN  THE  SOUTH. 


South,  the  various  grades  and  classes  of 
them,  bearing  themselves  at  the  opening 
of  the  great  day  of  woman's  destiny 
through  these  states  of  the  Southland? 
For  we  need  not  fancy  that  the  southern 
woman,  of  any  class,  is  going  back  to  the 
place  where  we  saw  her  a  generation  ago. 
The  old  places  have  passed  away.  She 
cannot  be  the  same  Lady  Bountiful  on 
the  plantation ;  she  cannot  queen  it,  as 
of  old,  in  Washington,  or  be  the  same 
kind  of  southern  portent  abroad,  the  same 
"  low-down  ' '  white  woman  of  the  moun- 
tains, the  same  slave  mother,  even  the 
same  reckless  companion  of  the  white 
man's  folly,  as  in  the  days  gone  by. 
There  are  plenty  of  women  in  all  these 
states  who  do  not  know  this ;  who  will 
still  pine  for  what  is  forever  gone,  or 
wreck  themselves  in  frantic  struggles 
after  what  can  never  be  to  them  what  it 
was  to  their  mothers,  even  if  obtained. 
But  in  any  thoughtful  estimate  of  woman- 
kind we  must  leave  out  the  conventional 
sisterhood,  foolish  or  respectable,  that 
never  looks  beyond  the  hour  and  drifts, 
like  one  of  the  great  flowery  grass-islands 
of  the  shallow  bayou.  When  we  write  of 
the  southern  woman's  movement,  we 
mean  the  movement  of  all  women  in  the 
South  who  "  having  eyes,  see,  and  having 
ears,  hear,"  and  having  souls  welcome  the 
call  of  God  and  go  forth,  ofttimes  under 
a  cloud  of  local  prejudice,  but  more  and 
more  coming  to  be  known  as  the  leaders 
of  the  higher  society  in  every  state. 
How  are  these  young  women  meeting  the 
call  ?  What  is  of  far  more  importance  to 
some  of  us,  what  can  the  women  of  the 
North  do  to  help  them  in  these  toilsome 
early  years? 

The  South  of  to-day  is  still  an  all-out- 
doors country,  as  large  as  Europe  out- 
side of  Russia,  its  eastern  slope  and 
southwestern  empire  in  some  ways  con- 
trasting like  our  own  East  and  West ; 
yet  its  oldest  states,  like  Virginia  and  the 
Carolinas,  in  many  important  respects  a 
border-land,  to  be  waked  up  and  thor- 
oughly populated,  in  the  same  manner  as 
our  new  Northwest.  In  all  these  states, 
leaving  out  half-a-dozen  border  cities, 
there  is  but  one  town  of  metropolitan 
dimensions  and  character,  —  New  Or- 
leans ;  a  dozen  others,  some   of  historic 


importance,  others  of  recent  growth,  of 
fifty  thousand  and  upwards,  and  a  larger 
number  of  between  five  thousand  and 
twenty  thousand ;  in  all,  not  so  many 
people  gathered  in  proper  city  life,  in  the 
thirteen  states  below  the  border,  as  in 
New  England.  The  vast  majority  of  the 
superior  families  of  the  South  still  abide 
in  a  quiet  country  or  village  life  which, 
in  all  save  cheapness  of  living,  is  below 
that  of  the  corresponding  region  in  any 
northern  state  in  the  opportunities  for 
personal  culture  and  diversified  industry, 
so  valued  by  our  American  young  women 
of  ability  and  spirit. 

Through  these  vast  areas,  in  all  these 
states,  common  schools  have  been  estab- 
lished, chiefly  since  1870,  better  than 
ever  were  thought  of  before,  but  in  most 
places  outside  the  larger  towns,  lament- 
ably ineffectual  to  meet  the  needs  of  the 
people.  School  districts  five  miles  square, 
—  such  muddy  miles  in  winter,  such 
blazing  miles  in  summer ;  log  or  indif- 
ferent frame  schoolhouses,  with  all  sorts 
of  substitutes  ;  teachers,  paid  twenty  dol- 
lars, thirty  dollars,  possibly  forty  dollars  a 
month,  and  "  find  themselves  "  for  a  term 
of  three  to  four  months  in  the  year  in  the 
Gulf  region,  from  four  to  five  elsewhere ; 
the  absolute  separation  of  the  races  in  all 
schools  controlled  by  the  southern  peo- 
ple ;  —  these  drawbacks  to  education  in 
the  country  bear  heavily  on  the  white 
girl. 

The  agricultural  life  of  all  these  states 
is  improving ;  but  a  plantation  in  central 
Georgia  or  a  stock-farm  in  southeastern 
Texas  is  about  the  slowest  coach  in  which 
an  ambitious  American  woman  can  be 
"booked"  for  her  life  journey.  The 
bright  young  men  are  flying  from  this 
life  in  crowds.  They  cannot  be  expected 
to  stand  by  the  "  old  folks  at  home  "  and 
fight  out  the  battle  of  their  changing 
system  of  labor,  when  every  growing 
county  town,  little  city,  and,  especially, 
the  rising  empire  beyond  the  Mississippi 
are  beckoning  them  to  the  rewards  of 
active  enterprise.  One  of  the  chief 
hindrances  to  the  rapid  change  of  south- 
ern country  life  is  this  drifting  away  of 
the  young  men,  who  would  naturally 
become  the  leaders  in  all  progressive 
things,  leaving  on  the  ground  so  many  of 


THE  WOMAN'S  MOVEMENT  IN  THE  SOUTH. 


257 


the  unenterprising,  vicious,  idle  youth, 
who  have  only  vigor  enough  to  stand  up 
to  the  home  crib  and  eat  their  fill.  So, 
more  and  more,  with  notable  exceptions 
in  every  state,  the  country,  which  was  the 
stronghold  of  the  old  southern  society,  is 
left  to  the  negroes,  the  poorer  white  men 
who  come  in  and  buy  or  rent  the  farms, 
and  the  women  of  the  old  families,  who 
must  stay  where  there  is  a  house  to  cover 
and  a  granary  to  feed  the  home  flock. 
Into  such  a  life  as  this,  bereaved  of  so 
many  influences,  outside  the  home  en- 
joyed by  the  young  women  A  other  por- 
tions of  the  country,  myriads  of  southern 
girls  are  born ;  and  there  they  must  stay, 
unless  they  develop  an  energy  of  which 
the  most  enterprising  girl  is  not  always 
capable,  to  push  out,  get  a  fair  education 
from  a  neighboring  academy,  contriving 
meanwhile  to  get  money  enough  to  meet 
reasonable  demands  for  dress,  and  the 
little  outings  that  vary  the  monotony  of 
the  home.  There  are  few  of  the  avenues 
for  industrial  success  open  which  invite 
the  northern  woman  who  would  care  for 
herself.  Such  occupations  imply  a  con- 
centrated population,  with  money  to  spend 
and  a  growing  taste  for  expensive  living. 
To  a  limited  extent  a  portion  of  these 
girls  are  occupied  in  the  old  style  "  fancy 
work,"  which  is  sold  in  the  cities.  Some 
of  them  go  to  the  towns  and  find  occupa- 
tion in  the  ordinary  wants  of  a  village  of 
a  thousand  to  five  thousand  people,  where 
every  avenue  of  domestic  labor  and  the 
rougher  outdoor  labor  is  occupied  by 
colored  women,  the  abler  of  whom  are 
making  their  way  into  occupations  that 
are  monopolized  by  respectable  white 
women  through  the  North. 

At  present,  the  one  broad  avenue  out 
of  this  quiet  country  life  is  school-teach- 
ing. Here  the  young  women  of  the 
better  class  are  rapidly  •  coming  into 
almost  complete  possession.  The  young 
men  fit  for  this  work  are  largely  seeking 
other  and  more  lucrative  employments. 
The  average  boy  of  twelve,  even  in  the 
cities,  leaves  school,  at  least  to  begin  to 
play  "little  man,"  and  keep  the  wolf 
from  the  door.  The  daughters  of  the 
humbler  white  families,  with  increasing 
exceptions,  are  unfit  for  this  work,  save 
in  remote  localities  and  ignorant  districts. 


So  these  young  women  of  the  old  planta- 
tion families,  a  generation  of  whom  have 
come  up  since  i860,  are  now,  under  the 
supervision,  often  merely  nominal,  of  a 
limited  number  of  "  superintendents," 
teaching  the  new  public  schools  of  the 
South.  In  places  where  the  colored 
youth  are  not  up  to  the  work,  they  are 
in  the  negro  schools,  in  Baltimore  and 
Charleston  largely  in  the  ascendant. 

It  would  awaken  the  most  indifferent 
to  a  lively  sympathy,  to  see  how  thousands 
of  these  young  women  are  toiling  for  the 
moderate  education  that  will  fit  them  for 
this  work,  as  well  as  to  obtain  the  or- 
dinary culture  of  a  woman  in  good  so- 
ciety. The  most  enterprising  girl 
of  a  numerous  household  will,  in  some 
way,  get  together  the  one  or  two  hundred 
dollars  for  which  a  year's  schooling  can 
be  had  in  one  of  the  academies  that 
dot  the  country  at  intervals  all  over  the 
South,  and  were  the  only  schools  of  the 
mothers.  Many  of  them  were  overthrown, 
but  have  been  largely  re-established, 
mostly  without  endowments,  often  with 
good  teachers,  working  on  meagre  wages, 
the  authorities  turning  every  way  to 
handle  the  crowd  of  eager  applicants  who 
often,  not  able  to  face  the  moderate  ex- 
pense, are  willing  to  pledge  their  future 
for  any  assistance.  In  one  of  these 
schools  this  good  girl,  probably  over- 
worked, often  does  a  remarkable  amount 
of  solid  study  in  a  short  time,  leaving 
when  the  funds  give  out.  Their  wisest 
teachers  speak  of  the  constitutional  sensi- 
tiveness of  great  numbers  of  these  young 
women,  the  inheritance  of  a  generation 
born  in  a  revolutionary  period,  as  a 
serious  drawback  to  the  intense  and  pro- 
longed effort  they  attempt  to  make. 
This  girl  goes  home  to  take  the  neighbor- 
hood school,  or  finds  a  better  place  else- 
where, and  uses  her  little  earnings  to  pay 
her  debt  or  pull  up  her  sisters  below,  the 
whole  family  being  harnessed  to  her,  till 
the  load  is  drawn,  the  harness  breaks,  or 
the  brave  daughter  marries  and  is  relieved 
by  the  next  in  turn. 

Under  this  pressure,  in  country  and 
city,  very  early  marriages,  into  which  the 
element  of  support  largely  enters,  are 
inevitable.  However  social  philosophers 
may  deplore  what  they  are  pleased  to  call 


258 


THE  WOMAN'S  MOVEMENT  IN  THE  SOUTH. 


the  American  decline  of  marriage,  and 
however  hateful  may  be  the  social  rot  of 
easy  divorce,  we  are  inclined  to  think 
that  the  evil  resulting  from  these  very 
early  marriages  of  immature,  half-edu- 
cated girls  —  with  the  fearful  break-down 
of  health  and  happiness,  including  its 
reflex  action  on  the  masculine  South  —  is 
a  yet  more  serious  social  portent  than 
frequent  divorce,  which  all  thoughtful 
Christian  people  deplore.  Be  that  as  it 
may,  when  the  Southern  people  are  for 
the  first  time  getting  upon  the  ground  a 
system  of  education  for  the  masses,  it  is 
little  short  of  a  providential  interposition 
that  so  large  a  proportion  of  the  choice 
young  women  of  sixteen  states  are  thus 
brought  into  the  profession  of  instruction. 
To  realize  this  fact  we  must  imagine  the 
entire  wealthy  and  cultivated  class  in  a 
northern  state  suddenly  reduced  to  almost 
absolute  poverty  and  the  foremost  young 
women  of  these  families  driven  for  a 
livelihood  to  teach  in  country  district, 
village,  and  city  schools,  with  the  ladies 
of  rich,  well-known  families,  employed 
in  the  seminaries  of  secondary  instruc- 
tion. It  brings  the  finest  culture  and 
the  consecrated  young  womanhood  of 
the  South  into  direct  contact  with  the 
masses  of  children,  —  a  beautiful  "  ob- 
ject lesson "  in  the  divine  way  of 
lifting  up  the  lowly  and  binding  "  all  sorts 
and  conditions  "  together  by  an  enduring 
social  bond. 

Fifteen  years  ago,  these  schools  were 
largely  taught  by  elderly  men  and  women 
who  had  lost  their  all,  and  were  qualified 
only  as  the  ordinary  woman  or  man  of  a 
superior  class  may  be  for  this  difficult 
work.  But  now  the  younger  women  are 
coming  in  ;  and  by  their  prodigious  efforts 
to  attain  academical  education,  their  at- 
tendance in  multitudes  on  the  summer 
institutes  now  held  in  all  the  states,  in 
exceptional  cases  by  visitation  to  the 
North  at  vacation  schools,  they  are  rap- 
idly preparing  themselves  for  this  good 
work.  A  more  attractive,  inquisitive, 
"plucky"  crowd  of  young  women  is  not 
to  be  found  in  this  or  any  country.  They 
are  doing  more  valuable  work  for  the 
children,  under  greater  hindrances,  for 
smaller  pay,  than  any  class  of  women 
anywhere. 


Outside  of  this,  there  is  coming  up  in 
all  the  prosperous  southern  cities  a  mod- 
erate interest  in  opening  new  industrial 
avenues  for  white  women.  In  every 
one  of  them  there  is  the  nucleus  of  an 
association,  and  in  most  of  them  an  ac- 
tive society  of  ladies  for  the  encourage- 
ment of  home  work,  which  will  possibly 
grow  into  a  school  for  artisans.  Few  of 
these  movements  have  reached  an  in- 
fluential stage  of  development,  and  the 
girls  wishing  to  fit  themselves  as  teachers 
in  such  ways  must  still  rely  to  a  large 
extent  upon  instruction  from  without. 

Just  below  this  class  is  coming  up,  in 
some  portions  of  the  South,  a  crowd  of 
the  daughters  of  the  poorer  white  people 
of  the  hill  and  coast  country,  to  co- 
operate in  this  educational  work.  Some 
of  the  girls'  seminaries  that  I  have  visited 
are  largely  filled  with  this  class  of  stu- 
dents. With  all  sorts  of  drawbacks, 
often  with  lack  of  health  and  home  cul- 
ture in  manners,  and  with  no  previous 
habits  of  application,  they  yet  show  no 
fatal  lack  of  ability.  Indeed,  many  of 
the  finest  pupils  in  all  these  schools  are 
from  such  homes.  One  young  woman, 
to  whom  it  was  my  office  to  present  a 
prize  for  superior  scholarship  in  English 
literature,  at  the  end  of  two  years' 
schooling  had  written  a  critical  essay  on 
one  of  Shakespere's  plays  which  brought 
another  testimonial,  from  the  Shake- 
spere  Society  of  London.  Yet  this  fine 
student  was  preparing  to  go  back  to  her 
mountain  home,  to  teach  on  the  poor 
wages  of  the  village  school,  to  repay  her 
brother  the  loan  for  her  own  education, 
his  only  opportunity  for  a  two  years' 
outing.  My  life  for  a  dozen  years  past 
has  been  lived  among  such  experiences 
as  this,  and  I  have  come  to  realize,  al- 
most with  a  flaring  up  of  fiery  indigna- 
tion, the  supreme  folly  and  intolerable 
selfishness  of  the  awful  luxury  and  waste- 
ful expensiveness  that  confronts  me  on 
coming  homeward  to  the  great  centres 
of  social  recreation,  after  three-fourths 
of  every  year  passed  amid  such  longing 
for  the  bread  and  water  of  life.  The 
women  of  our  country  have  it  in  their 
power  to  educate  every  good  girl  thus 
struggling  for  the  knowledge  which  must 
be  the  outfit  for  self-supporting  woman- 


THE  WOMAN'S  MOVEMENT  IN  THE  SOUTH. 


25& 


hood,  by  giving  the  margin  that,  be- 
yond all  reasonable  claim  for  comfor- 
table and  even  elegant  living,  now  goes 
over  into  the  social  abyss. 

The  great  want  of  the  better  sort  of 
colored  young  woman  for  the  elementary 
schooling  and  industrial  training  which 
will  make  her  an  effective  teacher,  a 
worker  in  the  church,  a  leader  in  the 
society  of  her  people,  and  a  Christian 
wife  and  mother,  is  being  supplied  by  a 
group  of  admirable  schools,  largely  sup- 
ported by  northern  funds,  though  partly 
by  tuition  fees  paid  in  money  or  in  labor. 
Money  judiciously  given  for  student  aid 
to  these  schools  goes  to  a  good  place. 
A  great  work  could  be  done  in  southern 
cities  by  establishing  an  annex  to  the 
public  schools  for  the  training  of  large 
numbers  of  colored  girls  in  home  indus- 
tries, skilled  housekeeping  and  the  many 
ways  of  getting  a  living  now  opening  to 
them.  In  every  community  there  are 
bright  graduates  from  the  schools,  from 
worthy  families,  who,  leaving  their  studies 
at  twelve  or  fourteen,  have  nothing  to  do 
but  hover  about  a  crowded  country  home, 
swarm  the  town  pavements,  and  fall  away 
under  such  temptations  as  beset  all  who 
live  in  this  style.  If  these  girls  could  be 
offered  a  thorough  training  of  a  year  in 
a  good  school  of  housekeeping,  or  the 
many  trades  and  industries  by  which  a 
young  woman  can  live,  the  present  fear- 
ful condition  of  southern  household  ser- 
vice would  be  reformed,  these  children 
saved  from  abject  poverty,  shiftlessness, 
and  impurity,  and  a  great  many  would 
all  the  time  be  marching  out  of  the 
slough  of  despond  toward  the  uplands 
of  a  wholesome  social  life.  A  plant  of  a 
few  thousand  dollars  in  any  southern 
city  would  purchase  and  furnish  a  suita- 
ble .  house  among  these  people,  where  a 
good  white  or  colored  woman  could  live, 
making  it  a  model  home,  receive  her 
classes,  train  her  pupils  in  practical  home- 
making  and,  as  opportunity  offered,  in- 
troduce new  departments,  till  it  became 
a  centre  of  the  better  life  to  the  whole 
aspiring  class  in  the  town.  If  a  north- 
ern woman  with  tact  and  common  sense, 
she  could  interest  the  best  of  the  Chris- 
tian workers  of  the  town  in  her  enter- 
prise, and   there   might  be   awakened   a 


new  understanding  and  sympathy  between 
the  good  working  women  of  both  sec- 
tions. Thanks  to  a  few  noble  women 
and  the  wise  administration  of  the  public 
school  system  of  Washington,  D.  C,  this, 
feature  of  the  education  of  these  people 
is  now  being  rapidly  developed  there  — 
though  still  far  from  sufficient  to  meet 
the  dire  necessity.  We  must  do  a  prodi- 
gious amount  of  such  work  during  the  next 
twenty  years,  or  by  and  by  we  shall  have 
a  black  slough  at  the  bottom  of  American 
-society  whose  malaria  will  taint  every 
palace  and  make  republican  government 
a  chronic  conflict.  It  would  be  best  that 
some  of  these  industrial  homes  should 
not  be  under  the  control  of  churches  or 
connected  with  private  or  public  schools, 
but  be  independent  centres  of  good  liv- 
ing, attracting  by  their  own  merits. 
These  homes  should  at  once  be  estab- 
lished, on  a  large  scale,  in  every  consid- 
erable southern  city.  Each  of  these 
towns  is  now  educating  a  large  number 
of  bright  young  colored  girls,  who  are 
all  the  time  exposed  to  the  demoralizing 
influence  of  the  multitude  of  idle  and 
vicious  negroes,  the  pest  of  southern 
society.  The  time  is  at  hand  when  only 
a  thorough  system  of  vagrant  laws,  with 
truant  schools,  possibly  compulsory  in- 
dustrial schooling,  will  save  the  cities  and 
villages  of  all  these  states  from  the  un- 
endurable nuisance  of  becoming  a  para- 
dise for  all  the  drift  of  every  color  and 
condition  in  the  South. 

Anybody  can  run  out  these  lines  of 
thought,  and  conjecture  the  result  of  this 
sympathetic  movement  of  the  Christian 
women  of  the  country  toward  the  thou- 
sands of  young  white  women  in  the  South, 
who  need  all  that  can  be  offered  —  all  the 
more  because  they  are  not  asking  for 
themselves.  And  it  does  not  require  the 
imagination  of  a  Zola  to  portray  the  re- 
sult of  letting  the  daughters  of  these 
millions  of  emancipated  slaves  come  up 
ignorant,  vulgar,  lazy,  the  great  Amer- 
ican sewer  under  the  back  windows  of 
every  respectable  home. 

All  that  any  wise  and  loving  woman 
hopes  for  her  sex  in  the  new  republic  is 
hoped  and  prayed  for  by  thousands  of 
young  women  in  the  South.  For  good 
or    evil,    the    woman    of   the   South    has 


260 


THE  WOMAN'S  MOVEMENT  IN  THE  SOUTH, 


made  an  irretrievable  forward  movement 
in  the  past  thirty  years.  She  must  be  the 
most  influential  factor  in  the  upper  realm 
of  the  new  southern  life.  The  home,  the 
school,  the  church,  the  lighter  industries, 
literature,  art,  and  society  will  be  her 
preserve.  What  she  makes  the  new 
South,  our  children  will  find  it,  a  genera- 
tion hence.  Shall  they  find  it  another 
hostile  land,  threatening  new  revolutions, 
or  shall  it  be  to  them  a  land  of  welcome 
and  of  patriotic  union  with  all  that  is  best 
and  most  precious  at  home  ? 

But  why,  somebody  may  ask,  talk  to  us 
of  these  things?  Cannot  the  women  of 
Texas  and  Louisiana  and  Alabama  take 
care  of  themselves,  bring  up  their  own 
families,  educate  their  sons  and  daughters, 
live  in  their  own  way  without  our  help  ? 
Have  we  not  enough  to  do  here  in  New 
England,  New  York,  in  the  West,  and 
beyond  the  mountains,  to  keep  the  north- 
ern end  of  the  Union  from  going  to  the 
bad,  that  we  must  be  burdened  with  this 
record  of  the  trials,  temptations,  and 
needs  of  our  sisters  in  the  South  ?  I  have, 
more  than  once  met  just  this  word,  as  I 
have  urged  these  claims  of  the  South 
upon  us.  It  has  the  twang  of  the  query 
of  the  oldest  bad  boy  of  Mother  Eve  : 
"  Am  I  my  brother's  keeper "  ?  After 
that,  we  seem  to  hear,  chanting  down 
through  the  centuries,  the  other  song : 
u  Whosoever  giveth  a  cup  of  cold  water 
to  one  of  these  little  ones,  in  my  name, 
shall  in  nowise  lose  his  reward." 

But  we  write  to  the  young  women  of 
our  country,  born  in  this  glorious  morning 
hour  of  the  new  republic,  who  must  press 
onward  if  that  republic  is  to  be  saved  for 
the  noblest  civilization  possible  to  this 
new  age.  To  these  young  women  of  the 
North,  we  say  :  These  young  women  of 
the  South,  your  sisters  and  mine,  are  now 
doing  so  much  to  help  themselves,  are 
working  and  reaching  upward  so  bravely 
after  the  best,  that  it  should  bring  a  blush 
of  shame  to  the  brow  of  any  woman  o-r 
man  to  speak  those  careless  or  cruel 
words  that  so  easily  fall  from  thoughtless 
or  heated  lips.  Leave  to  the  machine 
politician,  to  the  narrow  sectarian  church- 
man, to  whoever  has  neither  interest  nor 
ambition  above  the  miserable  petting  of 
self,  the  poor  amusement  of  bluffing  sweet 


charity  and  heavenly  justice  with  argu- 
ments like  these.  Leave  to  the  soulless 
satellite  of  fashion,  to  the  stolid  herd 
mired  in  gross  comfort  and  smothered  in 
stupid  content  in  handsome  environment, 
the  conviction  that  the  chief  end  of  the 
woman  of  the  upper  class  in  America  is 
to  build  a  little  social  paradise,  fence  it  in 
with  a  high  hedge,  and  put  a  snapping 
terrier  at  the  gate  —  leave  it  to  such  to 
go  their  way  with  this  poor  apology  for 
not  hearing  a  divine  call.  But  let  the 
young  sisterhood  that  lives  for  what  is  the 
highest  and  wisest  and  holiest,  make 
haste  over  the  borderland,  bearing  gifts 
of  love  and  hope  and  good  cheer  to  the 
thousands  who  are  only  awaiting  their 
coming  to  run  forward  with  welcome  in 
their  outspread  hands,  and  thanksgiving 
in  their  overflowing  hearts  that,  after  a 
forty  years'  wandering  of  the  fathers  and 
mothers  through  a  wilderness  of  blind 
contention  closed  by  desolating  war,  we, 
their  sons  and  daughters,  find  ourselves, 
at  last,  on  the  other  side  of  Jordan,  to 
abide  together  in  the  promised  land. 
Believe  nobody  who  declares  that  the 
young  women  of  the  South  are  haters  of 
their  country ;  enemies  of  the  North, 
proud  and  disdainful  of  the  sympathy  of 
good  American  people  anywhere.  There 
is  nothing  between  the  young  women  of 
the  North  and  South  save  their  ignorance 
of  each  other,  and  the  difficulty  of  getting 
hold  of  each  others'  hands.  If  a  thou- 
sand of  the  better  sort  of  girls  from  Vir- 
ginia, Mississippi,  and  Texas  could  live 
for  three  summer  months  with  a  thousand 
of  a  similar  class  from  Massachusetts, 
Ohio,  and  California,  there  would  be  a 
thousand  new  friendships  and  a  rush  of 
letters,  North  and  South,  which  would 
wake  up  the  drowsiest  postmaster  at  the 
cross-roads,  and  bring  two  thousand  fine 
fellows  to  the  "  anxious  seat,"  with  in- 
quiring minds  concerning  their  sister's 
new  dearest  friends.  There  is  no  duty 
or  privilege  more  imperative  or  inviting 
for  the  well-to-do  young  women  of  our 
northern  states,  than  to  put  themselves  in 
communication  with  their  sisters  in  the 
South,  by  all  the  beautiful,  beneficent 
devices  so  easy  to  any  young  woman 
really  bent  on  having  her  own  splendid 
will  ;n  laer  own  womanlv  way. 


A  GLIMPSE  OF  THE  SIEGE  OF  LOUISBURG. 


By  S.  Fratices  Harrison. 


IN  the  year  1 749,  a  curious  money  trans- 
action took  place  between  England 
and  her  colonies  in  North  America ; 
the  sum  of  about  one  million  dollars  being 
conveyed  across  the  ocean,  divided  up 
into  hundreds  of  stout  casks  and  solid 
chests.  The  money  was  mostly  in  Spanish 
dollars,  presumably  some  of  the  recovered 
Spanish  treasure  that  was  in  those  days 
the  universal  bone  of  contention  and 
golden  goal  of  the  nations.  Some  of 
these  old  Spanish  dollars  are  still  some- 
times to  be  seen  in  New  England  farm- 
houses, in  the  pockets  of  hoarding  fisher- 
men, or  made  into  brooches  for  the  belles 
of  inland  towns.  Copper  coin  also  came 
in  abundance  along  with  the  Spanish  dol- 
lars, and  twenty- seven  carts  or  trucks  were 
required  to  convey  all  this  precious  cargo 
from  the  wharf  to  the  provincial  treasury 
in  the  town.  We  may  imagine  the  rap- 
idity with  which  the  news  was  circulated, 
and  its  effect  upon  the  population  of 
young  Boston ;  we  may  imagine  the  de- 
lighted Tories  standing  in  their  open 
doors  and  at  their  open  windows  to  watch 
the  carts  go  by,  while  here  and  there  a 
group  of  half-discontented  colonists 
showed  by  their  bearing  that  first  glimpse 
of  hostility  afterwards  to  deepen  into  the 
defiance  which  would  awake  a  revolution. 
These  murmured  among  themselves  that 
all  the  gold  in  the  Spanish  mines  —  nay, 
all  the  treasure  that  Sir  William  Phipps 
had  seen  with  his  own  eyes  and  which 
was  so  wonderful  that  it  had  sent  some 
of  his  sailors  mad  —  would  not  recom- 
pense the  colonies  for  what  they  had 
done. 

Five  years  before,  France  and  England 
had  again  declared  war,  and  the  attitude 
of  the  English  colonists  towards  the 
French  in  Canada  was  properly  and  loy- 
ally antagonistic,  as  every  one  knows. 
William  Shirley,  an  English  lawyer,  was 
at  that  time  governor  of  Massachusetts, 
and  among  other  designs  he  had  enter- 
tained for  the  subjugation  of  the  French 
was  an  expedition  against  the  strong  city 


of  Louisburg,  situated  on  the  island  of 
Cape  Breton,  near  Nova  Scotia.  Read- 
ers even  of  superficial  histories  know 
something  about  this  expedition ;  how  it 
was  raised  in  an  incredibly  short  period 
by  stalwart  New  Englanders,  assisted  by 
an  English  Commodore  and  fleet,  and 
what  its  results  were.  But  not  very  many 
know  much  about  the  actual  town  of 
Louisburg,  what  it  consisted  of,  and  how 
the  expedition  proceeded.  A  certain  re- 
markable Samuel  Waldo  of  Boston,  — 
Brigadier  Waldo  he  is  usually  called, —  is 
an  excellent  authority  on  these  points, 
and  we  are  enabled  by  perusing  some  of 
his  letters  and  proposals  from  1730  to 
1759,  the  vear  °f  his  death,  to  get  a  very 
clear  idea  of  this  once  famous  fortress, 
named  after  the  King  of  France  and 
guarded  jealously  by  the  soldiers  of  France 
as  the  key  to  his  majesty's  possessions  in 
America.  To-day,  when  we  are  shown 
two  tiny  dots  on  the  map,  called  St. Pierre 
and  Miquelon,  and  told  that  they  repre- 
sent the  French  possessions  in  America,  we 
instinctively  turn  to  some  such  forgotten 
character  as  Brigadier  Waldo  for  informa- 
tion with  regard  to  the  times  when  Que- 
bec was  not  the  only  walled  and  fortified 
city  in  North  America. 

Samuel  Waldo  was  born  in  Boston,  in 
the  year  1696.  He  was,  in  common 
with  most  men  about  him,  actuated  very 
early  in  life  by  sentiments  of  independ- 
ence and  by  admiration  of  all  successful 
qualities.  In  1 7  3 1 ,  he  established  a  paper 
mill,  and  in  other  ways  laid  the  founda- 
tion of  a  handsome  fortune,  although  he 
has  not  always  been  considered  a  per- 
fectly straightforward  man  of  business. 
From  the  year  1730,  he  had  been  in- 
timately connected  with  the  Province  of 
Nova  Scotia,  and,  in  fact,  received  in 
that  year  the  whole  of  the  Stirling  grants 
in  that  province.  A  short  sketch  of  the 
checkered  history  of  these  lands  will  be 
in  order,  as  laid  down  by  Samuel  Waldo 
himself. 

In    1 62 1,  Sir  William    Alexander   ob- 


262 


A   GLIMPSE   OF  THE   SIEGE   OF  LOUISBURG. 


tained  a  patent  to  hold  under  the  Crown 
of  Scotland  the  land  now  known  as  Nova 
Scotia,  which  he  sold  in  1630  to  Claude 
de  la  Tour,  a  famous  Frenchman  of  those 
days.  The  next  entry  in  the  original  docu- 
ment is1  1 63 1  :  "Lewis  Thirteenth  gave 
the  Government  of  Nova  Scotia  to  Charles 
de  Sieur  Estina,  Sieur  de  la  Tour." 
Twenty  years  after,  1651,  — "Lewis 
Fourteenth  being  informed  of  the  Prog- 
ress and  Improvements  made  in  Acadia 
by  the  Sieur  de  la  Tour  confirms  him  in  the 
Post  of  Governor  and  Lieutenant- Gen- 
eral, and  in  the  Property  of  the  Lands 
before  granted  to  him."  The  next  entry 
is  three  years  later — 1654:  "Cromwell 
took  Possession,  and  Charles  de  Sieur 
Estina,  son  and  heir  of  Claude  de  la 
Tour,  coming  to  England  and  making  his 
claim  under  Sir  William  Alexander,  then 
Earl  of  Sterling,  and  the  Crown  of  Scot- 
land, Cromwell  allowed  it."  In  1656, 
these  lands  passed  into  the  keeping  of  Sir 
Thomas  Temple,  and  after  many  vicis- 
situdes and  three  treaties,  Breda,  Rys- 
wick,  and  Utrecht,  John  Nelson,  nephew 
of  the  aforesaid  Sir  Thomas  Temple, 
parted  with  "  the  whole  to  Samuel 
Waldo  of  Boston,  in  New  England."  It 
appears  that  there  was  a  slight  difficulty 
in  settling  his  claims  and  entering  upon 
his  possessions,  for  in  1723  the  record 
says,  "  the  within-mentioned  Samuel 
Waldo  is  now  in  London,  and  is  desirous 
of  bringing  forward  settlements  on  the 
said  Land,  whereby  a  strong  and  useful 
colony  may  be  established  there,  and 
serve  as  a  curb  to  the  growing  power  of 
the  French  in  that  Part  of  the  World,  to 
which  end  he  proposeth,"  etc.  Two 
promises  only  did  he  require  from  the 
government  —  positive  confirmation  of 
his  right  and  the  establishment  of  a  well- 
equipped  garrison,  and  other  signs  of 
government. 

For  his  own  part  Waldo  was  full  of 
promises,  and  evidently  possessed  a  very 
pushing  character.  His  first  proposal 
runs  as  follows  : 

"To  begin  upon  the  Immediate  settlement  of 
the  said  Tract  of  Land  by  a  considerable  number 
of  Familys  from  Switzerland,  the  Palatinate,  and 
other  Parts  adjacent  where  he  has  now  some  con- 
tracts depending  for  a  large  number  of  Familys 

1  Canadian  Archives.     Report  for  1886. 


who  are  to  settle  on  same  Lands  ....  the  first 
settlement  to  be  made  on  or  near  St.  Mary's  Bay, 
which  is  the  nearest  good  Land  to  the  Fort  of 
Annapolis  Royall."  .... 

The  second  proposal  was  to  the  effect, 
more  generous  than  at  first  sight  might 
appear,  that  the  said  Samuel  Waldo 
would  pay  towards  the  support  of  the 
home  government  in  this  province  a  quit 
rent  of  one  shilling  for  each  and  every 
hundred  acres  of  land,  the  said  quit  rent 
to  become  payable  in  ten  years  after 
taking  up  any  of  the  said  lands.  His 
third  proposition  is  even  more  generous. 
He  petitions  to  settle  two  thousand  fami- 
lies at  least  within  ten  years  from  the 
date  of  establishment  of  government,  and 
that  "  without  putting  the  Crown  to  any 
more  expence  more  than  as  before  men- 
tioned, which  is  an  expence  it  has  been 
at  for  above  twenty-eight  years  past,  and 
without  having  effected  the  settlement  of 
Ten  Familys  on  the  Whole  Tract  of 
Land."  His  magnanimity  almost  out- 
does itself  when,  in  the  fourth  and  last 
proposal,  he  promises  to  "  mark  and  lay 
out  for  His  Majesty's  use,  as  a  Nursery  of 
White  Pine  Trees,  in  one  or  more  Bodies 
where  the  same  may  be  found  most 
abounding  with  such  Trees,  and  lying  as 
near  as  possible  to  the  Sea,  or  near  some 
Navigable  Rivers."  This  truly  magni- 
ficent offer  is  followed  by  an  eloquent  and 
exhaustive  peroration  on  the  general 
features  and  physical  advantages  of  the 
colony  : 

"  It  may  soon  become  of  great  service  to  the 
Kingdom  of  Great  Britain  in  taking  off  many  of 
its  Manufactures  in  Exchange  for  Hemp,  Flax, 
Masts,  Iron,  and  all  other  Navall  Stores  which 
this  Country  is  very  capable  of  producing,  As  well 
Furrs,  Fish,  Oyl,  and  Whalebone,  besides  furnish- 
ing the  Sugar  Colonys  with  Provisions,  Boards, 
Slaves,  and  other  necessarys.  It  will  add  to  the 
Revenue  by  the  Quitrents  about  ^"20,000  per 
annum;  and  add  to  the  Honour  of  the  Crown  in 
extending  and  securing  the  Dominions,  and  the 
Trade  and  Fishery  of  the  Nation,  enlarging  its 
number  of  subjects  by  the  Addition  of  Foreign 
Protestants  from  the  Palatinate,  Switzerland,  etc., 
and  securing  its  northern  Colony  and  Limitts,  and 
that,  too,  with  very  little  if  any  expence  to  the 
Crown.  It  is  to  be  hoped,  therefore,  that  this 
fine  Country  will  no  longer  lie  unimproved  and 
neglected,  especially  as  the  French  in  that  neigh- 
bourhood are  doing  everything  that  is  possible  to 
extend  their  Dominions  and  settlements,  and  have 
begun  to  make  encroachments  on  the  English 
rights  in  the  Western  Parts  of  the  Province  of  the 


A  GLIMPSE  OF  THE   SIEGE  OF  LOUISBURG. 


263 


Massachusetts  Bay,  and  in  the  Northern  Parts  of 
Nova  Scotia.  .  .  .  Such  a  colony  as  is  here  pro- 
posed to  be  erected  in  Nova  Scotia,  joyned  with 
the  other  Northern  Provinces,  may,  with  the  assist- 
ance of  Great  Britain,  be  able  to  curb  the  growing 
power  of  the  French  in  Canada,  or  Nova  France, 
and  finally  be  a  means  for  the  King  of  Great 
Britain  to  acquire  and  hold  the  sole  Sovereignty  of 
all  North  America.''' 

Read  in  the  light  of  subsequent  events, 
this  document  bears  marked  testimony  to 
the  feelings  of  a  man  who,  whatever  else 
he  was,  was  British  to  the  heart. 

It  will  be  seen  that  Waldo  was  one  of 
the  first  to  sound  that  warning  note,  which 
was  ere  long  to  ring  through  the  forests 
and  farms  of  Acadia. 

To  revert  now  to  the  year  1745,  when 
an  expedition  was  first  suggested  against 
Louisburg  by  the  Assembly  of  Massachu- 
setts, it  seems  perfectly  clear  that  the 
moving  mind  in  this  convention  was 
Governor  Shirley.  Certain  British  officers 
arriving  at  Boston  from  Louisburg,  re- 
ported a  mutinous  state  of  affairs  in  the 
French  garrison,  which  kindled  the  idea 
in  Shirley's  mind  that  now  or  never  must 
the  scheme  be  tried.  At  first  the  assem- 
bly declined  to  support  the  motion,  fear- 
ing the  superior  numbers  and  tactics  of 
the  French,  but  finally  agreed  to  attempt 
the  reduction  of  Cape  Breton  with  3,250 
volunteers,  depending  also  on  help  from 
the  royal  authorities.  On  the  25th  of 
January,  1745,  preparations  began,  and 
the  reader  who  may  be  anxious  for  a 
more  picturesque  account  of  these  pro- 
ceedings than  I  can  give,  can  be  referred 
to  no  better  place  than  Hawthorne's 
"Grandfather's  Chair."  That  it  was  a 
rash  undertaking  is  certain,  but  there  was 
a  spirit  of  daring  and  of  patriotism  in  it 
which  carried  its  projectors  through  to 
success  and  made  their  fame.  Bells  rang, 
drums  beat,  all  the  old  firearms  in  the 
country  were  brought  out  and  polished, 
and  seven  weeks  after  the  little  colonial 
force  was  ready  to  start  under  the 
command  of  General  Pepperell,  Brigadier 
General  Waldo,  Colonels  Moulton,  Hale, 
Willard,  Richmond,  Dwight  and  Gridley. 
Pepperell  was  a  wealthy  merchant  and, 
after  much  consideration,  was  chosen  by 
Governor  Shirley  to  undertake  the  com- 
mand. Everything  went  as  well  as  could 
be  expected  until  a  message  was  received, 


the  day  before  the  sailing  of  the  New 
England  fleet,  that  Commodore  Warren 
refused  to  co-operate.  I  do  not  see  that 
much  blame  can  attach  to  the  English 
commander,  for  the  odds  were  tremen- 
dous and  were  more  clearly  known  to  him 
than  to  the  raw  and  inexperienced  forces 
he  was  asked  to  ally  himself  with.  Shir- 
ley communicated  with  the  home  govern- 
ment, and  later  the  fleet  sailed  away  for 
Louisburg,  where  it  was  much  wanted. 
The  disposition  of  the  New  England 
troops  was  in  this  wise :  Massachusetts 
contributed  in  all  a  force  of  3,400  men, 
including  artillery,  under  Lieutenant-Col- 
onel Gridley  and  Colonel  Dwight,  men 
for  whale  boats,  and  a  company  of  car- 
penters under  Captain  Bernard  ;  Connec- 
ticut sent  one  regiment  under  Wolcott, 
governor  of  the  province  ;  New  Hamp- 
shire one  regiment,  under  Colonel  More  ; 
and  about  thirteen  boats  in  all  were  fur- 
nished from  all  three  Provinces.  About 
thirty-four  guns  was  the  extent  of  their 
artillery ;  and  with  this  insignificant  force 

—  for  such  it  was  —  these  men,  Pepperell, 
Waldo  and  Wolcott,  advanced  upon  the 
massive  stone  walls  and  parapets  of 
Louisburg.     The  city  of  Louisburg  itself 

—  while  strictly  a  fortress,  walled  and 
bristling  with  hundreds  of  cannon  —  was 
still  a  city,  divided  rectangularly  by  streets 
as  ordinary  towns  are,  extending  about 
five  miles  each  way,  from  north  to  south 
and  from  east  to  west.  A  walled  city,  to 
denizens  of  the  New  World,  is  always  an 
object  of  great  interest.  As  the  tourist 
who  should  pass  outside  the  picturesque 
pile  of  Chepstow  Castle  or  Haddon  Hall 
and  think  he  is  seeing  all  when  he  sees 
the  curious  loopholes,  the  slits  that  serve 
for  windows,  the  half-ruined  towers,  the 
glimpse  of  turret  and  archway,  never 
seeking  to  inquire  for  the  green  sward  of 
the  back  parterres ;  the  sloping  terraces, 
the  wealth  of  life  and  beauty  and  quaint 
mediaeval  charm  behind  the  doors,  so  the 
reader  who  looks  at  Lieutenant-Colonel 
Gridley's  map  of  Louisburg  and  estimates 
it  as  a  fortress  and  nothing  more,  makes 
a  very  great  mistake.  Behind  those  solid 
walls,  which  the  powerful  Louis  never 
dreamed  would  be  dismantled  twice  by 
the  English,  lay  a  town,  alive,  human, 
confident,    nursing    the    fallacious    hope 


264 


A   GLIMPSE   OF  THE   SIEGE   OF  LOUISBURG. 


that  its  safety  lay  in  its  barriers  and 
bridges,  and  that  no  enemy  could  ever 
disturb  them.  Everything  in  the  con- 
struction of  this  mighty  fortress  was  ar- 
ranged with  an  eye  to  the  glory  of  France 
and  with  the  thought  of  the  splendors  of 
the  old  land.  The  gates  were  the  Queen's 
Gate,  Dauphin  Gate,  Frederick's  Gate,  and 
the  Maurepas  Gate.  Bridges  to  all  these 
led  over  the  ditch  which  surrounded  the 
city.  Proceeding  west  after  entering 
Queen's  Gate  we  should  first  of  all  have 
passed  the  Queen's  Bastion ;  then  walk- 
ing along  the  ramparts  we  should  have 
passed  into  the  main  citadel,  around 
which  were  clustered  the  barracks,  the 
governor's  apartments,  the  chapel  and 
the  guard-house.  After  making  the  tour 
of  these  buildings,  we  might  emerge  upon 
one  of  the  many  places  d'armes  where  the 
French  soldiers  would  doubtless  have 
been  engaged  in  military  exercises.  A 
square  place  beyond  the  first  place  men- 
tioned was  the  general  parade  ground  ;  and 
in  what  we  should  call  the  next  block  was 
situated  the  nunnery.  Returning  to  the 
ramparts  by  way  of  the  Place  d'Armes, 
we  should  have  encountered  the  immense 
lime  kiln,  ordnance  store,  and  general 
storehouses ;  and  walking  northwest  we 
should  have  reached  the  Dauphin  Bastion 
and  Dauphin  Gate,  defended  by  an  im- 
mense circular  battery.  Retracing  our 
steps  and  walking  due  west,  we  should 
have  passed  the  Frederick's  Gate,  Battery 
la  Grave,  crossed  a  long  bridge  over  a 
pond  of  considerable  size,  and  reached 
the  Maurepas  Bastion.  From  here  we 
should  have  proceeded  almost  due  north, 
gained  the  Brouillan  Bastion,  passed  the 
picquet  line,  glanced  at  the  Prince's  Bas- 
tion and,  turning  a  few  yards  west,  gained 
again  the  Queen's  Gate  and  the  bridge, 
by  which  we  had  entered.  This  route 
would  have  followed  a  kind  of  irregular 
circle  and  will  serve  us  as  we  traverse 
in  thought  the  mighty  fortress  so  superbly 
planned  and  erected. 

The  30th  of  April  is  usually  given  as 
the  day  of  the  arrival  at  Gabarus  Bay  — 
a  bay  so  large  that  the  "  entire  British 
navy  may  ride  in  it  with  safety."  The 
first  engagement  took  place  that  day,  the 
colonial  forces  suffering  no  loss,  but  the 
French  losing  eight  men  killed  and  ten 


taken  prisoners.  Waldo  comes  into  sight 
on  the  2d  of  May,  when  a  battery  of 
thirty  guns  was  deserted  by  the  French  in 
the  most  inexcusable  hurry,  they  having 
been  alarmed  by  the  burning  of  several 
storehouses  in  the  harbor  of  the  town. 
The  following  day  Waldo's  regiment  seized 
these  guns,  thereby  winning  a  most  im- 
portant position.  Upon  this  signal  vic- 
tory, if  it  may  be  called  such,  the  English 
troops  proceeded  at  great  risk  and  much 
personal  suffering  to  erect  five  batteries 
against  the  town,  mounted  with  the  few 
guns  they  had  brought  with  them.  On 
the  1 6th  of  May  the  great  west  gate  and 
flank  of  the  citadel  were  destroyed  by  a 
small  circular  battery  supported  by  Rich- 
mond's regiment.  On  the  20th  of  May 
Tidcomb's  battery  was  erected  and  after- 
wards was  "  of  great  service  in  destroy- 
ing the  circular  battery."  On  the  26th 
of  May  an  attempt  was  made  to  take  the 
great  Island  battery  of  thirty  twenty-eight- 
pounders,  by  which  the  English  lost  sixty 
men  "  killed  and  drowned  "  and  one  hun- 
dred and  sixteen  taken  prisoners.  This 
repulse  only  stimulated  the  colonists  to 
greater  endeavors,  and  on  the  nth  of 
June,  Gorham's  regiment  erected  a  small 
circular  battery  on  the  northeast  main- 
land, by  which  the  French  guns  were 
eventually  taken. 

Finally  on  the  17  th  of  June,  after  a 
siege  of  forty-nine  days,  Louisburg  capit- 
ulated, and  thus  a  decisive  and  ominous 
blow  was  dealt  at  the  power  and  posses- 
sions of  the  French  arms  in  America. 

Various  have  been  the  opinions  ex- 
pressed by  writers  of  that  day  and  of  this 
w'th  respect  to  the  peculiar  circumstances 
under  which  this  signal  feat  was 
achieved.  Some  chroniclers  have  recog- 
nized in  it  the  superior  moral  administra- 
tion and  personal  force  of  the  Saxon 
Protestant  race ;  others  have  contended 
that  the  whole  affair  was  a  matter  of 
chance,  a  historical  accident  for  which 
the  Fates  alone  were  responsible.  The 
curious  sequel  was  that  by  the  treaty  of 
Aix  la  Chapelle,  Louisburg  was  in  a  year 
or  two  ceded  again  to  France,  and  thus 
all  the  suffering  and  privation,  all  the 
peril  and  prowess  of  the  colonists  and 
their  English  allies  was  lost,  or  compara- 
tively lost. 


JAN  JANSEN,  SHEEP-HERDER. 


265 


Waldo,  however,  never  lost  sight  of  his 
favorite  project.  We  find  preserved  in 
the  archives l  a,  copy  of  a  long  letter 
which  he  wrote  on  the  7th  of  November, 
1757,  to  the  Right  Hon.  William  Pitt, 
giving  a  great  mass  of  "  intimations,"  and 
very  shrewd  ones  too,  as  to  methods  of 
military  procedure  in  case  a  further  at- 
tempt at  the  reduction  of  Quebec  should 
be  determined  on.  The  best  time  for 
the  expedition,  he  writes,  would  be 
"  about  the  latter  end  of  April  or  the  be- 
ginning of  May,  the  coast  being  then  clear 
of  ice,  the  weather  then  good  and  daily 
growing  better,  and  no  annoyance  then 
arising  from  Foggs."  He  concludes : 
"  It  can't  reasonably  be  supposed  that 
Louisbourg,  by  effectual  measures  being 
taken,  can  hold  out  above  fourteen  days 
after  being  invested,  but  should  the  siege 
continue  a  month  it  will  afterwards  be  the 
very  best  season  in  the  year  for  an  at- 
tempt upon  Quebec,  in  which,  with  good 
pilots  and  a  sufficient   force  by  sea,  and 

1  Canadian  Archives  report  for  1886:   Secret  and  Miscella- 
neous Papers,  1756-  1761,  page  74. 


one  that  can  be  depended  on  to  join  in 
aid  by  land,  *the  wished  for  success  may 
be  expected." 

From  his  very  comprehensive  letter, 
accompanied  by  two  careful  plans,  it  may 
be  inferred  that  Samuel  Waldo  had  made 
the  most  of  his  unusual  opportunities. 
If  his  name  be  not  an  illustrious  one,  it  is 
at  least  deserving  of  remembrance.  That 
Britain  was  not  blind  to  the  endeavors  of 
her  New  England  subjects  to  secure  her 
rights  in  North  America  appears  from  the 
fact  of  that  million  dollars  which  arrived 
in  Boston  Harbor  in  1749.  Hawthorne 
has  said  that  "  every  warlike  achievement 
involves  an  amount  of  physical  and  moral 
evil  for  which  all  the  gold  in  the  Spanish 
mines  would  not  be  the  slightest  recom- 
pense. 

"  But  we  are  to  consider  that  this  siege 
was  one  of  the  occasions  on  which  the 
colonists  tested  their  ability  for  war  and 
thus  were  prepared  for  the  great  contest 
of  the  Revolution.  In  that  point  of  view 
the  valor  of  our  forefathers  was  its  own 
reward." 


JAN  JANSEN,  SHEEP-HERDER. 

By  Charles  Howard  Shinn. 


THERE  was  a  sheep-herder  in  the 
Kern  River  country,  California,  — 
a  blue-eyed,  yellow-haired  man, 
who  used  to  write  me  letters.  He  will 
never  write  any  more  ;  he  is  dead,  and 
the  little  flock  that  he  tended  so  well, 
and  which  provided  him  with  his  food  and 
clothing,  is  astray  in  the  mountains,  de- 
stroyed by  wild  animals,  or  gathered  into 
some  ranchman's  larger  flock. 

Jan  owned  his  sheep  and  herded  them 
himself.  His  range  —  and  a  good  one  it 
was,  though  small  —  lay  between  the 
forks  of  the  river,  an  enormous  promon- 
tory accessible  only  by  a  narrow  trail 
between  the  rocks.  He  had  no  relations 
in  the  state,  and,  as  he  often  wrote  me, 
wanted    no    company    except    his    books 


and  his  sheep.  But  when  I  first  met  Jan 
he  was  a  wealthy  and  handsome  young 
fellow,  the  pride  of  his  township,  and 
considered  the  best  "  catch  "  in  the  re- 
gion for  any  one  of  the  bright-eyed 
farmers'  daughters.  Poor  Jan,  to  lose 
all  his  possessions  except  a  few  old  books 
and  a  few  silly  sheep,  and  to  die  in  the 
mountains  with  no  companion  except  his 
dog !  Poor  Jan  ?  Well,  I  am  not  so 
sure  about  that.  His  letters  never  struck 
me  that  way.  Sometimes  they  were  so 
sweet  and  kindly,  so  simple,  childlike 
and  invigorating,  that  I  used  to  say  to 
myself:  "  Happy  Jan!  fortunate,  plucky 
Jan  !  " 

Still,  it  was  a  grave  disaster,  and  men 
talk  of  it  to  this  day,  down  in  the  "  Dutch 


2(3o 


JAN  JANSEN,  SHEEP-HERDER. 


settlement "  out  on  the  moist  lands  in  the 
heart  of  the  valley,  where  the  jansen 
farm  lies.  It  goes  by  that  name  still 
among  the  old  folk,  you  know. 

The  Jansens  were  Danes ;  but  Low 
Germans,  High  Germans  and  all  the 
Scandinavian  people  come  under  the 
general  phrase  "  Dutch  "  in  our  part  of 
the  country.  When  Jan  came  over,  a 
jolly,  sweet-tempered,  lovable  fellow  of 
twenty-two  or  three,  just  out  of  the  best 
schools  of  Copenhagen,  he  sometimes 
tried  to  explain  that  he  was  anything  ex- 
cept Dutch  or  German,  that  he  was  a 
Dane,  with  Ogier  the  paladin,  and  Cnut 
the  conqueror,  for  his  heroes.  It  was  of 
no  avail,  however  ;  he  was  always  "  Dutch 
Jansen  "  to  the  end  of  the  chapter. 

The  elder  jansen  came  to  California 
early  in  the  fifties.  He  left  the  mines 
alone,  and  planted  cabbages,  which  he 
took  to  a  sloop  that  plied  on  the  sloughs, 
and  sold  for  twenty-five  dollars  a  wheel- 
barrow load.  He  bought  more  land,  and 
raised  more  cabbages  to  buy  more  land 
with.  Then  his  wife,  who  had  been  a 
faithful  money-getter,  died  suddenly  and 
left  Jan,  the  only  child.  Jan,  when  ten 
years  old  was  sent  to  Copenhagen,  like  a 
bale  of  goods,  in  charge  of  bluff  Captain 
Bagge  of  the  wheat-clipper  Jutland. 
There  were  relatives  in  Copenhagen, 
nice,  dignified,  official  people,  who  moved 
in  diplomatic  circles,  and  were  much 
ashamed  of  the  cabbage  garden,  whose 
one  redeeming  virtue  was  that  it  was  so 
far  away  from  Denmark.  Among  their 
friends  they  talked  occasionally  of  their 
eccentric  millionnaire  cousin,  who  owned 
a  large  estate  in  California,  and  when  a 
pretty  girl  said  :  "  I  suppose  he  grows 
oranges  and  has  a  vineyard,"  they  said: 
"  Certainly."  And  they  burned  the  let- 
ters in  which  the  elder  Jansen  spoke  so 
proudly  of  his  acres  on  acres  of  cab- 
bages, beets,  cucumbers  and  onions,  all 
so  profitable,  and  so  dreadfully  common- 
place. 

Little  Jan  was  very  bright,  and  was 
made  much  of  by  his  fine  relatives,  who 
came  to  look  upon  him  as  almost  their 
own  son.  They  made  plans  to  keep  him 
with  them  always,  to  have  him  get  into 
the  Government  service,  and  marry  the 
chief  counsellor's  second  daughter.     They 


brought  him  into  notice  in  the  proper 
directions,  and  affairs  went  so  well  that 
by  the  time  Jan  graduated  with  honors, 
there  seemed  to  be  no  more  promising 
young  man  in  all  Copenhagen.  They 
would  not  have  wished  for  a  change  in 
any  direction  except  one,  and  really  that 
was  but  a  slight  matter,  a  thing  to  be 
outgrown  in  a  little  while. 

The  fact  was  that  Jan  at  twenty-one 
was  almost  too  gentle,  too  thoughtful,  too 
willing  to  give  up  his  way,  when  no  prin- 
ciple was  involved,  and  altogether  too 
stubborn  about  some  foolish  notions. 
Perhaps  he  stayed  too  much  with  that 
poet  and  story-maker,  Hans  Christian 
Andersen,  who  liked  the  young  man 
exceedingly.  Perhaps  he  was  trying  to 
write  books  himself,  and  that  were  a  fool- 
ish piece  of  business,  not  half  so  sensible 
as  to  be  a  district  magistrate,  or  an 
Under  Inspector  of  Forests,  with  an 
official  residence,  and  a  pension  after 
twenty  years'  service.  But  the  best  way 
to  cure  the  lad's  distemper,  said  his  rela- 
tives, was  to  fetch  him  fairly  on  the  path 
that  led  to  matrimony.  Wherefore,  the 
counsellor's  second  daughter  was  invited 
to  spend  a  fortnight  at  the  country  house, 
and  it  was  strongly  hinted  to  quiet  Jan 
that  she  was  lovely,  modest,  well-to-do, 
and  uncommonly  m  demand.  So  deftly 
was  all  this  managed  that  hardly  less  than 
a  miracle  could  have  prevented  the  de- 
sired result.  Hardly  had  the  fortnight 
half  gone  before  the  good  aunts  and  un- 
cles would  have  refused  to  give  a  rix- 
dollar  for  a  guaranty  of  their  scheme, 
so  much  was  Jan  interested  in  the  pretty 
girl.  Nor,  to  say  truth,  was  she  indiffer- 
ent.    Then  came  that  unfortunate  letter. 

It  must  needs  be  told  that  Jan's 
mother  had  possessed  the  greater  share 
of  the  family  acumen.  She  had  first 
suggested  cabbages,  and  the  plank  walk 
to  the  slough  ;  she  had  counselled  land, 
and  more  land,  and  yet  more.  When 
she  died,  the  elder  Jansen  ceased  to  be 
aggressive,  though  Jan  thought  that  his 
father  could  hold  what  he  had.  But  here 
came  a  long  letter,  the  first  from  the  old 
man  for  nearly  a  year,  and  it  was  full  of 
things  to  make  the  son  reflect.  Rail- 
roads were  racing  up  the  valley,  anxious 
to  get  the  traffic ;  new  towns  were  bios- 


JAN  JANSEN,  SHEEP-HERDER. 


267 


soming  out  from  tents  new-pitched  to-day 
to  orderly  communities,  and  three-story 
buildings  of  a  month  later ;  mighty  spec- 
ulative enterprises,  long  vaguely  fore- 
shadowed, had  suddenly  burst  upon  the 
quiet  farms  of  the  "Dutch  settlement." 
And  who  so  willing,  so  active,  so  ready 
to  take  stock  in  the  brickyards,  the 
lumber  syndicate,  the  new  hotel,  the 
street  cars  to  Milpitas,  as  the  merry- 
hearted  old  cabbage-grower?  How  every- 
thing had  prospered,  too ;  the  original 
six  acres  of  the  truck  farm  on  which  the 
Jansens  had  begun  life  was  worth  a  hun- 
dred dollars  a  front  foot  for  business 
blocks  in  the  new  county  seat  !  Yet 
there  was  an  underlying  note  of  anxiety. 
"  If  this  goes  on,  you  shall  be  three  times 
over  a  millionnaire,"  wrote  the  elder  Jan- 
sen  ;  and  a  minute  later,  "  every  one  is 
in  it";  and  yet  again,  "It  is  not  possi- 
ble that  prices  can  go  back  now." 

"  Poor  father  !  "  said  Jan,  remember- 
ing some  of  his  mother's  last  words, 
impressed  strongly  on  his  mind  by  ear- 
nestness and  repetition,  "  I  am  going  out 
there  to  help  him."  He  left  Copenha- 
gen two  days  later,  and  he  never  went 
back. 

There  was  plenty  of  talk  when  Jan 
Jansen  came  home  to  the  California  farm. 
His  father  was  thought  very  rich,  director 
in  many  companies,  and  a  shrewd  man 
of  business.  Jan  was  his  only  child  and 
heir.  Besides,  he  was  most  pleasant  to 
look  upon,  and  as  bright  and  modest  as 
he  was  handsome.  His  English  speech 
was  better  than  if  it  had  been  perfect ; 
it  had  the  most  entrancing  little  ripple 
and  accent,  that  you  hoped  he  could 
never  lose.  As  I  said  at  the  first  of  this 
story,  he  was  "  the  pride  of  the  town- 
ship." 

Jan  threw  his  whole  weight  into  busi- 
ness, and  pretty  soon  found  that,  as  he 
suspected,  matters  were  serious.  Inter- 
est charges  ate  up  the  income.  Lands, 
houses,  and  securities  sold  at  a  profit  had 
been  bought  back  for  another  rise,  and 
were  dependent  in  the  last  analysis  upon 
local  politics.  The  other  town  at  the 
end  of  the  valley  wanted  to  be  the  county 
seat,  and  the  new  settlements  in  the  foot- 
hills might  turn  the  scale.  Wise  specu- 
lators were  hedging  on  the  sly,  but  Jansen 


had  no  margin  left  to  work  on.  So  all 
that  summer,  Jan,  who  had  not  forgotten 
Copenhagen,  wrestled  with  the  finances 
of  the  family.  The  old  man  leaned  more 
and  more  on  his  patient,  deliberate, 
straightforward  methods.  The  careful, 
conservative  banking  element  said  among 
themselves  that  there  was  good  stuff  in 
young  Jansen.  Here  a  sale  of  land  at 
cost,  there  a  debt  refunded  at  lower  in- 
terest. No  more  waste  or  speculation. 
The  few  men  who  were  on  the  inside 
began  to  think  that  Jansen's  resources 
were  larger  than  they  had  supposed. 
The  young  man  knew  as  election-day 
approached  that  even  if  the  county-seat 
was  moved,  the  property  could  be  sold 
so  as  to  "  clean  up  "  a  few  thousand  dol- 
lars. "  Enough  for  Copenhagen,"  he 
thought,  "for  people  live  quietly  there." 

Rising  tides  of  contending  parties ; 
undercurrents,  black  and  corrupt ;  fiery 
speeches  and  clangorous  brass  bands ; 
seething  saloons,  running  with  beer  and 
brandy  !  —  wilder  and  more  turbulent 
beat  the  public  pulse  all  that  last  week, 
till  Jan  thought  he  was  in  the  midst  of 
civil  war.  Then  the  election,  the  great 
crowds  struggling  and  shouting,  the 
gleams  of  hope  alternating  with  despair. 
Midnight :  all  the  telegraph  wires  sang 
pseans  for  the  village  on  the  other  side 
of  the  valley ;  Jan  went  home  to  comfort 
his  father,  and  plan  for  the  sale  of  the 
farm. 

The  elder  Jansen  was  visibly  broken 
long  before  the  famous  county- seat  elec- 
tion contest  was  over  with.  It  lasted  six 
months,  and  all  the  prominent  lawyers 
took  part.  The  old  county  seat  crowd 
put  up  the  money  —  all  but  the  Jansens. 
"The  elections  were  fair  enough,"  they 
said.  "Whiskey,  bribery,  illegal  voting? 
Possibly  —  and  on  both  sides."  None 
of  the  politicians  took  any  comfort  from 
this  view  of  the  case.  Major  Sourmash 
often  referred  to  the  Jansens  as  "  refu- 
gees, sir,  from  the  monarchical  institu- 
tions of  Europe  ;  unable,  sir,  to  under- 
stand our  republican  system.  The  im- 
pressive spectacle,  sir,  of  a  free  people 
appealing  to  the  judiciary  to  regulate  the 
elections  is  wholly  lost  upon  Dutch 
aliens." 

Jan  worked   day  and    night    until   he 


268 


JAN  JANSEN,  SHEEP-HERDER. 


understood  exactly  how  affairs  stood. 
At  least  he  thought  he  knew.  "  Father," 
he  said,  "  if  you  will  draw  that  fifteen 
thousand  dollars  out  of  the  Savings 
Bank,  and  let  all  the  land  go,  every  acre, 
we  shall  have  about  twenty  thousand  dol- 
lars left  to  invest  as  we  please." 

"  My  boy,"  was  the  hesitating  answer, 
"  it  is  not  in  the  bank  now.  I  am  sure 
it  is  just  as  safe." 

" Where  is  it?" 

"  Lent  to  Wilhelm  Elerhorst  for  better 
interest.  He  is  good  as  wheat ;  every 
one  trusts  him." 

Jan  struggled  with  himself.  He  did 
not  know  why  he  felt  so  badly  over  the 
fact.  Elerhorst  was  reputed  to  be  very 
rich ;  it  was  true  that  many  of  the  neigh- 
bors let  him  keep  their  surplus  funds, 
sometimes  without  interest.  A  genial, 
generous  fellow,  one  of  the  pioneers  of 
the  valley,  and  yet  —  Jan  determined  to 
ride  to  town  and  ask  about  Elerhorst's 
standing.  He  found  the  ex-county  seat 
shaken  as  by  a  whirlwind.  Men  were 
gathered  in  groups,  talking  loudly  and 
crying  for  vengeance  ;  women  and  chil- 
dren were  clustered  about,  listening  to 
the  talk ;  extras  from  the  press  of  the 
local  newspaper  were  being  passed  around. 
He  rode  up  and  took  one  that  was  taken 
and  given  in  silence.  These  were  the 
headings,  a  full-face  screamer  :  "  Wilhelm 
Elerhorst  Disappears.  Defaulter  for 
Thousands  of  Dollars.  Many  Farmers 
Ruined." 

Jan  folded  the  paper  up,  put  it  into 
his  pocket,  and  went  home  without  a 
word.  The  old  man  grew  weaker,  and 
lost  his  interest  in  affairs,  but  Jan  held 
on,  paid  up  every  debt,  and  went  to  the 
mountains  with  his  father.  There  the 
worn-out  pioneer  died  and  was  buried. 
The  boy  came  back  for  a  time,  and  lived 
in  a  small  cottage,  the  first  that  his  pa- 
rents had  built  .  after  cabbage-growing 
began  to  pay.  He  moved  his  library,  his 
manuscripts,  and  personal  effects  to  the 
old  house  that  he  had  kept  because  it 
was  worth  so  little,  and  for  the  first  time 
for  two  years  he  had  a  long  rest,  and 
began  to  read  and  study  again. 

There  was  an  old  banker  in  San  Fran- 
cisco who  had  watched  Jan  Jansen's  ca- 
reer with  much  interest.     He  wrote  him 


and  made  a  flattering  offer.  "We  can 
use  your  business  talent,  your  firmness 
and  honesty.  You  can  have  a  place  in 
our  bank."  Jan  knew  how  unusual  such 
an  offer  was,  and  it  had  an  attractive  side  ; 
in  Copenhagen  bank  cashiers  were  some- 
body, and  he  knew  he  could  work  his 
way  up  to  that.  Yes  !  he  would  accept ; 
in  a  day  or  two  he  would  go  to  the  city 
to  thank  his  friend,  and  to  begin  work. 

A  neighbor  drove  past,  and  tossed  him 
a  letter  —  Danish  ;  the  seal  of  a  relative 
at  whose  house  he  had  lived  so  long. 
Such  friendly  and  pleasant  letters  as  the 
aunts  and  cousins  wrote  !  He  broke  the 
seal  and  read  to  the  end ;  he  put  the 
letter  in  his  pocket  and  went  to  the 
sloughs.  He  took  a  boat  and  rowed  for 
hours  along  the  wide,  lonely  channels  of 
blue,  still  waters,  till  the  tules  and  cat- 
tail walls  changed  to  low  marsh-grass 
expanses  on  the  very  borders  of  the  ship 
channels.  Here,  in  a  place  so  lonely 
that  hardly  once  in  ten  years  had  any 
one  found  it,  on  a  square  rod  of  sand, 
miles  from  track  of  hunter's  punt,  or 
fisher-boat,  was  an  old  scow  half  over- 
turned, and  propped  up  against  a  pile  of 
driftwood ;  a  poor,  half-insane  man  had 
once  lived  there  for  a  summer,  and  then 
wandered  off,  no  one  knew  where. 

Jan  stayed  for  hours  on  the  desolate 
island.  The  darkness  came,  but  he  knew 
one  paragraph  in  the  letter  by  heart  long 
before  he  had  left  the  cottage.  It  re- 
ferred to  the  daughter  of  the  counsellor. 
"  Hilga  has  been  the  social  queen  all 
winter,  and  now  she  is  to  be  married  to 
an  officer  in  the  navy,  a  vice-admiral's 
son.  She  spoke  of  you  the  other  day ; 
she  said  you  wrote  such  charming  letters 
that  she  could  almost  see  California,  and 
she  hoped  so  much  that  all  your  affairs 
would  come  out  right.  You  must  write  a 
book,  she  said ;  you  could  be  a  poet ;  in 
fact,  you  were  one  already.  I  am  so 
glad,  dear  boy,  that  you  have  written  her 
only  friendly  letters,  the  way  things  have 
turned  out,  and  that  you  will  not  feel 
badly  over  this.  For  truly,  the  whole 
family  have  climbed  so  fast  of  late  that 
there  is  talk  of  her  father  for  Chancellor, 
and  I  don't  know  how  many  other  super- 
lative offices." 

"  Only  friendly  letters  !  "    said  Jan  to 


JAN  JANSEN,  SHEEP-HERDER. 


209 


himself.  "  Only  friendly  letters  !  "  The 
moon  rose  and  found  him  on  the  sand  in 
the  shelter  of  the  scow,  sitting  like  one 
lost,  crying  out  at  times  in  turbulence  of 
soul : 

"  Hilga  knows,"  he  said  once  :  "  she 
knows  that  I  will  not  trouble  her  life. 
But  I  thought  that  all  was  plain  between 
us  forever,  and  I  cannot  let  go  ;  I  cannot 
even  now." 

Then  the  man  stretched  out  like  one 
dying,  and  gripped  hard  to  the  sand, 
weeping  and  wild.  It  is  well  for  us  some- 
times that  no  other  mortal  hears  the 
things  we  say  ;  it  is  well  that  we  ourselves 
forget  the  form  and  fashion  of  them,  for 
they  are  dreadful  as  perdition ;  they  put 
the  smell  of  fire  on  our  garments. 

The  summer  sunrise  was  rosy-purple  in 
the  east  over  Mission  Peak,  as  Jan  left 
the  island  in  the  sloughs,  and  went  home 
to  his  cottage.  Henceforth,  he  had  de- 
cided, he  might  live  as  he  chose.  No 
banking  or  active  business,  but  a  life  of 
study  in  the  Sierras.  Perhaps  it  was  a 
foolish  plan ;  but  he  always  seemed  to 
make  whatever  he  did  appear  the  only 
possible  thing  to  do.  He  simply  took 
his  five  thousand  dollars  or  so,  bought  a 
few  hundred  sheep,  and  two  claims,  one 
in  a  sheltered  valley  for  winter,  the  other 
for  summer  pasture  and  far  up  in  the 
Sierras.  Then  he  spent  all  the  rest  of 
his  money,  a  couple  of  thousand  dollars, 
for  a  wedding  gift  for  Hilga,  and  he  wrote 
her  a  manly  and  brief  letter,  wishing  her 
happiness.  Then  he  trudged  off,  driving 
his  flock,  and  when  he  was  fairly  settled 
in  his  cabin,  I  sent  him  the  books  he 
wanted. 

After  a  little  he  found  that  he   could 


clear  three  or  four  hundred  dollars  a  year, 
and  he  never  failed  to  spend  half  of  it 
for  books.  He  became  a  botanist  and 
naturalist,  and  for  ten  or  twelve  years  he 
lived  this  peaceful  life  in  the  moun- 
tains. 

At  first  blush  it  seems  a  sad  story  —  a 
lost  fortune  and  faithless  sweetheart,  to 
use  the  plain  word.  But  I  assure  you 
that  none  of  his  friends  ever  thought  so. 
It  was  impossible  not  to  feel  that  he  had 
outgrown  it  all,  and  that  his  life  was  both 
large  and  full.  His  old  banker  friend 
once  spent  a  week  with  him  in  the  Kern 
River  country,  and  when  he  came  back, 
said :  "  That  man  is  free  from  all  the 
aches,  pains,  and  worries  that  beset  the 
rest  of  us.  Sometimes  when  you  are 
with  him  you  feel  as  if  he  was  as  large 
as  all  outdoors." 

"  Found  dead  in  his  cabin — heart 
disease,"  was  what  a  correspondent  of 
the  Kern  Gazette  wrote.  "Tramps,"  he 
continued,  "  fired  the  cabin  a  few  days 
after  the  burial,  and  the  next  time  your 
reporter  passed  the  spot,  there  was  only 
a  pile  of  ashes  to  mark  it.  The  sheep 
were  scattered  in  the  canons,  and  the 
place  was  frightfully  desolate.  Poor  Jan- 
sen,  who  was  once  rich  and  respected, 
must  have  been  an  unusually  hard  case 
to  have  degenerated  into  a  tramp  sheep- 
herder." 

How  Jan  himself,  who  had  a  rare  hu- 
mor of  his  own,  would  have  enjoyed  that 
paragraph  !  It  summed  up  the  mere  sur- 
face of  the  event ;  the  underlying  real- 
ities were  of  quite  another  sort.  There 
are  those  who  gather  strength  for  their 
hours  of  weakness  from  memories  of  Jan 
Jansen. 


THE  EDITORS'  TABLE. 


It  is  a  noteworthy  and  impressive  fact,  that 
Lowell's  last  important  task  was  the  revision  of 
his  works  for  publication  in  the  new  uniform  edi- 
tion—  the  first  complete  uniform  edition  —  which 
now  lies  on  the  table,  a  joy  to  the  eye,  while  the 
tolling  bell  still  sounds  in  the  ear.  These  ten 
noble  volumes  are  his  great  monument,  and  a 
fitting  memorial  and  symbol  in  their  fair  com- 
pleteness of  the  complete  life  that  is  ended.  It 
is  a  peculiar  blessing  to  have  these  placed  in  the 
hands  at  this  time;  for  it  is  in  turning  their  uni- 
form pages,  volume  by  volume,  greeting  the  old 
familiar  titles  in  solid  phalanx  and  in  this  most 
favorable  setting,  that  we  realize  with  new  and 
deeper  force  the  greatness  and  the  opulence  of 
the  author's  mind.  Second  only  to  Emerson 
among  American  writers,  —  such  we  think  will  be 
the  verdict  of  literary  history,  —  no  other  Ameri- 
can writer  has  been  so  representative  of  the 
American  mind,  and  no  other  has  been  so  many 
sided.  As  a  poet,  no  other  has  touched  so  many 
strings.  Wit,  humor,  satire,  pathos,  prophecy, 
wrath,  warning,  lamentation,  —  there  is  no  quality 
which  he  seems  to  lack,  no  instrument  which  he 
fails  to  use,  no  great  mood  to  which  he  does  not 
give  great  expression.  Equally  great  in  prose 
and  poetry,  he  was  equally  great  as  scholar  and 
man  of  affairs,  lover  of  gardens  as  lover  of  town, 
true  American  citizen  and  true  citizen  of  the 
world;  his  Cambridge  "the  very  best  spot  on  the 
habitable  globe,"  yet  none  more  native  to  West- 
minster, none  more  at  home  with  Miles  Standish 
and  John  Winthrop,  none  more  with  Edmund 
Spenser  and  Lessing  and  Dante.  He  was  at 
once  the  most  local  of  men  and  the  most 
universal  of  men.  He  is  affectionate  neighbor  to 
each  Elmwood  teamster  and  bobolink  and  dande- 
lion, homesick  always  when  far  oft  from  "  old 
Harvard's  scholar  factories  " ;    and  yet 

"  his  fatherland  must  be 
As  the  blue  heaven  wide  and  free ! 

Where'er  a  human  heart  doth  wear 
Joy's  myrtle-wreath  or  sorrow's  gyves, 
Where'er  a  human  spirit  strives 

After  a  life  more  true  and  fair,   .... 
Where'er  one  man  may  help  another, — 
Thank  God  for  such  a  birthright,  brother!  — 
There  is  the  true  man's  birthplace  grand, 
His  is  a  world-wide  fatherland!  " 

In  the  pages  of  no  other  American  writer  do 
we  find  such  a  mirror  of  the  American  life  of  the 
time  in  which  he  lived,  with  all  its  varied  political 
and  literary  interests.  In  the  pages  of  no  other 
do  we  find  so  many  windows  through  which  to 
look  out  upon  the  broad  fields  of  the  world's  his- 
tory and  literature  and  civilization.  A  thorough 
acquaintance  with  all  that  Lowell  wrote  is  a  lib- 
eral education.  No  American  can  afford  to  be 
without  this  acquaintance.  There  should  be  no 
American  home  without  this  noble  monument, 
whose  last  stone  the  great  man  polished  and  then 
died. 


It  was  a  fitting  and  significant  thing  that  Lowell 


should  call  the  little  magazine  which  he  started  so 
courageously  in  1843  The  Pioneer;  for  he  was 
himself  a  pioneer,  a  radical,  and  a  reformer,  from 
the  beginning  to  the  end,  and  this  it  seems  to  us 
is  the  central  thing  to  be  observed  concerning 
him.  In  his  Birmingham  address  on  "  Democracy," 
in  1884,  he  spoke  of  himself  as  "by  temperament 
and  education  of  a  conservative  turn."  This  is 
true  enough  if  by  conservatism  he  meant  a  rever- 
ence for  history  and  the  heritage  of  civilization,  a 
hatred  of  disorder  and  impatience,  and  a  love  of 
the  things  that  stand  for  culture.  In  this  sense  is 
not  every  scholar  and  every  thoughtful  man  a  con- 
servative ?  Every  thoughtful  man  dreads  "  violent 
changes,"  because  history  has  taught  him  how 
often  these  fail  to  go  to  the  root  of  the  matter  and 
really  give  that  education  which  must  somehow  be 
given  in  order  to  make  the  change  constitutional 
and  valid.  But  if  by  conservatism  he  meant  content 
with  the  existing  state  of  things  and  the  spirit  that 
says,  "  Let  well  enough  alone,"  then  Lowell  was 
not  conservative  by  temperament,  and  was  still 
less  so  by  conviction.  "  Reform,  therefore,  with- 
out bravery  or  scandal  of  former  times  and  per- 
sons; but  yet  set  it  down  to  thyself  as  well  to 
create  good  precedents  as  to  follow  them" —  that 
was  the  motto  from  Lord  Bacon  which  he  set  on 
the  cover  of  The  Pioneer,  and  that  was  the 
dominant,  irrepressible  feeling  of  the  man,  both  as 
concerns  literature  and  as  concerns  politics,  from 
the  days  of  The  Pioneer  and  of  the  aggressive, 
almost  defiant  Americanism  of  the  Table  for 
Critics,  to  the  Socialism  of  this  same  Birmingham 
address  of  1884.  "Socialism  means,  or  wishes 
to  mean,"  he  said  here  —  and  this  at  the  very 
time  when  men  were  talking  most  about  his  con- 
servative and  aristocratic  tendencies — "co-opera- 
tion and  community  of  interests,  sympathy,  the 
giving  to  the  hands  not  so  large  a  share  as  to  the 
brains,  but  a  larger  share  than  hitherto,  in  the 
wealth  they  must  combine  to  produce  —  means, 
in  short,  the  practical  application  of  Christianity  to 
life,  and  has  in  it  the  secret  of  an  orderly  and 
benign  reconstruction."  And  social  reconstruction 
in  some  manner  he  held  to  be  inevitable.  "There 
has  been  no  period  of  time  in  which  wealth  has 
been  more  sensible  of  its  duties  than  now.  It 
builds  hospitals,  it  establishes  missions  among  the 
poor,  it  endows  schools.  It  is  one  of  the  ad- 
vantages of  accumulated  wealth,  and  of  the  leisure 
it  renders  possible,  that  people  have  time  to  think 
of  the  wants  and  sorrows  of  their  fellows.  But  all 
those  remedies  are  partial  and  palliative  merely. 
It  is  as  if  we  should  apply  plasters  to  a  single 
pustule  of  the  small-pox  with  a  view  of  driving  out 
the  disease.  The  true  way  is  to  discover  and  to 
extirpate  the  germs.  As  society  is  now  con- 
stituted these  are  in  the  air  it  breathes,  in  the 
water  it  drinks,  in  the  things  that  seem,  and  which 
it  has  always  believed  to  be  the  most  innocent 
and  healthful.  The  evil  elements  it  neglects  cor- 
rupt these  in  their  springs  and  pollute  them  in 
their  courses."  This  word  was  spoken  in  almost 
his   last   political    address,    an    address    inspired 


THE    EDITORS'    TABLE. 


271 


throughout  with  that  same  desire  and  demand  for 
"a  wider  and  wiser  humanity"  which  inspired 
"The  Legend  of  Sir  Launfal  ";  and  it  is  the  gos- 
pel of  the  cardinal  reform  of  to-day.  He  knows  well, 
with  his  broad  and  tender  human  sympathy  and 
his  instinct  for  justice,  that  almost  every  noise  at 
the  gate  which  frightens  the  comfortable  and 
complacent  folk  "  turns  out  at  worst  to  be  a  poor 
relation  who  wishes  to  come  in  out  of  the  cold  "; 
and  he  ranges  himself  on  the  side  of  innovation 
and  experiment  and  large  hospitality  with  a  joy- 
ous and  buoyant  confidence. 


It  was  after  the  Pioneer  magazine  had  run  its 
short  course  that  Lowell  gave  the  same  title,  "  The 
Pioneer,"  to  one  of  his  poems,  a  poem  which 
throbs  with  the  spirit  of  progress  and  reform  and 
nature. 

"  Come  out,  then,  from  the  old  thoughts  and  old  ways, 
Before  you  harden  to  a  crystal  cold 
Which  the  new  life  can  shatter,  but  not  mould." 

So  he  sings  in  his  poem;  and  this  same  pioneer- 
ing spirit,  this  spirit  of  democracy,  of  simple 
humanity,  we  find  everywhere.  It  speaks  in  the 
great  lines  of  the  "  Commemoration  Ode  "  and 
"Under  the  Willows,"  in  the  beautiful  poem  on 
Burns,  in  that  very  Burns-like  poem,  "  The  Heri- 
tage," in  those  poems  like  "A  Parable"  and 
"The  Search,"  in  which  the  central  idea  of 
"Launfal"  finds  varying  expression,  in  the 
poems  "  To  the  Past  "  and  "  To  the  Future,"  in 
the  grand  "Ode"  which  appeared  among  his 
earlier  poems,  in  the  "Ode  to  France"  and  in 
the  fine  sonnet  beginning, 

"  The  Hope  of  Truth  grows  stronger  day  by  day; 
I  hear  the  soul  of  Man  around  me  waking." 

Indeed,  as  one  begins  upon  a  list  of  this  sort,  one 
sees  that  the  list  can  hardly  have  an  end.  Every- 
where in  Lowell  is  this  spirit  of  reform  and  of  the 
pioneer,  from  the  half  dozen  democratic  and  pro- 
phetic songs  in  the  little  collection  of  the  "  Earlier 
Poems,"  to  the  "  Epistle  to  George  William  Curtis," 
in  "  Heartsease  and  Rue','  which  seems  to  us  the 
most  significant  of  Lowell's  later  self-revelations. 


Lowell  was  a  reformer  his  whole  life  long, 
always  turning  from  the  purely  literary  studies 
and  the  purely  literary  creation,  which  were  such 
delight  to  him,  to  the  tumult  of  affairs,  because 
he  had  the  Puritan  conscience  which  would  not 
let  him  rest  while  wrongs  and  injustice  were 
about  him.  He  knew  that  he  was  as  much 
preacher  as  singer; it  was  the  way  he  character- 
ized himself  in  the   "  Fable  for  Cities  "  : 

"  His  lyre  has  some  chords  that  would  ring  pretty  well, 
But  he'd  rather  by  half  make  a  drum  of  the  shell, 
And  rattle  away  till  he's  old  as  Methusalem 
At  the  head  of  a  march  to  the  last  new  Jerusalem." 

But  it  is  in  the  lines  addressed  to  George  William 
Curtis  that  he  puts  most  impressively  the  conflict 
in  his  own  nature  between  the  pure  man  of  letters 
and  the  reformer.  Nothing  could  be  more  beauti- 
ful than  the  picture  he  paints  here  of  the  quiet, 
studious  Elmwood  days,  the  garden  walks,  the 
library  hours,  the  communion  with  nature  and 
with  poets. 


"  For  years  I  had  these  treasures,  knew  their  worth, 
Estate  most  real  man  can  have  on  earth. 
I  sank  too  deep  in  this  soft-stuffed  repose 
That  hears  but  rumors  of  earth's  wrongs  and  woes; 
Too  well  these  Capuas  could  my  muscles  waste, 
Not  void  of  toils,  but  toils  of  choice  and  taste; 
These  still  had  kept  me  could  I  but  have  quelled 
The  Puritan  drop  that  in  my  veins  rebelled. 
But  there  were  times  when  silent  were  my  books 
As  jailers  are,  and  gave  me  sullen  looks; 
When  verses  palled,  and  even  the  woodland  path, 
By  innocent  contrast,  fed  my  heart  with  wrath, 
And  I  must  twist  my  little  gift  of  words 
Into  a  scourge  of  rough  and  knotted  cords 
Unmusical,  that  whistle  as  they  swing 
To  leave  on  shameless  backs  their  purple  sting." 

This  is  just  the  same  in  its  spirit  and  purport  as 
those  lines  of  Whittier  published  forty  years 
before  in  Lowell's  Pioneer: 

"  From  youthful  hopes  —  from  each  green  spot 
Of  young  Romance  and  gentle  thought, 
Where  storm  and  tumult  enter  not, 

"  From  each  fair  altar,  where  belong 
The  offerings  Love  requires  of  Song 
In  homage  to  her  bright-eyed  throng, 

"  I  turned  to  Freedom's  struggling  band  — 
To  Freedom's  cause  proscribed  and  bann'd  — 
To  the  sad  Helots  of  our  land"  — 

or  as  that  still  more  noteworthy  bit  of  Whittier's 
self-revelation  in  the  closing  lines  of  "  The  Pano- 
rama "  : 

"  Oh,  not  of  choice,  for  themes  of  public  wrong 
I  leave  the  green  and  pleasant  paths  of  song, — 
The  mild  sweet  words  which  soften  and  adorn, 
For  griding  taunt  and  bitter  laugh  of  scorn. 
More  dear  to  me  some  song  of  native  worth, — 
Some  homely  idyl  of  my  native  North, 
Some  summer  pastoral  of  her  inland  vales. 
Or,  grim  and  weird,  her  winter  fireside  tales, 
Haunted  by  ghosts  of  unreturning  sails.   .   .  . 
And  if  no  song  of  idlesse  I  have  sung, 
Nor  tints  of  beauty  on  the  canvas  flung, — 
If  the  harsh  numbers  grate  on  tender  ears, 
And  the  rough  picture  overwrought  appears, — 
With  deeper  coloring,  with  a  sterner  blast, 
Before  my  soul  a  voice  and  vision  passed, 
Such  as  might  Milton's  jarring  trump  require, 
Or  glooms  of  Dante  fringed  with  lurid  fire." 


The  most  impressive  word  perhaps  which  has 
been  spoken  concerning  Lowell  since  his  death 
was  that  spoken  by  Mr.  Curtis  at  the  recent  gath- 
ering at  the  Academy  in  Ashfield.  It  was  a  word 
of  rebuke  for  those  who  in  this  latest  time  have 
been  free  in  their  criticisms  of  Mr.  Lowell  for 
his  sharp  words  upon  vicious  tendencies  in  our 
American  politics.  These  strictures  of  his  have 
been  so  hotly  resented  in  some  quarters  as  to 
draw  a  shower  of  unpleasant  epithets,  making  not 
a  few  who  were  big  enough  and  old  enough  to 
know  better  talk  of  him  loosely  as  un-American, 
as  denationalized,  as  Europeanized.  Never  were 
utterances  more  paltry  or  profane.  Never  was 
stauncher  American  or  stauncher  democrat  than 
James  Russell  Lowell;  and  the  rebuke  of  his 
critics  and  the  eulogy  of  him  as  the  very  type  of 
the  best  American  citizenship  came  fittingly  from 
the  lips  of  Mr.  Curtis. 

The  noble  lines  which  Lowell  prefixed  to  his 
"  Three  Memorial  Poems  "  showed  how  deeply 
he  had  felt  the  criticisms  which  had  been  made 
upon  him,  as  well  as  reasserted  the  duty  of  the 
citizen  and  the  patriot  to  love  his  country  only 
"  so  as  honor  would,"  not  dethroning  judgment, 
and  not  failing  to  speak  the  bitter  word  whenever 


272 


THE    OMNIBUS. 


"public  shames  'wm  "more  shameful  pardon." 
Mr.  Curtis's  tribute  recalls  how  it  was  in  the  lines 
which  Lowell  addressed  to  himself  that  this  sub- 
ject was  also  so  impressively  touched  upon.  We 
have  spoken  of  this  "  Epistle  to  George  William 
Curtis "  as  the  most  important  of  Lowell's  later 
self-revelations.  The  first  part  of  it  was  written 
in  1874,  when  the  storm  against  Lowell  for  his 
allusion  to  America,  in  the  Ode  to  Agassiz,  as 
the  "  land  of  broken  promise  "  was  fiercest.  Even 
Curtis,  it  appears,  had  been  pained  and  offended. 
The  most  valuable  part  of  the  poem  is  the  poet's 
defence  of  himself.  He  speaks  of  his  high  hopes 
of  the  republic  and  his  great  dreams  of  its  future, 
he  speaks  of  the  young  martyrs  who  poured  out 
their  blood  to  save  the  country  in  her  hour  of 
need,  and  of  the  ampler  atmosphere  which  he 
looked  to  see  blown  clear  by  the  electric  gust  of 
the  war. 

"  I  looked  for  this;   consider  what  I  see  — 
But  I  forbear,  'twould  please  nor  you  nor  me 
To  check  the  items  in  the  bitter  list 
Of  all  I  counted  on  and  all  I  mist. 
Only  three  instances  I  choose  from  all, 
And  each  enough  to  stir  a  pigeon's  gall: 
Office  a  fund  for  ballot-brokers  made 
To  pay  the  drudges  of  their  gainful  trade; 
Our  cities  taught  what  conquered  cities  feel 
By  aediles  chosen  that  they  might  safely  steal ; 
And  gold,  however  got,  a  title  fair 
To  such  respect  as  only  gold  can  bear." 

With  this  enumeration  of  what  were  and  what 
remain  our  three  great  dangers  and  disgraces  — 
corruption  at  the  ballot-box,  the  misrule  of  our 
cities,  and  the  vulgar  worship  of  money  — he  has- 
tens to  the  close. 

"  Was  I  too  bitter?     Who  his  phrase  can  choose, 
That  sees  the  life-blood  of  his  dearest  ooze? 
I  loved  my  Country  so  as  only  they 
Who  love  a  mother  fit  to  die  for  may; 
I  loved  her  old  renown,  her  stainless  fame, — 
What  better  proof  than  that  I  loathed  her  shame? 
That  many  blamed  me  could  not  irk  me  long; 
But,  if  you  doubted,  must  I  not  be  wrong? 
'Tis  not  for  me  to  answer:   this  I  know, 
That  man  or  race  so  prosperously  low 


Sunk  in  success  that  wrath  they  cannot  feel, 
Shall  taste  the  spurn  of  parting  Fortune's  heel; 
For  never  land  long  lease  of  Empire  won 
Whose  sons  sate  silent  when  base  deeds  were  done." 

This,  we  have  said,  was  written  in  1874.  But 
it  was  not  published  then.  It  was  "  tost  unfin- 
ished by,"  and  left  until  1887,  when  the  touching 
postscript  was  added,  telling  of  the  sadness  of  the 
days  at  Elmwood  after  the  return  from  England, 
and  the  memories  of  Longfellow  and  Emerson 
and  those  who  had  gone.  But  in  adding  this,  the 
poet  struck  out  nothing  which  he  had  written 
thirteen  years  before.  In  revising  the  Ode  to 
Agassiz  for  the  new  edition,  he  did  indeed  change 
the  phrase  "  land  of  broken  promise  "  to  "  land 
of  Honest  Abraham."  But  we  think  the  phrase 
had  better  have  been  left  unchanged.  Land  of 
broken  promise  it  is  just  as  often  as  it  is  false  to 
itself  and  its  high  calling.  It  is  a  weak  people 
that  resents  honest  criticism;  and  America  has 
only  reason  to  be  grateful  to  Lowell  for  blushing 
at  what  was  shameful  in  her  politics,  and  for  re- 
minding her  people  with  righteous  indignation 
and  with  power,  that  "  a  country  worth  saving  is 
worth  saving  all  the  time." 
* 
*   * 

The  picture  of  Mr.  Lowell  in  his  study  at  Elm- 
wood,  which  appears  as  the  frontispiece  to  the 
present  number  of  the  magazine,  is,  we  think,  the 
last  photograph  ever  made  of  Mr.  Lowell.  It 
was  made  by  Mrs.  J.  H.  Thurston  of  Cambridge, 
at  the  instance  and  for  the  use  of  Prof.  J.  W. 
McCammon,  to  whom  Mr.  Lowell  gave  kind 
assistance  in  connection  with  the  preparation  of 
an  illustrated  lecture  upon  the  homes  of  American 
authors.  It  is  by  Mrs.  Thurston's  kindness  that 
we  are  enabled  to  present  it. 

Owing  to  the  pressure  of  matter  in  the  present 
number,  the  publication  of  Mrs.  Heaton's  serial 
story,  "The  Odor  of  Sanctity,"  is  interrupted  for 
a  month.  The  next  instalment  will  appear  in  the 
November  number. 


THE  OMNIBUS. 


The  Indian  Corn. 


O  laughing,  yellow-bearded  Corn  ! 

Thou  art  the  heir,  the  eldest  born; 
On  every  side  through  all  our  land 
Thy  serried  rank  rejoicing  stands, 

Thou  lusty  darling  of  the  morn  ! 

All  dainty  flowers  we  laugh  to  scorn; 
Thou  fillest  Plenty's  golden  horn, 
And  food  for  all  is  in  thy  hand, 
O  laughing,  yellow-bearded  Corn  ! 

Our  oriflamme  thou  shalt  be  borne; 

No  race  a  nobler  crest  has  worn 

Since  Henry  bore  to  high  command 
Plant  a-genet  in  old  England; 

Come,  thou  !   our  Goddess'  cap  adorn, 

O  laughing,  yellow-bearded  Corn  ! 

—  Julia  Taft  Baync. 


Unattained. 


In  springtime  days  their  young  hearts  dream 

Of  love  and  tenderness, 
As,  severed  by  a  tiny  stream, 

They  seek  a  fond  caress. 

And  still  as  summer  slips  away 

Upon  the  shore  they  stand, 
And  vainly  strive  from  day  to  day 

To  clasp  the  other's  hand. 

The  autumn  comes;    but  undismayed 
They  laugh,  "  Our  goal  we'll  gain 

When  winter's  sprites  for  us  have  made 
This  gulf  a  frozen  plain." 

*  *  *  .       *  *  *  * 

An  icy  path  connects  them  now; 

The  lovers  still  are  there, 
But  he's  long  since  a  withered  bough 

And  she,  the  vine,  is  bare. 

—  Le  Roy  Phillips. 


JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL 


FROM    THE    CRAYON    PORTRAIT    BY    KOWSE,    IN    THE    POSSESSION    OF    PROF.    CHARLES    ELIOT    NORTON. 


THE 


New  England  Magazine. 


New  Series. 


NOVEMBER,   1891. 


Vol.  V.     No.  3 


THE  HOME  AND  HAUNTS  OF  LOWELL. 

By  Frank  B.  Sanborn. 


HE  child  is  father  of 
the  man,"  said  that 
poet  with  whom  James 
Lowell  was  very  early 
familiar ;  and  so  we 
may  look  for  intima- 
tions of  the  immortality  which  our  poet 
has  apparently  received  in  the  deeds 
and  dreams  of  his  boyhood.  I  once 
had  a  friend  whose  hobby  was .  heredity 
(or  one  of  his  hobbies,  for  he  kept 
a  stable  full  of  them),  who  was  not 
much  at  home  in  Wordsworth.  Wish- 
ing to  use  this  paradox  of  that  poet 
as  an  illustration  of  his  theme,  but 
inverting  it  in  his  topsy-turvy  mem- 
ory, he  wrote,  as  a  maxim  of  heredity, 
"The  man  is  father  of  the  child."  I  told 
him  there  was  no  disputing  that,  but 
perhaps  he  had  better  invoke  some  other 
authority.  Both  these  epigrams  were 
verified  in  the  case  of  Lowell :  his 
youth  did  foreshadow  his  maturity,  but 
it  was  also  the  maturity  of  his  father,  his 
grandfather,  and  his  great-grandfather, 
which  reappeared  in  modern  garb  in  his 
own  middle  and  later  life  ;  and,  as  happens 
with  most  of  us,  it  was  now  one  ancestor 
and  now  another,  in  the  long  line,  who 
showed  his  traits  in  this  most  gifted  of  the 
Lowell  family.  At  one  time  it  was  the 
tolerant,  sensible,  and  learned  father,  Dr. 
Charles  Lowell ;  at  another,  the  sturdy 
and  political  judge,  his  grandfather,  or 
the  pious  and  spirited  old  minister  of 
Newburyport,    Rev.    John     Lowell,    his 


great-grandfather,  of  whom  an  anecdote 
or  two  has  come  down  to  us.  Nay,  the 
Boston  cooper  and  shoemaker  who  were 
father  and  grandfather  of  Rev.  John 
Lowell  (born  in  1703),  with  their  plain 
mechanic  virtues  and  their  homely  dialect, 
may  have  had  much  to  do  with  the 
crowning  glory  of  Lowell's  career  —  his 
invention  and  perpetuation  of  Hosea  Big- 
low/the  perennial  Yankee.  These  inter- 
mediate Lowells,  coming  between  the 
half- mythical  Percival  of  Newbury,  with 
his  romantic  name,  and  the  clerical  John, 
first  of  the  thirty  whose  names  now  stand 
in  the  catalogue  of  Harvard,  —  these 
handicraft  Lowells  partook,  no  doubt,  of 
that  thrifty  vernacular  character  which 
Emerson  praises  in  the  churls  around 
Monadnoc  : 

"  Will  you  learn  our  ancient  speech? 
These  the  masters  who  can  teach : 
Fourscore  or  a  hundred  words 
All  their  vocal  muse  affords; 
These  they  turn  in  other  fashion 
Than  the  writer  or  the  parson. 
For  that  hardy  English  root 
Thrives  here,  unvalued,  underfoot; 
Rude  poets  of  the  tavern  hearth 
Squandering  your  unquoted  mirth, 
Which  keeps  the  ground  and  never  soars, 
While  Jake  retorts  and  Reuben  roars." 

Let  us  fancy  these  craftsmen  and  lexi- 
cographers in  the  background,  while  we 
look  at  the  clerkly  line  that  has  kept 
Harvard  College  so  busy  for  one  hundred 
and  seventy  years :  Johannes,  the  first 
minister,  graduated  there  in  1721  ;   then 


276 


THE  HOME  AND  HAUNTS  OE  LOWELL. 


followed  three  other  Johannes,  his  nep- 
hew, son,  and  grandson,  in  1753,  1760, 
and  1786;  then  the  brothers  of  Johan- 
nes the  Federalist,  Francis  Cabot,  in 
1793,  and  Charles  in  1800;  and  then  a 
long  line  of  Johns,  Franks,  Charleses, 
Edwards,  Jameses  and  Percivals,  down 
to  1 89 1.  Charles,  the  youngest  son  of 
Judge  John  Lowell  (who  died  in  1802), 
was  born  in  1782,  graduated  in  the  same 
class  with  Allston  the  painter  and  Chief- 
Justice  Shaw,  in  1800,  studied  law  at 
home,  theology  in  Edinburgh,  and  in 
1806  was  ordained  minister  of  the  rich 
and  flourishing  West  Church,  where  he 
preached  for  more  than  half  a  century. 
He,  as  we  know,  was  the  father  of  James 
Russell  Lowell,  —  who  was  his  youngest 
son,  as  he  had  been  his  father's  youngest 
—  and  to  this  son  imparted  much  of  his 


consider  the  expediency  of  dismissing 
Rev.  Thomas  Barnard,  then  the  minister 
of  a  church  in  Newbury."  It  was  de- 
cided to  release  him  from  his  life  engage- 
ment in  that  town.  The  question  then 
came  up,  should  a  recommendation  be 
given  him  for  another  parish.  "  To  this," 
said  his  grandson,  Rev.  Charles  Lowell, 
"  one  of  the  council  objected,  unless  he 
should  ascertain,  on  inquiry,  that  Mr. 
Barnard  believed  the  doctrine  of  the 
Trinity."  Mr.  Lowell  rose,  with  much 
emotion  and,  addressing  the  moderator, 
said,  "  If  that  question  is  put,  sir,  I  shall 
leave  the  room,  and  take  no  more  part  in 
this  council."  The  question  was  not  put, 
and  Mr.  Barnard  was  soon  after  ordained 
at  the  First  Church  in  Salem.  Dr. 
Lowell,  who  did  not  himself  believe  in 
the  Trinity,  also  reports  that  his  famous 


Elmwood. 


own  nature,  and  no  little  of  that  accumu- 
lated patrimony  of  culture  and  principle 
in  the  vigorous  Lowell  stock.  His  grand- 
father, Rev.  John  Lowell  of  Newburyport, 
was  an  important  member  of  a  church 
council    held    some    time    in    1750,   "to 


predecessor  at  the  West  Church  in  Bos- 
ton, Dr.  Jonathan  Mayhew,  had  doubts 
about  the  Trinity,  and  was  excluded  from 
the  Boston  Association  of  Ministers  on 
that  account.  The  religious  opinions  of 
Dr.    Lowell,    thus    inherited     and    trans- 


THE  HOME  AND  HAUNTS  OF  LOWELL. 


277 


Interior  of  the  Old  West  Church,    Boston. 


mitted,  descended  to  his  most  illustrious 
and  youngest  son. 

Dr.  Lowell  was  the  child  of  a  third 
marriage,  and  there  was  indirect  cousin- 
ship,  through  a  former  marriage  of  his 
father,  with  Harriet  Brackett  Spence, 
daughter  of  Keith  Spence  of  Portsmouth, 
N.  H.,  and  Mary  Traill,  daugther  of  an 
Orkney  subject  of  King  George.  This 
cousinship,  which  later  led  to  a  marriage, 
had  no  small  share  in  his  early  education  ; 
but  that  was  begun  at  school,  by  the 
father  of  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson,  not  yet 
a  parish  minister,  Rev.  William  Emerson, 
who  taught  the  Roxbury  grammar  school 
about  1790.  For  some  offence  Mr.  Emer- 
son made  Judge  Lowell's  son  bend  over 
his  desk,  and  gave  him  the  accolade  of 
every  schoolboy  in  those  days,  —  a  single 
blow  with  a  cowhide,  —  as  Dr.  Lowell 
himself  reports  in  his  sketch  of  William 
Emerson,  written  forSprague's  "  Annals  of 
the  American  Pulpit."  It  must  have  been 
this  blow  which  James  Lowell  vicariously 
returned  in  his  Class  Poem  of  1838, 
when  castigating  the  Transcendentalists. 

Charles  Lowell  began  to  fit  for  college 


at    Andover,   but    completed    his    course 
with    Rev.    Mr.    Sanger    in    Bridgewater, 


Rev.   Charles   Lowell. 

FROM   A   MINIATURE   BY   STAGG,    1851. 


27. 


THE  HOME  AND  HAUNTS  OF  LOWELL. 


and  so  well  was  he  pleased  with  this 
tutor  that  after  graduating  in  1800  and 
studying  law  a  while  with  his  brother 
John,  the  noted  Federalist,  he  went  back 
to  Bridgewater  to  begin  the  study  of 
theology.  It  was  not  unusual  at  that 
time  for  young  Bostonians  to  pursue  post- 
graduate studies  in  Edinburgh,  as  Dr. 
Walter  Channing  and  Theodore  Lyman 
did ;  and  Charles  Lowell,  at  his  father's 
death    in    1802,    found    himself   able    to 


The   Hal)  at   Elmwood. 

FROM    A    PHOTOGRAPH    BY    MRS.    J.    H.    THURSTON. 


enter  the  University  of  Edinburgh  for 
theological  study.  He  heard  Dugald 
Stewart  lecture  for  three  years,  was  often 
an  inmate  of  his  family,  and  had  for 
fellow-students  Sir  David  Brewster  and 
Prof.  Thomas  S.  Traill,  a  second   cousin 


of  Miss  Harriet  Spence,  to  whom  Charles 
Lowell  was  betrothed  before  sailing  for 
Scotland.  In  1804,  he  travelled  through 
England  and  Wales  with  his  brother 
John,  made  the  acquaintance  of  Wilber- 
force  and  Earl  Stanhope,  heard  Pitt,  Fox, 
and  Sheridan  in  the  House  of  Commons, 
and  Mrs.  Siddons  at  the  theatre ;  then 
went  to  Paris  to  witness  the  first  public 
appearance  of  Napoleon  as  Emperor,  and 
made  the  customary  tour  through  France, 
Switzerland,  and 
Holland.  Returning 
from  Europe  in 
1805,  he  began  to 
preach  at  once,  and 
was  ordained  in 
"New  Boston,  " 
January   1,   1806. 

On  the  1  st  of 
October  following,  at 
the  age  of  twenty- 
four,  he  married 
Miss  Harriet  Spence, 
who  was  of  Orkney 
descent  on  both 
sides,  and  from  her 
there  came  to  her 
youngest  son  the  first 
lessons  he  got  in  bal- 
lad literature.  He 
also,  as  he  once  said, 
inherited  from  his 
mother  his  habit  of 
correct  English,  con- 
cerning which  I  have 
heard  a  pleasant 
anecdote.  In  Lon- 
don, many  years  ago, 
he  met  at  dinner 
Dr.  William  Smith, 
a  Scotchman,  editor 
of  innumerable  dic- 
tionaries, and  a  man 
who  thought  ex- 
tremely well  of  him- 
self. This  gentleman 
had  certain  Scot- 
ticisms lingering  on 
his  tongue,  but  was  astonished  to  find  an 
American  pronouncing  English  correctly, 
and  much  at  home  in  that  language. 
"But  where  did  ye  get  it?"  said  the 
doctor.  To  which  Lowell  replied.,  in 
the  words  of  the   old  ballad,  — 


THE  HOME  AND  HAUNTS  OF  LOWELL. 


279 


"  I  got  it  in  my  mother's  wame, 
Where  ye. sail  never  get  the  same." 

The  father  also  has  some  share  in  the 
elegance  of  diction  and  elocution.  When, 
says  Dr.  Peabody,  "he  announced  a 
hymn,  saying,  '  Let  us  sing  to  the  praise 


The  West  Church  —  now,  alas,  closed — 
rapidly  filled  under  the  earnest  and  grace- 
ful ministrations  of  the  young  preacher, 
and  in  a  few  years  a  new  and  larger  edi- 
fice was  built.  Dr.  Lowell,  in  one  of  his 
sermon-notes,    is    careful    to    say  that    it 


%' 


In  the   Library  at  Elmwood. 

FROM    A    PHOTOGRAPH    BY    MRS.    J.    H.    THURSTON. 


and  glory  of  God,'  the  intonation  of 
his  voice  had  already  attuned  the  congre- 
gation to  worship,  before  the  first  line  of 
the  hymn  was  read.  He  had  a  deep 
chest-voice,  clear,  penetrating,  and  at  the 
same  time  sweet  and  tender,  and,  with 
an  unusual  range  of  inflection  and  modu- 
lation, lending  itself  with  the  utmost 
flexibility  to  the  sentiment  to  which  it 
gave  utterance."  Of  personal  beauty, 
too,  which  is  not  to  be  despised  in  a  pul- 
pit orator,  Dr.  Lowell  was  not  deficient, 
for  of  him  and  Harriet  Spence  it  was 
said,  as  has  been  said  of  so  many  others, 
"  that  there  never  was  seen  a  handsomer 
couple  than  Charles  Lowell  and  his 
bride." 


cost  $50,000,  and  it  numbered  among  its 
worshippers  eighty  years  ago  the  wealthi- 
est people  of  Boston.  But  near  by,  on 
the  slope  of  "  Nigger  Hill,"  dwelt  a  de- 
spised and  lawless  population  of  several 
colors,  —  "largely  black"  says  Dr.  Pea- 
body,  "  but  with  a  coarse  white  intermix- 
ture, in  crowded,  tumbledown  tene- 
ments, where  crime  ran  riot,  and  into 
which  no  decent  person  could  enter  with 
conscious  safety."  To  these  persons 
Dr.  Lowell  made  himself  a  missionary; 
he  beguiled  some  of  them  to  enter  his 
church,  and  he  visited  them  in  their  own 
houses,  in  their  poverty  and  vice  and 
disease,  and  made  himself  their  friend. 
When  the  region  became  more  respectable, 


280 


THE  HOME  AND  HAUNTS  OF  LOWELL. 


and  was  the  refuge  of  many  fugitive 
slaves  (among  them  Lewis  Hayden),  Dr. 
Lowell  still  continued  their  friend,  in 
spite  of  the  odious  Fugitive  Slave  Law  of 
1850.  He  told  Dr.  Peabody  that  he  had 
written  to  Daniel  Webster  after  his  7  th 
of  March  speech  in  1850,  expressing  his 
surprise  and  indignation  that  he,  a  sen- 
ator from  Massachusetts,  should  advocate 


Josiah  Quincy,    President  of   Harvard   University,    1829-1845. 


a  law  which  condemned  to  fine  and  im- 
prisonment a  man  who  should  merely 
decline  to  aid  a  United  States  officer  in 
the  capture  of  a  fugitive  slave.  And  in 
a  letter  to  Theodore  Parker  (June,  1854), 
which  is  in  my  possession,  Dr.  Lowell 
says  : 

"  All  along  T  have  condemned  the  Fugitive 
Slave  Law,  publicly  and  privately.  When  Sha- 
drach  (a  fugitive  who  was  rescued  from  his  cap- 
tors) was  here,  I  read  the  note  he  sent  to  the 
churches,  prayed  fervently  for  him,  and  that  he 
might  not  be  returned  again  to  slavery.  I  have 
always  supposed  I  was  the  only  minister  in  Boston 
who  did  so.  But  more  than  this.  A  colored  man 
called  on  me  as  a  committee,  and  asked  me  if  I 
would  go  to  a  meeting  to  be  held  in  Faneuil  Hall 
in  reference  to  the  fugitives,  and  would  open  the 
meeting  with  prayer.  I  answered  yes,  and  went 
and  prayed  fervently  that  the  fugitives  might  es- 


cape, and  the  inhuman  law  might  be  repealed. 
I  have  so  much  introduced  slavery  into  my  prayers 
in  the  church  and  prayed  for  its  extinction,  that 
some  have  complained  of  it,  though  it  has  been 
borne  with.  One  person,  not  of  my  parish,  said 
that  '  the  minister  who  would  pray  that  the  laws 
should  not  be  obeyed,  ought  to  be  prosecuted.'  "  1 

It  was  largely  in  consequence  of  his 
labors  among  the  poor  outside  his  own 
church,  and  his  pastoral  cares,  that  Dr. 
Lowell's  health  failed  in  181 8, 
and  he  was  induced  to  leave 
Boston  and  take  up  his  abode 
in  Cambridge  ;  and  this  was  the 
occasion  of  his  buying  Elmwood 
from  the  heirs  of  Elbridge 
Gerry  who  had  formerly  owned 
it.  He  had  become  a  Profes- 
sor of  Harvard  College  in  18 10, 
and  was  looking  to  Cambridge 
as  the  place  for  his  children's 
education,  and  therefore  he  was 
I  the     more     willing    to     remove 

thither.  Cambridge  was  then 
what  James  Lowell  found  it  in 
1830,  "essentially  an  English 
village,  quiet,  unspeculative, 
||§--  without  enterprise,  sufficing  unto 

itself,"  —  a  town  of  about  three 
thousand  people,  or  smallei 
than  Concord  is  now.  In  one 
edge  of  the  village,  not  far  from 
Watertown,  a  governor  of  Mas- 
sachusetts and  vice-president  of 
the  United  States  had  fixed  his 
residence  —  an  old  colonial 
mansion  of  wood,  built  for  a 
provincial  magnate  of  some 
distinction,  Thomas  Oliver,  who  when 
the  Revolution  came  on  had  to  flee 
his  country  for  his  opinions  and  con- 
duct. His  spacious  grounds,  well-planted 
with  trees  and  hedges,  had  been  further 
improved  by  Elbridge  Gerry,  who.  no 
doubt,  planted  many  of  the  trees  which 
now    adorn    Elmwood.       But    the    pine- 

1  In  view  of  the  recent  death  of  Robert  Lowell,  elder 
brother  of  the  poet,  his  father's  testimony  to  Theodore 
Parker  in  the  same  correspondence  ,  concerning  this  sen 
will  be  interesting.  Dr.  Lowell  wrote  (June.  1S54) :  "  Per- 
haps you  do  not  know  that  my  son,  who  is  an  Episcopal 
minister  at  Newark,  devoting  himself  to  the  poor  especially, 
is  an  open  and  earnest  opponent  of  slavery.  He  advocate? 
the  admission  of  colored  delegates  to  the  Episcopal  Con- 
vention in  New  York,  and  soon  after  had  a  colored  minister 
to  preach  for  him."  In  a  letter  just  received,  he  says: 
"  I  have  followed  closely  even'  movement  in  Boston,  and, 
on  the  whole,  it  may  be  hoped  that  public  opinion  is  get- 
ting fixed  in  the  right  direction,  I  preached  upon  a  man's 
being  a  man,  Sabbath  before  last,  and  hope  to  cast  the  first 
vote  that  I  have  given  for  freedom  this  fall." 


3       S 


282 


THE  HOME  AND  HAUNTS  OF  LOWELL 


Harvard  Square  in   1823.     "  Cambridge  Thirty  Years  Ago." 


trees,  which  outnumber  the  elms,  wil- 
lows, ashes,  oaks,  chestnuts,  maples,  and 
other   deciduous   trees,   were    planted,   I 


President   Kirkland. 


fancy,  by  the  Lowells  ;  and  many  of  them, 
from  their  height  and  size,  must  be 
younger  than  the  poet  himself.  For  the 
pine  of  New  England,  the  softly  beauteous 
white  pine,  was  hardly  much  used  as  an 
ornamental  tree  till  the  present  century 
was  well  advanced,  and  seldom  was 
planted  even  then,  but  allowed  to  stand 
where  the  forests  had  been  cut,  or  where 
it  had  seeded  itself.  .Its  frequent  use  of 
late  years  must  be  due  in  part  to  the 
honor  which  Emerson  bespoke  for  it,  in 
those  poems  written  in  Lowell's  youth, 
and  which  have  now  become  so  familiar 
and  proverbial : 

Whether  is  better,  the  gift  or  the  donor? 
'  Come  to  me,' 
Said  the  pine-tree. 
I  am  the  giver  of  honor.' ,- 

James  Russell  Lowell,  named  for  his 
grandfather  or  other  auburn-haired  an- 
cestor,  was  born  among  the  trees  and 
lilac-bushes  of  Elmwood.  February  22, 
1 819  ;  and  he  grew  up  there  amidst  the 
sights  and  sounds  of  the  country,  out  of 


THE  HOME  AND  HAUNTS  OF  LOWELL. 


283 


doors,  and  in  the  companionship  of  books 
and  learned  men  indoors.  His  father,  as 
appears  by  the  notes  to  the  sermons 
which  he  printed  so  often  in  the  years 
from  1807  to  1840,  was  a  careful  scholar 
and  antiquary,  not  upon  the  broad  scale 
which  the  present  age  demands,  but  as 
such  qualities  were  valued  in  his  own 
time.  One  inducement  drawing  him 
toward  Cambridge  —  after  the  death  of 
Vice-President  Gerry,  in  1814,  threw 
Elmwood  into  the 
market  —  was,  no 
doubt,  the  college 
library  and  the 
learned  society  in 
that  town,  where 
then  nourished  that 
more  renowned  but 
less  gifted  antiquary 
and  annalist,  Dr. 
Abiel  Holmes,  the 
father  of  Oliver 
Wendell  and  John 
Holmes,  life -long 
friends  of  James 
Lowell,  though  older 
than  he  by  ten  and 
six  years  respec- 
tively. Mr.  John 
Holmes  a  few  years 
ago,  in  a  Harvard 
College  periodical, 
described  so  well  the 
region  in  which 
Lowell's  boyhood 
was  spent,  that  I 
may  quote  his 
words  : 

"  The  house  itself 
indicated  three  great 
periods;  it  was  built  by 
a  prosperous  loyalist, 
used  as  a  soldiers'  hospi- 
tal during  the  Revolu- 
tionary War,  and  after- 
wards inhabited  by  one 
of  the  early  governors 
of  the  independent  State 
of  Massachusetts." 

The  loyalist  was  Thomas  Oliver,  the 
lieutenant-governor  under  King  George 
at  the  time  of  the  Stamp  Act ;  and 
the  governor  was  Elbridge  Gerry,  one 
of  the  signers  of  the  Declaration  of 
Independence,  one  of  the  framers  of 
the  Constitution    of    1787,     and    finally 


vice-president  of  the  United  States  under 
the  mild  and  philosophic  Madison,  whom 
the  Lowell  family  in  18 14  held  in  such 
unmeasured  contempt. 

"  The  grounds  surrounding  the  house  formed 
an  interior  solitude,  where  the  singing  of  the  wind 
through  a  belt  of  pines  sounded  the  keynote  of 
all  the  vague  associations  that  lay  in  the  young, 
creative  mind  of  Mr.  Lowell.  The  situation,  de- 
cidedly rural,  favored  that  accurate  acquaintance 
with  birds  and  trees  which  he  has  often  shown 
himself  to  possess.  —  an  accomplishment  befitting 


Rev.   Robert  Traill  Spence   Lowell. 

a  poet.  Over  in  "  Sweet  Auburn,"  then  so  called 
(not  yet  a  cemetery),  was  a  lovely  solitude, 
with  well-grown  woods,  one  commanding  hill,  and 
one  broad,  level,  grassy  avenue." 

The  birthplace,  home,  and  grave  of  the 
poet,  all  lie  within  a  short  radius,  in 
this   once    secluded    but  now    too   much 


284 


THE  HOME  AND  HAUNTS  OF  LOWELL. 


frequented  corner  of  Cambridge.  Of  the 
town  and  its  less  respectable  inhabitants, 
Mr.  Holmes,  in  a  recent  contribution  to 
the  monthly  magazine  called  The  Writer, 
thus  speaks  : 

"Old  Cambridge  in  Mr.  Lowell's  youth  was 
little  more  than  a  village;  indeed,  the  expression, 
'  down  to  the  village,'  was  in  use.  The  old  Puri- 
tan industry  and  thrift  prevailed;  but  there  were 
those  who  were  not  content  with  life  in  water 
colors,  but  demanded  a  stronger  liquid  to  produce 
the  desired  tints,  and  chose  the  path  of  pleasure 
rather  than  that  of  thrift.  They  did  some  desul- 
tory work,  in  deference  to  necessity,  but  their  best 
efforts  were  given  to  the  small  game  on  the 
marshes.  The  exertion  necessary  in  this  pursuit 
they  could  endure,  it  being  free  from  any  taint  of 
regular  industry.  But  angling,  sedentary  and 
contemplative,  was  their  preference.  To  throw 
the  line  into  the  dark  eddies  by  Brighton  Bridge, 
and  at  ease  await  the  fish  who  was  to  outrun  the 
largest  dimensions  offered  by  tradition,  was  com- 
plete happiness.  Mr.  Lowell  viewed  these  excep- 
tional beings  with  the  eye  of  a  humorist,  rather 
than  of  the  moralist.  As  a  spectator  he  appre- 
ciated the  irregular  light  which  they  threw  on  the 
monotonous  path  of  steady  industry." 


and  clients  of  the  good  clergyman,  and 
they  paid  for  this  hospitality  by  contribu- 
ting to  the  dialect  vocabulary  of  the  fu- 
ture poet  of  Yankee  land.  They  did 
this  in  his  youth  ;  and  even  in  his  middle- 
age  poem,  "  Under  the  Willows,"  he 
reports  the  same  instruction  from  them  : 

"  Here  sometimes,  in  this  paradise  of  shade, 
Rippled  with  western  winds,  the  dusty  Tramp, 
Seeing  the  treeless  country  burn  beyond, 
Halts  to  unroll  his  bundle  of  strange  food 
And  munch  an  unearned  meal.  .   .   . 
The  Scissors-grinder,  pausing,  doffs  his  hat, 
Grimy  Ulysses  !   a  much-wandered  man, 
Whose  feet  are  known  to  all  the  populous  ways, 
And  many  men  and  manners  he  hath  seen. 

Pithily  Saxon  in  unwilling  talk, 
Him  I  entrap  with  my  long-suffering  knife, 
And,  while  its  poor  blade  hums  away  in  sparks, 
Sharpen  my  wit  upon  his  gritty  mind." 

This  was  an  old  habit  of  Lowell's,  even 
from  his  boyhood.  In  his  first  visit  to 
the  White  Mountains  (as  I  conjecture,  in 
1834,  the  year  that  he  entered  college), 


The  Charles   River   Marshes- 


An    Indian  Summer  Reverie. 


As  Lowell  himself  had  said  in  one  of 
his  inimitable  essays  : 

"  Where  everybody  was  overworked,  they  sup- 
plied the  comfortable  equipoise  of  absolute  leisure, 
so  aesthetically  needful." 

They  were  also,  like  the  shiftless  and  dis- 
reputable denizens  of  West  Boston,  in 
Dr.    Lowell's   early  ministry,   the   friends 


Lowell  says,  "  I  was  walking  through  the 
Franconia  Notch,  and  stopped  to  chat 
with  a  hermit,  who  fed  with  gradual  logs 
the  unwearied  teeth  of  a  sawmill.  I 
asked  him  the  best  point  of  view  for  the 
Old  Man  of  the  Mountain.  '  Dun  no,  — 
never  see  it.'  Too  young  and  too  happy 
either  to  feel  or  affect  the  Juvenalian  in- 


THE  HOME  AND  HAUNTS  OE  LOWELL. 


285 


difference,  I  was  sincerely  astonished,  and 
I  expressed  it.  The  log-compelling  man 
attempted  no  justification,  hut  after  a 
little  while  asked,  '  Come  from  Bawsn  ?  ' 
'Yes'  (with  peculiar  pride).  '  Goodie 
to  see  in  the  z/ycinity  o'  Bawsn.'  'O 
yes  ! '  I  said.  '  I  should 
like,  'awl,  I  should  like  to 
stan'  on  Bunker  Hill. 
You've  ben  there  offen, 
likely?'  '  No-o,'  unwil- 
lingly, seeing  '  the  little 
end  of  the  horn '  in  clear 
vision  at  the  terminus  of 
this  Socratic  perspective. 
'Awl,  my  young  frien' 
you've  larned  now  that  wut 
a  man  kin  see  any  day  for  ?& 
nawthin',  children  half 
price,  he  never  does  see. 
Nawthin'  pay,  nawthin' 
vally.'  " 

I  place  this  anecdote  at        /,' 
the    beginning  of   Lowell's 
college    course,    when    he 
had    passed    his    entrance 
examination  and  was  spend- 
ing the  vacation;  so  much  \ 
shorter  then  than  now,  in  \ 
a    journey    to    the    White 
Mountains,  —  the    farthest 
trip  he  had  yet  taken,  for 
his    range  as  a  lad,  in  his 
father's    chaise,    or    in   the 
stage  coach,  was  not  a  very 
wide  one.     In  comparison 
with  him,  one  of  his  classmates  at  Har- 
vard,   the    once-celebrated    "  Lighthouse 
Thomas,"  had  been  a  great  traveller  :   for 
Thomas  had  seen  Canada  and  Martha's 
Vineyard  and   Nantucket.     As  an  intro- 
duction to  what  I  am  to  say  of  Lowell's  col- 
lege-life, let  me  quote  the  story  of  Charles 
Grandison  Thomas,  who  graduated  with 
Lowell    in    1838,  but  who   had  formerly 
been  a  classmate  of  Thoreau  for  a  year,  — 
a    man   with    a    peculiar    history,    which 
Lowell  in  after  years  was  fond  of  men- 
tioning.     He    was     called     "Lighthouse 
Thomas  "  because  he  finished  his  prepa- 
ration for  Cambridge,  not  at  Exeter,  An- 
dover,    or   Boston,    but    in   a    lighthouse 
near  Edgartown   on   Martha's  Vineyard. 
He  was  born  in  the  Adirondac  woods  (at 
Denmark,  Lewis  County),  in   18 10,  and 


died,  a  successful  lawyer,  at  Cambridge 
in  1879.  Lowell  published  in  1838,  in 
the  college  monthly,  Harvardiana, 
Thomas's  autobiography,  from  the  college 
class-book,  —  a  most  curious  record  of 
privation    and    boyish    industry,    in    the 


Maria  White   Lowell. 

woods  of  New  York  and  Canada,  among 
charcoal-burners  and  lumber  -  dealers. 
His  first  occupation  was  trout-fishing, 
his  next  was  charcoal-burning,  —  but 
neither  of  them  were  very  productive  for 
the  maintenance  of  this  Adirondac  or- 
phan. 

"For  three  years,"  he  says,  "I  suffered  from 
cold  and  hunger;  I  learned  experimentally  the 
fact  that  a  person  could  live  almost  exclusively  on 
potatoes,  and  without  shoes  in  the  winter.  In 
my  twelfth  year  my  whole  library  consisted  of  an 
Almanac  and  Testament.  I  had  never  seen  an 
arithmetic,  and  I  was  not  taught  to  numerate  two 
or  three  figures  till  my  fourteenth  year,  when  the 
widow  of  a  neighboring  judge  gave  me  this  in- 
formation; and  about  the  same  time  taught  me 
to  tell  the  time  of  day  by  her  clock,  which  I  then 
thought  a  very  novel  and  curious  thing,  and 
looked  at  it  as  though  it  owed  me  a  quarter's  rent. 
By    chance    one    of    her    laborers    gave    me    an 


286 


THE  HOME  AND  HAUNTS  OF  LOWELL. 


The  Willows. 


arithmetic,  which  I  constantly  kept  in  my  hat  for 
use  whenever  my  overseer's  back  turned.  In  my 
eleventh  year   I   fell  in  with  a  man  who   had   no 


fixed  place  of  residence,  to  whom  I  engaged  for 
the   season.      His    business   was    that   of    making 


shingles,   wherever 


Among  them  one,  an  ancient  willow,  spreads 
Eight  balanced  limbs,  springing  at  once  all  round 
His  deep-ridged  trunk." 


the  forest  he  could  steal 
the  timber  to  the  best 
advantage;  mine  was  to 
assist  him  to  cook  his 
food  in  a  hut." 

In  1829,  Thomas 
went  to  Martha's 
Vineyard  to  visit 
the  grave  of  his 
sister,  earned  twenty 
dollars  on  Cape  Cod 
the  next  winter,  and 
in  the  spring  of 
1830  went  to  school 
at  Edgartown,  near 
which  place  he 
found  his  light- 
house, ■ —  "  built  in 
the  water  at  a  dis- 
tance of  about  half 
a  mile  from  the 
land,  with  which  it 
was  connected  by  a 
bridge."      He  then 


"  Here  I  lived  almost 
entirely  on  bread  and 
water,  at  the  rate  of 
forty  or  fifty  cents  per 
week,  and  attended  as 
intensely  as  possible  to- 


THE  HOME  AND  HAUNTS  OF  LOWELL. 


287 


my  studies,  for  about  three  years,  with  such  intervals 
of  interruption  as  were  necessary  to  defray  my 
expenses.  Here  I  fitted  for  college.  ...  On 
my  arrival  at  Cambridge,  in  1833,  after  a  passage 
of  three  sleepless  nights  around  Cape  Cod,  I 
found  myself  obliged  to  wait  six  weeks,  or  during 
the  long  vacation,  for  an  opportunity  of  presenting 
myself  for  examination.  I  obtained  a  room  in 
College,  and  lived  six  weeks  on  about  $1.50, 
which  was  all  I  had.  The  day  of  examination  at 
length  arrived,  and  I  succeeded  in  entering  col- 
lege. Yet  I  was  almost  totally  ignorant  of  the 
correct  pronunciation  of  the  English  language; 
as  to  Latin  and  Greek,  my  pronunciation  in  every 
recitation  excited  the  laughter  of  my  classmates." 

One  would  suppose  that  such  a  man 
would  have  more  difficulty  in  passing  the 
entrance  examination  than  his  classmate 
Thoreau,  who  in  the  same  year  (1833), 
presented  himself,  —  for  Thoreau  writes  : 

"  I  was  fitted,  or  rather  made  unfit  for  college  at 
Concord  Academy  and  elsewhere,  mainly  by  myself, 
with  the  countenance  of  Phineas  Allen,  preceptor: 
'  One  branch  more,'  to  use  Mr.  Quincy's  words, 
'and  you  had  been  turned  by  entirely;  you  have 
barely  got  in.'  However,  I  was  in,  and  did  not 
stop  to  ask  how  I  got  there." 

But  Thoreau  kept  on  and  graduated  in 
1837,  while  Thomas  in  1834  went  back 
and  entered  the  Freshman  Class  again, 
with  Lowell  and  Story,  Nathan  Hale,  and 
Devens. 

The  college  president  of  Thoreau, 
Lowell,  and  Thomas,  was  Josiah  Quincy, 
who  had  succeeded  President  Kirkland  a 
few  years  before,  and  whose  son,  Edmund 
Quincy,  of  Bankside,  Dedham,  became  in 
after  years  Lowell's  most  intimate  friend 
among  the  followers  of  Garrison.  He 
was  some  ten  years  older  than  Lowell, 
but  had  the  same  taste  for  leisure  and 
scholastic  pursuits,  and  the  same  inherited 
hatred  for  slavery.  In  later  years,  as  we 
know  from  the  striking  sonnets  written  by 
Lowell  on  Edmund  Quincy's  death,  his 
pleasant  home  at  Bankside  was  one  of  the 
poet's  familiar  resorts, — standing  on  the 
edge  of  Charles  River,  as  Judge  Hoar's 
house  at  Concord  does  beside  the  Mus- 
ketequid,  —  and  remembered  with  that, 
when  Lowell  found  himself  by  the  Eure  at 
Chartres.  But  Quincy  like  Dr.  Holmes, 
was  in  College  long  before  Lowell,  whose 
best-known  classmates  were  Story  the 
sculptor,  the  late  Judge  Devens,  Rufus 
King  (of  Cincinnati),  and  Dr.  G.  B. 
Loring.  Thoreau  graduated  a  year  be- 
fore him,  in   the   class  with  John  Weiss, 


and  Edward  Hale  in  the  class  of  1839,  a 
year  after  Lowell.  Nathan  Hale,  an 
older  brother  of  Edward,  was  Lowell's 
classmate ;  and  these  two,  with  Rufus 
King  (a  grandson  of  the  old  Federalist 
senator,  Rufus  King)  became  editors  of 
the  college  monthly,  Harvardiana. 

The  outward  aspect  of  Harvard  Col- 
lege at  that  time  may  be  seen  in  the 
accompanying  view ;  its  democratic  and 
comprehensive  inner  life  can  be  inferred 
from  the  association,  in  one  class  of  some 
.seventy  persons,  of  rude  backwoodsmen, 
like  Lighthouse  Thomas,  elegant  young 
gentlemen  like  William  Story,  Nathan 
Hale,  and  Rufus  King,  and  trained 
scholars,  such  as  Lowell  was   even   then, 


James  Jackson    Lowell. 

tnough  indolent  and  pleasure-seeking  like 
so  many  lads  in  college. 

The  intellectual  and  social  life  of  Cam- 
bridge, when  the  class  of  1838  graduated, 
was  perhaps  as  attractive  as  at  any  time 


288 


THE  HOME  AND  HAUNTS  OF  LOWELL. 


William    Lowell   Putnam. 

FROM    A    CRAYON    PORTRAIT    BY    ROWSE. 


before  or  since.  President  Kirkland,  of 
whom  Lowell  in  his  "  Fireside  Travels  " 
has  left  so  charming  a  sketch,  had  been 
dead  for  some  years,  and  Dr.  Holmes  had 
just  left  Cambridge  for  Boston ;  but 
Allston  was  living  at  "The  Port "  ;  Judge 
Story  on  Brattle  Street ;  the  Fays  in  their 
large  house,  where  now  the  "  Harvard 
Annex"    is;   Professor    and   Mrs.    Farrar 


were  on  Kirkland  Street ;  Longfellow,  a 
slender,  blond  young  professor,  was  lodg- 
ing in  the  Craigie  House,  which  became 
his  home  afterward ;  Dr.  Palfrey,  Pro- 
fessor Andrews  Norton,  and  the  saintly 
Henry  Ware,  were  at  home  near  Divinity 
College,  and  there  were  many  other  dis- 
tinguished or  agreeable  young  persons  in 
the  college  town. 


THE  HOME  AND  HAUNTS  OE  LOWELL. 


289 


Charles   Russell    Lowell. 

FROM    A    CRAYON    PORTRAIT    BY    ROWSE. 


Margaret  Fuller,  whom  Holmes  and 
Lowell  found  so  antipathetic,  had  left 
Cambridge  for  Groton  in  1833,  and 
Groton  for  Providence  in  1837,  but  she 
frequently  visited  Mrs.  Farrar  and  other 
friends  at  Cambridge,  and  drew  about 
her  many  women  and  some  young  men 
of  much  intellectual  and  spiritual  sym- 
pathy \  among  whom  a  few  years  later  was 


Maria  White  of  Watertown,  who  married 
her  poet  in  1844,  William  White,  her 
brother,  was  a  classmate  of  Lowell  in 
college  and  afterwards  in  the  law  school, 
and  it  was  through  him,  I  suppose,  that 
Lowell  became  acquainted  with  his  bride, 
then  living  with  her  parents  and  sisters  in 
the  fine  old  house  at  Watertown,  a  mile 
or  two  only  from  Elmwood. 


290 


THE  HOME  AND  HAUNTS  OF  LOWELL. 


Richard  Dana,  who  had  been  an  elder 
schoolmate  of  Lowell  at  the  savage  board- 
ing-school of  William  Wells,  not  far  from 
Elmwood,  was  a  law  student  of  Judge 
Story  in  1838,  having  returned  from  his 
"two  years  before  the  mast,"  and  gradu- 
ated in  1836.  Without  belonging  to 
Margaret  Fuller's  circle,  young  Dana  had 
inherited  and  imbibed  an  elementary 
kind  of  transcendentalism,  which  led 
Father  Pierce  of  Brookline,  then  sitting 
on  the  platform  at  his  fifty-third  Com- 
mencement, to  make  this  note  in  1836  : 
"A  dissertation  by  Richard  H.  Dana, 
son  of  R.  H.  Dana,  and  grandson  of  the 
former  Judge  Francis  Dana,  was  on  the 
unique  topic,  '  Heaven  lies  about  us  in 
our  Infancy.'  He  is  a  handsome  youth, 
and    spoke    well.      But    his    composition 


:v, 


™*n*tM, »     F^- 


^4.    -     *«yjf   r 


The  Lowe'l   Lot  at  Mount  Auburn. 


was  of  that  Swedenborgian,  Coleridgian, 
and  dreamy  cast  which  it  requires  a 
peculiar  structure  of  mind  to  understand, 
much  more  to  relish."  Father  Pierce 
had  not  read  Wordsworth,  but  Professor 
Edward  Channing  had,  and  gave  Dana 
this  line  for  a  subject. 

Lowell  had  two  brothers  and  two  sisters. 
Charles,  Robert,  Mary,  and  Rebecca. 
He  was  the  youngest  of  the  family. 
Robert  Traill  Spence  Lowell,  who  became 
an  Episcopal  clergyman,  and  whose  recent 
death  has  been  the  occasion  of  many 
newspaper  articles,  noticing  his  fine  abili- 
ties as  a  poet  and  novelist,  was  three 
years  his  senior.  Mary  Lowell  married 
Samuel  R.  Putnam,  a  Boston  merchant, 
and  also  became  well  known  in  literature, 
as  well  as  for  her  earnest  work  in  various 
reforms.  She  still  lives 
in  Boston,  and  Mr.  Lowell 
I  %  -  was  much  with  her  in  his 

%J  later  years.     She  was  the 

mother  of  William  Lowell 
Putnam,  one  of  the  three 
brilliant  nephews  of 
Lowell,  who  fell  in  the 
war  —  the  others  being 
General  Charles  Russell 
Lowell  and  James  Jack- 
son Lowell.  The  war 
came  very  close  to  Lowell 
personally.  In  the  pri- 
vately printed  edition  of 
the  Commemoration  Ode, 
the  names  of  eight  of  his 
kindred  who  fell  are 
given,  among  them  being 
the  heroic  Colonel  Shaw. 
There  is  a  charming 
picture  of  a  snowball  fight 
at  Elmwood,  with  the 
three  young  nephews,  in 
Lowell's  essay,  "A  Good 
Word  for  Winter,"  written 
in  1870. 


"Already,  as  I  write,  it  is 
twenty-odd  years  ago.  The 
balls  fly  thick  and  fast.  The 
uncle  defends  the  waist-high 
ramparts  against  a  storm  of 
nephews,  his  breast  plastered 
with  decorations  like  another 
Radetsky's.  How  well  I  recall 
the  indomitable  good  humor 
under  Are  of  him  who  fell  in 


THE  HOME  AND  HAUNTS  OF  LOWELL. 


291 


James   Russell    Lowell. 

FROM    A    PHOTOGRAPH    BY    ELLIOTT    &    FRY,    TAKEN    DURING    MR.    LOWELL'S    REPDIENCE    IN    LONDON. 


the  front  at  Ball's  Bluff;  the  silent  pertinacity 
of  the  gentle  scholar  who  got  his  last  hurt 
at  Fair  Oaks;  the  ardor  in  the  charge  of  the 
gallant  gentleman  who,  with  the  death  wound  in 
his  side,  headed  his  brigade  at  Cedar  Creek ! 
How  it  all  comes  back  —  and  they  never  came  !  " 

As  for  the  scenery  of  Cambridge  in 
I^38,  —  turning  back  again  to  the  earlier 
time  —  the  Washington  Elm  was  then  in 
its  glory,  and  the  "Sweet  Auburn"  of 
Lowell's     childhood     had     become    the 


cemetery  of  Boston's  worth,  wealth,  and 
beauty,  though  the  graves  were  yet  few, 
and  the  little  mound  over  the  grave  of 
the  first  child,  "  the  morning  glory,"  was 
still  ten  years  in  the  future. 

"The  six  old  willows  at  the  causey's 
end"  were  there,  as  they  are  there  now, 
and 

"  There  in  red  brick,  which  softening  time  defies, 
Stood  square  and  stiff  the  Muse's  factories,  —  " 


292 


THE  HOME  AND  HAUNTS  OF  LOWELL. 


At  Appledor 


as  Lowell  irreverently  termed  the  col- 
leges, in  which  he  "  recited "  and  de- 
claimed, and  held  evening  revels  with 
Devens  and  Charles  Miller  and  William 
Story,  but  in  which  he  did  not  live,  —  for 
both  at  school  and  in  college  he  resided 
with  his  father  at  Elmwood,  as  Story  did 
with  his  father  in  another  old  colonial 
house,  on  Brattle  Street,  between  which 
and  Lowell's  home  stood  the  Washington 
headquarters,  then  known  as  the  Craigie 
House,  and  later  as  the  home  of  Long- 
fellow. Farther  on  the  Boston  road,  and 
not  far  from  the  colleges  stood  another 
three-story  colonial  house,  intended  for 
the  bishop's  palace,  if  Massachusetts 
could  have  endured  a  bishop,  and  oc- 
cupied, after  the  surrender  at  Saratoga,  by 
the  officers  of  Burgoyne,  who  were  quar- 
tered in  Cambridge  before  they  were 
sent  down  to  Virginia.  "  The  hooks  were 
to  be   seen,"   says  Lowell,  "from   which 


had  swung  the  hammocks  of  Burgoyne's 
captive  red-coats."  The  whole  town  had 
an  old-fashioned  air,  and  as  Lowell  said 
in  1853,  "some  of  that  cloistered  quiet 
which  characterizes  all  university  towns ; 
even  now,"  he  adds,  "delicately  thought- 
ful Arthur  Hugh  C lough  tells  me  he 
finds  in  its  intellectual  atmosphere  a  re- 
pose which  recalls  that  of  grand  old 
Oxford."  The  "intellectual  repose"  of 
the  town  was  greater  in  1852-3,  than  in 
1838,  when  Emerson's  Divinity  School 
address  and  Alcott's  Boston  teachings 
had  disturbed  the  dons  of  Cambridge,  as 
well  as  the  merchants  and  ministers  of 
Boston. 

Lowell's  college  life  was  at  first  that  of  a 
well-taught  and  well-bred  schoolboy,  for 
he  entered  at  the  age  of  fifteen,  and  may 
even,  like  a  classmate  of  my  own,  have 
spent  some  part  of  his  Freshman  year  in 
the  boyish  clasp  of  a  jacket.     But  manly 


Mount  Kineo,    Moosehead   Lake. —  "A   Moosehead  Journal 


THE  HOME  AND  HAUNTS  OF  LOWELL. 


293 


airs  and  feelings  are  soon  developed  in 
college,  and  the  studious  boy  became  the 
carefully  clad  and  gay  Sophomore  and 
Junior.  In  the  first  term  of  his  junior 
year,  at  the  age  of  seventeen,  he  was 
elected  into  the  Hasty  Pud- 
ding Club,  of  which  his 
father  and  Washington  All- 
ston  had  been  members  in 
1798.  This  was  not  the 
oldest  college  society,  for 
the  "  Institute  of  1770  "  and 
the  Phi  Beta  Kappa  ante- 
dated it,  —  but  it  was  that 
to  which  it  was  then  the 
greatest  pleasure  and  social 
distinction  to  belong.  Its 
name  described  its  feasts, 
which  consisted  only  of  hasty 
pudding  and  hominy,  with 
milk,  and  that  form  of  pud- 
ding known  as  "fry"  —  all 
served  with  molasses,  and 
eaten  with  silver  or  pewter 
spoons.  The  meetings  for 
more  than  fifty  years,  tili 
1849,  were  held  at  the 
rooms  of  its  members  who 
lived  in  college  ;  the  pudding 
was  made  by  a  staid  matron 
not  far  from  the  college- 
yard  ;  two  of  the  younger 
members  carried  the  pudding 
pot  from  her  -house  to  the 
appointed  room,  and  a  bowl 
of  the  pudding  was  always 
carried  to  the  tutor  or  proctor 
who  ruled  in  the  "  entry " 
on  which  the  festal- room 
opened.  The  records  of  this  club  were- 
always  kept  in  verse,  and  Lowell,  as 
secretary  for  his  class,  wrote  copious 
verses  in  its  records  which,  I  read  with 
avidity  and  some  disappointment  when 
I  succeeded  to  the  office  in  1853. 
Probably  he  printed  some  of  these  smooth 
and  trivial  verses  in  the  college  magazine, 
Harvardiana,  as  the  custom  was  when 
we  had  a  magazine,  but  I  have  not  been 
able  to  trace  any  of  them.  They  were 
all  composed  before  he  was  well  along  in 
his  nineteenth  year,  and  it  is  seldom  that 
poems  of  that  juvenility  are  worth  pre- 
serving. But  I  remember  they  were  writ- 
ten in  the  elegant  and  legible  hand  which 


all  Lowell's  correspondents  will  gratefully 
remember,  and  which,  I  suppose,  he 
learned  of  his  English-born  schoolmaster, 
William  Wells,1  who  flogged  and  wrote 
like  an. English  master  of  the  eighteenth 


.      ■■'      .    .    ..  .     -     -    - 


Beaver   Brook. 

century.  Lowell,  was  also  one  of  the  two 
"poets"  of  the  Hasty  Pudding  Club  in 
1837  (J.  F.  W.  Ware  being  the  other), 
as  his  brother  Robert  had  been  five 
years  earlier  in  1832;  and  "Lighthouse 
Thomas  "  was  one  of  the  two  "orators,"  as 
well  as  "chorister,"  for  it  was  then  the 
custom  to  give  two  Hasty  Pudding  poems 
and  two  orations  in  a  year.  In  this  office 
of  "poet  "  I  also  succeeded  the  two  Lowells 
in  1854.  Among  the  "  Pudding  members  " 
of    Lowell's    class    were    Judge    Devens, 


1  The  school  was  in  a  large  three-story  house  near  Mount 
Auburn,  to  which,  at  the  age  of  fifty-four,  Mr.  Wells,  who 
had  been  a  thriving  publisher  in  Boston  (Wells  &  Lilly), 
removed  in  1827.  Its  methods  and  discipline  are  all  de- 
scribed in  Adams's  "  Richard  Henry  Dana." 


294 


THE  HOME  AND  HAUNTS  OF  LOWELL. 


-« -  -Mff 


W    \ 


The  Washington    Elm  at  Cambridge. 


William    Aspinwall,    William    Bowditch, 
Wendell  Davis  of  Greenfield,  Prof.  H.  L. 


Robert  Carter. 


Eustis,  Rufus  King,  Patrick  Jackson, 
(whose  sister  Anna  was  the  mother  of 
Charles  Russell  Lowell,  Jr.,  and  James 
Jackson  Lowell,  )  Dr.  Loring,  Howland 
Shaw,  and  two  Rotches  from  New  Bed- 
ford. Story  was  not  a  member,  nor  was 
William  White.  Charles  Miller,  who 
'afterwards  became  the  son-in-law  of 
Gerrit  Smith,  would  perhaps  have  been  a 
"Pudding  member"  if  his  gayeties  had 
not  removed  him  from  college  too  soon. 

Lowell  also,  as  is  well-known,  was  sent 
away  from  college  in  his  senior  year  and 
spent  the  last  term  in  Concord,  living  on 
the  main  street  of  that  village,  next  door 
to  Samuel  Hoar's  house,  and  opposite 
that  of  Colonel  Whiting,  one  of  the  early 
Abolitionists  of  Concord.  He  was  put 
under  the  guidance  of  Rev.  Barzillai 
Frost,  who  in  a  competitive  contest  of  can- 
didates had  been  chosen  over  Theodore 
Parker  as  the  colleague  of  old  Dr.  Ripley, 


THE  HOME  AND  HAUNTS  OF  LOWELL. 


295 


then  in  the  fiftieth  year  of  his  ministry 
and  his  residence  in  the  old  manse.  Con- 
cord, was  just  becoming  the  Mecca  of 
pilgrims  who  had  seen  the  new  star  in 
the  East,  and  worshipped  it ;  but  only  one 
or  two  of  the  famous  authors  had  yet 
fixed  their  abode  there.  Emerson  had 
been  living  in  his  own  house  for  three 
years,  and  Thoreau,  recently  graduated 
from  Harvard,  was  looking  for  a  school 
to  teach,  in  Maine,  in  Virginia,  or  wher- 
ever there  might  be  wanted  a  "  teacher 
in  the  higher  branches  of  useful  litera- 
ture," as  Dr.  Ripley  said  in  recommend- 
ing young  Thoreau  "  to  the  friends  of 
education."  Alcott  and  Margaret  Fuller 
were  occasional  visitors  at  Emerson's 
house,  where  also  the  son  of  Dr.  Lowell 
was  welcomed  and  often  called.  I  sup- 
pose Lowell's  acquaintance  with  Judge 
Hoar,  who  graduated  in  1835,  began  in 
this  spring  and  summer  at  Concord, 
though  no  trace  of  this  appears  in  the 
Class  Poem,  which  he  wrote  while  wan- 
dering in  the  Concord  woods  and  pas- 
tures—  perhaps  sometimes  with  Henry 
Thoreau  or  his  brother  John.  He  attended 
the  ministrations  of  Rev.  Mr.  Frost,  and 
used  to  quote  with  some  glee  from  what 
he  called  "  the  Niagara  Sermon  "  of  that 
clergyman,  written  after  his  first  visit  to 
those  Falls,  which  the  young  lady,  pos- 
sibly of  Concord,  said,  "  she  had  never 
seen,  but  always  had  heard  them  highly 
spoken  of."     Lowell  complimented  Con- 


Nathan  Hale. 


Dr.    Estes   Howe. 


cord  in  his  preface  to  the  Class  Poem  as 
a  place  where,  "  though  the  situation  is 
low,  the  air  is  salubrious."  He  added, 
"The  inhabitants  are  hospitable  and  pleas- 
ant ;  moreover,  which  is  rare  in  country 
towns,  they  mind  their  own  business  won- 
derfully. I  have  been  informed  that 
this  last  is  only  at  one  end  of  the  town." 
Dr.  Hale  does  not  seem  to  be  very  well 
acquainted  with  this  Concord  experience 
of  Lowell's,  and  says  he  was  there  "  under 
the  tender  and  satisfactory  oversight  of  Dr. 
Ripley  and  Mrs.  Ripley."  But  the  good 
doctor's  wife  had  long  been  dead,  and  in 
1838  Dr.  Ezra  Ripley  at  the  age  of 
eighty-seven,  was  under  care  himself  in 
his  own  parsonage  house,  where  Lowell 
doubtless  called  on  him,  and  from  which 
the  old  pastor,  a  few  months  later,  wrote 
to  Dr.  Charming  a  pathetic  letter  com- 
plaining of  the  Transcendentalists.  "  De- 
nied, as  I  am,  the  privilege  of  going 
from  home,"  he  wrote  in  February,  1839, 
"  of  visiting  and  conversing  with  en- 
lightened friends,  and  of  reading,  even; 
broken  down  with  the  infirmities  of  age, 
and  subject  to  fits  that  deprive  me  of 
reason  and  the  use  of  my  limbs,  I  feel  it 
a  duty  to  be  patient  and  submissive  to 
the  will  of  God,  who   is  too  wise  to  err 


296 


THE  HOME  AND  HAUNTS  OF  LOWELL. 


Arthur   Hugh   Ciough. 

and  too  good  to  injure."  He  was,  there- 
fore, in  no  condition  to  take  the  oversight 
of  a  livery  youth,  whom  President  Quincy 
and  the  whole  Faculty  of  the  college  had 
found  themselves  unable  to  keep  within 
bounds.  I  suppose  Dr.  Hale  was  think- 
ing of  Mrs.  Samuel  Ripley,  the  doctor's 
daughter-in-law ;  but  she  was  then  in 
Waltham,  looking  after  her  husband's 
parish  and  school.  She  came  to  know 
James  Lowell  very  well,  through  her 
acquaintance  with  Dr.  Francis,  then 
minister  of  Watertown,  whose  parishioners 
were  the  Whites,  where  Lowell  visited  so 
constantly  from  1838  onward. 


Dr.  Ripley,  with  his  wife's  grandson, 
Waldo  Emerson,  chiefly  in  mind,  wrote  to 
Dr.  Channing,  in  the  letter  above  quoted, 
"  I  would  not  treat  with  disrespect  and 
severe  censure  men  who  advance  senti- 
ments which  I  may  neither  approve  nor 
understand,  provided  their  authors  be 
men  of  learning,  piety,  and  holy  lives. 
The  speculations  and  novel  opinions  of 
such  men  rarely  prove  injurious." 

Young  Lowell,  not  having  the  deep  ex- 
perience of  the  old  Concord  pastor,  dealt 
out  in  his  raw  and  shallow  poem  a  much 
harsher  censure  on  the  wise  man  at 
whose  house  he  was  entertained  and 
whose  disciple  he  soon  became.  While 
complimenting  Emerson  for  his  letter  to 
Van  Buren  in  favor  of  the  Cherokees  and 
Seminoles,  Lowell  printed  these  lines, 
which  could  apply  only  to  Emerson,  who 
was  still,  in  1838,  called  "Reverend." 

Woe  for  Religion,  too,  when  men  who  claim 
To  place  a  "  Reverend  "  before  their  name 
Ascend  the  Lord's  own  holy  place  to  preach, 
In   strains    that    Kneeland1    had   been   proud   to 

reach, 
And  which,  if  measured  by  Judge  Thacher's  scale, 
Had  doomed  their  author  to  the  county  jail ! 
Alas !  that  Christian  ministers  should  dare 
To  preach  the  views  of  Gibbon  and  Voltaire  ! 

1  Abner  Kneeland,  once  a  minister,  had  shortly  before 
been  sent  to  jail  in  Boston  by  Judge  Thacher  for  "  blas- 
phemy," and  the  Boston  Advertiser  had  suggested  the 
same  course  with  Mr.  Alcott. 


iyHiiM 


Bankside,"  the   Home  of  Edmund   Quincy. 


THE  HOME  AND  HAUNTS  OF  LOWELL. 


297 


The  Cathedral  at  Chartres. 


Nor  could  the  youthful  satirist,  not  yet 
imbued  with  his  father's  and  grandfather's 
opinions  on  slavery,  refrain  from  attack- 
ing Garrison  and  Phillips  and  Edmund 
Quincy,  whom  he  soon  adopted  as  his 
political  guides.  He  thus  addressed  them 
in  his  Class  Poem  : 

"  Bold  saints  !  why  tell  us  here  of  those  who  scoff 

At  law  and  reason  thousands  of  miles  off? 

Why  punish  us  with  your  infernal  din 

For  what  you  tell  us  is  the  planter's  sin? 

Why  on  the  North  commence  the  fierce  crusade, 

And  war  on  them  for  ills  the  South  has  made?  " 

These  were,  no  doubt,  the  opinions  of 
m^st  undergraduates  at  Cambridge  in 
Lowell's    college    days,  as    they  were    in 


mine ;  nor  had  he  learned  among  the' 
citizens  of  Concord,  old  or  young,  opin- 
ions very  different,  for  only  a  handful  of 
Concord  people  were  Abolitionists  in 
1838.  But  he  could  have  learned  a 
sounder  doctrine  from  his  own  father, 
who,  in  a  sermon  printed  in  1828,  ten 
years  before,  had  said  :  "  I  have  not  been 
accustomed  to  consider  anything  imprac- 
ticable thai  it  was  well  should  be  done. 
What  was  once  thought  more  visionary 
than  the  project  of  Clarkson  and  Wilber- 
force  to  abolish  the  slave  trade  in  England  ? 
and  yet  not  only  the  English  have 
discontinued  it,  but  most  other  nations ; 
and    the    time    appears   to   be   hastening 


298 


THE  HOME  AND  HAUNTS  OF  LOWELL. 


when  this  foul  blot  shall  not  be  found  on 
the  escutcheon  of  any  people."  Dr. 
Lowell  had  also  shrewdly  intimated  that 
men  need  not  have  all  the  virtues  before 
they  were  allowed  to  tell  the  truth,  for  he 


poetry  that  I  have  seen  in  his  early 
effusions.  It  certainly  applies  to  Maria 
White,  and  was  followed  by  many  another 
love  sonnet  and  canzonet  more  perfect 
in   their  form,  but  not  more  pleasing  in 


Applaton   Chapel. 


gave  twice  at  the  ordination  of  young 
ministers  a  sermon  on  "The  Wisdom 
and  Goodness  of  God  in  appointing  Men 
and  not  Angels  to  the  Christian  Min- 
istry." It  was  first  preached  at  the 
ordination  of  Rev.  D.  H.  Barlow,  father 
of  General  F.  C.  Barlow,  in  Lynn,  and 
was  fully  justified  in  the  event,  as  it  has 
often  been  in  other  instances. 

Cet  age  est  sans  pitie.  From  the  heart- 
less nonsense  of  this  youthful  period, 
common  enough  to  brilliant  men  in  their 
teens,  Lowell  was  snatched  in  a  moment, 
as  it  were,  by  the  lovely  Maria  White,  his 
good  angel  and  his  true  love.  He  seems 
to  have  knelt  at  her  shrine  even  in 
Concord,  for  the  sonnet  of  dedication  in 
his  Class  Poem  appears  to  be  addressed 
to  her,  and  is  the  first  glimpse  of  good 


sentiment  than  this,  which  is  seldom  re- 
printed : 

"  Lady  !  whom  I  have  dared  to  call  my  muse, 

With  thee  my  lay  began,  with  thee  shall  end; 
Thou  cans't  not  such  a  poor  request  refuse 

To  let  thine  image  with  its  closing  blend ! 
As  turn  the  flowers  to  the  quiet  dew, 

Fairest,  so  turns  my  yearning  heart  to  thee, 
For  thee  it  pineth,  as  the  homesick  shell 

Mourns  to  be  once  again  beneath  the  sea; 
Oh !  let  thine  eyes  upon  this  tribute  dwell, 

And  think  —  one  moment — kindly  think  of  me! 
Alone  —  my  spirit  seeks  thy  company, 

And  in  all  beautiful  communes  with  thine ; 
In  crowds  —  it  ever  seeks  alone  to  be, 

To  dream  of  gazing  in  thy  gentle  eyne. 

"  Concord,  August  21,  1838." 

There  hangs  at  Elmwood  a  portrait  of 
Maria  Lowell  painted  by  Page  about  the 
time  that  he  was  celebrated  by  Lowell  as 


THE  HOME  AND  HAUNTS  OF  LOWELL. 


299 


the  great  coming  painter  of  America. l  I 
became  familiar  with  it  from  seeing  it 
hung  in  Mrs.  C.  R.  Lowell's  house  while 
the  bereaved  husband  was  absent  from 
Elmwood  in  Europe  or  elsewhere,  and 
whither  I  went  in  1853-4  to  read  Greek 
together  with  Charley  Lowell,  as  his 
friends  called  him  —  the  "Young  Tele- 
machus  "  of  Lowell's  Moosehead  Journal, 
and  one  of  the  heroes  who  died  in  the 
Civil  War.  It  was  by  him  that  I  was 
first  taken  to  call  on  Lowell  at  Elmwood, 
I  suppose,  in  1853  ;  but  I  never  saw 
Maria  Lowell,  and  can  only  sp'eak  of  her 
as  I  have  heard  her  described  by  others 
—  by  Mrs.  Anna.  Lowell,  by  Wendell 
Phillips,  by  Miss  Anne  Whiting  of  Con- 
cord, who  was  for  a  time  her  teacher,  and 
by  many  more  who  had  the  privilege  of 
knowing  her.  She  was  evidently  one  of 
those  rare  persons  who  cannot  be  fully 
known  by  what  they  say  and  do,  but  who 
add  to  that  an  ineffable  something  from 
the  treasures  of  the  spirit  within  the  veil, 
and  from  the  sweet  potency  of  character. 
She  had  talent  in  abundance,  but  less 
than  Lowell's,  while  she  excelled  him  in 
that  insight  and  spiritual  power  which  is 
given  in  larger  measure  to  good  women 
than  to  great  men.  The  saying  of  Milton 
and  St.  Paul  concerning  Adam  and  Eve 

"  He  for  God  only,  she  for  God  in  him," 

seemed  to  be  reversed  with  the  two 
Lowells  in  their  paradise  ;  it  was  through 
her  that  he  was  brought  nearer  to  the 
divine  life,  and  drawn  aside  from  the 
occupations  and  frivolities,  the  borrowed 
opinions  and  habitual  compliance  of  his 
easy  nature. 

1  This,  we  think,  is  the  portrait  copied  for  publication  in 
the  little  volume  of  Mrs.  Lowell's  poems,  and  reproduced 
with  the  present  article.  The  portrait  of  Lowell  by  Page, 
painted  at  the  same  time,  is  reproduced  as  the  frontispiece 
to  the  first  volume  of  the  new  edition  of  "  Lowell's  Poetical 
Works."  The  two  photographs  by  Elliott  and  Fry  of  Lon- 
don, were  perhaps  the  best  of  the  later  pictures  of  Lowell. 
The  earlier  photograph  by  Couly  of  Boston,  reproduced  in 
the  last  number  of  the  New  England  Magazine,  was 
especially  liked  by  Lowell  himself,  being  often  spoken  of 
by  him  as  his  best  photograph.  Of  the  portrait  belonging 
to  the  time  of  his  Harvard  professorship,  reproduced  in 
connection  with  the  article  on  "  Harvard  College  during 
the  War,"  in  the  May  number  of  this  magazine.  Mr. 
Lowell  wrote  the  following  pleasant  note  to  the  engraver, 
Mr.  Brown,  who  had  sent  him  a  proof.  The  note  is  dated 
June  1,  1891,  and  must  therefore  have  been  among  the  last 
which  he  wrote:  "Perhaps  when  my  face  was  first  de- 
signed, I  might,  like  King  Alfonso  El  Sabio,  have  made 
some  suggestions  for  the  better.  But  it  is  now  seventy-two 
years  too  late.  Your  engraving  seems  to  me  a  very  good 
one,  and  as  for  corrections,  I  don't  know  my  own  face  well 
enough  to  venture  any  advice.  I  suppose  the  sun  saw  me 
truly  in  1863,  and  that  you  have  repeated  truly  what  he 
saw.     That  is  as  it  should  be. "  —  Editor. 


In  the  matter  of  poetry  Lowell  soon 
recognized  this  direction  from  a  higher 
power  than  his  own,  and  in  the  "  Proem  " 
to  "  A  Year's  Life,"  his  first  acknowledged 
publication,  in  1841,  he  thus  declared  it : 

"  So  brighter  grew  the  earth  around, 
And  bluer  grew  the  sky  above; 
The  Poet  now  his  guide  hath  found, 
And  follows  in  the  steps  of  Love." 

He  had,  indeed,  found  his  guide  in  more 
directions  than  one.  The  aspirations 
-and  purposes  of  Maria  White,  like  those 
of  Anne  Greene  who  captivated  Wendell 
Phillips  a  few  years  earlier,  were  all  noble 
and  open.  She  joyfully  ranged  herself 
and  drew  her  dear  friends  to  the  side  of 
those  public  causes  which  Alcott,  Emer- 
son, Phillips,  and  their  friends  had  pointed 
out  to  her :  the  emancipation  of  the 
slaves,  the  enfranchisement  of  women, 
the  elevation  of  the  poor,  the  reformation 
of  the  criminal,  the  repeal  and  removal 
of  outrageous  laws  and  customs,  whether 
in  the  state,  the  church,  or  in  society. 
In  such  generous  causes  Maria  White  was 
irresistible,  not  so  much  by  what  she  said 
and  wrote,  as  by  the  charm  of  feminine 
goodness  which  inspires  sympathy  with 
all  that  is  excellent  when  we  see  it  in  a 
living  presence.  She  was  herself  the 
nobility  of  thought  and  life  which  she  de- 
clared in  melodious  words  ;  and  those  who 
saw  and  heard  her  needed  no  other  per- 
suasive. "  I  was  born  in  a  country,"  said 
Sir  Robert  Wilson  on  a  memorable  occa- 
sion, "  where  the  social  virtues  are  re- 
garded as  public  virtues."  In  a  sense 
still  higher  are  the  social  virtues  of 
women  like  Maria  Lowell  public  virtues  \ 
and  very  important  was  the  influence  of 
such  women  in  the  long  struggle  between 
freedom  and  human  slavery  in  the  United 
States.  To  her  we,  no  doubt,  owe  the 
timely,  constant,  and  effective  support 
which  Lowell,  the  poet  of  the  younger 
generation  in  her  time,  gave  to  the  anti- 
slavery  cause  when  it  needed  all  the  aid 
that  genius  and  culture  could  bring  against 
its  overmastering  opponents. 

Having  engaged  himself  for  marriage 
before  he  was  one  and  twenty,  it  was 
needful  that  the  young  poet  should  not 
depend  on  literature  alone  for  the  sup- 
port of  a  family.     He,  therefore,  entered 


iOO 


THE  HOME  AND  HAUNTS  OF  LOWELL. 


the  Harvard  Law  School  before  his  friends 
R.  H.  Dana  and  E.  R.  Hoar  left  it  in 
1839,  and  he  graduated  there  along  with 
his  classmates  Story,  Devens,  Hale,  and 
King,  and  his  future  brother-in-law,  Wil- 
liam A.  White,  in  1840.  During  these 
years  he  was  frequently  drawn  to  Green- 
field, where  his  classmate  Wendell  Davis 
lived,  and  where  Charles  Devens  soon 
settled,  and  we  shall  soon  see  how  pleas- 
antly he  looked  toward  Greenfield  as  an 
escape  from  the  drudgery  of  law.  He 
opened  an  office  at  10  Court  Street, 
Boston,  in  1840-41,  and  there  occurred 
that  interview  with  his  first  client,  which 
Dr.  Hale  has  recalled  from  the  grave  of  the 
Boston  Miscellany  of  1842.  But  there 
are  other  sentences  in  "  My  First  Client  " 
which  may  be  cited  : 

"  I  had  been  in  my  office  a  month.  I  had 
fourteen  blank  writs  and  other  blanks  in  abun- 
dance, and  my  own  face,  from  constant  association 
began  to  grow  blank  also.  ...  A  friend,  dis- 
guised as  a  substantial  farmer  without  any  bump 
of  locality,  had  three  several  times  inquired  'if 
this  were  Mr.  Mortmain's  office,'  at  every  door  on 
both  sides  of  the  street.  Three  times,  also,  with 
a  thick  file  of  papers  in  my  hand  I  had  hurried 
the  same  individual  to  and  from  the  Court  House 
in  the  most  sidewalk-crowded  parts  of  the  day. 
Still  my  door  had  not  once  opened  unexpectedly. 

"  The  eyes  of  a  man  who  has  nothing  to  do  are 
keen.  I  saw  everything.  ...  I  knew  by  sight 
every  crack  in  my  ceiling  and  the  peculiar  ex- 
pression of  every  paving-stone  under  my  window. 
...  I  knew  familiarly  all  the  men  in  pea-jackets 
who  leaned  all  day  against  the  lamp-posts.  I 
speculated  upon  the  age  required  to  entitle  a  man 
to  green  baize  jackets,  having  observed  that  the 
wearers  of  them  were  a  peculiar  race,  who  had 
apparently  come  into  the  world  in  green  jackets  to 
illustrate  Wordsworth's  doctrine  of  '  not  in  utter 
nakedness.'  ...  I  was  sure  for  nearly  five  minutes 
that  the  man  in  the  white  hat  and  the  brass  chain, 
unsuggestive  of  any  watch,  was  looking  for  my 
office.  ...  I  didn't  see  how  people  could  eat 
peanuts,  but  supposed  they  were  used  to  it.  I 
thought  how  pleasant  it  would  be  in  Greenfield  now, 
and  was  just  starting  for '  the  Glen  '  with  a  rapturous 
party,  when  I  was  roused  from  my  reverie  by  a 
shadow  against  my  glass  door.  .  .  .  My  cottage 
in  the  country,  with  the  white  lilac  and  the  honey- 
suckle in  front,  and  the  seat  just  large  enough  for 
two  under  the  elm-tree,  drew  ten  years  nearer  in 
as  many  seconds." 

"  I  have  heard  of  Greenwich  mean 
time,"  wrote  George  T.  Davis  to  the 
committee  of  a  bar-dinner,  which  he 
could  not  attend  because  of  a  referee- 
case  in  the  little  town  of  Greenwich, — 


"and  I  fully  expect  co  nave  one  to-day." 
The  disappointment  of  Lowell  when  an- 
ticipating a  Greenfield  good  time,  to  find 
that  his  expected  client  was  a  dun,  must 
have  been  greater  than  that  of  his  friend 
George  Davis,  on  the  occasion  mentioned. 
The  allusion  to  "  the  cottage  in  the  coun- 
try "  becomes  pathetic  when  we  reflect 
that  the  briefless  barrister  was  waiting  to 
be  married,  and  wanted  to  earn  a  little 
money,  instead  of  having  it  given  to  him 
by  his  friends.  Mr.  Stephen  M.  Allen, 
who  was  associated  with  Lowell  during 
the  period  of  his  nominal  law-practice, 
has  preserved  a  few  incidents  worth  re- 
cording.    He  says : 

"  One  morning  I  called  upon  him  and  he  was 
walking  the  floor  excitedly.  After  exchange  of 
salutations  he  looked  up  and  said,  '  Allen,  can  you 
tell  me  how  and  where  I  can  earn  an  honest  dol- 
lar? '  I  answered  that  I  could  tell  him  where  he 
could  get  a  hundred  if  he  wished,  and  offered  to 
supply  him  with  ready  money.  '  That  is  not  what 
I  want,'  said  he.     '  I  want  to  earn  some  money.'  " 

Colonel  Higginson  was  one  who  knew 
Maria  White,  and  he  has  lately  said  of 
her  in  an  article  in  Harper's  Bazar: 

"  Maria  White  was  a  singularly  gentle  person 
in  her  aspect  and  manners  —  fair,  sweet,  benign, 
thoughtful,  ideal  —  and  it  was  beneath  the  sur- 
face that  the  firmness  of  purpose  lay.  She  had 
been  for  a  time  a  pupil  with  her  cousin,  the  late 
Maria  Fay  of  Cambridge,  at  the  Ursuline  Con- 
vent near  Boston,  and  was  there,  if  I  mistake  not, 
at  the  time  it  was  burned  by  a  mob.  This  may 
well  have  imbued  her  with  the  love  of  religious 
freedom.  She  had  been  a  member  of  some  of 
Margaret  Fuller's  classes',  and  shared  their  tonic 
influence.  She  had  also  spent  much  time  in  the 
study  of  Rev.  Convtrs  Francis  of  Watertown,  a 
man  of  unusual  learning,  and  a  reformer,  though 
a  mild  one.  At  his  house  she  had  doubtless  met 
his  more  potent  and  energetic  sister,  Lydia  Maria 
Child.  Moreover,  Maria  White's  own  brother,  who 
was  Lowell's  classmate,  had  given  up  all  else  to 
devote  himself  to  the  anti-slavery  agitation,,  be- 
coming an  itinerant  lecturer  in  the  cause.  It  was, 
in  a  manner,  a  foregone  conclusion  that  Maria 
White  should  be  a  reformer,  and  equally  so  that 
her  lover  should.  He  was,  as  he  has  since  said, 
'  by  temperament  and  education  of  a  conserva- 
tive tone,'  and  it  needed  a  strong  influence  to 
transfer  him  to  the  progressive  side." 

Lowell's  neighborhood  to  Watertown, 
and  his  connection  with  the  White  fam- 
ily there  may  have  brought  him  early  into 
acquaintance  with  Levi  Thaxter  of  that 
town,  who  graduated  at  Harvard  in  1S43, 
studied  Browning  and  the  law,  and  mar- 
ried  Miss   Celia  Leighton  of  Appledore. 


THE  HOME  AND  HAUNTS  OF  LOWELL. 


301 


This  courtsllip  and  marriage  took  him 
much  to  the  Isles  of  Shoals,  near  Ports- 
mouth, where  Lowell's  mother  had  lived, 
and  Lowell  for  some  years  was  familiar 
with  those  rocky  islands  and  that  pleas- 
ant shore,  where  the  Wentworths  and 
Pepperells,  Whippers,  Atkinsons,  Vaughns, 
and  Jaffreys  so  long  dwelt  in  colonial 
times.  Mrs.  Thaxter  has  made  herself 
the  special  poet  of  the  Shoals ;  but  Long- 
fellow and  Whittier  have  also  dealt  with 
that  picturesque  sea-coast,  and  Lowell  in 
his  "  Pictures  from  Appledore  "  has  pre- 
served the  memory  of  wonderful  sights 
and  sounds  there,  in  a  verse  that  makes 
one  think  more  of  Browning  and  Thaxter, 
than  of  Tennyson. 

Robert  Carter's  house  in  Sparks  Street 
was  one  of  the  resorts  of  Lowell  in  Cam- 
bridge, as  was  also,  of  course,  the  house 
of  Dr.  Estes  Howe,  who  had  married  an 
elder  sister  of  Maria  White.  In  the 
"Fable  for  Critics,"  where  Lowell  says, 

"  I  can  walk  with  the  Doctor,  get  facts  from  the 
Don, 
And    take    in    the    Lambish    quintessence    of 
John,  —  " 

he  means  Doctor  Howe,  Don  Roberto 
Carter,  and  John  Holmes,  the  brother  of 
the  poet.  These  were  all  members  of 
the  famous  Cambridge  whist-club,  to 
which  for  half  a  century  or  so  Lowell 
belonged,  and  whose  surviving  members 
met  to  play  a  final  game  with  him  in 
Elm  wood  but  a  few  weeks  before  his 
death.  Carter  was  a  person  of  singular 
education  and  experience,  who  had  ac- 
quired a  vast  multitude  of  facts  concern- 
ing the  past  and  the  present,  and  who 
wrote  with  excellent  facility  and  generally 
on  the  right  side  in  politics.  Estes 
Howe  was  always  on  the  right  side,  and 
held  to  his  political  opinions  as  firmly  as 
any  man  ever  did.  He  is  not  to  be  con- 
founded with  the  more  eminent  Dr. 
Samuel  Howe  (a  distant  relative),  who 
sat  beside  him  in  the  same  political  par- 
ties and  at  the  same  club  tables  in 
Boston  for  many  years.  Both  were  warm 
friends  of  Charles  Sumner,  and  of  Long- 
fellow, at  whose  house  in  Cambridge  both 
Sumner  and  Lowell  were  always  at  home. 

The  connection  of  Lowell  with  the  At- 
lantic Monthly  marks  how  far  Harvard 
had    gone    forward    politically    from    the 


time,  in  1850-55,  when  no  professor  or 
undergraduate  was  expected  or,  if  it 
was  possible  to  suppress  him,  was  allowed 
to  say  anything  unfavorable  to  human 
slavery,  and  its  champions,  North  and 
South.  Lowell's  chief  interest  in  the 
magazine  was  at  first  political,  and  he 
told  me  (in  one  of  those  visits  that  he 
made  at  Concord  to  confer  with  Emerson 
about  the  new  magazine,  and  to  meet  the 
unaccommodating  Thoreau),  that  he  had 
thoughts  of  a  department  in  the  Atlantic, 
to  be  carried  on  under  the  sign  of  a 
broom  at  the  masthead,  like  old  Van 
Tromp's  flagship  in  the  English  chan- 
nel, —  which  should  be  devoted  to  sweep- 
ing out  such  creatures  as  Caleb  Cush'ing, 
Ben  Hallett,  and  the  other  "  Northern 
men  with  Southern  principles,"  who  then 
disfigured  our  politics.  He  also  told  me, 
when  I  urged  him  in  1858  to  make  the 
acquaintance  of  John  Brown,  then  at 
Theodore  Parker's  in  Boston,  that  he  had 
in  1856  serious  thoughts  of  sending 
Hosea  Biglow  out  to  Kansas  as  a  free- 
state  settler,  and  thus  continuing  the 
"Biglow  Papers,"  which  slumbered  from 
1848  to  1 86 1,  as  we  know.  Something 
prevented  the  acceptance  of  Parker's 
invitation  to  meet  John  Brown  at  his 
house  in  Exeter  Place,  and  the  two  men 
never  met. 

In  1857,  Lowell  was  married  to  Miss 
Frances  Dunlap  of  Portland,  who  had  had 
charge  of  the  education  of  his  daughter 
during  his  residence  abroad,  after  the 
death  of  his  first  wife.  The  second  Mrs. 
Lowell  died  in  London  in  1885,  during 
Lowell's  residence  there  as  American 
minister. 

It  was  in  1858,  that  the  famous  party 
which  Stillman  the  artist  has  painted  in 
the  Adirondac  forest,  went  thither,  as 
described  by  Emerson  in  one  of  his  later 
poems  : 

"  We  chose  our  boats,  each  man  a  boat  and  guide, 

Ten  men,  ten  guides,  our  company  all  told; 

Ten  scholars,  wonted  to  lie  warm  and  soft 

In  well-hung  chambers,  daintily  bestowed, 

Lie  here  on  hemlock  boughs,  like  Sacs  and  Sioux. 

Off  sounding  seamen  do  not  suffer  cold, 

And  in  the  forest,  delicate  clerks,  unbrowned, 

Sleep  on  the  fragrant  brush,  as  on  down-beds. 

We  were  made  freemen  of  the  forest  laws, 

All  dressed,  like  Nature,  fit  for  her  own  ends, 

Essaying  nothing  she  cannot  perform. 

Our  foaming  ale  we  drunk  from  hunters'  pans, 


302 


THE  HOME  AND  HAUNTS  OF  LOWELL. 


Ale  and  a  sup  of  wine ;    our  steward  gave 
Venison  and  trout,  potatoes,  beans,  wheat  bread; 
All  ate  like  abbots. 

And  Stillman,  our  guides'  guide  and  Commodore, 
Crusoe,  Crusader,  Pius  y£neas,  said  aloud, 
Chronic  dyspepsia  never  came  from  eating 
Food  indigestible." 

These  "  ten  scholars,"  who  called  them- 
selves "The  Adirondac  Club,"  were,  in 
fact,  a  detachment  from  the  "  Saturday 
Club,"  organized  by  Horatio  Woodman 
about  1856  ;  and,  besides  Woodman  and 
Stillman,  they  were  Emerson,  Agassiz, 
Lowell,  Dr.  Jeffries  Wyman,  Dr.  Estes 
Howe,  Judge  Hoar,  John  Holmes,  and 
S.  G.  Ward,  the  banker,  then  of  Boston, 
but  later  of  New  York.  Only  four  of  the 
party  now  survive  ;  but  the  portraits  of 
all,  "in  habit  as  they  lived,"  were  painted 
by  Stillman  among  the  tree  trunks  which 
he  loved  so  well  to  put  in  his  pictures. 
It  was  no  new  experience  for  Lowell  to 
"  camp  out,"  for  he  had  done  it  in  his 
Mooshead  journey,  a  few  years  earlier, 
when  he  visited  Mt.  Kineo,  and  saw  the 
lone  tree  on  Katahdin,  to  which  one  of 
his  most  striking  poems  is  addressed. 

P'rom  the  Adirondac  woods,  from 
Appledore  and  Kineo  and  Katahdin, 
those  savage  sea  and  mountain  pieces 
where  Nature  is  all  and  man  is  naught, 
Lowell  could  pass  in  later  life,  grown 
sadder  and  wiser  from  contact  with  that 
ancient  mariner,  Time,  to  the  wonderful 
Cathedral  at   Chartres,  where  its  Gothic 


and    Norman    art,    high    raised    in    air, 

"  Looks  down  unwatchful  on  the  sliding  Eure, 
Whose  listless  leisure  suits  the  quiet  place, 
Lisping  among  his  shadows  homelike  sounds, 
At  Concord  and  by  Bankside  heard  before." 

We  cherish  in  the  library  at  Concord 
the  manuscript  of  this  poem,  crowded 
with  art  in  words,  as  a  Norman  cathedral 
is  with  art  in  stone,  and  with  that  strange 
mixture  of  the  worldly  and  the  worship- 
ping frame  of  mind  which  the  subject  of 
the  verse  itself  exhibits.  Europe,  happily 
not  seen  by  our  poet  until  the  fairest 
and  saddest  features  of  life  had  been 
shown  to  him  at  home,  nevertheless 
made  a  profound  impression  on  his 
susceptible,  versatile  and  twofold  nature. 
To  this  some  of  the  unrest  and  bitterness, 
seen  now  and  then  in  his  later  verses, 
is  due.  But  he  returned  from  all  his 
European  experiences  with  a  warm  affec- 
tion for  that  one  angle  of  the  world  that 
had  ever  been  his  home,  and  where  his 
funeral  chapel  and  his  grave  now  are,  — 
the  groves  and  streets  of  Cambridge; 
and  the  hill-pastures  and  brooks  of  Water- 
town,  Elmwood,  Auburn,  and  Beaver 
Brook  were  dearer  to  him  than  all  the 
magnificent  scenery  and  climate  in 
Europe,  as  he  himself  has  said  : 
"  Kindlier  to  me  the  place  of  birth 

That  first  my  tottering  footsteps  trod; 
There  may  be  fairer  spots  of  earth, 
But  all  their  glories  are  not  worth 
The  virtue  in  the  native  sod." 


A  corner  of  Elmwood. 


THE  ODOR  OF  SANCTITY. 

By  Ellen  Marvin  He  a  ton. 
CHAPTER  VII. 


R.  FIELD  had  be- 
come so  comfortably 
adjusted  to  his 
bachelor  conditions, 
that  he  contemplated 
the  possible  end  of 
that  period  with  ap- 
prehension.  His 
frequent  letters  to  his 
wife  and  daughter  were  brief  and  cheerful. 
Like  many  American  fathers  of  his  stamp, 
whose  development  has  been  in  the  finan- 
cial direction  solely,  and  who  desire  to 
make  up  for  other  deficiencies  in  the 
only  way  possible,  he  closed  each  letter 
with  the  injunction  not  to  stint  them- 
selves, but  to  have  every  luxury  that 
money  could  procure.  He  referred 
jocularly  once  or  twice  to  Maud's  titled 
admirer,  saying  he  was  sure  she  was  too 
level-headed  to  give  him  any  encourage- 
ment. As  an  admirer  he  was  well  enough, 
"a  feather  in  her  cap,"  but  as  a  husband 
he  would  be  a  "  thorn  in  the  flesh ; " 
with  which  piece  of  paternal  admonition 
he  dismissed  the  matter  from  his  mind 
altogether. 

Great  was  his  disgust,  therefore,  when 
Mrs.  Field  imparted  to  him  the  fact  that 
Prince  Padua  had  intrusted  her  with  his 
sentiments  concerning  Maud.  He  re- 
gretted that  his  resources  would  not  per- 
mit him  to  approach  the  subject  of  mar- 
riage in  the  American  way,  which  he 
lauded  greatly.  He  believed  it  was  not 
the  custom  for  American  fathers  to  make 
marriage  settlements.  Therefore,  the 
aspirant  for  Miss  Maud's  hand,  if  an 
American,  would  have  to  be  equipped 
with  a  profession  which  would  ensure 
their  united  future,  in  that  wonderful 
country  where  ability  and  talent  meet 
with  sure  recompense.  Mercenary  con- 
siderations ought  not  to  contaminate  the 
tie  ;  sentiment  alone  was  the  atmosphere 
in  which  two  souls  should  approach  each 
other.     Had    he    been    so    happy    as    to 


have  been  born  in  America,  he  felt  sure 
he  could  have  achieved  a  career.  Un- 
fortunately, he  was  handicapped  with  the 
traditions  of  an  aristocratic  race.  He 
would  leave  it  to  madam  to  decide 
whether  the  lustre  of  that  historic  name 
would  count  in  the  balance,  although 
lacking  the  material  wealth  to  properly 
support  its  renown. 

"  H  —  m  !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Field  as  he 
finished.  "  Very  cunning  !  That  prince 
would  be  worth  his  weight  in  gold  as  a 
diplomatist.  He  has  pulled  the  wool 
over  the  women's  eyes,  —  but  he'll  find 
an  American  father  a  different  article." 

He  rose  and  paced  the  room.  Memory 
recalled  his  daughter's  childhood,  and  his 
heart  glowed  again  with  the  recollections 
of  that  period.  The  old  man  was  not 
given  to  retrospect  or  analysis.  But  he 
was  now  painfully  aware  of  the  changed 
relations  of  his  life.  Paternal  love  had 
lapsed  into  pride,  and  that  had  developed 
into  respect  —  an  unnatural  reversion, 
caused  by  his  children's  consciousness  of 
their  superior  acquirements.  He  colored 
with  resentment  as  he  reflected  how  long 
he  had  been  an  object  of  patronage  from 
wife  and  children.  But,  after  all,  this 
condition  of  things  was  not  peculiar  to 
him.  Were  not  Brown  and  Robinson, 
and  in  fact  most  of  his  friends,  in  the 
same  boat?  He  turned  away  from  the 
consideration  of  his  domestic  relations  to 
that  of  his  daughter's  future. 

He  took  up  his  wife's  letter  again. 
She  evidently  took  for  granted  his  readi- 
ness to  settle  a  princely  sum  upon  Maud 
in  furtherance  of  the  projected  alliance. 
Every  fibre  of  his  nature  revolted  at  the 
thought  of  such  a  marriage.  Antipathies 
of  race,  religion,  caste,  —  all  sprang  full- 
armed  to  life  The  Puritan  in  him  shoul- 
dered arms. 

In  this  frame  of  mind  he  sat  down  to 
write.  But,  alas  !  between  our  concep- 
tions   and    their     expression,    what    an 


304 


THE  ODOR   OF  SANCTITY. 


abyss  often  !  As  he  read  over  his  letter 
he  felt  with  chagrin  what  a  futile  protest 
it  was.  He  tore  it  up  in  disgust,  and 
started  on  another  effort.  Then  he  re- 
flected that,  cipher  though  he  might  be 
in  his  wife's  estimation,  no  final  action 
could  be  taken  without  him ;  and  with 
the  ocean  rolling  between  them,  resis- 
tance was  easier. 

Here  his  eye  caught  sight  of  the  even- 
ing paper.  As  he  unfolded  the  journal  a 
staring  heading  arrested  his  attention. 

FAILURE    OF 

CLOUGH,  HOLMES  &  CO., 

APPREHENDED    ASSIGNMENT    OF    OTHER 
PROMINENT    FIRMS. 

Great  heavens  !  Why,  he  had  made  a 
heavy  deposit  with  them  only  that  morn- 
ing. He  had  left  the  street  before  noon 
with  no  suspicion  of  impending  disaster. 
He  consulted  his  watch.  It  was  rather 
early  for  the  usual  nightly  gathering  of 
the  brethren  in  finance  at  their  uptown 
rendezvous  —  the  lobby  of  the  Fifth 
Avenue  Hotel.  But  he  was  too  restless 
to  wait,  and  he  betook  himself  to  these 
headquarters,  where  he  found  a  knot  of 
excited  capitalists.  What  he  gleaned 
from  the  incoherent  mass  of  ejaculations 
and  predictions  was  not  calculated  to 
soothe  the  mind  of  a  man  whose  invest- 
ments were  mostly  of  a  character  which  a 
financial  crisis  would  sweep  away  ;  and 
such  a  crisis  was  doubtless  imminent. 
For  the  first  time  in  his  life,  Mr.  Field 
was  overtaken  with  vertigo,  as  he  took 
his  solitary  way  back  to  his  own  home. 

Such  crises  are  too  familiar  to  require 
description.  Many  predicted  a  repeti- 
tion of  the  panic  of  '73.  Although  the 
struggle  was  a  desperate  one,  it  proved 
less  sweeping  than  was  feared ;  yet  the 
wreck  of  more  than  one  colossal  fortune 
made  it  memorable  in  the  annals  of 
finance. 

As  the  anxious  weeks  rolled  on  they 
left  their  mark  upon  the  harassed  old 
man.  He  lost  confidence  in  his  own 
powers.  Sleep  forsook  his  pillow.  His 
trembling  hands  gave  token  of  waning 
strength,  and  "  nervous  prostration " 
hailed  her  victim. 

Another  letter  from   his  wife,   pressing 


the  proposed  marriage,  goaded  him  almost 
to  madness.  In  his  trouble  he  had  almost 
forgotten  the  matter.  His  wife's  re- 
proaches developed  a  curious  psycho- 
logical condition  in  the  struggling  man : 
he  became  a  coward.  Instead  of  admit- 
ting that  he  was  in  no  condition  to  settle 
a  large  sum  upon  Maud,  he  wrote  that 
some  important  transactions  which  he 
was  contemplating  would  make  it  ex- 
pedient to  postpone  for  a  few  weeks  the 
decision  as  to  Maud's  portion.  If  his 
ventures  turned  out  favorably,  his  daughter 
should  be  no  loser  by  the  delay. 

He  wondered  if  his  wife  would  take 
alarm.  In  his  transactions  hitherto  there 
had  been  no  question  of  an  "if."  Now 
that  little  word  haunted  him.  All 
night  he  combated  the  idea  of  an  unsuc- 
cessful issue.  In  the  morning  the  reflec- 
tion in  his  mirror  was  that  of  an  aging, 
haggard  man.  His  gait,  too,  had  grown 
unsteady.  His  first  act  was  to  look  over 
his  accounts  and  see  what  could  be  turned 
into  "Governments"  and  settled  upon 
his  family,  in  case  worse  came  to  worst. 
His  next  step  was  to  seek  Rogers  —  a 
former  protege  of  his,  and  now  an  esteemed 
broker.  The  latter  greeted  his  benefactor 
with  pain,  as  he  remarked  his  changed 
aspect.  He  received  the  securities  Mr. 
Field  placed  in  his  hands,  and  promised 
to  convert  them  into  "Governments," 
and  put  them  into  safekeeping  for  Mrs. 
Field's  use,  "  in  case,"  —  here  the  old 
man  came  near  breaking  down,  — 

"  Merely  a  prudential  measure,  you 
know,  Rogers  —  proper  in  such  precari- 
ous times,"  he  added  as  he  went  away. 

All  day  Rogers  was  haunted  by  the 
apparition  of  his  haggard  face  and  trem- 
bling hands.  He  hastened  to  carry  out 
his  instructions,  despatched  his  own  busi- 
ness, and,  instead  of  going  home,  dined 
at  an  up-town  restaurant :  and  soon  after 
seven  o'clock  he  rang  at  Field's  door. 

He  found  the  latter  at  his  writing- 
table  —  a  mass  of  papers  before  him. 
Several  sheets  were  covered  with  figures, 
over  which  he  was  poring.  As  Rogers 
entered  he  looked  up  with  a  bland  smile, 
showing  no  surprise  at  the  unexpected 
visit. 

"See  here,  Rogers,"  said  he,  "I've  a 
scheme   for   making  a   colossal    fortune; 


THE   ODOR   OF  SANCTITY. 


305 


and  the  wonderful  thing  is  how  little  capi- 
tal it  takes  to  start  it.  Once  started,  it 
rolls  up  like  a  snowball.  The  difficulty 
is  to  keep  it  secret.  We  don't  want  any 
syndicate  or  stockholders  to  absorb  our 
funds.  Look  at  these  figures.  You  see 
I  start  with  $5,000.  Now  cast  your  eye 
down  to  the  bottom  of  this  page  and  see 
the  result  —  $700,000,000!  Oh,  you 
needn't  start !  The  calculations  are  cor- 
rect. I've  been  over  them  so  many  times 
that  my  brain  is  in  a  buzz.  What  do  the 
figures  represent?  Ah,  my  boy,  that's 
the  secret  —  and  when  two  share  a  secret 
it  is  no  longer  a  secret.  But  you  shall 
know  some  day ;  and  meantime  you  shall 
be  my  man  of  business.  Not  another 
man  lives  whom  I'd  trust.  We'll  astound 
the  world,  my  boy  !  There  never  was 
such  a  scheme  invented.  And  it  was  all 
worked  out  by  this  little  clockwork  inside 
my  brain.  Just  listen,  and  you  can  hear 
it  going  !  " 

He  paused  and  held  his  forehead  close 
to  Rogers's  ear.  The  latter  recognized 
with  horror  that  he  was  talking  with  a 
madman. 

"Yes,"  he  said  soothingly,  knowing  his 
only  hope  of  managing  the  excited  man, 
"  it  is  buzzing  away  famously.  And  you 
know  it  will  work  just  as  well  when  you 
are  asleep,  and  not  tire  you  half  so 
much." 

"But  I'm  not  tired!"  exclaimed  the 
old  man.  "And  I  want  to  see  whether 
there  is  any  end  to  these  figures.  I  tell 
you,  Rogers,  it's  a  bonanza !  Petro- 
leum —  gold  mines,  —  nothing  ever  in- 
vented can  hold  a  candle  to  it !  You  sit 
there  and  read  the  paper,  while  I  cipher." 

"  I  thought  of  trespassing  upon  your 
hospitality,"  said  Rogers.  "There's  a. 
little  business  I  want  to  attend  to  up- 
town, and  if  you'll  give  me  a  bed  I  shall 
inflict  myself  upon  you  for  the  night." 

"  Bed,  my  dear  boy !  A  dozen  of 
them,  if  you  can  go  to  bed  after  hearing 
this !  But  you  always  lacked  imagina- 
tion, Rogers.  You're  prosaic.  That's 
what  makes  you  so  valuable.  I  could  no 
more  sleep  than  —  than  the  vault  of 
heaven.  The  top  of  my  head  is  the 
vault  of  heaven,  and  the  stars  in  it  twin- 
kle' so  that  I  am  as  exhilarated  as  - —  as  if 
I'd    been    drinking    champagne.     But    I 


pledge  you  my  word,  Rogers,  that  I 
haven't  taken  a  drop  of  anything  —  not 
a  drop  !  " 

He  was  turning  again  to  his  figures 
when  Rogers  laid  his  hand  gently  upon 
him. 

"Only  a  moment!"  he  said.  "You 
know  I've  not  heard  anything  about  your 
family  for  a  long  time.  I'm  going  out 
for  an  hour  presently,  and  then  you  can 
go  on  with  your  work.  But  now,  tell  me 
how  is  Otis?  Where  is  he,  and  where 
,are  your  wife  and  Maud?  " 

"  Oh,  they're  in  Paris  just  now.  That 
confounded  prince  still  tags  them  about. 
But  you  don't  know  about  that  affair. 
Well,  there's  my  last  letter.  It  will  amuse 
you  to  read  it.  But,  sh  !  sh  !  sh  !  "  the 
old  man  glanced  fearfully  about,  as  if  the 
obnoxious  suitor  were  listening,  —  "  that 
poverty-stricken  fraud  of  a  prince  mustn't 
get  a  hint  of  this  scheme  of  mine,  or 
he'll  marry  Maud  without  waiting  for  a 
settlement.  I've  been  putting  them  off 
all  these  months,  you  see." 

Rogers  pocketed  the  letter,  glad  to  get 
the  address  so  easily. 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  "  laughed  the  old  man. 
"  I'll  settle  his  porridge  for  him  !  I'll 
get  you  to  write  Mrs.  Field  that  I've  lost 
everything  —  not  a  copper  left!  You'll 
see  how  soon  the  prince'll  turn  his  back 
upon  them  and  seek  his  maccaroni." 

"just  so  !  "  agreed  Rogers.  "A  good 
joke  !  And  I  might  say  that  Otis  would 
join  them  and  bring  them  back  home. 
He's  somewhere  on  the  other  side,  isn't 
he?" 

"Yes,  —  but  I  forget  where.  Oh, 
there's  his  last  letter,  just  see  for  your- 
self." 

"Good.  I'll  look  it  over  later,"  said 
Rogers,  pocketing  it  also.  "And  now 
I'll  be  oft.  You'll  be  done  with  your 
figures  by  the  time  I'm  back?  " 

"  Can't  say.  When  a  man's  figuring 
is  bringing  him  in  millions  an  hour,  you 
can't  expect  him  to  knock  off  for  a 
trifle." 

He  was  growing  irritable  over  the  de- 
lay, and  he  turned  his  back  with  decision 
and  resumed  his  work. 

Rogers's  first  step  was  to  seek  the  near- 
est physician.  He  stated  the  case  and 
found  his  fears  fully  confirmed, 


306 


THE   ODOR  OF  SANCTITY. 


"I'd  better  not  go  back  with  you," 
said  the  doctor.  "  I'll  drop  in  later  upon 
some  pretext,  so  that  he  won't  suspect  I 
come  professionally.  Meantime,  get  him 
to  take  these  drops.  If  they  put  him  to 
sleep  before  I  come,  so  much  the  better." 

They  agreed  that  Otis  should  be  noti- 
fied at  once,  and  Rogers  proceeded  to 
cable  to  the  address  he  found  in  the  letter. 
Within  an  hour  he  was  back  in  Mr. 
Field's  room.  The  latter  was  still  poring 
over  his  figures.  He  raised  a  warning 
finger  as  Rogers  entered,  and  glanced 
at  him  rather  sulkily.  Rogers  sat  quietly 
down  and  took  up  a  newspaper,  watching 
the  old  man  over  the  top  of  it.  Presently 
the  latter  looked  up  and  said  irritably  : 
'What  you  waiting  for,  Rogers?  Why 
don't  you  go  to  bed?  " 

"So  I  will,"  assented  Rogers,  "if  I 
may  first  help  myself  to  a  little  water.  I 
must  take  my  '  drops.'  " 

"What  do  you  take  them  for?"  de- 
manded the  old  man.  "  Can't  you  sleep? 
Better  live  without  sleep  than  get  the 
opium  habit.  Better  die  and  done  with 
it !  "  he  continued,  growing  more  excited. 
"  Look  at  me  !  I  haven't  slept  as  much 
in  two  months  as  I  used  to  in  a  week ; 
and  here  I  am  with  a  head  as  clear  as  a 
bell  !  Why,  I  worked  this  scheme  out 
nights  while  I  lay  awake.  It's  all  a  notion 
—  that  we  need  so  much  sleep.  You 
don't  catch  me  wasting  so  much  time  in 
bed  hereafter.  I  used  to  lie  there  fuming 
because  I  couldn't  sleep ;  so  I  took  to 
figuring  nights,  and  it  cured  me.  Don't 
be  a  fool,  Rogers.  If  you  can't  sleep, 
then  read,  work,  —  anything  except  swal- 
low opium." 

"  But  these  drops  are  brain  food. 
You've  got  to  feed  the  brain  if  you  want 
it  to  work." 

"  Brain  food  !     Let  me  look  at  it." 

He  shook  the  phial,  and  then  read  the 
directions :  "  Twenty  drops  in  water. 
Repeat  in  half  an  hour  if  necessary." 

"  Repeat  in  half  an  hour  !  Then,  why 
not  take  forty  drops  at  once,  and  done 
with  it?" 

"  I  believe  I  will,"  assented  Rogers. 

"Well,  then,  fix  me  up  some,  too. 
I  don't  believe  in  medicating,  but  I 
believe  in  nourishment  for  the  brain. 
Pooh  !    that's    nothing  !  "    he    ejaculated, 


swallowing  the  drops  which  Rogers  pre- 
pared. 

The  latter  made  a  feint  of  taking  the 
same,  saying,  "  Now,  if  you  want  it  to  do 
you  any  good,  you  must  give  it  a  chance. 
It's  nearly  ten  o'clock,  any  way.  Why 
not  go  to  bed?  " 

"  No.  Go  yourself.  I'll  throw  my- 
self down  on  this  lounge  for  half  an  hour. 
Here's  your  room,  just  next  to  this. 
Make  yourself  at  home." 

With  this  hospitable  injunction  he 
closed  the  door  upon  Rogers.  The 
latter  sliding  the  bolt  in  the  door  be- 
tween them,  went  through  the  other  door, 
which  led  into  the  hail,  and  stole  down- 
stairs to  the  faithful  Mills.  After  ex- 
plaining his  fears,  he  stationed  Mills  upon 
the  front  steps  to  await  the  doctor.  When 
the  latter  arrived,  the  patient  was  in  a 
sound  sleep,  and  nothing  could  be  done 
but  remove  him  to  the  bed  in  the  adjoin- 
ing room  and  await  the  effect  of  rest. 
Rogers  removed  all  the  old  man's  papers, 
that  nothing  might  remind  him  of  his  de- 
lusions ;  and  then,  stretching  himself 
upon  the  lounge,  he  fell  to  considering 
what  ought  to  be  done  in  case  he  grew 
worse. 

The  next  thing  he  was  conscious  of 
was  the  figure  of  the  old  man  stealthily 
creeping  about  the  room,  searching  for 
something.  It  was  daylight,  and  Rogers 
recognized  symptoms  of  growing  mania 
in  the  glittering  eyes  and  stealthy  move- 
ments. The  glances  directed  toward 
himself  boded  ill,  and  it  was  with  a  feel- 
ing of  relief  that  he  saw  the  man  care- 
fully open  the  door  of  the  next  room  and 
pass  in.  Rogers  sprang  into  the  hall  and 
awakened  Mills. 

It  was.  several  minutes  before  Mr. 
Field  reappeared.  .  Rogers  shuddered  as 
he  saw  that  he  had  an  open  razor  in  his 
hand.  Was  he  about  to  take  his  own 
life  ?  Should  they  spring  upon  him  and 
disarm  him  ?  But  no,  —  he  stole  softly 
toward  the  lounge.  In  his  surprise  at 
finding  Rogers  no  longer  there,  his  arm 
fell  and  the  razor  dropped  to  the  floor. 
He  gazed  wildly  about  him,  and  then 
threw  up  his  hands  screaming,  "  Thieves  ! 
Thieves  !     I'm  robbed  !  " 

"  He  fancies  I've  robbed  him  !  He 
meant  to  kill  me  !     He  won't  touch  vou. 


THE   ODOR   OF  SANCTITY. 


307 


Go,  tell  him  you  have  me  safely  con- 
fined," whispered  Rogers,  pushing  Mills 
into  the  room. 

As  soon  as  the  maniac  saw  Mills  he 
screamed  again,  "  I'm  robbed,  robbed  ! 
That  villain  has  made  off  with  millions  ! 
Send  for  the  police  !     Quick  !  " 

"  I've  got  him  locked  up  safe  and 
sound,  sir,"  said  Mills.  "If  you  will  go 
quietly  to  bed,  sir,  we'll  manage  it  all 
right." 

"  Oh,  Mills,  don't  leave  me  !  "  entreated 
the  poor  old  man,  breaking  down  and 
beginning  to  weep.  A  tremor  seized 
him,  and  he  clung  to  Mills  like  a  scared 
child. 

In  the  mean  time,  Rogers  had  sent  a 
messenger  for  the  doctor,  and  by  the 
time  the  latter  appeared,  Mills  had  suc- 
ceeded in  soothing  Mr.  Field  and  getting 
him  to  bed.  During  the  day  his  moods 
alternated.  The  fiction  of  Rogers  having 
been  given  over  to  the  police  pacified 
him  only  temporarily.  He  began  to  call 
for  his  treasure,  insisting  that  the  room 
had  been  full  of  bags  of  gold.  But,  fortu- 
nately, before  his  sister's  arrival  he  yielded 
to  the  medical  treatment,  and  she  found 
him  with  his  eyes  closed  in  peaceful  sleep. 
Mrs.  Grant  was  deeply  afflicted.  But 
no  crisis  ever  bereft  Aunt  Hannah  of  her 
judgment,  and  she  resolutely  opposed 
summoning  Mrs.  Field  to  her  husband's 
bedside.  It  would  only  complicate  mat- 
ters, she  said,  adding  that  she  should  re- 
move her  brother  to  Rockford  as  soon  as 
it  was  possible. 

There  were  times  when  her  brother 
recognized  her,  and  he  seemed  soothed 
by  her  presence.  At  the  end  of  a  week 
the  removal  was  decided  upon  and  hap- 
pily accomplished.  The  effect  of  the 
change  was  so  favorable  that  Mrs.  Grant 
had  hope  of  a  permanent  recovery.  Dr. 
North  shook  his  head.  The  mania  was 
over,  but  the  vacancy  and  compliance 
into  which  the  patient  had  settled  were 
the  fell  symptoms  of  decaying  powers. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

The  despatch  announcing  his  father's 
condition  reached  Otis  as  he  was  upon 
the  point  of  starting  for  a  short  tour  in 


Switzerland.  There  would  be  just  time 
to  catch  the  next  steamer  from  Bremen, 
and  the  two  companions  were  the  last 
passengers  who  boarded  the  vessel. 

A  few  days  after  his  father's  removal  to 
Rockford,  Otis  arrived  and  joined  his 
aunt  in  caring  for  the  helpless  invalid. 
The  young  man  now  realized  for  the  first 
time  in  his  life  what  that  father  had 
achieved.  Seeing  him  lying  prone  amid 
the  debris  of  the  fortune  he  had  reared, 
like  another  Samson  suddenly  become 
helpless,  Otis  learned  too  late  to  appre- 
ciate the  powers  of  which  his  father  was 
now  shorn.  He  must  himself  now  take 
the  helm,  unfitted  as  he  was.  He  smiled 
bitterly  as  he  thought  how  little  the  man- 
agement of  the  remnant  of  their  fortune 
would  task  his  ability.  The  relief  of 
finding  his  mother  and  sister  provided 
for  was  so  great  that  he  forgot,  for  the 
moment,  his  own  changed  prospects. 
With  Rogers's  help  he  went  through  the 
accumulated  piles  of  papers,  a  futile  but 
necessary  task. 

In  the  mean  time,  Mr.  Chapin  had 
matured  the  plans  which  had  been 
forming  in  his  mind  during  the  past 
months,  and  he  went  on  to  Rockford  to 
superintend  the  removal  of  his  effects  to 
the  new  scene  of  his  labors.  The  doctor 
claimed  him  as  guest.  After  a  busy  day 
over  practical  matters,  the  evening  was 
consumed  in  receiving  visits  from  old 
parishioners.  It  was  late  before  the 
two  friends  found  themselves  tete-a-tete, 
and  free  to  exchange  notes  of  experience. 

"  I  don't  blame  you  for  turning  your 
back  upon  church  work,"  said  the  doctor, 
as  he  turned  the  key  upon  the  last  visitor. 
"There  is  so  much  humbug  in  human 
nature  that "  — 

"Oh,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Chapin,  "I 
have  never  for  a  moment  thought  of 
abandoning  my  profession.  If  I  have  a 
passion  it  is  for  human  nature.  I  must 
work  for  it  some  way."  He  folded  his 
arms  upon  the  table  and  leaned  forward 
over  them  —  a  way  he  had  when  ab- 
sorbed in  his  topic.  "  There  never  was 
a  time,"  he  resumed,  "when  such  work 
was  likely  to  be  so  fruitful  as  now. 
Formerly,  priests  preached  and  laymen 
listened.  Now  one  hears  these  subjects 
discussed     on     all     sides.       Theological 


308 


THE   ODOR   OF  SANCTITY. 


subterfuges  are  exposed.  Superstitions 
attached  to  creeds,  like  barnacles  to  ships, 
are  stripped  off  unceremoniously.  Re- 
ligion is  descending  from  the  pulpit  to 
the  people,  —  coming  out  of  the  sanctuary 
to  permeate  social  life.  Many  people 
remarking  these  changes  distrust  them. 
It  is  customary  to  say  that  we  are  now  in 
a  state  of  transition,  —  the  inference  being 
that  change  is  dangerous,  permanence 
desirable.  Permanence  means  stagna- 
tion, and  we  ought  always  to  be  in  a  state 
of  transition.  But  there  is  danger  that 
in  expelling  shams  we  throw  away  what  is 
valuable.  The  upper  classes  incline  to 
recognize  nothing  higher  than  an  en- 
lightened intellect  ruled  by  a  moral 
legality,  while  masses  of  men,  set  free  from 
superstition,  are  sure  to  make  material 
advantages  the  aim  of  existence." 

"  And,"  said  the  doctor,  "  the  tide  in 
that  direction  is  setting  fearfully  strong. 
What  can  be  brought  to  bear  upon  it  I 
confess  I  cannot  see." 

"  Intelligent  spiritual  development  is 
the  only  hope,"  responded  Mr.  Chapin. 
"  Religion  is  natural  to  men.  So  long  as 
only  natural  religion  is  taught,  men  will 
receive  it.  The  revolt  is  not  against  re- 
ligion, but  against  theological  subtleties 
and  shams." 

"  Every  man  his  own  priest  !  The 
outcome  of  your  method,  Chapin,  would 
be  the  death  of  all  you  ecclesiastics. 
Your  occupation  would  be  gone." 

"  No  ;  we  would  turn  our  shepherd's 
crooks  into  ploughshares,"  said  Mr. 
Chapin  smiling.  "And  that  is  just  what 
I  propose  doing." 

He  then  recounted  his  plans.  His 
wife's  grandfather  had  died  during  the 
winter  and  left  her  in  his  will  the  farm 
on  Long  Island  where  his  long  life  had 
been  passed.  It  was  within  half  an  hour 
of  New  York  by  rail.  Mr.  Chapin  pro- 
posed to  go  there,  carry  on  the  farm,  and 
associate  with  it  such  missionary  work  as 
he  could  build  up  in  the  slums  of  the 
city. 

"  Why,  my  dear  fellow,  you  cannot  run 
the  machine  all  day  and  all  night  too  ! 
You'll  break  down  within  a  year  !  "  ex- 
claimed the  doctor. 

But  Mr.  Chapin  asserted  that  he  would 
be   the  gainer   for   some   hours  of   labor 


daily,  in  the  open  air.  Experience  would 
prove  how  much  he  could  bear.  He  said 
something  about  employing  Scandinavian 
labor  for  the  bulk  of  the  work. 

"  I  know  what  you  will  do,"  said  the 
doctor.  "  You'll  turn  the  place  into  a 
'Scandinavian  Immigrants'  Home.'  " 

Mr.  Chapin  smiled.  "  It  occurred  to 
me  there  was  an  opportunity  of  doing 
something  of  that  kind,  in  a  small  way," 
he  admitted.  "You  see,  buildings  have 
accumulated  with  the  years.  There  are 
two  old  cottages  upon  the  place  which' 
could  be  made  very  comfortable." 

"  Oh,  I  see  !  You  are  going  to  wallow 
in  your  natural  propensities  !  But  when 
a  man  is  working  in  the  line  of  his  tastes 
he  can  bear  twice  as  much  as  when  work 
is  uncongenial.  So  I  bid  you  God-speed. 
Keep  a  tramps'  home,  if  you  like  :  and, 
upon  my  word,"  here  the  doctor 
dropped  his  bantering  tone,  "  I  would 
rather  work  among  that  class  than  among 
the  fashionable  rich,  who  cultivate  re- 
ligion as  they  do  art,  —  they  make  it 
decorative  !  Now  there  is  a  set  whom  I 
know  in  New  York  —  I  have  some  rela- 
tives among  them.  Their  last  fad  is 
Theosophy.  They  have  circles  for  the 
purpose  of  'cultivating  the  higher  life.' 
It's  nothing  but  Buddhism.  I've  nothing 
to  say  against  Buddhism,  I'm  sure.  But 
the  joke  of  it  is  they  imagine  they  have 
gotten  hold  of  some  new  truth.  The 
corner-stone  of  Buddhism  is  renuncia- 
tion—  precisely  that  of  Christianity.  But 
I  have  yet  to  learn  what  they  renounce." 

Mr.  Chapin  shook  his  head.  "  It  is 
only  the  aroma  of  a  religion  which 
reaches  them,"  said  he.  "They  wander 
in  the  fog  of  sentimentalism.  That  law 
is  as  inexorable  in  the  spiritual  as  in  the 
physical  realm  is  the  great  truth  Budd- 
hism inculcates.  If  they  would  only 
receive  that,  their  standard  of  values 
would  change  entirely." 

"  By  Jove,  Chapin,  you  ought  to  have 
a  church  in  a  great  city —  " 

Mr.  Chapin  put  up  a  deprecating  hand. 
"No!  I  should  attract  only  cranks. 
Look  at  Ember  and  Fotheringay.  They 
have  tried  it  and  failed.  I  should  only 
construct  one  more  pigeon-hole." 

"  But  are  you  going  back  upon 
churches?" 


THE  FISHER-BOAT. 


309 


"  I  am  certainly  not  going  back  upon 
worship.  Without  worship,  human  nature 
grovels.  The  vacuum  it  leaves  is  always 
filled  by  some  force  disintegrating  to 
character..  "But,"  he  continued,  "there 
is  such  a  lamentable  propensity  in  human 
nature,  when  pigeon-holed,  to  resolve  it- 
self into  all  forms  of  affectation  and 
hypocrisy,  that  it's  worth  considering,  I 
sometimes  think,  whether  some  method 
more  favorable  to  the  teaching  of  truth 
cannot  be  found." 

North  raised  his  eyebrows.  "What 
next?"  he  exclaimed.  "  Everything  goes 
to  co-operation  nowadays.  Why  not  try 
co-operative  religion?" 

"  Don't  you  see,  North,  that  such 
evangelistic  work  as  I  speak  of  is  co- 
operative? And  there  is  wonderful 
vitality  in  it." 

"But  they  run  into  grooves  sooner  or 
later.     They  end  in  a  sect." 

"Not  all,  not  necessarily." 

"What  will  you  tell  people  who  ask 
you  what  you  believe?  Do  you  believe 
in  the  supernatural?  " 

"  In  the  sense  that  there  are  .  things 
which  transcend  our  experience  —  yes. 
In  the  sense  that  things  occur  which  con- 
flict with  law,  —  no." 

"Do  you  believe  in  a  future  life?  " 

"Yes,  and  a  past,  too." 

"Upon  my  word,  Chapin,  there  is 
nothing  negative  about  you.  Tap  you 
anywhere  and  you  run  belief."  The 
doctor  looked  at  his  friend  critically. 
"  You  can't  keep  silence,"  he  said.     "  You 


will  bubble  over.  It  will  be  impossible  to 
keep  so  much  ardor  under  lock  and  key." 

Mr.  Chapin  smiled.  "  Words  are 
cheap,"  said  he.  "I  shall  get  to  work 
and  turn  my  back  upon  abstractions." 

"  I  hope  you  will  pitch  into  the  decora- 
tive Christians." 

"  I  shall  begin  at  the  other  end  of  the 
scale.     That  is  all  I  am  clear  about." 

He  was  as  good  as  his  word.  A  fort- 
night later  found  him  established  in  his 
new  home.  A  Scandinavian  family  was 
quartered  in  one  of  the  cottages  to  assist 
in  farm  work.  Mr.  Chapin  rose  with  the 
sun,  labored  with  his  hands  all  the  morn- 
ing, and  devoted  the  rest  of  the  day  to 
work  in  the  slums  of  New  York.  A  large 
room  was  fitted  up  for  evening  classes, 
and  another  for  recreation.  One  thing 
led  to  another,  and  help  was  soon  needed. 
One  of  the  cottages  upon  the  farm  was 
made  comfortable  for  summer  use,  and 
became  a  sanitarium  for  delicate  mothers 
and  children.  Both  Mr.  Chapin  and 
his  wife  devoted  themselves  to  teach- 
ing those  waifs,  and  the  influence  which 
these  trained  batches  of  women  carried 
back  with  them  was  not  the  least  im- 
portant part  of  the  work.  The  "con- 
tagion of  good  "  is  a  potent  thing,  as  the 
changed  aspect  of  the  poor  quarter  in 
which  Mr.  Chapin  worked  soon  proved. 
The  people  became  less  brutal,  and  the 
tenements  cleaner.  Perplexities  were 
not  lacking,  but  they  were  met  and  over- 
come, and  the  enterprise  prospered 
amazingly. 


(To  be  continued.) 


THE  FISHER-BOAT 

By  Celia  Thaxter. 


WHAT  dost  thou,  little  fishing  boat, 
From  the  green,  flowery  coast  remote? 
Adown  the  west  the  sun  sinks  fast, 
It  lights  thy  sail  and  slender  mast. 
The  day  declines,  —  O  haste  thee  home  ! 
Against  the  rocks  the  breakers  foam. 


310 


THE  FISHER-BOAT 


Under  the  measureless  blue  sky 
Eastward  the  vast  sea  spaces  lie,  - 
Wide  scattered  sails  upon  the  tide 
Down  o'er  the  world's  great  shoulder  glide, 
Or  silent  climb  the  trackless  waste,  — 
But,  little  fisher-boat,  make  haste  ! 

The  snow  white  gulls  soar  high  and  scream, 
Soft  clouds  melt  in  a  golden  dream, 
Bleached  rocks  and  turfy  valleys  lie 
Steeped  in  a  bright  tranquillity  ; 
But  autumn  wanes,  and  well  I  know 
How  swift  the  hurricane  may  blow  ! 

Before  thee,  lo,  the  lovely  coast 

Beckons,  and  like  a  friendly  ghost 

The  lighthouse  signals  thee  —  afar 

I  see  its  gleaming  silver  star, 

Where  the  sun  smites  its  glittering  pane,  — 

O  little  skiff,  glide  home  again  ! 

Somewhere  along  the  land's  fair  line 
A  light  of  love  for  thee  may  shine, 
When  presently  the  shadows  fall,  — 
And  eyes  to  which  thy  gleam  is  all 
Of  good  the  round  world  holds,  will  gaze 
Out  o'er  the  darkening  ocean  ways 

To  seek  thee  ;   therefore  hasten  home  ! 
Here  swings  the  breaker  into  foam. 
The  waning  moon  breeds  many  a  gale. 
Turn  then,  and  gladden  with  thy  sail 
The  faithful  eyes  that  long  for  thee, 
The. heart  that  fears  the  treacherous  sea. 


A   FUTURE   AGRICULTURE. 


311 


THE  POEMS  OF  EMILY  DICKINSON. 

By  Le  Roy  Phillips. 

HER  message  to  a  world  she  never  knew 
Reveals  the  thoughts  sweet  nature  would  disclose 
To  one  unmoved  by  earthly  fame,  who  chose 
To  toil  apart,  unknown,  and  so  withdrew, 
And,  guided  by  a  higher  Mind,  while  true 
To  nature  and  herself,  her  spirit  rose 
To  share  a  sweet  companionship  with  those 
Whose  hallowed  eyes  see  things  beyond  our  view, 
She  heard  kind  Nature  speaking  everywhere, 
Whose  constant  voice  was  soft  with  melody ; 
She  praised  the  budding  flowers  that  make  earth  fair ; 
Some  tender  thought  in  each  she  loved  to  see,  — 
Or  spoke,  perchance,  of  earthly  joy  and  care, 
Or  talked  with  Death,  her  soul's  own  liberty. 


A  FUTURE  AGRICULTURE. 

By   C.  S.  Plumb. 
Vice-director  of  the  Purdue   University  Agricultural  Experiment  Station. 


IT  is  the  year  of  our  Lord  2000,  and 
Henri  Joly,  the  director  of  a  French 
agricultural  experiment  station,  and 
Richard  Grimes,  holding  a  like  position 
in  the  Indiana  agricultural  experiment 
station,  are  in  correspondence  with  each 
other.  At  the  International  Conference 
of  Station  Directors  at  Berlin,  they  had 
met  and  begun  an  acquaintance  which 
had  continued  by  means  of  telephone 
correspondence  in  matters  pertaining  to 
agricultural  science.  To  be  sure  America 
is  but  a  short  distance  off,  and  M.  Joly's 
private  flying  car  could  convey  him  there 
in  a  few  hours,  but  M.  Joly  is  a  busy  man, 
and  it  is  a  most  difficult  operation  for 
him  to  leave  his  work  long  enough  to  eat 
his  meals  like  a  rational  animal.  In  fact, 
his  wife  complains  that  he  neglects  her, 
and  the  family  in  general,  for  his  phos- 


phates, and   nitrogen   feeders,  and   elec- 
tric plants. 

M.  Joly,  in  his  communication  with 
Professor  Grimes,  had  expressed  a  very 
great  desire  to  learn  about  American 
methods  of  farming.  When  a  boy  he 
had  heard  his  grandfather  say  that,  while 
the  Americans  were  a  very  chic  people, 
they  were  the  most  profligate  of  their  re- 
sources of  any  people  on  the  face  of  the 
globe.  But  since  his  grandsire's  day,  he 
knew  that  the  Americans  had  changed 
greatly,  that  they  were  no  longer  abori- 
gines, but  represented  the  most  advanced 
type  of  an  agricultural  people.  As  a  race 
they  had  always  been  famous  for  their 
Yankee  ingenuity,  and  while  in  the 
nineteenth  century  they  had  aston- 
ished civilization  with  their  mechanical 
devices  for  the  benefit  of  commerce  and 


312 


A   FUTURE   AGRICULTURE. 


the  arts,  the  dawn  of  the  twenty-first  cen- 
tury lighted  up  a  more  wonderful  and 
marvellous  era  of  agricultural  progress 
than  the  sanguine  student  of  a  century 
before  would  ever  have  dared  to  con- 
ceive ;  for,  realizing  that  agriculture  is 
the  true  foundation  of  national  prosperity 
and  the  source  of  all  wealth,  the  Amer- 
ican people  had  bowed  down  to  the 
goddess  of  Agriculture,  and  trodden  Mam- 
mon in  the  dust.  The  bright,  ambitious 
students  of  the  day  concentrated  their 
thoughts  upon  agricultural  science,  and 
leading  institutions  throughout  the  land 
were  known  as  agricultural  colleges 
and  universities.  In  this  respect,  the 
Americans,  with  their  accustomed  wis- 
dom, had  recognized  the  necessity  of 
concentrating  their  efforts  to  the  develop- 
ment of  the  fount  of  national  prosperity 
—  agriculture. 

One  night  in  January,  according  to 
agreement,  at  the  urgent  solicitation  of 
M.  Joly,  Professor  Grimes  delivered  a 
telephonic  lecture  to  the  students  of  the 
National  Agronomic  University  of  France, 
"  On  the  Economy  and  Methods  of 
American  Farming  of  To-day."  About 
one  thousand  students  gathered  in  the 
telephone  hall  at  the  college.  This  room 
was  of  special  construction,  having  a  wide 
rear,  and  gradually  coming  to  a  point  or 
focus,  like  a  funnel.  The  floor  and  furni- 
ture were  heavily  rubber  coated,  so  that 
no  appreciable  noise  occurred  in  the 
room  through  walking  or  moving  about. 
A  large  telephone  connected  with  the 
point  of  the  room,  from  without,  and  one 
thousand  small  telephones  united  with 
this  one,  and  then  diverged  to  each  desk 
in  the  room,  where  each  one  was  con- 
nected with  the  side  of  the  head  rest. 
Each  listener  leaned  back  in  the  chair, 
the  telephone  came  in  contact  with  the 
ear,  and  the  voice  was  heard. 

The  following  is  an  abstract  of  the  lee- 
ture  as  prepared  for  the  Paris  Tei7ips  by 
one  of  the  instructors  in  the  University. 

Said  Professor  Grimes  :  In  the  latter 
part  of  the  nineteenth  century,  the  people 
of  the  United  States  first  turned  their 
attention  to  the  development  of  agricul- 
ture from  a  scientific  standpoint,  by 
establishing  a  number  of  experimental 
stations.     This  was  first  done  by  several 


individual  states,  notably  Connecticut, 
New  Jersey,  North  Carolina,  Massachu- 
setts, New  York,  and  Ohio.  In  a  few 
years,  however,  the  Congress  of  the 
United  States,  impressed  with  the  great 
value  of  the  work  in  agricultural  research 
done  by  the  then  existing  state  stations, 
passed  a  law,  donating  to  each  agricul- 
tural and  mechanical  college  that  had 
been  established  by  governmental  action,  a 
sum  of  fifteen  thousand  dollars  each  per 
annum,  for  the  furtherance  of  agricul- 
tural research.  These  institutions,  thus 
assisted  by  the  necessary  funds,  pro- 
duced such  effective  results  that,  very 
early  in  the  twentieth  century,  they  were 
greatly  increased  in  number,  by  Congress 
establishing  one  station  in  each  state  for 
every  one  hundred  thousand  inhabitants, 
so  that,  as  a  result,  some  states  had  two 
score  or  more  of  stations  scattered  over 
their  boundaries,  in  which  labored  eager 
and  wise  investigators,  graduates  of  our 
agricultural  colleges.  So  effective  has 
been  the  work  of  these  institutions  and 
the  agricultural  colleges  of  the  country, 
that  to-day  each  county  in  every  state  sup- 
ports an  agricultural  experiment  station. 
These  county  stations  are  officially  con- 
nected with  a  central  station,  with  head- 
quarters at  the  state  capital,  and  all 
these  stations  have  official  connection 
with  the  United  States  Experiment  Sta- 
tion at  the  capital  of  the  nation  —  Wash- 
ington. No  scientist  is  employed  in  any 
of  these  stations  unless  a  graduate  of  an 
agricultural  college,  and  he  cannot  hold 
a  position  without  having  passed  a  rigid 
examination  before  a  government  ex- 
amination board,  consisting  of  ten  sta- 
tion directors,  who  meet  once  a  year  for 
this  purpose.  Hence  these  experiment 
stations  are  entirely  under  the  control  of 
men  specially  adapted  to  the  work,  and 
consequently  the  results  secured  from 
their  labors  are  decidedly  satisfactory. 
As  we  have  no  politics  now,  of  the  sort  in 
former  days,  one  of  the  serious  obstacles 
to  progress  in  this  work  has  been  removed, 
for  incapable  men  appointed  through 
political  interference  in  this  work  are  a 
thing  of  the  past. 

The  farmers  of  America  are  a  very 
happy  and  prosperous  people,  and  this 
has  been  brought  about  through  a  com- 


A   FUTURE   AGRICULTURE. 


313 


bination  of  education  with  an  application 
of  methods  secured  through  facts  largely 
deduced  from  station  investigation.  The 
agricultural  school  sends  its  graduates 
among  the  people,  farming  practices 
gradually  improved  through  the  influence 
of  these  young  men,  and  as  steadily  the 
percentage  of  illiteracy  and  ignorant  man- 
agement was  reduced.  Finding  that  agri- 
culture was  becoming  a  fashionable  oc- 
cupation, many  people  of  rare  ability 
adopted  it  as  a  profession,  so  that  to-day 
this  business  is  followed  by  a  more  illus- 
trous  class  than  is  any  other  kind  of  labor. 
It  combines  such  independence,  such  de- 
lightful living,  such  a  rational  application 
of  the  mind  and  such  helpfulness,  that  it 
is  far  more  attractive  to  our  people  than 
anything  else. 

Our  farms  are  all  small  holdings,  the 
largest  being  fifty  acres,  while  the  or- 
dinary size  is  ten  acres.  Each  home- 
stead is  located  about  ten  rods  from  the 
asphalt  roadway,  while  the  barn  (we  have 
but  one  barn  on  a  farm  in  America)  is 
located  in  the  centre  of  the  farm.  A 
pneumatic  tube  running  under  ground 
connects  the  cellar  of  the  house  with  the 
barn,  so  that  when  having  no  other  means 
of  transit,  except  to  walk,  persons  may 
enter  the  pouch  of  the  tube  and  be  con- 
veyed to  and  from  the  barn  with  electric 
rapidity.  Horses  are  used  some  by  farm- 
ers, but  generally  vehicles  having  pneu- 
matic, rubber-tired,  bicycle  wheels,  with 
ball  bearings,  are  conveyed  from  point  to 
point  by  means  of  electric  motors  stored 
beneath  the  wagon  bed.  Our  modern 
motor  is  noiseless,  is  easily  managed, 
and  gives  greater  satisfaction  than  horse 
power,  either  attached  to  heavy  wagon 
loads  or  to  light  buggies  such  as  are  con- 
ducted by  ladies.  The  principal  use  we 
have  for  horses  at  the  present  time  is  for 
racing  contests,  and  for  table  use,  as  we 
esteem  the  meat  a  great  delicacy.  The 
expense  of  maintaining  a  horse  for  labor 
far  exceeds  the  expense  of  an  electric 
motor,  while  the  risk  from  sickness  and 
death  does  not  occur  with  the  motor. 

The  influence  of  electricity  on  our 
farming  occupation  is  exceedingly  great. 
Every  farmer  has  an  electric  plant  in  his 
house,  which  connects  with  the  whole 
establishment,    and    not    only    materially 


lightens  the  labor  of  the  women,  but 
assists  in  farm-work  in  many  particulars. 
In  the  house  the  rooms  are  lighted  by 
electricity ;  doors  and  windows  are 
opened  and  closed  by  pressing  an  elec- 
tric button ;  butter  extractors  are  oper- 
ated by  electric  power ;  an  inverted 
brush-box  with  a  handle,  worked  by  a 
motor,  is  passed  over  the  floor  to  sweep, 
requiring  simply  the  guidance  of  hand 
power;  dish-washing  machines  are  run 
by  the  lightning-like  fluid,  and  likewise 
the  elevator  in  houses  two  stories  high  ; 
all  cooking  is  conducted  in  electric 
stoves ;  and  all  clothing  is  washed  and 
ironed  by  simple,  inexpensive  machinery, 
run  by  electricity.  As  a  result  of  this 
lightening  of  women's  labors  on  the 
farm,  while  a  century  ago  the  larger  per- 
centage of  the  women  in  our  insane 
asylums  were  farmers'  wives,  to-day  these 
form  the  smallest  percentage  of  those 
from  any  walk  in  life.  In  fact,  no  women 
in  America  find  greater  enjoyment  in 
their  homes  than  do  our  farmers'  wives. 

On  the  farm,  electricity  serves  many 
important  purposes.  Barn  doors  are 
operated  by  electric  power ;  an  electric 
fork  conveys  the  hay  and  fodder  from  the 
wagon  to  the  barn,  and  from  mow  to 
manger ;  automatic  electric  shovels  clean 
out  the  manure  troughs  behind  the  cattle  ; 
the  farm  bell  is  rung  by  electricity ; 
ploughs,  mowing  machines,  hay  tedders 
and  rakes  are  operated  by  electric  motors  ; 
and  all  animals  are  slaughtered  by  means 
of  electric  connection.  In  the  nineteenth 
century  the  experiment  station  began  to 
study  the  effects  of  electricity  upon  the 
vegetable  growth,  and  such  progress  has 
been  made  that  to-day  all  of  our  market 
gardeners  grow  vegetables  under  the  in- 
fluence of  electricity.  It  has  been  dem- 
onstrated that  electrically  grown  vege- 
tables are  of  superior  quality  and 
tenderness.  Lines  of  electric  wires  dis- 
tributed through  the  propagating  pits, 
and  even  in  the  fields  on  the  farm,  have 
greatly  increased  the  yield  and  early 
maturity  of  crops,  while  destroying  all 
fungus  growth  and  insects  adjacent  to  the 
wires. 

Everybody  possesses  apparatus  for 
spraying  plants  for  the  destruction  of  in- 
jurious insects  and  fungi,  and   he  would 


314 


A   FUTURE   AGRICULTURE. 


be  considered  a  singular  farmer  at  the 
present  day  who  neglected  to  use  his  in- 
secticides and  fungicides.  Injurious  in- 
sects, however,  are  held  in  check  by 
many  farmers  by  the  use  of  beneficial  in- 
sects. On  every  well-regulated  farm  are 
small  pens  for  breeding  beneficial  insects. 
Enough  of  the  food  of  the  insect  is  grown 
to  supply  them  in  abundance,  and  each 
farmer  has  an  insectary  of  the  size  re- 
quired by  his  fields  and  crops.  The 
Hessian  fly,  chinch  bug,  Colorado  potato 
beetle,  and  rose  bug  are  held  in  check  by 
beneficial  insects.  Farmers  propagating 
beneficial  insects  train  them  to  come  at 
the  call  of  a  whistle,  so  that  the  trained 
ones  are  easily  collected  in  the  field  when- 
ever desired.  It  is  an  amusing  scene  to 
watch  a  number  of  Dodono  hitata,  feed- 
ing on  potato  beetles,  drop  their  prey, 
and  fly  to  the  insectary  at  the  call  of  the 
whistle.  Their  intelligence  is  marvellous. 
A  special  line  of  these  beneficial  insects 
may  be  purchased  of  the  larger  seed  deal- 
ers and  growers. 

The  care  of  our  live  stock  has  been  re- 
duced to  such  a  science,  that  seemingly 
a  maximum  of  profit  is  secured.  Animals 
of  all  classes  are  fed  on  a  scientific  basis. 
Each  farmer  has  an  analytical  machine, 
by  which  he  can  analyze  his  own  feeding 
stuffs,  fodders,  or  soils  in  a  few  minutes. 
From  time  to  time  he  analyzes,  in  order 
to  note  any  change  in  the  character  of 
the  food.  Each  animal  is  carefully 
studied,  and  fed  according  to  the  pur- 
pose in  view,  a  certain  number  of  pounds 
of  albuminoids,  carbohydrates,  crude 
fibre,  etc.,  as  the  case  may  be.  Through 
investigation  begun  at  several  of  our  ex- 
periment stations,  we  are  enabled  to  pro- 
duce any  class  of  flesh  for  food  that  we 
wish.  By  following  the  directions  of  the 
Henri  Prescription  Book,  one  is  enabled 
to  deposit  alternate  layers  of  lean  and  fat 
upon  the  animal  carcass,  or  entirely  one 
or  the  other.  Photographs  of  the  effects 
of  food  upon  the  animal  system,  taken 
about  one  hundred  and  twelve  years  ago, 
show  that  this  work  was  then  in  its 
crudest  stage.  Through  our  knowledge 
of  the  effects  of  food  upon  the  animal 
system,  we  are  also  enabled  to  secure 
nothing  but  pure  cream  from  our  cows,  if 
we    see  fit,  or  the    reverse.     Yet   breed 


has  been  so  influenced  here  by  artificial 
conditions  that  the  Jerseys  of  some  breed- 
ers yield  nothing  but  cream  from  very 
ordinary  food,  while  the  Holstein-Friesian 
cow  under  average  circumstances  will 
make  many  hogsheads  of  milk  a  year  ;  in 
fact,  cows  of  this  breed  oftentimes  require 
slings  beneath  the  udder  to  support  its 
great  weight. 

Automatic  milking  machines  are  com- 
monly used  here  now.  By  a  special 
arrangement,  a  system  of  tubes  with 
automatic  pumps  are  connected  with  the 
teats,  and  these  with  a  tube  which  passes 
back  of  the  udder  and  connects  with 
another  tube,  which  conducts  the  milk  to 
a  butter  extractor,  where  the  butter  is 
taken  from  it.  The  skim  milk  is  carried 
by  other  pipes  back  to  tanks  in  the 
mangers,  where  it  is  fed  to  the  cows  as 
may  be  necessary,  thus  preventing  all 
loss.  This  arrangement  relieves  the 
farmer  of  the  worry  of  milking  by  hand 
a  kicking  cow,  or  one  with  small  teats. 
The  animals  are  kept  in  barns  where  the 
temperature  in  winter  is  always  constant, 
being  regulated  by  electricity.  None  of 
our  American  cattle  have  horns,  though 
two  hundred  years  ago  hornless  cattle 
were   uncommon. 

In  the  western  states,  there  used  to 
be,  in  the  days  of  my  grandfather,  a  great 
loss  of  corn  fodder  and  straw,  each  year, 
through  allowing  these  valuable  substan- 
ces to  be  exposed  to  all  kinds  of  weather, 
and  trampled  under  foot  by  stock,  burned 
or  thrown  to  waste.  We  now  most  care- 
fully utilize  these  foods,  by  having  silos 
for  the  preservation  of  corn  fodder  when 
green,  and  by  tearing  the  corn  and  wheat 
stems  into  shreds  when  dry,  and  feeding 
them  with  a  grain  ration.  All  such  fod- 
ders are  now  carefully  husbanded  by  us. 

It  is  only  quite  recently  —  say  for  one 
hundred  years  —  that  Americans  have 
exercised  much  care  in  the  conservation 
of  soil  fertilizers.  But  the  exhaustion  of 
the  soil  was  steadily  impressed  upon  the 
people,  and  finally,  after  much  earnest 
effort  on  the  part  of  some  of  our  Atlantic 
states  experiment  stations,  the  attention 
of  the  people  was  drawn  to  this  waste, 
and  an  active  movement  was  begun  to 
conserve  our  common  farm  fertilizers  and 
apply  them  scientifically,  and  also  those 


A   FUTURE   AGRICULTURE. 


315 


manufactured  and  sold  in  the  market. 
All  solid  and  liquid  farm  manure  is  care- 
fully protected.  The  liquid  manure  is 
conducted  from  each  animal  to  strong 
cement  tanks  below  the  stable.  When 
one  tank  is  filled  the  operation  is  re- 
peated with  another,  and  the  filled  one  is 
chemically  analyzed.  Then  this  manure 
is  applied  to  the  field  in  specific  quantity, 
there  being  a  certain  number  of  pounds 
of  the  food  ingredients  deposited  to  the 
acre.  All  fertilizers  are  used  on  this 
basis,  and  in  buying  commercial  manures, 
the  dealer  dishes  out  so  many  pounds  of 
nitrogen,  potash,  phosphoric  acid,  etc., 
per  ton,  according  as  the  buyer  desires. 

Perhaps  one  of  the  most  important  dis- 
coveries yet  made  by  one  of  our  stations 
is  the  method  of  producing  root  nodules 
on  clover  and  other  leguminous  plants, 
which  contain  nitrogen.  By  a  careful 
system  of  in-and-in  breeding  we  have 
produced  a  number  of  nodule-bearing 
varieties  of  clover  and  alfalfa  that  yield 
us  great  quantities  of  nitrogenous  fertilizer. 
The  roots,  differing  from  those  of  or- 
dinary varieties,  grow  near  the  surface, 
like  potatoes.  At  the  proper  time  of 
maturity  they  are  ploughed  out,  and  the 
nodules  which  are  of  good  size  are  un- 
covered, dried  and  ground,  thus  furnish- 
ing a  most  important  source  of  nitrogen. 
In  the  older  settled  portions  of  our  coun- 
try, where  the  elements  of  plant  fertility 
were  early  exhausted  from  the  soil,  the 
people  found  it  necessary  to  study  economy 
in  the  use  of  manures  long  before  this  was 
thought  of  in  the  western  states,  where 
the  soils  were  deeper  and  contained  more 
humus.  Yet  a  change  has  come  about, 
and  now  our  entire  farming  population  is 
well  aware  of  the  necessities  of  the  case. 
In  consequence  of  our  excessive  care  and 
judicious  use  of  manures  at  the  present 
time,  we  gather  an  average  of  fifty  bushels 
of  wheat  per  acre,  where  we  grew  but 
twelve  a  century  ago,  and  shell  two  hun- 
dred bushels  of  corn  per  acre,  where  we 
formerly  harvested  but  forty. 

In  the  production  of  seed  we  practice 
most  careful  breeding  and  selecting.  All 
of  our  farm  vegetables  and  grains  have 
been  classified  botanically,  as  by  careful 
breeding  they  have  assumed  certain  fixed, 
definite  characters.     The  farmer  buys  his 


seed  from  one  catalogue,  as  all  seed  deal- 
ers use  a  duplicate,  which  is  prepared  by 
the  National  Experiment  Station.  If 
new  plants  are  recorded  in  the  catalogue, 
it  is  not  until  they  are  thoroughly  tested 
by  many  experiment  stations,  and  have 
been  shown  to  be  of  fixed  character,  when 
their  names  are  recorded  in  the  classifica- 
tion by  the  Director-General  of  the  Na- 
tional Station.  This  method  has  unques- 
tionably saved  the  United  States  vast 
sums  of  money,  for  only  desirable  varie- 
ties of  seed  and  plants  can  now  be  bought 
in  our  markets  ;  the  varieties  are  only  of 
the  best,  and  come  true  from  seed. 

You  may  perhaps  remember  that  a 
little  over  one  hundred  years  ago,  the 
United  States  purchased  a  large  portion 
of  its  sugar  from  abroad.  At  the  present 
time,  however,  as  a  result  of  investigations 
carried  on  by  the  United  States  Depart- 
ment of  Agriculture  and  several  experi- 
ment stations,  we  have  succeeded  in  de- 
veloping a  quality  of  beet  averaging  about 
twenty-five  per  cent  sugar.  The  beet  is 
ground  up  to  pulp,  and  all  of  the  juice  is 
carefully  removed,  and  the  pulp  is  thor- 
oughly drenched  with  distilled  water. 
All  of  this  juice  and  water  used  in 
drenching  the  beet  is  placed  in  a  vacuum 
pan  and  reduced  to  a  certain  degree, 
after  which  it  is  placed  in  a  centrifugal 
machine  of  simple  construction,  which, 
upon  action,  blows  out  the  sugar  in 
crystalline  form,  much  on  the  principle 
of  the  butter  extractor.  The  molasses 
comes  out  of  the  same  machine  at  another 
point.  These  centrifugal  machines  are 
very  generally  owned  by  farmers  scattered 
over  the  United  States,  in  the  more 
temperate  regions,  where  beets  can  be 
grown  most  successfully.  Owing  to  this 
very  economical  method  of  producing 
sugar,  our  farmers  each  year  produce  a 
great  abundance  for  the  inhabitants  of 
the  United  States  at  a  cost  not  exceed- 
ing one  cent  per  pound. 

On  the  same  area  of  land,  with  a 
smaller  number  of  plants,  to-day  we  can 
grow  a  far  larger  crop  than  could  be 
grown  one  hundred  years  ago.  The 
plants  have  been  bred  with  such  wisdom, 
and  the  soil  fertilized  with  such  care,  that 
each  plant  develops  its  maximum  growth. 
Our  strawberries  are  of  delightful  flavor, 


310 


A   FUTURE   AGRICULTURE. 


and  flesh  and  color,  and  four  or  five 
average  ones  make  a  quart.  The  seeds 
have  all  been  eliminated  from  our  culti- 
vated raspberries,  blackberries,  currants, 
and  gooseberries.  Their  fruit  is  marvel- 
lously delicate  in  flavor,  especially  so  the 
two  former.  The  size  of  the  fruit  of  these 
is  equal  to  the  largest  illustrations  given 
in  the  seed  catalogue  of  our  forefathers 
over  one  hundred  years  ago,  at  which 
time,  according  to  the  chronicles,  it  was 
said  that  the  figures  were  the  concoction 
of  a  vivid  imagination,  equalled  only  by 
that  of  the  tree  agent  of  the  period. 

In  all  the  centuries,  man  has  discovered 
no  more  nutritious,  stable  food  than 
milk,  and  to-day  our  dairy  interests,  with 
our  population  of  five  hundred  millions, 
are  vast.  So  much  do  our  citizens  value 
the  importance  of  dairy  products,  that  the 
greatest  care  is  exercised  in  their  prepara- 
tion for  market.  Milk  is  sold  in  bottles, 
and  each  wagon  carrying  the  same  has 
marked  upon  its  side  the  per  cent  of 
solids  and  of  fat  the  dealer's  milk  con- 
tains. No  milk  with  less  than  thirteen 
per  cent  of  solids  and  three  per  cent  of 
fat  is  sold  from  carts  to  the  general  public. 
Every  bottle  containing  milk  for  babies 
must  have  a  guaranty  upon  it,  that  it 
contains  between  three  and  four  per  cent 
fat  and  thirteen  per  cent  solids,  and  that 
the  cow  producing  it  was  fed  only  sweet, 
dry  hay,  corn  meal,  and  bran.  All  but- 
ter sold  in  the  market  must  contain  at 
least  eighty-five  per  cent  of  butter  fat, 
and  oleomargarine  is  sold  only  in  pound 
lumps,  colored  pink,  with  the  letter  "o" 
upon  it.  Such  a  thing  as  bad  butter  is 
not  made  in  America,  for  all  butter  is 
made  in  the  butter  extractor,  which  does 
away  with  the  necessity  of  the  old  churn- 
ing process.  Cream  is  obtained  by 
running  the  milk  through  a  centrifugal 
machine.  Cheddar  cheese  is  made  from 
the  whole  milk  only.  At  one  time  in  our 
history,  skim-milk  cheese  was  largely 
manufactured,  but  such  a  thing  to-day  is 
unheard  of,  as  it  is  generally  recognized 
to  be  not  easily  digested.  Limburger  is 
at  present  our  most  popular  form  of 
cheese,  and  its  digestibility,  with  its  great 
strength,  makes  a  combination  hard  to  beat. 

In  their  relation  to  the  people,  the 
farmers  of  America  occupy  a  high  position. 


As  our  constitution  provides  that  the  vari- 
ous industries  shall  be  represented  in  our 
legislative  halls  according  to  the  proportion 
of  the  people  engaged  in  each,  the  farmers 
have  a  leading  voice  in  the  construction  of 
our  laws,  and  the  social,  moral,  and  financial 
conditions  resulting  from  their  supervision 
and  influence  are  eminently  satisfactory', 
not  only  to  the  farming  population,  but  to 
the  body  of  our  citizens  as  a  whole. 

The  principal  feature,  as  I  have  en- 
deavored to  show  you,  of  the  farming  of 
this  country,  lies  in  the  application  of 
scientific,  economical,  and  systematic 
methods  to  the  conducting  of  our  work. 
A  farmer  is  not  satisfied  that  a  hen  lay 
one  hundred  eggs  of  two  ounces  weight 
each  in  one  year,  eating  one  bushel  of 
grain  to  do  the  same.  He  rather  aims 
to  make  the  hen  produce  three  hundred 
and  sixty-five  eggs  in  one  year,  each 
weighing  one-half  pound,  eating  one-half 
bushel  of  grain  to  produce  said  eggs. 
And  if  one  gram  of  albuminoids,  or  a  part 
of  a  gram  of  carbohydrates  is  wasted,  the 
farmer  has  been  careless  of  his  resources. 

We  do  not  feel  that  our  agriculture  has 
yet  been  developed  to  its  utmost,  but  that 
it  is  rather  in  its  infancy.  As  time  moves 
on,  I  firmly  believe  that  grander  and 
more  splendid  discoveries  will  be  made 
in  the  field  of  agriculture  such  as  shall  be 
of  inestimable  benefit  to  the  human  race, 
through  their  practical  application  to 
farm  economy.  The  end  is  not  yet,  and 
if  there  is  any  significance  in  the  presence 
of  hundreds  of  thousands  of  bright  young 
men  in  our  agricultural  colleges,  it  cer- 
tainly indicates  that  these  institutions  are 
the  seed  beds  that  shall  develop  minds 
consecrated  to  the  development  of  agri- 
culture, some  of  whom  will  astonish  the 
world  with  such  brilliant  discoveries  that 
I  dare  not  conceive  their  magnificence. 
That  most  illustrious  American,  George 
Washington,  in  the  early  days  of  our  his- 
tory, said,  "  Agriculture  is  the  grand- 
est, the  noblest,  and  the  most  useful  em- 
ployment of  man."  The  full  meaning  of 
this  utterance,  history  tells  us,  was  not 
comprehended  in  the  early  days  of  our 
Republic,  but  to-day  its  significance  is 
thoroughly  appreciated  as  shown  by  the 
testimony  of  hundreds  of  millions  of  our 
people. 


THE  POT  OF  HONEY. 

By  Dora  Read  Goodale. 

IT  came  in  autumn,  when  the  languid  sun 
Looks  strangely  down  on  scanty  growth,  or  none, 
When  nights  are  cool,  when  cool  winds  sweep  the  ground 
Or  whine  at  keyholes  with  a  doleful  sound ; 
In  this  lean  time,  whose  pinched,  reluctant  hold 
Yields  the  last  blossoms  captive  to  the  cold, 
(Pale  flowers  and  meagre,  weeds  without  a  name 
That  tempt  dull  bees),  the  Pot  of  Honey  came. 

From  Kent  it  came,  that  pleasant  town  and  dear, 

Topped  with  bald  brows  that  arch  its  double  mere, 

Where  fruitful  farms  and  orchards  mantling  warm 

In  rosy  sweets  pay  tribute  to  the  swarm. 

Round  the  gray  walls  what  mellow  borders  thrive  — 

Those  brief  parterres  immortal  in  a  hive  ! 

Mint  of  a  season,  primrose  of  an  hour, 

And  amber  linden,  and  the  raspberry  flower  ! 

Well-pleased  we  sat,  my  warlike  friend  and  I, 
Where  the  broad  plane  trees  laced  the  smoky  sky, 
In  that  rare  season  blazoned  far  and  near, — 
The  second  childhood  of  the  parting  year. 
In  purple  trance  the  spacious  valley  showed ; 
Worn  by  slow  wagon  stretched  the  winding  road ; 
And  russet  farms,  and  stocks  of  gathered  maize, 
Basked  in  vague  warmth  and  opal-tinted  haze. 

Here,  then,  we  lingered  in  the  leafless  grove 

Whose  summer  echoes  know  the  sound  of  love, 

Forsaken  now  of  all  its  laughing  train, 

Its  clustered  benches  bare  to  wind  and  rain ; 

In  the  waste  gardens  of  the  hamlet  round 

The  red-tongued  bonfires  licked  the  patient  ground, 

Whose  brittle  turf,  with  tawny  purple  spread, 

Gave  back  faint  rustlings  to  our  random  tread. 

'Too  soon,"  said  he,  "these  blissful  airs  benign 
Tame  the  rough  landscape  to  its  short  decline  ; 
My  furlough's  up,  the  sound  of  mirth  has  ceased ; 
Yet  drain  the  cup  —  our  last  al  fresco  feast  ! 
Not  every  year,  nor  every  life,  I  wis, 
Knows  such  a  peaceful  taking-orT  as  this, 
By  whose  rare  charm  a  man  might  well  be  won 
To  lay  down  earth  and  put  the  heavenly  on  !" 

He  said,  "  This  honey  from  its  chambered  comb 
Breathes  a  whole  summer,  and  the  soul  of  home  : 
Mark  the  wise  bees,  they  snatch  a  golden  prime 
To  cheat  the  frosts  and  biting  tooth  of  Time  ! 


318 


THE    WESTMINSTER  MASSACRE. 


Our  lives,"  he  said,  "what  barren  hives  they  prove, 

Fed  by  false  hope  or  lost  to  wholesome  love  — 

We  toil  in  youth  for  that  our  age  will  rue 

Or  miss  the  flower  .   .  .  And  this  day  week  —  And  you  — 

He  paused.     Far-heard,  some  frail,  belated  thing 

Thrilled  out  fine  music  on  its  filmy  wing ; 

And  still  we  mused,  and  still  we  sauntered  slow, 

Discoursing  much,  and  mingling  yes  and  no. 

With  turnings  oft  and  many  a  feigned  retreat, 

A  vein  of  bitter  mingled  with  our  sweet ; 

Till  parting  joined  us  in  so  rare  a  kiss 

Earth  has  not  matched  it  from  that  hour  to  this  ! 


~^5 


THE    WESTMINSTER   MASSACRE. 


By  J.  M.  Trench.  M.  D. 


AN  incident  in  the  early  history  of 
our  country,  only  less  important  in 
its  bearings  upon  the  struggle  for 
liberty  than  the  Boston  Massacre  and  the 
Boston  Tea  Party,  but  far  less  noticed  by 
the  historian  or  known  to  the  world,  on 
account  of  its  having  occurred  in  a  por- 
tion of  the  colonies  remote  from  the  prin- 
cipal scenes  of  the  opening  conflict,  was 
the  affair  known  as  the  Westminster  Mas- 
sacre, which  took  place  at  Westminster 
on  the  Connecticut  River,  March  13, 
1775.  It  thus  preceded  the  battle  of 
Lexington  by  scarcely  more  than  a  single 
month,  and  its  victims  have  been  claimed 
by  some  as  the  first  martyrs  in  the  cause 
of  American  independence. 

In    order    to    understand     the     causes 
which  led  to  this  affair,  it  will  be  neces- 


sary to  glance  briefly  at  the  history  of  the 
colony  in  which  it  occurred,  and  consider 
the  character  of  its  people  and  the  griev- 
ances to  which  they  had  been  subject. 

The  country  lying  between  Lake  Cham- 
plain  and  the  Connecticut  River,  which 
constitutes  the  present  state  of  Vermont, 
was  at  that  time  a  disputed  territory,  com- 
monly known  as  the  New  Hampshire 
Grants,  being  claimed  on  the  one  hand 
by  New  Hampshire,  where  the  governor 
began  to  charter  townships  within  its 
limits  to  actual  settlers  as  early  as  1749, 
and  on  the  other  by  New  York,  whose 
governor  had  also  issued  grants  in  the 
same  section  of  the  country,  and  in  some 
cases  covering  the  same  tracts  of  land, 
though  in  few,  if  any,  instances  had  the 
lands  been  occupied  by  the  grantees. 


THE   WESTMINSTER  MASSACRE. 


319 


The  dispute  with  reference  to  the 
boundary  line  having  been  referred  to 
the  king  for  decision,  he,  on  the  20th  of 
July,  1764,  decreed  "the  western  bank 
of  the  Connecticut  River,  from  where  it 
enters  the  province  of  Massachusetts  Bay, 
as  far  north  as  the  45  th  degree  of  north 
latitude,  to  be  the  boundary  line  between 
the  said  provinces  of  New  Hampshire 
and  New  York." 

This  decision,  though  contrary  to  the 
wishes  of  the  majority  of  the  settlers,  was 
accepted  by  them  in  good  faith,  as  it  was 
supposed  to  place  them  in  the  jurisdic- 
tion of  New  York  in  future  only,  and  not 
in  any  way  to  affect  their  claims  to  lands 
which  they  had  already  purchased  and 
paid  for,  and  their  titles  to  which  were 
stamped  with  the  royal  seal. 

Governor  Tryon  of  New  York,  how- 
ever, not  content  with  securing  future 
jurisdiction  only,  asserted  that  the  king's 
decree  was  retroactive  in  its  nature,  and 
that  consequently  all  grants  heretofore 
made  by  the  governor  of  New  Hampshire 
were  illegal  and  void.  He  therefore  called 
upon  the  New  Hampshire  grantees  to  re- 
linquish their  charters  and  repurchase  their 
lands  from  him.  A  small  number  only 
complied,  while  the  large  majority,  em- 
bracing all  those  on  the  west  side  of  the 
mountains,  remained  firm  in  their  refusal 
to  accede  to  his  demands.  Under  these 
circumstances,  the  lands  of  the  settlers, 
including  the  houses  and  all  the  improve- 
ments which  they  had  made,  were  re- 
granted  to  other  parties,  and  actions 
of  ejectment  were  brought  against 
them. 

In  this  strait,  the  settlers,  still  resolved 
not  to  submit  to  the  unjust  demands  of 
New  York,  held  a  consultation  in  the  fall 
of  1766,  at  which  they  chose  Samuel 
Robinson  of  Bennington  to  present  their 
grievances  to  the  court  of  Great  Britain, 
and  petition  for  a  confirmation  of  the 
New  Hampshire  grants.  Robinson  ful- 
filled his  mission,  and  in  consequence  of 
his  representations,  the  king  issued  a  de- 
cree forbidding  the  governor  of  New 
York,  "  upon  pain  of  his  majesty's  high- 
est displeasure,  from  making  any  further 
grants  whatever  of  the  lands  in  question, 
until  his  majesty's  further  pleasure  should 
be  known  concerning  the  same." 


Governor  Tryon  paid  no  attention  to 
this  order,  but  continued  to  issue  grants 
at  will  to  his  favorites.  Meantime  the 
actions  of  ejectment  having  been  brought 
to  trial  in  the  courts  of  Albany,  a  deci- 
sion was  in  every  case  readily  obtained 
against  the  defendants,  and  in  favor  of 
the  New  York  grantees.  Seeing  that 
there  was  no  recourse  for  them  under 
forms  of  law,  the  settlers  held  another 
convention  at  Bennington  in  the  summer 
of  1770,  at  which  they  unanimously  "  re- 
solved to  support  the  rights  and  property 
which  they  possessed  under  the  New 
Hampshire  grants,  against  the  usurpation 
and  unjust  claims  of  New  York,  by  force, 
as  law  and  justice  were  denied  them." 

Active  and  successful  resistance  was  at 
once  inaugurated,  and  whenever  a  New 
York  sheriff  and  his  posse  of  men  undertook 
to  eject  a  Green  Mountain  Boy  from  his 
hard-earned  possessions,  they  were  in 
every  case  met  with  such  resistance  as 
prevented  the  execution  of  their  plans, 
and  caused  them  to  retire  in  discomfiture. 

But  while  this  was  the  situation  on  the 
west  side  of  the  mountains,  a  somewhat 
different  condition  of  affairs  prevailed  on 
the  east.  The  settlers  along  the  Connec- 
ticut River  had  very  generally  submitted 
to  the  authority  of  New  York,  had  re- 
purchased their  lands  of  Governor  Tryon, 
and  were  therefore  comparatively  disin- 
terested spectators  of  the  strife  which  was 
going  on  between  their  brethren  in  the 
western  part  of  the  Grants  and  the  gov- 
ernor and  council  of  New  York. 

The  township  of  Westminster,  situated 
on  the  Connecticut  River,  about  this  time 
assumed  considerable  prominence  on  ac- 
count of  its  being  selected  by  New  York 
as  the  place  for  holding  its  courts  in  that 
section  of  the  Grants.  This  tract  of  land 
was  first  chartered  by  Massachusetts  in 
1735,  under  the  name  of  Township  No. 
1,  and  was  thus  the  first  ever  chartered 
within  the  present  limits  of  Vermont.  On 
the  adjustment  of  the  boundary  lines  be- 
tween Massachusetts  and  New  Hamp- 
shire, it  was  found  that  Township  No.  1 
was  outside  the  limits  of  the  former  prov- 
ince, and  the  settlement  was  soon  aban- 
doned. In  1752,  it  was  rechartered  by 
Governor  Wentworth  of  New  Hampshire 
under  the   name   of  Westminster,   being 


320 


THE    WESTMINSTER  MASSACRE. 


the  third  in  order  of  the  New  Hampshire 
grants.  A  year  later  the  settlement  was 
again  abandoned,  and  in  1760  the  char- 
ter was  renewed  by  the  same  authority. 
By  the  king's  decree  in  1764,  Westmins- 
ter came  under  the  jurisdiction  of  New 
York,  and  in  1772  a  new  charter  was 
issued  by  Governor  Tryon.  In  the  same 
year  it  was  made  the  county  seat  of 
Cumberland  county,  New  York,  which 
embraced  nearly  the  same  limits  as  the 
present  counties  of  Windham  and 
Windsor,  Vermont. 

Though  the  inhabitants  of  this  section 
of  the  Grants  were  not  actively  involved 
in  the  boundary  contest,  yet  they  sympa- 
thized with  their  brethren  on  the  west  of 
the  mountains,  both  in  their  resistance  to 
the  "  Yorkers  "  and  in  their  indignation 
at  the  growing  encroachments  of  the 
mother  country.  Indeed,  events  were 
even  then  rapidly  shaping  themselves, 
which  were  to  cause  them  to  take  the 
lead  in  resisting  the  royal  authority,  as 
represented  by  the  courts  and  officers  of 
New  York. 

In  September,  1774,  the  first  Conti- 
nental Congress  met  in  Philadelphia  to 
provide  measures  for  the  common  safety. 
As  a  result  of  the  resolutions  adopted  by 
this  congress,  the  royal  authority  was  al- 
most universally  suspended  throughout  all 
the  provinces  except  New  York,  which 
refused  to  assent  to  the  recommendations 
of  the  congress. 

Not  heeding  the  action  of  New  York, 
the  inhabitants  of  the  southeastern  part 
of  the  Grants  held  a  convention  at  West- 
minster on  the  30th  of  November,  in 
which  they  indorsed  all  the  recommenda- 
tions of  the  Continental  Congress,  and 
bound  themselves  "  religiously  to  adhere 
to  the  non-importation,  non-consumption, 
and  non-exportation  association." 

On  the  7  th  of  February  following  they 
again  met  for  the  purpose  of  expressing 
dissatisfaction  with  the  "  great  expense 
and  heavy  burdens  "  which  had  been 
placed  upon  them  by  reason  of  the  addi- 
tional courts  established,  "  in  consequence 
of  which  lawsuits  had  increased  and 
charges  had  been  multiplied  and  families 
nearly  beggared;"  and,  if  possible,  to  ob- 
tain relief  from  these  burdens.  The  gov- 
ernment of  New  York,    however,  refused 


to  grant  their  request,  and  denounced  as 
guilty  of  high  treason  all  who  expressed 
dissatisfaction.  This,  so  far  from  intimi- 
dating the  Green  Mountain  Boys,  only 
strengthened  them  in  their  determination 
to  stand  by  the  cause  of  American  liberty, 
for  "  they  thought  themselves  under  the 
strongest  obligations,  in  duty  to  God,  to 
themselves,  and  to  their  posterity,  to  re- 
sist and  oppose  all  authority  that  would 
not  accede  to  the  resolves  of  the  Conti- 
nental Congress." 

In  addition  to  these  general  causes  of 
dissatisfaction,  a  special  one  now  pre- 
sented itself  to  the  inhabitants  of  this 
part  of  the  New  Hampshire  Grants.  At 
the  close  of  the  French  and  Indian  wars, 
many  of  the  soldiers  received  grants  of 
land  from  that  colony  for  their  services, 
which  were  afterwards  found,  when  the 
boundaries  were  adjusted,  to  belong  with- 
in the  limits  of  Connecticut,  and  the 
settlers  were  therefore  required  to  sur- 
render them.  Recognizing  the  justice  of 
their  claim,  the  colony  of  Massachusetts 
Bay  proceeded  to  make  these  persons  a 
compensatory  grant  of  a  tract  of  land 
lying  along  the  western  bank  of  the  Con- 
necticut River,  immediately  south  of 
Westminster,  embracing  the  present 
towns  of  Putney,  Dummerston  and  Brat- 
tleboro,  and  which  was  therefore  com- 
monly known  as  the  "  Equivalent  Lands." 
But  when  the  northern  boundary  line  of 
Massachusetts  was  definitely  located,  it 
was  found  that  for  a  second  time  the  am- 
bitious colony  had  disposed  of  lands 
which  were  not  her  own.  "  The  Equiv- 
alent Lands  "  were  thrown  for  a  time  into 
the  jurisdiction  of  New  Hampshire,  and 
new  charters  were  issued  in  1753  by  Gov- 
ernor Wentworth,  who  seems  to  have  re- 
spected the  claims  of  actual  settlers.  In 
1764,  by  the  king's  decree,  they  were 
transferred  to  the  jurisdiction  of  New 
York,  and  two  years  later,  Putney, 
and  probably  the  other  townships  also, 
received  new  charters  from  the  governor 
of  that  colony. 

The  settlers  of  the  Equivalent  Lands 
were  of  Puritan  stock  and  faith,  and  hated 
Roman  Catholics  as  they  hated  the  devil. 
Having  aided  in  wresting  Canada  from 
the  French,  they  were  greatly  incensed 
when  the  British  Parliament,  by  the  pas- 


THE   WESTMINSTER  MASSACRE. 


321 


sage  of  the  "Quebec  Bill,"  established 
Catholicism  as  the  religion  of  that  prov- 
ince. 

So  great  was  their  exasperation  that  on 
one  occasion  one  of  their  number,  Lieu- 
tenant Spaulding  of  Dummerston,  in  a 
moment  of  excitement,  so  far  forgot  him- 
self as  to  call  the  king  "  the  pope  of  Can- 
ada." The  freedom  of  speech  which  is 
the  birthright  of  Americans  in  the  nine- 
teenth century  would  have  been  fatal  to 
Englishmen  in  the  eighteenth ;  and  this 
harmless  remark  was  seized  upon  by  the 
Royalists  as  an  indication  of  disrespect, 
and  on  the  28th  of  October,  1774,  they 
succeeded  in  having  Spaulding  arrested 
on  the  charge  of  high  treason,  and  im- 
prisoned in  the  jail  at  Westminster.  Pub- 
lic indignation  was  at  once  aroused  by 
this  high-handed  outrage,  and  on  the  fol- 
lowing day  the  inhabitants  of  Dummers- 
ton assembled  and  chose  a  committee, 
"  to  join  with  other  towns  and  respecta- 
ble bodies  of  people,  the  better  to  secure 
and  protect  the  rights  and  privileges  of 
themselves  and  fellow-creatures  from  the 
ravages  and  embarrassments  of  the  British 
tyrant,  and  his  New  York  and  other  emis- 
saries." 

The  result  of  the  movement  was  the 
assembling  of  a  large  body  of  men  from 
Dummerston  and  adjoining  towns,  who 
armed  themselves  and  marched  in  force 
to  Westminster,  where  they  surrounded 
the  jail,  opened  the  doors,  and  set  Spauld- 
ing free. 

This  brought  the  controversy  to  a 
point,  and  made  the  issue  a  sharply  de- 
fined one.  If  the  royal  authority  was  to 
be  maintained,  the  laws  must  be  enforced, 
criminals  punished,  and  the  settlers 
brought  into  subjection.  On  the  other 
hand,  if  the  settlers  and  their  posterity 
were  to  have  any  rights  of  their  own,  in 
short,  if  their  lives  were  to  be  any  better 
than  those  of  slaves,  the  entire  "  aban- 
donment of  the  proceedings  must  be  com- 
pelled by  the  people,  and  the  whole  ma- 
chinery of  royal  oppression  resisted  and 
stayed,  at  once  and  forever."  The  gen- 
eral excitement  was  intense,  and  both 
sides  prepared  for  the  conflict. 

The  next  session  of  the  Cumberland 
county  court  was  fixed  to  be  held  at 
Westminster  on  the  14th  of  March,  1775. 


Should  the  officers  of  New  York  be  al- 
lowed to  hold  the  court,  and  carry  out  its 
mandates?  This  was  the  burning  ques- 
tion of  the  hour.  On  the  one  side  were 
Tories  and  Yorkers  ;  on  the  other,  Whigs 
and  Green  Mountain  Boys.  The  lines 
were  sharply  drawn,  and  no  man  could  be 
a  friend  of  the  people  and  at  the  same 
time  in  favor  with  the  "  minions  of  New 
York." 

The  plan  first  decided  upon,  in  order 
to  avoid  difficulty  and  possible  bloodshed, 
was  to  visit  the  judges  of  the  court,  and 
if  possible  by  representing  to  them  the 
excited  condition  of  the  people,  and  the 
danger  which  would  attend  the  session  of 
the  court,  to  induce  them  to  remain  at 
home.  In  pursuance  of  this  plan,  "  about 
forty  good,  true  men,"  waited  upon  Chief- 
Justice  Chandler,  who  resided  in  Ches- 
ter, and  endeavored  to  dissuade  him  from 
attending.  He  admitted  that  it  "  would 
be  for  the  good  of  the  county  not  to  hold 
any  courts,  as  things  were  ;  but  there  was 
one  murder  case  that  they  must  see  to, 
and  if  it  was  not  agreeable  to  the  people, 
they  would  not  hear  any  other  cases." 
In  answer  to  the  objection  that  if  the 
court  was  held  at  all  "  the  sheriff  would 
raise  a  number  of  men,  and  there  would 
be  bloodshed,"  the  judge  pledged  his 
word  and  honor  that  no  arms  should  be 
brought  against  them. 

Of  the  associate  justices,  one  was  ab- 
sent from  the  county,  the  other  was  ear- 
nest to  have  the  session  held.  The  sher- 
iff and  minor  officers  were  anxious  that 
the  law  should,  go  on. 

Thus  it  was  evident  that  this  plan  would 
prove  a  failure.  It  was  then  proposed  by 
the  Whig  party  to  allow  the  court  to  as- 
semble, and  then  present  their  reasons 
for  desiring  an  immediate  adjournment. 
But  finding  that  the  court  party  had  made 
arrangements  for  taking  possession  of  the 
court  house  on  the  13  th,  and  placing  an 
armed  guard  at  the  doors  to  keep  out  the 
Whigs,  they  resolved  to  steal  a  march 
upon  their  opponents,  and  effect  an  en- 
trance before  the  guard  should  be  placed, 
in  order  that  they  might  not  be  debarred 
from  laying  their  grievances  before  the 
court  previous  to  the  opening  of  the  ses- 
sion. 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  13th,  the  forces 


,9-2 


THE   WESTMINSTER  MASSACRE. 


began  to  gather  from  all  sides.  A  party 
of  Whigs  came  down  from  Rockingham, 
and  proceeding  to  the  schoolhouse  nearly 
opposite  the  house  of  Captain  Azariah 
Wright,  held  a  consultation  as  to  the  best 
means  of  preventing  the  session.  Being 
without  weapons,  they  proceeded  to  arm 
themselves  with  stout  cudgels  from  the 
Captain's  woodpile,  after  which  they  set 
out  for  the  court-house.  Others  from  ad- 
jacent towns  joined  them  on  their  way, 
until  on  arriving  at  their  destination  they 
numbered  fully  one  hundred  men,  none 
of  whom,  however,  were  otherwise  armed 
than  with  sticks  and  cudgels.  At  about 
four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  the  whole 
party  entered  the  court-house,  and  took 
possession  in  the  name  of  the  people. 

The  court  party  meanwhile  had  not 
been  idle.  Sheriff  Patterson  had  himself 
gone  to  Brattleboro  on  the  day  previous 
to  secure  assistance  for  his  side.  He  now 
came  on,  shortly  after  the  Whigs  had 
taken  possession,  with  a  large  body  of 
men  —  the  actual  number  we  are  not 
told  —  some  of  them  "  armed  with  guns, 
swords  and  pistols,  and  others  with  sticks 
or  clubs." 

Marching  to  within  about  five  yards  of 
the  door  the  sheriff  ordered  the  "  rioters  " 
to  disperse.  Receiving  no  reply,  he 
caused  the  "  king's  proclamation  "  to  be 
read,  and  warned  the  inmates  to  disperse 
within  fifteen  minutes,  adding  with  an 
oath  that  if  they  did  not  do  so  speedily, 
he  would  "  blow  a  lane  through  them." 

The  Whigs  refused  to  disperse,  but 
agreed  to  allow  the  sheriff,  and  his  party 
to  enter  the  house  if  they  would  lay  aside 
their  weapons  and  come  in  unarmed. 
Others,  declaring  that  they  had  come  for 
peace  and  not  for  war,  desired  an  oppor- 
tunity for  parley,  hoping  thereby  to  arrive 
at  some  satisfactory  conclusion  of  the 
matter. 

At  this,  Samuel  Gale,  clerk  of  the  court, 
drew  his  pistol,  and  brandishing  it  in  the 
faces  of  the  Whigs,  declared  with  an  oath 
that  he  would  hold  no  parley  save  with 
this. 

After  some  further  harsh  language,  the 
Tories  withdrew  a  short  distance  and  held 
a  consultation.  The  Whigs,  still  desirous 
of  preventing  any  actual  conflict,  but  firm 
in  their  determination   not   to   allow  the 


court  to  go  on,  sent  out  three  men  to 
parley  with  them,  but  without  avail. 

At  about  seven  o'clock,  Chief-Justice 
Chandler  made  his  appearance,  and  was 
allowed  to  enter  the  court-room.  Here 
the  Whigs  laid  their  case  before  him 
and  reminded  him  of  his  solemn  promise 
that  no  arms  should  be  brought  against 
them.  In  answer  to  this,  he  affirmed 
that  they  were  brought  without  his  con- 
sent, and  agreed  himself  to  go  and  take 
them  away.  He  also  promised  that  they 
should  have  undisturbed  possession  of  the 
court-house  until  morning,  when  the  court 
would  come  in  without  arms  and  hear 
what  the  people  had  to  lay  before  them. 
He  then  took  his  departure  and  the 
Whigs,  relying  on  his  explicit  promise, 
proceeded  to  formulate  a  list  of  grievances 
and  resolutions  to  be  presented  to  the 
court  on  the  following  morning.  Having 
done  this,  the  greater  part  of  the  com- 
pany took  their  departure,  some  going  to 
their  own  homes  and  others  to  those  of 
their  neighbors,  leaving  a  small  party  to 
keep  guard  at  the  court-house,  and  give 
the  alarm  in  case  of  an  attack. 

Up  to  this  time  it  seemed  as  though 
actual  violence  might  be  averted.  But 
the  counsels  of  peace  were  not  to  prevail. 
It  was  needful  that  blood  should  be  shed, 
in  order  that  the  New  Hampshire  Grants 
might  become  a  unit  in  resisting  oppres- 
sion. 

The  sheriff  had  rallied  all  the  Tories  in 
the  vicinity  to  his  assistance.  They  met 
in  rendezvous  at  Norton's  tavern,  and 
thence  proceeded  towards  the  court- 
house in  small  numbers,  so  as  not  to  ex- 
cite an  alarm.  Their  approach  was  dis- 
covered by  the  sentry  a  little  before 
eleven  o'clock,  and  orders  were  at  once 
given  to  "  man  the  doors." 

Halting  his  forces  about  ten  rods  from 
the  court-house,  and  advancing  himself 
towards  the  door,  he  demanded  entrance 
in  the  name  of  the  king. 

Receiving  no  answer,  he  warned  the 
inmates  that  he  proposed  to  enter, 
peaceably  if  he  might,  but  forcibly  if  he 
must.  Being  twice  repulsed  in  the  at- 
tempt to  force  the  doors,  he  gave  the 
order  to  fire. 

Three  shots  were  fired,  all  of  which 
passed  over  the  heads  of  the  inmates.  The 


THE   WESTMINSTER  MASSACRE. 


323 


order  was  then  repeated,  and  the  volley  was 
fired  which  settled  forever  the  question 
of  New  York  supremacy  in  the  New 
Hampshire  Grants. 

One  of  the  Whigs  was  killed  and  sev- 
eral were  wounded  by  the  discharge,  while 
those  who  were  unhurt,  being  without 
other  weapons  than  their  stout  clubs,  were 
helpless  against  firearms,  and  now  fell 
back  in  dismay.  "Then,"  says  an  eye- 
witness, "  they  rushed  in  with  their  guns, 
swords  and  clubs,  and  did  most  cruelly 
maim  several  more,  and  took  some  that 
were  not  wounded,  and  those  that  were, 
and  crowded  them  all  into  the  close 
prison  together,  and  told  them  they 
should  be  in  hell  before  the  next  night, 
and  that  they  did  wish  that  there  were 
forty  more  in  the  same  case  with  that 
dying  man.  When  they  put  him  into 
prison,  they  took  and  dragged  him  as  one 
would  a  dog,  and  would  mock  him  as  he 
lay  gasping,  and  make  sport  for  them- 
selves at  his  dying  motions." 

The  dying  man  was  William  French,  a 
young  farmer  from  Brattleboro.  In  facing 
the  enemy  he  had  received  five  bullet- 
wounds  in  different  places  :  in  his  thigh, 
leg,  mouth,  face,  and  forehead.  Several 
others  were  severely  wounded ;  and  one, 
Daniel  Houghton,  was  shot  through  the 
body,  and  died  after  lingering  nine  days. 
Jeremiah  Knight  of  Dummerston  received 
a  buck-shot  in  his  right  shoulder,  which 
he  carried  for  more  than  thirty  years. 
One  White,  from  Rockingham,  was  se- 
verely wounded  in  the  knee.  Philip 
Safford  of  Rockingham  received  several 
cuts  upon  the  head  from  a  sabre  in  the 
hands  of  Sheriff  Patterson.  He.  however 
knocked  down  several  of  thesheriff's  men 
with  his  club,  and  succeeded  in  forcing 
his  way  through  them,  and  making  his 
escape.  Five  others  of  the  Whig  party 
were  slightly  wounded,  and  all  these,  with 
seven  who  were  unhurt,  were  taken  pris- 
oners. Two  of  the  Yorkers  received 
slight  wounds  from  pistol-balls,  discharged 
undoubtedly  by  their  own  men  in  the  con- 
fusion, as  the  Whig  party  carried  no  fire- 
arms. 

Thus  early,  while  Concord  and  Lex- 
ington were  yet  unfought,  and  at  a  time 
when  the  thirteen  colonies  were  seeking 
how  the  threatened  strife  might  be  averted, 


was  the  soil  of  the  New  Hampshire 
Grants  baptized  with  the  blood  of  free- 
dom, and  were  the  hearts  of  the  Green 
Mountain  Boys  made  steel  to  resist  op- 
pression. 

On  the  morning  of  the  14th  all  was 
confusion.  The  air  was  full  of  excite- 
ment, and  patriots  were  rallying  from 
every  quarter. 

At  the  appointed  time  the  court  con- 
vened, and  prepared  an  account  of  the 
"  very  melancholy  and  unhappy  affair  "  of 
the  night  before.  Although  their  party 
had  come  off  victorious  in  the  immediate 
contest,  and  held  possession  of  the  court- 
house, yet  in  the  excited  state  of  public 
sentiment,  they  knew  full  well  that  it 
would  be  unsafe  to  procee'd  with  business. 
They  therefore  adjourned  the  session  until 
the  second  Thursday  in  June  following. 
That  adjourned  session  has  never  yet 
been  held. 

By  noon  of  the  14th,  more  than  four 
hundred  Whigs  had  assembled,  about 
half  of  them  from  New  Hampshire,  and 
the  remainder  from  the  neighboring 
townships  in  the  Grants. 

Soon  the  tables  were  turned.  The 
prisoners  were  set  free,  and  the  chief- 
justice  and  his  associates,  the  sheriff  and 
such  of  his  men  as  were  known  to  have 
taken  part  in  the  massacre  and  could  be 
secured,  were  put  under  arrest. 

Public  indignation  was  intense,  and 
threats  of  violence  were  freely  made. 
Some  even  proposed  to  bum  the  court- 
house and  shoot  every  man  who  was  en- 
gaged in  the  massacre.  Calmer  counsels 
prevailed,  however,  and  the  proceedings 
against  the  criminals  were  made  to  con- 
form strictly  to  law  and  order. 

On  the  morning  of  the  16th  an  inquest 
was  held  on  the  body  of  young  French, 
and  the  sheriff  and  others  concerned  in 
his  death  were  placed  in  close  confine- 
ment. 

All  day  long,  reinforcements  had  con- 
tinued to  arrive  from  both  sides  of  the 
mountains  and  from  the  neighboring 
townships  in  New  Hampshire  and  Mas- 
sachusetts, until  when  the  inquest  was 
held,  it  was  estimated  that  there  were  "  as 
many  as  five  hundred  good  and  martial 
soldiers,  well  equipped  for  -war,"  upon 
the  ground,  in  addition  to  a  considerable 


324 


THE   WESTMINSTER  MASSACRE. 


number  who  came  as  private  citizens 
only. 

The  coroner's  jury  impanelled  to  in- 
vestigate the  causes  of  the  death  of  Wil- 
liam French,  after  rehearsing  the  prelimi- 
naries and  the  names  of  the  jurymen, 
declared  "  upon  their  oaths  that  on  the 
thirteenth  day  of  March  instant,  William 
Patterson  Esq.,  Mark  Langdon,  Christo- 
pher Osgood,  Benjamin  Gorton,  Samuel 
Night  and  others  unknown  to  them  as- 
sisting with  force  and  arms,  made  an 
assault  on  the  body  of  the  said  William 
French  and  Shot  him  Through  the  Head 
with  a  Bullet,  of  which  wound  he  Died, 
and  not  other  ways,  in  witness  whereof  the 
Coroner  and  Juryors  have  to  this  inquisi- 
tion put  their  hands  and  seals  at  the  place 
aforesaid." 

The  people  next  chose  a  committee  of 
representative  men  to  conduct  a  prelimi- 
nary trial  of  the  persons  engaged  in  the 
massacre;  and  this  committee,  "  after 
the  most  critical  and  impartial  examina- 
tion of  the  evidence,  decided  that  the 
leaders  should  be  confined  in  Northamp- 
ton jail  till  they  could  have  a  fair  trial," 
while  those  who  appeared  less  guilty 
should  be  placed  "  under  bonds,  holden  to 
answer  at  the  next  court  of  Oyer  and 
Terminer,"   to  be  held  at    Westminster. 

Under  this  decision,  seven  of  the  court 
party,  including  the  chief-justice,  were  at 
first  imprisoned,  but  on  the  next  day  were 
released  upon  giving  satisfactory  bonds 
and  security.  Nine  others,  of  whom 
Sheriff  Patterson  was  one,  were  sent  down 
the  river  under  a  guard  of  fifty  men  and 
two  officers,  and  imprisoned  in  the  jail  at 
Northampton.  Two  weeks  later  they 
were  released  on  a  writ  of  habeas  corpus, 
and  removed  to  New  York  for  a  regular 
trial.  But  it  is  nowhere  recorded  that 
either  they  or  those  who  were  released  on 
bail  were  ever  brought  to  trial.  The  ap- 
proaching conflict  between  the  colonies 
and  the  mother  country  soon  absorbed 
every  thought,  and  all  minor  interests 
were  swallowed  up  in  this. 

On  the  same  day  that  the  coroner's 
jury  made  their  report,  William  French 
was  buried  with  military  honors  in  the 
old  graveyard  at  Westminster.  In  due 
time  a  tombstone  of  slate  was  brought 
from   Dummerston    and  placed    over  his 


grave,  bearing  the  following  "  rude  but 
emphatic  inscription,"  which  the  storms 
of  more  than  one  hundred  years  have  not 
effaced  : 

IN    MEMORY    OF 

WILLIAM  FRENCH 
Son  to  Mr.  Nathaniel  French,  Who  Was  Shot 
at  Westminster  March  ye  13th,  1775,  by  the 
hands  of  Cruel  Ministerial  tools  Of  Georg  ye  3d, 
in  the  Courthouse  at  alia  clock  at  Night  in  the 
22d  year  of  his  Age. 

Here  William  French  his  Body  lies; 

For  Murder  his  Blood  for  Vengeance  cries; 

King  Georg  the  3d  his  Tory  Crew. 

Tha  with  a  Bawl  his  head  Shot  threw. 
For  Liberty  and  his  Country's  good 
He  lost  his  Life,  his  Dearest  blood." 

In  this  inscription  we  see  mirrored  the 
popular  sentiment  of  the  day,  which  was 
aroused  and  deepened  by  the  massacre. 
But  in  spite  of  the  strong  language  here 
used  against  "King  Georg  the  3d,"  one 
more  futile  attempt  was  made  by  the 
Green  Mountain  Boys  to  secure  that  jus- 
tice from  the  King  of  England  which  they 
despaired  of  obtaining  from  the  governor 
of  New  York.  In  a  convention  held  at 
Westminster  on  the  nth  of  April,  eight 
days  before  the  battle  of  Lexington,  it 
was  voted  to  "  wholly  renounce  and  resist 
the  administration  of  the  government  of 
New  York,"  until  such  time  as  they  could 
"lay  their  grievances  before  his  most 
gracious  majesty,"  and  "petition  to  be 
taken  out  of  so  oppressive  a  jurisdiction, 
and  either  annexed  to  some  other  gov- 
ernment or  incorporated  into  a  new  one." 

But  "revolutions  never  go  backwards." 
It  was  not  long  before  they  saw  the  en- 
tire futility  of  all  effort  in  this  direction. 
The  oppressions  of  the  mother  country 
daily  increased,  until  the  indignities  that 
were  heaped  upon  the  colonists  became 
too  great  to  be  any  longer  endured.  The 
spirit  of  the  Green  Mountain  Boys,  having 
been  once  aroused,  was  destined  never  to 
be  appeased  until  their  complete  inde- 
pendence was  achieved.     Says  De  Puy  : 

"  With  the  burial  of  William  French  were 
buried  the  last  hopes  of  subjugating  the  men  who 
dwelt  on  the  hills  and  in  the  valleys  of  the  Green 
Mountains.  The  spirit  of  resisting  oppression  to 
the  last  extremity,  awakened  by  his  death,  was 
never  extinguished;  and  within  two  years  from 
that  time,  there  was  proclaimed  from  the  same 
building  in  which  he  was  martyred,  the  declaration 
of  the  independence  of  Vermont." 


St.  Peter's  Church,  Leyden.     Site  of  John    Robinson's   House  at  the  right. 

THE  START  FROM  DELFSHAVEN. 

By  Rev.  Daniel  Van  Pelt. 


THERE  has  just  been  dedicated  at 
Leyden  a  beautiful  tablet  to  the 
memory  of  John  Robinson  —  a 
bronze  tablet,  placed  upon  the  gray  wall 
of  old  St.  Peter's  Church,  within  which 
Robinson  is  buried,  at  the  corner  of  the 
church  nearest  to  the  little  Pesyns  Plof, 
which  was  the  home  of  Robinson  and  his 
little  flock  during  their  sojourn  in  Leyden. 
This  house  of  Robinson's  was  marked 
several  years  ago  by  a  marble  tablet, 
placed  there  by  Rev.  Henry  M.  Dexter ; 
and  now  over  against  it  is  the  more  im- 
posing tablet,  placed  there  by  Americans 
who  in  their  views  of  church  order  are 
the  lineal  descendants  of  Robinson  and 
the  Pilgrims.  At  this  same  time  there  is 
an  agitation  in  America  for  the  erection 
of  a  much  more  ambitious  monument, 
which,  standing  at  Delfshaven,  where  the 
canal  from  Leyden  opens  into  the  Maas, 
shall    perpetuate    for    Europe    and    for 


America  the  memory  of  the  heroic  band 
who  sailed  thence  in  the  Speedwell,  in 
1620,  to  found  New  England. 

When  the  great  Pilgrim  monument 
was  dedicated  at  Plymouth  two  years 
ago,  the  day  chosen  for  the  dedication 
was  August  1,  the  date  long  considered 
that  of  the  start  from  Delfshaven.  This 
choice  showed  that  Holland  was  not  for- 
gotten in  connection  with  that  important 
occasion.  The  writer  was  in  Holland  at 
that  time.  The  occasion  sent  the 
thoughts  back  with  special  vividness  to 
the  part  which  Holland  bore  in  the  events 
commemorated  ;  and  advantage  was  taken 
of  a  somewhat  prolonged  stay  to  follow 
with  particular  care  the  course  of  the 
Pilgrims  as  they  journeyed  by  canal  from 
Leyden  to  Delfshaven,  and  to  mark  what 
remains  of  interest  in  Delfshaven  itself. 
The  results  of  those  pleasant  studies  will, 
it  is  hoped,  be  of  interest  to  many  now. 


326 


THE  START  FROM  DELFSHA  VEN. 


Although  but  a  few  miles  from  the 
North  Sea,  Leyden  has  no  direct  naviga- 
ble connection  with  it,  even  to  this  day. 
It  depends,  therefore,  upon  inland  water 
communication ;  and  this  is  furnished  by 
a  canal  located  far  back  of  the  sandhills, 


In   St.    Peter's  Church. 

passing  near  the  Hague  and  through 
Delft,  and  eventually  reaching  the  Maas 
at  Delfshaven,  past  which  town  this  slug- 
gish river  rolls  its  tide  towards  the  ocean, 
some  fifteen  miles  to  the  west  of  it. 

After  twelve  years  of  happy  sojourn 
together  in  love  and  peace,  in  the  land 
of  their  exile,  the  hour  of  parting  would 
naturally  be  a  sad  one.  But  the  parting 
was  not  to  be  at  Leyden.  It  was  deter- 
mined that  as  many  as  could  possibly  go 
should    accompany    the    adventurers    to 


where  the  Speedwell  lay.  Some  of  the 
brethren  even  came  from  Amsterdam  for 
that  purpose.  "  So  being  ready  to  de- 
part," Bradford  tells  us,  "  they  had  a  day 
of  solemn  humiliation.  Religious  ser- 
vices were  held,  and  John  Robinson 
preached  a  sermon 
from  a  very  appro- 
priate text "  "upon 
which,"  we  are 
naively  informed, 
"  he  spent  a  good 
part  of  the  day  very 
profitably."  As 
"  the  rest  of  the 
time  was  spent  in 
pouring  out  prayers 
to  the  Lord  with 
great  fervency 
mixed  with  abun- 
dance of  tears,"  and 
the  canal  journey  to 
Delfshaven  would 
consume  from  six 
to  eight  hours,  it  is 
to  be  presumed  that 
it  was  begun  early 
in  the  morning  after 
this  solemn  and 
tearful  day. 

It  is  more  than 
likely  that  the  barges 
needed  for  the  jour- 
ney lay  moored  near 
the  "Nuns'  Bridge," 
which  spans  the 
"  Rapenburg  "  im- 
mediately opposite 
the  Klok-steeg 
(Clock-alley)  in 
which  Robinson's 
house  was  situated, 
scarce  a  stone's 
throw  from  the  corner.  On  the  other 
side  of  the  Rapenburg  stand  the 
University  buildings.  Robinson's  com- 
modious dwelling  served  also  as  a  "  meet- 
ing house  "  for  the  Pilgrims,  and  here 
once  more  they  would  gather  on  that 
morning  of  departure.  From  thence  it 
was  but  a  step  to  the  boats;  and  less 
than  a  hundred  yards  from  the  starting- 
point  they  would  enter  into  the  "Yliet," 
the  name  which  designates  the  section  of 
the    canal   between    Levden    and    Delft. 


THE  START  FROM  DELFSHAVEN. 


327 


For  a  little  distance  the  Vliet  runs  within 
the  city  bounds,  and  its  quays  form 
streets.  In  the  days'  of  the  Pilgrims  it 
was  guarded  at  its  exit  from  the  city  by  a 
"water-gate  "  ;  but  this  defence  has  long 
since  been  removed,  and  no  traces  of  it 
remain  to-day.  The  town  walls  which 
stood  then  have  now  likewise  disap- 
peared ;  the  sole  relics  of  these  old-time 
fortifications  existing  at  this  date,  being 
the  "  Morsch-Gate  "  and  the  "Zyl-Gate," 
at  opposite  extremities  of  the  city.  The 
hand  of  "  improvement  "  has  demolished 
all  the  others.  As  the  Pilgrims  passed 
out  of  the  city  they  looked  back  upon 
the  frowning  turrets  of  the  "Cow-gate."1 
As  to-day  we  follow  the  course  of  the 
Vliet  canal,  the  eye,  besides  observing 
interminable  vistas  of  pasture-lands,  is 
continually  surprised    and    delighted   by 


such  rural  retreats  as  they  are  now,  and 
we  may  be  sure  that  these  same  pleasant 
sights  greeted  the  eyes  of  the  Pilgrims. 
Perhaps,  too,  the  pleasure  was  mingled 
with  some  sadness  as  they  thought  of  the 
untrod  wilderness  for  which  they  were 
leaving  this  neat  and  comfortable  cultiva- 
tion. 

At  a  distance  of  about  nine  miles  from 
Leyden,  a  branch  canal  connects  the 
"Vliet"  with  the  Hague,  here  only  about 
two  miles  away.  Immediately  beyond 
their  junction,  a  sharp  turn  is  made  to  the 
left,  as  the  canal  passes  beneath  the 
"Hoorn-bridge."  This  is  a  steep  struc- 
ture by  means  of  which  the  canal  is 
crossed  by  the  fine,  brick-paved  road, 
lined  with  old  trees  on  both  sides,  that 
leads  from  the  Hague  to  Delft.  All  the 
way  from  this  spot  to   the  latter  city,  a 


The  Morsch  Gate,    Leyden. 


the  handsome  country-seats  with  their 
beautiful  gardens  and  parks,  that  border 
the  canal  on  either  side  along  nearly  its 
whole  length  between  Leyden  and  Delft. 
The  Dutch    then  were    quite  as  fond  of 

1 A  fully  illustrated  article  upon  "The  Pilgrims  in  Ley- 
den," by  Rev.  Henry  M.  Dexter,  was  published  in  the 
New  England  Magazine  for  September,  1889. 


distance  of  about  five  miles,  this  splendid 
road  and  the  canal  run  side  by  side. 

At  the  present  time  the  canal-boats, 
on  reaching  Delft,  leave  the  Vliet  canal, 
and  make  a  circuit  of  the  town  to  the 
right,  along  what  was  formerly  the  city- 
moat.     But   in  the   days  of  the  Pilgrims 


328 


THE  START  FROM  DELFSHA  VEN. 


all  traffic  followed  the  canal  on  its  way 
through  the  heart  of  the  city.  The 
street  formed  by  its  banks  on  either  side 
is  called  the  "Oud-Delft,"  and  the  most 
elegant  and  fashionable  people  of  the 
place  dwell  here.  About  midway  the 
Pilgrims  passed  beneath  the  shadow  of 
the  Old  Church,  —  a  quarter  of  a  millen- 
nium old  even  then,  —  whose  turreted  and 
leaning  tower  rises  from  the  very  waters 
of  the  canal.  Some  of  these  voyagers 
may  have  known  the  story  of  the  house 
or  palace  opposite  the  church,  where,  in 
this  same  month  of  July,  thirty-six 
years  before,  William  the  Silent  had 
been  assassinated.  Soon  they  would 
be  away  from  these  gloomy  surround- 
ings and  out  again  between  pastures 
and    pleasure    gardens,     as     they    leave 


the     gates     of    ancient     Delft      behind 
them. 

Just  here  we  must  stop  to  notice  a 
very  prevalent  error  regarding  the  jour- 
ney of  the  Pilgrims  to  Delfshaven.  Ac- 
cording to  some  of  the  olden  chroniclers, 
and  most  of  the  others  who  follow  after 
them,  Delfshaven  lies  at  a  distance  of 
fourteen  miles  from  Leyden.  But  that 
would  bring  us  only  as  far  as  Delft,  and 
not  to  its  haven  or  port,  on  the  Maas. 
Even  so  careful  and  painstaking  an  inves- 
tigator as  Dr.  Dexter  seems  to  have  been 
misled  into  confounding  Delft  with  Delfs- 
haven. *  Slowly,  smoothly,  sadly  they 
glided  on,"  he  writes,  ....  "those  fra- 
grant fourteen  miles  ....  until  they 
come  out  through  the  gates  of  Delft, 
upon  the  muddy  Maese,  a  little  way  from 


ZEYDEN 


Map  showing  the  Route  of  the   Pilgrims  from   Leyden  to  Delfshaven. 


THE  START  FROM  DELFSHAVEN. 


329 


the  North  Sea ;  where  the  Speedwell  lay 
moored  at  the  quay  expectant."  At  four- 
teen miles  from  Leyden  they  did  indeed 
"come  out  through  the  gates  of  Delft;  " 
but  there  were  a  good  ten  miles  of  canal- 
journey  still  before  them  ere  they  could 
go  aboard   the   Speedwell  and   glide   out 


for  the  greater  portion  of  its  course ;  a 
branch,  also  under  the  name  of  Schie  has 
been  run  to  Rotterdam,  thus  connecting 
Delft  with  Rotterdam  and  Schiedam 
both.  A  little  steamer,  carrying  pas- 
sengers as  well  as  freight,  plies  regularly 
between    Rotterdam    and    Delft,    accom- 


View   in   Leyden  —  unchanged  since   1620. 


"upon  the  muddy  Maese  ;  "  for  this  was 
not  possible  until  they  had  reached  Delfs- 
haven,  twenty-four  miles,  instead  of  four- 
teen miles,  from  Leyden. 

The  section  of  the  canal  below  Delft  is 
called  the  "Schie,"  after  a  river  of  that 
name  which  it  joins  at  the  village  of  Over- 
schie,  six  miles  to  the  south.  The  Schie 
runs  into  the  Maas  at  Schiedam,  from 
which  circumstance  this  city  derives  its 
name.  It  was  originally  all  river,  or  only 
a  river ;  but  the  Hollanders  were  not 
content  to  leave  it  so  when  they  found 
they  could  make  it  more  useful  by 
giving  to  nature  some  assistance  from  art. 
Hence  it  is  now  part  canal  and  part  river 


plishing  the  trip  in  about  an  hour  and  a 
half.  Thus  an  opportunity  is  furnished 
the  historical  enthusiast  of  travelling,  for 
a  part  at  least,  the  identical  waters  into 
which  the  Pilgrims  pushed  their  barges  as 
they  emerged  from  Delft.  Although  the 
engine  exerts  its  "pony  power"  to  the 
utmost,  the  speed  attained  is  not  so  great 
but  that  we  can  leisurely  note  the  scenes 
upon  which  these  earlier  voyagers  must 
have  gazed.  For,  excepting  the  trams 
upon  yonder  railway,  what  but  these  very 
meadows,  and  perhaps  even  some  of 
those  red-roofed  farmhouses  and  busy 
windmills,  could  have  met  their  eyes, 
looking  almost  their  last  upon  civilization  ? 


330 


THE  START  FROM  DELFSHAVEN. 


Tablet   in    Memory  of  John    Robinson,   St.    Peter's  Church,    Leyden. 


All  too  soon,  slow  as  it  is,  our  liliputian 
steamer  brings  us  to  the  village  of  Over- 
schie.  On  the  way  to  Rotterdam  we 
turn  sharply  to  the  left,  and  proceed 
forthwith  to  sail  placidly  through  people's 
back  yards,  and  could  easily  shake  hands 
with  them  as  we  float  along.  The  Pil- 
grims turned  almost  as  sharply  to  the 
right,  and  a  little  past  where  the  broad, 
massive  village  church-tower  reflects  itself 
in  the  waters,  they  made  another  turn 
into  a  branch  of  the  canal  leading  straight 
as  an  arrow  to  Delfshaven.  But  why 
did  not  they  go  on  to  Schiedam  from  this 
point?  They  were  much  nearer  to  this 
city ;  its  lofty  brick  windmills,  its  black- 
ened distilleries,  even  its  low- roofed 
houses,  were  within  full  view  here.  It 
possessed  a  more  ample  harborage,  and 
gave  access  to  the  Maas  River  at  a  point 
some  miles  nearer  the  ocean.     We  may 


well  wonder,  therefore,  why  the  Speedwell 
was  not  lying  there. 

The  explanation  will  furnish  us  with  an 
interesting  insight  into  the  origin  of  Delfs- 
haven. It  is  to  be  remembered  that 
in  the  early  days  of  commerce  it  was 
the  fashion  to  impose  all  manner  of 
irksome  restrictions  upon  it.  Not  only 
was  this  true  of  international  trade,  but 
even  the  traffic  between  cities  of  one 
country  or  of  the  same  province  was  thus 
impeded.  Leyden  was  then  a  great 
manufacturing  place,  especially  of  cloth; 
while  at  Delft  was  made  that  world- 
famous  earthenware  by  reason  of  which 
she  became,  as  Longfellow  enthusias- 
tically sings, 

"  The  pride,  the  marketplace,  the  crown 
And  centre  of  the  potter's  trade." 

These  goods  were  in  demand  outside  of 


THE  START  FROM  DELFSHAVEN. 


331 


Holland,  as  well  as  within  her  borders. 
But  upon  arrival  in  other  cities,  duties  were 
levied  upon  the  manufactures  themselves, 


might  be  got  rid  of.  Leyden  and  Delft 
determined  to  have  a  port  of  their  own. 
They   were  already   connected   by   canal 


«fS 


Site  of  John   Robinson's  House  at  Leyden. 


and  port-charges  exacted  from  the  ves- 
sels carrying  them.  The  duties  could  not 
well   be    evaded ;    but    the    port-charges 


with  Rotterdam  and  Schiedam,  on  the 
Maas,  and  their  staple  products  could 
have  been  conveyed  abroad  by  means  of 


332 


THE  START  FROM  DELFSHAVEN. 


Canal  at  Leyden  through  which  the   Pilgrims   passed  on   leaving  the   City 


these  ports.  To  render  themselves  inde- 
pendent of  them,  however,  Leyden  and 
Delft  undertook  to  extend  their  canal  to 
a  point  on  the  Maas  about  midway  be- 
tween. The  extensive  traffic  of  the  two 
great  inland  towns,  both  much  larger  in 
size  and  of  much  greater  commercial 
importance    then   than    they  are   to-day, 


naturally  caused  a 
village  or  small  town 
to  grow  up  on  the 
spot  where  canal  and 
river  joined.  And 
Delft  being  the  nearer 
of  the  two  cities  in- 
terested in  the  port,, 
the  town  came  to  be 
known  as  the  haven 
or  port  of  Delft. 
Hence  the  name  of 
Delft's -Haven,  or 
Delft- Haven,  or 
Delfts-haven,  variously 
spelled,  but  meaning 
the  same  thing  ;  which 
upon  modern  Dutch 
maps  has  received  the 
orthographys  adopted 
throughout  this  paper, 
that  of  Delfshaven,  the 
"t"  being  dropped 
for  the  sake  of  euphony. 

It  was,  therefore,  with  good  reason  that 
the  Speedwell  had  been  brought  to  Delfs- 
haven. And  the  Pilgrims  coming  from 
Leyden  and  passing  through  Delft,  would 
only  have  needlessly  increased  the  ex- 
penses of  their  inland  journey  by  paying 
extra    toll,     if    they     had    gone     on    to 


Canal  at  Deft  through  which  the  Pilgrims  passed. 


THE  START  FROM  DELFSHA  VEN. 


333 


Schiedam.  Hence  they  steered  out  of  the 
Schie  into  the  Delfshaven  canal.  Leaving 
the  good  villagers  of  Overschie  to  stare 
after  them  in  mute  amazement  at  the 
strange  tongue  they  spake,  which  may 
never  have  been   heard  in  their   streets 


But  was  the  parting  there?  What 
about  this  town?  Can  it  be  identified, 
or  is  it  a  mythical  entity?  We  were 
informed  that  some  years  ago  a  New 
England  gentleman,  well-known  in  the 
world  of  letters,   made    a   pilgrimage    to 


View  at  Delft. 


before,  our  travellers  would  soon  behold 
themselves  floating  at  a  considerable 
height  above  the  surrounding  pastures, 
between  the  perfectly  straight  dikes 
which  here  form  the  canal  banks  and 
keep  its  waters  from  flooding  the  neigh- 
borhood. For  here  the  Pilgrims  were 
going  through  the  lowest  portion  of  the 
"  Low  Countries,"  the  land  lying  as  much 
as  sixteen  feet  beneath  the  level  of  high 
tide  at  Amsterdam.  To-day  the  canal 
passes  under  the  railroad  half  way  be- 
tween Rotterdam  and  Schiedam  ;  and  the 
tourist  who  is  hurrying  to  Leyden  to  look 
upon  the  site  of  Robinson's  house,  or 
upon  the  church  where  he  is  buried,  may 
reflect,  as  with  a  whizz  and  a  whirr  he 
dashes  over  the  bridge,  that  he  is  flying 
over  the  very  waters  which  bore  the 
pastor  and  his  flock  to  that  parting  scene 
at  Delfshaven. 


Holland,  and  undertook  to  look  up  all  he 
could  about  Delfshaven,  with  the  result 
that  he  came  to  some  very  unsatisfactory 
conclusions  in  regard  to  it,  or  its  connec- 
tion with  the  Pilgrims.  At  the  same 
time  he  expressed  the  fear  that  the  main 
difficulty  in  satisfying  his  mind  lay  in  the 
fact  of  his  not  being  conversant  with  the 
Dutch  language.  As  we  were  fortified 
against  defeat  in  this  respect,  we  ad- 
dressed ourselves  to  the  task  of  "  dis- 
covering "  Delfshaven,  undeterred  by  the 
experience  of  our  distinguished  prede- 
cessor. 

To  begin  with,  there  could  be  no  mis- 
take about  the  name.  Delfshaven,  —  in 
the  form  of  Delftshaven,  or  Delft's-Haven, 
or  Delft  Haven,  —  is  mentioned  by  the 
earlier  narrators,  as  well  as  by  Bancroft 
and  Motley  in  their  accounts.  In  the 
second  place,  the   location  of   the   town 


334 


THE  START  FROM  DELFSHAVEN. 


_ 


thus  named  is  in  no  way  a  matter  of 
doubt.  It  lies  on  the  Maas,  between 
Rotterdam  and  Schiedam,  a  little  nearer 
to  the  former  city.  Indeed,  it  has  been 
annexed  to  and  incorporated  with  Rotter- 
dam within  very  recent  years ;  but  like 
the  section  called  Harlem  in  New  York 
City,  it  always  goes  by  its  old  name  in 
popular  parlance.  Until  it  was  thus  an- 
nexed, however,  it  had  a  separate  cor- 
porate existence,  with  a  mayor  or  burgo- 
master of  its  own,  as  well  as  other  muni- 
cipal officers  common  to  Dutch  cities. 
A  careful  study  of  the  topography  of  Delfs- 
haven,  again,  confirms  the  story  of  its 
origin.  There  are  almost  no  streets  or 
houses,  except  along  the  line  of  the  two 
havens  (harbors  or  basins)  near  the  Maas, 
or  along  that  of  the  canal  which  comes 
from  the  interior.  More  recently,  houses 
have  been  built  along  the  dike  or  high- 
way, leading  to  Rotterdam,  while  the 
open  country  between  Rotterdam  proper 
and  old  Delfshaven  is  only  just  now  being 
slowly  built  up.  Last  of  all,  we  ex- 
amined the  neighborhood  very  carefully 
to  see  whether  we  could  find  any  evi- 
dence that  local  conditions  here  ante- 
dated the  passage  of- the  Pilgrims  through 
the  town. 

The  canal  from  Leyden  and  Delft, 
after  it  has  entered  the  town  of  Delfs- 
haven, comes  to  a  sudden  stop  there, 
with  apparently  no  outlet  whatever  for  its 
traffic.  For  some  time  it  has  skirted  the 
base  of  a  very  tall  dike,  which  is  the 
great  sea  or  river  dyke  that  connects  the 
cities  along  the  Maas,  and  to  which  is  in- 
trusted the  safekeeping  of  the  entire 
country  back  of  it,  as  far  as  Delft  and 
Leyden.  Indeed,  it  was  this  very  dike 
which  was  cut  on  both  sides  of  Rotter- 
dam and  Schiedam,  in  order  to  allow  the 
submerging  waters  to  rush  to  the  relief  of 
Leyden  during  its  siege,  in  1574.  At 
right  angles  to  the  canal  at  its  abrupt  ter- 
minus, there  rise  two  lofty  and  massive 
walls  of  masonry,  between  which  are 
swung  immense  sluice-doors.  These 
afford  a  passage  through  the  dike.  Per- 
haps a  hundred  feet  beyond  the  first 
gates,  another  pair  is  hung  ;  so  that  upon 
the  strength  of  these  walls,  or  the  skill 
and  care  wherewith  the  several  sluice- 
doors  are  managed,  depends  the  safety  of 


THE  START  FROM  DELFSHAVEN. 


335 


the  haven,  we  found  a  house  with  the 
date  1602  inscribed  upon  its  front.  We 
had,  therefore,  discovered  the  evidence 
we  were  in  search  of.  These  houses  of 
course  must  have  stood  here  in  the  year 
1620,   as   they  do    now.     For  let  it  be 


Church   at   Delfshaven — standing  in  1620. 

all  the  interior  of  the  province.  The 
second  set  of  sluices  gives  access  to  a 
very  wide  and  deep  basin,  oval  in  shape, 
confined  within  brick  walls  that  rise  from 
the  bottom  to  the  height  of  some  two 
or  three  feet  above  the  level  of  the 
adjoining  streets.  Directly  opposite,  and 
at  a  distance  of  five  or  six  hundred  feet 
from  the  gates  that  open  into  this  basin, 
another  set  of  smaller  sluice-doors  connect 
the  basin  itself  with  the  haven  or  harbor 
proper,  which  extends  for  about  half  a 
mile  in  a  straight  line,  and  has  direct 
communication  with  the  river,  without 
the  intervention  of  locks. 

Now,  it  is  a  well-known  fact  that  in 
Holland  not  only  public  buildings,  but 
private  dwellings,  even  of  the  humblest 
sort,  often  bear  upon  their  front  the  date 
of  their  construction.  Accordingly,  we 
took  the  trouble  to  walk  up  and  down 
the  streets  adjoining  this  oval  basin  and 
the  harbor  beyond  it  on  both  sides,  and 
carefully  examine  the  front  of  every 
house.  Our  proceeding  was  amply  re- 
warded. Upon  two  houses,  located  on 
the  street  bordering  the  right  side  of  the 
oval  basin,  we  read  the  dates  1592  and 
1597  respectively.  About  midway  down 
the  street  or  quay  along  the  left  bank  of 


observed,  that     f 

the  basin  was     l        ~ '•" 

not  built  after 

the  streets  had  been  laid  out  and  these 
houses  built.  The  lines  of  the  house- 
fronts  on  both  sides  of  it  conform  exactly 
to  the  oval  shape  of  the  basin. 

Through  those  same  formidable  locks, 
then,  the  barges  that  had  conveyed  the 
Pilgrims  from  Leyden  were  lifted  from 
the  low  level  of  the  canal  into  the  broad 
receptacle  for  vessels  that  we  now  see 
here.  Thence  they  were  conducted 
through  the  smaller  gates  into  the  outer 
haven,  up  to  the  side  of  the  Speedwell, 
lying  there  awaiting  their  embarkation, 
where  to-day  we  may  see  vessels  of  ten 
times  her  burden  moored  to  within  a  few 
feet  of  the  quay.  Just  where  their  little 
vessel  lay  it  would  perhaps  be  impossible 
to  tell  to  the  exact  foot,  and  it  is  quite  as 
immaterial.  Somewhere  in  this  outer 
haven  it  must  have  been,  beyond  the  last 
set  of  sluice-gates,  whence  she  could 
glide  directly  into  the  river.  It  was  still 
within  the  bounds  of  the  city,  even  as  we 
see  the  ships  lie  here  now ;  for  the  em- 
barkation and  parting  were  witnessed  by 
the  citizens  whose  houses  faced  the  har- 
bor,   or   who    stood    upon    the    quay    or 


336 


THE  START  EROM  DELFSHAVEN. 


street,  and  who,  as  Bradford  tells  us,  were  we  took  a  careful   survey  of  its  present 

much  affected  by  the  tearful  scene.  surroundings.     The    view    embraces    the 

Yet  there  is  one  spot  upon  which  we  verdant  meadows  and  long  lines  of  lofty, 

can  take  our  stand  and  feel  morally  sure  umbrageous  trees  that  mark  the  highways 


' 


Interior  of  Church  at   Delfshaven. 


that  there  some  of  the  last  farewells  were 
spoken  or  waved.  The  canal,  or  haven, 
finally  enters  the  Maas,  at  right  angles  to 
the  river's  course.  It  was  therefore  the 
corner  of  land  on  the  right  or  western 
side,  nearer  the  sea,  which  the  Speedwell 
must  have  doubled  as  it  turned  its  prow 
towards  the  German  Ocean.  We  wended 
our  way  to  this  point,  and  while  deeply 
imbued  with   the   thoughts   of   the   past, 


on  the  island  of  Ysselmonde,  far  away 
across  the  broad  bosom  of  the  yellow 
Maas.  The  low  grassy  banks  and  rows 
of  truncated  willows  that  confine  the 
stream  stretch  away  to  either  side  of  us. 
To  the  left  or  east  is  seen  the  forest  of 
masts  that  indicates  the  busy  port  of 
Rotterdam.  Hundreds  of  vessels,  of  all 
burdens  and  descriptions,  are  constantly 
passing  our  point  of  observation,  on  their 


THE  START  FROM  DELFSHAVEN. 


337 


way  to  or  from  the  sea,  or  as  they  ply 
back  and  forth  between  the  numerous 
river  towns.  And  as  the  river  sweeps  in 
a  long  semicircle  to  the  right  and  left  of 
us,  we  can  watch  their  progress  for  a 
great  distance  before  they  reach  us  and 
after  they  have  passed. 

The  dedication  of  the  Pilgrim  Monu- 
ment having  brought  us  to  this  point,  it 
was  not  strange  that  the  fine  advantages 
of  its  position,  should  impress  us  with 
the  idea  that  here  would  be  a  place  for 
some  memorial  to  mark  the  beginning 
of  that  journey  which  had  its  ending 
upon  Plymouth  Rock.  The  Speedwell, 
indeed,  did  not  reach  the  shores  of 
America ;  but  she  carried  to  England 
and  transferred  to  the  Mayflower  the 
originators  of  the  enterprise  which  has 
made  imperishable  the  Mayflower's  name. 
When  they  boarded  the  Speedwell,  and 
she  was  doubling  this  point  of  land,  it 
was  meant  to  push  this  vessel  herself, 
frail  and  small  as  she  was,  across  the 
Atlantic  billows.  If  the  necessity  of  the 
case,  or  the  cowardice  of  the  Speedwell's 
captain,  compelled  the  whole  party  to 
take  ship  on  the  hired  vessel  and  to  aban- 
don the  purchased  one,  the  majority  of 
the  Mayflower's  company  was  still  com- 
posed of  those  who  had  sailed  out  of 
Delfshaven  into  these  very  waters  of  the 
Maas.  Here,  then,  in  reality  was  the  be- 
ginning of  that  remarkable  voyage,  the 
fame  of  which  has  filled  the  world,  and 
the  memory  of  which  our  Republic  has 
recently  immortalized  at  Plymouth.  Why, 
accordingly,  should  not  a  monument 
also  mark  this  spot,  modest,  simple,  inex- 
pensive, if  need  be,  yet  worthily  express- 
ing the  indebtedness  of  our  nation  to 
the  men  and  women  who  started  hence 
to  create  America?  Nay,  is  there  not 
some  courtesy  or  recognition  owing  to 
the  people  of  Holland,  whose  republican 
forefathers  gave  such  hospitable  asylum 
to  the  Pilgrims  when  cast  out  of  their 
own  land,  and  from  whom   they  learned 


so  much  that  was  useful  to  them  as  the 
founders  of  our  nation?  A  monument 
here  upon  Dutch  soil  would  gracefully 
serve  this  happy  purpose. 

On  a  visit  to  this  locality  by  the  Hon. 
Samuel  R.  Thayer,  the  United  States 
minister  to  Holland,  himself  a  descendant 
of  the  Pilgrims,  this  gentleman  was  so 
impressed  with  the  appropriateness  of 
some  such  memorial,  and  the  advantages 
of  the  spot  where  it  should  be  placed,  that 
he  immediately  sent  a  despatch  to  the 
Government,  submitting  the  propriety 
of  making  a  movement  in  this  direc- 
tion. The  Secretary  of  State  gave 
the  despatch  a  cordial  reception,  and 
at  once  took  steps  to  excite  an  interest 
in  the  matter  in  the  proper  quarters. 
In  such  affairs,  however,  our  Govern- 
ment and  our  citizens  are  apt  to  move 
slowly.  The  Washington  Monument,  and 
the  one  at  Plymouth  itself,  were  emphati- 
cally "  not  built  in  a  day."  Meanwhile, 
the  student  of  history  will  find  satisfac- 
tion in  coming  to  this  historic  spot, 
whether  marked  by  a  memorial  or 
not.  He  will  reflect  that  here,  doubt- 
less, the  friends  of  the  Pilgrims  who 
were  to  remain  behind,  with  John 
Robinson  in  their  midst,  collected 
for  a  last  word,  or  look,  or  wave  of  the 
hand,  as  the  little  Speedwell  doubled  this 
point,  and  committed  herself  to  the  out- 
ward flow  of  the  tide,  as  it  sped  to  the 
ocean.  Wistful  and  tearful  would  be 
their  gaze  as  the  vessel  receded  further 
and  further  from  the  view  until,  at  a  dis- 
tant turn  in  the  river,  it  was  removed 
from  their  sight  altogether.  And  then 
this  spot  would  be  reluctantly  left,  but 
ever  cherished  by  all  as  that  whence  they 
had  had  their  last  sight  of  those  brave 
men  and  women,  who  would  soon  be  out 
upon  the  ocean  billows,  borne  on  towards 
unknown  perils  and  infinite  toils,  but, 
"building  better  than  they  knew,"  borne 
on  also  towards  a  destiny  of  unrivalled 
splendor. 


THE  GREAT  DIKE. 

An  Old-Fashioned  Homily  on  Home. 


By  S.  R.  Dennen,  D.D. 


HOLLAND  lies  below  the  sea  level. 
She  would  be  submerged  at  every 
flood  tide  and  by  every  storm  but 
for  her  dikes,  which  stretch  their  solid 
walls  between  her  and  the  sea,  saying  to 
the  waves,  "Thus  far  and  no  farther." 
In  1277,  forty-four  villages  and  cities 
were  destroyed  by  a  single  inundation ; 
in  1287,  ten  years  later,  eighty  thousand 
people  perished  from  the  same  cause  ;  and 
yet  again  in  the  fifteenth  century,  one  hun- 
dred thousand  more.  From  that  time 
dikes  were  built  on  scientific  principles 
and  in  the  most  substantial  manner. 
They  are  now  maintained  at  an  annual 
cost  of  millions  of  dollars  Watchmen 
patrol  them  day  and  night,  ready  to  give 
the  alarm  should  any  weakness  show 
itself.  When  the  warning  is  sounded,  all 
the  peopJe  rush  to  the  point  of  danger 
and  seize  the  straw  mats  and  rushes  and 
sail  cloths  and  other  material,  always  at 
hand,  and  close  the  breech. 

Society,  like  Holland,  lies  low,  and  is 
subject  to  inundation.  It  has  eyer  been 
necessary  to  build  dikes  against  the  flood 
tides  and  storms  of  evil  men  and  corrupt 
influences.  As  far  back  as  history  reaches 
we  find  bits  of  these  dikes  in  rude  laws, 
and  social  customs,  in  various  expedients 
to  secure  society  against  the  eruptions 
and  overflow  of  bad  passions.  One  of 
these  dikes  is  the  civil  and  criminal  code. 
This  has  slowly  risen  under  such  hands 
as  those  of  Solon,  Justinian,  Burke, 
Hale,  Blackstone,  Webster,  and  Story, 
under  wise  legislators  and  broad-minded 
statesmen,  until  a  massive  wall  of  laws 
sweeps  its  granite  arms  about  society, 
protecting  life  and  property  against  all 
that  endangers  their  safety  and  peace. 

Another  dike  is  education.  Ignorance 
is  a  stormy  sea,  foiever  beating  against 
the  coasts  of  society.  Every  people  have 
felt  compelled,  in  self-defence,  —  to  give 
attention  to  education,  intellectual  and 
moral  Moral  culture  is  the  cement 
which  holds  other  materials  in  their  place. 


To  educate  the  brain  and  neglect  con- 
science is  to  put  loose  sand  and  pebbles 
into  the  wall.  It  washes  away  and  the 
wall  crumbles.  There  is  a  tendency  to- 
day to  use  too  much  sand  of  intellect 
and  too  little  moral  cement ;  and  our 
educational  wall  washes  badly,  letting  in 
business,  political,  social,  and  domestic 
corruption,  to  plough  up  the  foundation 
on  which  social  order  rests. 

Religion  also  plays  a  part  in  the  social 
bulwark.  Willows  are  planted  along  the 
dikes  of  Holland,  whose  long,  lithe  roots 
wind  and  mat  themselves  about  the  stones 
and  bind  them  in  their  places.  So  re- 
ligion sends  down  its  fine,  white  roots 
into  all  the  structures  of  society  and  binds 
its  elements  into  one  compact  whole,  and 
binds  the  heart  of  man  to  God. 

Another  dike  is  home  ;  and  on  this  it  is 
my  purpose  to  dwell.  This  is  the  structural 
institution  which  lies  under  all  religious, 
civil,  and  social  life,  and  around  which 
character  crystallizes.  Its  foundations 
were  laid  at  creation's  morn.  Let  the 
delicate  masonry  of  home  be  loosened, 
and  men  and  women  would  become  as 
the  beasts  of  the  field,  and  all  that  is  best 
aud  purest  in  our  lives,  the  security  of 
business,  the  strength  of  the  state,  and 
whatever  makes  this  world  tolerable  and 
beautiful  would  be  swept  away,  as  the 
fertile  fields  and  fair  villages  of  Holland 
were  swept  away  by  the  sea  rushing 
through  the  breaks  in  the  dikes.  No 
institution  is  so  closely  linked  with  our 
happiness  as  the  home  ;  none  should  be 
fostered  and  protected  with  greater  watch- 
fulness and  jealousy. 

I  recently  read  in  an  old  letter,  writ- 
ten to  a  captive  and  enslaved  people, 
these  words  :  "  Build  ye  houses  and  dwell 
in  them,  and  plant  gardens  and  eat  the 
fruit  of  them  ;  take  ye  wives  and  beget 
sons  and  daughters,  and  take  wives  for 
your  sons  and  give  your  daughters  to 
husbands,  that  they  may  bear  sons  and 
daughters,  that  ye  may  increase  and  not 


THE   GREAT  DIKE. 


339 


be  diminished ;  and  seek  the  peace  of 
the  city,  and  pray  the  Lord  your  God  for 
it."  This  historic  letter  contains  the 
genuine  philosophy  of  home,  in  its  social 
and  economic  relations.  Its  importance 
is  vital,  and  its  authority  imperial.  Its 
estimate  of  the  home  and  its  influence  in 
conserving  the  best  interests  of  the  in- 
dividual and  the  state  is  exact.  The 
family  and  state  rise  or  fall  together. 
All  the  best  interests  of  society  and  man 
ebb  or  flood  with  the  outgoing  or  in- 
coming tide  of  domestic  life.  The  family 
was  all  that  could  save  an  ancient  and 
conquered  people  from  disappearing 
before  the  disintegrating  influences  which 
surrounded  them.  It  has  lost  no  whit  of 
its  original  importance  as  the  prime  con- 
serving force  in  religion  and  politics  and 
human  progress. 

The  ancient  letter  has  universal  fitness. 
If  the  home,  flanked  by  gardens,  shaded 
by  trees,  enlivened  by  children,  presided 
over  by  a  sensible  woman,  is  a  bond  of 
union  and  nationality,  a  charm  against 
physical  and  moral  depravity  for  one 
people,  it  is  not  less  important  to  all. 
Let  us  analyze  our  old  letter,  even  at  the 
risk  of  seeming  to  write  a  sermon. 

Every  young  man  to  have  a  home  must 
have  a  wife.  He  can  never  substitute  a 
boarding  place,  a  club,  or  a  hotel  for 
a  home.  This  is  to  go  through  life  hang- 
ing upon  the  skirts  of  life,  leading  a  joy- 
less, selfish,  unnatural,  and  unsatisfying 
existence.  God  putteth  the  solitary  in 
families.  It  is  the  best  provision  He  can 
make  for  their  usefulness  and  welfare. 
This  divine  arrangement  cannot  be  set 
aside,  or  improved  upon,  or  written  down 
as  a  "failure."  Young  men  and  women 
are  still  to  marry,  build  homes,  rear  fami- 
lies, plant  gardens,  and  eat  the  fruit  of 
them,  marry  when  young,  even  though 
poor,  join  hands  and  hearts,  and  climb 
the  hill  together  ;  they  will  reach  the  sum- 
mit all  the  more  surely  and  quickly. 

The  home  should,  if  possible,  be  owned, 
free  from  debt.  We  have  lost  very  much 
in  losing  the  old  English  love  of  ownei 
ship  and  landholding.  One  who  lives  in 
a  hired  house  and  moves  every  few  years 
loses  his  love  of  locality  and  the  very 
cream  of  home.  The  sensible  advice  of 
our  letter  is  to  build,  not  rent,  a  house. 


A  house  one  builds  he  loves  as  a  creation 
of  his  own,  and  cherishes  it  as  a  child. 

In  building  use  taste.  A  house  of 
moderate  cost  can  just  as  economically  be 
built  in  good  as  in  bad  taste.  How  much 
it  adds  to  that  dear  spot  we  christen 
home,  which  is,  year  after  year,  to  imprint 
itself  upon  the  plastic  minds  of  its  oc- 
cupants, if  there  be  beauty  there,  and  the 
whole  is  ever  a  graceful  object  lesson. 

Let  the  external  surroundings  match 
the  building.  Flank  the  house  with  grass 
and  flowers.  Plant  in  the  rear  a  fruit  and 
vegetable  garden.  To  own  a  bit  of  mother- 
earth  and  touch  it  makes  one  twice  a  man 
or  woman,  and  —  it  is  the  Antaeus  fable 
—  restores  wasted  strength  and  vigor. 

With  all  the  profusion  of  trees  and 
shrubs  lavished  upon  us  to  adorn  our 
homes,  diffuse  their  fragrance,  reveal  their 
beauty,  and  preach  us  sermons,  there  can 
be  no  excuse  for  nakedness  and  ugliness. 
Every  man  or  woman  can  create  a  charm- 
ing home.  A  man  can  hardly  be  coarse 
and  bad  while  seated  on  the  throne  of 
conjugal  and  parental  affection,  and  sur- 
rounded by  beauty.  There  would  be  emp- 
tier prisons  and  fuller  churches,  and  far 
fewer  thriftless  creatures,  if  each  young 
man  married  some  sensible  young  woman, 
created  a  home,  built  a  house,  planted  a 
garden,  and  ate  the  fruit  of  it. 

But  there  is  an  interior  as  well  as  an 
exterior.  A  home,  like  the  daughter  of  a 
king,  should  be  "all  glorious  within." 
This  is  woman's  eminent  domain.  There 
are  houses  whose  internal  arrangements 
are  such  as  to  rob  them  of  comfort ; 
while  in  others  every  article  of  furniture, 
chair,  sofa,  lounge,  table,  nay  the  very 
folds  of  the  curtains  welcome  you  and 
invite  repose.  In  England,  homemaking 
is  a  science  and  art.  In  all  the  wide 
world  there  are  no  more  sensible,  restful 
homes  than  in  mother  England.  The 
open  grate,  the  snug  living-room,  the 
substantial  furniture,  the  air  of  ease  and 
solid  comfort  are  nowhere  surpassed. 
England's  homes  are  England's  strength 
and  glory.  We  recently  came  across  this 
bit  of  English  criticism  on  American 
homes  :  "  The  walls  are  hard  finish,  white, 
the  woodwork  is  white,  and  a  white 
marble  mantelpiece  is  nicely  fitted  over  a 
fireplace  which  is   never  used ;  the  floor 


340 


THE   GREAT  DIKE. 


is  covered  with  a  carpet  of  excellent 
quality,  but  of  a  sprawling  pattern,  in 
vivid  colors  ;  a  round  table  with  a  thin 
layer  of  books  in  smart  bindings  oc- 
cupies the  centre  of  the  room ;  a  gilt 
mirror  finds  a  place  between  the  win- 
dows ;  the  sofa  occupies  a  well-defined 
place  against  the  wall ;  it  is  just  too  short 
to  lie  down  upon,  and  too  high  and  slip- 
pery, with  its  convex  seat,  to  sit  on  with 
comfort ;  it  is  also  cleverly  managed  that 
points  or  knobs  shall  occur  at  all  places, 
towards  which  a  weary  head  would  natu- 
rally turn.  There  is  a  row  of  black  wal- 
nut chairs  arranged  by  the  same  stiff, 
immutable  law.  The  windows  are  tightly 
closed,  and  the  best  room  is  always 
ready  —  for  what  ?  For  daily  use  ?  Oh, 
no,  it  is  much  too  fine  for  that  —  but  for 
company  use.  Thus  the  choice  room 
with  the  pretty  outlook  is  sacrificed  to 
keep  up  a  show  of  finery  which  pleases  no 
one,  and  is  a  bore  to  the  proprietor." 

Said  a  well-informed  Englishman  to 
me  in  Alexandria  :  "  I  suppose  the  great 
bulk  of  your  population  are  Indians." 
"We  have  some  Indians,  and  then  again 
some  that  are  not  Indians,"  I  replied. 
And  so  of  our  American  homes.  The 
English  description  quoted  does  certainly 
fit  many,  but  we  should  be  very  sorry  to 
believe  it  fitted  the  great  bulk.  Good 
homes  report  themselves  in  character  and 
taste.  Children  reared  in  such  homes 
have  an  air  of  refinement  and  good  breed- 
ing which  tells  upon  their  whole  future. 
The  most  unpretending  home  can  be 
made  so  inviting  and  winsome,  can  be 
invested  with  such  an  air  of  grace  and 
comfort,  can  be  made  so  pleasing  to  the 
eye,  so  restful  to  the  weary  brain  and 
body,  that  its  occupants  shall  turn  to  it 
with  delight,  and  realize  in  it  all  that  our 
poets  have  sung  or  our  artists  painted. 

But  other  elements  enter  into  a 
good  home.  There  must  be  that  in- 
tangible but  real  something  we  call  the 
atmosphere  of  home.  A  home  that  is  to 
realize  the  best  results  must  be  pervaded 
by  an  abiding  love,  a  love  "  hoping  all 
things,  enduring  all  things,  never  failing," 
and  by  a  great  family  enthusiasm.  A 
good  home  is  built  on  compromises. 
Something  must  be  done  and  yielded  for 
the  common  good.     There  must  be  eyes 


that  beam  love,  lips  that  utter  and 
seal  it,  deeds  of  thoughtfulness  that 
prove  its  real  depth. 

Industry  must  crown  the  home.  Labor 
is  the  true  sauce  of  home.  Home  is  an 
asylum  to  a  weary  person.  His  feet 
turn  to  it,  his  soul  exults  in  it.  One  of 
the  finest  pictures  in  all  poetry  is  Burns's 
"  Cotter's  Saturday  Night,"  showing,  as  no 
other  poem  shows,  how  blessed  a  place 
the  humblest  home  may  be. 

One  of  the  dark  clouds  in  the  social 
horizon  is  the  decline  in  marriages, 
growing  in  part  out  of  an  unwillingness 
to  share  the  burdens  and  accept  the  en- 
tailment of  married  life.  A  young  woman 
wants  to  enter  as  good  a  home  as  she 
leaves  behind  her  when  she  weds.  The 
young  man  delays  marrying  until  he  can 
provide  such  a  home.  Meanwhile,  he 
becomes  accustomed  to  a  single  life,  with 
its  freedom  and  club  association,  and  no 
longer  cares  to  marry,  and  so  the  decad- 
ence of  family  life  begins,  and  vices 
thrive. 

There  is  an  economic  side  to  the  home 
life  never  to  be  lost  sight  of,  especially 
by  wage- earners  and  the  middle  classes. 
To  spend  less  than  one  earns  is  the  se- 
cret of  domestic  peace,  as  well  as  the 
foundation  of  wealth.  Let  outgoes  over- 
lap income,  and  the  family  is  on  the  road 
to  misery. 

Make  it  a  merry  home.  Gather  music 
and  mirth,  all  innocent  amusements,  read- 
ing and  conversation,  pictures  and  poe- 
try, and  bind  them,  as  a  chaplet  of  im- 
mortelles, around  the  brow  of  home. 
Make  it  such  a  place  that  there  shall  be 
no  occasion  to  go  abroad  for  entertain- 
ment at  the  hands  of  professional  ca- 
terers. There  is  such  a  thing  as  making 
our  homes  so  many-sided,  so  attractive 
in  all  their  appointments  and  resources, 
so  variously  complete  and  satisfying,  as 
to  meet  all  the  demands  of  our  nature, 
and  chain  the  feet  of  their  occupants 
within  their  cheery  precincts. 

No  more  serious  danger  threatens  so- 
ciety, a  danger  to  both  church  and  state, 
than  the  decline  of  landowners  and  the 
number  of  homes.  We  are  weakening 
our  dikes,  and  slowly  letting  in  the  water 
to  plough  up  and  devastate  the  virtue  and 
patriotism  of  our  people.     The  strength 


THE   GREAT  DIKE. 


341 


of  England  is  her  homes.  The  weakness 
of  France  is  the  dearth  of  real  homes. 
We  are  gravitating  towards  the  French. 
Luxurious  hotels  and  boarding-houses 
and  attractive  club-rooms  are  crowding 
out  the  modest  home,  which  is  the  salt 
of  our  civilization.  As  a  consequence, 
our  courts  are  busy,  and  the  grim  docket 
of  divorce  cases  lengthens. 

The  good  home  weaves,  with  deft  fin- 
gers, the  web  of  each  man's  and  woman's 
future,  in  cloth  of  gold,  or  in  soiled 
fabric  says  a  wise  observer  :  "  It  is  not 
for  ourselves,  but  for  our  children,  we 
should  build  our  homes,  whether  villas 
or  cottages  or  log  huts,  beautifully  and 
well.  It  is  frequently  the  case  that  an 
impulsive,  high-spirited,  light-hearted  boy 
dwindles,  by  degrees,  into  a  sharp,  shrewd, 
narrow-minded  youth,  from  thence  into 
a  hard  and  horny  manhood,  and  at  last 
into  a  covetous,  enslaving  and  enslaved 
old  age.  The  single  explanation  is  suffi- 
cient—  he  never  had  a  pleasant  home." 
Young  men  and  women  will  seek  and 
find  outside  of  home  what  they  fail  to 
find  in  it  of  cheer  and  entertainment 
and  affection. 

Whatever  the  course  of  a  man's  life, 
the  lessons  and  influences  of  home  will 
follow  him.  However  great  or  useful  a 
man  may  become,  he  will  be  able  to  trace 
back  the  rivulets  that  feed  his  fame  or 
his  goodness  to  the  spring  under  the 
hearthstone.  "The  kiss  of  my  mother 
made  me  a  painter,"  said  Benjamin  West. 
The  seed  of  how  much  that  is  exalted  in 


character,  splendid  in  achievement,  and 
of  world-wide  fame  and  beneficence,  has 
been  planted  in  the  discipline,  gentleness, 
and  culture  of  the  fireside.  The  memory 
of  such  a  home  is  a  perpetual  spur  and 
benediction,  and  rises  like  the  strong  dikes 
of  Holland,  between  us  and  temptation. 

"The  nation  comes  from  the  nursery." 
The  rudiments  of  law,  obedience,  all 
those  traits  which  make  good  citizens, 
are  planted  and  tended  in  the  conserva- 
tory of  home.  Napoleon  was  once  asked, 
"What  would  place  France  in  the  front 
rank  of  nations?"  He  replied,  "Good 
mothers."  The  state  is  profoundly  con- 
cerned to  foster  and  protect  the  home. 
By  all  legal  enactments,  by  all  possible 
encouragements,  should  its  fostering  care 
be  felt.  The  home  is  the  salt  of  all  our 
civil  and  social  and  even  religious  institu- 
tions. If  this  salt  loses  its  savor,  where- 
with shall  they  be  salted  ?  Too  little, 
far  too  little  regard  is  had  for  the  home. 
The  public  school,  the  church  school, 
societies  of  young  people,  have  in  a 
measure  supplanted  the  home.  Parents 
have  passed  over  to  outside  organizations 
much  of  the  nurture  and  training  which 
God  appointed  for  the  home.  What  we 
want,  to  conserve  and  perpetuate  every 
civil  and  individual  virtue,  and  raise  us  as 
a  people  to  the  heights,  is  the  old-fash- 
ioned, New  England  home.  This  dike 
must  be  built  of  the  best  material,  and 
cared  for  with  all  the  assiduity  with  which 
the  watchmen  of  Holland  guard  their 
great  trust. 


342 


BEETHOVEN. 


From  the   Bust   in    Music   Hall.    Boston. 


BEETHOVEN. 

By  Zifella  Cocke. 

SUBLIMEST  Master,  thou,  of  harmony, 
From  whose  untroubled  depths  serenely  flow 
The  sinuous  streams  of  sweetest  melody  ; 

Now  in  exhaustless  fulness  dost  thou  know 
The  joy  divine  thy  raptured  strains  foretold ; 

God's  harmony  thy  prayer  hath  satisfied, 
His  music  on  thy  listening  ear  hath  rolled  ; 

Accord  unmarred,  for  which  thy  spirit  sighed, 
In  its  completeness,  through  the  eternal  years 

Is  thine  ;   thy  yearning  soul  its  echo  dim 
Didst  catch  amid  thy  mortal  woes  and  fears,  — 

An  earnest  of  the  blest,  perpetual  hymn, 
And  legacy  to  us,  which  shall  inspire, 
With  something  of  thy  pure,  celestial  fire. 


BACH. 


343 


From  the   Monument  at   Leipzig. 


BACH, 


By  Zitella    Cocke. 

AS  some  cathedral  vast,  whose  lofty  spire 
Is  ever  pointing  upward  to  the  sky, 
Whose  grand  proportions,  transept,  nave,  and  choir, 
Impress  with  awe,  and  charm  by  symmetry,  — 
Stupendous  pile,  where  sister  arts  with  grave 

And  loving  tenderness  mould  form  and  frieze, 
Adorn  entablature  and  architrave, 

And  touch  with  life  the  marble  effigies,  — 
So,  great  tone-master,  strength  and  sweetness  dwell 
In  thee,  close-knit  in  interwoven  chain 
Of  harmony,  by  whose  resistless  spell, 
Uplifted  to  sublime,  supernal  strain, 
The  soul  shall  reach  the  noble,  true,  and  pure,  — 
Strong  to  achieve,  and  faithful  to  endure  ! 


DR.  CABOT'S  TWO  BRAINS. 


By  Jeamiette  B.  Perry, 


NY  one  who 
holds  such  a 
theory  must 
be  either  ig- 
norant of  the 
simplest  laws 
of  anatomy  or 
wilfully  blind 
to  the  testi- 
mony" — 

"Come 
in,"  said  Dr. 
Cabot,  looking  up  with  suspended  pen  as 
his  office  girl  entered  the  room. 

"Doctor,"  she  began  deprecatingly, 
"  there  is  a  young  lady  in  the  office  as 
wants  to  see  you.  I  told  her  it  was  after 
hours;  but  she  said  as  they  must  see 
you." 


a  new  one  failed  to  rouse  fresh  interest, 
even  though  it  took  him  from  his  beloved 
writing. 

So  he  rose  quickly,  saying  as  he  ran  a 
corrective  hand  over  his  rumpled  hair 
and  exchanged  dressing-gown  for  office- 
coat,  "Tell  her  I  will  be  there  in  a 
minute,  Mary." 

And  Mary,  with  her  stereotyped  Ameri- 
can "All  right,"  withdrew  to  the  outer 
office  to  report  his  answer. 

The  two  occupants  of  the  room  looked 
up  with  a  disappointed  air  as  she  re- 
turned. Evidently  they  had  hoped  that 
the  doctor  himself  would  appear ;  and 
Mary's  announcement  that  he  would  be 
out  soon  was  clearly  a  welcome  one. 

"Very  well,  we  will  wait,"  said  one  of 
them  in  a  tone  of  relief,  glancing  sym- 
pathizingly  at  her  companion,  who  sat 
with  hankerchief  pressed   tightly  to  one 


They  sat  waiting  expectantly  in  the   Firelight. 


Dr.  Cabot  had  not  yet  reached  the 
secure  and  lofty  position  where  he  could 
refuse  to  see  patients  out  of  office  hours  ; 
nor  had  his  cases  been  so  numerous  that 


eye.     "  Does   it    hurt    as   badly  as  ever, 
Imogene?"   she  asked. 

"Oh,  dear,  yes,"  groaned  the  girl,  re- 
moving   her    handkerchief    and    winking 


DR.   CABOT'S  TWO  BRAINS. 


345 


experimentally  with  the  reddened  lid. 
"  I  do  wish  he  would  hurry  up,"  she  con- 
tinued plaintively,  replacing  the  handker- 
chief and  resuming  her  expression  of  en- 
durance. 

"  It  will  not  be  long  now,"  answered 
her  companion  cheeringly,  turning  toward 
the  inner  door  as  if  to  shorten  the  time 
of  waiting. 

The  movement  brought  her  face  full 
into  the  light  of  the  open  fire,  revealing 
strong,  clear-cut  features  and  a  well-poised 
head.  A  heavy  stick  fell  apart  with  a 
crash,  and  the  shower  of  tiny  sparks  which 
flew  scurrying  up  the  chimney  seemed 
to  call  out  a  myriad  answering  gleams  in 
her  brown  hair.  A  slender  flame  shot 
up  and  sent  a  fitful  glare  of  light  across 
the  etching  of  Rembrandt's  "  Anatomical 
Lesson "  on  the  opposite  wall ;  then  it 
died  away  as  suddenly  as  it  had  sprung 
to  life,  and  the  uncertain  twilight  of  an 
early  spring  day  settled  again  upon  the 
office  and  its  occupants.  But  even  the 
twilight  could  not  conceal  .the  fact  that 
the  figure  near  the  fire  was  slight  in  form, 
graceful  in  outline,  and  reserved  in  bear- 
ing, and  that  her  companion  was  clumsy, 
crude,  and  overdressed.  The  most  care- 
less observer  would  have  noted  the  differ- 
ence, and  have  wondered  what  these  two 
could  have  in  common. 

Dr.  Cabot  was  by  no  means  a  careless 
observer,  and  as  he  entered  the  room  a 
minute  later  and  turned  on  the  light,  his 
observant  gray  eyes  marked  the  contrast 
in  the  flash  of  a  glance,  and  his  quick 
mind  as  promptly  decided,  —  "  teacher 
and  pupil,  probably,  from  the  fashionable 
boarding-school  up  the  avenue."  But 
his  face  had  been  well- trained  to  conceal 
what  the  keen  eyes  discovered ;  and  it 
wore  now  its  most  noncommittal  profes- 
sional look  as  he  turned  inquiringly  from 
the  weeping  Imogene  to  the  slender 
figure  by  the  fire  ;  evidently,  she  was  the 
one  to  give  information. 

"Dr.  Cabot,"  —  the  name  was  pro- 
nounced half  interrogatively,  half  as  an 
address,  —  "this  young  lady  has  some- 
thing troublesome  in  her  eye.  Can  you 
help  her?  " 

He  turned  to  the  overdressed  girl,  who 
raised  a  beseeching,  bloodshot  eye  for  his 
inspection.     A  quick  turn  of  the  lid,  the 


insertion  of  an  eyestone,  and  a  small  bit 
of  gravel  lay  in  the  doctor's  hand,  looking 
as  irnocent  as  if  it  had  not,  a  minute 
before,  caused  the  keenest  pain. 

The  bloodshot  eye  blinked  gratefully ; 
but  its  owner  looked  embarrassed ;  she 
withdrew  her  hand  from  her  pocket 
where  she  had  been  searching  for  some- 
thing, and  turned  over  her  gloves  with  a 
confused  air.  The  color  about  her  eye 
seemed  to  enlarge  and  extend,  until  her 
whole  face  was  a  match  for  the  garnet 
silk  which  she  wore. 

Her  companion,  accustomed  to  chaper- 
oning awkward  school  girls,  waited  for  her 
to  recover  from  her  confusion,  asking  the 
doctor,  meanwhile,  one  or  two  questions 
about  the  solution  which  he  recommended 
for  the  inflamed  eye.  The  questions 
were  trivial  in  themselves ;  they  did  not 
display  the  unique  "good  sense"  always 
attributed  to  heroines ;  but  for  some 
reason,  Dr.  Cabot  in  answering  them 
found  himself  stammering  nervously  as  a 
schoolboy.  He  felt  positively  grateful 
to  Imogene  when  she  at  last  broke  in 
upon  one  of  his  explanations  with  — 

"Oh,  Miss  Delano,  what  shall  I  do? 
I've  forgotten  my  purse  !  " 

Miss  Delano  turned  to  the  girl  with  a 
smile ;  and  Dr.  Cabot,  now  that  her 
glance  was  not  on  himself,  became  again 
observant  and  critical,  and  noted  mentally 
the  motherliness  of  the  smile,  and  the 
vibratory  quality  of  her  voice  as  she 
answered  reassuringly,  "  Never  mind, 
Imogene,  perhaps  Dr.  Cabot  will  trust 
you  for  a  little  while.  If  you  will  ask 
him  how  much  you  owe  him,  I  will  bring 
it  in  later.  I  shall  pass  here  about  six 
o'clock." 

Although  the  question  as  to  fee  was 
not  put  directly  to  him,  Dr.  Cabot  felt 
the  terrors  of  youthfulness  again  creeping 
over  him. 

"  It  will  be  two  dollars,"  said  he  des- 
perately, for  once  wishing  that  he  were  a 
short,  insignificant  man ;  he  must  look  so 
like  an  ass,  standing  there  and  stammer- 
ing out  a  paltry  sum  like  two  dollars  ! 

After  his  visitors  had  left  the  office,  Dr. 
Cabot  did  not  return  immediately  to  the 
inner  room,  but  stood  for  some  time 
apparently  absorbed  in  studying  the  backs 
of  books  in  a  large  case.     He  must  have 


340 


DR.    CAB OT1  S  TWO  BRAINS. 


been  familiar  with  the  books,  and  yet 
he  looked  at  them  very  attentively  •  but 
the  connection  was  not  quite  clear  when 
he  suddenly  broke  out  —  "  George  Cabot, 
you  are  a  fool !  Yes,  a  fool,"  he  de- 
clared, his  eye  fixed  firmly  on  the  "  Origin 
of  Species." 

It  is  said  that  authors  err  in  picturing 
their  heroes  as  soliloquizing.  Perhaps 
Dr.  Cabot  was  not  a  real  hero.  At  all 
events,  he  had  talked  to  himself  all  his 
life,  since  the  days  when  as  a  boy  he 
wandered  alone  through  country  fields, 
watching  the  habits  of  many  queer  wild 
creatures  as  shy  as  himself. 

There  was  no  apparent  reason  why  he 
should  address  himself  now,  nor  why  he 
should  place  so  low  an  estimate  on  his 
mental  ability.  In  general  he  did  not 
underrate  it ;  he  had  the  generous  esti- 
mate of  his  powers  common  to  medical 
students  and  young  doctors  —  an  esti- 
mate, it  is  interesting  to  note,  which 
seems  to  lessen  in  geometric  ratio  ;  for 
surely  no  man  is  so  modest  as  the  expe- 
rienced physician.  Perhaps  the  young 
doctor  knows  more  of  the  theory  of  life 
and  death  than  most  men  ;  the  old  one, 
more  of  life  and  death  itself. 

So  while  Dr.  Cabot's  emphatic  asser- 
tion seemed  to  mark  him  as  a  man  of 
experience,  it  was  probably  only  a  spora- 
dic conviction  of  ignorance  and  not  a 
chronic  case,  as  he  himself  might  have 
expressed  it,  had  he  been  in  a  mood  to 
analyze  his  thoughts. 

But  he  was  occupied  with  phenomena 
quite  different  in  character.  His  attitude 
was  introspective,  it  is  true  ;  but  he  was 
trying  to  analyze,  not  his  thoughts,  but 
his  emotions.  He  was  conscious  of  a 
new  and  strange  sensation ;  he  could  lo- 
cate the  position  of  his  sensation  to  the 
inch  ;  but  its  analysis  baffled  him.  He 
noted  that  it  was  situated  in  a  cluster  of 
ganglia  and  fibres  located  just  behind  the 
stomach  and  known  to  science  as  the 
solar  plexus.  This  plexus  was  familiar  to 
Dr.  Cabot.  He  had,  in  fact,  while  in 
hospital  practice,  made  a  careful  study  of 
it,  with  a  view  to  discovering  its  special 
functions,  if  any.  But  the  result  of  this 
study  had  led  him  to  believe  that  it  had 
no  special  function,  and  that  its  size  was 
quite  disproportionate  to  its  office,  namely, 


that  of  transmitting,  in  common  with 
other  plexuses,  the  nerve  force  of  the 
sympathetic  system.  Nevertheless,  the 
subject  had  a  fascination  for  him,  and  he 
read  eagerly  anything  that  seemed  to  bear 
upon  it.  In  fact,  he  had  to-day  been 
reading  a  curious  article  on  the  subject; 
and  it  was  a  spirited  reply  to  this  article 
which  had  been  interrupted  by  Mary's 
announcement  of  his  two  visitors. 

But  he  did  not  resume  the  unfinished 
writing  when  at  last  he  returned  to  his 
study.  On  the  contrary,  he  took  up  the 
book  which  had  so  aroused  his  profes- 
sional ire.  It  seemed  a  very  inoffensive 
little  book  to  have  produced  such  antag- 
onism on  his  part ;  it  was  scarcely  more 
than  a  pamphlet ;  and  the  gray  paper 
cover,  with  its  modest  inscription,  "The 
Abdominal  Brain,"  Leila  G.  Bedell,  M.D., 
gave  no  hint  as  to  the  cause  of  Dr. 
Cabot's  denunciations. 

To  tell  the  truth,  he  handled  the  little 
book  a  trifle  more  respectfully  than  he 
had  done  an  hour  earlier,  and  as  he  seated 
himself  comfortably  before  the  open  fire, 
he  smoothed  out  its  crumpled  leaves  with 
the  expression  of  one  determined  to  be 
loftily,  but  honestly  just  in  his  judg- 
ments. 

Evidently  the  introduction  pleased  him, 
and  he  lingered  with  particular  pleasure 
over  an  italicized  assertion  of  the  superi- 
ority of  the  masculine  brain  as  compared 
with  the  feminine.  But  as  he  read  on, 
his  face  darkened ;  then  his  attention 
seemed  to  wander.  He  glanced  at  the 
little  black  clock  on  the  mantel  —  a  quar- 
ter to  six.  He  bent  forward,  listening  with 
eager  face  to  a  footstep  which  slackened 
pace  just  outside  the  door,  —  no  !  it 
passed  on ;  and  he  returned  to  his  read- 
ing with  an  impatient  gesture,  as  if  an- 
noyed at  some  unreasonable  conduct. 
But  again  his  attention  wandered ;  and 
again  he  shook  himself  together  and 
resumed  the  book. 

An  hour  ago  he  could  have  given  a 
clear  outline  of  the  theory  of  the  book, 
namely  :  i .  That  man  —  generically  con- 
sidered—  consists  of  two  natures,  animal 
and  organic  ;  the  animal  including  all  the 
bones,  muscles,  nerves,  and  outer  shell  of 
the  man  ;  the  organic  including  the  lungs, 
liver,   heart,  etc.,    in    fact,  all  the  organs 


DR.   CAB OT' S  TWO  BRAINS. 


347 


which  supply  fuel  and  keep  the  animal 
man  in  running  order.  2.  That  man,  in- 
stead of  being  endowed  with  one  brain, 
as  is  popularly  supposed,  has  two  brains 
to  govern  these  two  natures  :  one  situated 
in  the  skull  and  governing  all  actions  of 
the  "  animal  nature,"  and  also  perceiving, 
understanding,  and  reasoning ;  the  other  — 
named  by  Bichat  "  the  abdominal  brain  " 

—  situated  in  a  pair  of  large  ganglia  in 
the  solar  plexus,  and  having  complete 
jurisdiction  over  the  "  organic  nature  "  — 
as  digestion,  respiration,  etc.,  —  and  gov- 
erning also  all  emotions,  whether  of  fear, 
joy,  anger,  or  whatsoever  nature.  3.  That 
the  "animal  nature  "  represents  the  mas- 
culine element;  the  " organic  nature," 
the  feminine ;  the  one  is  the  framework, 
the  other,  the  vital  part ;  the  masculine 
is  the  machine,  the  feminine  furnishes 
the  life  which  animates  the  machine  ;  the 
grandest  deeds  of  heroism  and  patriotism 
have  been  inspired  by  the  abdominal 
brain,  by  the  feminine  part  of  nature. 

Such  was  the  theory  as  Dr.  Cabot  had 
outlined  it  to  himself  before  beginning 
his  denunciatory  article.  It  was  a  theory 
peculiarly  fitted  to  rouse  his  opposition. 
"It  was  exactly  like  a  woman,"  he  had 
told  himself,  "  so  unreasonable  !  " 

Dr.  Cabot  had  —  it  is  needless  to  say 

—  a  very  poor  opinion  of  the  mental 
ability  of  women. 

Why — he  had  asked  scornfully  — 
should  the  seat  of  the  emotions  be  re- 
moved from  the  brain,  where  science 
had,  for  years,  agreed  to  locate  it,  and 
transferred  to  the  solar  plexus?  It  was 
all  very  well  to  assume  that  the  ab- 
dominal brain  governs  digestion,  etc,  — 
though  even  this  was  pure  conjecture; 
but  to  assume  that  the  emotions  also 
originate  in  this  central  pair  of  ganglia 
was  too  much  !  There  was  not  a  single 
fact  in  the  realm  of  scientific  research  to 
justify  such  an  assumption  ! 

An  hour  ago  Dr.  Cabot  had  been  very 
clear  as  to  the  absurdity  of  the  whole 
argument,  and  the  unfinished  article  on 
the  table  scintillated  with  sarcasm  at  its 
illogical  reasoning.  But  now  his  face 
wore  a  perplexed  look.  The  argument 
had  not  changed  ;  it  remained  the  same  ; 
but  he  found  himself  undergoing  a  curious 
experience,    which    promised  to    furnish 


him  new  data  with  which  to  judge  the 
truth  or  falsity  of  the  book.  For  once  he 
failed  to  understand  himself. 

He  tried  in  vain  to  fix  his  attention  on 
the  printed  page  —  at  each  trial  he  would 
find  his  thoughts  drawn  as  by  magnetism 
to  a  fair  womanly  face.  Again  he  looked 
into  the  clear  eyes  and  saw  the  quiet 
smile ;  and  again  he  noted  in  himself  a 
curious  sensation  in  the  region  of  the 
solar  plexus;  a  thousand  tiny  cords  seemed 
attached  to  that  organ,  and  as  the  face 
of  his  late  visitor  rose  before  his  mind's 
eyes,  they  tightened  and  drew  with  an 
exquisite,  pleasurable  sensation,  which  was 
half  pain  from  its  very  intensity. 

Dr.  Cabot  recalled  the  "  heart-strings  " 
of  poetry,  and  mentally  applied  the  ex- 
pression to  his  present  experience,  sub- 
stituting solar  plexus  for  the  word  heart, 
however;  not  so  poetical,  but  more 
scientifically  accurate,  he  said  to  himself, 
with  a  grim  smile  at  the  absurdity  of  the 
whole  affair.  And  yet,  what  more  likely 
than  that  generations  ignorant  of  anatomy 
should  have  located  this  queer  sensation 
in  the  heart,  and  have  spoken  in  childish 
simplicity  of  "  heart-strings?  " 

Horrors  !  was  he  already  trying  to  sub- 
stantiate the  theory?  He  looked  down 
at  the  little  book  with  a  smile  of  amuse- 
ment, and  laying  it  on  the  table  began 
pacing  up  and  down  the  room. 

He  was  evidently  waiting  for  some- 
thing, however.  Ah,  yes,  there  was  the 
bell  !  and  before  Mary  could  appear,  he 
had  himself  opened  the  outer  door.  But 
instead  of  the  slight,  graceful  figure  which 
he  had  hoped  to  see,  the  sharp  eyes  of  a 
newsboy  peered  up  from  a  smutty  face 
into  his  own. 

More  quickly  than  usual,  Dr.  Cabot  ex- 
changed a  penny  for  the  Chicago  Even- 
ing Mail,  and,  closing  the  door,  resumed 
his  tramp  up  and  down  the  long  office. 
The  exercise  seemed  to  restore  his  normal 
mood ;  for  after  a  time  the  perplexed 
look  passed  from  his  face,  and  was  re- 
placed by  one  of  contentment  as  he 
stretched  his  long  arms  and  legs  in 
evident  enjoyment  of  the  walk. 

For  thirty  years  George  Cabot  had  en- 
joyed the  perfect  health  of  an  animal ;  it 
showed  in  the  clearness  of  his  eye,  in  the 
free   carriage    of  his    head,   in    the   firm 


348 


DR.   CAB  Or S  TWO  BRAINS. 


elasticity  of  his  walk.  For  thirty  years 
his  brain  had  responded  with  unfailing 
accuracy  to  every  demand  made  on  its 
powers.  At  the  medical  school  he  had 
easily  led  his  class ;  in  the  dissecting- 
room  his  keen,  clear  eyes  were  often  the 
ones  to  observe  phenomena   before  un- 


ttjmfr"- 


He  examined  the   Handwriting  curiously. 

noted,  and  his  logical  mind  pondered 
upon  such  phenomena  to  so  good  effect 
that  before  his  two  years  of  hospital  prac- 
tice were  over,  he  was  a  marked  man, 
one  of  whom  much  was  expected. 

What  wonder  that  he  paced  his  office 
with  free,  swinging  step  ?  The  world  was  his 
oyster.  Fear  and  pain  were  as  unknown 
to  him  as  to  the  youthful  Siegfried.  He 
had  seen  their  manifestations  many  times, 
in  the  dissecting-room,  on  the  sick  bed ; 
but  personally  he  knew  nothing  of  them ; 
they  were  accompaniments  of  disease  ;  he 
had  never  known  disease. 

His  heart,  too,  was  as  sound  as  a  drum. 
At  the  age  when  youth  is  prone  to  fall  in 
love,  he  was  absorbed  in  study,  in  love 
with  his  profession  only  ;  riding,  boxing, 
leaping,  rowing  in  recreation  time,  but 
otherwise  devoted  to  his  life  work.  The 
emotional  nature  counted  for  nothing  in 
his  estimation,  and  the  brief  space  allotted 
to    its    consideration    in    the    text-books 


seemed  to  him  all-sufficient  for  the  sub- 
ject. 

Mind  and  body  were  the  two  entities, 
—  body  rather  than  mind,  perhaps ; 
but  only  these  two.  The  old  philoso- 
phers who  talked  about  the  dual  nature 
were  right  ;  the  modern  notions  of 
psychology  which  would 
introduce  arbitrarily  a 
third  part  into  man's 
nature  were  absurd. 
Thought  and  emotion  were 
synonymous.  He  had 
never  felt  anything  except 
as  a  result  of  thought.  A 
clear  demonstration,  a 
skilful  operation  gave  him 
pleasure ;  but  these  were 
clearly  only  sequences  of 
mind.  If  the  body  were 
kept  in  good  order,  the 
mind  would  likewise  be 
healthy,  and  the  so-called 
emotions  would  take  care 
of  themselves. 

Yes,  the  world  was  a 
good  place  to  live  in,  he 
thought,  stretching  himself 
in  the  enjoyment  of  a 
great  yawn,  and  stopping 
before  the  table  on  which 
lay  his  unfinished  work. 
But  at  that  moment  the  office  bell  rang 
sharply,  —  again  that  curious  tightening 
of  the  tiny  cords.  What  did  it  mean ! 
He  shook  himself  with  an  air  of  annoy- 
ance ;  but,  nevertheless,  it  was  he,  instead 
of  Mary  who  opened  the  outer  door,  a 
minute  later,  to  admit  —  a  messenger 
boy. 

With  the  stolid  smile  of  his  class,  the 
boy  delivered  an  envelope,  and  presented 
a  much-soiled  book  for  Dr.  Cabot's  signa- 
ture, pointing  with  grimy  finger  to  the 
particular  place  of  signing. 

Mechanically  Dr.  Cabot  signed,  and 
the  boy  retired  whistling.  Ten  minutes 
passed,  fifteen  —  and  still  the  doctor  sat 
with  the  unopened  envelope  in  his  hand. 
He  was  apparently  studying  the  clear, 
decided  inscription  :  "  Dr.  Cabot,  280  La 
Salle  Avenue,  city  ;  "  in  reality,  however, 
he  was  studying  himself. 

At  last,  with  a  half  shrug  of  his  shoul- 
ders, he  opened  the  envelope  —  a  sheet 


DR.   CAB OT' S  TWO  BRAINS. 


349 


of  paper,  and  within  this,  wrapped  neatly 
in  tissue  paper,  two  shining  silver  dollars ; 
that  was  all  —  not  a  word,  not  a  name ; 
he  turned  over  the  paper  in  vain.  He 
lifted  the  dollars  and  examined  them  as 
carefully  as  if  he  had  never  seen  one 
before. 

At  last  he  slowly  smoothed  the  tissue 
wrapping,  tore  it  in  two  pieces,  and  fold- 
ing a  dollar  in  each,  placed  one  in  the 
left  pocket  of  his  vest,  just  over  his  heart ; 
then  he  opened  a  small  drawer,  took 
from  it  a  tiny  chamois  bag,  and  placing 
the  other  dollar  in  it,  fastened  it  inside 
his  vest ;  so  that  it  hung  suspended  ex- 
actly over  the  solar  plexus. 

"  One  might  as  well  give  it  the  benefit 
of  the  doubt,  since  there  are  two  of  the 
dollars,"  he  remarked,  breaking  into  a 
laugh  at  the  absurdity  of  the  whole  pro- 
ceeding. 

Still  smiling,  he  resumed  his  walk  up 
and  down  the  office.  Back  and  forth, 
back  and  forth,  he  went,  until  even  Mary, 
who  was  used  to  his  peripatetic  habits, 
began  to  wonder  what  the  doctor  was 
doing  down  there. 

At  last  he  paused  by  the  table  and, 
lifting  the  envelope,  examined  the  hand- 
writing curiously.  Suddenly  his  expres- 
sion changed  and  he  raised  the  writing 
to  his  lips,  while  a  deep  red  flush  spread 
over  his  face.  Only  an  instant  he  held 
the  paper,  then  dropping  it  as  if  it  had 
burned  him,  he  seized  his  hat  and,  plun- 
ging into  the  night,  was  hidden  from  sight 
in  the  friendly  darkness. 

The  next  Sunday  as  Miss  Delano  raised 
her  eyes  after  glancing  reprovingly  at  a 
giggling  girl,  she  suddenly  encountered  a 
pair  of  observant  gray  eyes ;  the  eyes 
were  half  way  across  the  church ;  and 
yet  she  felt  that  they  were  uncomfortably 
near  her.  She  dropped  her  own  upon 
her  prayer-book,  and  became  so  absorbed 
in  the  service  that  she  forgot  even  the 
giggling  girls. 

And  Dr.  Cabot  ?  Yes,  he  had  inquired 
out  the  church  which  the  Gordon  school 
attended ;  he  had  even  persuaded  the 
trim  usher  to  give  him  a  seat  with  a  good 
view  of  the  pew  which  was  always  filled 
with  Miss  Gordon's  pretty  girls;  and 
he  had  sat  patiently  for  half  an  hour 
waiting     their     arrival,     on     the     mere 


chance  that  Miss  Delano  might  be 
with   them. 

At  last  they  came  fluttering  down  the 
aisle,  and  he  scanned  them  eagerly,  — 
yes,  there  she  was,  looking  like  a  shy, 
English  violet  among  poppies  and  gera- 
niums. He  smiled  to  himself  at  the  com- 
parison, —  a  week  ago  he  did  not  think 
in  figures.  A  week  ago  he  had  not  cared 
to  attend  church.  But  he  had  given  up 
trying  to  account  for  his  actions.  He 
told  himself  that  he  was  no  longer  a  free 
agent ;  he  was  the  slave  of  his  solar 
plexus. 

And  that  small  organ  behaved  in  the 
most  erratic  manner ;  on  the  least  ex- 
pected occasions,  —  a  face  on  the  street, 
a  word  in  a  book,  and  it  would  suddenly 
leap  to  consciousness,  the  tiny  cords 
would  tighten,  and  reach  upward,  press- 
ing closer  and  closer  until  at  last  they 
clutched  his  throat ;  then  with  a  gasp  he 
would  free  himself,  and  suddenly  his 
whole  being  would  lighten  and  he  would 
be  lifted  into  an  atmosphere  of  exquisite 
happiness,  his  soul  expanding  and  resting 
in  a  strange  certainty  of  well-being. 

But,  with  it  all,  he  knew  that  he  was  a 
slave  ;  he  felt  his  chains,  —  he  had  al- 
ways been  free  in  body  and  mind  ! 
Again  and  again  he  had  tried  to  rid  him- 
self of  this  influence,  and  each  time  he 
found  himself  powerless.  It  was  bad 
enough,  to  fail  to  understand  himself; 
but  this  sense  of  helplessness  was  even 
worse. 

And  yet  he  was  subtly  conscious  that 
he  was  a  broader  man,  that  his  compre- 
hension of  life  was  fuller  and  deeper  than 
it  had  been  a  week  before.  All  his  senses, 
too,  were  as  if  bathed  in  fine  ether; 
surely  the  sky  had  never  been  so  blue, 
nor  the  lake  so  opalescent,  nor  the  grass 
plat  —  the  pride  of  every  Chicago  house 
—  so  green. 

And  to-day,  how  rich  and  full  the 
music  sounded  !  His  accurate  ear  al- 
ways told  him  if  a  chord  were  false,  or 
noted  approvingly  a  high  note  well  car- 
ried ;  but  never  had  it  transmitted  to  his 
soul  such  melody  of  sound  as  swept  over 
it  this  morning.  He  had  not  dreamed 
that  music  had  such  power !  He  was 
carried  out  of  himself,  swept  away  to 
a    land    where    only    heroic    deeds    are 


350 


DR.   CABOT S  TWO  BRAINS. 


He  started   quickly,   a  subtle   change  coming   into   his   Face. 


possible,  where  the  women  are  all  beautiful 
and  earnest,  the  men  all  pure  and  true. 

Softly  the  music  died  away  and  slowly  he 
drifted  back  to  earth.  While  it  had  lasted 
he  seemed  to  fill  the  universe,  his  whole 
being  one  exquisite  delight.  Now  grad- 
ually his  personality  contracted  ;  the  sen- 
sation of  pleasure  narrowed,  until  at  last 
only  in  the  solar  plexus  did  the  thrill  of 
joy  remain.  It  was  like  a  beautiful  name 
dying  away  until  only  a  spark  was  left  to 
mark  its  place,  he  told  himself,  with  a 
lenient  smile  at  his  foolishness. 

He  looked  across  the  church  to  a  quiet 
uplifted  face,  —  again  the  impulse  of  joy 
swept  through  him.  It  was  heaven  !  and 
yet     he     was     half    angry.       What     was 


he 


the     matter?       He 
was  as  emotional  as 
a    nervous    invalid, 
he    thought    scorn- 
fully ;     a    woman's 
face,     music,     sun- 
shine,   it    mattered 
little   what,  —  any- 
thing    seemed     to 
have  power  to  sway 
him. 
Meanwhile  he  fol- 
lowed the  service  mechanically, 
kneeling,  rising  and  responding 
with  the  congregation,  but  pay- 
ing  little    heed    to    the  words. 
His    religion    consisted    largely 
of  a   respectful  admiration  for 
the  harmonious   adjustment  of 
the     universe.      WTorship,     so- 
called,   he   left   to   women   and 
children.      It    was    probably   a 
useful  refuge  for  weak  intellects, 
ood  for   those  who  dared  not 
face  the  bare,  unvarnished  truth 
of  an   impersonal   world-spirit. 
As  for   himself,  he   looked   on, 
he    admired,     he    trusted    his 
reason,  and  he  felt  no  call  to 
worship. 

But  to-day  he  suddenly  found 
himself  looking  at  things  from 
the  centre  instead  of  from  the 
outside  ;  in  a  flash  he  became 
conscious  that  he  was  a  part  of 
the  great  world-plan,  that  the 
world- spirit  had  created  him, 
and  was  working  through  him, 
could   not,   if   he    would,    sever 


that 

the  connection.  A  swift  thrill  of  joy 
and  reverence  swept  through  his  soul. 
He  forgot  to  question,  to  reason.  The 
world-spirit  might  be  personal  or  im- 
personal, it  mattered  little.  He  found 
himself  face  to  face  with  his  Maker  and 
he  worshipped  Him. 

"  I  suppose  this  is  what  they  call  con- 
version," he  mused  thoughtfully,  as  he 
passed  down  the  aisle  at  the  close  of  ser- 
vice, pausing  for  a  moment  near  the 
door  to  speak  to  an  elderly  lady  who  was 
pleased  to  smile  upon  her  favorite  physi- 
cian in  the  face  of  St.  James's  fashionable 
congregation. 

As  he  stood  there,  Miss  Gordon's  girls 


DR..    CAB  Or S  TWO  BRAINS. 


351 


passed  him.  He  looked  up  eagerly. 
Would  she  see  him?  No,  she  was  busy 
with  her  charges.  But  as  she  passed,  her 
soft  gray  gown,  blown  by  the  breeze  from 
the  open  door,  floated  toward  him,  and 
brushed  his  hand.  He  started  quickly, 
a  subtle  change  coming  over  his  face, 
and  his  companion  paused  in  the  midst 
of  her  speaking  to  regard  him  curiously. 

"What  is  it,  Dr.  Cabot?"  she  asked 
solicitously. 

"Oh,  it  is  nothing,"  he  replied,  "the 
air  seems  a  little  close  here." 

And  Mrs.  Sargent  was  obliged  to  be 
satisfied.  But  in  less  than  a  week  all  her 
friends  knew  that  Dr.  Cabot  was  over- 
working and  needed  rest. 

He  himself  seemed  ignorant  of  his 
need,  however.  He 
had  never  worked 
so  hard,  and  never 
had  he  done  so 
good  work;  he 
plunged  into  it  with 
an  enthusiasm  of 
which  he  had  not 
dreamed  before. 
Scales  seemed  to 
have  fallen  from  his 
eyes ;  his  patients 
were  no  longer 
"cases,"  but  human 
beings;  at  the 
clinics,  he  found  his 
im agination  busy 
with  the  life  of  the 
man  who  lay  before 
him, — with  a  ten- 
der curiosity  as  to 
his  past  if  he  were 
dead,  with  a  friendly 
interest  in  his  future 
if  longer  life  were 
before  him ;  and 
many  a  man  left  the 
hospital  with  which 
Dr.  Cabot  was  con- 
nected, with  brighter 
prospects  than  life 
had  offered  before. 

Meanwhile,  spring 
deepened  toward 
summer,  and  still 
the  doctor  was  no 
nearer    the    woman 


whom  he  loved  than  he  had  been  the 
day  he  first  saw  her.  He  had  thought 
then  that  it  would  be  a  very  simple  affair 
to  make  her  acquaintance  in  a  natural 
way;  he  would  find  some  mutual  friend 
to  introduce  him ;  he  would  meet  her  at 
a  reception  or  concert  —  he  had  often 
seen  the  Gordon  teachers  at  such  places. 
He  became  suddenly  very  sociable  in  his 
disposition,  and  gratified  many  hostesses 
with  his  unexpected  presence. 

But  in  vain.  Either  Miss  Delano  was 
invited  nowhere,  or  she  accepted  no  in- 
vitations. He  saw  her  sometimes  on  the 
street  walking  with  a  line  of  girls,  and 
occasionally  he  found  himself  in  the 
same  car  with  her ;  and  once  he  sat 
beside  her  for  two  blocks,  until  obliged  to 


He  stood  talking  earnestly   with    Miss   Delano 


352 


DR.   CABOT'S  TWO  BRAINS. 


offer  his  seat  to  a  lady  who  entered  the 
car  and  who,  accepting  it  with  a  word  of 
thanks,  began  immediately  to  talk  with 
her  neighbor.  Then,  indeed,  he  felt  re- 
paid for  his  sacrifice,  as  he  steadied  him- 
self by  a  strap  against  the  jolting  of  the 
car,  and  watched  her  quaint  face  lighten 
with  interest  or  amusement.  How  grace- 
ful she  was,  how  womanly,  and  how  un- 
conscious !  She  does  not  dream  that 
she  belongs  to  me,  he  thought,  half  laugh- 
ingly, half  in  earnest.  For  that  she  would 
eventually  be  his,  he  never  for  an  instant 
doubted. 

And  so  he  bided  the  time  in  patience, 
not  anxious  because  he  could  not  meet 
her.  He  might  easily  have  brought  about 
a  meeting.  He  could  have  confided  his 
desire  to  some  woman.  There  were 
many  women  of  his  acquaintance  who 
would  gladly  have  exercised  their  match- 
making propensities  in  his  behalf.  But 
he  felt  a  superstitious  reluctance.  The 
whole  affair  had  been  so  beyond  his  com- 
prehension that  it  seemed  impossible  for 
him  to  interfere.  Only  one  thing  was 
certain,  —  some  time  he  would  know  her, 
and  some  time  she  would  be  his. 

And  at  last  his  patience  was  rewarded, 
when,  early  in  June,  he  received  an  in- 
vitation to  a  commencement  reception  at 
the  Gordon  school.  He  spent  a  long 
time  over  his  toilet  that  night ;  but  when 
at  last  it  was  completed  and  he  had  hung 
the  little  chamois  bag  inside  his  vest  — 
for  luck,  as  he  told  himself  with  a  smile 
—  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  had  never 
been  less  well-dressed. 

But  two  hours  later,  as  he  stood  in 
Miss  Gordon's  crowded  parlors  talking 
earnestly  with  Miss  Delano,  one  would 
have  pronounced  him  the  most  distin- 
guished-looking man  present.  And  Miss 
Delano  herself  was  listening  to  his  con- 
versation with  a  smile  of  interest.  Evi- 
dently, she  liked  this  young  doctor  with 
the  frank  eyes  and  the  ready  speech ; 
for,  to  his  great  relief,  Dr.  Cabot  found 
himself  talking  his  best ;  her  presence 
inspired  him,  he  told  himself.  Gradually 
the  conversation  became  more  personal, 
and  she  spoke  of  leaving  for  Boston  the 
next  day. 

"  But  you  will  return  in  the  fall."  Dr. 
Cabot  spoke  in  a  tone  of  quiet  certainty, 


and  more  as  if  to  himself  than  to  her. 
She  raised  her  eyes  in  surprise.  "  No,"  she 
said,  "  I  shall  not  come  back  for  many 
years,  probably." 

He  turned  toward  her  quickly.  But  at 
that  moment  one  of  the  girls  came  hurry- 
ing up.  "Oh,  Miss  Delano,"  she  ex- 
claimed, "won't  you  come  and  meet  my 
mother  for  a  minute  before  she  goes?  I 
want  so  much  to  have  her  know  you." 

"Yes,"  said  Dr.  Cabot  smiling,  as  she 
turned  to  him  to  excuse  herself,  "  I  will 
let  you  go ;  only  as  this  is  your  last  night, 
you  must  promise  that  I  may  see  you 
again  before  I  leave." 

"  Certainly,"  she  assented,  turning 
away  with  a  slight  look  of  surprise. 

He  watched  her  go,  with  a  strange 
pain  beneath  the  little  chamois  bag;  a 
ball  of  lead  suspended  there  would  have 
been  as  heavy,  he  told  himself.  And  yet 
why  should  he  despair?  He  would  find 
an  opportunity  to  tell  her  of  his  love  to- 
night. Women  had  been  won  even  in  so 
short  a  time  as  this.  The  intensity  of 
his  passion  must  count  for  something. 

So  he  tried  to  comfort  himself  as  he 
stood  battling  with  the  pain  in  his  breast. 
How  strange  that  there  should  be  pain 
where  for  weeks  he  had  felt  only  the 
keenest  pleasure  !  Gradually  he  became 
aware  of  people  about  him.  Two  young 
girls  came  and  stood  near  him. 

"  Did  you  know  that  she  is  going  to  be 
married?"  were  the  first  words  that 
caught  his  ear. 

"  Yes,  isn't  it  horrid  !  " 

"Yes,  only  I'm  awfully  glad  for  her, 
she's  so  sweet." 

"Who's  so  sweet?"  asked  a  third  girl 
coming  up. 

"  Miss  Sue  Delano." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  think  she's  just  too 
lovely!" 

He  waited  to  hear  no  more,  but  moved 
aimlessly  to  another  part  of  the  room. 
Should  he  wait  ?  Yes ;  he  might  never 
see  her  again.  So  he  devoted  himself  to 
acquaintances,  until  he  saw  her  standing 
alone  ;  then  he  made  his  way  quickly  to 
her  side. 

"  I  have  come  to  claim  my  promise," 
he  said  in  response  to  her  smile  as  he 
came  up. 

"You    have    a    good    memory,"    sne 


DR.    CAB  Or S  TWO  BRAINS. 


353 


answered  lightly,  as  if  trying  to  ignore  an 
undercurrent  of  gravity  in  his  manner. 

"  It  was  not  entirely  memory,"  he  re- 
plied briefly. 


^&w,  i  '..;*  M- :.?^' 

He   bent  forward,  listening  to  a   Footstep  outside. 


She  did  not  ask  what  he  meant,  and 
he  vouchsafed  no  further  explanation. 
For  a  while  they  talked  of  unimportant 
things.  At  last  he  turned  to  her  with  an 
impatient  gesture,  as  if  putting  aside  such 
trivialities. 

"I  hear  you  are  to  be  married,"  he 
said. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  her  eyes  meeting 
his  steadily,  but  a  faint  flush  stealing  over 
her  face. 

"  I  feel  as  if  I  had  known  you  a  long 
time,"  he  continued  abruptly. 

She  said  nothing,  but  regarded  him 
curiously. 


"  Will  you  assume  for  a  little  while  that 
it    is    true,  and  let    me   speak   with    the 
freedom  of  on  old  friend,"  he  replied. 
"If   it    will    give    you    pleasure,"    she 
replied  simply.     She 
found    herself   meet- 
ing   his     earnestness 
with   a   like   earnest- 
ness.    She  even  for- 
got    to     think     him 
queer. 

"  I  want  to  ask 
you  to  remember," 
he  said,  "  that  you 
will  be.  your  hus- 
band's life.  I  mean 
it  literally.  Without 
you  he  will  be  only 
a  machine.  Remem- 
ber it,  and  be  patient 
with  him.  If  ever 
you  find  him  coarse 
or  stupid,  remember 
that  he  relies  on  you, 
and  do  not  fail  him. 
It  is  you  and  your 
love  that  must  re- 
deem him."  He 
spoke  in  short,  dis- 
jointed sentences,  but 
eagerly  and  rapidly, 
as  if  urged  on  by 
some  power  stronger 
than  himself;  and  as 
he  spoke  he  changed 
his  position  slightly, 
so  as  to  shield  her 
face  from  the  room 
She  was  very  pale, 
and  her  eyes  were 
dilated  as  if  with  pain,  but  they  continued 
to  rest  trustingly  on  his  face. 

"  I  will  remember,"  she  said,  as  sol- 
emnly as  if  taking  an  oath. 

His  words  had  carried  her  out  of  her- 
self. It  did  not  seem  strange  that  he 
should  speak  so  to  her.  To-morrow  she 
would  think  of  it,  and  wonder.  To-night 
they  were  both  on  too  high  a  plane  to 
consider  conventionalities. 

He  hesitated  a  moment,  —  then, 
"Good-night,"  said  he,  holding  out  his 
hand. 

"Good-by,"  she  answered  slowly,  pla- 
cing her  own  in  it. 


354 


DOST  THOU  THINK  OF  ME   OFTEN. 


A  moment  later,  and  he  was  lost  in  the 
crowd. 

When  the  girls  searched  for  Miss 
Delano,  to  say  good-night  to  her,  she  was 
not  to  be  found  ;  and  when  questioned 
the  following  morning,  "a  headache" 
was  the  woman's  excuse  she  gave  for  re- 
tiring early. 

And    Dr.  Cabot?     He    is    still    living. 


It  is  now  two  years  since  he  discovered 
for  himself  that  man  has  two  brains  in- 
stead of  one ;  and  life  has  been  at  once 
more  beautiful  and  more  bitter  for  that 
discovery.  But,  though  he  himself  may 
endure  in  silence,  for  the  world  at  large 
and  for  suffering  humanity,  he  has  a  very 
tender  heart,  —  or  solar  plexus,  —  or  ab- 
dominal brain,  —  call  it  what  you  will. 


DOST  THOU  THINK  OF  ME  OFTEN? 

By  Stuart  Sterne. 

DOST  thou  think  of  me  often,  my  friend,  my  Love, 
More  dear  than  the  earth,  and  the  stars  above? 
Morning  and  evening,  by  night  and  by  day, 
Weeping  or  laughing,  at  work  or  at  play,  — 
Dost  thou  think  of  me  often,  as  I  of  thee  ? 
Oh,  hasten,  my  Love,  and  answer  me  !  " 

"  Do  I  think  of  thee  often,  by  night  and  day, 
Weeping  or  laughing,  at  work  or  at  play? 
—  Nay,  that  in  good  truth,  I  could  not  say  ! 
But  come,  do  not  frown, 
Rather  close  bend  down 
Thy  head  right  here, 
And  let  me  whisper  into  thy  ear  !  — 
Morning  and  evening,  by  night  and  by  day, 
Weeping  or  laughing,  at  work  or  at  play, 
Awake  or  asleep,  — 

The  thought  of  thee  lies  as  close  and  deep 
As  the  breath  of  my  life,  the  throb  of  my  heart. 
Of  my  innermost  being  grown  a  part,  — 
I  do  not  think  of  thee  oft,  for  see 
Thou  art  never  one  instant  divided  from  me  !  — 
Ah,  my  Beloved,  dost  understand?  — 
And  now  wilt  thou  smile  and  give  me  thy  hand?  " 


Mary    Harden. 

FROM    A    DAGUERREOTYPE    TAKEN    IN    LATER    LIFE. 


JOHN  HOWARD  PAYNE'S  SOUTHERN  SWEETHEART. 

By  Laura  Speer. 


JOHN  HOWARD  PAYNE,  the  author 
of  "  Home  Sweet  Home,"  was  born 
in  the  city  of  New  York,  on  the  9th 
day  of  June,  1792.  His  family  was 
highly  respectable.  His  father  was  a 
well-known  educator  of  youth.  His 
grandfather  was  a  member  of  the  Pro- 
vincial Assembly  of  Massachusetts,  when 
legislative  honors  were  less  shadowy  than 
at  present.  He  was  also  related  to  Robert 
Treat  Paine,  a  signer  of  the  Declaration 
of  Independence,  and  to  Dr.  John  Os- 
born  of  Connecticut,  the  author  of  the 
"Whaling  Song,"  a  nautical  ballad  worthy 


of  the  genius  of  Charles  Dibdin,  which 
fired  the  heroism  of  the  mariners  of  New 
Bedford  and  Nantucket  in  their  battling 
with  the  monsters  of  the  deep.  John 
Howard  Payne,  therefore,  could  not  ap- 
propriate the  lines  of  Burns  : 

"  My  ancient  but  ignoble  blood 
Has  crept  through  scoundrels  ever  since  the 
flood." 

Payne's  father  assiduously  cultivated  the 
minds  of  his  children,  and  some  of  them 
were  remarkably  precocious.  A  sister  of 
the    young    poet,    herself    only    fourteen 


356 


JOHN  HOWARD  PAYNE'S  SOUTHERN  SWEETHEART. 


John   Howard   Payne  at  the  Age  of  Nineteen. 

FROM   THE   MINIATURE   BY   JOSEPH   WOOD. 

years  of  age,  amazed  the  classical  pro- 
fessors of  Harvard  College  by  her  extra- 
ordinary acquirements  in  Latin.  Nor 
were  her  English  compositions  less  re- 
markable for  felicity  of  language,  and 
beauty  of  imagery.  Competent  critics 
pronounced  her  unpublished  productions 


"  among  the  most  favorable  specimens  of 
female  genius  that  had  appeared  in 
America."  Her  more  famous,  if  not 
more  gifted,  brother  made  his  literary 
debut,  like  Benjamin  Franklin,  by  con- 
tributing to  a  paper,  in  the  publication  of 
which  he  was  employed  as  a  printer's 
boy.  Like  Franklin,  he  evidently  had 
an  early  perception  of  the  power  of  the 
press  in  controlling  public  opinion, — 
"the  queen  of  the  world."  In  one  par- 
ticular indeed  the  young  poet  surpassed 
the  young  philosopher.  Franklin  had 
passed  his  sixteenth  year  before  he  be- 
came the  editor  of  the  New  England 
Conrant.  Payne  was  engaged  in  editing 
the  Thespian  Mirror  at  thirteen  years  of 
age.  The  remarkable  ability  displayed 
by  the  juvenile  editor  induced  Mr. 
Seaman,  a  wealthy  and  benevolent  citizen 
of  New  York,  to  proffer  him  the  oppor- 
tunity of  a  course  at  Union  College. 
The  offer  was  gratefully  accepted,  and  a 
poetical  journal  of  his  voyage  up  the 
Hudson  reveals  the  impression  produced 
on  an  imaginative  youth  by  that  noble 
stream,  whose  picturesque  shores  and 
charming  legends  have  been  immortalized 
by  Irving. 

Before     the    young    student's    college 
course    was    completed,    the    bankruptcy 


The   Home   of   Mary    Harden,    Athens,    Ga.,   as   it  appears  to-day. 


JOHN  HOWARD  PAYNE'S  SOUTHERN  SWEETHEART.         357 


and  failing  health  of  his  father  forced 
him  to  leave  the  academic  halls  in  which 
he  hoped  to  carry  off  the  highest  honors 
of  his  class,  and  devote  himself  to  some 
profession  by  which  he  could  maintain 
his  father  and  the  younger  mem- 
bers of  his  family.  An  irresistible 
instinct  impelled  him  to  try  the 
stage.  His  elocutionary  perfor- 
mances as  a  schoolboy  had 
shown  such  histrionic  talent,  that 
theatrical  managers  importuned 
his  father  to  allow  them  to  bring 
out  the  gifted  boy  on  the 
boards,  as  the  "  young  American 
Roscius."  These  requests  had 
been  refused,  on  the  ground  that 
he  was  but  a  child.  But  on 
his  return  from  Union  College  to 
New  York  he  made  his  appear- 
ance on  the  stage  at  the  Park 
Theatre  and,  in  the  language  of 
the  green-room,  "  took  the  town 
by  storm."  After  meteoric 
visits  to  Philadelphia,  Baltimore, 
Charleston,  and  New  Orleans, 
he  was  persuaded  by  George 
Frederick  Cooke  to  try  his  for- 
tunes on  the  London  stage,  — 
the  stage  on  which  Garrick  had 
recently  won  a  world-wide  fame 
and  accumulated  a  fortune  of 
one  hundred  and  forty  thousand 
pounds.  But  rarely  does  drama- 
tic genius,  even  of  the  highest 
order,  reap  such  golden  harvests. 
The  miraculous  powers  of  Shakes- 
peare raised  him  to  no  higher 
position  than  that  of  subaltern 
actor  in  his  own  plays  and  Ben 
Jonson's,  and  a  small  estate  at 
Stratford.  Thomas  Otway,  the 
author  of  "The  Orphans,"  one 
of  the  most  pathetic  tragedies 
ever  produced  on  the  English  stage,  was, 
it  has  been  said  by  some  authorities, 
choked  by  a  crust  which,  from  excessive 
hunger,  he  devoured  too  ravenously. 
Dryden,  whose  dramas  were  so  popular 
in  their  time,  describes  his  old  age  as 
worn  out  with  study  and  oppressed  with 
poverty,  without  other  support  than  the 
patience  of  a  Christian.  Goldsmith,  the 
author  of  "She  Stoops  to  Conquer,"  the 
most   popular    comedy    of  the    century, 


lived  in   constant    pecuniary  straits,  and 
died  miserably  in  debt. 

John  Howard  Payne's  career  in  the 
British  metropolis  was  but  a  reproduction 
of  the  "  golden  dreams  and  leaden  real- 


"  Rob  Roy/' 

ities  "  of  the  great  majority  of  the  dra- 
matic celebrities  who  had  preceded  him. 
As  an  actor  he  drew  crowded  houses,  but 
his  popularity  excited  envy  and  provoked 
detraction.  His  tragedy  of  "  Brutus " 
met  with  a  success  "  unexampled  for 
years,"  but  it  was  attacked  by  a  swarm 
of  critics,  belonging  to  a  class  whom 
Dean  Swift  compared  to  "  rats  that  nibble 
the  finest  cheese,  and  wasps  that  swarm 
around  the  fairest  fruits."     Nevertheless, 


358 


JOHN  HOWARD  PAYNE'S  SOUTHERN  SWEETHEART. 


Payne  formed  the  acquaintance  and  en- 
joyed the  society  of  such  distinguished 
literary  men  as  Charles  Lamb,  Tom 
Moore,  Sir  Walter  Scott  and  his  own  illus- 
trious countryman,  Washington  Irving. 

From  London  he  went  to  Paris,  where 
he  met  a  congenial  spirit  in  the  tragedian 
Talma,  who  was  then  the  glory  of  the  French 
stage.     Of  the  plays  composed  by  Payne 


Mrs.   Edward   Harden. 

while  sojourning  in  London  and  Paris, 
many  were  successful,  particularly  "  The- 
rese,  or  the  Orphan  of  Geneva,"  and 
"Charles  the  Second,"  which  latter  was 
highly  prized  by  Kemble.  But  an  opera 
prepared  for  Covent  Garden,  entitled 
"  Clari,  the  Maid  of  Milan,"  gave  him 
his  world-wide  and  imperishable  fame, 
for  it  contained  the  song,  "  Home,  Sweet 
Home."  The  publishers  of  the  song  are 
reputed  to  have  made  two  thousand 
guineas  within  two  years.  It  is  certain 
that   one  hundred  thousand  copies  were 


sold  in  182 


It   enriched  all   who  had 


any  connection  with  it,  except  the  poet 
himself,  who  had  sold  the  priceless  poem 
for  thirty  pounds ;  and  it  secured  for 
Ellen  Tree,  who  first  sang  "  Home,  Sweet 
Home,"  a  wealthy  husband. 


In  1832,  after  an  absence  of  nearly 
twenty  years,  John  Howard  Payne  returned 
to  his  native  land.  His  fame  had  pre- 
ceded him,  and  secured  for  him  an  ova- 
tion only  inferior  to  the  welcome  accorded 
to  Washington  Irving,  who  returned  the 
same  year,  after  an  absence  of  seventeen 
years.  The  surviving  friends  of  Payne's 
early  years,  and  many  who  had  attained 
to  social  distinction  during 
Wllillllli  his  Pr°tracted  stay  in  foreign 
lands,  united  in  paying  hom- 
age to  a  genius  who  had 
reflected  honor  on  his  com- 
patriots by  his  triumphs  as 
an  actor  and  a  dramatist,  and 
especially  as  the  author  of 
"Sweet  Home." 

Shortly  after  his  return 
to  the  Ignited  States,  he 
published  the  prospectus  of 
a  magazine  of  literature, 
science,  and  art.  It  was 
designed  to  promote  the 
mental  culture  and  moral 
improvement  of  his  country- 
men, to  inspire  them  with 
sentiments  of  patriotism  and 
philanthropy,  love  of  liberty 
and  law.  The  title  of  the 
proposed  periodical  was  sug- 
gestive and  poetical.  It  was 
"Jam  Jehan  Nima,"  the 
name  of  a  goblet  belonging 
to  one  of  the  ancient  kings 
of  Persia,  in  which,  accord- 
ing to  the  legend,  whosoever  looked  was 
privileged  to  behold  a  picture  of  the  uni- 
verse. Unfortunately,  this  magazine  never 
advanced  beyond  its  brilliant  prospectus, 
in  consequence  of  the  small  list  of  sub- 
scribers. 

About  this  period,  the  efforts  of  the 
general  government  to  remove  the  Chero- 
kees  from  Georgia  to  lands  beyond  the 
Mississippi  was  a  subject  of  much  discus- 
sion in  the  public  prints.  By  many  humane 
people  the  scheme  was  regarded  as  utterly 
irreconcilable  with  a  Christian  policy,  as 
well  as  with  existing  treaties.  To  form  a 
correct  opinion  on  this  subject,  Payne  re- 
solved to  visit  Georgia,  enter  the  Indian 
territory,  make  himself  familiar  with  the 
manners  and  customs  of  the  Creeks  and 
Cherokees,  and  ascertain  their  sentiments 


JOHN  HOWARD  PAYNE'S  SOUTHERN  SWEETHEART. 


359 


with  regard  to  the  proposed  expatriation. 
To  help  him  in  this  design  he  brought 
letters  of  introductions  to  General  Edward 
Harden,  who  was  thoroughly  acquainted 
with  the  tribes  of  Creeks  and  Cherokees, 
and  who  was  withal  a  gentleman  of  his- 
toric family  and  such  high  social  stand- 
ing, that  to  him  was  accorded  the  honor 
of  entertaining  Lafayette,  when  the 
»  Nation's  Guest  "  visited 
Savannah  in   1824. 

General  Harden  had  re- 
cently removed  his  family 
from  Savannah  to  Athens; 
and  there  John  Howard 
Payne  first  met  Miss  Mary 
Harden,  a  young  lady  who 
was  such  a  paragon  of  beauty 
and  grace,  and  with  such 
fine  mental  accomplishments, 
that  he  at  once  fell  deeply 
in  love  with  her. 

Of  Mary  Harden  in  her 
girlhood,  there  is  no  authentic 
likeness.  There  is,  however, 
a  picture  of  her  in  her 
womanly  maturity,  and  a  copy 
of  that  picture  is  presented 
with  this  article. 

The  enraptured  lover  did 
not  wholly  forget  his  original 
mission.  Through  the  friendly 
offices  of  General  Harden, 
he  obtained  an  interview  with 
John  Ross,  the  most  noted 
chief  of  the  Cherokees,  and 
was  invited  hy  him  to  sojourn 
among  his  people.  The  invitation  was 
accepted,  and  Payne  might  have  given 
us  as  interesting  an  account  of  the  history, 
traditions,  languages,  and  customs  of  the 
Georgia  Indians,  as  Dr.  Schoolcraft  did 
of  the  Iroquois  and  Algonquin  tribes  of 
the  North  and  West ;  but,  unfortunately, 
his  researches  were  nipped  in  the  bud,  by 
the  suspicion  and  stupidity  of  Curry,  the 
Indian  agent.  This  official,  "  dressed  in  a 
little  brief  authority  "  by  the  state  govern- 
ment, was  pleased  to  conceive  that  the 
presence  of  this  remarkable  stranger 
among  the  Indians  boded  ill  to  the  peace- 
ful relations  existing  between  them  and 
the  whites,  and  he  ordered  his  immediate 
arrest. 

As  soon  as  General  Harden  heard  of 


the  outrage,  he  hastened  to  Milledgeville 
and  obtained  Payne's  release.  But  the 
indignity  to  which  he  had  been  subjected 
so  deeply  wounded  his  proud  and  sensi- 
tive spirit  that  he  declared,  in  a  letter  to 
General  Harden,  "  Georgia  I  never  will 
enter  again  without  a  formal  public  in- 
vitation." But  there  was  a  magnet  in 
Georgia    of  great    attractive  power,  and 


General    Edward   Harden. 

not  long  after  his  release  he  found  his 
way  back  again  to  Athens. 

An  incident  that  occurred  during  this 
visit,  related  by  Miss  Mary  Harden  her- 
self, will  prove  interesting  to  ordinary 
mortals,  as  showing  that  lovers  of  the  most 
ethereal  temperament  sometimes  present 
themselves  in  very  prosaic  phases.  One 
morning  the  young  lady  was  surprised  to 
see  her  admirer  enter  with  a  very  pale 
and  lugubrious  face. 

"  Miss  Mary,"  he  inquired  pathetically, 
"  Do  you  know  what  gruel  is?  " 

"  Indeed  I  do,"  she  answered.  "  Why, 
what  is  the  matter?  " 

"  Oh  !  those  horrid  biscuits  at  the 
tavern  seem  to  be  compounded  of  saler- 
atus,  lard,  and  half-baked   flour.     Could 


360 


JOHN  HOWARD  PAYNE'S  SOUTHERN  SWEETHEART. 


you  have  a  dish  of  gruel  prepared  for 
me  ?  ' ' 

"  Certainly,"  she  answered,  and  has- 
tened from  the  parlor  to  the  kitchen,  to 
lay  the  case  before  Aunt  Minda. 

"  Lor  !  Miss  Mary,"  exclaimed  that 
ebony  priestess  of  pots  and  pans,  "Yer 
know  yer  ma  not  gwine  ter  like  that.  I 
never  know'd  gruel  carried  inter  her 
parlor  to  company.  Yer  got  no  pride, 
chile.  Go  in  ther  house  an'  giv  the  gen- 
tleman fruit  cake  and  pineapple  cheese." 

"But,  Aunt  Minda,  Mr.  Payne  has 
dyspepsia  and  wants  only  gruel." 


John    Howard   Payne,    in   later  life. 

So  the  gruel  was  prepared,  and  Rob 
Roy,  the  house  boy,  was  summoned  to 
serve  it.  But  Rob  was  as  much  flustered 
as  Aunt  Minda  by  such  a  compromise  of 
family  dignity.  He  would  have  proudly 
presented  syllabub  and  cake  ;  but  gruel 
in  his  opinion  would  smirch  the  family 
His  wounded  feel- 
however,  when    he 


escutcheon  forever, 
ings    were    mollified 


saw   the   steaming  beverage  quaffed  like 
nectar. 

"  Rob,"    said    Mr.    Payne,    "  is    there 
any  more  gruel  where  this  came  from  ?  " 
"Lor,    sir!"    replied    Rob,    "there    is 
bushels,." 

"  Bring  me  another  bowl,  then." 

Of  the  dramatis  per sonae  in  this  little 

comedy,  Rob   Roy  alone    survives,  —  an 

old,  decrepit  man,  whose   memory   loves 

to   grope   among    the   faded   shadows   of 

the  past.      "Mr.   Payne,"  said  he  to  the 

writer    of    this    sketch,   "  was    the    finest 

gentleman  I  ever  seen.     When  he  come 

to  see  my  young  miss,  and  I 

waited  on  him,  he  always  give 

me  a  dollar." 

How  long  Mr.  Payne 
lingered  in  Athens  at  this 
time  does  not  appear.  It  is 
certain,  however,  from  his 
written  avowals,  that  he  could 
not  say  of  Miss  Harden  what 
honest  Master  Slender  said  of 
Mistress  Anne  Page  :  "  There 
was  no  great  love  between 
us  in  the  beginning,  and  it 
pleased  Heaven  to  diminish 
it  on  further  acquaintance." 
In  a  letter  to  General  Harden 
from  New  York,  dated  March 
22,  1836,  he  said : 

"  For   your    daughter's   flattering- 
request  about    '  Sweet  Home '    do 
me  the  favor  to  offer  her  my  best 
thanks.     I  will  write  it  out  for  her 
in  my  best  school-day  hand  when- 
ever I  find  an  opportunity  of  send- 
ing it  post  free.     No  one  deserves 
a  '  Sweet  Home  ;  better    than  she 
does,  and  no  one  would  be  surer  to 
make    any  home,    however    sweet, 
still  more  so  by  her  goodness  and 
her  genius.     But  if  I  send  a  con- 
tribution for  her  album,  she  must 
make  a  sketch  for  mine.     I  belong 
to  a  section  of  the  republic  where 
we    are  not  in  the   habit   of  doing 
things    without   large    profits.       In   some    places, 
to    be    sure,    her    request    would    be    more    than 
compensation,    but   in    New    York   we    look   for 
percentage  by  hundreds  and  thousands.      I  have 
caught  the  infection  and  must  treat  with  her  in 
the  spirit  of  New  York  speculation." 

After  reading  this  letter  addressed  to 
the  father,  no  one  will  be  surprised  at  the 
following  outpouring  of  his  soul  to  the 
daughter. 


JOHN  HOWARD  PAYNE'S  SOUTHERN  SWEETHEART.         361 


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Fac-Simile  of  Payne's   MS.   of  "  Home,   Sweet   Home. 


"  Madame  :  —  I  did  for  a  long  time  indulge  in 
the  fallacious  hope  that  fortune  would  have  fa- 
vored and  placed  me  in  a  more  suitable  situation 
for  making  this  communication  to  you.  I  have 
unfortunately  been  disappointed  and  have  en- 
deavored to  calm  my  feelings  and  submit  to  my 
fate,  yet  the  more  I  have  striven  to  do  so  the  more 
have  I  been  convinced  that  it  would  be  useless 
for  me  any  longer  to  attempt  to  struggle  with  the 
sentiments  I  feel  towards  you.  I  am  conscious 
of  my  own  unworthiness  of  the  boon  I  desire 
from  you,  and  cannot,  dare  not,  ask  you  to  give 
a  decisive  answer  in  my  favor  now,  only  permit 
me  to  hope  that  at  some  future  time  I  may  have 
the  happiness  of  believing  my  affection  returned, 
but  at  the  same  time  I  conjure  you  to  remember 
in  making  up  your  decision  that  it  is  in  your 
power  to  render  me  happy  or  miserable.  Having 
frequently  through  the  kind  permission  of  your  hon- 
ored parents  the  pleasure  of  being  in  your  society, 
I  every  day  find  it  more  necessary  to  come  to  some 
conclusion  as  to  my  future  conduct,  for  when  I 
was  obliged  to  leave  you,  it  was  only  to  renew 
the  agitated  state  of  my  mind  and  to  contemplate 


the  image  of  one  too  dear  to  me  to  resign  for- 
ever, without  making  an  effort  I  was  unequal  to 
when  in  your  presence.  You  will  perhaps  tell 
me  this  is  presumption  on  my  part,  and  true  it  is. 
I  have  nothing  to  offer  you  but  a  devoted  heart 
and  hand;  however,  be  assured  Madame,  what- 
ever your  decision  may  be,  present  wishes  for 
your  happiness  and  welfare  shall  be  the  first  of 
my  heart.  I  have  felt  it  essential  to  my  peace  of 
mind  that  I  should  inform  you  of  the  state  of  my 
feelings,  satisfied  that  that  and  your  amiableness  of 
heart  will  plead  my  excuse.  I  entreat  you  to  reply 
to  this  letter,  if  but  one  word;  indeed  I  am  sure  if 
you  knew  how  anxiously  I  shall  await  your  answer 
compassion  alone  would  induce  you  to  send  me 
an  early  answer.  Allow  me,  Madame,  to  sub- 
scribe myself, 

"  Your  very  humble  and  devoted  admirer, 

"  John  Howard  Payne. 

"Thursday,  14  July,  18 

"To  Miss  Mary  E.  G.  Harden." 

On   his   return  from   Georgia   to   New 
York,  the  poet  became  a  frequent  con- 


362         JOHN  HOWARD  PAYNE'S  SOUTHERN  SWEETHEART. 


tributor  to  the  Democratic  Review.  For 
these  political  articles  he  received  no 
greater  reward  than  the  consulate  to 
Tunis,  where  he  spent  the  remainder  of 
his  life,  with  the  exception  of  one  brief 
visit  to  this  country.  No  American  poet 
ever  received. a  more  enviable  compliment 
than  one  paid  to  John  Howard  Payne  by 
Jenny  Lind  on    this,  his    last  visit  to   his 


Monument  to  John   Howard  Payne  in  Oak  Hill  Cemetery,  Washington. 


native  land.  It  was  in  the  great  National 
Hall  in  the  city  of  Washington,  where 
an  audience  assembled  to  greet  her,  by 
far  the  most  distinguished  that  had 
ever    been    seen    in    the  capital  of    the 


republic.  Nothing  was  wanting  that 
office,  fame,  wealth,  culture,  taste,  and 
beauty  could  impart  in  giving  dignity  and 
grandeur  to  the  occasion.  The  match- 
less singer  entranced  the  vast  throng  with 
her  most  exquisite  melodies,  "  Casta 
Diva,"  the  "Flute  Song,  "the  "Bird 
Song,"  and  the  "Greeting  to  America." 
But  the  great  feature  of  the  oc- 
casion seemed  to  be  an  act 
of  inspiration.  The  singer 
suddenly  turned  her  face  to- 
ward that  part  of  the  audi- 
torium where  John  Howard 
Payne  was  sitting,  and  sang 
"Home  Sweet  Home,"  with 
such  pathos  and  power,  that 
a  whirlwind  of  excitement  and 
enthusiasm  swept  through 
the  vast  audience.  Webster 
himself  lost  all  self-control, 
and  one  might  readily 
imagine  that  Payne  thrilled 
with  rapture  at  this  un- 
expected and  magnificent 
rendition  of  his  own  immor- 
tal lyric. 

Less  than  two  years  were 
to  expire  before  the  home- 
less author  of"  Sweet  Home," 
in  a  far  distant  land,  left  all 
earthly  scenes,  and  songs  for, 
let  us  hope,  sweeter  har- 
monies and  an  eternal  home. 
He  was  buried  in  St. 
George's  Cemetery  at  Tunis, 
and  thirty  years  afterwards 
his  remains  were  removed  to 
the  land  of  his  nativity,  and, 
with  august  ceremonies,  laid 
to  rest  in  Oak  Hill  Ceme- 
tery, near  Washington.  A 
shaft  of  white  marble,  crowned 
with  a  bust  of  the  poet, 
marks  his  final  resting-place. 
On  the  front  of  the  shaft  is 
inscribed  : 

"  John  Howard  Payne, 
Author  of  '  Home  Sweet  Home.' 
Born    June  9,    1 791.     Died   April 

9,  1852." 
On  the  opposite   side  of  the  shaft 


are  these  lines 


'  Sure  when  thy  gentle  spirit  fled 
To  realms  above  the  azure  dome, 
With  outstretched  arms  God's  angels  said 
Welcome  to  Heaven's  home,  sweet  home." 


WHY  THE  SOUTH  WAS  DEFEATED  IN  THE  CIVIL  WAR. 

By  Albert  Bushnell  Hart. 


THE  question  which  we  shall  try  to 
answer  in  this  paper  is  apparently  a 
very  simple  one.  Ask  an  officer 
of  the  Union  army,  and  he  will  tell  you 
that  the  North  won  because  of  our  great 
generals,  —  that  Thomas,  Sheridan,  Sher- 
man, and  Grant  broke  the  Confederacy 
to  pieces.  Ask  a  soldier  how  the  victory 
was  won,  and  he  will  tell  you  that  the 
Sixth  Corps  "  smashed  Ewell  at  Sailor's 
Creek,"  or  that  Sherman's  veterans  cut 
the  Confederacy  in  two.  Ask  a  public 
man,  and  he  will  tell  you,  perhaps  in  ten 
volumes,  that  it  was  Abraham  Lincoln  to 
whom  we  owe  the  success  of  the  Union. 
Ask  Abraham  Lincoln  himself,  and  he 
would  reply  in  the  spirit  of  those  words 
which  no  repetition  can  make  trite,  and 
which  prove  him  a  master  of  English  as 
he  was  a  master  of  men,  that  the  war  was 
carried  on  by  "  a  government  of  the  peo- 
ple, by  the  people,  and  for  the  people." 
Each  of  these  answers  is  true  so  far  as  it 
goes.  Without  commanders  of  genius 
guiding  magnificent  armies,  supported  by 
those  statesmen  of  whom  Abraham  Lin- 
coln was  the  chief;  without  the  devotion 
and  self-sacrifice  of  a  great  nation,  —  the 
Confederacy  never  could  have  been  put 
down.  Military  men  have  a  saying  that 
there  comes  a  time  in  a  campaign  when, 
if  victory  is  to  be  obtained,  it  is  neces- 
sary to  put  into  service  the  last  officer, 
the  last  man,  the  last  camp  follower,  and 
the  last  army  mule ;  and  the  triumphant 
and  complete  success  of  the  northern 
arms  in  the  Civil  War  is  due  to  the  fact 
that  when  the  final  test  of  strength,  came 
in  1865,  the  North  had  at  every  point 
more  officers,  more  men,  more  camp  fol- 
lowers, and  more  army  mules. 

Yet  even  an  observer  who  could  have 
foreseen  the  eventual  combination  of 
military,  material,  and  moral  forces  of  the 
northern  people,  might  still  have  predicted, 
in  1 86 1,  that  the  Southern  Confederacy 
would  obtain  its  independence.  An  ad- 
dress of  April  30,  1 86 1,  declared  that  "a 
triumphant    victory    and    independence 


with  an  unparalleled  career  of  glory, 
prosperity,  and  progress  await  us  in  the 
future."  At  the  beginning  of  the  struggle 
the  Southern  leaders,  even  those  who  best 
understood  the  fighting  spirit  of  the 
North,  were  as  confident  of  success  as 
they  were  of  the  rising  of  the  sun.  Thus 
Jefferson  Davis,  in  his  message  of  July  20, 
1 86 1,  declared  that  "to  speak  of  sub- 
jugating such  a  people,  so  united  and  de- 
termined, is  to  speak  in  a  language  in- 
comprehensible to  them."  Toward  the 
close  of  1862,  Mr.  Gladstone  made  his 
famous  declaration  —  which  he  has  lived 
to  repent  —  that  "Mr.  Jefferson  Davis 
has  made  an  army,  he  has  made  a  navy, 
and,  more  than  that,  he  has  made  a 
nation."  At  the  very  beginning  of  the 
struggle,  old  General  Wool  gave  it  as  his 
military  opinion  that  two  hundred  thou- 
sand troops  should  be  placed  in  the  field 
against  Richmond,  and  Sherman  asked 
for  a  like  number  in  Kentucky,  if  the 
movement  was  to  be  put  down  at  the  out- 
set. No  southerner  and  few  foreigners 
believed  that  the  North  possessed  a  mili- 
tary superiority  over  the  South.  To  be 
sure,  John  Bright,  who  might  with  William 
Lloyd  Garrison  have  said,  "  The  world  is 
my  country,"  not  only  asserted  the  right- 
fulness of  the  principles  of  the  North,  but 
predicted  its  success  ;  and  Cairnes,  in  his 
book  upon  the  slave-power,  showed  reason 
why  we  must  succeed ;  but  most  other 
observers  saw  only  that  Virginia  was  older 
than  Plymouth,  that  the  South  had  had  as 
long  and  as  eventful  a  history  as  the 
North,  that  in  the  Revolution  and  after  it 
southern  statesmen  had  stood  on  moie 
than  equal  terms  with  northern,  and  that 
for  seventy  years  the  influence  of  the 
South  had  been  predominant  in  internal 
parties  and  in  foreign  policy.  What 
reason  was  there  to  suppose  that  when 
the  two  sections  were  separated,  the  South 
would  prove  inferior?  It  was  known  that 
the  population  of  the  South  was  smaller, 
but  the  experience  of  the  world  up  to  this 
time  seemed  to  show  that  a  people  deter- 


364      WHY  THE  SOUTH  WAS  DEFEATED  IN  THE   CIVIL    WAR. 


mined  to  resist  could  not  be  permanently 
conquered  by  four  times  their  force, 
unless  a  policy  of  extermination  were 
adopted.  Holland,  with  its  two  mil- 
lions, had  sustained  itself  during  a  war  of 
seventy  years  against  the  greatest  and 
proudest  empire  of  the  world ;  Spain, 
from  1809  to  1 81 2,  had  by  a  popular  up- 
rising successfully  resisted  the  armies  of 
Napoleon ;  Ireland,  after  a  domination 
of  seven  centuries,  is  not  yet  perfectly 
subdued ;  the  American  colonies,  with  a 
population  of  three  millions,  had  suc- 
cessfully resisted  the  mother  country  with 
a  population  of  twelve  millions ;  the 
feeble  Spanish  American  colonies,  with 
the  exception  of  Cuba,  had  all  won  their 
independence  against  the  overpowering 
force  of  Spain.  The  secession  of  the 
Southern  states  and  their  acceptance  of 
the  issue  of  the  war  was,  therefore,  not  a 
foolhardy  enterprise  :  the  experience  of 
mankind  made  it  probable  that  it  would 
succeed.  Nor  did  the  Confederacy  ex- 
pect to  depend  wholly  upon  its  own  re- 
sources. One  of  the  first  acts  of  the 
Confederate  government  was  to  send  en- 
voys to  foreign  powers.  The  South  be- 
lieved that  its  cotton  was  so  essential  to 
England  and  to  France  that  they  must 
interfere,  if  necessary,  to  assist  the  infant 
nation ;  and  great  was  the  jubilation 
when,  on  the  3d  of  December,  1863, 
Pope  Pius  IX.  addressed  a  letter  to  that 
illustris  et  honorabilis  vir,  Jefferson  Davis, 
which  was  construed  by  the  Confederacy 
into  a  recognition  by  a  foreign  potentate, 
—  the  only  recognition  which  it  ever  re- 
ceived. 

The  first  years  of  the  war  were  not 
such  as  to  destroy  the  hopes  of  the  South. 
The  first  battle  of  Bull  Run,  in  1861  ;  the 
second  battle  of  Bull  Run,  and  Pittsburg 
Landing,  in  1862  •  Chickamauga,  Chancel- 
lorsville,  and  even  Gettysburg,  in  1863, 
proved  that  the  South  might  still  hope  to 
maintain  itself  in  the  field,  until  dissen- 
sions in  the  North,  or  foreign  complica- 
tions, or  the  intervention  of  foreign 
powers,  should  put  an  end  to  the  war. 
To  the  last,  the  Northern  armies  were 
fully  employed.  In  the  great  campaign 
of  1864,  Grant  lost  more  than  the  entire 
army  of  Lee  ;  and  at  the  end  of  it  Lee's 
army  was  intact.     The   military  collapse 


of  the  Confederacy  was  not  the  result  of 
happy  accident,  nor  of  overpowering 
generalship  ;  it  was  caused  by  the  steady, 
unremitting  pressure  of  an  adversary 
superior  in  forces,  in  resources,  and  in 
morale.  After  the  war  was  over,  Lee  was 
once  asked  by  a  Confederate  officer  why, 
during  the  campaign  of  1864,  he  never 
made  a  diversion  or  a  sudden  attack 
upon  Grant's  lines ;  and  Lee  replied  that 
Grant  had  but  once  throughout  the  cam- 
paign given  him  an  opportunity,  and  that 
that  opportunity  had  been  lost  by  the 
error  of  a  subordinate.  Nowhere  in  his- 
tory is  there  an  example  of  more  un- 
discouraged  attack  or  more  stubborn  re- 
sistance, than  in  the  Civil  War. 

Some  deeper  causes  must,  therefore,  be 
sought  if  we  will  account  for  the  fact  that 
not  only  was  the  South  beaten,  but  that 
the  defeat  was  overwhelming,  absolute, 
and  permanent.  There  must  have  been 
essential  differences  in  the  character  and 
the  equipment  of  the  two  sides ;  and  it  is 
the  purpose  of  this  paper  to  discuss  those 
differences,  and  to  show  what  constituted 
the  weakness  of  the  South  and  the 
strength  of  the  North.  We  shall  not 
concern  ourselves  with  the  causes  of 
secession,  with  the  question  whether  it 
was  constitutional  or  unconstitutional, 
right  or  wrong.  We  shall  simply  take 
the  two  sections  as  they  existed  on  April 
12,  1 86 1,  when  the  war  began  with  the 
firing  upon  Fort  Sumter,  and  as  they 
were  developed  down  to  the  surrender  of 
the  southern  army  in  1865.  Some  of 
these  reasons  are  to  be  found  in  the 
geographical  situation  of  the  two  parts 
of  the  country,  some  in  the  economic 
differences  of  the  two  sections,  some  in 
the  social  differences  of  civilization,  and 
some  in  the  different  moral  quality  of  the 
people  and  the  institutions  for  which  they 
were  fighting. 

At  the  beginning  of  the  struggle,  the 
advantage  of  geographical  situation 
seemed  to  be  decidedly  with  the  South. 
Leaving  out  of  account  the  territories 
and  the  two  states  of  the  Pacific  Slope, 
which  entered  very  little  into  the  military 
contest,  the  seventeen  free  states  had,  in 
i860,  768,255  square  miles,  while  the 
fifteen  slave-holding  states  had  an  area 
of  875,743    square   miles.       This    larger 


WHY  THE  SOUTH  WAS  DEFEATED  IN  THE   CIVIL    WAR.     365 


territory,  however,  was  not  in  itself  a 
source  of  military  strength.  Its  frontiers 
were  vast  and  difficult  to  defend,  and  a 
very  considerable  part  of  that  territory 
never  came  under  the  control  of  the 
Confederate  States  of  America.  In  the 
resources  of  the  soil,  in  variety  of  natural 
production,  the  South  was  in  every  way 
equal  to  the  North.  The  great  staple  of 
the  South  had  for  many  years  been  cotton. 
It  was  easily  raised,  easily  handled,  had 
considerable  value  in  small  bulk,  and 
commanded  a  good  price  in  cash  in  the 
markets  of  the  world.  The  cotton  crop 
of  i860  was  4,700,000  bales,  valued  at 
$230,000,000.  With  cotton  and  the 
proceeds  of  cotton,  the  South  was  able  to 
buy  clothing,  supplies,  and  food ;  for  it  is 
a  notable  fact  that  for  many  years  the 
South  had  been  accustomed  to  supply 
itself  in  part  with  bacon  and  corn  from 
the  northwestern  states.  One  of  the 
early  acts  of  the  Confederacy  was  to  pro- 
hibit the  exportation  of  cotton,  except 
from  Confederate  seaports  ;  it  was  hoped 
thereby  to  bring  foreign  powers  to  inter- 
fere. The  result  was  that  a  considerable 
part  of  the  cotton  crop  of  i860  and 
almost  tne  whole  of  the  crops  of  1862-3-4 
were  shut  in  by  the  blockade.  A  great 
pressure  was  brought  to  bear  by  the  Con- 
federate government  upon  the  planters, 
to  induce  them  to  sow  corn,  and  this 
pressure  had  especial  effect  in  the  year 
1864.  The  industry  of  the  people,  par- 
ticularly in  Georgia,  prepared  a  bountiful 
crop,  which  ripened  just  in  time  to  furnish 
subsistence  for  Sherman's  army  on  its 
march  to  the  Sea.  Toward  the  end  of 
the  war  the  people  of  Richmond  some- 
times suffered  for  food.  George  Cary 
Eggleston,  in  his  "  Rebel's  Recollections," 
tells  pathetic  stories  of  the  wretchedness 
to  which  the  troops  were  reduced  in 
1865  \  and  it  is  well-known  that  at  the 
surrender  of  Appomattox,  General  Lee 
was  obliged  to  ask  for  rations  for  his 
troops  from  the  commander  of  the  con- 
quering forces.  The  northern  staples 
throughout  the  war,  especially  of  bread- 
stuffs,  were  freely  exported,  and  were 
turned  into  goods  and  munitions  of  war. 
Inferior  as  the  South  was  in  its  pro- 
ducts, it  was  strong  in  natural  defences. 
The  Atlantic  and  Gulf  coasts  abounded  in 


shallow  harbors  not  easily  penetrable  by 
a  hostile  force.  It  was  a  coast  difficult 
to  invade,  yet  furnishing  many  havens 
from  which  cruisers  and  privateers  might 
sally  forth.  Throughout  the  war  no 
progress  was  made  by  northern  armies 
moving  inward  from  the  sea. 

From  the  valley  of  the  Shenandoah  to 
northern  Alabama  the  South  was  flanked 
by  a  natural  and  impregnable  defence, 
the  Appalachian  chain  of  mountains.  In 
the  condition  of  military  transportation  at 
that  time  it  was  impossible  for  a  large 
army  to  carry  with  it  the  supplies  for 
men  and  animals  necessary  for  a  march 
of  a  hundred  miles  through  a  mountain 
region.  At  the  beginning  of  the  war 
Lincoln,  with  the  supreme  common-sense 
which,  when  applied  to  military  matters, 
made  him  often  a  better  general  than  the 
generals,  suggested  that  a  railroad  should 
be  built  southeast  from  some  point  on 
the  Ohio  River,  to  penetrate  the  moun- 
tain system.  The  next  few  years 
showed  that  had  that  counsel  been  fol- 
lowed it  might  have  shortened  the  war, 
by  a  year ;  for  the  only  country  between 
Harper's  Ferry  and  northern  Mississippi 
which  at  that  time  was  penetrated  by  a 
railroad  leading  from  North  to  South  was 
the  rugged  region  lying  between  Chat- 
tanooga and  Atlanta.  Down  that  line  of 
railroad,  Sherman  fought  his  way  in  1864  ; 
and  from  Atlanta  he  proceeded  on  the 
march  which  cut  the  Confederacy  in 
twain.  Except  upon  that  line  of  railroad 
the  South  proved  impregnable  to  land 
assault  from  the  northwest. 

Another  vast  geographical  advantage 
which  the  South  possessed  at  the  begin- 
ning of  the  war  disappeared  in  1863. 
By  its  control  of  the  mouth  of  the  Missis- 
sippi, the  Southern  Confederacy  expected 
to  compel  the  friendship,  if  not  the  ad- 
hesion, of  the  upper  Mississippi  states. 
The  South  believed  that  it  held  in  its 
hand  the  key  to  the  commerce  of  the  in- 
terior of  the  Union,  and  an  early  act  of 
the  Confederate  Congress  declared  the 
Mississippi  open  to  the  friends  of  the 
Confederacy.  But  the  Erie  Canal  and 
the  four  lines  of  trans-Alleghany  railways, 
the  New  York  Central,  Erie,  Pennsylvania 
Central,  and  Baltimore  &  Ohio,  united 
the  West  still  more  strongly  to  the  East. 


366     WHY  THE  SOUTH  WAS  DEFEATED  IN  THE   CIVIL    WAR. 


The  northwestern  states  saw,  aside  from 
all  moral  questions  connected  with 
slavery,  that  the  success  of  the  Union 
meant  that  both  the  eastern  and  the 
southern  highways  would  be  opened ; 
while  the  success  of  the  Confederacy 
meant  that  one  or  the  other  must  be  in 
the  hands  of  a  hostile  power.  Whatever 
the  expectations  of  the  South,  the  cap- 
ture of  New  Orleans  in  1862,  and  of 
Vicksburg,  July  4,  1863,  not  only  dis- 
membered the  Confederacy,  but  quieted 
the  fears  of  the  northern  interior  states. 
Thenceforward,  as  Lincoln  wrote,  "  the 
Father  of  Waters  rolled  unvexed  to  the 
sea." 

Another  military  advantage  in  the 
South  was  the  sparseness  of  its  popula- 
tion, and  the  fact  that  a  great  part  of  the 
theatre  of  war  was  untilled.  Except  in 
the  Shenandoah  Valley,  to  a  less  degree 
in  Mississippi,  the  Federal  armies  could 
nowhere  support  themselves  from  the 
country  until  Sherman's  march  to  the 
sea  in  1864.  They  advanced  through 
regions  heavily  wooded,  and  they  ad- 
vanced into  an  enemy's  country.  The 
South  had  not  only  the  advantages  of 
situation,  but  of  fighting  in  the  midst  of 
a  friendly  population  and  fighting  on  the 
inside  lines.  However  unpractical  the 
transportation  system  of  the  South,  it  was 
vastly  easier  to  move  troops  from  Rich- 
mond to  Atlanta  than  from  Washington 
to  the  Mississippi.  In  a  word,  the  thea- 
tre of  the  war  was  finally  narrowed  to  the 
strip  of  territory  between  the  western  edge 
of  the  mountains  and  the  sea.  Within  that 
strip  a  smaller  number  of  troops  could 
make  head  against  a  larger  number ;  and 
in  the  later  stages  of  the  war  two  hun- 
dred thousand  Confederate  troops  kept 
a  million  northern  soldiers  employed. 

All  comparisons  of  area  and  even  of 
geographical  advantages  are  subordinate  to 
the  question  of  the  economic  resources  of 
the  two  sections,  —  in  men,  in  wealth,  in 
courage,  in  military  resources,  and  in 
means  of  communication.  And  here  we 
reach  that  disadvantage  of  the  South,  to 
which  its  conquest  must  be  chiefly  attri- 
buted. We  have,  in  the  census  of  i860, 
the  means  of  exactly  comparing  the 
population  of  the  two  sections  at  the 
outbreak    of    the    war.      The    15    slave- 


holding  states  had  a  population  of 
I2,3l5>373'>  the  x7  northern  free  states, 
from  Kansas  to  Maine,  had  a  popula- 
tion of  18,441,017  ;  that  is,  the  popula- 
tion of  the  slave-holding  region  to  the 
free  region  was  about  as  two  to  three. 
The  superiority  of  northern  numbers 
was  plainly  entirely  insufficient  for  carry- 
ing on  a  war  of  offence  and  of  conquest. 
The  proportion  between  the  population 
of  the  free  and  of  the  slaveholding  sec- 
tions had  greatly  changed  since  1790. 
In  that  year  the  South  had  a  population 
equal  to  the  combined  population  of  the 
Middle  and  New  England  states.  In 
1830,  the  North  had  gained  a  million 
more  than  the  South;  in  i860,  it  had 
gained  six  millions  more.  The  rapid 
growth  of  the  North  had  been  due  in 
great  part  to  immigration  :  of  the  4,1 36,1 75 
foreign-born  persons  within  the  limits 
of  the  United  States  in  i860,  only  about 
three  hundred  thousand  could  be  found  in 
the  slaveholding  states  outside  the  cities 
of  St.  Louis,  Louisville,  Baltimore,  and 
New  Orleans, —  all  cities  connected  as 
much  with  the  West  as  with  the  South. 
In  the  North,  the  proportion  of  foreigners 
was  twenty  per  cent.  In  the  Confed- 
eracy, it  was  three  per  cent.  The  changed 
importance  of  the  two  sections  is  shown 
in  the  census  maps  which  illustrate  the 
distribution  of  the  population  by  degrees 
of  density  in  1790  and  in  i860.  It  will 
be  seen  at  once  that  almost  all  the  areas 
of  dense  population  are  found  north  of 
the  Ohio  River,  and  of  Man-land  and 
Virginia.  The  loss  of  southern  pre- 
dominance is  shown  by  the  fact  that,  in 
1790,  of  the  seven  states  of  the  Union 
first  in  population,  four  were  slave  states ; 
in  i860,  of  the  seven  first  states,  but  one 
was  a  slave  state,  and  that  was  Missouri, 
which,  in  1 790,  had  been  a  wilderness  and 
not  within  the  limits  of  the  United  States.; 
In  fact,  nothing  can  be  more  certain  than 
that  the  Civil  War  was  precipitated  by  the 
conviction  of  southern  leaders  that  the 
North  had  such  a  growing  advantage  ic 
population  that  each  decade  of  delay 
made  the  South  weaker  in  proportion. 

So  far  we  have  compared  merely  the 
population  of  the  slave-holding  and  the 
free  states.  But  the  Southern  Confed- 
eracy, at  the  very  beginning,  encountered 


WHY  THE  SOUTH  WAS  DEFEATED  IN  THE   CIVIL   WAR.     367 


a  fatal  disappointment :  it  failed  to 
carry  with  it  four  of  the  slave-holding 
states,  Missouri,  Maryland,  Delaware, 
Kentucky,  and  a  part  of  a  fifth,  West 
Virginia.  These  states,  having  a  com- 
bined population  of  3,600,000  people, 
never  seceded,  never  furnished  money  for 
the  Confederate  cause,  and  the  men  who 
entered  the  Confederate  army  from  those 
states  were  nearly  offset  by  the  moun- 
taineers from  Tennessee  and  North  Caro- 
lina, who  entered  the  Union  Army. 
The  action  of  a  few  patriotic  men  like 
Holt  of  Kentucky,  Fletcher  of  Missouri, 
and  Brown  of  Maryland,  and  the  prompt 
action  of  Butler  and  Fremont  and  Buell 
and  Grant,  in  securing  a  military  occupa- 
tion of  those  states,  prevented  them  from 
throwing  in  their  lot  with  the  Confed- 
eracy. The  population  of  the  eleven 
seceding  states  was  8,700,000  :  the  pop- 
ulation of  the  twenty-one  non-seceding 
states,  from  Kansas  to  Maine,  was  21,- 
950,000.  Instead  of  the  odds  of  pop- 
ulation being  three  to  two  in  favor  of  the 
North,  they  were  thus  made  five  to  two. 
With  proper  military  management,  aided 
by  a  spirited  support  from  the  northern 
people,  the  defeat  of  the  South  was  there- 
fore physically  possible ;  indeed,  defeat 
was  likely.  Nor  was  this  the  only  advan- 
tage gained  by  the  North,  in  its  rela- 
tions with  the  border  states  in  1861. 
The  theatre  of  war  was  thrust  further 
south.  The  possession  of  Kentucky  and 
Missouri  enabled  the  northern  troops  to 
block  the  entrance  of  the  Tennessee  and 
of  the  Missouri  rivers ;  and  the  military 
occupation  of  the  border  states,  which 
were  justly  assumed  to  be  lukewarm  in 
their  support  of  the  Union,  made  it  pos- 
sible to  return  members  of  Congress 
from  those  states,  who  did  not  repre- 
sent their  people  ;  thus  was  insured  that 
compact  majority  in  Congress  which 
supported  the  President,  pressed  for- 
ward the  war,  urged  through  the  con- 
stitutional amendments,  and  completed 
the  process  of  reconstruction.  When 
Virginia,  on  April,  1861,  responded  to 
the  President's  call  for  troops  with  defi- 
ance, she  did  it  because  she  understood, 
as  Von  Hoist  has  well  said,  that  she 
belonged  either  to  hammer  or  anvil,  and 
she   preferred    to    strike    rather    than   to 


receive  a  blow.  When  the  secession 
of  Maryland,  Kentucky,  and  Missouri 
was  prevented,  they  did  not  remove 
the  war  from  their  borders ;  but  their 
strength  was  lost  to  the  weaker  party,  if 
not  wholly  transferred  to  the  stronger. 

If  the  South  were  to  win,  then  a  nu- 
merical inferiority  must  be  made  up  by  a 
superiority  of  resources ;  but  in  wealth 
still  more  than  in  numbers  the  South  had 
lagged  behind.  In  the  seceding  states, 
56,000,000  acres  of  land  were  improved, 
and  the  total  value  of  farm  lands  was 
$1,850,000,000.  In  the  North  and  the 
border  states  the  improved  land  was  less 
than  twice  as  great  in  area  but  its  value 
was  $4,800,600,000,  or  more  than  two  and 
a  half  times  as  much.  Throughout  the 
South,  the  tillage  was  primitive  and  rude 
and  most  of  it  was  carried  on  by  slave 
labor ;  in  the  North,  machinery  and  im- 
proved processes  made  it  possible  to  raise 
a  larger  crop  in  proportion  to  the  laborers 
employed.  Manufactures  of  every  kind 
were  wofully  deficient  in  the  South. 
In  a  region  including  the  enormous  coal 
and  iron  beds  of  Alabama,  and  Georgia, 
one  of  the  richest  deposits  on  the  face 
of  the  earth,  there  was  but  one  large  blast 
furnace  and  ten  rail  mills.  To  manufac- 
ture its  great  staple,  cotton,  the  South 
had  but  150  factories,  against  more  than 
900  in  the  North,  and  the  value  of  the 
manufactured  fabric  of  the  South  was  but 
$8,000,000,  in  the  total  of  $115,000,000. 
Of  the  1260  woollen  factories  of  the  coun- 
try, 78  were  in  the  South.  The  manu- 
facture of  clothing,  an  essential  industry 
when  war  is  going  on,  employed,  in  i860, 
less  than  2,000  persons  in  the  Southern 
states,  and  nearly  100,000  in  the  North. 
Of  boots  and  shoes,  the  South  furnished 
but  three  per  cent  of  the  product.  Well 
did  the  Lynchburg  Virginian  say  : 

"  Dependent  upon  Europe  and  the  North  for 
almost  every  yard  of  cloth,  and  every  coat  and 
boot  and  hat  that  we  wear,  for  our  axes,  scythes, 
tubs,  and  buckets,  in  short,  for  everything  except 
our  bread  and  meat,  it  must  occur  to  the  South 
that  if  our  relations  with  the  North  are  ever  sev- 
ered, —  and  how  soon  they  may  be  none  can 
know;  may  God  forbid  it  long!  —  we  should,  in 
all  the  South,  not  be  able  to  clothe  ourselves;  we 
could  not  fill  our  firesides,  plough  our  fields,  nor 
mow  our  meadows;  in  fact,  we  should  be  reduced 
to  a  state  more  abject  than  we  are  willing  to  look 
at  even  prospectively.     And  yet,  all  of  these  things 


368     WHY  THE  SOUTH  WAS  DEFEATED  IN  THE   CIVIL   WAR. 


staring  us  in  the  face,  we  shut  our  eyes  and  go  in 
blindfold." 

The  accumulated  wealth  of  the  two 
sections  is  hard  to  estimate.  The  real 
estate  of  the  South  was,  in  i860,  valued 
at  under  $2,000,000,000;  that  of  the 
North  at  over  $5,000,000,000.  The  per- 
sonal estate  of  each  was  returned  at 
about  $2,500,000,000  ;  but  in  the  South 
that  personalty  consisted  in  great  part  of 
slaves,  a  form  of  riches  which  proved  to 
have  a  singular  aptitude  for  taking  to  it- 
self wings  and  flying  away.  Perhaps  a 
better  comparison  of  wealth  is  that  of 
imports.  In  i860  the  South  imported 
$31,000,000  worth  of  goods,  and  the 
North,  $331,000,000  worth. 

In  modern  warfare,  however,  credit  is 
often  as  valuable  as  property.  Here 
again  the  South  was  from  the  first  in  the 
position  of  inferiority.  At  the  beginning 
of  the  war,  the  South  had  a  banking 
capital  of  $47,000,000 ;  the  North,  of 
about  $330,000,000.  The  accumulation 
of  specie  and  of  stocks  of  goods  in  the 
South  were  probably  not  one- seventh  of 
those  in  the  North.  The  very  first  at- 
tempts to  raise  money  on  any  consider- 
able scale  showed  the  weakness  of  the 
South.  The  taxes  were  rigorous  and 
steadily  increased,  but  the  money  with 
which  to  pay  them  did  not  exist ;  and  pro- 
vision for  payment  in  kind  was  made 
at  the  very  beginning.  Cotton  and  food 
products  were  the  usual  legal-tender,  but 
at  one  time  the  women  of  the  South 
were  called  upon  to  subscribe  their  hair 
to  be  sold  for  the  support  of  the  govern- 
ment, and  they  responded  in  that  spirit 
of  heroic  self-devotion  which  marked  the 
southern  women  throughout  the  struggle. 
It  is  impossible  to  give  the  figures  of  the 
revenue  or  expenditure  of  the  Confederate 
government  after  the  first  year  of  the  war. 
It  is  probable  that  in  no  year  did  the 
government  receive  in  taxes  and  loans 
the  equivalent  of  $100,000,000  in  green- 
back currency ;  while  the  North  in  the 
year  1865  raised  in  taxes,  $322,000,000, 
and  borrowed  $1,472,000,000  a  consid- 
erable part  abroad.  Of  the  debt  of 
the  Confederacy  it  is  equally  impossible 
to  speak  with  accuracy.  On  one  occa- 
sion the  Secretary  of  the  Confederate 
Treasury  sent  into   Congress  a  report  in 


which  he  stated  the  outstanding  debt. 
The  next  day  the  report  was  withdrawn 
because  a  trifling  error  in  the  total  had 
been  discovered.  The  error  was  $400,- 
000,000  ;  what  the  total  must  have  been 
may  be  left  to  the  imagination.  It  is 
enough  to  say  that  the  resources  of  the 
country  were  drained  for  the  support  of 
the  government,  that  paper  money  was 
floated  until  it  would  float  no  longer, 
until  it  was  signed  in  baskets  full  by 
young  ladies  of  good  family  in  Richmond, 
until  post-office  clerks  resigned  because 
they  could  no  longer  live  on  nine  thou- 
sand dollars  a  year.  The  popular  state 
of  mind  in  regard  to  southern  finances 
is  well  stated  in  a  story  related  by  a  Con- 
federate officer.  A  raw-boned  country- 
man was  seen  riding  through  the  camp 
upon  a  fine  horse.  An  officer  stopped  him 
and  offered  him  five  hundred  dollars  for 
the  horse.  "  What/'  said  the  man,"  "  five 
hundred  dollars  for  that  horse?  Five 
hundred  dollars  !  "  he  repeated.  "  Why, 
I  paid  a  thousand  dollars  this  morning 
for  currying  of  him."  Mr.  Eggleston  re- 
lated that  the  highest  price  he  ever  saw 
paid  was  five  hundred  dollars  for  a  pair  of 
boots.  After  Lee's  surrender,  wThen  no 
amount  of  Confederate  currency  was  of 
any  value,  and  greenbacks  were  hard  to 
obtain,  a  Virginia  gentleman  travelled  a 
long  distance  with  no  other  funds  than 
a  keg  of  molasses  :  for  entertainment  or 
ferriage,  he  simply  opened  the  spigot  and 
let  a  sufficient  quantity  flow  to  pay  his  bill. 

The  poverty  of  the  South,  a  poverty 
made  more  unendurable  by  the  rigorous 
blockade,  bore  especially  hard  in  the  mat- 
ter of  military  supplies.  The  one  large 
iron  works  in  the  country,  the  Tredegar, 
was  run  night  and  day  to  supply  materials. 
Arms,  cannon,  munitions  could  be  im- 
ported in  limited  quantities  by  the  block- 
ade runners ;  clothing  came  in  the  same 
way ;  but  medical  supplies,  hospital  com- 
forts, even  food,  were  often  lacking.  Ac- 
cording to  a  Confederate  officer,  gre:.t 
was  the  joy  expressed  in  the  army  when, 
by  a  convenient  obliquity  of  vision  on  the 
part  of  General  Butler,  who  commanded 
the  Union  lines  at  that  point,  a  cargo  of 
Bermuda  onions  was  brought  through  the 
Union  lines  and  issued  to  Lee's  army. 

The   North,   on    the    other    hand,  was 


WHY  THE  SOUTH  WAS  DEFEATED  IN  THE   CIVIL    WAR.     369 


supplied  with  all  that  a  rich  country 
could  furnish,  or  that  money  could  buy 
in  foreign  countries.  No  army  in  the 
history  of  the  world  was  ever  so  well  fed, 
probably  no  army  was  ever  so  well 
clothed,  as  that  of  the  United  States. 
No  army  has  ever  had  such  a  well- 
organized  and  devoted  corps  of  men  and 
women  to  care  for  wounded  and  sick. 
And  when  we  consider,  as  we  must  with 
a  shudder,  the  sufferings  of  northern  sol- 
diers in  the  southern  prison  pens,  we  must 
remember  that,  while  the  worst  horrors 
of  their  confinement  were  caused  by  the 
deliberate  neglect  and  brutality  of  those 
in  charge  of  their  camps,  their  coarse 
food  and  wretched  clothing  were  often  no 
worse  than  those  of  the  southern  troops 
in  the  front. 

Yet  there  were  still,  after  the  sur- 
render of  Lee  and  Johnston,  many  thou- 
sands of  men  under  arms,  and  a  guerilla 
warfare  would  have  been  possible. 
The  Mississippi  was  ploughed  from  its 
source  to  the  sea  by  northern  steamers, 
yet  the  troops  of  Arkansas,  Texas,  and 
Louisiana  had  still  managed  to  reach  the 
main  Confederate  armies.  Sherman  made 
his  magnificent  march  from  Atlanta  to  the 
sea,  and  the  country  closed  behind  him 
unconquered  and  ungarrisoned.  But  the 
very  magnitude  of  the  efforts  put  forth  by 
the  South  had  convinced  it  that  longer 
resistance  was  useless.  The  true  military 
reason  for  the  collapse  of  the  Confederacy 
is  to  be  found,  not  so  much  in  the  fearful 
hammer-like  blows  of  Thomas,  Sherman, 
and  Grant,  as  in  the  efforts  of  an  unseen 
enemy,  the  ships  of  the  blockading  squad- 
rons. Never  in  the  history  of  the  world 
has  a  navy  been  called  upon  to  perform 
such  a  difficult  and  almost  impossible 
task  as  fell  to  the  American  navy.  A 
coast-line  of  two  thousand  five  hundred 
miles  with  more  than  thirty  ports  practi- 
cable for  blockade  runners,  was  so  sealed 
up  that  the  South  was  thrown  upon  its  own 
resources.  The  struggle  could  not  be 
prolonged,  because  the  army  could  be 
neither  fed  nor  supplied  from  the  cotton 
bales.  The  wealth  of  the  country  went 
to  waste  because  it  could  not  be  ex- 
changed for  the  foreign  products  essen- 
tial for  the  prosecution  of  the  war. 

The  limited  military  resources  of  the 


South  were  made  less  available  because 
of  the  lack  of  sufficient  internal  transpor- 
tation. The  water-ways,  both  on  the 
rivers  and  to  the  eastward,  were  early 
occupied  or  blockaded  by  the  North. 
Union  troops  could  be  shipped  from  New 
York  to  Hampton  Roads,  or  to  Florida, 
or  to  Mobile,  or  to  New  Orleans  ;  after 
the  first  months  of  the  war  no  Confed- 
erate troops  could  be  forwarded  by  sea. 
The  country  therefore  was  thrown  upon 
its  railroads.  These  roads  were  few,  im- 
properly built,  as  had  been  the  case  also 
in  the  North,  and  they  steadily  deteri- 
orated. When  the  rails  wore  out  new 
ones  could  at  last  no  longer  be  provided ; 
when  locomotives  broke  down,  unless  a 
northern  prisoner  consented  to  repair 
them,  there  were  no  mechanics  at  hand. 
Important  links,  necessary  to  complete 
the  connection  between  the  Southwest 
and  the  Coast  were  never  built.  The 
raids  and  the  long  marches  at  the  end  of 
the  war  so  completed  the  ruin  of  the 
railroads  that  there  was  practically  noth- 
ing left  of  them  but  the  road  beds.  And 
thus  the  Confederates,  who  in  the  first 
battle  of  Bull  Run  were  the  first  com- 
batants in  history  to  reinforce  an  army 
over  a  railroad,  were  at  the  end  often 
reduced  to  the  southern  "  dirt  roads," 
than  which  no  highway  can  be  worse ; 
and  at  the  same  time  they  saw  their  old 
railroads  repaired  and  mended  by  north- 
ern mechanics  under  the  protection  of 
northern  troops,  and  bringing  northern 
armies  down  to  complete  their  conquest. 
A  venerable  though  scarcely  reverent 
proverb  assures  us  that  God  is  on  the  side 
of  the  strongest  battalions.  The  battalions 
of  the  North,  as  we  have  seen,  were 
stronger  than  those  of  the  South  in  num- 
bers, in  resources,  in  military  supplies, 
and  in  means  of  communication.  The 
northern  people  excelled  in  organization, 
were  little,  if  at  all,  inferior  in  military 
aptitude,  and  they  were  free  from  the 
weakening  influence  of  slavery.  If  the 
forces  of  the  two  sections  were  all  drawn 
out  and  employed,  and  if  they  were  left 
to  fight  their  battles  alone,  the  North 
must  therefore  in  the  end  be  victorious. 
Moreover,  the  North  had  such  a  large 
surplus  of  strength  and  resources  that  it 
misrht  do   less   than   its  utmost  and   still 


370     WHY  THE  SOUTH  WAS  DEFEATED  IN  THE   CIVIL    WAR. 


overpower  the  South.  The  North  never 
put  forth  quite  its  full  strength.  The 
border  states  were  throughout  the  war 
occupied  as  advanced  posts  ;  troops  were 
raised  in  them,  but  the  people  were  never 
completely  trusted;  when  after  1864,  it 
was  seen  that  slavery  was  to  be  destroyed 
everywhere,  and  that  the  compensation 
to  their  slaves  once  refused  by  the  border 
states,  would  not  again  be  offered,  those 
states  continued  a  source  of  weakness 
rather  than  of  strength.  Throughout  the 
Union,  indeed,  there  was  opposition  to 
the  war  or  to  the  manner  in  which  it  was 
carried  on.  As  wise  and  self-sustained 
a  President  as  Lincoln  felt  unable  to 
withstand  the  pressure  to  appoint  officers 
for  political  rather  than  for  military  rea- 
sons. 

The  war  period  was  a  time  of  great 
commercial  and  economic  development. 
Farms  were  being  taken  up  in  the  West. 
From  1861  to  1865,  4,700,000  acres  of 
the  public  domain  passed  from  the  owner- 
ship of  the  government  to  that  of  settlers. 
The  railroads  increased  from  31,286 
miles  to  35,085  miles,  or  one-eighth, 
during  the  four  years  of  war. 

Imports,  which  in  all  the  United 
States,  including  the  seceding  states,  had 
been  in  i860,  362  millions,  in  1864 
were'  329  millions  for  the  loyal  states 
alone.  The  country  presented  the  strik- 
ing spectacle  of  a  nation  advancing  from 
year  to  year  in  wealth  and  population, 
while  fighting  an  expensive  and  bloody 
war.  The  total  number  of  enlistments 
and  re-enlistments  in  the  North  and  bor- 
der states  during  the  four  years  of  the 
war,  is  stated  at  2,859,132,  out  of  a  total 
population  of  22,000,000,  and  a  popula- 
tion of  men  between  eighteen  and  forty- 
five  of  4,470,000.  The  greatest  number 
under  arms  at  one  time  was  1,000,516, 
May  1,  1865.  The  enlistments  in  the 
South  during  the  same  period,  were  pos- 
sibly 1,200,000  of  the  total  population. 
Both  sections  put  forth  all  the  effort  and 
sent  forward  all  the  men  that  the  country 
could  be  induced  to  furnish ;  but  the 
power  which  stood  upon  the  defensive, 
was  able  to  call  forth,  to  repel  invaders, 
and  to  secure  independence,  a  degree 
of  sacrifice  which  no  offensive  war  could 
have  commanded. 


From  the  middle  of  1862,  the  north- 
ern troops  were  constantly  pressing  upon 
the  South,  and  occupying  one  belt  of 
territory  after  another.  The  result  was  a 
loss  of  a  considerable  portion  of  the 
troops  who  might  have  been  raised  out 
of  the  conquered  regions.  As  the  ne- 
cessity for  raising  men  grew,  the  circle 
out  of  which  those  men  could  be  raised, 
narrowed ;  and  as  hope  died  out,  men 
deserted  by  thousands,  until  in  the  last 
despairing  days  of  the  Confederacy, 
President  Davis  and  General  Lee  agreed 
that  the  last  possibility  of  success  was  in 
arming  the  negroes,  and  a  company  of 
black  convicts  from  the  Richmond  jails 
was  actually  organized. 

In  the  struggle  between  two  powers,  in 
which  one  had  such  a  superiority  of  num- 
bers and  of  resources,  there  was  but  one 
thing  which  could  give  the  South  any  hope. 
If  the  people  were  superior  in  organiza- 
tion, in  intelligence,  in  military  aptitude, 
in  moral  qualities,  they  might  still  stand 
out  against  the  overwhelming  odds,  and 
might  secure  their  independence.  Many 
things  in  the  political  and  social  organi- 
zation of  the  South  adapted  it  for  war. 
In  the  first  place  the  South  had,  or  sup- 
posed it  had,  able  leaders,  both  civil  and 
military.  Jefferson  Davis,  who  was  al- 
most without  opposition  to  be  president 
of  the  Confederacy,  was  a  man  of  both 
civil  and  military  experience.  As  Secre- 
tary of  War,  under  President  Pierce,  he 
had  been  an  excellent  official :  as  a  grad- 
uate of  West  Point  and  an  officer,  he  had 
seen  active  service  in  the  Mexican  War. 
He  believed  with  some  reason,  that  he 
had  distinct  military  genius.  In  fact,  it 
is  related  on  confederate  authority  that 
Mrs.  Davis  once  remarked  of  him  that 
"  Jeff  had  but  two  faults ;  he  preferred 
West  Point  graduates  and  his  first  wife's 
relations."  General  Braxton  Bragg,  who 
was  defeated  by  Sherman  at  Mission 
Ridge,  was  one  of  the  first  wife's  rela- 
tions. Davis  was  believed  in  the  South 
and  abroad  to  be  a  statesman  of  ability 
and  of  force.  This  reputation  he  was 
unable  to  justify,  because  he  was  continu- 
ally called  upon  to  strain  the  powers 
of  government  to  their  utmost  limit,  and 
perhaps  a  little  farther.  When  disasters 
came    showering  upon  the  Confederacy, 


WHY  THE  SOUTH  WAS  DEFEATED  IN  THE   CIVIL    WAR.     371 


there  was  a  natural  tendency  to  hold 
some  one  person  responsible,  and  there 
was  an  organized  opposition  against 
Davis,  —  represented  by  Pollard,  who  has 
done  so  much  through  his  "  Lost  Cause  " 
to  tincture  the  popular  impression  of 
the  Confederacy  during  the  Civil  War. 
Stephens,  as  vice-president,  and  thus  as 
removed  from  the  active  control  of  af- 
fairs, represented  what  would  have  been 
called  before  the  war  a  State  Rights 
tendency.  The  other  civil  leaders,  with 
a  few  exceptions,  showed  a  singular  in- 
competency. It  was  remarked  that  the 
Confederate  Congress  was  a  place  for 
men  to  lose  the  reputation  which  they 
had  previously  acquired  in  Washington. 
President  Davis's  cabinet  was  made  up 
in  great  part  of  feeble  or  incapable  men. 
One  Secretary  of  War,  Mr.  Sedden,  ex- 
cited great  dissatisfaction  because  it  was 
found  that  he  had  fixed  an  official  price 
of  forty  dollars  per  bushel  for  wheat,  and 
then  had  sold  his  own  wheat  to  the  gov- 
ernment at  that  enhanced  price.  In 
the  subordinate  departments  of  govern- 
ment, incapacity  was  almost  the  rule. 
The  commercial  training  of  the  North 
had  raised  up  a  race  of  capable  young 
men  accustomed  to  business  affairs.  In 
every  regiment  there  could  be  found 
among  the  private  soldiers  men  who 
wrote  good  hands  and  could  keep  books, 
and  who  were  drawn  into  the  adjutant's 
and  commissariat's  departments.  In  the 
South  it  was  difficult  to  find  men  capable 
of  understanding  or  of  keeping  accounts, 
and  throughout  the  war  the  commissariat 
was  the  most  hopelessly  deficient  of  all 
the  military  departments.  The  result 
was  a  waste  of  resource  and  effort.  In 
the  book  called  the  "  Rebel  War  Clerk's 
Diary  "  and  in  George  Cary  Eggleston's 
"Rebel's  Recollections,"  are  recorded 
many  entertaining  and  pathetic  incidents. 
Here  is  an  example  of  the  lack  of 
organization  and  business  system.  There 
was  established  in  Richmond  a  vexa- 
tious system  of  passports,  applying  as 
well  to  civilians  as  to  soldiers.  It  was  so 
administered  as  to  cause  delay  and  ex- 
pense to  persons  passing  through  the  city 
on  business  for  the  government,  but  to 
afford  no  obstacle  to  spies  and  illicit 
traders.     Inquiry  was  finally  made  as  to 


the  authority  under  which  this  system 
came  to  be  established,  and  when  run  to 
earth  it  appeared  that  a  secretary  no 
longer  in  office  had  given  an  order,  which 
he  had  not  ventured  to  commit  to  writing. 

"  From  the  beginning  to  the  end  of  the 
war,"  says  an  officer,  "  the  commissariat 
was  just  sufficiently  well-managed  to  keep 
the  troops  in  a  state  of  semi-starvation. 
On  one  occasion  the  company  of  artil- 
lery to  which  I  was  attached,  lived  for 
thirteen  days  in  winter  quarters  on  a 
daily  dole  of  half  a  pint  of  cornmeal 
per  man,  while  food  in  abundance  was 
stored  within  five  miles  of  its  camp  —  a 
railroad  uniting  the  two  places,  and  the 
wagons  of  the  battery  being  idle  all  the 
time."  Nevertheless,  with  all  the  de- 
fects of  organization,  the  leaders  under- 
stood their  people,  and  they  were  able  to 
call  to  their  assistance  all  the  military  and 
intellectual  strength  of  the  country.  On 
the  other  hand,  the  political  system  of 
the  South  had  accustomed  the  people  to 
pay  a  deference  to  leaders  unusual  in  the 
North.  The  distinction  of  classes  was 
such  that  a  rough  but  efficient  military 
discipline  was  possible.  Between  the 
civil  and  military  leaders  there  existed  a 
far  greater  degree  of  harmony  than  in  the 
North.  It  was  notorious  that  President 
Davis  disliked  General  Joe  Johnston ; 
but,  on  the  other  hand,  from  1862 
to  1865,  while  the  Army  of  the  Potomac 
fought  under  eight  different  commanders, 
the  Southern  Army  of  Virginia  never 
was  removed  from  the  command  of 
Robert  E.  Lee. 

It  is  a  remarkable  fact  that  the  South- 
ern Confederacy,  formed  as  a  protest 
against  the  alleged  centralizing  tendencies 
of  the  United  States  government,  suffered 
a  greater  degree  of  centralization  than  its 
rival  in  Washington.  The  conscription 
of  troops  was  carried  to  such  a  degree 
that  Governor  Brown  of  Georgia  refused 
in  set  terms  to  permit  the  Confederate 
recruiting  officers  to  exercise  their  func- 
tions within  his  state.  In  December, 
1862,  was  made  a  leve  en  masse  of  the 
able-bodied  male  population  between 
the  ages  of  eighteen  and  forty-five.  The 
familiar  fact  that  since  the  Civil  War,  men 
connected  with  the  Confederate  army 
have  been  preferred  in   the  elections  in 


372     WHY  THE  SOUTH  WAS  DEFEATED  IN  THE   CIVIL    WAR. 


the  South  is  due  not  so  much  to  a  wish  to 
show  them  honor,  as  to  the  fact  that 
almost  every  man  of  any  force  of  char- 
acter was  compelled  by  public  sentiment 
to  enter  the  army.  One  reason  for  the 
concentration  of  power  in  the  Con- 
federacy was  that  the  supreme  court, 
which  was  to  have  formed  a  department 
of  the  government,  was  never  organized. 
There  was,  therefore,  no  legal  check  upon 
the  Congress  or  the  President.  What- 
ever the  Confederacy  contained  in  money, 
in  men,  in  supplies,  in  food,  could  be 
brought  into  the  service  of  the  govern- 
ment. 

The  internal  workings  of  the  Con- 
federate government  were  by  no  means 
smooth.  Almost  from  the  beginning 
there  was  in  Congress  an  organized 
opposition  to  President  Davis.  As  that 
body  sat  usually  in  secret  session,  the  de- 
tails of  the  attacks  upon  the  President 
and  his  policy  have  not  been  made  pub- 
lic. But  the  following  extract  from 
Pollard's  "Lost  Cause,"  the  work  of  an 
editor  of  the  Richmond  Examiner,  shows 
the  spirit  of  his  opponents,  about  the 
end  of  the  war  : 

"The  influence  of  President  Davis  was  almost 
entirely  gone,  and  ....  the  party  which  sup- 
ported him  was  scarcely  anything  more  than  that 
train  of  followers  which  always  fawns  on  power 
and  lives  on  patronage  ....  all  the  public 
measures  of  Mr.  Davis's  administration  had  come 
to  be  wrecks  ....  it  was  no  longer  possible  to 
dispute  the  question  of  maladministration." 

A  recent  examination  of  the  journals, 
however,  shows  that  President  Davis  in 
his  four  years  of  service  vetoed  thirty- 
eight  bills,  of  which  but  one,  an  unim- 
portant measure  for  the  forwarding  of 
newspapers  to  the  soldiers  without  pay- 
ment of  postage,  was  passed  over  the 
veto.  During  the  same  period  of  four 
years,  President  Lincoln  vetoed  but  three 
bills. 

The  relations  between  the  Confederate 
government  and  the  states  were  closer 
than  between  the  United  States  and  its 
members.  Almost  the  only  case  of  con- 
flict between  the  Confederate  and  the 
state  authorities  is  the  refusal  of  Governor 
Brown  to  permit  conscription  in  Georgia. 
There  are,  however,  two  other  interesting 
instances  of  local  opposition  to  Con- 
federate   authorities.       Resolutions   were 


adopted  in  November,  1861,  by  the  peo- 
ple of  Winston  County,  Alabama,  setting 
forth  the  fact  that  515  Union  men  were 
still  to  be  found  in  that  county  against 
128  "secessionists  and  legal  voters,"  of 
whom  70  were  in  the  Confederate  army. 
The  Unionists  still  refused  to  assist  the 
Confederacy,  and  were  organized  in 
military  companies.  A  much  more  amus- 
ing case  is  that  of  Jones  County,  Missis- 
sippi. The  3,300  people  of  this  county 
became  tired  of  the  burdens  of  the  Civil 
War,  and  by  a  convention  held  in  1862 
formally  seceded  from  the  state  and  Con- 
federacy : 

"  Whereas  the  State  of  Mississippi,  for  reasons 
which  appear  justifiable,  has  seen  ht  to  withdraw 
from  the  Federal  Union,  and  whereas  we,  the 
citizens  of  Jones  County,  claim  the  same  right, 
thinking  our  grievances  are  sufficient  by  reason 
of  an  unjust  law  passed  by  the  Confederate  States 
of  America,  forcing  us  to  go  to  distant  parts,  etc., 
etc.  Therefore,  be  it  resolved,  that  we  sever  the 
union  heretofore  existing  between  Jones  County 
and  the  State  of  Mississippi,  and  proclaim  our 
Independence  of  the  said  State,  and  of  the  Con- 
federate States  of  America  —  and  we  solemnly  call 
upon  Almighty  God  to  witness  and  bless  the 
act." 

A  resolution  offering  their  alliance  to 
the  United  States  was  not  adopted.  The 
sovereign  nation  of  Jones  County  with  its 
president,  cabinet,  Congress,  code  of 
laws,  and  conscription  and  confiscation 
acts  —  nailed  to  trees,  since  there  was  no 
newspaper  in  the  commonwealth  —  was 
able  for  some  time  to  maintain  itself  in 
the  midst  of  the  swamps  against  the 
troops  sent  to  subdue  it.  Finally,  by  the 
aid  of  field  guns  the  infant  common- 
wealth was  overcome  and  the  authority 
of  the  Confederacy  was  restored.  The 
swift  and  ruthless  exercise  of  military 
powers,  wherever  the  Confederacy  had 
authority,  is  in  striking  contrast  with  the 
halting  military  relations  between  the 
United  States  of  America  and  the  states 
composing  it.  Among  the  northern  states 
there  were  always  unsettled  questions  of 
the  supply  of  troops  and  of  the  appor- 
tionment of  quotas. 

As  a  military  agent,  then,  the  southern 
Confederacy  was  decidedly  superior  to 
the  Union ;  and  this  superiority  was  due 
in  part  to  a  habit  of  deference  and  obedi- 
ence to  command  uncommon  to  the  North, 
in  part  to  the  fact  that  the  President  him- 


WHY  THE  SOUTH  WAS  DEFEATED  IN  THE   CIVIL   WAR.     373 


self  was  a  military  man,  in  part  to  the 
arbitrary  character  of  the  government,  in 
part  to  the  personal  character  and  the 
permanence  of  the  military  commanders. 
This  advantage  was  to  a  large  degree 
offset  by  an  inferior  intelligence  of  the  rank 
and  file  of  the  Confederate  armies.  Pro- 
fessor Hosmer,  in  the  title  of  one  of  his 
books,  "The  Thinking  Bayonet,"  suggests 
the  essential  of  good  military  service.  In 
the  ruder  warfare  of  ancient  and  mediaeval 
times,  the  strength  of  an  army  was  the 
sum  of  the  physical  strength  of  its  mem- 
bers ;  since  the  introduction  of  long- 
range  weapons,  the  efficiency  of  the 
soldier  depends  not  upon  his  ability  to 
wield  a  two-handed  sword,  but  upon  his 
ability  to  march,  to  bear  hardship,  and  to 
keep  cool.  Intelligent  troops  have,  there- 
fore, a  fundamental  advantage  over  the 
less  intelligent,  and  in  this  respect  the 
South  was  from  the  beginning  handi- 
capped. Here,  ag.iin,  we  have  in  the 
secession  of  i860,  ground  for  interesting 
comparisons.  The  highest  classes  in  the 
South,  and  particularly  the  military  officers, 
were  well  educated.  Jefferson  in  1820 
had  complained  that  "  Harvard  will  still 
prime  it  over  us  with  her  twenty  pro- 
fessors; "  while  Princeton  was  half  Vir- 
ginian, and  five  hundred  young  men  were 
"  at  college  in  the  North  imbibing  prin- 
ciples contrary  to  those  of  their  own 
country."  The  sending  of  southern 
young  men  of  wealth  to  northern  colleges 
continued  ;  but  the  population  from  which 
the  rank  and  file  of  the  Confederate  army 
was  taken  was  ignorant,  and  a  large  number 
were  illiterate.  Of  the  2,500,000  white 
persons  above  the  age  of  twenty  in  the 
South  in  i860,  412,256  could  neither 
read  nor  write.  Of  3,100  newspapers 
and  periodicals  published  in  1861,  the 
South  had  but  703.  Nor  was  the  de- 
ficiency in  book  education  atoned  for  by 
a  larger  experience  of  life.  The  south- 
ern soldiers  had  most  of  them  spent  their 
lives  within  a  radius  of  a  few  miles. 
They  were  unaccustomed  to  variety,  un- 
able to  endure  violent  changes.  It  is  a 
striking  fact,  attested  upon  the  most 
trustworthy  statistics,  that  the  percentage 
of  southern  prisoners  who  died  in  the 
well-conducted  northern  prison  of  Elmira, 
was  greater  than  the  percentage  of  north- 


ern prisoners  who  died  in  Andersonville. 
The  reason  for  this  difference,  as  stated 
by  surgeons  who  saw  northern  and  southern 
men  in  the  same  hospital  wards,  is  simply 
that  the  southern  men  lacked  the  endu- 
rance possessed  by  men  more  accustomed 
to  change.  One  such  surgeon  is  accus- 
tomed to  say  that  no  men  habitually  fed 
on  corn  bread  could  compete  with  men 
habitually  fed  on  wheat.  Differences  of 
diet,  of  habit,  of  climate,  had  tended  to 
make  out  of  the  South  a  race  easily  in- 
cited to  the  fiercest  of  rapid  effort,  but 
which  was  less  able  to  bear  continuous 
fighting  and  hardship. 

The  southern  leaders  were  of  course 
aware  of  the  fact  that  their  followers 
lacked  education,  but  they  believed  that 
they  possessed  a  superior  military  apti- 
tude. At  the  beginning  of  the  contest, 
the  South  was  able  more  quickly  to  raise 
and  to  discipline  troops,  because  the 
number  of  men  accustomed  to  handle 
the  gun  was  larger.  The  troops  for  the 
Mexican  War  had  been  raised  in  consid- 
erable part  in  the  South,  and  the  disci- 
pline and  experience  of  that  contest  were 
therefore  gained  chiefly  by  the  Confed- 
eracy. In  officers  the  South  was  as  rich 
as  the  North,  because  the  West  Point 
cadetships  had  been  held  almost  in  equal 
number  from  the  two  sections,  and  the 
southerners  who  held  them  had  been 
more  likely  to  continue  in  military  service, 
and  to  gain  promotion.  When  the  Civil 
War  broke  out,  a  large  number  of  those 
officers  surrendered  the  posts  which  they 
commanded  to  the  authorities  of  the 
Southern  Confederacy.  Albert  Sidney 
Johnston,  in  command  of  the  post  of  San 
Francisco,  sternly  put  aside  all  sugges- 
tions that  he  should  follow  their  example, 
placed  the  post  in  the  hands  of  an  officer 
appointed  to  succeed  him,  and  then  re- 
signed his  command  and  entered  the 
Confederate  service. 

The  confidence  of  the  officers  in  their 
material  was  on  the  whole  justified.  An 
accurate  comparison  between  the  north- 
ern and  southern  volunteers  is  almost 
impossible,  because  their  conditions  were 
never  equalized.  Clothe  the  northern 
soldier  in  the  ragged  butternut  uniform, 
feed  him  on  irregular  and  insufficient 
rations,  scantily  provide  him  with  tents  and 


374  •  WHY  THE  SOUTH  WAS  DEFEATED  IN  THE   CIVIL    WAR. 


cooking  utensils,  and  then  call  upon  him  to 
face  the  southern  soldier,  well  clothed, 
well  housed,  well  fed,  and  followed  by  a 
beneficent  sanitary  commission,  —  and 
though  the  northern  soldier  under  such 
conditions  would  have  fought  well,  he 
could  not  have  fought  better  than  his 
southern  rivals.  All  military  authorities 
unite  in  their  praise  of  that  ill-uniformed 
and  motley  army  cheerfully  following 
"Uncle  Robert"  through  the  year  1864, 
in  a  campaign  which  they  themselves  be- 
lieved to  be  hopeless.  More  active  troops 
than  Stonewall  Jackson's  foot  cavalry  never 
surprised  an  enemy  by  their  capacity  to 
be  in  two  distant  places  on  the  same  day. 
Braver  and  more  determined  hearts  never 
beat  beneath  a  uniform  than  those  in 
Pickett's  division  in  the  awful  charge  upon 
the  Union  lines  at  Gettysburg.  What 
men  could  do  with  insufficient  food  and 
material  of  war,  the  southern  troops  ac- 
complished. 

In  one  branch  of  the  service  the  Con- 
federates were,  until  well  into  the  war,  de- 
cidedly superior.  Accustomed  as  the  men 
of  the  South  were  to  the  saddle,  their  cav- 
alry was  much  more  efficient  until  northern 
commanders  like  Wilson  and  Sheridan 
learned  the  southern  tactics  from  their 
opponents.  The  light  cavalry,  the  eyes 
of  the  army,  which  made  bold  dashes 
into  the  Federal  territory,  cut  the  com- 
munications of  the  Federal  armies,  and 
threatened  cities  far  removed  from  the 
front,  —  that  light  cavalry  was  at  last  suc- 
cessfully imitated  and  repelled  by  Sheri- 
dan. 

In  considering  the  population  of  the 
Confederate  states  as  compared  with  that 
of  the  northern  states,  we  saw  that  it 
was  as  about  9,000,000  to  about  22,000,- 
000.  In  that  estimate  we  took  no  ac- 
count of  the  fact  that  of  the  able-bodied 
southerners  more  than  one-third  could 
not  be  accepted  as  soldiers.  In  the  se- 
ceding states  there  were,  in  i860,  3,511,- 
110  slaves,  and  432,586  free  colored  per- 
sons, making  a  total  of  3,943,696  negroes. 
This  leaves  5,447,219  white  persons  of 
whom  1,064,193  were  of  military  age, 
to  carry  on  a  struggle  with  18,825,275 
white  persons  in  the  North  to  whom 
it  is  fair  to  add  2,650,243  in  the  border 
states  —  thus  including  a  military  popula- 


tion of  about  4,500,000.  The  men  of 
the  South  now  know,  as  the  men  of 
the  North  came  to  understand  late  in 
the  war,  and  as  foreign  observers  like 
Cairnes  had  shown  almost  before  the  war 
began,  that  the  real  contest  of  the  strife 
was  for  the  perpetuation  or  the  destruc- 
tion of  slavery  ;  yet  from  the  moment  the 
first  shot  was  fired  from  Fort  Sumter,  to 
the  surrender  of  the  last  command  in 
1865,  that  slavery  for  which  the  South 
was  half  unconsciously  fighting  was  itself 
undermining  and  destroying  the  Confed- 
eracy. There  were  many  points  of  difference 
between  the  North  and  South,  there  were 
many  mutual  accusations  of  aggression  and 
of  bad  faith.  They  all,  however,  came 
down  to  the  simple  undeniable  truth  that 
the  North  was  opposed  to  slavery  and  meant 
to  put  an  end  to  it,  wherever  it  could  be 
reached ;  that  the  South  accepted  slavery 
as  an  inevitable  institution,  and  would 
permit  no  interference,  direct  or  indirect. 
But  for  slavery,  the  question  of  secession 
and  the  right  of  secession  could  not  have 
come  up  ;  but  for  slavery  there  could 
have  been  no  disposition  to  fire  on  Fort 
Sumter  and  no  necessity  to  defend  it ; 
but  for  slavery  the  two  sections  might 
have  lived  on  with  reasonable  peace  and 
good  feeling.  When  the  war  was  once 
begun,  the  northern  people  realized,  not 
that  slavery  could  be  destroyed  by  war, 
but  that  the  war  could  be  ended  by  de- 
stroying slavery.  From  the  time  of  the 
President's  preliminary  proclamation  in 
September,  1862,  it  was  evident  that 
slavery  could  be  retained  only  by  the 
success  of  the  South.  For  slavery  as 
well  as  independence,  the  South  was  fight- 
ing ;  and  slavery  weakened  every  blow 
that  was  struck  and  every  arm  that  struck 
a  blow.  To  be  sure,  the  South  was  able 
to  enlist  almost  the  whole  able-bodied 
white  population,  because  there  was  a 
population  of  slaves  to  till  the  fields  and 
perform  necessary  service.  The  slaves 
assisted  to  construct  fortifications  and 
were  useful  as  body  servants  in  cam- 
paigns ;  but  to  put  muskets  into  their 
hands  meant  practically  that  they  must 
be  freed.  The  contingency  of  slave  in- 
surrections the  southern  leaders  did  not 
fear,  and  the  event  proved  the  justice  of 
their  confidence  in  the  African  race.     As 


WHY  THE  SOUTH  WAS  DEFEATED  IN  THE   CIVIL    WAR.    375 


a  southern  speaker  has  said,  "A  single 
brand  flung  into  our  houses  would  have 
caused  our  armies  to  be  dissolved,  —  and 
not  one  was  flung."  There  appears  to 
have  been  no  case  of  a  serious  slave  rising 
in  any  part  of  the  South  from  the  begin- 
ning to  the  end  of  the  Civil  War.  But 
the  slaves  proved  in  other  ways  a  dis- 
tinct source  of  weakness.  Wherever 
it  was  possible,  and  sometimes  in  cir- 
cumstances of  great  difficulty,  they 
gave  information  to  the  Union  troops. 
They  were  our  friends,  and  almost  our 
only  friends,  in  a  region  of  the  enemy. 
And  although  the  slaves  refused  to  rise, 
they  had  no  conscientious  scruples  against 
running  away.  From  the  very  beginning 
of  the  Civil  War,  therefore,  our  com- 
manders suffered  the  embarrassing  pres- 
ence in  camp  of  refugees,  not  only  from 
the  inside  of  the  hostile  lines,  but  from 
the  loyal  residents  of  the  border  states. 
To  return  them  meant  to  give  additional 
means  to  our  enemies ;  to  retain  them 
was  an  offence  to  our  southern  friends. 
It  was  the  service  of  an  American  gen- 
eral, whom  nature  has  endowed  with  more 
wit  than  consistency,  to  dub  this  unfortu- 
nate class  "contraband  of  war."  After  a 
very  few  months,  fugitives  were  no  longer 
returned  either  to  enemies  or  friends ; 
and  almost  every  black  throughout  the 
South  knew  that  should  he  once  reach 
the  Union  lines  he  was  practically  free. 
Out  of  the  embarrassment  of  the  presence 
of  these  people,  who  had  to  be  employed 
and  often  to  be  fed  at  government  ex- 
pense, there  sprang  a  measure  which  en- 
abled the  North  in  1863-65  to  preserve 
that  superiority  of  force  which  was  nec- 
essary in  order  to  fight  the  war  to  the 
end.  Of  these  black  refugees  there  were 
enlisted  as  soldiers  no  less  than  186,097 
troops.  They  replaced  northern  troops 
in  garrison  duty,  they  fought  beside  them 
in  the  field,  and  when  the  United  States 
government  hesitated  to  squeeze  out  of 
reluctant  states  the  additional  number  of 
men  necessary  for  the  reinforcement  of 
its  armies,  those  men  were  found  among 
the  slaves  of  the  Southern  planters. 

In  still  another  sense  slavery  was  the 
cause  of  the  military  defeat  of  the  South. 
We  have  already  seen  that  the  population 
of  the   North   had  received  large  acces- 


sions through  immigration.  Those  ac- 
cessions were  denied  to  the  South  chiefly 
because  of  slavery.  The  total  number  of 
foreigners  found  in  the  eleven  seceding 
states  in  i860  was  about  233,000,  of 
whom  one-fourth  were  in  New  Orleans. 
The  man  who  crossed  the  ocean  to  find 
more  favorable  conditions  of  life  was  not 
likely  to  choose  a  settlement  in  a  part  of 
the  country  in  which'  labor  was  considered 
the  mark  of  an  inferior.  Still  more  were 
the  material  wealth  and  military  resources 
of  the  South  diminished  by  slavery.  The 
land  was  not  less  fertile,  but  as  we  have 
seen,  while  the  population  of  the  slave 
states  in  1869  was  two-thirds  that  of  the 
other  states,  their  land  was  worth  but 
one-third  as  much  as  that  of  the  free 
states ;  and  the  methods  of  agriculture 
which  impoverished  the  Southern  lands 
and  prevented  their  development  grew 
out  of  slavery.  The  staple  cotton  crop 
was  not  cultivated  merely  because  it  was 
easily  sold.  It  was  cultivated  because  it  was 
profitable  to  raise  it  by  large  gangs  of  ig- 
norant men.  Manufactures  were  ignored, 
not  because  southerners  did  not  appreciate 
their  importance,  but  because  is  was  im- 
possible to  carry  them  on  efficiently  or 
profitably  with  slave  labor.  The  imports 
of  the  country  were  small,  not  merely 
because  it  was  poor,  but  because  so  large 
a  portion  of  the  population  was  legally 
disqualified  from  buying  anything  for  it- 
self. The  accumulations  of  capital  were 
small  because  the  system  of  slave  labor 
failed  to  encourage  the  savings  and  the 
investments  which  made  the  wealth  of 
the  North.  The  inefficient  management 
of  the  financial  affairs  of  the  Confederacy 
was  due  in  great  part  to  the  want  of 
training  in  business  habits,  a  'result 
of  the  primitive  methods  of  agriculture 
and  of  transit.  The  inability  to  keep  up 
the  railroads  and  to  deal  with  sudden 
emergencies  in  time  of  war,  the  inferi- 
ority in  bridge-building  and  in  ship- 
building,—  all  these  were  due  in  great 
part,  to  the  fact  that  the  South  had 
for  more  than  three-quarters  of  a 
century  deliberately  chosen  a  system  of 
slavery,  while  the  neighboring  states 
had  deliberately  chosen  a  system  of 
freedom. 

It    is   the   favorite   theory  of  political 


376 


RETRIBUTION. 


writers  that  there  was  in  i860  a  distinct 
difference  between  northern  and  south- 
ern character,  arising  out  of  the  fact  that 
the  dominant  element  in  the  North  was 
descended  from  the  Puritan,  and  in  the 
South  was  descended  from  the  Cavalier. 
It  is  now  established  that  no  such  differ- 
ence of  origin  can  be  proven.  The  Vir- 
ginian and  the  Maryland  planters,  the 
New  Jersey  Quakers,  and  the  Connecticut 
and  Massachusetts  settlers  sprang  from 
the  same  class  in  England.  The  elements 
chiefly  represented  in  all  the  colonies  at 
the  time  of  their  foundation  were  the  in- 
telligent yeomanry  and  small  landowners. 
The  aristocracy  of  which  the  South 
boasted  so  much  was  not  descended  from 
the  younger  or  the  older  sons  of  English 
men  of  rank  ;  it  was  made  up  of  the  sons 
and  grandsons  and  great-grandsons  of 
those  planters  who  were  the  first  by  their 
shrewdness  and  energy  to  acquire  large 
landed  estates.  The  climate  had  brought 
about  some  changes,  and  in  the  South 
there  had  been  developed  a  class  of 
small  landowners,  the  so-called  poor 
whites,     who     had    but    little     improved 


during  the  century  previous  to  the  Civil 
War.  The  original  bases  of  the  white 
population  were,  however,  the  same. 
The  great  and  fundamental  difference 
between  the  sections  was  that  in  one  of 
them  the  presence  of  a  dependent  race, 
and  still  more  the  existence  of  human 
slavery,  had  affected  the  social  and  the 
economic  life  of  the  people ;  that  the 
productive  energies  of  the  North  were 
employed,  while  those  of  the  South  were 
dormant.  The  iron,  the  coal,  the  lumber, 
and  the  grain  of  the  North  were  drawn 
out  by  the  intelligent  combination  of  the 
labor  of  the  whole  people  ;  while  in  the 
South  they  remained  undeveloped,  because 
it  seemed  to  the  commercial  interest  of 
the  larger  landowners  to  perpetuate  a 
system  of  agriculture  founded  on  African 
slavery.  For  this  mistake,  for  this  pref- 
erence for  a  system  which  had  been 
abandoned  by  all  other  nations  of  the 
Teutonic  race,  the  South  paid  a  fearful 
penalty  in  the  Civil  War.  Slavery  had 
enfeebled  the  defenders  of  slavery,  and 
they  and  the  institution  which  they  strove 
to  protect  fell  together 


RETRIBUTION. 


Bv  Ellen  Elizabeth  Hill. 


FAR  out,  an  ancient  wreck,  the  seamen  tell, 
Pushes  its  swart  ribs  through  the  sullen  sand  : 
Gently  the  waves  creep  up  and  down  the  strand, 
Leaving  quaint  broideries  of  weed  and  shell 
To  deck  the  battered  sides  they  know  so  well  — 
Crooning  a  melody  of  merry  sound, 
Like  children,  playing  on  some  grass-grown  mound, 
Forgetful  that  their  song  should  be  a  knell. 

But  when  the  fierce  November  wind  is  high, 

Strange  cries  are  heard  of  helpless  souls  afraid, 

And  groanings  of  a  good  ship  loath  to  die ; 

And  the  dark  waves,  in  grief  too  long  delayed, 

Dash  their  white  foam-drifts  wild  and  shudderingly, 
Restless  to  hide  the  ruin  they  have  made. 


State   House,    Atlanta. 


THE    NEW   SOUTH  —  ATLANTA. 

George  Leonard  Chaney. 


THE  evolution  of  a  city  is  not  alto- 
gether determined  by  natural  selec- 
tion. Human  selection  has  some- 
thing to  do  with  it.  But  nature  has  her 
word  to  say  in  the  matter,  and  there  are 
notable  instances  of  arrested  development 
in  towns  and  villages  which  lacked  nothing 
that  human  wit  and  intention  could  give 
them.  In  that  suggestive  book  by  Charles 
C.  Jones,  Jr.,  entitled  "  The  Dead  Towns 
of  Georgia,"  we  read  of  settlements  that 
seemed  at  the  start  to  have  all  the  "  prom- 
ise and  potency  "  of  civil  greatness  in 
them.  But  they  never  came  to  full  stature 
as  cities.  Frederica,  that  darling  plant  of 
Oglethorpe,on  St.  Simon's  Island,  perished 
with  the  cessation  of  the  military  neces- 
sity which  created  it ;  and  in  spite  of 
salubrious  climate,  fertile  soil,  hardy  Scotch 
settlers,  and  a  resolute  founder,  it  proved 
no  "continuing  city."  Sunbury,  the 
planting  of  the  winnowed  colony  from 
New  England,  grew  only  to  perish  in  its 
youth.      Its    ruins    are    its    monument. 


Evidently,  therefore,  it  is  not  wholly  of 
the  wit  or  will  of  man  that  cities  start 
and  grow  and  nourish.  There  must  be 
a  concert  of  action  between  nature  and 
man,  or  the  city  is  not  forthcoming. 

Atlanta  has  had  this  concert  of  action. 
Her  site  is  as  fortunate  as  her  settlement. 
Located  on  a  spur  of  the  Blue  Ridge, 
where  the  great  ranges  of  the  Alleghany 
system  of  mountains  converge  and  radiate 
again  in  ridges  of  moderate  height,  suita- 
ble for  cultivation  and  residence,  the 
city  is  the  natural  centre  of  the  vast  hill 
country.  It  is  also  near  the  source  of  the 
rivers  that  flow  into  the  Atlantic  on  the 
one  side  and  the  Gulf  of  Mexico  on 
the  other.  The  confluence  of  the  hills, 
the  effluence  of  the  streams, —  Atlanta  has 
a  natural  calling  to  be  a  great  distributing 
centre.  In  1845,  John  C.  Calhoun  fore- 
saw and  predicted  its  commercial  im- 
portance, showing  how  all  the  railroads 
begun  or  projected  at  that  time  neces- 
sarily  united    at    this    point.      His   pre- 


378 


THE  NEW  SOUTH.  — ATLANTA. 


diction  is  fulfilled.  Already  eight  great 
railroad  lines  centre  here  :  the  Central, 
the  Georgia,  the  Richmond  and  Danville, 
the  Atlanta  and  West  Point  and  Western 
of  Alabama,  the  Atlanta  and  Florida,  the 
Georgia  Pacific,  the  Western  and  Atlan- 
tic, and  the  East  Tennessee,  Virginia,  and 


multiplying.  Dairy  farms  are  finding 
profitable  returns  for  the  capital  and 
labor  bestowed  upon  them.  But  the 
growing  proportions  of  Atlanta  are  push- 
ing the  farms  farther  and  farther  into  the 
country.  Lands  which  command  twenty 
dollars  a  front  foot,  although  situated  two 


Railway  Station,   Atlanta. 


Georgia.  The  Marietta  and  North  Geor- 
gia, and  the  Georgia,  Carolina,  and 
Northern  are  nearly  built,  and  on  their 
completion  Atlanta  will  have  ten  trunk- 
lines.  Over  these  roads  the  raw  mate- 
rials needed  in  numberless  manufactures 
may  be  easily  and  cheaply  transported, 
and  the  manufactured  product  may  as 
easily  seek  and  find  its  market.  The 
productiveness  of  the  soil  in  every  direc- 
tion and  at  convenient  distances  around 
the  city  seems  only  limited  by  the  intel- 
ligence with  which  it  is  cultivated. 
Whatever  grows  at  all,  grows  luxuriantly 
there ;  and  nothing  but  skilful  agricul- 
ture seems  needed  to  produce  abun- 
dant and  varied  harvests.  Already  the 
demands  of  a  large  city  are  creating 
their  own  supply.     Market   gardens    are 


or  three  miles  from  the  centre  of  the 
city,  cannot  be  kept  for  farming.  The 
introduction  of  electric  railways  and 
the  extension  of  rapid  transit  into  the 
suburbs  have  opened  to  residents  a 
large  extent  of  hitherto  unoccupied  terri- 
tory. Many  charming  rural  precincts  are 
already  laid  out  and  fast  building  up, 
thanks  to  the  enterprise  of  land  com- 
panies, metropolitan  railroad  companies, 
and  an  overflowing  population.  Inman 
Park,  Edgewood,  Copenhill,  are  all  attrac- 
tive and  growing  suburbs.  West  End  is 
really  a  suburb  of  Atlanta,  although  inde- 
pendent in  its  municipal  government.  Its 
citizens  are  engaged  in  business  in  At- 
lanta and  should  be  counted  among  its 
population. 

The  infancy,  youth,  and  maturity  of  the 


THE  NEW  SOUTH.  — ATLANTA. 


379 


city  are  associated  with  the  three  names  it 
has  borne  :  Terminus,  Marthasville,  and 
Atlanta.  As  the  eastern  end  of  the  West- 
ern and  Atlantic  railroad,  it  was  first  called 
Terminus,  and  for  several  years  the  name 
expressed  all  that  was  significant  in  the 
place.  In  1836,  the  little  log  cabin  of  Mr. 
Hardy  Ivy  was  the  one  house  in  or  near  it. 
In  1839,  Mr.  John  Thrasher,  with  an  old 
woman  and  her  daughter,  were  the  only 
inhabitants.  So  slow  was  the  growth  of 
the  infant  city,  that  in  1842  there  were  not 
more  than  three  or  four  families  in  it, 
and  Mr.  Thrasher  was  at  the  close  of  that 
year  in  apparent  despair  of  its  progress. 
However,  three  eventful  things  happened 
in  the  year :  the  first  two-story  building 
was  erected,  the  first  steam-engine  was 
brought  to  the  town,  and  the  first  land 
sale  was  made  at  public  auction.  In  1843, 
the  people  secured  a  corporate  name  and 
charter  from  the  legislature,  and  Termi- 
nus became  Marthasville,  so  named  in 
honor    of  a    daughter     of    ex-Governor 


Lumpkin.  The  first  factory,  an  old  tread 
saw-mill ;  the  first  newspaper,  the  Lumi- 
nary ;  the  first  through  train  from  Augusta 
to  Marthasville  ;  the  first  schoolhouse  and 
church,  both  in  one, —  distinguish  the  years 
'44  and  '45  ;  and  in  '46  the  first  important 
mass-meeting  was  held  in  celebration  of 
the  completion  of  the  Macon  and  West- 
ern road.  Three  more  newspapers 
showed  that  the  village  had  reached  the 
talkative  age.  They  helped  develop  the 
ambition  for  greater  things  ;  and,  in  1847,  a 
charter  was  sought  and  obtained  for  the 
city  of  Atlanta.  The  first  city  election 
occurred  on  January  29,  1848.  And 
now  the  growing  period  is  fairly  reached, 
and  henceforward  there  is  only  progress 
in  numbers  and  enterprise  to  chronicle. 
Of  course  the  city  had  to  pass  through 
its  ugly  age,  when  impulse  had  to  learn 
obedience,  and  passion  yield  to  principle. 
There  was  the  usual  struggle  between  the 
orderly  and  disorderly  element.  But  in 
185 1,  under  the   mayoralty  of   Jonathan 


The    Kimball   House. 


380 


THE     NEW  SOUTH.— ATLANTA. 


Norcross,  the  supremacy  of  municipal 
authority  was  vigorously  asserted  and 
maintained.  From  this  time  onward, 
until  the  disasters  of  the  Civil  War,  At- 
lanta pursued  its  course  like  a  well-fed 
river,  increasing  as  it  ran.  And  since 
the  destruction  of  1864,  the  wonderful 
renewal  and  advance  of  the  city  have 
made  its  calamity  seem  like  a  waterfall  in 
the  river,  which  is  the  concentration  and 
demonstration  of  its  power  rather  than  its 
ruin.  Already,  in  1861,  the  population 
was  about  13,000,  and  the  growth  in  busi- 
ness had  kept  pace  with  the  increase  of 
population.  Despite  the  departure  of 
many  of  its  leading  citizens,  caused  by 
the  claims  of  war,  there  was  a  steady  in- 


the  city  followed  close  upon  its  depopu- 
lation. Less  than  three  hundred  houses  out 
of  three  or  four  thousand  were  spared. 
Hardly  one  stone  was  left  upon  another 
in  the  business  centre,  except  in  a  few 
cases  of  peculiar  deliverance ;  and  the 
refugees  who  returned  to  the  site  of  their 
old  city  found  before  them  a  task  of 
restoration  even  greater  than  the  original 
upbuilding  had  been. 

With  the  same  patience  and  resolution  j 
and  energy  of  < recuperation  which  have 
shown  themselves  in  so  many  parts  of  1 
the  South  within  the  last  twenty-five 
years,  these  returned  exiles  rebuilt  their  ; 
Jerusalem,  working  like  their  Hebrew  ■ 
prototypes,  with  the   trowel  in  one  hand 


Pryor  Street. 


crease  of  its  people,  owing  to  the  new 
enterprises  and  industries  which  were 
created  by  the  war.  In  1864,  nearly 
twenty  thousand  people  called  Atlanta 
their  home.  In  September  of  that  fatal 
year  the  cruel  necessities  of  war  made 
them  all    homeless.     The  destruction  of 


and  the  sword  in  the  other.  Within  a 
year  after  its  reoccupation  by  its  citizens, 
its  chief  business  street  had  put  itself  in 
thorough  repair,  and  handsome  blocks 
and  two  new  hotels  gave  the  city  some  of 
its  old-time  attractiveness. 

Of  the  military  era  there  is  little  need 


THE  NE  W  SO UTH.  —  A  TLANTA. 


381 


to  write.  The  story  is  known  of  all  men. 
American  constancy  and  valor  were  no- 
where displayed  more  conspicuously  than 
in  the  battles  around  Atlanta.  So  bravely 
were  the  battles  fought  on  both  sides  that 
the  glory  of  the  victory  was  only  rivalled 
by  the  honor  of  the  defeat.  In  number 
IX.  of  the  "Campaigns  of  the  Civil  War," 
Major-General  Jacob  D.  Cox  has  given 
an  account  of  the  taking  of  Atlanta, 
which  has  been  accepted  on  both   sides 


them  ;  for  they  also  had  persuaded  them- 
selves that  they  fought  for  independence 
and  liberty.  Brothers  of  a  common  stock, 
of  equal  courage  and  tenacity,  animated 
by  conviction,  which  they  passionately 
held,  they  did  on  both  sides  all  that  it  was 
possible  for  soldiers  to  do,  fighting  their 
way  to  mutual  respect,  which  is  the  solid 
foundation  for  a  renewal  of  more  than 
the  old  regard  and  affection." 

We  have  seen  how  quickly  its  former 


Post  Office  and   Custom    House. 


as  fair  and  true.  His  closing  reflection 
upon  the  dreadful  but  inevitable  conflict 
of  which  these  battles  were  a  part,  we 
gladly  repeat  as  our  own  :  — 

"When  the  struggle  is  over,  and  the 
fearful  spectacle  of  suffering  and  bereave- 
ment is  forced  upon  us,  when  we  must 
reckon  the  cost  by  the  unnumbered  graves 
and  the  almost  incalculable  destruction  of 
wealth, —  the  only  comfort  or  consolation 
which  can  be  found  must  be  the  conviction 
that  the  cause  was  so  holy  a  one  as  to 
be  worth  the  sacrifice.  The  men  never 
doubted  this  who  fought  under  Sherman. 
Their   opponents,    too,    were    worthy    of 


residents  returned  to  Atlanta  after  its 
evacuation  by  the  Federal  troops,  and  how 
resolutely  and  successfully  they  set  to 
work  to  restore  it.  Like  a  field  cleared 
by  fire  of  its  old  grass,  the  city  put  forth 
fresh  life.  Its  thrift  and  prosperity  have 
steadily  increased  from  that  day  to  this, 
until  in  the  lawful  pride  of  a  solid  estab- 
lishment, worked  for  and  attained  by 
superior  energy  and  public  spirit,  Atlanta 
smiles  at  its  days  of  small  things  and  finds 
nothing  impossible  in  its  visions  of  a  bril- 
liant future.  Why  should  it  doubt  con- 
cerning its  future  ?  The  past,  if  it  were 
not  already  accomplished,  would  seem  as 


382 


THE  NE  W  SOUTH.  ~  ATLANTA. 


incredible  as  the  brightest  anticipations 
to-day.  The  same  causes  which  have 
combined  to  make  her  present  prosperity 
are  at  work  still,  only  augmented  by  new 
railroads,  new  industries,  new  people,  and 
new  ideas.  The  talents  committed  to  her 
charge    have    become    ten  talents   more. 


they  seem  to  adopt  the  city  and  to  be 
adopted  by  it,  without  wholly  losing  their 
native  characteristics.  It  would  be  prem- 
ature to  announce  or  to  expect  the  inte- 
gration of  these  varied  people,  in  one 
common  and  distinguishable  type.  That 
is  yet  to  come.    Meantime,  the  process  is 


The  State   Library. 


The  energetic  people  who  planted  and  re- 
planted the  city  have  drawn  to  their  com- 
pany, by  natural  affinity,  enterprising  men 
from  all  parts  of  the  Union  ;  and  to-day 
Atlanta  holds  a  variety  of  population  in 
stable  equilibrium,  which  makes  it  truly 
metropolitan  in  the  country,  if  not  strictly 
cosmopolitan.  Natives  of  all  the  states 
are  here,  and  what  is   more    satisfactory, 


going  on  and  it  is  most  interesting.  To 
one  accustomed  to  the  slow  and  cautious 
methods  of  older  cities,  the  stir  and  au- 
dacity of  Atlanta  are  astonishing.  Enter- 
prises that  far  richer  cities  would  postpone 
or  never  undertake  are  promptly  essayed, 
and  in  a  surprising  number  of  cases 
brought  to  a  successful  issue.  Whatever 
can  be  done  quickly,  Atlanta  does  well. 


THE  NE  W  SO  UTH.  —  A  TLANTA. 


383 


It  is  too  soon  to  gauge  the  quality  of  her 
permanent  institutions.  They  are  still  in 
the  gristle.  But  already  her  schools,  both 
public  and  private,  are  well  organized  and 
conducted  with  spirit  and  efficiency ;  her 
many  churches  are  largely  attended  and 
administered  with  all 
the  zeal  and  sacred  __ 

competition      which      |  V|     h 

the  multiplication  of     J  \    5 

sects  is  fitted  to  in-      I  \  WM 

spire.     If  the  money      j  ^\t  -*A\ 

test  is  preferred  to 
that  of  education  or 
religion,  Atlanta  may 
point  to  its  bank  ac- 
count with  comfor- 
table pride.  During 
the  last  five  years,  its 
banking  capital  has 
increased  largely,  and 
it  is  estimated  to-day 
to  be  about  $5,000,- 
000.  The  amount 
of  deposits  is  $9,- 
765,000  against 
$2,000,000  in  1885. 
Eighteen  banking  ''<-  - 
companies  divide 
this    fund     between 

them.  Add  to  this  the  building  and  loan 
funds,  amounting  to  over  $3,000,000,  and 
the  amount  of  active  capital  is  seen 
to  be  almost  commensurate  with  the 
present  needs  of  the  city.  Meantime, 
the  advance  in  the  value  of  real  estate 
has  been  steady  and  remarkable.  The 
real  estate  returned  for  taxes  in  1859 
amounted  to  $2,760,000.  In  1870  it 
was  $9,500,000;  in  1881,  $13,282,242; 
and  in  1890,  it  was  $29,373,600. 
These  returns  represent  only  62^  per 
cent  of  the  actual  value ;  and  the 
non-taxable  property  would  add  over 
four  millions  to  the  total  amount.  It  is 
claimed  that  no  one  has  received  less  than 
he  gave  for  real  estate  purchased  in  At- 
lanta, unless  driven  by  private  necessity  to 
sacrifice  his  property.  However  high  the 
price  paid,  eligible  property  knows  no 
decline.  The  highest  rate  thus  far 
reached  by  central  property  was  $1300 
per  front  foot  for  land  on  North  Broad 
Street,  near  Marietta.  Choice  lots  on 
favorite  residence  streets  being  from  $150 


to  $200  per  front  foot.  But  while  these 
rates  are  obtained  for  land  in  the  best 
localities,  there  are  less  eligible  sites  to  be 
bought  at  reasonable  prices.  Indeed 
with  the  extended  car-service  now  in 
operation,     and     the     ample     suburban 


The   Governor's   Mansion. 

territory,  there  is  no  difficulty  in  finding 
lots  suited  to  every  need  and  ability. 
It  is  claimed  that  prices  are  lower 
in  Atlanta  than  in  many  cities  of 
its  size.  That  depends  upon  the 
location.  But  if  prices  of  land  are  high 
it  is  because  the  demands  of  a  rapidly 
growing  city  give  it  value.  The  popula- 
tion which  stood  at  21,788  in  1870  had 
increased  to  37,409  in  1880,  and  to 
65,591  in  1890.  The  white  people 
outnumber  the  blacks  two  to  one. 
The  character  of  the  growth  in  popu- 
lation is  as  satisfactory  as  the  growth 
itself.  Only  the  active  and  enterprising 
are  attracted  to  Atlanta.  The  idle  rich 
find  greater  diversion  in  older  and  larger 
cities.  The  idle  poor  are  not  encouraged 
to  prey  upon  a  community  whose  charities 
are  not  sustained  by  rich  and  inexhaust- 
ible endowments.  Organized  charity, 
indeed,  is  yet  in  its  tentative  stage. 
Neighborly  kindness  and  church  care  of 
its  own  are  still  the  popular  ways  of  re- 
lief.    But  within  a  few  years  the  idea  and 


384 


THE  NEW  SOUTH.  — ATLANTA. 


Exposition    Building. 


partial  practice  of  associated  charities 
have  found  hopeful  recognition  in  a  few 
hospitals,  industrial  homes  and  schools, 
and  temporary  asylums. 

Colleges  and  schools  of  various  kinds, 
under  the  auspices  of  one  or  another  re- 
ligious sect  or  association,  have  flocked  to 
this  city  as  their  natural  centre.  The  hills 
around  Atlanta,  once  occupied  by  the  forts 


Office  of  the  Atlanta  Constitution. 


and  ramparts  of  war,  now  bristle  with  the 
preparation  of  the  gospel  of  peace.  Every 
prominent  height  has  its  school  or  col- 
lege. 

Atlanta  University,  founded  by  the 
American  Missionary  Association  in  1867, 
crowns  the  western  ridge  with  its  halls  and 
laboratory.  Spelman  Seminary  for  colored 
young  women  and  the  Atlanta  Baptist 
Seminary  for  young  men  occupy  the  hills 
a  little  further  towards  the  south.  Then 
comes  Clark  University,  on  its  conspicu- 
ous height,  under  the  patronage  of  the 
Methodist  Episcopal  church.  All  these 
are  institutions  where  colored  young  men 
and  women  receive  instruction  in  the 
usual  school  or  college  studies,  together 
of  manual  training  than  the 
traditional  college  provides. 
Continuing  our  circuit  of  the 
city,  we  find  the  Hebrew 
Orphan  Asylum,  with  its 
beautiful  and  commodious 
edifice,  the  Moreland  Park 
Military  academy,  and  the 
Georgia  School  of  Technol- 
ogy, a  noble  institution  re- 
cently founded  by  the  state 
and  secured  to  Atlanta  by 
the  munificent  contributions 
of  its  citizens.  It  has  been 
modelled  upon  the  Worces- 
ter Free  Institute  in  Massa- 
chusetts, and  has  had  the 
supervision  of  some  of  the 
teachers  from  that  institu- 
tion. The  writer  of  this 
paper  toiled  up  the  hill  on 
which  this  school  is  placed, 


THE  NE  W  SOUTH.  —  A TLANTA. 


385 


on  the  occasion  of  its  first  commence- 
ment, in  company  with  a  stranger  who 
said :  "  I  little  thought  when  I  dragged 
cannon  up  this  hill  twenty-five  years  ago, 
that  I  should  live  to  see  a  school  like  this 
here."  It  is  this  happy  contrast  between 
warlike  memories  and  peaceful  occupa- 
tions, twhich  makes  Atlanta  a  perpetual 
surprise  and  delight  to  its  thoughtful  resi- 
dent or  visitor.  The  city  that  was  first  in 
war  is  first  in  peace.  Add  to  the  arsenals 
of  education  and  mercy,  which  we  have 
already  noticed,  the  medical  colleges,  the 
musical  institutes,  the  Business  Uni- 
versities, the  Church  Academy,  the  Gor- 
don School  for  boys,  the  Washington 
Seminary  for  girls,  and  the  public  schools, 
with    the    model 

high    schools     at       .---  —  -    

their  head;  and  | 
the  educational  ad- 
vantages of  Atlanta, 
for  all  its  varied 
inhabitants,  will  be 
seen.  These  edu- 
cational  privileges 
constitute  a  large 
part  of  the  attrac- 
tion of  the  place 
for  families  seek- 
ing a  wholesome 
climate  and  a  re- 
fining home,  com- 
bined with  oppor- 
tunity for  profitable 
occupation. 

Few  cities  have 
so  large  a  number 
of  pleasant  days, 
taking  the  year 
from  beginning  to 
end.  The  heat 
commonly  asso- 
ciated with  its  location  —  Atlanta  is  in 
latitude  340  north  —  is  relieved  by  its  alti- 
tude, 1085  feet  above  the  sea-level. 
Were  it  not  that  the  weather  is  always 
exceptional,  whenever  strangers  visit  At- 
lanta, one  might  confidently  boast  of  its 
climate  as  perfect.  It  is  certainly  re- 
markably favorable  to  evenly  good  health 
to  such  as  lead  regular  lives.  The  ex- 
tremes of  heat  and  cold  are  each  relieved, 
the  one  by  cool  nights  and  the  other  by 
the  brevitv  of  its  duration.     The  water 


supply  is  ample  for  all  domestic  purposes 
and  for  such  manufactures  as  are  already 
developed.  It  is  furnished  by  a  carefully 
kept  and  filtered  reservoir  and  an  artesian 
well.  The  sewerage  is  well  provided 
for,  and  whatever  has  been  lacking  in  the 
past  in  sanitary  provision,  is  now  supplied 
by  a  vigilant  board  of  health  and  generous 
city  government.  No  malignant  or  epi- 
demic diseases  prevail  here,  unless  they 
are  stirred  up  by  private  or  public  indis- 
cretion. Cholera  and  yellow-fever  do  not 
find  the  conditions  of  their  propagation 
here.  So  safely  does  Atlanta  trust  in  her 
proved  exemption  from  these  scourges  of 
the  South,  that  her  doors  are  always  kept 
open  to  the  refugees  from  plague-infested 


Young  Mens  Christian   Association    Building. 


cities.  The  death-rate  during  the  last 
ten  years  has  been  nineteen  in  a  thousand, 
and  only  twelve  in  a  thousand  among  the 
white  people.  Of  these,  fifty  per  cent 
were  children  under  five  years  of  age. 

No  wonder  so  wholesome  a  city  finds 
an  increasing  number  of  people  eager  to 
make  it  their  home.  Those  who  go  there 
to  stay,  usually  like  the  city  better  the 
longer  they  abide.  The  place  is  interest- 
ing. Its  very  faults  are  interesting.  There 
is  no  cold  symmetry  or  cloying  perfectnes:-. 


386 


THE  NEW  SOUTH.  — ATLANTA. 


about  it.  It  is  a  city  making,  not  made, 
and  with  all  the  provoking  charm  of  youth 
in  it.  It  is  small  enough  to  be  compre- 
hended, and  yet  large  enough  to  have 
large  interests  and  aims. 

The  rapidity  of  its  growth  has  not  en- 
couraged solidity  of  structure,  but  the 
provisional  buildings  are   rapidly  making 


is  a  striking  building.  The  new  State 
Capitol  is  a  really  magnificent  building. 
Without  imitating  the  national  Capitol  at 
Washington,  it  is  a  distinct  reminder  of 
it,  in  its  style  and  proportions.  It  was 
built  and  paid  for  by  a  state  appropria- 
tion of  one  million  of  dollars,  and  so 
faithfully    and    well    was  the    money    ex- 


Institute  of  Technology, 


way  for  permanent  edifices  of  dignified 
proportions.  Such  business  buildings  as 
that  of  the  Gate  City  Bank,  the  Law 
Building,  Equitable,  Chamber  of  Com- 
merce, and  Chamberlin  and  Johnson, 
not  to  mention  others,  mark  the  be- 
ginning of  a  solid  and  continuing  city. 
The  number  of  elegant  and  costly 
homes  would  be  noticeable  and  cred- 
itable in  any  old  city  of  the  land. 
Peachtree  Street,  Capitol  Avenue,  and 
Washington  Street,  are  avenues  of  beau- 
tiful grounds  and  artistic  residences. 
The  public  buildings  are  worthy  of  the 
capital  city  of  the  state.  Few  post-offices 
in  the  country  have  so  much  architectural 
merit  as  the  post-office  building  here ; 
and  its  intelligent,  enterprising,  and  ac- 
commodating administration  is  giving  in- 
creasing satisfaction  to  the  people.  Its 
financial  statement  for  the  year  ending 
December  31,  1889,  shows  an  aggregate 
for  receipts  and  disbursements  of  $2,687,- 
855-53-     The  Fulton  County  Court  House 


pended,  that  the  cost  came  within  the 
appropriation,  with  a  small  margin  to 
spare  —  a  unique  instance  of  exactness  and 
economy  in  the  erection  of  a  state  capitol. 
Its  exterior  is  of  oolitic  limestone,  but  the 
interior  is  finished  in  polished  native  woods 
and  the  famous  marble  of  the  state,  which 
is  found  in  such  rich  abundance  and 
beauty  within  easy  reach  of  Atlanta.  Stone 
Mountain,  which  is  almost  in  the  suburbs 
of  the  city,  is  a  mass  of  solid  granite, 
whose  base  measures  a  square  mile,  and 
whose  summit  is  1600  feet  above  the  sea. 

With  coal  and  iron  and  timber  on 
either  hand  in  limitless  supply,  and  so 
many  avenues  of  approach  that  the  raw 
material  of  numberless  manufactures  can 
be  easily  brought  together  in  the  city, 
and  as  easily  distributed  when  converted 
into  articles  of  commerce,  the  industrial 
development  of  Atlanta  must  be  rapid 
and  permanent. 

With  half  the  pecuniary  inducement 
which    less    favored    cities    in    the    West 


THE  NEW  SO UTH.  —  A TLANTA. 


387 


have  offered  to  prospecting  manufacturers, 
there  might  be  double  the  present  number 
of  manufactories  in  and  about  the  city. 
Already  the  increase  in  such  enterprises 
is  remarkable.  In  1880  there  were  only 
196  manufactories.  In  1890,  there  were 
585  ;  while  the  value  of  their  products 
has  risen  from  two  millions  to  twenty- 
eight  millions.  The  total  amount  of 
lumber  handled  here  in  1889  was  70,- 
000,000  feet,  according  to  the  report 
of  the  Atlanta  Chamber  of  Commerce 
for  1890.  The  reader  is  referred  to 
this  report  for  detailed  information  on 
the  industrial  subjects  referred  to  in  this 
paper.  Emphatic  illustration  of  the  ad- 
vantages of  Atlanta  as  a  manufacturing 
city  is  given  in  this  report,  in  the  fact 
that  without  water  power,  there   are  now 


The  variety  of  manufactures  is  as  grat- 
ifying as  their  number  and  extent. 
"  Everything  is  made  here,  from  a  coffin 
to  a  locomotive  "  —  so  says  our  compre- 
hensive reporter,  with  felicitous  colloca- 
tion of  cause  and  effect.  When  some 
one  from  the  river  city  of  Augusta  taunted 
Atlanta  with  having  no  stream  at  hand, 
the  typical  Atlanta  spirit  replied:  "We 
can  have  one  when  we  want  it."  The 
Chattahoochee  is  only  six  miles  away,  and 
the  "  world  is  challenged  to  produce  the 
parallel  of  that  peerless  river."1  With  a 
fall  of  "  more  than  700  feet  in  about  125 
miles  (air-line),  and  a  flow  varying  from 
930  to  3,000  cubic  feet  per  second,  it  has 
more  than  125,000  horse-power,  a  power 
sufficient  to  manufacture  2,000,000  bales 
of  cotton  annually."     The  same  flowing 


Hebrew  Orphan   Asylum. 


40,000  spindles  employed  in  cotton  man- 
ufacture, and  provision  making  for  70,000 
in  another  year.  Three  cotton-seed  oil- 
mills  have  a  crushing  capacity  of  400 
tons  per  day;  and  what  was  once  the 
refuse  of  the  cotton-plant  now  rivals  in 
value  its  snowy  lint. 


pen,  later  on  in  its  industrial  rhapsody, 
shows  that  this  Jordan  of  the  South  has 
an  ample  supply  of  water  for  a  popula- 
tion of  11,000,000  people.     No  wonder 

1  See  pamphlet  on  "  Atlanta,  the  Capital  of 
Georgia  and  the  Coming  Metropolis  of  the  South," 
published  by  Atlanta  Manufacturers'  Association. 


388 


THE  NEW  SOUTH.— ATLANTA. 


Atlanta   University. 


with  such  a  resource  as  that  the  writer 
does  not  fear  the  possibility  of  any  im- 
mediate water  famine  in  the  city.  The 
government  of  the  city  is  in  the  hands 
of  responsible  citizens ;  the  honor,  rather 
than  the  profit  of  office  being  a  sufficient 
motive  with  this  public-spirited  commu- 
nity. Indeed,  the  one  word  which  holds 
the  secret  of  the  success  which  has  always 
rewarded  Atlanta  enterprise,  is  public 
spirit.  Never  was  a  city  more  heartily 
beloved  and  generously  served  by  its  citi- 
zens than  this  city  has  been.  The  rate 
of  taxation  under  its  charter  cannot  ex- 
ceed one  and  a  half  per  cent  except  in 
critical  cases  to  be  decided  by  the  mayor 
and  general  council.  But  when  some 
candidate  for  the  people's  "voices"  un- 
dertook to  curry  favor  with  them,  by 
proposing  to  reduce  the  rate  of  taxation, 
the  people  protested  against  the  reduc- 
tion,— the  only  instance  that  has  happened 
to  come  to  the  writer's  knowledge  of  a 
popular  demand  for  high  taxes.  The  in- 
debtedness of  the  city  is  $2,213,000. 
The  taxable  value  of  real  and  personal 
property  is  assessed  at  $37,000,000  ;  but 
the  report  says  that  it  is  actually  $70,- 
000,000. 

If  the  attempt  were  made  to  give  in  one 
article  even  a  passing  notice  of  Atlanta's 
creditable   institutions,  lively  enterprises, 


original  and  distinguished  people,  historic 
places,  grand  occasions,  memorable  events, 
ingenious  diversions,  rousing  campaigns, 
conventions  of  all  kinds,  religious,  charita- 
ble, humane,  and  business,  notable  recep- 
tions, syndicates,  schemes,  corporations, 
and  all  the  other  accompaniments  of 
advanced  or  advancing  civilization,  this 
entire  magazine  would  not  contain  the 
story  that  might  be  told.  Even  now  we 
are  reminded  that  nothing  has  been  said 
of  the  Young  Men's  Library,  that  early 
gift  of  the  young  men  of  the  city  to  its 
educational  and  social  resources.  It  has 
over  fifteen  thousand  volumes,  and  is  the 
centre  and  resource  of  the  intellectual  life 
of  the  people.  The  Young  Men's  Chris- 
ian  Association  is  also  a  nourishing  insti- 
tution, with  a  magnificent  building  and 
full  equipment  for  its  useful  work.  The 
story  of  the  devotion,  labor,  wit,  inven- 
tion, generosity,  and  perseverance,  by 
which  these  two  institutions  were  estab- 
lished and  furnished  with  their  fine  build- 
ings would  better  illustrate  the  genius  and 
character  of  the  city  than  whole  pages  of 
such  cataloguing  and  commentary  as  our 
order  for  a  comprehensive  view  of  Atlanta 
requires  at  our  hands.  The  way  in  which 
Mr.  Grady,  that  wizard  patron  of  every 
promising  cause,  fairly  charmed,  bullied, 
cajoled,  and  captivated  the  contributions 


THE  NEW  SOUTH.  — ATLANTA. 


389 


that  made  such  building  possible,  revives 
the  fable  of  Orpheus  with  his  cunning 
and  edifying  lyre.  And  when  other 
means  proved  insufficient,  the  frank 
effrontery  with  which  he  advised  "a 
robber  fair,"  put  the  capstone  on  the  en- 
terprise- 
It  was  the  same  electrifying  personality 
which  gave  to  the  hard  work  of  his  asso- 
ciates in  so  many  difficult  undertakings 
the  support  and  patronage  of  the  people. 
From  the  platform  of  the  Daily  Constitu- 
tion, with  Grady  as  their  mouthpiece,  all 
the  expositions  for  which  the  Gate  City 
has  been  famous,  have  found  their  way  to 
success  and  fame.  The  International 
Cotton  Exposition  of  1881  ;  the  Piedmont 
Expositions,  with  their  revelation  of  mate- 
rial resources  of  nature  and  inexhaustible 
resource  in  man ;  the  Piedmont  Chatau- 
qua,    which,    though    located    at    Lithia 


is  to  bear  Mr.  Grady's  name, —  indeed, 
what  successful  and  worthy  institution  ap- 
pealing for  its  support  to  the  broad 
humanity  of  the  people  has  not  found  its 
ready  and  all-important  helper  in  the 
Atlanta  Constitution  and  its  genial, 
hearty,  and  courageous  editor,  taken  from 
us  too  soon  for  our  happiness,  but  not  be- 
fore his  own  good  fame  was  secure. 

Thus  far  nothing  has  been  said  of  the 
Capital  City  Club,  or  the  Northern  Soci- 
ety, or  the  Society  of  Virginia  or  of  Ten- 
nessee, or  of  the  various  organizations, 
masonic,  patriotic,  charitable,  or  literary, 
with  which  this  social  and  emotional  city 
is  filled.  Neither  have  the  military  com- 
panies, which  make  the  streets  so  lively 
with  their  brave  apparel  whenever  they 
turn  out,  once  appeared  here.  But  no 
panorama  of  i\tlanta  would  be  worth  see- 
ing, which  failed  to  depict  the  Governor's 


View  in  Grant  Park. 


Springs,  twenty  miles  away,  is  an  Atlanta 
enterprise,  and  owes  its  existence  and 
support  to  educators  and  capitalists  of 
this  city;  the  Home  for  Confederate 
Soldiers;  the  new  City  Hospital,    which 


Horse  Guard  riding  down  Peachtree  Street, 
or  the  Gate  City  Guards  ;  or  the  Atlanta 
Zouaves,  or  Artillery ;  or  the  Rifles,  fresh 
from  taking  the  first  prize  in  the  competi- 
tive drill  at  Kansas  City.     So  eligible  is 


390 


THE  NEW  SOUTH.  — ATLANTA. 


the  place  for  military  establishment,  and 
so  congenial  are  its  associations  with  the 
military  spirit,  that  the  federal  govern- 
ment has  selected  it  for  the  location  of 
the  McPherson  Barracks.  A  fine  drive- 
way from  the  city  to  the  barracks  is 
nearly  completed,  adding  another  at- 
tractive drive  to  the  many  already  exist- 
ing. The  parks,  though  in  their  earlier 
stages,  and  lacking  something  of  that 
charm  which  only  age  supplies,  are 
pretty  and  interesting.  The  L.  P.  Grant 
Park  is  a  beautiful  tract  of  one  hun- 
dred and  forty-five  acres  on  the  south- 
east edge  of  the  city.  Already  above 
five  miles  of  macadamized  roads  have 
been  constructed,  and  four  miles  of 
walks.  There  are  artificial  ponds,  a  nat- 
ural brook,  fine  woods,  an  undulating 
surface,  and  a  curious  zoological  depart- 
ment, most  admirably  kept.  The  chil- 
dren of  the  city,  inspired  by  their  delight- 
ful friend,  Joel  Chandler  Harris  (Uncle 
Remus),  of  the  Constitution,  have  raised 
the  needful  money  by  small  collections, 
and  presented  the    Zoo  with  a  live  ele- 


Statue  of  Hon.  B.  H.  Hill. 


phant.  The  Journal,  the  leading  after- 
noon daily,  not  to  be  outdone  by  its  morn- 
ing rival,  has  led  the  way  in  securing  a 
splendid  lion.  Whatever  these  two  papers, 
the  Constitution  and  the  Journal,  unite  or 
compete  in  favoring  is  sure  to  succeed. 

Of  the  hotels  the  travelling  public 
hardly  need  telling.  The  H.  I.  Kimball 
house  is  justly  celebrated,  far  and  wide. 
It  prepares  the  visitor  for  the  size  and 
importance  of  the  city,  as  the  other  im- 
mediate surroundings  of  the  railroads 
fail  to  do.  Of  private  boarding-houses 
the  city,  like  all  youthful  cities  of  large 
promise,  is  full. 

Two  large  and  reverently  kept  ceme- 
teries, Oakland  on  the  east  and  West 
View  on  the  southwest,  keep  watch  above 
the  dead.  In  the  former  a  large  space 
has  been  dedicated  to  the  Confederate 
dead,  and  a  large  granite  monument  has 
been  erected  there.  In  the  latter,  which 
is  the  scene  of  the  Battle  of  Atlanta  of 
July  2 2d,  it  is  proposed  to  raise  a  monu- 
ment of  gray  granite  and  blue  marble,  in 
honor  of  the  dead  of  both  armies  who 
fell  there,  and  an  association  com- 
posed of  veterans  from  both  armies 
has  been  formed  to  carry  out  this 
purpose.  Hon.  Evan  P.  Howell, 
senior  editor  of  the  Constitution, 
is  its  president. 

A  few  years  ago,  Atlanta  re- 
ceived and  entertained  the  asso- 
ciation devoted  to  Prison  Reform, 
with  ex-President  Hayes  at  its 
head.  Her  conscientious  citizens 
are  slowly  feeling  their  way  to  a 
satisfactory  prison  discipline  and 
a  preventive  treatment  of  incipient 
crime.  A  reform  school  for  youth- 
ful criminals  is  already  projected 
and  resolved  upon.  Of  its  fire  de- 
partment Atlanta  is  justly  proud. 
No  city  can  excel  its  skilful  and 
prompt  administration.  Its  police 
department  is  also  said  to  be  of 
superior  excellence. 

If  people,  as  the  writer  believes, 
best  reveal  themselves  in  their 
worship  and  recreation,  then  the 
church  and  the  theatre  are  good 
points  of  observation  for  the  in- 
quiring observer.  Atlanta  pat- 
ronizes   both.       The    crowds    are 


THE  NEW  SOUTH.  — ATLANTA. 


391 


always  in  the  church  or  at  the  theatre. 
The  appeal  in  both  is  primarily  to  the 
emotions.  The  two  clerical  Sams,  Mr. 
Jones  and  Mr.  Small,  served  their  ap- 
prenticeship in  this  vicinity,  and  they 
often  return  from  their  starring  tours  to 
"  astonish  the  na- 
tives" with  their 
audacious  elo- 
quence. The 
settled  ministry  of 
the  city  is  not,  as  a 
rule,  offensively 
sensational,  the 
clergy  pursuing 
their  expected 
duty  in  the  care 
of  souls  with  fidel- 
ity and  quietness. 

Of  society  in  At- 
lanta one  must 
speak  according  to 
his  opportunity  to 
participate  in  it. 
There  is  surely  no 
lack  of  elegance  in 
its  setting,  or  of 
beauty  and  grace 
in  its  company.  Its 
coteries  strike  one 
as  rather  acciden- 
tal than  necessary,  the  result  of  favorable 
residence,  equality  of  fortune  or  a  com- 
mon craving  for  reciprocal  admiration, 
and  not  the  clear  crystal  which  comes 
of  either  chemical  of  spiritual  affinity. 
But  in  what  new  world  or  new-time  city 
is  it  otherwise?  The  writer  would  say, 
if  asked  his  opinion,  that  this  vastly 
interesting  city  of  the  New  Old  South 
was  in  all  things  eclectic  rather  than 
originating.  It  takes  the  best  it  finds 
and  can  get  all  the  world  over,  and 
makes  a  thoroughly  interesting  combin- 
ation of  it  all.  Floral  festivals  from 
Florence,  trade  processions  from  this 
city,  expositions  from  that,  dog-shows, 
poultry-shows,  wild-west  shows,  tourna- 
ments, races,  athletics,  tableaux,  the  kir- 
mess,  anything,  everything  innocent, 
amusing  and  money-making,  all  contrive 
to  make  the  best  show  of  all, —  Atlanta. 

It  has  been  called  the  Gate-City  of  the 
South,  because  it  stands  at  the  meeting 
of  the  roads  that   lead  down   along  the 


mountain  sides  from  the  north  and  up 
along  the  river  banks  from  the  south,  and 
opens  its  doors  both  ways  for  the  inter- 
communication of  the  people.  The  name 
is  a  happy  one  ;  and  it  will  always  de- 
scribe Atlanta's  central  position  and  rae- 


Peachtree  Jtreet. 

diatorial  calling,  between  those  portions 
of  our  common  country,  which  are  con- 
veniently named  from  the  points  of  the 
compass.  But  if  I  wished  to  describe 
the  intrinsic  quality  of  Atlanta,  I  would 
call  it  the  Home  City.  It  is  preeminently 
a  city  of  homes.  The  dwelling-houses 
outnumber  the  stores  and  shops,  more 
than  is  usual  in  other  cities.  This  is  due 
to  many  and  sufficient  causes.  The 
climate  and  the  exceptional  healthful- 
ness  of  the  place ;  the  schools ;  the 
friendliness  of  its  people  ;  the  entertain- 
ment of  its  stirring  and  excitable  life  ;  its 
convenience  as  a  centre  for  travelling 
men,  —  all  unite  to  make  it  a  home  city. 
Since  business  has  taken  the  road,  and 
the  large  and  important  profession  of  the 
travelling  salesman  has  come  into  being, 
there  is  need  of  a  central,  healthful,  and 
agreeable  city  where  wives  and  children 
may  live  in  safety  and  comfort,  while 
husbands  and  fathers  are  away  from 
home  ;  Atlanta  is  that  city.     Every  city 


392 


THE  NEW  SOUTH.  — ATLANTA. 


needs  honorable  traditions.  What  is 
lacking  to  Atlanta  in  age  with  its  store 
of  honorable  memories,  is  made  up  to  her 
in  the  shining  heroism  of  her  record  in 
the  Civil  War.  While  no  ruin  of  that 
war  remains  in  the  city  itself,  all  loss 
having  been  swallowed  up  in  excess   of 


personal  relations  with  his  neighbors  are 
concerned.  Beyond  that  he  will  prob- 
ably find  in  the  men  he  meets  one  and 
the  same  nature  which  is  found  wherever 
man  is  found. 

As  the  capital  of  the  state,  Atlanta  has 
more  than  a  local  significance.     It  is  a 


The   McPherson    Monument. 


gain,  there  are  deep  lines  in  all  the 
woods  that  show  where  the  battle  was 
fought.  The  charitable  mantle  of  for- 
giving nature  is  thrown  over  them,  in 
vine  and  shrub  and  blossoming  tree  ;  but 
they  are  there,  like  the  hard  lines  of 
character  cut  deep  in  the  face  and  brow 
of  mature  manhood. 

To  one  who  came  a  stranger  to  Atlanta 
eight  years  ago,  as  the  writer  did,  a  living 
embodiment  of  what  might  fairly  be  re- 
garded as  least  acceptable  there  —  a 
Yankee,  and  a  heretic,  a  Unitarian  min- 
ister from  Boston,  —  the  courtesy,  toler- 
ance, and  kindness  of  the  people  have 
been  delightful.  Nothing  could  exceed 
the  neighborly  good-will  he  has  found 
among  the  people,  and  their  readiness  to 
co-operate  in  all  that  promotes  humanity, 
education,  and  culture.  I  believe  it  to 
be  true,  that  a  visitor  or  emigrant  to 
Atlanta  will  find  what  he  brings,  so  far  as 


representation  of  Georgia  as  a  whole, 
while  other  cities  naturally  secrete  and 
offer  to  the  taste  their  own  peculiar  flavor. 
In  the  lower  house,  the  member  from 
Chatham  graciously  inclines  to  the  mem- 
ber from  Cobb,  and  in  the  upper  chamber 
the  senator  from  Richmond  affably  greets 
the  senator  from  Cherokee.  Of  three 
men  meeting  on  the  street  corner,  one 
says,  "Howdy?  Colonel!"  Another 
answers,     "  Howdy  !     Major !       Let     me 

introduce   you    to   General ."     And 

major,  colonel,  and  general  laugh  and 
talk  together,  like  common  mortals,  as 
very  likely  they  are.  The  writer  who  is 
neither  old  enough,  wise  enough,  nor 
fixed  enough  to  have  earned  the  title 
from  his  alma  mater  at  Cambridge,  so 
partial  is  she  to  youth  for  office  and  to 
age  for  honors  —  is  always  called  doctor 
in  Atlanta  ;  the  degree  was  instantly  con- 
ferred upon  him  by  that  generous   and 


THE  JVE  W  SO UTH.  —  A  TLANTA. 


393 


confiding  university  —  the  Southern  pub- 
lic. Everybody  is  major-general  by 
brevet,  in  the  service  of  the  South. 

There  is  nothing  cold,  hesitating,  or 
mean  in  the  bestowal  of  titles.  As  I 
have  taken  my  walks  abroad,  I  have  been 
accosted  as  captain,  doctor,  colonel, 
mister,  and  boss  —  the  latter  being  the 
favorite  term  of  the  colored  man,  in  ad- 
dressing his  brother  in  white.  It  is  not 
necessarily  subservient  in  tone,  but  rather 
implies  a  sort  of  confidence  in  the  per- 
son accosted.  Thus,  I  have  been  ap- 
pealed to  on  the  public  street  as  "boss," 
to  read  a  letter  from  a  colored  boy  in  the 
North  to  his  father  in  Atlanta,  and  then 
to  write  a  brief  answer  on  a  postal  card, 
which  this  unlettered  highwayman  pro- 
duced for  that  purpose. 

Besides  the  local  celebrities  —  if  such 
a  name  can  be  given  to  residents  of  the 
city,  whose  fame  has  gone  out  to  all  the 
world  —  there  are  always  distinguished 
visitors  in  Atlanta.  "  There  is  Bob 
Toombs  !  "  one  said  to  me,  a  few  years 
ago,  in  the  rotunda  of  the  Kimball  House. 
The  "Thunderer"  had  aged,  and  I  found 
it  hard  to  associate  with  this  feeble- 
limbed  old  man  the  powerful  speech 
which  took  men  off  their  feet  in  the 
sweep  of  its  resistless  torrent.  When  at 
the  death  of  Alexander  H.  Stevens, 
Robert  Toombs  spoke  his  word  of  tri- 
bute, handkerchief  in  trembling  hand  and 
tears  in  his  voice  and  eyes,  it  was  like  the 
dying  out  of  a  great  storm :  harmless 
flashes  and  subdued  muttering  on  the  far 
horizon  and  among  the  spent  clouds. 
The  last  decade  has  been  mortal  to  the 
giants  of  the  state.  Not  only  Stevens 
and  Toombs  have  gone,  but  Benjamin 
Harvey  Hill,  whose  pathetic  sufferings 
won  all  hearts  which  his  fearless  eloquence 
had  not  already  captured.  The  statue 
of  him,  which  stands  in  the  grounds 
surrounding  the  State  House,  has  the 
merit  of  looking  like  him. 

There  is  nothing  tame  in  the  mem- 
orials of  such  men  as  these.  They 
and  their  times  were  stirring.  The 
stories  of  their  encounters  on  the 
hustings,  their  differences,  rivalries, 
and  controversies,  are  quick  still  with 
their  heroes'  "wonted  fires."  Mr. 
Stevens  was  a  bachelor.     Mr.  Hill  was 


married.  Over  some  critical  controversy,, 
involving  as  Mr.  Stevens  thought,  his  per- 
sonal honor,  he  challenged  Mr.  Hill  to 
fight  a  duel,  the  latter  replied  with  tre- 
mendous wit  and  impudence  :  "  No,  I  will 
not  fight  you.  I  have  a  wife  and  family 
to  support,  and  a  soul  to  save  ;  and  you 
have  neither."  There  were  giants  in 
those  days.  Last  of  them,  still  lives 
Senator  Joseph  Brown,  whose  life  is  told 
in  Mr.  Avery's  "  History  of  Georgia," 
with  a  fulness  which  reminds  one  of 
Louis  XIV's  famous  mot,  L'etat  c-est 
moi. 

The  last  governor  was  General  John  B. 
Gordon  who  added  civil  eminence  to  the 
glory  of  military  fame.  In  the  pleasant 
suburb  of  Edgewood,  speedily  reached 
by  Atlanta's  ample  railway  service,  is  the 
spacious  home  of  Senator  A.  H.  Colquitt. 
Driving  up  Peachtree  Street,  the  visitor 
will  be  shown  the  house  of  Henry  W. 
Grady,  with  a  conscious  inflection  of  sor- 


Monument  to  the  Confederate   Dead,  Atlanta. 


394 


THE  NEW  SOUTH.  — ATLANTA. 


row  with  the  pride  that  points  to  his  late 
home.  The  impression  made  upon  the 
people  of  Atlanta  by  the  sudden  death  of 
this  brilliant  and  sociable  man,  whose  love 
of  the  city  was  rewarded  by  a  love  of  the 
city  for  himself,  will  not  be  effaced  so 
long  as  the  circumstances  of  his  death  are 
remembered.  When,  after  a  perilous 
journey  in  the  interests  of  a  cause  most 
sacred  to  him,  —  the  mutual  understand- 
ing and  appreciation  of  the  North  and 
the  South,  —  he  returned  to  his  home  to 
die,  the  people  did  not  realize  at  what  a 
price  he  had  rendered  his  country  this 
consummate  service.  They  hushed  the 
tumult  of  their  'welcome  as  he  reached 
the  city  and  was  borne  exhausted  to  his 
carriage,  and  they  surrounded  his  home 
with  tender  but  not  over-anxious  concern 
from  day  to  day.  But  when,  on  Sunday, 
December  22,  it  became  known  that  there 
was  no  hope  of  his  recovery,  and  the  suc- 
ceeding day  confirmed  their  fears,  it 
seemed  as  if  the  Christmas  season  had 
brought  darkness  instead  of  light  to  the 
world.  His  body  was  taken  to  the  church 
on  Christmas  Day,  followed  by  a  city 
mourning  its  devoted  citizen.  If  the 
honesty  of  sorrow  is  any  test  of  the  worth 
of  its  object,  Henry  W.  Grady  was  a  man 
of  worth  to  his  people.  If  his  services 
had  not  assumed  national  proportions,  he 
might  be  claimed  as  the  very  embodi- 
ment of  the  city  he  so  much  loved  and 
did  so  much  to  create.  Or  if  Atlanta 
accepts    as  her  \J  mission  a 

like    service   to         \yif  ^e   whole 

nation,  then  his        AJL^  ,.    genius     and 


characteristic  service  may  all  the  bettej 
represent  her.  In  the  privacy  of  his 
home,  with  none  but  sympathizing  ears 
to  hear  him,  he  poured  out  to  us  the 
plan  and  purpose  of  his  Boston  speech. 
'•  I  have  no  personal  ends  to  serve,"  he 
said.  His  ambition  was  satisfied  with 
the  means  and  the  measure  of  influence 
he  had  already  attained.  But  he  did  de- 
sire, with  a  noble  ardor,  to  repeat,  and  if 
possible  to  surpass,  in  Boston,  the  ser- 
vice to  genuine  and  intelligent  reunion 
in  the  country  which  he  had  before  ren- 
dered in  New  York. 

If  any  one  were  competent  to  search 
out  and  report  the  character  and  life  of 
Mr.  Grady,  I  suspect  that  the  story  of  his 
city  would  be  found  already  written  there. 
"  I  hate  facts,"  he  once  said,  at  the  begin- 
ning of  a  unique  speech  ;  "  they  hamper 
a  man  so."  The  facts  and  figures  to  be 
found  in  his  more  serious  and  studied 
speeches  were  largely  collected  for  him 
or  suggested  to  him  by  men  who  did  not 
hate  them.  Atlanta  has  no  reason  to 
hate  facts.  The  good  things  already 
done  and  now  doing  in  her  name  are 
ample  enough  to  commend  her  to  her 
fellow-countrymen.  But  it  may  be  con- 
fessed without  discredit,  that  she  does 
not  love  any  facts  that  are  not  compli- 
mentary. Who  does?  What  man  or 
city  can  bear  the  truth,  the  whole  truth, 
and  nothing  but  the  truth?  If  any  city  in 
the  country  of  the  size  and  opportunities 
of  Atlanta,  twenty  years  ago,  can  show  more 
commendable  progress  in  those  twenty 
years,  let  it  now  speak.      I  know  of  none. 


-,... — 

K 

1  /.<? 

' -v 

V^'tv.,. 

1/    -— 

— - 


Z,^&i~- 


-^>-^^' ^'""  U""*  J-p-U»»cw> 


Fort  Walker. 


THE  CONVERTING  OF  OBED  SALTUS. 


A  True  Tory  Story — 1776. 


By  Rose   Terry   Cooke. 


WELL  !  I  said  it  afore  and  I'll  say 
it  ag'in  !  Hooray  for  King 
George  !  " 

And  Obed  Saltus  swung  his  old  coon- 
skin  cap  round  his  head  with  a  great 
flourish. 

"You  rt?;z-sarned  old  Tory!  Don't 
you  durst  holler  that  treason  here." 

Samuel  Steel's  eyes  blazed  and  his  great 
fist  clinched  tightly  as  he  shook  it  in 
Obed's  face. 

"It's  you't  holler  treason,  you  durn 
Whig  !  Treason  ag'inst  your  lawful  king. 
I  was  fetched  up  a  loyal  subject.  /  don't 
go  around  talkin'  and  a  kickin'  ag'inst 
powers  that  be,  and  'thorities,  and  them 
that  has  the  rewl  over  us  !  " 

"Well,  well,  Obed!  take  it  easy,"  put 
in  Father  Steel,  who  was  fat  and  easy- 
going. "  Never  brusk  up  at  Sam  so 
quick,  man  alive.  He's  allers  goin'  off 
at  half  cock,  takes  after  his  mother's 
folks ;  the  Terrys  always  did  go  snap  and 
bang, —  but  it's  only  powder." 

"  I  guess  powder  burns  if  it  don't 
shoot !  "   muttered  Sam. 

"Well,  ye  see,"  resumed  Obed,  "my 
folks  was  always  fetched  up  to  fear  God 
and  honor  the  king.  Kings  is  a  Scrip- 
tural institution,  now  I  tell  ye.  Bible's 
chuck  full  of  'em ;  the'  ain't  nothing 
whatever  'bout  Continental  Congresses 
nor  no  other  kind  o'  Congress,  nor  no 
presidents  nor  nothing  into  the  Bible, 
and  I  can't  go  whifflin'  round  like  the  tin 
rooster  on  your  barn  with  every  wind 
these  young  fellers  blows." 

"  There  is  suthin'  in  fetchin'  up,  to  be 
sure,"  answered  Father  Steel. 

"  It's  kind  of  onnateral  to  go  agin 
what  you've  alius  did,  but  then  you  don't 
feel  to  blame  a  boy  if  he  turns  round 
on  his  dad  when  he's  onjustly  treated." 

"  I  do,  too  !  I  don't  believe  in  turnin' 
ag'inst  constitooted  authorities  of  no  sort  ! 
and  moreover  I  don't  believe  the  king 
can  do  onjustly  by  any  man  :   ain't  he  got 


a  divine  right  to  rewl?  And  what  if  we 
ain't  sooted  with  what  he's  did,  do  you 
expect  we  poor  short-sighted  critters 
know  what's  good  for  us?  I  s'pose  you'd 
fault  the  Lord  'cause  you've  got  rheu- 
matiz,  wouldn't  ye?" 

"  Well,  I  can't  deny  but  what  I  do  feel 
amazin'  like  it,  some  spells,  Obed.  But 
King  George  ain't  the  Lord,  not  by  no 
manner  o'  means." 

"  But  he's  ordained,  or  'pinted,  or  what- 
ever, by  the  Lord.     Ye  won't  deny  that?  " 

"  I  will  too  !  "  roared  Sam.  "  He's 
nothin'  but  an  old  Dutchman  ;  hasn't  no 
right  to  be  King  of  England  no  how ; 
and  sartin  none  to  be  a  tie-rannirin'  and 
a  orderin'  over  us.  What'd  our  folks 
come  over  here  for,  anyway?" 

"  Why,  to  have  their  own  way,  as  far 
as  I  see,"  replied  Obed  dryly. 

"  No,  sir :  they  come  over  for  to  be 
free  !  " 

"What's  the  differ'nce  ?  "  retorted  the 
incorrigible  Obed. 

"An'  free  we're  a  goin'  to  be,  now  I 
tell  ye  !  "  shouted  Sam,  regardless  of 
Obed's  sarcasm. 

"  Yes,  we  be  !  freedom  we're  a  goin'  to 
hev'  at  any  price  ;  there'll  be  blood  and 
bones  a  lyin'  round  'fore  we've  done, 
quite  a  little,  but  we  ain't  goin'  to  have 
no  kings  rewlin  over  us  three  thousand 
'n'  odd  miles  off;  nor  no  folks  round 
here  that  talks  for  'em  !  " 

"  Nobody's  goin'  to  be  free  ;  only  you 
rebels,  eh?"  grimly  inquired  Saltus,  but 
Sam  was  too  furious  to  be  logical. 

"  Go  ahead,  Sam,  bust  your  windpipes, 
and  get  shot,  'nd  baggonetted,  and  rode 
over  with  them  calvary  troops,  they'll 
send  after  ye,  but  you  won't  never  beat. 
King's  army  '11  mow  ye  down  just  like 
grass  in  a  medder,  and  make  hay  on  ye, 
and  then  where'll  ye  be  ?  " 

"  A  sight  better  off  than  listenin'  to  a 
old  chuckle-head  like  you,  Obe  Saltus  ! 
You'd    better    put    your    hand    on    your 


•396 


OBED  SALTUS. 


mouth,  an'  your  mouth  in  the  dirt,  ef  you 
don't  want  to  be  chawed  up  by  them 
rebels  as  you  call  'em.  There's  other 
things  a  hangin'  on  some  o'  our  trees 
besides  apples." 

Obed  knew  this  was  true.  Very  well 
he  knew  what  fate  Tories  had  met  with 
here  and  there  in  New  England  for  avow- 
ing their  opinions.  They  had  been 
hunted  like  wild  animals  into  dens  and 
caves  of  the  hills,  they  had  been  whipped 
at  the  post,  and  shut  into  the  stocks  to 
be  taunted  and  pelted  by  the  populace. 
It  was  too  true,  what  he  said,  that  freedom 
of  speech  or  opinion,  the  proud  boast 
and  desire  of  the  Puritan  fathers,  was  not 
allowed  by  them  or  their  descendants  to 
those  who  differed  from  them ;  it  was 
human  nature,  the  same  then  as  to-day, 
unjust,  uncharitable,  cruel,  and  remorse- 
less in  the  majority,  for  whom  a  minority, 
however  honest  in  their  belief,  had  no 
rights. 

But  Obed  was  a  stout-hearted  fellow, 
brought  up  by  fervently  loyal  parents  ;  he 
was  not  to  be  daunted  by  this  mistaken 
rebel ;  he  had  just  as  much  contempt  for 
Sam's  political  opinions  as  Sam  had  for 
his  ;  they  were  both  iren,  and  angry  men 
at  that.  He  went  on  with  his  irritating 
words. 

"Well,  go  'long,  do.  If  by  some  in- 
terp'sition  of  Satan  you  do  beat  and  set 
up  your  own  gov'n'ment,  what'll  become 
of  ye?  Fust  one  man  'nd  then  another 
to  the  top,  for  there'll  always  an'  forever 
be  a  top  and  somebody  a  gittin'  there. 
Say  they  get  there  by  bein'  voted  in, — 
what's  that?  Don't  it  give  ye  a  thousand 
to  rewl  over  ye,  yes,  mebbe  hundreds  of 
thousands  'stead  o'  one,  and  a  poor  lot 
too,  prob'bly?  I'd  jest  as  lieves  er  take 
my  chance  o'  one  born  to't  and  eddicated 
for  it  as  to  hev'  a  rabble  a  trampin'  over 
my  head  and  a  hollerin'  '  Why  do  ye  so  ?  ' 
at  me  the  hull  individooal  time.  I  swan, 
I'd  ruther  !  An'  'tisn't  always  a  goin'  to 
"be  our  folks  that'll  do  the  governin'. 
Jest  tell  the  universe  that  "  Here's  a  free 
country,  you  come  over  and  see,"  and 
you'll  have  all  the  scum  runnin'  for  ye — 
Hivites,  an'  Hittites,  an'  Jebusites,  and 
Lord  knows  who,  all  a  puttin'  their  dirty 
fingers  in  our  pie  and  a  stirrin'  of  it  up, 
till  it's  a  hog-mess.  And  why  shouldn't  it 


be?  Won't  your  way  make  a  swill-pail 
of  the  hull  country?  And  won't  it  come 
to  a  bad  end?  You  think  you're  a  goin' 
to  make  a  kind  of  Par'dise  of  this  new 
part  o'  the  world,  but  I  tell  ye  the  devil'll 
come  in  where  the  door's  open,  same  as 
he  did  to  the  beginnin,'  and  it'll  be  thorns 
and  briars  and  flam  in'  swords  for  ye, 
jest  as  'twas  for  them  two.  Just  as  Scrip- 
ter  says,  '  There  is  a  way  that  seemeth 
right  unto  a  man,  but  the  end  thereof 
are  the  ways  of  death.' " 

"  Ain't  you  a  lookin'  a  leetle  too  far 
beyond  the  eend  o'  your  nose,  Obed?" 
gravely  asked  Father  Steel. 

"  The  eend  o'  his  nose  '11  be  consider- 
'ble  longer  ef  he  talks  like  that,"  said 
Sam,  shaking  his  fist.  "You  shut  up, 
Obed  Saltus,  or  't  '11  be  the  wuss  for  ye. 
The  Vigilance  C'mmittee's  got  an  eye  on 
you,  and  you'd  better  b'lieve  it." 

"  I  ain't  afraid  o'  your  onlawful  c'm- 
mittee, —  not  a  mite  !  I'm  free  to  throw  up 
my  cap  for  King  George,  and  I'm  a-goin' 
to  ;"  and  whistling  "  God  save  the  King  " 
as  loud  and  clearly  as  he  knew  how,  Obed 
thrust  his  hands  into  his  pockets  and 
walked  off  homeward  with  defiance  ex- 
pressed in  every  crease  of  his  old  coat. 

Obed  lived  alone  in  a  small  frame 
house  out  on  a  hillside  beyond  Madox 
Street.  He  had  never  been  married. 
Perhaps  the  softening  influence  of  a  wife 
and  children,  the  responsibilities  of  a 
family,  might  have  made  him  less  earnest 
in  his  unpopular  Toryism,  or  at  least  more 
cautious  about  obtruding  it ;  but  he  had 
grown  up  in  comparative  solitude,  an 
only  child,  and  had  always  been  used  to 
say  what  he  thought  plainly  and  forcibly. 

"  Now  Sam,"  said  Father  Steel,  when 
Obed  was  well  out  of  hearing,  "  why  do  ye 
want  to  stir  up  that  feller  so  ?  You  know 
he's  always  one  to  speak  in  meetin',  and 
his  idees  is  tougher'n  moosewood.  I'd 
let  him  alone." 

"  Let  him  alone  !  I'm  sculped  if  I 
do  !  He's  a  sneakin'  Tory,  'n  fust  you 
know  he'll  be  spyin'  'round  and  a-givin' 
information  to  th'  enemy,  an'  upsettin'  of 
plans.  Besides  I  don't  fellership  folks 
around  that's  on  t'other  side.  He's  got 
to  be  snaked  out  o'  Madox  and  sent  off 
to  jine  his  sort,  or  he's  got  to  holler  for 
our  side,  now  I  tell  ye  !  " 


OBED  SALT  US. 


397 


Sam  was  possessed  of  his  "  idees,"  too, 
and  Father  Steel  knew  it  by  long  experi- 
ence ;  so  he  said  no  more,  but  strolled 
away  to  the  little  country  tavern,  from 
whose  tall  signpost  hung  a  picture  of  a 
gaunt  red  lion,  a  beast  unknown  to 
zoological  collections,  but  evidently  imi- 
tated from  the  "  lion  and  the  unicorn  " 
of  Britain.  It  was  rather  a  treasonable 
sign  just  now,  and  the  landlord  had  been 
notified  to  remove  it.  He  was  a  slow  man 
and  "  hadn't  got  to  't  yet,' '  but  it  was  just 
as  well  he  waited.  For  that  same  after- 
noon, as  the  result  of  Sam's  excited  con- 
ference with  various  men  in  and  about  the 
village,  there  suddenly  appeared  in  the 
street  a  crowd  of  between  twenty  and 
thirty  rough,  determined-looking  fellows 
surrounding  a  man  who  was  firmly  held 
by  two  of  his  captors,  but  bore  as  un- 
daunted a  face  as  any  of  the  crowd.  It 
was  Obed  Saltus  and  the  Vigilance  Com- 
mittee of  Madox. 

They  halted  right  under  the  tavern 
signpost,  and  the  oldest  man  of  the  num- 
ber said  in  a  stern  voice  : 

"  Obed  Saltus,  you're  accused  and  con- 
victed of  bein'  a  Tory,  and  Madox  folks 
ha'n't  got  no  use  for  that  kind  of  critter 
amongst  'em.  Now  you'll  jest  holler  for 
the  Continental  Congress  or  be  hung  by 
the  neck  to  that  there  signpost  till  you 
can't  holler  for  nobody." 

Obed  snatched  his  right  arm  from  the 
grasp  of  the  man  who  held  it,  and  swung 
his  old  cap  high. 

"  Hooray  for  King  George,"  he  shouted 
with  all  his  strength. 

In  one  moment  the  running  noose  of 
a  new  rope  that  one  of  the  men  brought 
forward  was  round  his  neck  and  he 
dangled  high  in  air,  for  the  other  end  of 
that  rope  was  already  reeved  over  the 
bar  that  held  the  sign. 

It  was  well  for  Obed  that  from  his 
youth  he  had  been  used  to  climb  the  tall 
and  slender  trees  of  the  forest  after  squir- 
rels and  birds'  nests.  His  captors  had  for- 
gotten to  tie  his  hands,  which  involuntarily 
flew  upward,  and  one  grasped  the  rope 
above  his  head ;  this  relieved  the  tension 
on  his  throat,  and  with  the  other  hand  he 
helped  himself  further ;  but  as  he  struck 
out,  both  hand  and  foot  hit  the  sign  with 
convulsive  energy  :  its  wires  were  already 


rusted  by  the  weather,  and  it  fell  to  the 
ground,  knocking  Sam  Steel  flat,  and 
making  a  wound  on  his  temple  that  scar- 
red it  for  his  lifetime.  Who  shall  say 
justice  is  not  sometimes  dealt  out  in  this 
world  !  Very  promptly  the  men  in  charge 
of  the  ceremony  let  their  victim  down ; 
he  was  purple  from  even  this  short  stran- 
gulation, panting,  red-eyed,  but  furious 
and  unsubdued. 

"Now  will  ye  holler  for  Congress?" 
said  the  irate  leader. 

"  No  !  hang  and  be  darned  to  ye  ! 
While  I've  got  a  breath  left  I'll  say, 
'  Hooroar  for  King  George,'  if  I  do 
hang  for  it  !  " 

"Tie  his  hands  this  time,"  said  Caleb 
Dibble  grimly. 

So  they  made  him  helpless  in  the  pro- 
per hangman's  way,  and  hauled  him  up 
till  his  starting  eyes  and  blackened  vis- 
age, his  limp  limbs  that  were  no  longer 
convulsed,  and  the  agonizing  heaving  of 
his  chest  indicated  near  death. 

"  Let  him  down,"  said  Caleb  Dibble. 
"  Mebbe  he's  had  enough  to  change  his 
mind  this  time  !  " 

It  seemed  for  a  few  moments  as  if  the 
poor  creature  had  had  too  much  to  allow 
of  any  change  whatever  in  this  world. 
They  fetched  brandy  from  the  tavern  and 
dripped  it  slowly  into  the  relaxed  lips, 
they  burned  feathers  under  his  nose, 
poured  water  on  his  head,  and  vigorously 
slapped  him ;  but  it  was  at  least  half  an 
hour  before  he  could  sit  up,  swallow  the 
hot  dram  they  brought  him,  or  speak  an 
audible  word.  One  would  have  thought 
that  his  deplorable  condition  and  his 
manful  adherence  to  his  principles  would 
have  compelled  the  men  about  him  to 
spare  further  torture ;  but  they  were 
fanatics  for  the  time  being ;  like  a  tiger 
who  had  tasted  blood  they  had  taken  a 
draught  of  irresponsible  power  and  reck- 
less tyranny,  a  draught  that  develops  the 
lurking  fiend  in  all  men. 

As  soon  as  he  held  up  his  head  and 
looked  about  him  with  the  eyes  of  a 
hunted  animal  and  the  pitiful  aspect  of 
terror  that  has  broken  down  at  once 
courage  and  self-respect,  they  put  the 
noose  about  his  neck  once  more  and 
again  bound  his  unresisting  hands.  Caleb 
Dibble     faced     him,     too,     once     more. 


398 


LOWELL  AND  THE  BIRDS. 


"  Now,  ye  know  how  good  'tis,  will  ye 
try  it  ag'in  ?  It'll  be  wuss  next  time  ;  you'll 
hang  there  till  you're  dead,  sure  !  " 

Obed  looked  up  at  the  face  before  him  ; 
those  strong  features  worked  with  savage 
cruelty,  the  eyes  burned  with  gloomy 
flames ;  he  felt  again  the  horrid  pangs  of 
strangulation,  the  bursting  blood-vessel, 
the  flashes  of  vivid  light  across  his  eyes, 
the  dreadful  impossibility  of  resistance, 
all  the  agonies  of  death  without  its  final 
release.  Not  one  kind  face  solaced  him 
with  pity,  not  one  comrade  inspired  his 
sinking  soul  with  strength  or  courage  ;  he 
was  alone  in  every  sense,  and  his  stout 
spirit  gave  way ;  the  brave  man  became 
a  spiritless  creature  to  whom  but  one 
chance  of  life  was  left ;  dear  life,  sweet 
life,  that  we  all  cling  to  desperately,  even 
when  its  ways  are  dark  and  its  streams 
bitter  ! 

He  gave  a  great  sob ;  feebly  his  weary 
arm  stole  up  to  his  coonskin  cap  and 
lifted  it  from  his  head.  "  Hooray  for  K  — 
the  Continental  Congress,"  he  cried,  in 
the  feeble  voice  of  a  child.     "  Hooray  ! 


hooray  !  "  echoed  all  the  men  about,  and 
lifting  him  from  the  grass  they  carried 
him  into  the  tavern,  a  limp,  listless  rag 
of  humanity,  hard  to  be  restored  to  con- 
secutive speech  even  by  freely  adminis- 
tered toddy  and  much  hand-shaking. 
At  last  he  rallied  enough  to  stammer 
drunkenly,  "  Gen'lemen,  this  is  rather  a 
rough  way  to  convert  a  man  into  a  — 
well  —  out  o'  bein'  a  Tory;  but,  by  thun- 
der, it'll  do  it." 

Hours  after,  he  slunk  away  to  his 
lonely  cabin  in  the  woods,  a  broken  and 
wretched  man  ;  it  is  only  recorded  of 
him  that  years  after  he  married  a  creature 
almost  as  wretched  as  himself,  the  daugh- 
ter of  a  Canadian  coal-burner,  and  having 
two  children,  a  son  and  a  daughter,  called 
them  respectively  History  and  Mystery, 
giving  for  reason  : 

"  I'll  be  danged  if  there  shan't  be  a 
Tory  Saltus  of  some  natur'  that  can't  be 
hanged  for  it." 

One  can  only  echo  Madame  Roland : 
"  Oh  Liberty !  how  many  crimes  are 
committed  in  thy  name  !  " 


LOWELL  AND  THE  BIRDS. 


By  Leander  S.  Keyser. 


IN  making  a  study  of  Lowell's  poetry 
for  a  special  purpose,  one  cannot  help 
admiring  the  genius  with  which  he 
transmutes  every  theme  he  touches  into 
gold.  His  muse  is  very  versatile,  ranging 
over  a  wide  and  varied  field.  There 
may  be  times  when  one  is  not  in  the  mood 
for  smiling  at  his  humor  or  weeping  at 
his  pathos ;  but  his  touches  of  nature 
are  always  so  true,  so  musical,  so  pic- 
turesque, that  they  seldom  fail  to  strike  a 
responsive  chord  in  the  breasts  of  those 
readers  who  are  not : 

"  Aliens  among  the  birds  and  brooks, 
Dull  to  interpret  or  conceive 
What  gospels  lost  the  woods  retrieve/' 


No  other  American  poet  seems  to  get 
so  near  to  nature's  heart.  Dream  though 
he  sometimes  may,  he   seldom   loses  his 


hold  on  the  world  of  the  real  in  nature. 
Nature  in  her  own  garb  is  beautiful 
enough  for  him,  and  does  not  need  the 
garnishing  and  drapery  of  an  over  fanciful 
interpretation.  It  is  not  my  purpose, 
however,  to  eulogize  Lowell's  poetry, 
even  his  poetry  of  nature,  in  a  general 
way,  or  to  attempt  an  analysis  of  it,  but 
simply  to  call  attention  to  some  of  his 
descriptions  of  the  feathered  creation. 
Among  all  our  American  poets,  he  is  the 
poet  par  excellence  of  bird  ways.  It  is 
true  that  Emerson  is  rich  in  allusions  to 
the  birds,  and  especially  felicitous  in  his 
characterizations,  but  his  references  are 
briefer  and  far  less  frequent  than  those  of 
Lowell.  Lowell  never  speaks  of  the 
birds  in  a  stereotyped  way  as  many  poets 
do,  but  mentions  them  by  name,  and 
often  describes  their  behavior  with  such 


LOWELL  AND  THE  BLRDS. 


399 


a  deftness  and  accuracy  of  touch  as  to 
enchant  the  specialist  in  bird  lore. 
Having  given  no  little  attention  to  the 
study  of  birds,  I  feel  prepared  to  say  that 
Lowell's  touch  is  always  sure  when  he 
undertakes  to  depict  the  manners  of  the 
"feathered  republic  of  the  groves."  I 
have  not  found  a  single  technical  in- 
accuracy in  all  his  numerous  allusions ; 
and  I  believe  I  may  say  that  I  am  familiar 
with  every  bird  whose  charms  he  has 
chanted. 

I  wish  to  show  in  the  first  place  the 
remarkable  felicity  of  his  more  general 
references  to  birds  and  their  ways.  The 
music  of  these  minstrels  of  the  air  often 
fills  his  bosom  with  pleasing  but  half- 
regretful  reminders  of  other  and  hap- 
pier days ;  as,  for  example,  when  he  pen- 
ned those  exquisite  lines,  "To  Perdita, 
singing": 

"  She  sits  and  sings 
With  folded  wings 
And  white  arms  crost, 
'  Weep  not  for  bygone  things, 
They  are  not  lost.'  " 

Then  follow  some  lines  of  enchanting 
sweetness,  the  concluding  ones  of  which 
are  these  : 

"  Every  look  and  every  word 
Which  thou  givest  forth  to-day 
Tells  of  the  singing  of  the  bird 
Whose  music  stilled  thy  boyish  play." 

A  similar  pensive  reference  is  found  in 
our  poet's  ode,  "To  the  Dandelion," 
which  is  as  deserving  of  admiration  as 
many  of  the  more  famous  odes  of  English 
poets.  He  thus  apostrophizes  "  the  com- 
mon flower  "  that  fringes  "  the  dusty  road 
with  harmless  gold  "  : 

"  My  childhood's  earliest  thoughts  are  linked  with 
thee; 
The  sight  of  thee  calls  back  the  robin's  song, 
Who,  from  the  dark  old  tree 
Beside  the  door  sang  clearly  all  day  long; 
And  I,  secure  in  childish  piety, 
Listened  as  if  I  heard  an  angel  sing 
With  news  from  heaven,  which  he  could  bring 
Fresh  every  day  to  my  untainted  ears, 
When   birds    and    flowers    and  I  were    happy 
peers." 

A  bird  often  affords  our  poet  a  meta- 
phor by  which  to  represent  some  of  the 
sad  reminiscences  of  his  life.  Listen  to 
this  sweet,  minor  strain  : 


"  As  a  twig  trembles,  which  a  bird 

Lights  on  to  sing,  then  leaves  unbent, 
So  is  my  memory  thrilled  and  stirred;  — 
I  only  know  she  came  and  went." 

With  what  a  plaintive  melody  the  last 
line  lingers  in  one's  mind,  like  some  far- 
off  melancholy  strain,  singing  itself  over 
again  and  again  with  a  persistency  that 
will  not  be  hushed  !  There  are  times, 
too,  when  our  bard  falls  into  a  slightly 
despondent  mood,  and  even  then  the 
birds  serve  to  give  a  turn  to  his  melan- 
choly reflections  : 

"  But  each  day  brings  less  summer  cheer, 
Crimps  more  our  ineffectual  spring, 
And  something  earlier  every  year 
Our  singing  birds  take  wing." 

I  confess  that  I  do  not  like  him  so  well 
when  his  verse  takes  on  this  cheerless 
hue,  and  I  turn  gladly  to  his  more  jubi- 
lant lays,  when  he  seems  to  have  caught 
the  joy  of  the  full-toned  bird  orchestra, 
as  he  does  at  one  place  in  "  The  Vision 
of  Sir  Laiinfal :  " 

"  The  little  birds  sang  as  if  it  were 

The  one  day  of  summer  in  all  the  year, 
And  the  very  leaves    seemed   to    sing   on    the 

trees." 

How  often  have  I  been  caught  in  such 
a  mesh  of  bird  song,  on  a  bright  day  of 
the  early  spring  time  !  Even  good-na- 
tured Hosea  Biglow,  cannot  always  repress 
his  enthusiasm  for  the  birds,  although  he 
is  altogether  too  chary  of  his  allusions  to 
them.  Llis  unsophisticated  sincerity  can- 
not brook  a  perfunctory  treatment  of 
Nature's  blithe  minstrels,  for  he  breaks 
out  quite  scornfully  in  denouncing  those 
book-read  poets  who  get  "wut  they've 
airly  read  "  so  "  worked  into'  their  heart 
an'  head  "  that  they 

"  Can't  seem  to  write  but  jest  on  sheers 

With  furrin  countries  or  played-out  ideers." 

"This  makes  'em  talk  o' daisies,  larks,  an'  things, 
Ez  though  we'd    nothin'  here  that    blows    an' 

sings.  — 
Why,  I'd  give  more  for  one  live  bobolink 
Than  a  square  mile  o'  larks  in  printer's  ink  !  " 

Hosea,  in  spite  of  the  meagreness  of 
his  allusions  to  bird  life,  still  proves  be- 
yond a  doubt  that  he  is  conversant  with 
the  migratory  habits  of  the  birds,  and 
that  he  has  been  watching  a  little  impa- 
tiently for  their  vernal  appearance  in  his 


400 


LOWELL  AND  THE  BLRDS. 


native  fields  and  woods,  as  every  ornithol- 
ogist who  reads  the  following  lines  will 
testify  : 

"The  birds  are  here,  for  all  the  season's  late; 
They  take  the  sun's  height  an'  don'  never  wait; 
Soon  'z  he  officially  declares  it's  spring, 
Their  light  hearts  lift  'em  on  a  north'ard  wing, 
An'  th'  ain't  an  acre,  fur  ez  you  can  hear, 
Can't  by  the  music  tell  the  time  o'  year." 

Sometimes  a  single  line  or  a  phrase 
shows  our  poet's  familiarity  with  the 
feathered  world,  and  gives  his  verse  a 
flavor  of  out-door  life  that  puts  a  tonic 
into  the  reader's  blood ;  as  when  he 
speaks  of  "  the  thin-winged  swallow  skat- 
ing on  the  air,"  or  remarks  incidentally 
that  the  "  catbird  croons  in  the  lilac- 
bush,"  or  that  "  the  robin  sings,  as  of 
old,  from  the  limb."  How  vivid  and  full 
of  woodsy  suggestion  are  the  following 
lines  from  that  delightful  poem,  "Al 
Fresco :  " 

"  The  only  hammer  that  I  hear 
Is  wielded  by  the  woodpecker, 
The  single  noisy  calling  his 
In  all  our  leaf-hid  Sybaris." 

How  characteristic  of  woodpecker-dom 
is  this  quatrain  !  Still  more  musical  are 
the  first  six  lines  of  the  poem  entitled 
"  The  Fountain  of  Youth  :  " 

"  'Tis  a  woodland  enchanted  ! 
By  no  sadder  spirit 
Than  blackbirds  and  thrushes, 
That  whistle  to  cheer  it 
All  day  in  the  bushes, 
This  woodland  is  haunted." 

And  what  a  picture  for  the  fancy  is 
painted  in  the  lines  : 

"  Like  rainbow-feathered  birds  that  bloom 
A  moment  on  some  autumn  bough, 
That,  with  the  spurn  of  their  farewell, 
Sheds  its  last  leaves  !  " 

This  might  be  called  a  flash-light  view 
of  one  of  the  rarest  scenes  in  nature. 

The  poet  must  have  often  bent  over  a 
callow  brood  of  nestlings,  or  he  never 
could  have  written  so  knowingly  about 
them : 

"  Blind  nestlings,  unafraid, 
Stretch  up  wide-mouthed  to  every  shade 
By  which  their  downy  dream  is  stirred, 
Taking  it  for  the  mother-bird." 

For  such  is  the  unsuspicious  habit  of 


bantlings  in  the  nest.  It  would  be  diffi- 
cult to  find  a  lighter  touch  than  that  in 
which  Mr.  Lowell  describes  a  resplendent 
morning,  "  omnipotent  with  sunshine, 
whose  quick  charm  ....  wiled  the  blue- 
bird to  his  whiff  of  song," 

"  While  aloof 
An  oriole  clattered  and  the  robin  shrilled, 
Denouncing  me  an  alien  and  a  thief;  " 

It  should  be  borne  in  mind  that  the 
reference  is  to  the  alarm  calls  and  not 
the  songs  of  the  robin  and  the  oriole. 

How  exquisite  is  the  reference  to 

"  The  bluebird,  shifting  his  light  load  of  song 
From  post  to  post  along  the  cheerless  fence;  " 

while  it  would  be  difficult  to  find  any- 
thing more  poetical  or  more  realistic  than 
the  following : 

"  Far  distant  sounds  the  hidden  chickadee 
Close  at  my  side,"  — 

especially  if  the  reference  be  to  the  little 
black-capped  titmouse's  minor  whistle, 
which  has  a  strange,  sad  remoteness  when 
heard  in  the  woods,  almost  reminding 
one  of  Orpheus  mourning  for  his  lost 
love.  No  less  vivid  are  the  lines  which 
sing  that 

"  the  phebe  scarce  whistles 
Once  an  hour  to  his  fellow." 

or  these  : 

"  O'erhead  the  balanced  hen-hawk  slides, 
Twinned  in  the  river's  heaven  below;  " 

or  this  description  of  a  winter  scene  : 

"  I  stood  and  watched  by  the  window 
The  noiseless  work  of  the  sky, 
And  the  sudden  flurries  of  snowbirds, 
Like  brown  leaves  whirling  by." 

Like  all  lovers  of  the  feathered  king- 
dom Lowell  has  his  favorites,  whose  praises 
he  frequently  sings  with  an  appreciation 
whose  sincerity  cannot  be  doubted.  Among 
the  birds  to  which  he  is  especially  partial 
is  the  bobolink  —  that  blithe  minstrel  of 
our  meadows  and  clover  fields.  Let  us 
lend  a  listening  ear  while  he  chants 
the  virtues  of  the  bird  he  loves  so  well. 
I  call  attention  to  the  following  picture  of 
the  male  bobolink  at  the  time  when  there 
are  bantlings  in  the  grassy  nest  that  de- 
mand his  care,  as  well  as  that  of  his  faith- 
ful spouse  : 


LOWELL  AND  THE  BIRDS. 


401 


"  Meanwhile  that  devil-may-care,  the  bobolink, 
Remembering  duty,  in  mid-quaver  stops 

Just  ere  he  sweeps  o'er  rapture's  tremulous  brink, 
And  'twixt  the  windrows  most  demurely  drops, 

A  decorous  bird  of  business,  who  provides 

For  his  brown  mate  and  fledgelings  six  besides, 
And  looks  from  right  to  left,  a  farmer  'mid  his 
crops." 

One  can  almost  see  the  poet  leaning 
against  the  rail  fence  of  the  clover  field, 
with  pencil  in  hand,  drawing  the  portrait 
of  the  bird  which  is  posing  unconsciously 
before  him,  so  true  is  his  delineation  to 
bobolink  life.  But  to  find  Lowell  at  his 
best  you  must  read  his  description  of 
Robert  o'  Lincoln  at  his  best.     Hark  ! 

"  But  now,    oh,    rapture !     sunshine   winged    and 

voiced, 
Pipe  blown  through  by  the  warm,  wild  breath 

of  the  West, 
Shepherding  his  soft  droves  of  fleecy  cloud, 
Gladness  of  woods,  skies,  waters,  all  in  one, 
The  bobolink  has  come,  and,  like  the  soul 
Of  the  sweet  season,  vocal  in  a  bird, 
Gurgles  in  ecstasy  we  know  not  what, 
Save  June!     Dear  June!     Now  God  be  praised 

for  Jtine." 

The  only  fault  to  be  found  with  this 
exquisite  tribute  is  that  it  is  rather  too 
much  involved  to  glide  melodiously  from 
the  lips,  or  be  quite  clear  to  the  mind 
until  after  a  second  or  .third  reading. 
Not  so  picturesque,  but  more  simple  and 
musical,  is  this  bit : 

"  From  blossom-clouded  orchards,  far  away 
The  bobolink  tinkled." 

The  provincial  tongue  of  Hosea  Biglow 
presents  us  with  the  following  rare  bit  of 
portraiture,  which  has  all  the  strength  and 
freshness  of  a  painting  from  nature  : 

"  June's  bridesman,  poet  o'  the  year, 
Gladness  on  wings,  the  bobolink  is  here; 
Half-hid  in  tip-top  apple-bloom  he  sings, 
Or  climbs  against  the  breeze  with  quiverin'  wings, 
Or,  givin'  way  to  't  in  mock  despair, 
Runs  down  a  brook  o'  laughter  thro'  the  air." 

The  Baltimore  oriole  also  claims  Mr. 
Lowell's  admiration  ;  there  is  one  descrip- 
tive passage  relative  to  this  bird  that,  in 
my  opinion,  even  goes  ahead  of  the 
famous  bobolink  eulogy  just  quoted  : 

"  Hush  !     'Tis  he  ! 
My  oriole,  my  glance,  my  summer  fire, 
Is  come  at  last,  and,  ever  on  the  watch, 
Twitches  the  pack-thread  I  had  lightly  wound 
About  the  bough  to  help  his  housekeeping,  — 
Twitches  and  scouts  by  turns,  blessing  his  luck, 


Yet  fearing  me  who  laid  it  in  his  way, 

Nor,  more  than  wiser  we  in  our  affairs, 

Divines  the  providence  that  hides  and  helps. 

Heave,  ho!     Heave,  ho!  he  whistles  as  the  twine 

Slackens  its  hold;    Once  more,  now!  and  a  flash 

Lightens  across  the  sunlight  to  the  elm 

Where  his  mate  dangles  at  her  cup  of  felt. 

Nor  all  his  booty  is  the  thread ;    he  trails 

My  loosened  thought  with  it  along  the  air, 

And  I  must  follow,  would  I  ever  find 

The  inward  rhyme  to  all  this  wealth  of  life." 

The  last  sentence  is  a  deft  turn  at  weav- 
ing, oriole-like,  a  thread  of  reflection  into 
a  fine  piece  of  description. 

Besides  the  bobolink  and  the  oriole,  the 
blackbird  is  often  made  to  do  charming 
duty  in  Lowell's  verse.  What  student  of 
the  birds  has  not  often  seen  the  picture 
described  by  the  line  : 

"Alders  the  creaking  redwings  sink  on"? 

or, 

"  the  blackbirds  clatt'rin'  in  tall  trees 
An'  settlin'  things  in  windy  Congresses"? 

I  have  already  given  a  number  of 
quotations  in  which  the  robin  figures 
conspicuously.  I  think  of  one  more  — 
that  in  which  Hosea  Biglow  exclaims, 
"Thet's  the  robin's  almanick  "  : 

"  So,  choosin'  out  a  handy  crotch  an'  spouse, 
He  goes  to  plasterin'  his  adobe"  house." 

Seductive  as  the  figure  is,  there  seems 
to  be  something  forced  in  the  conceit 
that  the  thrushes  sing  because  they  have 
been  "  pierced  through  with  June's  de- 
licious sting ;"  but  when  the  catbird  -says 
to  the  poet : 

"  Or  if  to  me  you  will  not  hark, 

By  Beaver  Brook  a  thrush  is  ringing, 
Till  all  the  alder-coverts  dark 

Seem  sunshine -dappled  with  his  singing,"  — 

one  feels  that,  while  the  catbird  would 
not  be  likely  to  accord  its  rival  such  un- 
stinted praise,  the  poet's  rhapsody  over 
the  thrush's  minstrelsy  is  not  careless. 
To  this  same  catbird,  which  he  has  made 
unnaturally  magnanimous,  and  which,  he 
says, 

"  So  oft  my  soul  has  caught 
In  morn  and  evening  voluntaries," 

he  pays  a  tribute  which  every  lover  of 
birds  should  read.  Seen  through  Lowell's 
eyes,  every  bird  becomes  an  idyllic  crea- 
ture. I  have  here  gleaned  from  his 
poetry  only  a  few  passages  out  of  many 
equally  beautiful  and  striking. 


THE  EDITORS'  TABLE. 


Boston  is  not  only  the  great  musical  capital  of 
America;  it  is  one  of  the  great  musical  centres 
of  the  world.  Herr  Gericke,  coming  from  Vi- 
enna, and  Herr  Nikisch,  coming  from  Leipzig, 
tell  us  that  nowhere  in  Europe  is  more  good 
music  heard  each  winter  than  here  in  the  Puritan 
city.  Boston  is  weak  in  opera,  destitute  indeed, 
as  is  every  American  city  save  New  York,  but  in 
all  other  departments  of  music  the  program  which 
she  spreads  before  the  student  is  a  long  and  bril- 
liant one.  How  large  and  important  a  factor  in 
her  general  life  her  distinctively  musical  public 
constitutes  she  is  herself  seldom  properly  aware. 
How  large  the  throng  of  students  is  who,  gather- 
ing from  all  parts  of  the  country,  crowd  the  doors 
of  her  music  schools,  she  seldom  pauses  to  com- 
pute. We  do  not  ourselves  know  how  large  it  is; 
but  when  we  remember  the  one  great  conserva- 
tory with  perhaps  its  thousand  pupils,  the  lesser 
conservatories,  and  the  schools  and  private  in- 
structors of  every  grade,  in  vast  number,  it  be- 
comes apparent  that  the  whole  body  of  musical 
students  in  this  musical  capital  must  be  very  large 
indeed.  Add  to  this  body  the  greater  number  of 
those  who,  not  distinctively  musical  students,  are 
yet  lovers  of  music  and  supporters  of  all  good 
musical  efforts,  and  we  have  surely  an  imposing 
musical  public,  which  would  seem  to  be  sufficient 
to  warrant  almost  any  promising  experiment  in  the 
direction  of  musical  culture. 

The  most  important  factor  in  the  general  musi- 
cal culture  of  Boston  to-day  is  unquestionably  the 
course  of  Symphony  Concerts  given  each  winter 
in  Music  Hall.  Never  in  America  has  there  been 
a  musical  enterprise  of  the  magnitude  of  this; 
nowhere  in  the  world,  as  our  distinguished  Euro- 
pean friends  tell  us,  are  finer  concerts  given.  We 
trust  this  noble  enterprise,  so  munificently  under- 
taken, will  never  lack  the  enthusiastic  apprecia- 
tion and  response  from  the  musical  public  which 
it  now  meets.  But  the  thought  often  occurs,  and 
it  occurs  again  with  force  as  a  new  series  of  these 
concerts  opens,  whether  the  real  musical  culture, 
the  definite  musical  education,  of  a  large  portion 
of  the  great  audience  which  gathers  in  Music 
Hall  each  Saturday  night  for  half  the  year  would 
not  be  advanced  much  more  by  a  series  of  con- 
certs with  much  more  unified,  related,  and  con- 
secutive programs.  A  considerable  contingent  of 
this  audience  consists  of  professional  musicians 
and  musical  students;  and  these  we  may  suppose 
to  come  directly  from  the  study  and  practice  of 
Bach  and  Beethoven  and  Brahms  —  although  in 
many  cases  we  may  not  suppose  this  with  warrant. 
But  of  the  great  majority  of  these  cultivated  peo- 
ple —  for  there  is  no  more  cultivated  audience  — 
it  is  not  bold  to  believe  that  the  single  perfor- 
mance of  the  Brahms  symphony,  or  the  Schubert 
symphony,  or  the  Schumann  symphony,  heard  at 
one  of  these  concerts  is  the  single  performance 
of  it  heard  during  the  year.  Of  how  many  real 
students  of  music,  indeed,  is  not  the  same  true? 
Yet  how  insufficient  is  this  to  give  one  any  real 
understanding,  or  any  adequate,  intelligent  enjoy- 


ment of  any  great  musical  work  !  We  go  to  the 
Museum  again  and  again,  when  we  are' in  London, 
to  sit  before  the  marbles  from  the  Parthenon;  we 
go  to  sit  before  the  "  Transfiguration  "  again  and 
again,  when  we  are  in  Rome;  we  read  "  Hamlet " 
and  "  Faust "  until  the  lines  are  stamped  into  us. 
But  we  go  to  concerts  and  treat  Beethoven  and 
Mozart  and  Wagner  as  Cook's  tourists  go  through 
Europe  and  treat  Oxford  and  the  Louvre  and  the 
Vatican.  It  is  not  that  they  are  not  competent 
to-  get  true  pleasure  and  true  culture  out  of  all, 
though  they  may  be  neither  sculptors  nor  painters 
nor  doctors  of  philosophy;  it  is  that  proper  plea- 
sure and  true  culture  cannot  be  got  out  of  any- 
thing by  anybody  who  does  not  give  careful  and 
repeated  and  thoughtful  attention  to  it.  We  are 
of  those  —  and  we  have  been  faithful  attendants 
upon  the  Symphony  Concerts  in  Boston  for  half 
a  dozen  years  —  who  believe  that  at  the  end  of 
the  symphony  season  a  majority  of  those  attend- 
ing the  concerts  are  without  definite  impression 
and  growth  as  a  result  of  the  winter's  effort  (for 
severe  effort  it  is,  or  ought  to  be),  without  any 
advance  in  musical  culture  at  all  commensurate 
with  what  has  been  done  so  perfectly  and  so  la- 
boriously for  their  culture.  The  simple  reason  is 
that  they  have  had  too  much,  like  the  Cook's 
tourists  in  their  four  days  in  Rome.  One  tourist 
is  stupid,  another  is  a  Wellesley  professor  who 
has  lived  on  Braun's  photographs  for  a  dozen 
years;  but  the  one  visit  to  the  Sistine  and  the 
one  visit  to  the  Lateran  were  not  enough  —  there 
was  need  to  go  again  to-morrow  and  to-morrow 
and  to-morrow.  The  four  days  in  Rome  was  cer- 
tainly a  great  good  fortune,  and  some  other  year 
there  may  be  another  four  days,  —  and  then  there  ! 
are  the  Braun  photographs.  But  there  is  no 
Braun  photograph  of  Beethoven's  Seventh  Sym- 
phony; and  how  many,  on  the  strength  of  a  sin- 
gle hearing,  can  carry  it  in  their  minds  from  this 
year  to  next,  as  a  valid,  edifying,  available  part  of 
culture,  as  they  carry  Giotto's  Tower  or  Ghiber- 
ti's  Gates  or  Murillo's  Madonnas  or  Turner's 
"  Old  Temeraire?  " 

The  gist  of  all  this  is  that  a  great  many  simple 
people,  who  are,  nevertheless,  earnest  people  and 
genuine  lovers  of  music,  would  get  more  enjoy- 
ment and  would  get  more  good  out  of  a  series  of 
concerts  which  did  not  give  half  so  much,  but 
which  repeated  everything  that  it  did  give  at  least 
once,  and  some  things  more  than  once.  Some 
single  composer  might,  throughout  a  particular 
season,  receive  particular  attention.  The  present 
year,  1891,  for  instance,  is  the  centennial  of  the 
death  of  Mozart.  Every  concert  in  our  series, 
then,  should  present  some  work  of  Mozart's;  and 
thus  in  an  entire  season  a  very  large  proportion 
of  his  great  and  representative  works  could  be 
given,  in  an  order  that  would  make  the  perfor- 
mances most  pleasurable  and  most  beneficial.  Nextj 
year  Wagner  should  have  this  central  place:  the 
next  year,  Mendelssohn ;  the  next  year,  Bach.  The 
balance  of  the  program  should  be  miscellaneous, 
made  up  on  the  plan  of  the  common  symphoir 


THE  EDITORS'   TABLE. 


403 


concert  program  to-day.  Only,  half  of  this  week's 
program  should  be  a  repetition  of  what  was  new 
last  week,  and  what  was  new  last  week  should  be 
repeated  next  week. 

Is  there  not  much  to  be  said  in  favor  of  a  plan 
like  this?  Would  not  such  a  series  of  concerts 
be  of  distinctly  greater  advantage  to  a  great  body 
of  intelligent  concert-goers  than  the  courses  of 
symphony  concerts  as  arranged  to-day?  We  do 
not  ask  this  in  criticism  of  the  present  courses. 
We  recognize  the  high  place  which  these  fill,  and 
which  we  trust  they  will  continue  to  fill.  We  do 
not  here  discuss  whether  the  one  series  or  the 
other  would  fill  the  higher  place.  But  we  ask 
whether,  if  courses  of  symphony  concerts  are  to 
be  multiplied  in  a  city,  as  seems  to  be  likely  in 
Boston,  it  would  not  be  well  to  give  one  course  of 
a  character  such  as  is  here  suggested,  rather  than 
follow  the  beaten  track. 

*  * 

The  author  of  the  article  on  John  Howard 
Payne's  Sweetheart,  in  the  preceding  pages,  writes, 
with  reference  to  Mary  Harden's  life  after  Mr. 
Payne's  declaration  of  love,  that  the  love  was 
reciprocated,  but  that  marriage  was  delayed  and 
ever  delayed  by  the  poet's  inability  to  give  as- 
surance to  the  young  lady's  parents  that  he  could 
maintain  their  daughter.  "  His  dreams  of  better- 
ing his  condition  were  as  illusive  as  the  mirages 
of  Sahara.  Whether  his  thwarted  affection  be- 
clouded his  after  life  and  doomed  him  to  celibacy 
we  cannot  say.  It  is  certain  that  Mary  Harden 
never  married.  Her  life  glided  on  full  of  useful 
duties  and  tender  ministrations  to  a  venerated 
mother.  After  that  mother's  death,  her  existence 
was  almost  as  lonely  as  an  anchorite's.  SheN 
rarely  appeared  on  the  streets.  When  she  did, 
even  strangers  recognized  the  gentlewoman  in  her 
almost  timid  modesty  and  the  expression  of  her 
dark  hazel  eyes.  She  died  May  13,  1887,  in  her 
seventy-sixth  year.  Her  life  was  an  apotheosis 
of  love  —  a  love  as  inextinguishable  as  the  vestal 
fires  on  Roman  altars.  At  her  funeral,  as  was 
most  fitting,  a  sacred  lyric  sung  to  the  air  of 
'  Home,  Sweet  Home '  blended  with  the  solemn 
liturgy  of  the  English  Reformers,  which  for  three 
hundred  years  has  been  consecrated  to  the  burial 
of  the  dead." 

* 

*  * 

John  Howard  Payne's  southern  sweetheart 
was  not  his  only  sweetheart.  There  was  also  a 
Boston  sweetheart.  Mr.  Charles  H.  Brainard, 
Payne's  intimate  friend  and  biographer,  from 
whose  valuable  work  several  of  the  pictures  illus- 
trating the  article  in  the  preceding  pages  are 
taken,  notices  the  Boston  episode  as  follows : 

"  One  evening  as  we  sat  together,  after  he  had  become 
exhausted  by  the  labors  of  the  day  and  had  sunk  into  a 
large  armchair,  he  related  with  deep  feeling  the  story  of 
his  attachment  to  a  beautiful  and  accomplished  lady  of 
Boston,  by  whom  his  affection  was  reciprocated,  and  who 
would  have  become  his  wife  but  for  parental  objections. 
The  lady  belonged  to  one  of  the  oldest  and  wealthiest 
families  of  Boston." 

* 

*  * 

Mr.  Brainard  writes  as  follows  concerning 
the  common  impression  as  to  Payne's  homeless- 
ness  and  hardships : 

"  It  has,   for  many  years,  been  customary  to   speak   of 


Payne  as  a  homeless  wanderer,  who  knew  nothing  of  the 
joys  of  home  and  the  love  of  kindred;  yet  the  popular 
opinion  relative  to  this  matter  has  no  foundation  in  truth. 
He  was  no  more  homeless  than  any  other  bachelor  who 
lives  in  lodgings,  or  any  foreign  ambassador  whose  official 
duties  compel  him  to  reside  in  a  house  provided  by  the 
nation  for  his  use.  He  was  ardently  loved  by  his  brothers 
and  sisters,  and  always  welcome  to  share  their  home;  but 
he  preferred  to  live  alone  or  where  he  could  pursue  his 
literary  avocafions  in  the  solitude  of  his  own  apartments. 
He  was  often  urged  by  his  relatives  to  join  their  home, 
and,  in  fact,  did  live  with  his  brother,  Thatcher  Payne,  for 
many  years,  after  his  return  from  his  nineteen-years'  re- 
sidence abroad. 

"  To  many  who  make  literature  their  profession,  and  who 
live  much  of  the  time  in  an  ideal  world  of  their  own  crea- 
tion, there  come  periods  of  discouragement  and  privation; 
and  such,  undoubtedly,  was  sometimes  the  fate  of  Mr. 
Payne;  but  he  generally  lived  well,  and  in  a  way  that  was 
satisfactory  to  himself.  During  the  first  years  of  his 
residence  abroad  he  realized  large  sums  of  money  from  his 
dramatic  performances;  and,  when  he  abandoned  the  stage 
as  an  actor,  he  found  his  pen  a  source  of  liberal  income. 
At  this  period  of  his  life,  he  lived  not  only  comfortably,  but 
often  luxuriously,  and  numbered  among  his  intimate 
friends  and  associates  some  of  the  most  distinguished 
authors,  actors,  and  artists  of  the  time. 

"  Many  of  the  stories  current  concerning  the  straits  in 
which  he  sometimes  found  himself  in  consequence  of  his 
impecuniosity  are  purely  fictitious,  having  been  invented 
by  that  class  of  sensational  writers  who  rely  upon  their 
imagination  for  incidents  which  they  relate  as  absolute 
facts.  Of  course  it  is  poetical  to  write  of  the  author  of 
'Home,  Sweet  Home,' as  a  'homeless  wanderer;  '  which 
he  never  was,  except  of  his  own  free  will,  and  by  his  own 
act. 

"  His  natural  instincts  were  nomadic,  and  he  was  never  so 
happy  as  when  travelling  in  his  native  land  or  in  Europe. 
This  taste  for  travel  began  with  his  early  career  as  an 
actor,  and  the  habit  then  formed  clung  to  him  through  life. 

"  He  knew  but  little  concerning  the  value  of  money,  save 
as  a  means  of  supplying  his  immediate  wants  and  of 
gratifying  his  refined  literary  and  sesthetic  tastes.  Instead 
of  saving  a  portion  of  his  earnings,  he  would  spend  them 
lavishly  in  elegant  living,  in  entertaining  his  associates, 
and  in  the  purchase  of  books,  pictures,  and  fancy  articles 
for  himself  or  for  presentation  to  his  friends. 

As  a  natural  result  of  his  want  of  thrift  he  was  some- 
times in  straitened  circumstances,  and  obliged  to  appeal  to 
his  family  or  friends  for  money  to  relieve  the  necessities 
to  which  his  extravagance  had  reduced  him;  and  to  such 
appeals  there  was  always  a  ready  response. 


Of  the  writing  of  "  Sweet  Home "  and  the 
circumstances  of  its  first  production,  Mr.  Brainard 
gives  the  following  account : 

"  In  the  early  part  of  the  year  1823,  Charles  Kemble,  who 
had  assumed  the  management  of  the  Covent  Garden 
Theatre  in  London,  wrote  to  Payne  for  some  new  pieces  to 
be  produced  at  that  theatre.  Payne  accordingly  sold  him 
three  manuscript  plays,  which  he  had  written  several 
months  before,  for  the  sum  of  two  hundred  and  fifty 
pounds.  One  of  these  plays  was  '  C'ari,  the  Maid  of 
Milan,'  into  which  he  had  introduced  the  song  of 'Home, 
Sweet  Home,'  which  was  written  in  Paris,  on  a  dull 
October  day,  when  he  was  occupying  a  small  lodging-room 
in  the  upper  story  of  a  building  near  the  Palais  Royal.  To 
use  his  own  words,  as  addressed  to  a  friend,  the  depressing 
influences  of  the  sky  and  air  were  in  harmony  with  the 
feeling  of  solitude  and  sadness  which  oppressed  his  soul. 
As  he  sat  in  his  room,  diverting  his  thoughts  with  the  sight 
of  the  happy  crowds  promenading  the  streets  below  him, 
the  words  came  rushing  into  his  mind,  to  lift,  console,  and 
refresh  his  overburdened  heart.  It  was  under  these  in- 
fluences that  he  wrote  the  song  which  has  touched  respon- 
sive chords  in  the  heart  of  the  world,  and  immortalized  the 
name  of  its  author. 

"  The  following  are  the  words  of  the  song  as  originally 
written: 

'"Mid  pleasures  and  palaces  though  we  may  roam, 
Be  it  ever  so  humble,  there's  no  place  like  home ! 
A  charm  from  the  skies  seems  to  hallow  us  there 

(Like  the  love  of  a  mother, 

Surpassing  all  other), 
Which,  seek  through  the  world,  is  ne'er  met  with  elsewhere. 

There's  a  spell  in  the  shade 

Where  our  infancy  played, 
Even  stronger  than  time,!and  more  deep  than  despair! 


404 


THE  EDITORS'  TABLE. 


"  An  exile  from  home,  splendor  dazzles  in  vain! 

Oh,  give  me  my  lonely  thatched  cottage  again ! 

The  birds  and  the  lambkins  that  came  at  my  call,  — 
Those  who  named  me  with  pride  — 
Those  who  played  by  my  side —  _ 

Give  me  them,  with  the  innocence  dearer  than  all! 

The  joys  of  the  palaces  through  which  I  roam 

Only   swell   my   heart's   anguish  —  There's   no    place   like 
home! 

"  Payne  afterwards  re-wrote  the  song,  the  music  for  which 
was  composed  by  Henry  R.  Bishop. 

"  The  following  is  a  correct  version  of  'Home,  Sweet 
Home,'  as  arranged  for  the  opera,  having  been  copied 
from  the  author's  own  manuscript : 

*'  'Mid  pleasures  and  palaces  though  we  may  roam, 
Be  it  ever  so  humble,  there's  no  place  like  Home! 
A  charm  from  the  sky  seems  to  hallow  us  there, 
Which,  seek  through  the  world,  is  ne'er  met  with  elsewhere ! 
Home,  home,  sweet,  sweet  Home, 

There's  no  place  like  Home! 

There's  no  place  like  Home ! 

"  An  exile  from  Home,  splendor  dazzles  in  vain! 
Oh,  give  me  my  lowly  lhatch'd  cottage  again!  — 
—  The  birds  singing  gayly  that  came  at  my  call  — 
Give  me  them !  —  and  the  peace  of  mind  dearer  than  all ! 
Home,  home,  sweet,  sweet  Home! 

There's  no  place  like  Home ! 

There's  no  place  like  Home ! 

"  '  Clari '  was  produced  at  the  Covent  Garden  Theatre 
about  the  middle  of  May,  1823,  and  met  with  a  degree  of 
success  which  was  quite  as  surprising  to  the  manager  as  it 
was  flattering  to  the  author.  The  part  of  '  Clari '  was  en- 
acted by  Miss  Maria  Tree  (a  sisterof  Ellen  Tree,  afterwards 
Mrs.  Charles  Kean),  by  whom  the  song  was  sung  for  the 
first  time.  To  the  beautiful  face  and  figure  of  Miss  Tree 
was  superadded  the  charm  of  a  most  melodious  voice,  which 
rendered  her  on  this  occasion  so  fascinating  that  she  won 
the  heart  and  hand  of  a  wealthy  merchant  of  London.  The 
piece  had  what  is  called  in  theatrical  parlance  '  a  great 
run,'  and  for  many  consecutive  nights  filled  the  theatre  to 
overflowing.  The  words  and  music  of  the  song  were  so 
popular,  that  more  than  one  hundred  thousand  copies  were 
sold  by  the  publishers  within  one  year  after  its  publication; 
but  Payne  was  not  permitted  to  share  in  the  great  success 
which  followed  the  enterprise  of  the  manager  and  pub- 
lisher, as  he  was  cheated  out  of  the  twenty-five  pounds 
which  he  was  promised  on  the  twentieth  night  of  the  per- 
formance of  his  successful  play,  and  his  name  did  not 
appear  on  the  title-page  of  the  song,  from  the  sales  of 
which  the  publisher  realized  a  small  fortune. 

"  The  air  of  '  Home,  Sweet  Home  '  was  taken  from  an 
old  Sicilian  vesper,  and  adapted  to  the  song  by  Bishop. 
The  popular  story  that  Payne  caught  it  by  marking  down 
the  notes  he  heard  a  Swiss  peasant-girl  sing,  is  simply  a 
pleasant  fiction,  having  not  the  slightest  foundation  in  fact; 
as  his  varied  gifts  and  acquirements  did  not  include  a 
knowledge  of  music,  of  which  science  he  was  profoundly 
ignorant.  He  had  not  the  slightest  musical  taste,  and 
could  not  tell  one  note  from  another." 


Our  friend  on  Lake  Michigan,  who  takes 
weekly  rides  into  Chicago,  who  summers  on  Nar- 
ragansett  Bay,  and  Septembers  in  Maine,  and 
goes  to  Europe  occasionally,  and  thus  has  much 
time  to  spend  in  the  survey  of  the  landscape  from 
the  car-window,  has  meditated  to  some  purpose 
on  the  horrors  of  modern  advertising.  He  has 
become  thoroughly  roused  to  the  enormity  of 
making  the  rocks  proclaim  the  virtues  of  compe- 
ting pills  and  pants,  and  the  fences  glare  with 
colossal  commendations  of  rival  baking-powders 
and  sarsaparillas.  We  are  agreed,  it  is  to  be 
hoped,  all  of  us  who  are  good  men  and  true,  that 
this  is  a  horror  and  an  enormity,  and  that  there 
should  be  standing  offers  of  reward  for  the  cap- 
ture of  the  man  with  the  paint-pot,  dead  or  alive. 
Only  committees  dead  to  the  primary  rights  of 
beauty  and  of  nature  would  go  on  tolerating  the 
sins  committed  in  mammoth  letters  all  along  our 
lines  of  railroad,  especially  in  the  suburbs  of  our 


cities,  the  signs  on  the  granite  and  the  birch-tree 
and  the  oak  which  all  along  the  beautiful  roads 
by  Buzzard's  Bay  direct  travellers  to  New  Bedford 
clothing-houses  and  drug-shops,  the  signs  which 
amid   the  quiet   landscapes    of    Shrewsbury   and 
Rutland  and  Leicester,  and  the  little  Worcester 
County  towns  point  to  the  Macys  and  Houghtons 
and  Wanamakers  of  the  county  metropolis,  and 
the  similar  abominations  which  fill  the  land  from 
the   White   Mountains   to    Saint   Augustine,  and 
from   Montauk  Point  to   Los  Angeles.     But  we 
seem  to  be  communities  thus  dead.     Our  friend, 
however,    is    not    dead;     and   with    him,   to   be 
aroused,  is  to  do  something.     Pending  the  pas- 
sage of  laws  which  shall  send  to  jail  the  man  with 
the  paint-pot,  and  send  to  the   gallows  the  man 
who  sends  out  the  man  with  the  paint-pot,  this  is 
what  he  proposes :  That  there  shall  be  formed  a 
society  to  put  a  stop  to  these  advertising  abomina- 
tions;  that    every  man    and   woman   shall   be   a 
member  of  the  society,  who  feels  that  they  are 
abominations,  and  shall  begin   active  service  to- 
morrow;  and  that  the  one  simple  method  of  the 
society    shall    be    the    boycott.       Whenever   and 
wherever  any  of  these  defacements  of  the  rocks     ' 
and  trees  and  fences  are  seen,  let  it  be  decreed     1 
that  the  defacement,  —  instead  of  proving  an  ad- 
vertisement and  help   for    the    thing   advertised,     | 
shall  be  a  harm  and  hindrance  to  it.     If  the  rock     j 
is  made  to  proclaim  Smith's  sarsaparilla,  then  let     j 
it    be    set    down    in    the    book    that   Jones's   be     ' 
bought;    if  the  fence  says  that  Green's  ginger  is     ! 
the   best,  then    use    Brown's  through   the  whole 
watermelon  season;   if  the  sign  on  the  birch-tree 
directs  to  Hill's  clothing-house,  then  make  it  a 
point  always  to  go  to  Dale's.     This,  in  brief,  is 
our    friend's   plan.       We    think   it    a   good   one.     j 
Shall  we  not  all  act  on  it  for  the  next  year,  or 
until  a  clearly  more  excellent  way  is  proposed? 
*   * 

The  following  communication  from  Mr.  R.  I. 
Atwell  of  Cambridge,  Mass.,  contains  many  state- 
ments that  are  of  interest  in  the  present  discussion 
concerning  abandoned  farms  in  New  England. 
The  special  attention  given  to  the  agricultural 
situation  in  Vermont  is  valuable  in  connection 
with  the  treatment  of  the  general  interests  of 
Vermont  in  the  August  number  of  the  magazine. 
Our  correspondent's  observations,  so  far  as  Ver- 
mont is  concerned,  received  emphatic  confirma- 
tion from  Congressman  Powers  of  Vermont,  in  his 
address  at  the  centennial  celebration  of  the  town 
of  Lyndon,  early  in  July,  in  which  he  went  into 
the  agricultural  situation  at  considerable  length. 
He  showed,  from  official  statistics  covering  the 
years  from  1880  to  1890,  that  Vermont  raises 
more  corn  to  the  acre  than  any  other  state  in  the 
Union,  with  one  exception  —  and  that  exception 
is  New  Hampshire;  that  Vermont  raises  more 
wheat  to  the  acre  than  any  other  state  east  of  the 
Rocky  Mountains;  more  oats  than  any  other 
state  east  of  the  Rockies,  except  Illinois  and 
Minnesota;  more  rye  to  the  acre  than  any  other, 
except  Illinois,  Minnesota,  and  Kansas;  and  more 
barley  to  the  acre  than  any  other, -except  Mary- 
land. California  is  the  only  state  in  the  Union 
that  raises  more  buckwheat  to  the  acre  than  '\  er- 
mont;  and  there  is  no  state  east  of  the  Rockies 
that  raises  as  many  potatoes  per  acre  as  Vermont. 


THE  EDITORS'  TABLE. 


405 


"  Punctuated  as  these  facts  were,"  writes  a  re- 
porter of  Congressman  Power's  oration,  "  with 
the  rather  sarcastic  exhortation,  '  Go  West,  young 
man !  '  they  were  exceedingly  effective.  In 
truth,  they  give  the  pessimists  much  to  think 
about.  With  such  a  record,  old  Vermont  can 
hold  her  head  as  high  as  any  of  her  younger 
sister  states  that  have  been  wont  to  take  on 
superior  and  patronizing  airs  when  they  spoke  of 
Vermont  farming.  Vermont  farming,  as  these 
facts  demonstrate,  is  still  in  a  pretty  healthy  and 
vigorous  condition,  and  calls  for  no  lamentations 
from  those  who  make  it  a  business  to  mourn  the 
fancied '  decadence  '  of  New  England."  Return  we 
to  our  correspondent.  Mr.  Atwell  writes,  "There 
is  much  written  on  the  subject  of  abandoned 
farms  in  New  England,  and  unfortunately  there  is 
too  much  of  a  disposition  to  give  it  an  unwarrant- 
able political  coloring.  There  are  reasons  enough 
which  are  obvious  without  straining  a  point  to 
give  a  wrong  one.  Before  the  construction  of 
railroads,  the  farmers  were  prejudiced  against 
them  by  the  arguments  that  their  farms  would  all 
be  mortgaged  and  lost  through  the  aid  afforded 
these  corporations,  and  also  by  the  competition 
to  which  they  would  be  subject  in  the  bringing  of 
products  from  a  long  distance.  Neither  of  these 
prognostications  has  been  realized.  All  farm 
products  have  proved  to  be  more  profitable,  and 
may  be  sold  at  the  farmer's  door,  without  the  loss 
of  time  and  expense  in  marketing.  The  nearer  a 
farm  is  to  a  railroad  station,  the  better  is  its  pros- 
pect for  cultivation  at  a  profit. 

"  The  general  prosperity  of  the  country,  which 
has  affected  all  classes  of  people,  has  created  a 
feeling  of  interest  among  farmers  and  their  sons, 
as  among  the  laboring  classes  and  those  who  are 
supposed  to  occupy  higher  positions  in  society. 
Railroads  and  gold  discoveries  had  much  to  do 
with  this.  Scarcely  a  farm  in  New  England  failed 
to  contribute  some  of  its  members  to  this  desire 
to  earn  money  easier,  and  the  charm  of  plain, 
tame  country  life  was  broken  with  ever-widening 
effect.  Cheaper  and  easier  cultivated  lands  in 
the  West  captivated  young  farmers;  factories 
along  the  line  of  railroads,  or  contiguous  to  them, 
drew  others  who  could  earn  more  wages,  and  as 
they  believed  with  easier  lives,  while  they  could 
get  greater  pleasure  or  more  society.  The  girls, 
no  less  ambitious  and  craving  the  same  enjoy- 
ments, at  first  engaged  as  domestics  in  families  in 
large  towns  and  cities;  then  flocked  to  the  fac- 
tories where  in  longer  days  than  now  they  accumu- 
lated wages  enough  to  remove  incumbrances  on 
the  family  homestead;  as  they  were  crowded 
from  domestic  service  and  the  factories,  they  re- 
sorted to  shops  for  a  living,  by  sewing,  etc. 
Another  step  took  them  into  the  stores  as  sales- 
women, clerks,  and  bookkeepers,  crowding  out 
the  young  men.  Those  more  favored  by  educa- 
tion resorted  to  teaching  in  schools,  and  still 
others  aspired  to  college  training  and  honors. 
There  are  now,  probably,  more  young  women  in 
the  colleges  in  Massachusetts  entirely  devoted  to 
their  education,  with  others  to  which  they  gain 
admission,  than  there  were  young  men  fifty  years 
ago.  All  of  these  influences  were  long  at  work, 
and  the  Civil  War  drew  largely  on  the  young  men 
still  at  home,  the  survivors  becoming  more  restless 


from  the  strife  in  which  they  had  been  engaged, 
and  the  new  scenes  they  had  been  accustomed  to. 
Meantime,  the  parents  and  occupants  of  the 
farm  had  grown  older,  and  as  they  became  help- 
less and  made  their  homes  with  their  children 
elsewhere,  or  died,  the  farms  were  abandoned. 
Out  of  repair  in  buildings  and  neglected  in  cultiva- 
tion, there  was  little  attraction  to  those  who  had 
pursued  different  callings  to  return  to  the  old 
homestead. 

"  In  this  connection  it  should  be  remarked  that 
a  very  large  proportion  of  the  active  and  prosper- 
ous business  men  of  cities  came  from  these  farms, 
stimulated,  perhaps,  by  the  hardships  of  their 
humble  lives,  with  an  ambition  to  accumulate  or 
to  rule.  Some  of  these  persons,  or  their  fathers, 
or  grandfathers,  who  came  from  the  country, 
could  not  be  persuaded  to  go  back  to  the  farms 
even  with  far  greater  profits  than  they  now  yield, 
while  a  considerable  number,  from  sentiment  and 
for  comfort,  spend  some  portion  of  the  summer 
on  such  farms. 

"  Changes  are  continually  rung  upon  the  hard- 
ships of  the  farmer's  lot,  as  though  beyond  that 
of  all  other  toilers  for  a  livelihood.  '  In  the  sweat 
of  thy  brow,'  it  was  long  ago  said,  'shalt  thou  eat 
bread'  ;  and  there  are  many  positions  in  which 
men  are  forced  to  labor,  who  might  well  envy  the 
independent  farmer.  It  is  not  true  that  the  labors 
or  hardships  of  the  farmer  are  increasing,  although 
he  may  be  obliged  to  use  his  intellect  more  to 
comply  with  the  varying  demands  of  the  market. 
In  this  respect  the  farmer  has  no  greater  hard- 
ships to  overcome  than  do  those  engaged  in 
other  pursuits.  It  has  long  been  believed,  and 
with  truth,  that  the  methods  of  farmers,  although 
improved,  have  not  kept  pace  with  the  advanced 
civilization  of  the  times,  and  no  man  can  be  ex- 
pected to  compete  successfully  with  others  with- 
out exercising  vigilance  and  forethought.  If  the 
prices  of  his  products  are  in  question,  the  farmer 
is  very  much  better  off  than  were  his  fathers 
scores  of  years  ago.  Without  the  great  facilities 
of  marketing,  the  farmer  hundreds  of  miles  in  the 
interior  would  be  no  better  off  than  the  nomads 
of  the  desert.  In  the  most  fertile  portions  of  the 
country  sixty  years  ago,  teaming  produce  a  hun- 
dred miles  to  market  would  hardly  pay  the  ex- 
pense. To  live  in  a  log  hut,  with  no  improvements 
for  a  generation,  was  no  uncommon  thing;  while 
now  no  farmer,  unless  he  is  just  struggling  to 
make  his  payments  for  improvements,  is  content 
short  of  the  comforts  in  buildings  and  furnishings 
equal  to  those  of  the  merchant  of  former  days. 
Because  there  are  grumblers  now,  it  is  not  to  be 
believed  that  there  has  been  no  progress,  and  it 
may  be  assured,  I  believe,  that  in  all  communities 
where  farming  is  carried  on  with  intelligence  and 
activity,  there  is  to  be  found  as  much  real  enjoy- 
ment as  in  other  positions  in  life.  Abandoned 
farms  are  too  apt  to  be  regarded  as  evidence  of 
the  decadence  in  farm  life. 

"  It  is  not  strange  that  men  of  all  classes  seek 
to  raise  themselves  in  position.  Yet  there  are 
multitudes  in  large  cities  who  would  be  infinitely 
better  off  in  the  country,  earning  their  bread  on  the 
land,  than'in  crowded  tenement  houses,  surrounded 
with  discomforts,  and  at  best  barely  keeping  the 
wolf  from  the  door.     They  would  have  a  heaven 


406 


THE  EDITORS'   TABLE. 


of    happiness    in    the    country,    which    they    can 
vainly  hope  to  enjoy  in  the  city. 

"  To  prove  that  this  is  not  mere  assumption, 
and  that  the  complaints  of  growing  hardships  in 
farm  life  are  not  true,  abundant  testimony  of  in- 
telligent practical  farmers  can  be  cited.  There 
never  was  a  time,  probably,  when  there  v/as  a 
greater  interest  awakened  in  farm  cultivation  than 
there  is  at  the  present  day.  Why  should  there 
not  be  ?  The  times  call  for  the  greatest  intelli- 
gence and  activity  in  every  department  of  human 
industry.  No  man  should  be  called  intelligent 
who  does  not  exert  all  his  faculties  in  any  position 
he  may  be  placed  in.  It  was  once  supposed,  or 
seemed  to  be,  that  there  was  little  intelligence 
required  in  ordinary  farming,  the  old  routine  be- 
ing followed  from  one  generation  to  another,  with 
little  modification  except  in  the  use  of  improved 
tools  and  occasional  change  in  seeds.  Something 
more  is  now  demanded  to  prevent  a  deterioration 
in  crops;  and  the  improvement  is  seen  in  the 
increased  crops  raised  on  lands  often  said  to  be 
worn  out,  compared  with  those  in  the  newer  sec- 
tions of  the  country.  The  future  will  show  still 
greater  improvement. 

"  Vermont  is  the  most  thoroughly  agricultural 
state    of    New   England,    and   is   naturally    often 
pointed   out   in   these   days   as   the  least  desirable 
for    a    farmer's    life  —  with    its    long  winters    and 
rigid  temperature.     The  increased  interest  in  farm 
cultivation  has  led  to  frequent  meetings  in  coun- 
ties and  towns  to  stimulate   that  interest  still  fur- 
ther.    In  the  record  of  one  of  these  meetings  of 
a  Farmer's  Club,  one   farmer   said  :   '  In  our  own 
town,  farm  buildings    are  rapidly  being  repaired 
and   highways   cleared.     The    farmer   who  would 
get    ahead    must    use    brain    as    well    as  muscle.' 
Said  another,  '  The   fanner   should   educate  him- 
self not  only  in  the  ways  of  the  farmer,  but  also 
in  the   ways   of    other    professions.'     In    another 
case,    where    reference    was    made    to    improved 
methods,  it  was  remarked  in  favor  of  the  present 
times,  that  formerly  'about   the   only   income  was 
from  fat  cattle   and   hogs;  '   butter  brought  about 
half  the  present  prices,  and  sheep  produced  not 
more  than  half  their  present  fleeces.     One  farmer 
'  thought  there  were  no  hard  times ;    we  bring  on 
this  feeling  by  letting  our  farms  run  down.'     Still 
another   said   he    couldn't    give    any  remedy    for 
hard  times,  for   he  thought  there  were   no  hard 
times.     A  member  of  the  Board  of   Agriculture 
thought  that  living   too  '  fast '  was  the   cause  of 
the  complaint  of  hard  times,  and  less  such  com- 
plaints would  result  from  a    return  to  the   more 
prudent  ways  of  their  fathers.     In   another  local- 
ity, the  chairman  of  the  meeting  said  '  that  if  the 
depression  in  agriculture  was  confined  wholly  to 
Vermont,  he   should   think   there  was  something 
wrong  with  the  state;    but  the  same  depression  is 
felt  all  over  the  civilized  world.     His  remedy  was 
legislation,    but    he    did    not    indicate  what   that 
should  be,  and  the  attention  of  the  meeting  was 
given  to  the  subject  of  creameries.     A  Vermont 
journal,  in  making  comparisons  from  census  re- 
turns, in  eighteen   different  propositions  relating 
to   farm    life,   declares  that  that    state    is    found 
in    a    favorable      standing      as      compared     with 
nearly  all   others.     '  It  leads  thirty-seven   states,' 
says    this    journal,   '  in    the  average  value   of  all 


farm  productions  to  each  person  engaged  in 
agriculture  ';  the  value  of  such  productions  av- 
erages nearly  $400  to  each  person  farming,  against 
an  average  for  the  whole  country  of  $280;  the 
average  product  of  butter  to  each  producer  is 
four  times  that  of  the  average  for  the  whole 
country;  the  average  butter  per  cow  is  much 
greater  than  in  any  other  state;  and  the  cheese 
product  greater  than  anywhere  except  in  New 
York;  the  hay  crop  averages  more  to  each  farm 
than  the  average  in  any  other  state;  and  this 
state  leads  thirty-two  states  in  the  average  value 
of  live  stocks  to  a  farm;  in  the  yield  of  corn, 
potatoes,  and  other  crops  per  acre,  Vermont  gen- 
erally stands  at  the  head  of  the  list  of  states;  but 
two  states  had  a  larger  yield  of  potatoes  per  acre; 
even  of  wheat  per  acre,  the  yield  is  greater  than 
in  any  state  east  of  the  Mississippi,  and  in  only 
three  states  is  there  a  larger  yield  of  corn  per 
acre;  in  maple  sugar  the  average  to  a  farm  is 
nearly  seven  times  as  much  as  in  New  York;  and 
in  forest  products  the  state  leads  thirty-six  other 
states  in  the  amount  to  a  farm,  not  including  the 
sugar  crop.  Nothing  is  said  in  this  connection  of 
the  average  butter  markets  and  the  improved  prices. 
It  surely  cannot  be  said  that  the  people  are  suffer- 
ing much  from  hard  times. 

"  An  agricultural  paper  says  of  Massachusetts, 
that  a  glance  at  the  census  shows  that  the  farmers 
of  this  state  are  doing  better  work  than  their 
fathers.  Aside  from  the  exceptional  high  .prices 
of  the  times  of  inflation,  it  is  said  '  The  value  of 
products  per  acre  is  much  larger  than  at  any  time 
covered  by  census  statistics,'  and  the  increased 
value  of  products  was  Si 0,000,000  in  gold  in  1885 
over  that  of  1875.  Another  published  statement 
from  census  statistics  is  that  in  nine  principal  pro- 
ducts in  Massachusetts,  compared  with  Indiana, 
the  average  was  from  twenty-five  to  several  hun- 
dred per  cent  in  favor  of  Massachusetts  in  the  net 
value  per  acre  —  corn  being  $24.78  to  $9;  pota- 
toes, $60.72  to  $31.35;  tobacco,  $242.25  to  $22. 
More  than  all,  the  wages  paid  for  farm  labor  was 
thirty  per  cent  more  by  the  day  and  month  than 
in  Indiana.  The  secretary  of  the  New  England 
Dairyman's  Association  has  expressed  the  belief 
that  dairying  and  general  farming  in  the  New 
England  States  was  as  profitable  in  proportion  as 
other  occupations.  Manufacturers  are  believed 
by  many  persons  to  be  a  bloated  class.  If  so, 
investments  would  be  likely  to  increase  to  a  pro- 
portionate degree.  Yet  statistics  show  a  greater 
percentage  in  growth  from  1875  t0  l%%5  m  aSr*~ 
cultural  property  than  in  manufactures.  An 
agricultural  paper  in  Massachusetts,  in  an  article 
on  abandoned  farms,  recently  remarked :  '  The 
life  of  the  farmer,  notwithstanding  its  burdens, 
was  never  so  easy  in  some  respects  as  at  present. 
.  .  .  The  farmer  may  not  be  able  to  amass 
wealth  —  nor  can  the  majority  of  those  in  cities 
hope  to  do.  He  is  generally  sure  of  a  comforta- 
ble living  as  the  reward  of  his  toil,  and  the  con- 
tingencies that  affect  his  employment  are  usually 
no  greater  than  those  affecting  employments 
in  cities.  There  are  those  in  the  city,  work- 
ing for  low  wages,  liable  to  periodical  unem- 
ployment, to  whom  life  upon  these  abandoned 
farms  would  afford  an  agreeable  change.'  A 
statement  is  published  with  the  heading :    (  New 


THE   OMNIBUS. 


407 


England  contrasts  favorably  with  California  or 
Florida  in  relation  to  "  depreciated  farms,"  and 
this  is  supported  by  the  statement,  in  a  letter 
from  a  New  Englander  in  Florida  who  says  gen- 
erally of  owners  of  orange  groves :  '  I  have  yet 
to  learn  of  one  who  is  not  looking  to  the  future 
for  the  profits.'  Sustaining  these  views,  a  lec- 
turer on  orcharding  in  Maine  has  said  that  '  A 
Maine  orchard  was  a  better  investment  than  a 
California  vineyard  or  Florida  orange  grove. 
This  year,  apples  have  bought  three  times  as 
much  per  ton  as  grapes  brought  in  California. 
Even  Early  Rose  potatoes  have  sold  higher  per 
pound   than   California   grapes.'      He  adds  as  a 


fact  that  a  Maine  man  bought  an  old  pasture  at 
$5-5°  Per  acre,  and,  after  twelve  years  growth  of 
an  orchard,  his  apples  sold  on  the  trees  for  $1500, 
and  the  orchard  was  subsequently  sold  for  $3,500. 
Coming  nearer  to  a  large  city,  where  the  land  is 
valued  at  $1  a  foot,  a  thirty-acre  farm  is  devoted 
to  market  gardening  at  good  profit.  At  a  further 
distance  from  town,  is  an  instance  given ;  several 
acres  of  land  were  added  to  a  market  garden,  for 
which  the  purchaser  paid  $2000  per  acre,  because 
the  outlay  was  warranted.  All  these  scattered 
facts  are  given  as  illustrations  that  agriculture  in 
New  England  is  not  so  discouraging  as  sometimes 
represented,  and  that  its  future  is  not  hopeless." 


THE  OMNIBUS. 


The  following  love-letter,  which  is  genuine 
was  recently  written  by  a  certain  deaf  mute  in, 
one  of  the  western  states.  The  reader's  enjoy- 
ment need  not  be  checked  by  fear  of  laughing  at 
natural  misfortune,  as  the  young  man's  misfortune 
has  little  to  do  with  his  literary  style  and  he  is  a 
prosperous  fellow,  although  the  fifty  dollar  watch 
and  the  ninety-five  dollar  sewing-machine  and 
the  good  habits  and  all  the  rest  did  not  prove 
sufficient  to  win  the  girl.  The  curious  epistle 
comes  to  the  Omnibus  from  a  Harvard  professor. 
Perhaps  the  Harvard  freshmen  will  try  their  hands 
at  putting  it  into  form  that  will  show  more  easily 
to  simple  minds  what  the  writer  was  aiming  to  say : 

"  Dear  Acquaintance. — Time  has  taken  me 
to  indite  a  full  length  of  true  and  faithful  sentiment 
to  you  in  the  happiness  and  then  to  compel  me 
to  judge  myself  accordingly  to  my  sanguin  feeling, 
whether  you  would  be  willing  to  make  a  decidedly 
correspondence  with  me,  or  not,  than  you  can 
wait  for  a  chance  to  hear  from  me.  I  give  way 
to  you  under  the  influence  of  pleasure  saying, 
i  Please  excuse  me  for  my  strange  boldness  by 
corresponding  with  you  at  the  first  time.'  .  .  . 
You  feel  assured  I  never  smoke  cigars,  neither 
chew  tobacco,  nor  drink  strong  spirits  all  of  my 
life,  and  thus  give  a  truthful  information  to  you 
that  I  have  much  time  in  learning  Arithmetic, 
German,  and  the  history  of  the  ancient  world,  my- 
self more  faster  and  better  that  I  did  at  the  Deaf 
and  Dumb  Institution,  when  I  was  graduated 
over  seven  years'  instruction.  I  attain  great 
credit  for  all  branches  in  working  at  the  Machine 
Works  under  the  influence  of  sweetest  taste,  and 
will  pay  no  attention  to  unnecessary  travelling, 
unless  I  need  business  in  any  place.  You  feel 
sure  that  I  am  neither  Republican  nor  Democrat, 
but  an  independent  mechanic,  because  money  is 
my  chief  concern.  Do  you  intend  to  get  mad  at 
me  what  I  will  tell  you? 

I  confess  to  you,  Oh  !  my  heart  is  full  of  love 
towards  you  than  no  pen  can  write,  saying,  '  You 
must  be  mine  forever.'  The  reason  why  is  that  I 
fell  in  love  with  you  when  your  graceful  society 
surprised  me  with  affection,  now  value  than  a  mil- 


lion heaps  of  gold.  So  I  met  your  fate  since  I 
left  I via  C .  You  learn  with  astonish- 
ment that  my  uncle  under  the  name  of ,  who 

resides   in   M ,  111.,  will   present   me   with   a 

nice  city  lot  worth  $1,500.  Are  you  religious 
yet?  To  what  church  do  you  belong  at  your 
home?  This  indition  is  of  a  size  corresponding 
with  me,  whether  you  will  let  me  consumate  the 
circumstantial  matter  of  keeping  you  as  a  lover 
with  willing  fulness,  or  not,  '  Be  sure.'  I  take 
an  oath  that  I  will  never  complain  to  any  person 
about  your  condition  as  others  do,  in  order  to 
make  you  as  a  good  and  happy  lover  with  plea- 
sure than  you  cannot  say.  You  feel  confident 
that  I  will  have  the  luxuriant  art  of  clerking  on 

the    I and    K River    Packet    "Light" 

under  the   command  of  my  uncle  by  the  name  of 

Capt. this  summer  when  I  quit  the  Machine 

Works  in  consequence  of  low  wages  which  cause 
hands  to  express  dissatisfaction  at  the  company. 
Do  you  want  me  to  keep  you  as  a  lover  with 
anxiety,  before  you  will  consumate  the  '  golden ' 
engagement  with  me  for  marriage.  I  will  love 
when  you  say  'yes,''  and  keep  your  love  in  my 
heart  than  usual.  I  will  give  you  a  pleasant  ques- 
tion, '  If  not  yourself,  whom  would  you  rather 
have?'  I  hope  you  will  answer  the  above? 
....  If  you  are  pleased  with  my  good  proposal 
I  will  be  sure  to  keep  you  as  a  lover,  as  to  present 
you  a  gold  watch  worth  $50.  Would  you 
like  to  engage  me  at  correspondence  than  you 
have  the  responsibilities  of  learning  what  it  is? 
Be  sure  I  will  send  you  two  photographs  as  soon 

as  I  can  get  some  taken  at  the  I City  Art  of 

La when  time   is  come.     I  would  love  you 

with  all  my  heart  than  the  endless  width  and  un- 
fathomable depths  of  the  beautifully  glittering  sea, 
when  you  accept  my  wishes,  as  join  you  in  rich 
and  lovely  society,  and  expect  that  you  do.  I 
know  I  was  entrapped  by  your  charms  since  I  fell 
in  love  with  you  at  the  beginning,  during  my  plea- 
sant visit.  If  you  reject  my  proposal  I  promise 
that  I  remain  single  all  of  my  life,  and  bid  you 
'  Farewell '  to  see  you  no  more  accordingly  to 
your    conduct.      You    feel  sure,   if   you  like  for 


408 


THE   OMNIBUS. 


me  to  make  the  loving  engagement  with  you  by 
correspondence  in  my  life,  I  will,  of  course,  accept 
you  according  wishes,  and  then  in  addition  to  pre- 
sent you  a  $95  sewing-machine.  Will  you?  Are 
you  engaged  yet?  Please  keep  secret  in  your 
heart  that  nobody  can  know  whom  you  correspond 
with  and  I  will  do.  Miss (my  old  class- 
mate) is  working  at  the  dressmaking  trade  in  a 

store    on    Second    St.,    corner  R St.,  in 

which  is,  by  far,  the  youngest  city  in  Ohio,  accord- 
ingly to  the  twentieth  year  of  age.  She  resides 
with  a  family  on' Seventh  St.,  120^  yards  north- 
east of  my  house,  although  I  sometimes  visit  her. 
....  You  know  I  do  not  wish  to  subscribe  my 
money  for  any  R.  R.  enterprise,  for  I  have  ab- 
solute necesariess  to  use  anything  with  it  myself, 
and  am  desirous  of  accomplishing  the  task  of 
saving  money  in  untold  heaps,  unless  from  a 
pious  stream  of  knowledge  to  any  purpose  how 
much  I  will  be  worth.  I  would  like  to  hear  from 
you  in  my  life,  as  to  find  what  you  will  do  when 
this  letter  comes  unexpectedly  in  your  hands.  .  .  . 
Would  you  like  to  make  a  happy  correspondence 
with  me  according  to  your  tasteful  feelings?  So 
I  would.  I  have  the  facilitation  art  of  rowing 
fast  some  miles  distant  without  fatigue,  for  recrea- 
tion, and  in  addition  to  be  a  '  second  Weston.' 
....  When  the  C.  and  S.  R.  R.  is  in  operation 
I  will  visit  you  according  to  summers.  I  would 
like  to  invite  you  to  come  and  visit  famous  busi- 
ness houses  in  I if  I  can.      I  am  a  native  of 

.     Was  born  at  S in  1854  before  I 

was  thought  of,  and  lost  my  hearing  and  speaking 
by  the  effects  of  scarlet  fever,  at  my  age  of  3^ 

years,  at  W 9  miles  above  P .    And  came 

to  the  Deaf  and  Dumb  Inst,  in  1857,  before  the 
new  building  was  built,  until  I  was  honorably  dis- 
charged over  my  7  years  instruction  and  trium- 
phantly graduated  in  the  presence  of  sad-looking 
pupils,  both  sexes,  in  order  to  leave  the  '  Old 
dilapidated  '  building,  to  see  all  of  them  no  more 
in  1864.     Do  you  want  me  to  come  and  see  me 

at  C on   Christmas  ?     I   have   a   loss  to   tell 

you  that  I  will  probably  visit  the Deaf  Mute 

Building  on  Christmas,  unless  my  business  is  car- 
ried on  without  ceasing.  ...  I  afford  my  proofs 
of  sociability  to  Deaf  Mutes  when  I  visit  my 
place,  where  I  never  see  by  nature.  .  .  When 
you  get  this  letter  from  me  you  must  not  slander 
to  any  of  your  schoolmates  or  classmates,  both 
sexes,  whom  you  correspond  with,  so  that  they 
may  know  of  it,  and  ,it  will  make  me  displeased 
at  the  disgraceful  matter.  So  I  will  never  do 
yet,  but  always  keep  secret  in  my  heart,  so  that 
nobody  can  know  of  it.  Please  write  to  me 
without  hindrance  as  you  decide  to.  Direct  your 
letter  to  I ,  L Co.  I  send  my  best  re- 
spects to  yea,  saluting  you  as  a  good  friend. 
I  am  yours  respectfully, 


A  Romance  from  Real  Life. 

You  see  that  nest?     'Twas  made  a  year  ago; 

A  pair  of  Phoebe  birds  ensconced  it  there; 

'Tis  framed  of  twigs,  and  lined  with  wool  and 
hair, 
The  work  of  many  a  journey  to  and  fro 
From  meadow,  barn,  and  hedge  to  portico. 


The  little  couple  were  a  reckless  pair : 
He  had  no  capital,  nor  friends  at  court; 
She  had  no  wedding  dower;  — and  so,  in  short, 
Here  they  began  this  castle  in  the  air, 
And   sang, — -yes,   sang,   nor   gave   a   thought   to 
care. 

They  loved  each   other;    what  could  heart  wish 
more? 

To  work  they  went,  contented  with  their  lot; 

Picked  out  this  sheltered,  unpretentious  spot, 
And,  what  with  native  wit  and  Nature's  store 
Of  mud  and  moss,  they  settled,  near  my  door. 

Ere  long  the  nest  contained  a  thriving  brood 
Of  little  Phoebes;    scarcely  could  they  keep 
Within  its  narrow  bounds,  — pe-wee,  pe-weep! 

The  father  stirred  about  and  gathered  food; 

But  did  not  sing  as  loud  as  when  he  wooed. 

The  chicks  grew  up  and  learned  to  fly  about, 

They  left   the  nest    and    off  they   went;     who 

knows 

Where  they  are  now?  you  see,  it  only  shows 

That  when  this  careless,  happy  pair  set  out 

Their  capital  was  Love,  —  and  Faith,  no  doubt. 

—  Andrew  Tully. 

* 
*   * 

A  Revelation. 

I  AM  credulous  of  all  things  in  this  wonder  world 

of  ours, 
I  concede  that  little  people  sleep  at  night  within 

the  flowers. 
For  so  many,  many  marvels  strike  upon  my  eye 

and  ear,  — 
Painting  of  the  little  violet,  bobolink  flute  high 

and  clear, 
Rise  of  armies  from  the  sod,  and  frost-ranks  on 

the  meadow  bars, 
Stare  of  noon  and  blush  of  evening,  never-tiring 

dance  of  stars,  — 
That  I'm  credulous  of  all  things.     I  have  burned 

in  coldest  rain, 
I  have  seen  the  smile  of  loved  ones  burst   the 

bitter  bonds  of  pain, 
Seen  imaginary  people  falling  over  cataracts, 
Swum  behind  the   fleetest   vessels    over    endless 

ocean  tracts, 
Souls  that  deepest  loved    each   other  give  each 

other  deepest  grief, 
Frost  of  friendship  dyeing  to  a  blood-tint  all  the 

tender  leaf! — 
But  among  them  all  this  marvel  strikes  me  at  this 

moment  most  — 
Strangest  kind  of  incarnation  of  a  most  elusive 

ghost. 
'Tis  when  Poetry  —  an  angel  —  sheds  her  plumes 

to  furnish  quills, 
And  transmutes  herself  to  bank-checks  just  to  pay 

my  little  bills ! 

—  C.  H.  Crandall 


Caught  Something. 

Friend: — Hullo!    been   fishing?      What   did 
you  catch ! 

Sportsman  (gruffly)  :  — Last  train  home. 


GOVERNOR  ENDICOTT. 

FROM   THE   PORTRAIT   IN    THE    POSSESSION   OF   THE   ESSEX   INSTITUTE,    SALEM. 


THE 


New  England  Magazine. 


New  Series. 


DECEMBER,   1891 


Vol.  V.     No.  4 


CANADIAN  JOURNALISTS  AND  JOURNALISM, 

By  Waltej-  Blackburn  Harte. 


IT  would  be  an  exaggeration  in 
which    the    most    enthusiastic 
journalist    would     hardly    in- 
dulge, to  say  that  the   history  of 
journalism     is     the     history     of 
civilization.      The    Greeks    were 
civilized    before    the     advent    of 
Cadmus.     But  it  is  not  too  much 
to  say  that  the  birth  of  the  Press 
and    effective     "  sedition,"     the 
awakening    of    democracy,    were 
contemporary.      In    a    considera- 
tion,     there- 
fore,   of    the 
political    and 
social  life    of 
a     country 
every     writer 
with  any  pre- 
tensions      to 
thoroughness 
will  nowadays 
study     the 
thought     and 
condition     of 
its     news- 
papers, just  as  in  Doctor  Johnson's  and 
Goldsmith's  day  he  would  make  first  an 
inquiry  into  the  state  of  its  art  and  polite 
literature.     Of  course,  these  are  still  the 
fields  of  all    philosophical    inquiry;    the 
point  is  that  journalism  is  now  included 
with  them  as  one  of  the  essential  phases 
of  such  investigation. 

There  is  little  necessity  at  this  time  for 
any  writer  to  add  anything  to  what  has 
already  been  said  about  the  influence  of 


'Grip, 


the  press.  The  steam  presses  of  the 
world  are  making  every  throne  in  Europe 
totter ;  freedom  of  thought  spreads 
republicanism  like  an  epidemic,  and 
popular  education,  which  no  government 
can  now  afford  to  withhold,  will  sweep 
away  the  last  prop  from  beneath  the 
theory  that  certain  families  are  born  to 
legislate  for  the  millions,  and  live  upon 
them.  The  writer  is  confident  that  little 
is  known  in  the  United  States  or  Great 


412 


CANADIAN  JOURNALISTS  AND  JOURNALISM. 


Britain  of  the  progress  made  in  Canadian 
journalism  of  recent  years,  and  he  is 
therefore  sure  that  no  apology  is  needed 
for  a  concise  exposition  of  the  present 
condition  of  the  journalism,  and  some 
account  of  the  leading  journalists  of  the 
Dominion.  Certainly,  no  intelligent  per- 
son can  afford  to  be  local  in  his  sym- 
pathies and  knowledge  in  these  days  of 
quick     travel,    cablegrams,      and     steam 


Honore   Beaugrand. 

presses,  when  even  a  too  absorbing 
"nationalism"  is  becoming  an  evidence 
of  an  extended  "provincialism,"  and,  in 
fact,  is  being  replaced  by  an  "  inter- 
nationalism "  ;  and  assuredly,  in  view  of 
the  close  connection  that  may  exist 
between  Canada  and  the  United  States, 
with  the  dawning  of  the  twentieth 
century,  every  American  who  wishes  to 
keep  thoroughly  in  touch  with  the  prog- 
ress   of   the    times    must     keep    himself 


informed  upon  the  Canada  of  to-day. 
Therefore  anything  that  helps  to  a  fuller 
knowledge  of  Canada  and  its  people  can- 
not be  entirely  lacking  in  interest  and 
value. 

Many  Americans  will  doubtless  be  sur- 
prised to  learn  how  many  of  the  leading 
editors  of  Canada  express  themselves  as 
being  in  favor  of  the  adoption  of  a  conti- 
nental commercial   policy  and  complete 
separation  from  Great 
Britain.        Nothing 
could      show      more 
distinctly     the     drift 
of  the  popular  senti- 
ment     in     the     Do- 
minion, for  everybody 
is    aware    that    news- 
papers only  echo 
public    opinion,    and 
do      not      create     it, 
nowadays.    If  the  idea 
of  a  closer  connection 
with  the  United  States 
was  at   all   distasteful 
to     any    considerable 
or  influential  portion 
of  the  constituency  of 
these   newspapers, 
they  would,  with  the 
diplomacy  of  the  pro- 
fession,   preserve    an 
unbroken  silence   on 
the    question  ;     and, 
of    course,    although 
editors      frequently 
differ  with  the  policy 
of    the    papers    with 
which   they  are  con- 
nected,   none    would 
express    private    opi- 
nions for  publication 
out  of  harmony  with 
those     appearing     in 
the  editorial  columns  of  their  own  jour- 
nals.    All  the  references  to  the  political 
attitudes  of  the  men  represented  in  this 
article  have  been  elicited  from  them  per- 
sonally.    The  writer  took  this  precaution, 
notwithstanding  his  acquaintance  with  the 
men  and  their  work,  so  that  there  should 
be  no  possibility  of  charges  being  preferred 
against  him,  for  attributing  political  lean- 
ings to  men  which  they  would  not  openly 
avow  in  the  columns  of  their  own  papers. 


CANADIAN  JOURNALISTS  AND  JOURNALISM. 


413 


A  few  years  ago 
there  was  little 
tolerance  in  Canada 
for  any  man  who 
dared  to  speak  of 
the  possibility  of 
severing  the  senti- 
mental tie  binding 
the  country  to  Great 
Britain.  Now  Can- 
adian independence 
is  one  of  the  strong- 
est of  popular  ap- 
peals, and  as  I  I 
pointed  out  in  the 
Forum  two  years 
ago,  the  strong  op- 
position of  the  con- 
servative party  to 
anything  like  free 
trade  with  the 
United  States  is 
based  upon  the 
contention  that 

complete  independence  of  Great  Britain 
would  result  in  an  absorption  of  Canada 
by  the  great  republic.  The 
leading  journalists  of  the 
Dominion  unite  in  urging 
the  necessity  of  Canada  be- 
longing to  this  continent 
economically,  and  some  of 
them  are  even  willing  to 
admit  to  their  constituencies 
that  if  such  identification 
of  the  commercial  interests 
of  the  two  countries  in- 
volves political  union,  then 
political  union  is  desirable. 
Such  an  undercurrent  in 
the  newspapers  cannot  be 
mistaken;  the  public 
opinion  may  be  somewhat 
vague,  it  may  be  frequently 
obscured  by  side  issues  and 
sudden  gusts  of  resentment 
(as  upon  the  publication 
of  the  McKinley  bill,)  but 
it  is  undoubtedly  growing 
in  favor  of  a  complete  fusion 
of  the  two  countries  —  or 
rather,  of  the  breaking 
down  of  an  imaginary  bar- 
rier separating  and  dividing 
one     people.       Downing 


Ella  S.    Elliott. 


Street  has  com- 
pletely lost  its  hold 
on  the  Dominion, 
but  when  the  separa- 
tion comes  it  will 
be  peacefully,  and 
without  resentment. 
England  will  lose 
nothing,  because  in 
holding  Canada  she 
gains  nothing.  The 
connection  rests 
upon  a  fabric  of 
%  I  empty  phrases — the 
talk  at  Imperial 
Federation  ban- 
quets in  London. 
No  one  who  visits 
Canada  or  studies 
its  newspapers  can 
doubt  this.  It  is 
only  the  subsidized 
government  or- 
gans which  attempt 
to  keep  alive  any  feeling  of  veneration 
for  the  last  relic  of  British  dominion  — 


John   Robson   Cameron. 


414 


CANADIAN  JOURNALISTS  AND  JOURNALISM. 


James  Johnson. 

the  vice-regalship,  which  is  a  cheap 
flummery  of  millinery,  reminding  one  of 
a  Sheridan  play  presented  by  a  travelling 
company  in  a  country  theatre.  All  the 
other  papers  are  avowedly  democratic, 
and  they  do  not  pretend  to  treat  the 
Court  at  Ottawa  seriously ;  in  fact,  they 
ridicule  its  titular  precedencies  and 
distinctions, —  the  subtle  differences  in  a 
social  hierarchy  of  dollars,  which  are  the 
shadows  of  the  hereditary  distinctions  of 
the  Court  of  St.  James, —  and  they  hold 
stars  and  garters  in  very  light  estimation  : 
Canada's  aristocracy  is  an  aristocracy  of 
to-morrow. 

Independence  is  a  new  thing  in  Cana- 
dian journalism.  Political  feeling  runs  so 
high  in  all  classes  of  the  community,  that 
the  majority  of  those  who  have  been 
blindly  attached  to  one  of  the  two  parties 
for  years,  cannot  understand  that  princi- 
ples are  involved  in  the  idea  of  govern- 
ment, and  that  politics  should  not  be  a 
game   of  parties,   but   a  contest    for    the 


right,  and  the  elimination  of 
the  wrong.  The  Toronto  Mail's 
evolution  as  an  independent 
paper  has  therefore  been  in- 
tensely interesting,  and  it  is  one 
of  the  most  encouraging  things 
in  Canada  to-day  that  it  has  had 
a  successful  issue.  The  story  of 
the  Mail's  progress  in  morality 
is  an  amusing  one.  The  Mail 
did  not  go  to  the  political 
penitent  bench  through  a  sudden 
revival  of  virtue  in  the  directo- 
rate, but  because  when  it  was  the 
Tory  organ,  and  Sir  John  Mac- 
donald  was  in  danger  over  the 
execution  of  Riel,  it  had  to  make 
a  strong  appeal  to  the  Orange 
vote  to  save  the  government. 
The  circulation  went  up  tre- 
mendously when  it  preached  the 
new  crusade  against  French 
aggression,  and  after  the  excite- 
ment caused  by  Riel's  execution 
had  subsided,  the  management 
and  the  government  disagreed, 
because  the  former  desired  to 
continue  a  virtue  that  had 
proved  so  profitable,  and  the 
latter  wished  to  drop  the  cru- 
sade in  order  to  regain  French 
Canadian  confidence.  The  Mail  then 
became  independent,  and  so  out  of  a  party 
move,  was  born  the  first  paper  in  Canada 
which  dared  to  have  no  party  affiliations. 
There  is  a  story  still  current  that  in  the 


Watson  Griffin. 


CANADIAN  JOURNALISTS  AND  JOURNALISM. 


415 


John    Livingston. 

old  days  when    the  Mail   was  the    Tory 
organ,  its  avowed  mission  was  "  to  stab  the 
Liberals   under    the    fifth    rib 
every  lawful  morning."     It  has 
now  a  better  reason  for  exis- 
tence    as    the    opponent     of 
abuses   in   any   party,  and   all     ; 
parties,  and  it  is  the  only  great     | 
daily  paper  in  Canada   which 
can  really  claim  the  distinction 
of  being  absolutely    indepen- 
dent. 

The  younger  generation  of 
Canadians  are  beginning  to 
shake  off  the  shackles  of 
partyism,  and  ask  themselves 
whether  a  newspaper  which  is 
the  recognized  paid  champion 
of  a  particular  party  is  not 
merely  a  devil's  advocate.  It 
is  certainly  a  question  whether 
a  political  writer  can  be  a  con- 
sistent partisan  and  preserve 
his  integrity.  Some  people 
would  put  this  proposition  the 
other  way,  but  those  who  know 
political  tactics  from  the  inside 
will  acknowledge  that  political 
parties  are  only  virtuous  out 
of  office  ;  and  if  a  writer 
would  be    consistently   honest. 


the  only  consistency  worthy  of  respect, 
he  must  frequently  belabor  his  friends, 
and  commend  his  enemies,  of  yesterday. 
Every  journalist  knows,  though  unfortu- 
nately all  dare  not,  or  cannot  afford  to,  say 
so,  how  encouragingly  honest  politicians 
become  on  the  opposition  benches,  and 
how  quickly  the  virtues  of  the  Treasury 
benches  dwindle  away  after  election. 

The  generality  of  Canadian  newspapers 
in  their  appearance,  and  in  the  style  in 
which  they  are  written,  are  a  curious 
mixture  of  English  and  American 
methods.  In  the  news  department  they 
are  very  similar  to  the  newspapers  in  the 
smaller  American  cities,  and  in  the 
editorial  columns  they  are  modelled  after 
the  English  provincial  papers,  but  as  a 
rule  they  are  less  wide  in  their  scope. 
Except  in  one  or  two  instances,  they  are 
are  destitute  of  all  pretensions  to  literary 
excellence.  The  Toronto  Mail  and  Globe 
maintain  a  higher  standard  than  any  of 
their  contemporaries  ;  they  employ  larger 
staffs  than  do  any  three  other  Canadian 
papers,  and  the  men  in  all  departments  are 


1 

Jl 


Joseph  Tasse. 


41 6 


CANADIAN  JOURNALISTS  AND  JOURNALISM. 


Eve   H.    Brodhque 


men  of  education 
and  journalists  of 
long  experience  — 
the  pick  of  the 
profession  in  Can- 
ada. The  Gazette 
of  Montreal  and 
the  Empire  of 
Toronto  are  almost 
exclusively  politi- 
cal in  their  scope, 
and  exist  as  the 
organs  of  the  Con- 
servative party. 
The  Western 
papers  have  little 
room  for  anything 
outside  of  news 
and  politics.  The 
Montreal  Star  is 
always  on  the 
popular  side  of 
every  question.  It 
is    so   distinctly    a 

popular  paper  that  it  has  no  use  for  literary 
matter.     The  Ottawa   papers,  like  those 
of  Washington,  carry  little  weight  and  are 
miserable    in    every    particular  —  poorly 
written    and   horribly  printed.     The  one 
exception  to  this  is  the  Free  Press,  which 
although  published  in  the  Liberal  interest, 
is  rather  more  inde- 
pendent   than    most      [ 
party  papers,  and  its 
opinions  naturally 
carry    more    weight. 
The     French     Can- 
adian newspapers  are 
less  enterprising  and 
energetic  in  the 
gathering     of     news 
than  the  English,  but 
their    editorial     col- 
umns     are      usually 
more    striking    in    a 
literary     way,     even 
though  almost  exclu- 
sively devoted  to  the 
discussion  of  political 
questions.   There  are 
no  signed  articles  as 
in    the     Parisian 
papers,  French  Can- 
adian  journalism 
having  been  tainted  John  A.  MacPhai 


with  the  meaning- 
less    "WE"    of 
British    and    Am- 
erican journalism, 
and     having     lost 
interest  and  viva- 
city    in    conse- 
quence.      All  the 
French  papers 
devote    a    portion 
|     of  their   space  to 
j    feuilletons,  but  they 
are  of  a  light,  sen- 
sational order  and 
are     taken     from 
the  Parisian  jour- 
nals.     Le   Monde 
Illustre   of    Mon- 
treal   is    the  only 
literary    weekly 
published     in 
French      Canada, 
which   makes  any 
pretensions  of  fur- 
nishing its  readers  with  original  literary 
contributions  by  French  Canadian  writers ; 
and    its    serials    are    usually    borrowed. 
Under  the  old  George  Brown  regime,  the 
Toronto    Globe,    now    one    of   the   most 
literary   daily    papers   in   the    Dominion, 
was  intensely  antagonistic  to  all  literary 
production  by  native 
writers  ;  but  it  is  now 
conducted  in  a  more 
liberal  spirit,  and  fol- 
lowing  the   example 
of  the  great  Ameri- 
can   dailies,   it  pub- 
lishes a  weekly  sup- 
plement   devoted  to 
literary    articles, 
stories  and  poems,  a 
great  deal  of  which 
matter  is  contributed 
by  Canadian  writers, 
English  and  French, 
who  are  quite  outside 
of  regular  journalism. 
But  speaking  gen- 
erally of  the  papers 
of  the  Dominion,  one 
is    forced    to    admit 
that    they    are    very 
provincial     in    both 
tone     and     appear- 


CANADIAN  JOURNALISTS  AND  JOURNALISM. 


417 


ance ;  and  the  complete  correspondence 
between  them  and  the  life  of  the  people, 
which  is  distinctly  commercial  and  politi- 
cal, is  significant  and  discouraging  to  the 
stranger  within  their  gates.  The  Canadian 
papers  are  very  dull  reading  in  compari- 
son with  those  of  any  considerable  city  in 
the  Union.  It  is  notable  that  the  New 
York,  Detroit,  Buffalo,  and  Boston  Sunday 
papers  have  quite  an  extensive  sale  in 
Montreal  and  Toronto,  where  no  papers 
are  published  on  the  first  day  of 
the  week.  But  if  the  newspapers 
are     not    literary,     many     of    the    men 


John   Anderson    Boyd. 

who  make  them  have  literary  tendencies, 
and  one  half  the  men  in  the  professon, 
have  drifted  into  journalism  because 
it  is  the  nearest  approach  to  letters 
attainable  in  the  Dominion.  There 
is  now  in  the  larger  centres  something  of 
an  awakening  ;  less  space  is  being  devoted 
to  interminable  Parliamentary  debates 
reported  verbati?n,  and  more  to  special 
articles  by  distinct  personalities. 

Journalism  is  one  of  the  most  exacting, 
and  should  be  one  of  the  most  reputable, 
professions  in  the  world.  In  Canada 
something  of  the  old  Bohemianism 
lingers,  and  a  very  decided  popular 
prejudice  agajnst    the    profession   fosters 


,, 


Edmund   E.   Sheppard 


it,  as  all  men  and  all  classes  of  men  are 
influenced  by  the  estimation  in  which 
they  are  held  by  the  rest  of  the  commu- 
nity. But  the  Bohemianism  is  fast  dying 
out  with  the  infusion  of  new  blood,  and 
perhaps  in  time  it  will  dawn  upon  the 
Canadian  public  that  a  journalist  is 
engaged  in  as  essential  and  as  respectable 
a  profession  as  a  lawyer  or  a  clergyman. 

It  is  safe  to  say  that  everybody  in  the 
world  of  American  journalism  has  heard 
of  Edward  Farrer,  who  in  1889  was 
charged  by  the  official  organ  of  the  Sir 
John  Macdonald  Government  with  sup- 
plying secret  information  about  Canada, 
with  "treasonable  intent,"  to  different 
members  of  the  United  States  govern- 
ment. Mr.  Farrer  was  at  that  time  on 
the  Toronto  Mail,  with  which  he  had 
been  connected  as  managing  editor  and 
chief  political  writer  since  1872,  when 
the  paper  was  founded  as  the  organ  of 
the  Tory  party.  It  was  then  conducted 
by  Mr.  Charles  Belford,  a  very  able 
editor,  the  father  of  the  Belford  brothers, 
who  are  now  at  the  head  of  the  publish- 
ing house  of  that  name  in  New  York 
city.  In  1886  the  Mail  became  an 
independent  paper,  and  the  change  in 
the  policy  of  the  paper  gave  Mr.  Farrer 
wider  scope  for  his    diverse  talents,  and 


418 


CANADIAN  JOURNALISTS  AND  JOURNALISM. 


W.    D.    Le  Sueur. 

his  great  versatility  is  not  denied  by  his 
severest  critics ;  indeed  they  adduce  as 
an  evidence  of  it,  the  fact  that  before  he 
began  to  write  articles  for  the  conservation 
of   the  English  language  and  institutions 


in  the  Mail,  he  had  been  previously 
employed  as  a  writer  on  D  Etendard,  a 
newspaper  devoted  to  the  ultramontane 
doctrines.  It  has  to  be  admitted  that 
Mr.  Farrer,  though  a  most  convincing 
writer,  is  not  afflicted  with  a  superabun- 
dance of  literary  conscience  ;  but  to  him 
must  belong  the  credit  of  having 
awakened  a  public  sentiment  against  the 
insidious  machinations  of  the  ultramon- 
tane party  to  obtain  complete  control  of 
the  provincial  and  federal  legislatures. 
The  struggle  for  the  integrity  of  the 
public  school  system,  which  is  being 
maintained  in  Massachusetts,  is  being 
fought  with  even  greater  bitterness  in  the 
provinces  of  the  Dominion,  as  in  no 
country  in  the  world  to-day  have  such 
extraordinary  privileges  been  granted  to 
the  Jesuit  Society  as  they  have  obtained 
by  political  wire-pulling  in  Canada.  In 
this  defence  of  the  free  institutions  of 
the  country,  Mr.  Farrer  took  a  most 
prominent  part,  and  made  the  Mail 
respected  by  all  lovers  of  liberty,  civil 
and  intellectual,  in  Canada  and  in  the 
States.  Educated  in  a  Jesuit  University 
on  the  continent  of  Europe,  but  a  con- 
vert to  Unitarianism,  Mr.  Farrer  knows 
the  past  and  present  tendencies  of  the 
Society  of  Jesus,  as  few  other  opponents 
of  the  society  do.  His  articles, 
always  moderate  and  dignified, 
with  every  statement  enforced 
by  its  proper  authority,  created 
something  more  than  a  sensation ; 
they  aroused  the  whole  country, 
and  made  even  the  powerful 
ultramontane  party,  with  the 
Quebec  legislature  and  the  Do- 
minion government  under  its 
thumb,  feel  insecure.  Mr.  Farrer 
also  strenuously  supported  un- 
restricted commercial  relations 
with  the  United  States,  and  he 
|  made  the  Mail  the  greatest  in- 
&  strument  in  the  hands  of  the  free 
trade  party  for  the  conversion  of 
the  farmers  of  the  country,  who 
were  hitherto  strongly  conserva- 
tive and  committed  to  the 
heresies  of  the  protectionist 
oligarchy.  Mr.  Farrer  was  for 
some  time  foreign  editor  on 
the    New    York     World   under 


CANADIAN  JOURNALISTS  AND  JOURNALISM. 


419 


Mr.   W.    H.    Hurlbert's     editorship,    but 
he    is    principally     known     through     his 
work  on  the  Canadian  press.     At  present 
he  is  chief  writer  of  the    Globe,  and  his 
position     during     the    recent     Dominion 
elections  led  to  much 
discussion  of  him  and 
his  work  in  England 
and  the  States.    The 
government     organs 
have    been  good 
enough  to   say    that         J 
Mr.  Farrer  should  be       / 
hanged  as   a  traitor 
for  advocating  a  con- 
tinental   policy     for 
Canada,     and    for 
eliciting    the    views 
of  leading  American 
statesmen  as  to  the 
possibility  of  effect- 
ing such  an  arrange- 
ment.    This   is   one 
of  the  most  ludicrous 
phases  of  the  strug- 
gle between  the  pro- 
tectionists   and   free 
traders  which  is  going 
on,  and  the  promi- 
nence   which    has    been     given    to    Mr. 
Farrer's    opinions    in    England    and    the 
States  makes  him  one    of  the  most  inter- 
esting    personalities      of     contemporary 
Canadian,  if  not,  to  use  the  broader  term, 
of  American  journalism. 

Gordon  Brown,  although  but  little 
known  to  the  public,  in  this  sharing  the 
fate  of  many  of  the  greatest  journalists,  is 
admitted  by  every  newspaper  writer  in 
the  Dominion  to  be  the  doyen  of  Eng- 
lish-Canadian journalism.  A  very  retir- 
ing man,  wholly  wrapped  up  in  his  work, 
he  did  not  attempt  to  identify  himself 
with  his  labors  and  take  a  prominent 
place  in  the  public  life  of  the  country, 
as  with  a  little  more  practicality  and 
push  (the  qualities  which  are  hailed 
as  genius  in  successful  politicians),  he 
might  have  done.  His  great  literary 
ability,  political  knowledge  and  sagacity, 
ingenuity,  versatility  and  vigor  of  intel- 
lect really  entitled  him  to  national 
recognition ;  he  sought  and  he  obtained 
only  the  esteem  of  his  fellow  workers. 
To  him  the  great  success  of  the  Toronto 


S     Frances   Harrison. 


Globe  was  due,  and  every  man  in  Cana- 
dian journalism,  whatever  his  political 
faith,  will  warmly  accord  him  this  tribute. 
He,  like  many  another  journalist,  was  the 
deus  ex  machina  of  his  newspaper, —  the 
brains  of  the  ad- 
''>*fNv  ministration,  —  and 

through  his  brilliant 
editorial  writing  the 
ostensible    chief    of 
the    paper   obtained 
much  of  the   honor 
and  distinction  that 
I       is  given  him  in  the 
records  of  Canadian 
j      liberalism.  There  are 
a   great   many    such 
Sidney     Cartons    in 
Canadian  journalism 
and     in      American 
journalism,  too.     To 
Gordon  Brown  must 
be  credited  most  of 
the    victories    of 
Canadian  liberalism, 
under  which  the  sys- 
tem   of    responsible 
government  was 
thoroughly      estab- 
lished ;  the  clergy  Reserves  abolished  ;  the 
seignorial  tenure  —  a  relic  of  feudalism  — 
swept  away  ;   the  franchise  extended  ;  the 


Nicholas  Flood   Davin 


420 


CANADIAN  JOURNALISTS  AND  JOURNALISM. 


V61.jXXXIlI.-No.  6  TORONTO,  AUGUST  io,  1889.  No.  844. 


John  W.   Bengough. 


CANADIAN  JOURNALISTS  AND  JOURNALISM. 


421 


C.  Blackett  Robinson. 

school  system  improved  and  modelled 
upon  the  American  Public  School  system ; 
the  civil  service  corruptions  exposed  and 
reformed ;  the  iniquities  of  political 
contests  considerably  lessened,  though 
much  abuse  survives,  and  the  welding 
of  the  Provinces  into  a  Dominion  made 
possible.  He  was  for  thirty-six  years  the 
Drains  of  the  Globe,  but  the  great  world, 
outside    of  newspaperdom,  gave  all   the 


honor  of  these  years  of  struggle  against 
abuses  to  his  brother,  the  Hon.  George 
Brown,  who  was  immersed  in  public 
affairs  and  always  in  the  public  mind. 
George  Brown  was  an  orator  of  no  mean 
ability,  and  a  man  of  great  personal  force, 
but  Gordon  Brown  was  the  writing  man, 
and  the  originator  of  half  his  elder 
brother's  political  ideas.  There  is  good 
reason  why  Americans  should  remember 
Gordon  Brown  with  gratitude.  At  the  time 
of  the  Civil  War — both    of  the  Browns 


D   J    Beaton. 


Hon.  J.  W    Longley. 

had  long  been  strong  adherents  of  the 
Abolition  party  —  the  Globe  at  once  em- 
braced the  Northern  side  of  the  question, 
although  half  of  the  Canadian  people, 
including  the  readers  of  the  Globe  were 
in  strong  sympathy  with  the  Secessionists. 
This  attitude  estranged  a  very  large 
portion  of  its  constituency  and  caused 
the  directorate  to  suffer  considerable 
pecuniary  loss ;  but  its  guiding  spirit 
would  make  no  concession  to  the  popular 
feeling,  and  the  Globe,  to  his.  and  to  its 
honor,  held  firmly  to  the  cause  of  Anti- 
slavery,  and  the  maintenance  of  the  Union. 
It  is  a  fact  that  this  was  due  in  a 
greater    degree    to   the    steadfastness  of 


422 


CANADIAN  JOURNALISTS  AND  JOURNALISM. 


J.  S.  Willison. 

Gordon  Brown  than  to  the  more  public 
championship  of  his  brother,  George. 
Mr.  Gordon  Brown  never  wavered,  and 
he  lived  to  see  the  Globe  indorsed  by  all 
those  who  had  opposed  its  course.  He 
says  to-day  that  his  proudest  possession 
is  the  silver  flagon  bearing  an  inscription, 
which  was  presented  to  him  by  the 
American  residents  of  the  city  of  Toronto 
as  a  token  of  their  esteem,  for  the  per- 
sistence with  which  he  had  kept  the 
paper  true  to  the  cause  of  freedom  and 
consolidation.  In  1882,  after  the  death 
of  his  brother,  he  assumed  the  complete 


direction  of  the  paper.  But  his  indepen- 
dence offended  some  members  of  the 
directorate,  who  wished  to  make  the 
Globe  subservient  to  party  and  private 
interests,  and  a  conspiracy  in  the  Board 
succeeded  in  ousting  him  from  his 
position,  and  virtually,  after  thirty-six 
years  of  service,  put  him  into  the  street. 
Everybody  in  Canada  knows  this  disgrace- 
ful story,  and  the  truth  of  it  cannot  be 
denied.  The  leader  of  the  conspiracy 
was  Mr.  Brown's  once  trusted  friend,  a 
man  whom  he  had  taken  from  the  gutter 
and  made  prosperous.  Mr.  Brown  was 
afterwards  appointed  to  a  position  in  the 
Hon.  Oliver  Mowat's  government,  not  at 
all  commensurate  with  his  talents  and 
services  to  the  Liberal  party,  but  still 
good  enough  to  provide  for  his  declining 
years.  Mr.  John  Cameron  was  his  suc- 
cessor. 

One  of  the  oldest  and  best  known  of 
the  Canadian  journalists  is  Mr.  John 
Livingston,  who  has  been  for  over  thirty 
years  in  harness.  He  had  a  hand  in  the 
enactment  of  all  progressive  measures  of 
legislation     in    the     province     of     New 


•'■ 


John  Talon    Lesperance. 


W.  F.  Luxton. 

Brunswick  since  responsible  government 
was  obtained,  and  has  supported  in  the 
press  all  the  important  legislation  of 
the  Dominion  parliament  since  confedera- 
tion. Born  in  New  Brunswick  in  1837, 
he  began  his  career  in  the  old  shipping 
port  of   St.  John,  as   associate  editor  of 


CANADIAN  JOURNALISTS  AND  JOURNALISM. 


425 


the  Colonial  Presbyterian,  from  which 
paper  he  passed  into  the  office  of  the 
Morning  News  an  old-fashioned  tri-weekly, 
where  he  was  expected  to  do  everything  for 
a  very  modest  salary.  Soon  afterwards  he 
established  the  Morning  Telegraph,  and 
purchasing  another  tri-weekly,  called  the 
Morning  Journal  and  the  Colo?iial 
Presbyterian,  he  merged  the  three  into 
the  St.  John  Daily  Telegraph  and  Weekly 
Telegraph.  He  retired  from  the  news- 
paper field  for  a  time,  but  always  suc- 
cessful in  everything  he  touched,  he  was 
called  to  edit  the  Daily  Tribune,  and 
subsequently  the  Weekly  Watchman,  the 
Moncton  Daily  Times,  the  St.  John  Sun 
and  other  papers.  He  then  went  to  the 
Herald  of  Montreal,  where  for  several 
years  he  filled  the  position  of  editor-in- 
chief.  It  was  here  that  he  made  his 
greatest  reputation  as  a  writer,  whose 
methods  were  a  great  deal  like  those  of 
Charles  A.  Dana ;  for  there  is  probably 
no  other  man  in  Canada  who  has  such  an 
inexhaustible  fund  of  unsparing  caustic 
raillery  and  biting  invective  as  Mr. 
Livingston.  But  he  is  too  acute  to 
hazard  his  cause  by  attacking  his  op- 
ponents on  a  plane  beneath  the  dignity 
of  the  question  under  discussion,  and  he 
never  descends  for  a  moment  to  the 
methods  of  guerilla  warfare.  A  very 
serious  illness  compelled  him  to  retire 
from  newspaper  work  for  a  long  period, 
and  the  necessity  of  spending  the 
remainder  of  his  days  in  a  milder  climate 
than  that  of  eastern  Canada  induced  him 
to  settle  in  Calgary  in  the  Northwest 
Territories,  where  he  is  now  manager 
and  editor  of  the  leading  morning  paper, 
the  Herald.  Mr.  Livingston  has  been  a 
frequent  contributor  to  the  press  of  New 
York,  Boston,  and  London,  England. 

The  Hon.  James  Wilberforce  Longley 
is  one  of  the  many  journalists  who  have 
achieved  distinction  outside  of  journa- 
lism. He  is  now,  at  a  little  over  forty 
years  of  age,  attorney-general  of  Nova 
Scotia,  and  one  of  the  leading  political 
writers  of  the  Dominion.  After  studying 
at  the  bar  in  Halifax  and  Toronto,  he  as- 
sumed the  editorship  of  a  small  paper  in 
his  native  province.  He  then  became  an 
editorial  writer  on  the  Acadian  Recorder 
in   Halifax,  soon   afterwards    purchasing 


Molyneux  St  John. 

the  Mayflower,  a  literary  weekly  pub- 
lished in  the  same  city.  He  contributed 
regularly  to  the  editorial  columns  of  the 
Acadian  Recorder  horn  1871  until  1887, 
when  he  joined  the  editorial  staff  of  the 
Halifax  Morning  Chronicle,  the  leading 
liberal  journal  of  the  Maritime  provinces. 
Of  late,  the  multiplicity  of  his  official 
duties  as  attorney-general  and  a  member 
of  the  executive  of  the  government  of 
Nova  Scotia  has  interfered  with  his 
journalistic     writing    considerably.       But 


James  Hannay. 


424 


CANADIAN  JOURNALISTS  AND  JOURNALISM. 


John   Cameron. 

although  immersed  in  politics  for  the  last 
fifteen  years,  he  has,  during  that  period 
found  leisure  to  contribute  many  articles, 
to  the  American  and  English  magazines. 
He  is  an  excellent  political  writer.  The 
chief  characteristic  of  his  style  is  its  sim- 
plicity, directness,  and  terse- 
ness. There  is  a  dash  and 
fearlessness  about  his  wri- 
tings, and  it  is  probably  this 
which  recently  caused  the 
sedate  London  Times  to  call 
him  "  the  Labouchere  of 
Canadian  Politics."  He  has 
had  a  remarkably  successful 
career  in  politics,  taking  a 
prominent  place  in  the  Ex- 
ecutive Council  two  years 
after  his  first  election  to  the 
provincial  legislature.  He 
is  one  of  the  most  effective 
and  powerful  debaters  in 
Canadian  political  life.  He 
is  an  earnest  advocate  of  free 
trade  between  Canada  and 
the  United  States. 

Mr.  John  Crmeron,  the 
founder  and  piesent  mana- 
ging editor  of  the  Advertiser, 
of  London,  Ontario,  has  been 
in  journalism  for  over  a 
quarter  of  a  century,  although 


he  is  not  yet  fifty  years  of  age.     His 
training  was  of  the  Benjamin  Franklin 
type  ;    before  he  became  a  newspaper 
man  he  was  a  newspaper  boy,  begin- 
ning as  a  "  devil  "   in  a  printing-office. 
Just  before  the  end  of   the  war,  when 
the  excitement  was  at  its  height,  Mr. 
Cameron's  apprenticeship  ended,  and 
the  demand  for   news  in  Canada  en- 
couraged him  to  start  a  little  evening 
paper  in  his  native  city.     This  is  now 
the    London   Advertiser,  the   most  in- 
fluential  paper    published    in   western 
Ontario.     Mr.  Cameron  has  been  the 
editor  and  manager  of  it  since  1863, 
with    the    exception    of    seven    years, 
during  which,  after  the  Gordon  Brown 
episode,    already    recounted,    he   held 
the   position  of  editor-in-chief  of  the 
Toronto    Globe.     Mr.  Cameron's  poli- 
tics have  been  liberal  all  his  life,  and 
he  has  strenuously  advocated  the  ut- 
most possible  freedom  of  commercial 
intercourse    between     Canada    and    the 
United    States.       In    1890    he    resigned 
from  the    Globe,  in  order  to  resume  the 
active    management    of    the    Advertiser. 
He  believes  that  it  is  impossible  for  Can- 
ada to  remain  a  colony.     He  is  an  advo- 


Edwai-H  Farrer. 


CANADIAN  JOURNALISTS  AND  JOURNALISM. 


425 


cate  of  complete  Canadian  independence  ; 
but  he  also  thinks  that,  if  it  is  the  destiny 
of  Canada  to  ultimately  become  part  of 
the  United  States,  she  will  make  her  mark 
in  the  great  federation. 

A  few  years  ago  the  name  and  doings 
and  sayings  of  "  Jimuel  Briggs  "  were  al- 
most as  well  known  and  as  popular  in 
Canada  as  those  of"  Petroleum  V.  Nasby," 
u  John  Phoenix  "  and  the  "  Danbury 
News  Man  "  in  the  United  States,  but  of 
late,  "Jimuel  Briggs"  seems  to  have 
joined  "  the  great  majority."  This  is  the 
fate  of  most  humorous  characters ;  the 
constant  strain  upon  the  writer  is  too 
much,  and  one  after  another  these  strange 
personalities  precede  their  creators  to  ob- 
scurity. It  is  very  probable,  however, 
that  the  name  of  "  Jimuel  Briggs  "  is  a 
more  familiar  one  in  Canada  to-day  than 
that  of  Phillips  Thompson,  although 
u  Jimuel's  "  laughable  philosophy  is  now 
only  a  memory,  and  Thompson,  his 
parent,  is  still  in  the  flesh. 

Phillips  Thompson  is  one  of  the  most 
brilliant  and  productive  writers  in  Canada. 
There  is  always  an  aroma  of  humor  in  all 
his  writings,  but  he  is  an  earnest  social 
reformer  as  well  as  a  humorist.  A  born 
radical,  he  is  duly  grateful  for  the  fact, 
and  the  stanch  honesty  of  his  life  and 
opinions  is  best  shown  by  the  increasing 
radicalism  of  his  views  as  he  approaches 
the  meridian  of  life  —  a  critical  period 
with  most  men.  It  is  the  discussion  of 
the  great  social  problems  which  confront 
the  new  world,  as  well  as  the  old,  that 
has  really  been  the  life  work  of  Mr. 
Thompson ;  and  his  book,  "  The  Politics 
of  Labor,"  is  recognized  in  America  and 
in  England  as  one  of  the  most  forcible  as 
well  as  the  most  judicial  presentations  of 
the  subject  that  has  ever  appeared  in  the 
flood  of  socialistic  literature.  He  is,  and 
always  has  been,  a  social  democrat,  and 
in  politics  he  has  been  consistently  inde- 
pendent, taking  little  interest  and  no 
share  in  the  discussion  of  the  burning 
questions  of  party  —  the  questions  which 
in  Canada  are  exploited  during  every 
election  to  catch  votes,  and,  it  may  be 
noted,  are  judiciously  dropped  once  a 
party  is  secure  on  the  treasury  benches. 
The  labor  question  has  possessed  Mr. 
Thompson's    heart  and    soul  all  his  life 


long,  and  if  necessity  had  not  compelled 
him  to  avail  himself  of  the  only  channels 
which  offered,  —  the  columns  of  the 
newspapers,  —  he  would  have  made  a 
wider  reputation  for  himself.  He  began 
his  career  as  a  reporter  in  the  office  of 
the  Toronto  Telegraph,  where  he  re- 
mained three  years.  He  has  since  filled 
all  sorts  of  positions  on  a  number  of 
papers.  In  1876,  he  left  Canada  and 
settled  in  Boston,  and  for  some  years 
was  assistant  editor  of  the  Traveller,  in 
which  position  his  writings  on  social  re- 
forms and  labor  politics  made  him  very 
conspicuous.  An  offer  to  become  special 
correspondent  of  the  Toronto  Globe  took 
him  back  to  Canada,  and  he  was  sent  on 
several  important  missions  to  Great  Bri- 
tain, whence  he  wrote  a  series  of  letters 
on  the  Landlord  and  Eviction  system, 
which  created  much  interest  on  both 
sides  of  the  Atlantic.  He  also  investi- 
gated the  local  institutions  of  Quebec, 
and  the  workings  of  the  prohibitory  law 
in  Maine,  and  his  articles  did  much  to 
create  a  sentiment  in  the  Dominion  in 
favor  of  similar  legislation.  Subsequently, 
he  became  assistant  editor  of  the 
Toronto  News,  a  position  which  he 
occupied  until  a  change  of  proprietorship 
and  policy  occurred  in  1887.  Since  then 
he  has  had  no  regular  connection  with  the 
press,  but  writes  a  great  deal  for  the  labor 
reform  organs  and  for  Saturday  Night. 

Although  it  is  chiefly  as  a  poet  that  Mr. 
Louis  Frechette  is  known  and  admired, 
his  name  is  included  among  the  journal- 
ists of  Canada,  for  it  is  by  journalism  that 
he  has  earned  his  livelihood.  In  Canada 
there  is  a  very  limited  market  for  any 
kind  of  literature,  and  so,  notwithstanding 
the  fact  that  M.  Frechette  obtained 
almost  immediate  recognition  by  his 
earlier  verses,  he  was  compelled  to  en- 
gage in  journalism  —  a  profession  which 
he  is  too  much  of  a  poet  to  be  very  much 
in  love  with.  M.  Frechette,  however, 
has  been  a  successful  journalist,  —  as 
some  of  his  confreres  would  jokingly  put 
it,  in  spite  of  his  literary  attainments  ;  for 
nearly  all  the  literary  characteristics  of 
Canadian  journalism  are  borrowed,  that 
is,  they  are  the  product  of  the  scissors 
and  paste  pot.  For  many  years  M.  Fre- 
chette has  been  one  of  the  chief  editorial 


426 


CANADIAN  JOURNALISTS  AND  JOURNALISM. 


writers  on  La  Patrie,  and  being  an 
ardent  patriot  as  well  as  a  poet,  he  has 
made  himself  a  force  in  the  politics  of 
Quebec,  and  for  some  time  occupied  a 
seat  in  the  legislature  of  the  province. 
All  his  books  have  been  published  in 
Paris,  and  all  his  fame  has  come  from  the 


Robert  S.  White. 

French  critics ;  it  is  only  among  the  little 
cliques  of  literary  people  that  he  is  taken 
at  his  full  value  in  his  own  country. 
Even  in  Paris  a  Beranger  can  starve,  and 
M.  Frechette  wisely  clung  to  the  mistress 
who  at  least  insured  bread  and  butter ; 
though  it  is  a  pity  that  a  man  with  M. 
Frechette's  genius  should  have  consented 
to  circumscribe  his  sphere  by  remaining 
in  Canada,  while  if  he  had  only  fulfilled 
the  programme  he  once  had,  of  settling 
in  Paris,  where  the  journalist  is  not 
obliged  to  suppress  his  individuality,  he 
would  undoubtedly  have  achieved  some- 
thing more  than  a  local  reputation ; '  for 
even  if  he  had  not  succeeded  in  devoting 
himself  entirely  to  literature,. he  would, 
at  least,  have  become  eminent  as  a  jour- 
nalist in  the  great  French  capital,  which 


confers  greater  honor  upon  a  brilliant 
chroniquer  than  upon  a  writer  of  dull 
partisan  editorials. 

The  recent  death  of  John  Talon  Les- 
perance  removed  one  of  the  most  in- 
teresting personalities  and  one  of  the 
most  brilliant  writers  from  the  field  of 
Canadian  journalism  and  let- 
ters. Mr.  Lesperance  be- 
longed to  the  school  of 
literary  journalists,  and  in 
addition  to  his  voluminous 
contributions  to  the  different 
newspapers  of  the  country 
he  wrote  innumerable,  signed 
and  anonymous,  poems,  es- 
says, and  sketches,  which 
gave  him  a  reputation  that 
few  other  journalists  in  the 
Dominion  have  attained.  As 
a  young  man  he  became 
connected  with  a  newspaper 
in  St.  Johns,  P.  Q.,  and  his 
writings  attracting  consider- 
able attention  brought  him 
an  offer  to  join  the  staff  of 
the  Montreal  Gazette,  as  one 
of  its  editorial  contributors. 
A  column  of  bright  literary 
criticism,  under  the  heading 
of  "  Ephemerides,"  which  he 
established  in  the  Gazette, 
and  wrote,  until  shortly  be- 
fore his  death,  regularly 
every  Saturday,  introduced 
him  to  a  wider  constituency, 
and  he  was  soon  recognized  as  one  of 
the  most  original  thinkers  in  the  Domin- 
ion. Necessarily,  a  great  deal  of  this 
work  was  unequal,  but  the  strong  in- 
dividuality, and  half- humorous  con- 
fidential tone,  which  permeated  it,  always 
atoned  for  the  faults  that  are  inevitable 
in  hasty  compositions  of  this  character. 
It  must  be  remembered  that  the  jour- 
nalist writes  for  the  breakfast  table,  and 
more  frequently  than  not,  writes  after  the 
rest  of  the  world  is  soundly  sleeping ;  and 
as  soon  as  the  article  is  finished,  the 
thunder  of  the  presses  in  the  basement 
makes  all  revision  impossible.  There 
was  a  note  in  all  Mr.  Lesperance's  jour- 
nalistic writings  which  is  not  generally' 
found  in  the  causeries  one  finds  printed 
in    the    daily    papers ;    he    was    really   a 


CANADIAN  JOURNALISTS  AND  JOURNALISM. 


427 


literary  man,  driven  into  journalism  by  his 
necessities  and  the  almost  complete  ab- 
sence of  a  market  for  literary  wares  in 
Canada.  He  was  at  different  periods 
editor  of  the  Canadian  Illustrated  News 

one  of  the  many  wrecks  in  the  history 

of  Canadian  literary  journalism  —  the 
Dominion  Illustrated,  which  is  now  en- 
joying a  vigorous  existence,  the  Star,  and* 
Gazette.  During  the  scant  leisure  allowed 
by  his  exacting  occupations  he  wrote  three 
novels,  "The  Bastonnais,"  "Fanchon," 
and  "  My  Creoles,"  which  appeared 
serially,  and  were  afterwards  published  in 
book  form.  These  novels,  written  at  a 
time  when  the  surfeit  of  English  fiction  in 
the  Canadian  market  made  the  publishers 
look  askance  at  native  productions,  were 
sufficiently  notable  to  at  once  achieve 
popularity. 

A  name  that  is  not  altogether  unfamiliar 
in  the  United  States  and  is  known 
throughout  the  length  and  breadth  of 
Canada,  is  that  of  Honore  Beaugrand, 
journalist  and  publicist.  Although  a 
comparatively  young  man  he  has  had  a 
remarkably  varied  career,  and  has  by  his 
own  efforts  attained  a  position  of  promi- 
nence while  still  in  the  prime  of  life. 
He  began  his  career  as  a  journalist  in 
New  Orleans  in  1868,  and  lived  for  ten 
years  in  the  United  States,  being  in  turn 
an  attache  of  the  leading  journals  in 
St.  Louis,  Chicago,  Boston,  and  Lowell. 
He  founded  La  Patrie  in  Montreal  in 
1878,  and  he  has  made  it  one  of  the 
most  able  exponents  of  liberalism  in 
French  Canada.  He  is  well  known  as  a 
magazine  writer  on  political  subjects,  and 
has  also  written  several  histories  of 
considerable  worth.  In  politics  Mr. 
Beaugrand  belongs  to  the  advanced 
liberal  school,  and  has  always  advocated 
free  trade  and  commercial  reciprocity 
between  Canada  and  the  United  States. 
He  does  not  hesitate  to  declare  that  if 
Canada  cannot  attain  the  advantages 
which  would  accrue  to  her  from  un- 
obstructed commercial  intercourse  with 
the  great  republic  to  the  south  of  her, 
without  becoming  politically  a  part  of 
that  republic,  then  annexation  is  the 
desideratum  which  all  who  honestly 
desire  Canada's  prosperity  should  strive 
for. 


E.  W.  Thomson  is  well  known  through- 
out Canada  by  the  readers  of  light 
literature  as  the  cleverest  writer  of  short 
stories  in  the  country,  and  probably  few 
of  these  readers  know  that  the  greater 
part  of  his  work  in  this  direction  has 
been  performed  after  the  arduous    daily 


Bernard   McEvoy. 

labors  of  a  working  journalist.  Mr. 
Thomson  is  only  a  little  over  forty  years 
of  age,  but  he  is  a  veteran  in  journalism, 
and  is  known  among  his  confreres  in  the 
profession  as  one  of  the  most  sarcastic 
and  humorous,  at  times  severely  ironical, 
editorial  writers  in  the  Dominion. 
Always  broad  and  liberal  in  his  thought, 
he  has  the  courage  to  run  counter  to  the 
dominant  prejudices  of  the  day.  For 
many  years  Mr.  Thomson  was  the  leading 
editorial  writer  on  the  Toronto  Globe, 
and  during  this  time  he  succeeded  in 
making  it  the  most  literary  paper  in 
Canada.  He  may  be  said  to  have  really 
created  literary  criticism  in  Toronto,  for 
previous  to  his  advent,  this  department  in 
all  Toronto  papers  was  not  only  crude 
and  inadequate,  but  ludicrous  in  its 
intellectual  poverty  and  complete  absence 
of  independence.  During  the  last 
general  election  campaign  in  Canada, 
Mr.  Thomson,  who  had  resigned  from 
the  Globe  because  of  political  differ- 
ences with  his  former  party,  wrote 
a    series     of    independent    articles    en- 


428 


CANADIAN  JOURNALISTS  AND  JOURNALISM. 


titled,  "  Reflections  on  the  Situation," 
which  were  extensively  quoted,  and  were 
said  by  many  important  papers  to  con- 
tribute materially  to  the  defeat  of  the 
opposition  party.  The  main  views  which 
he  expressed  were  substantially  identical 
with  those  which  were  afterward  fulmi- 
nated in  the  declaration  made  by  the 
Hon.  Edward  Blake  at  the  close  of  the 
campaign.  He  took  the  view,  and  a 
very  sound  one  it  is,  that  Commercial 
Union  would  not  pay  Canada  if,  as  it 
would  do  at  present,  it  involved  the 
adoption  of  the  McKinley  tariff  burden ; 
that  Commercial  Union  would  certainly 
involve  political  union,  and  that  it  was 
dastardly  for  any  political  party  to  attempt 
to  inveigle  the  people  into  such  a  union 
without  putting  the  question  fairly  and 
honestly  before  the  country. 

J.  S.  Willison,  the  successor  of  Mr. 
John  Cameron  in  the  chief  editorial 
chair  of  the  Toronto  Globe,  has  had  what 
is  really  a  phenomenally  rapid  success  in 


The  Globe   Building,  Toronto. 


journalism.  His  early  years  were  spent 
on  a  farm,  and,  with  the  exception  of 
two  years  in  the  public  schools,  he  owes 
his  education  to  his  own  efforts  long 
after  passing  the  school  age.  It  was 
not  until  1881  that  he  was  able  to  obtain 
a  regular  foothold  in  his  » chosen  pro- 
fession. In  that  year  he  became  a 
"reporter  on  the  London  Advertiser,  with 
very  high  hopes  and  a  very  small  salary. 
In  1883,  when  Mr.  John  Cameron,  the 
managing  editor,  left  London  to  take 
charge  of  the  Toronto  Globe,  he  ac- 
companied his  chief  to  the  larger  city, 
and  was  immediately  made  assistant  to 
the  night  editor.  The  first  difficulties 
were  then  over,  and  promotion  came 
with  a  rapidity  that  startled  some  of  his 
confreres,  who  had  been  patiently  plod- 
ding in  the  ranks  for  years.  He  became 
chief  night  editor  ;  then,  exchange  editor ; 
then,  editorial  writer,  with  a  column  of 
gossip  to  write  every  day  on  topics  to  be 
chosen  by  himself;  then,  chief  of  the 
editorial  staff  in  the  Provincial  Legislature ; 
then,  chief  of  the  House  of  Commons  staff 
at  Ottawa ;  then,  sub-editor;  and  in  1890 
by  a  unanimous  vote  of  the  directors  he 
was  appointed  editor-in-chief,  upon  the 
resignation  of  Mr.  John  Cameron. 
Promotions  are  not  usually  as  rapid  in 
Canadian  newspaper  offices  as  they  are 
in  certain  offices  in  the  States,  and  Mr. 
Willison's  rise  would  have  been  unique  in 
any  city  in  the  Union.  The  chief  editor- 
ship of  an  influential  and  rich  paper  like 
the  Globe  is  one  of  the 
plums  of  Canadian 
journalism,  which 
generally  do  not  fall 
into  a  man's  mouth 
until  he  is  fifty  —  or 
more  often  the  man 
chosen  for  such  a  posi- 
tion has  spent  the  best 
part  of  fifty  years  in 
harness.  Mr.  Willison 
has  reached  the  top  of 
the  tree  while  still  in 
the  first  flush  of  matu- 
rity, after  ten  years  of 
hard  work  ;  and,  among 
those  who  congratulate 
him,  there  will  be  many 
who  envy  him.      For, 


CANADIAN  JOURNALISTS  AND  JOURNALISM. 


429 


although,  as  John  Boyle  O'Reilly  truly 
said,  "the  true  fraternal  spirit  exists  at 
its  best  in  convicts,  soldiers,  and  journal- 
ists," there  is  also  a  great  deal  of  the 
clique  feeling  and  jealousy  in  journalism 
that  there  is  in  a  theatre,  and  for  much 
the  same  reasons. 

The  most  able  writer  on  art  and 
municipal  matters  —  two  very  dissimilar 
fields  of  thought  —  in  the  Dominion,  is 
Mr.  Bernard  McEvoy,  associate  editor 
of  the  Toronto  Mail.  He  was  educated 
as  a  mechanical  engineer  and  spent  many 
years  in  active  business  life.  But  the 
fascination  of  journalistic  life  came  over 
him,  and  after  contributing  to  the  various 
journals  and  magazines  of  the  northern 
counties  of  England,  he  gradually  be- 
came so  involved  in  newspaper  work, 
that  his  former  profession  had  to  be 
relinquished.  In  1874  he  wrote  a  prize 
story  descriptive  of  Birmingham  life  for 
the  Morning  News  of  that  place,  and 
this  led  to  his  being  regularly  employed 
as  a  story  writer  and  an  occasional 
contributor  on  social,  literary  and  other 
subjects  by  that  paper  and  various  press 
syndicates.  During  his  connection  with 
the  morning  News  and  other  Birming- 
ham papers,  he  wrote  many  short  stories, 
filled  with  kindly  humor  and  intense 
sympathy  with  the'  struggles  of  humanity, 
which  are  worthy  of  preservation  between 
covers.  Mr.  McEvoy  was  always  interested 
in  the  various  efforts  for  the  education  of 
the  workingmen,  and  both  in  England  and 
in  Canada  he  has  done  much  excellent  and 
practical  work  in  the  direction  of  uplifting 
them,  taking  an  active  part  in  the  work 
whenever  his  engagements  permitted  it. 
He  is  recognized  also  as  an  authority  on 
sanitation,  and  his  writings  in  the  Mail 
on  this  subject  have  helped  to  create  a 
public  opinion  that  is  sweeping  away 
many  of  the  evils  which  in  Toronto,  as  in 
every  new  and  rapidly  growing  city, 
menace  the  poorer  classes,  who  are  com- 
pelled to  live  in  the  older  quarters  of  the 
city,  in  houses  built  before  our  modern 
conveniences  were  dreamed  of  Mr. 
McEvoy's  art  criticisms  were  something 
entirely  new  in  Canada,  where  such  work 
was  previously  done  by  the  general  re- 
porters, whose  ideas  about  art  were  for 
the  most  part,  very  vague.     His  articles 


on  art  showed  such  a  wide  knowledge  of 
the  subject  that  he  was  almost  im- 
mediately recognized  as  the  best  art 
critic  in  the  country,  and  he  received 
numerous  invitations  from  various  institu- 
tions to  lecture  upon  artistic  and  social 
matters.  His  literary  style  is  always  keen, 
incisive  and  logical,  with  a  strong  under- 
current of  good-natured  satire  and  humor, 
and  his  inexhaustible  fund  of  apposite  al- 


The  Maii  Building,  Toronto. 

lusion  gives  his  editorials  more  of  a  literary 
tone  than  is  frequently  remarked  in  such 
compositions  in  the  Canadian  news- 
papers. He  has  given  to  the  Mail's 
articles  on  municipal  matters  a  dignity 
which  they  never  possessed  before,  and 
the  thoroughness  of  his  knowledge  of  the 
subject,  acquired  in  one  of  the  model 
cities  of  the  old  world  —  a  city  recently- 
eulogized  by  Mr.  Albert  Shaw,  the  well- 
known  authority  on  city  government,  has 


430 


CANADIAN  JOURNALISTS  AND  JOURNALISM. 


made  him  not  only  respected  but  feared. 
In  addition  to  his  newspaper  work,  he 
has  contributed  at  different  times,  poems, 
stories,  and  papers  on  art  to  Belford's 
Ufagazine,  The  Independent,  and  other 
American  weekly  and  monthly  periodicals. 
Edmund  Ernest  Sheppard  was  born  in 
Canada  in  1855,  and  received  his  educa- 
tion at  Bethany  College,  West  Virginia. 
As  a  youth,  he  drifted  from  college  to  the 
far  West,  where  he  led  an  adventurous 
life  in  New  Mexico,  Texas,  and  Old  Mex- 
ico for  several  years,  beginning  there  his 
newspaper  career  by  acting  as  correspon- 
dent for  western  journals,  signing  his  de- 
scriptive articles  and  sketches  "  Don  "  — 
a  pen  name  which  is  now  well-known  to 
every  reader  in  the  Dominion.  In  1878 
he  returned  to  Canada  without  having 
made  the  expected  fortune,  and  became 
a  reporter  on  the  Toronto  Mail.  He 
then  became  editor  of  a  short-lived  ven- 
ture called  the  London  Standard,  and  up- 
on its  decease  was  called  to  the  night 
editorship  of  the  London  Free  Press,  a 
position  he  held  for  two  years.  Seeking 
his  fortunes  once  more  in  the  States,  he 
was  connected  with  several  newspapers, 
but  returned  to  Canada  and  started  the 
St.  Thomas  Evening  Journal,  which  is 
still  the  most  successful  evening  paper  in 
any  of  the  smaller  cities  of  Ontario.  He 
then  became  editor  and  proprietor  of  the 
Toronto  Evening  News,  which  under  his 
management  gained  the  third  greatest 
circulation  of  any  paper  in  the  Domin- 
ion. During  his  long  sojourn  in  the 
West,  Mr.  Sheppard  became  saturated 
with  the  broad  spirit  of  democracy  which 
characterizes  all  the  western  common- 
wealths, and  for  a  long  time  the  intense 
conservatism  of  his  Canadian  constitu- 
ency was  a  stumbling  block  in  his  prog- 
ress. But,  though  his  pungent  and  in- 
cisive editorials  met  with  little  favor 
among  the  circles  of  the  governmental 
"  aristocracy  "  of  Canada,  they  became  ex- 
tremely popular  with  the  working  classes, 
W|ho  looked  up  to  him  as  a  fearless  cham- 
pion of  individual  and  organized  rights. 
In  1886  he  was  nominated  as  a  labor 
candidate  for  the  Dominion  Parliament, 
but  was  defeated  by  a  small  majority. 
During  the  Riel  rebellion  in  the  North- 
west, one  of  Mr.  Sheppard's  subordinates, 


emulating  the  breezy  style  of  his  chief, 
wrote  some  injudicious  and  scathing  com- 
ments on  the  conduct  of  a  French-Cana- 
dian regiment  from  Montreal,  and  this 
involved  Mr.  Sheppard  in  a  series  of 
libel  suits,  which  developed  into  a  syste- 
matic persecution,  and  for  two  years  he 
was  harassed  by  threats  and  legal  instru- 
ments. The  matter  was  finally  settled, 
but  the  legal  expenses  were  so  enormous 
that  Mr.  Sheppard  was  obliged  to  sell  his 
newspaper  property  and  begin  life  all-over 
again.  His  next  venture,  begun  in 
December,  1887,  was  the  Toronto  Satur- 
day Night,  a  literary  and  dramatic  weekly. 
The  paper  at  once  obtained  a  large 
circulation  and  became  a  financial  suc- 
cess. In  addition  to  his  regular  news- 
paper work,  he  has  written  three  novels, 
"Dolly,"  "  Widower  Jones,"  and  "A  Bad 
Man's  Sweetheart." 

The  career  of  J.  W.  Bengough  is 
the  history  of  caricature  journalism  in 
Canada.  Previous  to  the  advent  of  Mr. 
Bengough  in  Toronto,  there  had  been  no 
such  thing  as  a  comic  paper  in  Canada. 
In  early  life  and  at  school  Mr.  Bengough 
showed  a  strong  talent  for  sketching,  cov- 
ering his  books  and  slates  and  papers 
with  caricatures  of  his  teachers  and  the 
local  celebrities  of  the  little  town  he  was 
brought  up  in.  In  1871  he  went  to 
Toronto  and  became  a  reporter  of  one 
of  the  morning  papers,  still  cherishing  a 
vague  idea  of  some  day  turning  his  talent 
for  caricature  to  account  in  a  paper  of 
his  own.  One  day  he  happened  to  make 
a  sketch  of  an  eccentric  and  well-known 
citizen  of  Toronto,  who  was  in  the  habit 
of  taking  an  afternoon  siesta  in  a  big 
arm-chair  on  the  sidewalk  of  the  leading 
thoroughfare,  which  was  reproduced  by 
the  lithographic  process  by  a  friend,  who 
was  particularly  struck  by  the  aptness 
with  which  he  caught  the  characteristics 
of  the  old  man.  At  that  time,  Mr.  Ben- 
gough knew  very  little  of  this  process, 
and  the  speed  and  exactness  with  which 
the  drawing  was  reproduced  seemed  to 
offer  a  practical  channel  for  his  talent, 
and  its  cheapness  decided  him  to  attempt 
the  fulfilment  of  his  ambition.  The 
Pacific  scandal  was  at  this  time  the  sensa- 
tion of  the  hour  in  Canada,  so  that  it 
was  a  particularly  fortunate  time  for  his 


CANADIAN  JOURNALISTS  AND  JOURNALISM. 


431 


enterprise.  The  first  number  of  Grip 
was  accordingly  issued  on  May  24th, 
1873,  the  editor  and  proprietor  having  at 
that  time  a  capital  of  #18.  Although  the 
method  of  reproduction  was  very  poor 
compared  with  those  used  nowadays,  the 
paper  at  once  achieved  popularity  and 
obtained  a  good  circulation.  One  of  the 
first  and  most  famous  of  his  early  sketches 
is  here  reproduced,  and  its  witty,  perti- 
nent application  to  the  question  of  the 
hour  will  be  seen  at  a  glance.  The 
reader  will  notice  that  the  three  figures 
in  the  picture  are  all  those  of  Sir 
John  Macdonald,  who  was  charged  with 
venality  over  the  letting  of  contracts 
during  the  construction  of  the  Canadian 
Pacific  Railway.  The  point  of  the 
picture  is  that  the  Royal  Commission 
appointed  to  investigate  the  matter  was 
entirely  composed  of  Sir  John's  political 
allies  and  personal  friends,  so  that  it  was 
in  reality  a  mere  farce ;  the  prosecuting 
counsel,  the  judges,  and  all  concerned 
were,  to  put  it  briefly,  Sir  John's  shadows, 
and  therefore  innocuous.  Mr.  Bengough 
has  caught  Sir  John  Macdonald's  pecu- 
liarities with  the  same  fidelity  with  which 
John  Tenniel  and  Linley  Sanbourne  have 
caught  Disraeli  and  Gladstone's  ;  and  Sir 
John  Macdonald,  like  Disraeli,  had  a  face 
which  lent  itself  peculiarly  to  the  comic 
artist.  Mr.  Bengough  has  never  had  any 
regular  art  training,  and  his  work  is  not 
as  finished  as  the  productions  of  the 
Punch  caricaturists,  or  those  of  Gillam, 
of  Judge,  and  J.  Keppler  of  Puck,  but  he 
has  more  originality  than  any  of  these 
artists,  whose  subjects  are  generally  found 
for  them  by  the  editors.  Mr.  Bengough 
originates  all  the  ideas  he  puts  into  black 
and  white,  and  his  caricatures  are  never 
without  point.  He  was  the  originator  of 
the  "tatooed  man,"  which  was  borrowed 
by  one  of  the  famous  New  York  caricatu- 
rists, and  some  of  his  most  characteristic 
and  happiest  sketches  have  never  been  ex- 
celled by  anything  in  the  history  of  cari- 
cature in  America.  His  work  has  been 
pronounced  by  competent  critics  in  New 
York,  as  superior  in  conception,  though 
not  in  execution,  to  that  of  Matt  Mor- 
gan and  Thomas  Nast,  who  was  in  his  day 
considered  the  greatest  comic  draughts- 
man on  this  continent.     His  stvle  is  more 


that  of  Gillray  or  John  Leech  than  any 
of  the  comic  draughtsmen  of  to-day,  for, 
like  them,  he  is  more  concerned  about 
bringing  out  the  point  effectively,  and 
does  not  care  so  much  about  the  techni- 
cal excellence  of  the  drawing.  The  only 
work  he  has  produced  outside  of  his  reg- 
ular weekly  contributions  to  Grip  is  a 
caricature  history  of  Canada,  which  he 
compiled  from  his  cartoons,  dealing  with 
momentous  events  in  the  political  history 
of  Canada,  and  to  which  he  added 
others,  dealing  with  events  prior  to  the 
establishment  of  Grip.  This  volume 
has  had  a  large  sale  in  Canada,  and 
will  assuredly  be  of  great  value  when  the 
history  of  Canada  comes  to  be  imparti- 
ally written  some  years  hence.  Up  to  the 
present  most  of  the  histories  of  Canada 
have  been  too  partisan  to  be  of  any  great 
value  to  the  student.  In  addition  to  his 
labors  on  Grip,  Mr.  Bengough  does  a 
great  deal  of  lecturing  both  in  Canada 
and  the  United  States,  and  what  he  calls 
his  "  chalk  talks  "  show  his  wonderful 
facility  for  catching  the  facial  peculiarities 
of  those  with  whom  he  comes  into  con- 
tact, even  more  strikingly  than  his  pub- 
lished caricatures.  He  will  arrive  in  a 
strange  town,  where  he  is  announced  to 
lecture,  a  few  hours  before  he  appears  on 
the  platform,  and,  meeting  several  of  the 
most  prominent  men  in  the  city  at  lun- 
cheon or  elsewhere, —  men  whom  he  has 
never  met  in  his  life  before, —  he  will 
photograph  their  peculiarities  in  his  mind, 
and  produce  them  in  crayon  so  exactly 
that  the  local  audience  will  immediately 
recognize  them.  He  is  a  follower  of  Henry 
George,  an  advocate  of  woman's  suffrage 
and  an  opponent  of  the  liquor  traffic,  and 
he  has  never  compromised  with  anything 
which  he  regarded  as  a  public  evil. 

Mr.  Bengough  is,  too,  an  admirable 
paragrapher,  and  a  writer  of  good  verse, 
both  serious  and  comic.  As  somebody 
said  of  the  original  Punch  staff,  "  it  takes 
a  lot  of  brains  to  write  good  nonsense," 
and  that  Mr.  Bengough's  nonsense  is 
good  nonsense  any  one  who  reads  Grip's 
comments  and  quips  will  allow.  For 
years  Mr.  Bengough  wrote  almost  all  the 
letter  press  appearing  in  his  paper,  but 
latterly  he  has  been  assisted  by  Phillips 
Thompson  and  P.  McArthur.  The  latter  is 


The   Empty  Saddle. 

THE   CARTOON   IN    "GRIP,"    PUBLISHED   AFTER   SIR   JOHN   MACDONALD's   DEATH,   JUNE   6,  189I. 


CANADIAN  JOURNALISTS  AND  JOURNALISM. 


433 


Dne  of  the  most  valued  and  frequent  con- 
tributors of  humorous  writing  to  Puck, 
Life,  the  New  York  Herald,  the  Sun, 
the  Munsey  publications,  the  Pictorial 
weeklies,  Judge,  and  the  Harper's  periodi- 
cals. 

Martin  J.  Griffin  is  well-known  among 
the  journalistic  fraternity  of  Canada  as  a 
writer  of  considerable  merit,  although  of 
recent  years  he  has  somewhat  dropped 
out  of  public  notice.  He  was  for  some 
years  editor  of  the  Toronto  Mail,  while  it 
was  the  recognized  organ  of  the  Con- 
servative government,  but  upon  its  con- 
version to  independent  principles  he  re- 
signed. He  is,  however,  still  connected 
with  journalism  as  an  outside  contributor, 
and  his  name  is  a  frequent  one  in  the 
Week,  the  Dominion  Illustrated,  and 
other  Canadian  and  American  journals. 
He  is  also  a  contributor  to  Macmillarts 
and  Murray 's  magazines.  His  brilliant 
causerie  is  a  regular  feature  of  the 
Saturday  edition  of  the  Montreal  Gazette, 
and  dealing  with  a  wide  range  of 
subjects  —  literary,  historical,  and  poli- 
tical, —  is  widely  discussed  among  all  the 
literary  people  of  the  Dominion,  although 
it  is  a  little  caviare  to  the  multitude  of 
readers.  The  style  of  his  writings  is 
always  pertinent  and  pungent,  and  he 
possesses  a  keen  critical  faculty,  while  his 
diction  is  invariably  polished  and  clean 
cut. 

Mr.  James  Hannay  is  best  known  as 
the  author  of  a  scholarly  and  exhaustive 
history  of  Acadia,  which  has  been  pro- 
nounced by  the  critics  on  both  sides  of 
the  Atlantic  as  the  most  reliable  work  on 
the  subject.  Educated  for  the  bar,  the 
greater  part  of  his  life  has,  however,  been 
devoted  to  daily  journalism,  and  his  his- 
torical studies  have  been  pursued  as  a 
recreation  and  not  as  a  means  of  obtain- 
ing a  livelihood.  He  has  held  different 
positions  on  daily  and  weekly  papers  of 
St.  John  since  1863,  and  for  three  years 
was  on  the  staff  of  the  Brooklyn  Eagle, 
first  as  general  writer,  then  as  literary 
editor,  and  finally  as  associate  editor.  In 
1888,  he  accepted  the  chief  editorship  of 
the  St.  John  Gazette,  which  he  has  made 
one  of  the  most  influential  papers  in  the 
maritime  provinces.  He  contributed  a 
large    number    of  poems,  sketches,  and 


stories  to  Stewart's  Quarterly,  and  is  favor- 
ably known  as  a  lecturer,  both  in  Lower 
and  Upper  Canada. 

There  has  not  been  in  Canadian  jour- 
nalism the  same  influx  of  women  into  the 
ranks,  that  is  one  of  the  interesting 
phases  of  American  journalism,  and  the 
lingering  English  prejudice  against  the 
development  of  strong  personalities,  with 
its  natural  sequence  of  signed  articles  —  a 
common  feature  of  every  Sunday  paper  in 
the  United  States  to-day  —  has  deterred 
many  ambitious  women  from  entering  the 
profession,  and  forced  others  into  work 
of  a  character  which  offered  little  or  no 
opportunity  of  making,  a  reputation.  A 
few  women  of  strong  individuality  and 
talent  have,  however,  accepted  the 
limitations  of  the  drudgery  of  daily  jour- 
nalism for  the  excellent  training  it  affords, 
and  by  patient  endeavor  some  of  these 
have  achieved  a  distinct  place  in  the 
public  estimation.  The  most  prominent 
of  all  Canadian  women  journalists  is 
Sara  Jeannette  Duncan,  whose  recently 
published  books,  "A  Social  Departure" 
and  "  An  American  Girl  in  London," 
have  met  with  such  a  wide  and  favorable 
reception  on  both  sides  of  the  Atlantic. 
It  is  only  about  four  years  ago  since 
Miss  Duncan's  reputation  was  almost 
entirely  confined  to  Canada,  and  rested 
principally  upon  her  bright  gossipy  arti- 
cles in  the  Montreal  Star  and  the 
Week,  under  the  pen  name  of  "  Garth 
Grafton."  Miss  Duncan  did  considerable 
editorial  writing  on  the  Washington  Post, 
but  her  work  on  the  Toronto  Globe  and 
the  Week  first  brought  her  into  notice, 
and  when  her  column  of  bric-a-brac  was 
begun  in  the  Star,  she  was  a  compara- 
tively unknown  writer  even  in  Canada. 
Her  first  book,  which  ran  through  The 
Ladies'  Picto?ial  in  London  before  it  was 
put  between  covers,  was  a  surprise  to  even 
her  warmest  admirers,  and  it  is  altogether 
probable  that  now  she  has  abandoned 
journalism  for  literature,  she  will  take  a 
prominent  place  as  a  novelist,  —  it  being 
understood  that  her  next  venture  will  be 
in  the  field  of  fiction.  Miss  Eve  H.  Brod- 
lique  is  undoubtedly  the  most  practical 
newspaper  woman  who  has  served  on  the 
Canadian  press.  Every  step  in  her  prog- 
ress has  been  due  to  her  own  efforts,  for 


434 


CANADIAN  JOURNALISTS  AND  JOURNALISM. 


she  possessed  neither  money  nor  in- 
fluence to  push  her  to  the  front.  Begin- 
ning as  secretary  to  the  Hon.  David 
Mills,  one  of  the  leaders  of  the  Liberal 
party  in  the  Dominion  House,  and  one 
of  the  editors  and  directors  of  the  London 
Advertiser,  Miss  Brodlique  gradually 
worked  her  way  into  more  purely  journalis- 
tic work.  For  two  successive  sessions  she 
was  the  sole  representative  of  the  Adver- 
tiser-in  the  House  of  Commons,  and  her 
articles  signed  "  WilKce  Wharton"  at- 
tracted attention  throughout  Canada.  At 
this  time  also  she  was  a  frequent  contrib- 
utor to  the  Detroit  Free  Press  and  other 
western  journals,  and  through  the  reputa- 
tion she  thus  gained,  she  received  an 
offer  to  become  a  special  writer  on  the 
Chicago  Globe.  From  the  Globe  she 
went  to  the  Tribune,  and  from  thence  to 
the  Times,  where  she  is  now  doing 
literary  work  for  the  Sunday  and  weekly 
editions.  She  is  also  a  contributor  to 
Outing,  the  Chatauquan,  and  other 
magazines.  Mrs.  S.  Frances  Harrison 
began  contributing  to  the  Toronto  Mail, 
the  old  Canadian  Monthly,  and  other 
publications  at  the  early  age  of  eighteen. 
A  removal  from  Toronto  to  Ottawa  led  to 
her  studying  the  picturesque  life  of  the 
French  Canadians  along  the  St.  Law- 
rence, and  a  series  of  brilliant  articles  in 
the  Detroit  Free  Press  and  the  Chicago 
Current  was  the  result.  She  also  wrote 
and  published  a  book  of  short  stories  of 
French  Canadian  life,  under  the  attrac- 
tive title  of  "  Crowded  Out."  Mrs.  Har- 
rison has  at  different  times  contributed 
short  stories  and  articles  to  the  American 
Magazine,  to  the  New  England  Magazine, 
and  to  the  pages  of  that  excellent  and 
severely  orthodox  English  magazine, 
Temple  Bar.  Miss  Ethelwyn  Wetherald 
is  well-known  through  her  graceful  essays 
on  literary  subjects  contributed  to  the 
Toronto  Globe  from  time  to  time.  She 
is  also  the  principal  editorial  writer  on 
the  London  Advertiser,  and  associate 
editor  with  Mrs.  John  Cameron  of  a 
magazine  called  Wives  and  Daughteis 
published  in  the  interests  of  women.  She 
is  a  bright,  and  thoughtful  writer,  and  deals 
competently  with  the  wide  range  of  sub- 
jects treated  by  a  daily  paper  in  its 
editorial    columns.     She    also   writes    for 


the  Week,  the  Dominion  Illustrated,  and 
some  of  the  papers  of  the  western  states. 
Miss  Ella  Elliott  is  known  in  the  Cana- 
dian press  under  different  names.  She 
has  written  extensively  for  Saturday  Night 
as  "  Clip  Carew,"  and  has  made  a  dis- 
tinct place  for  herself  by  her  breezy  de- 
scriptive and  social  articles  in  the 
Toronto  Globe  as  "  Frances  Burton 
Clare,"  a  pen-name  which  she  has  also 
made  familiar  to  the  readers  of  several 
American  magazines  devoted  to  women. 
She  is  now  in  charge  of  the  women's  de- 
partment of  the  Toronto  Globe.  Among 
the  other  women  who  are  doing  good  work 
on  the  Canadian  press  are  "  Kit  "  of  the 
Toronto  Mail,  Miss  J.  Eglauch,  Miss 
Helen  Fairbairn,  and  Miss  Blanche  Mac- 
donnell. 

Molyneux  St.  John  began  his  news- 
paper career  as  a  member  of  the  editorial 
staff  of  the  Toronto  Globe,  accompanying 
General  Wolseley's  Red  River  expedition 
in  the  Northwest  as  special  correspondent 
of  that  paper.  He  afterwards  joined  the 
staff  of  the  Montreal  Herald  as  assistant 
editor  and  parliamentary  correspondent, 
and  when  Mr.  John  Livingston  resigned 
to  go  to  the  West  he  succeeded  him  in 
the  chief  editor's  chair,  a  position  he  still 
holds. 

Robert  S.  White,  J\I.  P.,  comes  of  a 
journalistic  family,  his  father,  the  late 
Hon.  Thomas  White,  the  Minister  of  the 
Interior,  having  been  editor-in-chief  of 
the  Montreal  Gazette  for  many  years 
before  him.  The  White  family  has  been 
identified  with  Canadian  journalism  and 
political  life  since  confederation,  and 
Mr.  R.  S.  White  succeeded  not  only  to 
his  father's  editorial  chair,  but  also  to  his 
parliamentary  constituency.  Although 
Mr.  White  was,  as  it  were,  born  to  the 
purple  of  journalism,  he  served  a  long 
apprenticeship  in  the  lower  grades  of  the 
profession,  beginning  as  a  reporter.  Upon 
the  entrance  of  his  father  into  Sir  John 
Macdonald's  cabinet  as  Minister  of  the 
Interior,  Mr.  White  was  made  editor-in- 
chief  of  the  Gazette,  his  father's  official 
duties  making  a  permanent  residence  in 
the  capital  necessary.  He  was  elected 
member  of  parliament  in  1888,  to  the 
seat  rendered  vacant  by  his  father's  death. 

The  omission  of  Mr.  John  Reade  from 


CANADIAN  JOURNALISTS  AND  JOURNALISM. 


435 


an  article  on  Canadian  journalism  would 
be  an  arraignment  of  the  writer's  knowl- 
edge of  the  subject.  Before  many  of  the 
most  prominent  journalists  of  to-day  were 
out  of  school  Mr.  Reade  was  writing 
editorials  in  the  Gazette,  and  was  one  of 
the  leaders  in  every  literary  movement 
that  was  projected.  Mr.  Reade  is  one 
of  the  few  survivors  of  a  little  band  of 
writers  who  in  Montreal  were  attempting 
to  create  a  literary  feeling  in  the  Domin- 
ion at  the  same  time  that  Fitz  James 
O'Brien  and  other  brilliant  journalists 
were  trying  to  revive  the  Bohemia  of 
Henry  Murger  in  New  York.  The  death 
of  John  Lesperance  removed  one  of  the 
last  of  the  old-time  Montreal  Bohemians, 
and  Mr.  Reade,  although  still  active  and 
in  harness,  is  not  so  prominently  before 
the  public  as  he  was  in  the  seventies. 
He  was,  and  is,  one  of  the  ablest  writers 
on  European  politics  in  the  Dominion, 
and  his  fugitive  verses  and  occasional 
literary  articles,  always  original  and 
scholarly,  are  worthy  of  a  more  leisured 
and  critical  audience  than  a  daily  news- 
paper generally  appeals  to.  Mr.  Reade  is 
now  an  editorial  writer  on  the  Gazette, 
with  which  he  has  been  connected  for 
over  twenty  years,  and  is  editor  of  the 
Dominion  Illustrated. 

Although  Mr.  W.  D.  LeSueur  is  an  offi- 
cer in  one  of  the  Governmental  depart- 
ments at  Ottawa,  he  is  properly  included 
in  this  article,  for  he  is  one  of  the  keen- 
est and  cleverest  editorial  writers  of  the 
Dominion.  He  is  something  more  than 
an  occasional  contributor  to  journalism, 
for  he  is  actively  engaged  as  one  of  the 
chief  editorial  writers  of  the  Montreal 
Star;  and  again  he  is  something  more 
than  a  journalist,  for  he  has  achieved  a 
continental  reputation  as  an  authority  on 
scientific  and  economic  questions.  His 
official  occupations  have  prevented  him 
from  doing  himself  full  justice  in  litera- 
ture ;  but  the  strong  accent  of  conviction 
which  impregnates  even  his  most  ephem- 
eral productions  have  won  for  him  a  very 
high  place  in  Canadian  journalism,  and 
in  the  inner  circles  of  the  craft,  the  force- 
ful individuality  of  his  style  is  recognized 
and  admired,  even  though  % veiled  in 
anonymity,  the  curse  of  the  ambitious 
journalist.      But,  of   course,  a  reputation 


of  this  sort  rests  upon  a  very  slender 
foundation,  and  is  necessarily  esoteric, 
and  unsatisfactory  to  a  man  of  high  aims. 
Mr.  Le  Sueur  is  an  enthusiastic  disciple 
of  Herbert  Spencer,  and  has  written  a 
considerable  number  of  signed  essays  on 
the  philosophy  of  evolution,  which  have 
appeared  chiefly  in  the  pages  of  the  Pop- 
ular Science  Monthly.  The  first  of  the 
series  was  published  in  the  now  defunct 
Canadian  Monthly  in  1880,  but  attract- 
ing Mr.  Spencer's  attention,  was  re-pub- 
lished at  his  special  request  in  the  Popu- 
lar Science  Monthly,  then  conducted  by 
his  warm  friend,  the  late  Prof.  E.  L. 
Youmans.  During  the  ten  years  of  its 
precarious,  but  really  brilliant  existence, 
Mr.  LeSueur  was  a  frequent  contributor 
to  the  Canadian  Monthly.  All  of  Mr. 
LeSueur's  writing  for  the  press  may  be 
said  to  belong  to  that  literary  journa- 
lism, which  is  a  peculiar  and  altogether 
encouraging  outcome  of  this  age  of  en- 
cyclopaedic newspapers.  But  for  the 
laborious  duties  of  his  official  position, 
Mr.  LeSueur  would  have  done  more,  and 
would  have  enjoyed  a  wider  fame,  if  not 
popularity.  As  it  is,  he  has  won  the 
hearty  commendation  of  some  of  the 
foremost  scientific  leaders  and  liberal 
thinkers  of  the  time,  and  is  the  warm 
friend  of  many  of  them. 

Mr.  C.  Blackett  Robinson  is  identified 
with  the  Toronto  Week,  a  literary  and 
political  paper,  which  will  bear  compari- 
son with  any  of  the  New  York  or  London 
papers  of  a  similar  character,  and  which 
is  the  first  of  its  kind  in  Canada  to  at- 
tain a  wide  popularity  and  a  sound  finan- 
cial basis.  The  best  literary  thought  of 
the  Dominion  finds  its  expression  in  the 
Week,  which  is  always  open  to  both  sides 
of  all  questions. 

Everybody  interested  in  history  and 
literature  in  Canada  is  acquainted  with 
the  name  of  Dr.  George  Stewart,  Jr.,  the 
editor  of  the  Quebec  Chronicle,  the  best 
English  paper  in  the  citadel  city,  and  one 
of  the  ablest  edited  in  the  Dominion. 
Mr.  Stewart  is  one  of  the  most  indus- 
trious writers  in  this  age  of  industrious 
writers,  and  the  success  he  has  achieved 
in  his  profession,  and  out  of  it,  has  been 
entirely  due  to  his  energy  and  persistence 
and  great  natural   gifts.     While  quite   a 


436 


CANADIAN  JOURNALISTS  AND  JOURNALISM. 


boy  he  did  the  dramatic  criticism  and 
literary  reviewing  for  the  Watchman  of 
St.  John,  besides  doing  a  lot  of  miscella- 
neous literary  work  for  the  Journal,  Tele- 
graph and  Globe,  of  the  same  city,  the 
Montreal  Gazette  and  the  ill-fated  Cana- 
dian Illustrated.  He  founded  and  edited 
Stewart 's  Quarterly  Magazine,  1867-72, 
which,  if  it  was  not  a  success  financially, 
did  a  great  deal  to  encourage  the  awak- 
ening feeling  for  literature  and  the  seri- 
ous study  of  history  in  the  Dominion. 
He  was  called  to  the  editorial  chair  of 
the  Canadian  Monthly  upon  its  founding, 
and  fulfilled  the  duties  of  this  position 
successfully  for  four  years,  and  was  then 
invited  to  edit  the  Quebec  Chronicle, 
which  he  has  made  one  of  the  most  in- 
teresting and  literary  journals  in  the 
province.  Mr.  Stewart  contributes  fre- 
quently to  the  English  and  American 
magazines,  among  others  the  Scottish  Re- 
view, the  New  England  Magazine,  the 
Magazine  of  American  History,  the  New 
York  Indepe?ident,  the  Dominion  Illus- 
trated and  the  Toronto  Week.  The  most 
important  of  his  books  are  "  Evenings  in 
the  Library,"  and  "  Canada  under  the  Ad- 
ministration of  the  Earl  of  Dufferin." 
He  has  also  been  a  great  encyclopaedist. 
Corning  from  an  old  Scotch  family, 
whose  antecedents  are  closely  connected 
with  St.  Andrews  University,  Mr.  John  A. 
MacPhail  inherited  all  the  courage  and 
enterprise  and  persistence  which  have 
distinguished  the  Scotch  race  all  the 
world  over.  He  maintained  himself  by 
journalism  while  going  through  McGill 
University  in  Montreal,  where,  after  eight 
years  of  hard  work,  he  obtained  the  de- 
grees of  Bachelor  of  Arts  and  Doctor  of 
Medicine.  He  has,  however,  a  natural 
taste  for  journalism,  and  belongs  essen- 
tially in  all  his  ideas  to  the  new  genera- 
tion of  writers,  who  regard  journalism  as 
a  reputable  and  dignified  profession,  and 
not  a  trade.  He  began  his  journalistic 
career,  as  every  man  who  wishes  to  be- 
come a  thorough  journalist  must  do,  as  a 
reporter,  but  he  is  one  of  those  journa- 
lists who  eschew  above  all  things  any- 
thing approaching  the  old  Bohemianism, 
which  in  the  past  tended  so  much  to 
bring  the  profession  and  its  professors  into 
disrepute  in  the  minds  of  the  community. 


For  some  time  he  was  connected  with 
the  Times  and  the  Tribune  in  New  York 
City.  He  afterwards  joined  the  local 
staff  of  the  Montreal  Gazette,  doing  musi- 
cal and  dramatic  writing,  besides  a  lot 
of  special  literary  and  scientific  work, 
and  then  became  night  editor  of  the 
paper.  This  position  he  threw  up  to  be- 
come commercial  editor  of  the  Montreal 
Star.  Abandoning  editorial  work  for 
correspondence,  which  he  found  gave 
more  scope  for  the  individuality  of  a 
writer,  he  became  resident  correspondent 
of  the  Associated  Press  in  Montreal,  and 
also  of  the  Toronto  Globe,  the  New  York 
Times,  and  a  number  of  other  American 
papers.  He  has  contributed  a  great 
many  articles  on  the  Anglo-French  ques- 
tion to  the  American  papers  in  all  parts 
of  the  Union  which  have  attracted  con- 
siderable attention ;  and  in  the  midst  of 
all  this  work,  he  has  found  time  to  con- 
tribute occasionally  to  Outing  and  other 
magazines  on  subjects  of  a  very  different 
character. 

John  Anderson  Boyd  of  Montreal,  the 
resident  correspondent  of  the  Toronto 
Mail,  is  one  of  the  youngest  and  most 
widely-known  of  Canadian  journalists. 
He  belongs  entirely  to  the  new  genera- 
tion of  journalists  —  the  well-educated 
gentlemen,  persistent  and  enterprising,  to 
whom  Bohemia  is  as  much  an  unknown 
territory  as  it  is  to  the  plodding  men  of 
the  law  and  of  commerce.  Mr.  Boyd  is 
a  college-bred  man,  having  passed  through 
McGill,  the  leading  university  in  the 
Dominion.  His  services  have  been  in 
constant  demand,  and  he  has  served 
successively  on  all  the  leading  papers  of 
the  Dominion.  In  1886  he  was  ap- 
pointed Montreal  correspondent  of  the 
Toronto  Mail,  and  has  since  occupied 
the  position  with  honor  to  himself  and 
advantage  to  the  great  paper  he  repre- 
sents. He  has  an  established  reputation 
as  a  writer  on  political  and  educational 
affairs.  He  is  a  powerful  and  convincing 
writer,  but  while  journalism  is  his  first 
love,  it  is  expected  that  he  will  before  long 
take  an  active  part  in  political  life. 

N.  E.  Dionne  is  one  of  the  best-known 
journalists  in  the  city  of  Quebec,  having 
been  the  chief  editor  of  La  Courrier  de 
Canada,  with  but  slight  intervals  devoted 


CANADIAN  JOURNALISTS  AND  JOURNALISM. 


437 


to  government  service  and  politics  for 
the  last  twenty  years.  In  1883  he 
founded  the  Press  Association  of  the 
Province  of  Quebec,  engineering  an  act 
of  incorporation  through  the  Legislature, 
and  has  been  secretary  of  it  since  its 
foundation.  Outside  of  his  regular  jour- 
nalistic work  he  has  published  several 
pamphlets  and  one  large  volume. 

Watson  Griffin  is  one  of  the  ultra-con- 
servative writers  of  the  Canadian  press. 
Mr.  Griffin  has  contributed  from  time  to 
time  ft>  the  American  magazines  articles 
taking  the  extreme  imperial  view  of  the 
situation  in  Canada.  He  is  one  of  those 
clever  matter-of-fact  writers  who  are 
always  in  demand,  and  always  useful ;  he 
is  a  painstaking,  thoughtful,  and  reliable 
writer,  if  lacking  in  anything,  lacking  in 
enthusiasm,  though  not  in  force.  He 
enjoys  a  considerable  reputation  through- 
out the  Dominion,  and  is  an  adept  in  the 
presentation  of  statistics  and  the  data  of 
blue  books,  written  in  good,  plain  Eng- 
lish. He  has  had  a  varied  journalistic 
experience,  but  for  some  years  now  he 
has  been  editor  of  the  weekly  Star. 

Nicholas  Flood  Davin  is  by  birth  an 
Irishman,  and  he  is  one  of  the  most  bril- 
liant writers  and  speakers  in  the  Domin- 
ion. He  began  his  journalistic  work 
while  studying  for  the  Bar  in  London 
(England),  gaining  a  livelihood  by  writ- 
ing "leaders"  for  the  morning  papers. 
Then,  because  leader  writing  in  London 
is  exigent,  he  taught  himself  shorthand, 
and  went  into  the  Press  Gallery  of  the 
House  of  Commons  as  a  reporter  for  the 
Morning  Star.  He  was  correspondent 
for  the  Irish  Times  and  London  Standard 
through  the  Franco-German  War,  and 
was  present  at  the  battle  of  Sedan. 
Being  wounded  and  broken  in  health  he 
went  to  Canada  to  recover  his' strength, 
but  remained  and  entered  Canadian 
journalism.  He  was  successively  an 
editorial  writer  on  the  Toronto  Globe  and 
Mail,  and  then  in  1883  went  to  the 
Northwest  and  founded  the  Regina  Leader. 

T.  E.  Moberly  assumed  charge  of  the 
Week  about  two  years  ago,  and  since 
then  he  has  conducted  it  with  con- 
spicuous ability  and  steadiness,  heartily 
appreciated  by  all  the  cultivated  people 
of  the  Dominion. 


J.  T.  Hawke,  the  editor  of  the  Tran- 
script of  Moncton,  N.  B.,  was  for  a  con- 
siderable time  on  the  editoral  staff  of  the 
Toronto  Globe,  where  he  was  a  decided 
success.  His  is  a  well-known  name  in 
Canadian  journalism,  and  he  has  made 
his  paper  and  himself  respected,  although 
a  political  partisan  of  very  great  bitter- 
ness. 

Louis  Kribs,  as  "  Henry  Pica,"  gave 
the  News  its  popularity,  and  made  for 
himself  a  reputation  as  a  humorist,  which 
he  has  taken  but  little  trouble  to  maintain 
since  he  became  one  of  the  editors  of  the 
Empire.  A  clever  journalist,  Kribs  did 
the  best  work  of  his  life  in  his  struggle 
to  make  a  success  of  the  News. 

To  W.  F.  Maclean  belongs  the  credit 
of  starting  the  first  one  cent  morning 
newspaper  in  Canada,  and  that  at  a  time 
when  there  were  not  more  than  one  or 
two  such  papers  in  the  whole  of  the 
LTnited  States.  It  is  confessed  by  jour- 
nalists who  are  capable  of  judging  that 
the  first  page  of  the  Toronto  World  con- 
tains the  most  thoroughly  edited,  bright 
presentation  of  the  news  of  the  day  to  be 
found  anywhere.  Mr.  Maclean  is  not 
only  an  extraordinarily  able  and  watchful 
editor  and  preparer  of  news,  but  he  is 
one  of  the  most  versatile  editorial  para- 
graphers  and  humorists  on  the  press. 

W.  F.  Luxton  is  one  of  the  most  im- 
portant journalists  in  Canada.  He  began 
the  publication  of  the  Nor1  wester  in  1867, 
and  afterwards  started  the  first  morning 
newspaper  in  Winnipeg,  The  Free  Press, 
which  has  been  the  steady  champion  of 
Liberalism,  equal  rights  for  all,  the  provin- 
cial autonomy  of  Manitoba,  and  of  every 
good  cause  from  that  day  to  this. 

A  peculiar  position  is  occupied  by  two 
Canadian  journals,  and  there  is  nothing 
exactly  analogous  to  it  existing  to-day, 
nor  has  there  been  since  the  old  days 
when  Horace  Greeley  held  the  attention . 
of  the  country  with  the  Tribune.  In  the 
province  of  Ontario  the  people  have  been 
accustomed  to  look  to  the  Globe,  much 
as  London  looks,  or  used  to  look,  to  the 
Times;  and  in  the  province  of  Manitoba 
the  new  civilization  of  the  West  is  mir- 
rored in  the  Free  Press  —  all  Manitoba 
and  the  Northwest  territories  is  influenced 
by  this  one  great  paper.     In  importance 


438 


CANADIAN  JOURNALISTS  AND  JOURNALISM. 


and  power  the  Globe  and  Free  Press 
have  always  been  up  to  very  recent  times 
the  most  significant  papers  in  the  Domin- 
ion. There  is  perhaps  no  other  paper 
in  America  to-day  regarded  in  the  same 
peculiar  manner.  The  Globe  is  still  said 
to  be  the  Canadian  Scot's  Bible. 

Among  the  older  generation  of  jour- 
nalists whose  names  must  not  be  for- 
gotten are  E.  Gough  Penny,  the  origina- 
tor and  first  owner  of  the  Montreal  Herald. 
Under  Mr.  Penny's  management,  the 
paper  had  a  circulation  so  reputable  and 
important,  although  limited,  that  it  was 
ranked  as  one  of  the  first  journals  in  the 
Dominion.  The  Herald  is  not  a  very 
important  paper  at  this  day,  and  has  not 
been  for  some  considerable  time.  Mr. 
Penny  exercised  by  his  serious  discussion 
of  politics  a  great  influence  on  the  affairs 
of  the  country,  and  he  only  retired  from 
active  work  to  become  a  member  of  the 
Senate.  John  Elder  of  the  St.  John  Tele- 
graph occupied  a  position  in  the  prov- 
ince of  New  Brunswick  comparable  to 
that  which  Mr.  Penny  held  in  Lower 
Canada,  George  Brown  in  Upper  Canada, 
and  Luxton  in  Manitoba.  Gordon  Brown 
during  the  whole  of  his  editorial  career 
was  supported  by  the  most  able  jour- 
nalists that  could  be  employed  in  the 
country.  The  old  staff  of  the  Globe 
included  the  Hon.  Wm.  McDougall,  one 
of  the  first  debaters  in  the  Canadian 
Parliament,  and  one  of  the  fathers  of 
Confederation;  the  Rev.  William  Inglis, 
a  very  powerful  writer  ;  Mr.  Alvan  Pardoe, 
the  managing  editor,  and  cleverest  writer 
on  the  staff,  after  the  resignation  of 
Gordon  Brown,  for  some  years,  and 
J.  Dymond,  an  English  journalist  of  con- 
siderable ability.  Colonel  Wiley  for  years 
exercised  a  very  powerful  influence  by 
his  clear  logical  writing  in  the  Brockville 
Recorder.  The  Hon.  Mackenzie  Bowell, 
the  present  Minister  of  Customs,  was  for 
many  years  the  editor  of  the  Belleville 
Intelligencer,  and  made  it  one  of  the  most 
important  papers  in  the  Province  of 
Ontario.  T.  Gardner  of  the  Hrmilton 
Times  is  one  of  the  most  forcible  writers 
in  the  country.  Henry  Blackburn  made 
the  London  Free  Press  influential  and 
prosperous.  J.  C.  Patterson  a  few  years 
ago    was  a  conspicuous   journalist.     For 


some  time  he  owned  the  Toronto  Mail, 
and  conducted  it  with  great  ability  and 
great  bitterness. 

Among  the  French  Canadian  jour- 
nalists, of  whom  much  might  be  said  did 
space  permit,  are  Joseph  Tasse,  the  editor 
of  La  Minerve,  the  most  prominent  Con- 
servative journal  of  Montreal ;  Fabian 
Vanasse,  the  editor  of  Le  Monde,  and 
F.  X.  A.  Trudel,  the  editor  of  F  Etendard; 
Ernest  Pacaud  and  E.  L.  Barthe  of 
VElecteur;  Eugene  Rouillard  of  PEvene- 
ment ;  Faucher  de  St.  Maurice  %{  Le 
Cunadien  who  is  favorably  known  as  a 
literateur,  as  well  as  a  journalist ;  and  L. 
P.  Pelletier  of  La  Justice. 

Mr.  W.  Philip  Robinson  will  be  remem- 
bered as  one  of  the  first  editors  of  the 
Toronto  Week.  He  is  an  old,  experi- 
enced journalist.  He  was  literally  born 
into  the  craft,  his  father  being  a  Lan- 
cashire journalist,  and  he  having  been 
apprenticed  to  his  father  upon  coming 
hot  from  school.  After  two  years  hard 
service  in  Fleet  Street,  and  two  or  three 
more  out  of  London,  Mr.  Robinson  left 
England  and  settled  in  Canada.  He 
became  associated  with  John  T.  Hawke  in 
the  publication  of  the  Hamilton  Tribune, 
since  defunct,  and  he  did  everything 
possible  to  keep  it  out  of  the  grave. 
While  in  Hamilton  he  received  an  in- 
vitation to  go  to  Toronto  and  assist  in 
the  editorship  of  the  Week,  which  was 
then  floundering  under  the  control  of  Mr. 
Charles  G.  D.  Roberts  —  an  able  man, 
but  not  a  good  editor.  Mr.  Roberts  re- 
signed the  editorship  in  a  few  months 
and  Mr.  Robinson  succeeded  him.  In 
the  face  of  great  discouragement  he 
managed  to  put  the  paper  on  a  self-sup- 
porting basis,  and  it  made  considerable 
progress  for  two  years,  when  Mr.  Goldwin 
Smith,  who  had  been  interested  in  the 
enterprise,  went  out  of  it.  Then  Mr. 
Robinson  resigned  and  started  a  Canadian 
Tit  Bits,  which  ended  disastrously.  He 
afterwards  published  a  paper  in  the  inte- 
rests of  the  iron  industries,  which  is  now 
a  valuable  property.  After  some  further 
experience  in  Canadian  journalism,  Mr. 
Robinson  sought  a  more  profitable  field 
in  this  country.  He  has  been  for  the 
last  three  years  the  manager  of  Tillotson's 
Newspaper  Syndicate,  and  is  also  a  part- 


CANADIAN  JOURNALISTS  AND  JOURNALISM. 


439 


ner  in  the  John  A.  Taylor  Publishing 
Company  of  New  York. 

Thomas  P.  Gorman,  the  editor  of  the 
Ottawa  Free  Press,  is  the  most  forcible 
journalistic  writer  in  the  capital.  His 
editorials  are  more  independent  in  tone 
than  one  usually  expects  to  find  in  a 
party  paper,  and  he  is  widely  respected 
as  a  hard  hitter  upon  occasion.  He  is 
the  correspondent  of  the  London  (Eng.) 
Times,  and  his  despatches  during  the 
recent  corruption  scandals  at  Ottawa 
created  considerable  attention  in  London. 
In  addition  to  his  journalistic  work,  Mr. 
Gorman  is  an  occasional  contributor  to 
the  magazines,  and  among  others  has 
written  for  the  Arena  and  the  New 
England  Magazine. 

Christopher  W.  Bunting  has  for  several 
years  past  been  prominently  before  the 
public  as  the  editor-in-chief  of  the 
Toronto  Mail.  He  does  not  write  very 
often  for  the  columns  of  his  paper,  but  he 
directs  its  political  policy,  and  as  a  poli- 
tical prophet  his  features  -have  been  made 
familiar  in  the  pages  of  Grip  to  every- 
body in  Canada.  Mr.  Bunting  was  in 
Parliament  as  a  Conservative  member 
before  the  Mail  seceded  from  the  Sir 
John  Macdonald  government,  and  his 
social  and  political  influence  is  consider- 
able. He  personally  superintends  all  the 
details  of  the  editorial  department,  and 
like  Charles  A.  Dana,  often  waits  until 
late  at  night  to  read  the  proofs  of  a  re- 
porter's story.  He  is  a  very  kindly  man 
and  is  generally  liked  by  the  attaches  of 
the  paper. 

The  name  of  John  V.  Ellis  is  a  very 
familiar  one  in  Canada,  and  it  is  better 
known  in  the  United  States  than  those  of 
many  of  his  confreres,  for  the  reason  that 
Mr.  Ellis  has  declared  himself  in  favor  of 
annexation,  and  as  a  member  of  the  House 
of  Commons,  popular  rumor  has  it,  he 
was  once  threatened  with  arraignment  at 
the  bar  of  the  house  in  consequence. 
Mr.  Ellis  is  one  of  the  most  popular  and 
unpopular  men  in  the  Dominion.  He 
enjoys  the  distinction  of  being  a  most  lov- 
able man,  and  of  being  well  hated.  He 
has  been  in  journalism  all  his  life,  having 
risen  from  the  case  to  the  editorship  of 
the  St.  John  Globe.  For  some  years  he 
represented  St.  John  in  Parliament,  being 


elected  in  the  Liberal  interest,  and  he 
won  the  respect  of  his  friends  and  oppo- 
nents by  his  unflinching  devotion  to  his 
principles.  He  was  also  for  some  time 
postmaster  of  St.  John. 

The  editor-in-chief  of  the  Montreal 
Star,  —  the  leading  evening  paper  in 
eastern  Canada,  ostensibly  Independent 
and  really  Conservative  —  is  Henry 
Dalby.  Mr.  Dalby  has  been  connected 
with  the  Star  since  it  was  started  in  a 
humble  way,  some  twenty  years  ago,  and 
he  has  risen  from  the  local  staff,  through 
the  various  grades,  to  his  present  posi- 
tion. Mr.  Dalby  has  the  immediate  con- 
trol of  the  whole  editorial  corps,  besides 
writing  a  great  deal  for  the  columns  of  his 
paper. 

One  of  the  ablest  political  writers  in 
Canada  is  Prof.  J.  E.  Wells,  M.  A.,  who 
for  some  years  has  been  the  principal 
editorial  contributor^  of  the  Week.  He 
was  on  the  staff  of  the  Toronto  Globe  under 
the  editorship  of  Mr.  Gordon  Brown,  and 
for  the  last  seven  years  he  has  been  oc- 
cupied with  journalistic  work  and  litera- 
ture. He  is  the  editor  of  the  Educational 
Journal,  and  the  Ca7iadian  Baptist. 

The  Rev.  George  Simpson,  has  been 
from  his  earliest  years  more  or  less  in- 
timately connected  with  journalism.  He 
is  editor  of  the  Canada  Presbyterian,  and 
contributes  to  the  Week  and  the  Chicago 
Literior. 

Israel  Tarte,  the  editor  of  Le  Canadien, 
is  one  of  the  most  brilliant  and  tren- 
chant writers  in  Quebec  or  in  the  Domin- 
ion. He  is  very  clever  and  unsparing, 
and  is  always  before  the  public  in  some 
bitter  journalistic  war.  It  was  largely  due 
to  his  efforts  that  the  peculations  of  cer- 
tain ministers  and  their  tools  were  ex- 
posed  during    the    session    of    1890-91. 

John  McEwan,  the  present  managing- 
editor  of  the  Toronto  World,  has  had  a 
wide  experience,  and  is  a  good,  all-round 
newspaper  man. 

Mr.  .R.  L.  Richardson,  an  old  Parlia- 
mentary correspondent  and  a  clever 
humorous  writer,  who  has  had  a  wide  ex- 
perience in  journalism  in  the  East  and 
West,  is  the  editor-in-chief  of  the  Tribune 
of  Winnipeg,  Manitoba.  The  Tribune 
was  started  two  years  ago  by  Mr.  Richard- 
son and  some  other  young  journalists  as 


440 


CANADIAN  JOURNALISTS  AND  JOURNALISM. 


an  experiment  in  independent  journalism. 
It  is  now  an  established  success. 

The  late  William  Manley  Nicholson 
was  for  thirty-five  years  one  of  the  most 
prominent  newspaper  writers  in  the  Prov- 
ine  of  Ontario. 

It  is  impossible  within  the  limits  of  a 
magazine  article  to  do  justice  to  the 
members  of  such  a  large  and  influential 
class  as  the  journalists  of  any  country, 
and  the  writer  does  not  desire  to  make 
any  invidious  distinction  either  in  the 
selection  of  the  names  presented  here  or 
in  the  order  in  which  they  appear.  Very 
little  attempt  has,  therefore,  been  made  at 
classification  according  to  the  importance 
of  the  writers  discussed,  and  any  claim  to 
infallibility  which  may  be  imputed  to  the 
writer  is  now  dismissed  in  anticipation. 
The  list  of  those  treated  could  be  ex- 
tended to  a  much  greater  length,  but  I 
am  compelled  to  ^content  myself  with 
little  more  than  an  enumeration  of  the 
names  of  many  who  are  already  prom- 
inent in  Canadian  journalism,  or  are 
rapidly  corning  into  prominence.  There 
are  some,  however,  who  in  justice  must 
be  mentioned.  D.  J.  Beaton  of  the 
Manitoba  Free  Press  is  one  of  the  most 
alert  intellects  of  the  great  and  growing 
commonwealth  of  the  West.  John  Allis- 
ter  Currie  is  well-known  as  a  clever  jour- 
nalist in  Toronto,  and  his  correspondence 
for  English  and  American  journals  has 
won  for  him  a  secure  position  in  his  pro- 
fession. He  is  a  terse,  vigorous  writer, 
and  is  also  known  as  a  contributor  to  the 
Week  and  other  literary  journals.  A 
volume  of  his  fugitive  and  other  verse 
will  be  published  in  the  spring  of  1892. 
Thomas  A.  Gregg,  the  managing  editor 
of  the  Toronto  Evening  News,  one  of  the 
most  influential  organs  of  Liberal-Con- 
servatism in  Ontario,  was  born  in  Toronto, 
and  has  been  all  his  life  identified  with 
the  press  of  that  city.  He  was  appointed 
to  his  present  position  three  years  ago, 
and  has  gathered  about  him  a. staff  of 
young  men  who  are  among  the  brightest 
in  the  Dominion.  Walter  C.  Nichol  of 
the  Hamilton  Times  is  a  witty  editorial 
writer,  and  is  writing  much  good  verse 
and  a  number  of  short  stories  for  Cana- 
dian and  American  weeklies.  D.  A.  Mc- 
Kellar's  dramatic  criticisms  in  Satu?'day 


Night  made  that  paper  an  authority  on  | 
dramatic  matters ;    but    his   pen-and-ink 
sketches  promise  to  open  a  wider  career  j 
for    him    in    art    than    he    would    have  j 
obtained  in  journalism.     Henry  Lawson, 
the  veteran  editor  of  the  Victoria  Colonist,  \ 
is  one  of  the  best  writers  of  pure  English 
in    the  Dominion.     William  Humphreys  \ 
of   the  Montreal  Star,  and  H.  M.  Rus-  ! 
sell    of  the   Mail,  and   John   Lewis,  the  \ 
quietly  humorous  writer  of  the  Toronto 
Globe,  are  all  doing  good,  conscientious 
work.    Edwin  R.  Parkhurst  does  excellent ' 
musical  and  dramatic  work  on  the  Mail.  \ 
He  is  reckoned  one  of  the  best  musical 
critics  in  America,  and  has  written  one  or ' 
two  musical  works,  that  have  received  the  , 
highest  commendation.     A.  F.  Wallis,  the  \ 
political  editor  of  the  same  journal,    is  a  1 
very    forceful    and    earnest    writer.      He  | 
probably  has  the  leading    facts  of  Parlia- ; 
mentary  history  more  at  his  finger's  end 
than  any  other  journalist  in  Canada,  fori 
he  has    served  in    the    Press    Gallery  at  | 
Ottawa     since  ■  Confederation.        Henry; 
Horace    Wiltshire    better   known    as    the 
Flaneur,  is  a  pleasant,   gossipy  writer  on| 
light  topics.     He  has  a  long  and  varied  j 
record.     At  the  mature  age  of  15  he  be-j 
gan  to  write  political  articles  for  the  Peo- 
ple's Paper  of  the  late   Ernest  Jones,  the 
English  Chartist  leader.     Afterwards  he  j 
wrote  for  John  Bright's  paper  the  Morn-\ 
ing    Star,    contributed     occasionally    to 
Tail's  Magazine  and  a  good  deal  to  the 
Cosmopolitan   Review.     For  a  couple  of 
years  he  helped  to   edit  the  organ  of  the 
English  Ballot  Society   The   Elector  and 
wrote  at  one  time  much  for  Lloyd's  Weekly 
Newspaper,    Isaac    Pitman's    Co-operator 
(of  Manchester),  the  London  Reformer, 
Mr.  Holyoake's  Reasoner,  and  innumer- 
able journals  of  an  "  advanced"  tendency. 
He  is  commercial  editor  of  The  Mail,  as 
well    as   the    originator  of    The  Flaneur, 
which  he  has  written  sick  or  well,  for  five 
years  without  a  break.     He  wrote  a  good 
deal  for  theatical  papers  in  London  twenty 
years  ago,  and  has  written  in  the  course 
of  twenty  years  many  hundreds  of  theat- 
rical criticisms.     John   Robson  Cameron 
is  one  of  the  many  successful  journalists 
who    have    graduated    from    the   "  case." 
He  was  one  of  the  early  writers  on  the 
Manitoba   Free  Press    during    the   boom 


CANADIAN  JOURNALISTS  AND  JOURNALISM. 


441 


days,  and  has  had  a  varied  experience  in 
the  States ;  but  he  is  best-known  through 
his  long  connection  with  the  Spectator  of 
Hamilton.  Arnott  J.  Magurn  is  another 
of  the  younger  men,  who  has  attracted 
considerable  attention  in  journalistic  cir- 
cles. He  is  now  the  regular  correspond- 
ent of  the  Toronto  Globe  and  various 
American  journals  at  the  capital.  John 
R.  Robinson,  editor  of  the  Toronto  Tele- 
gram, is  an  alert  and  bright  young  man, 
who  has  the  reputation  of  being  a  very 
incisive  and  sarcastic  writer.  Philip  D. 
Ross  of  the  Evening  Journal,  and  James 
Johnson  of  the  Citizen  of  Ottawa  are  good 
political  writers,  though  strictly  partisan. 
William  J.  Healy,  the  Mail  correspond- 
ent at  Ottawa,  became  well  known  through 
his  clever  pen  portraits  and  sketches  of 
parliamentary  life  while  in  the  gallery  for 
the  Toronto    Telegram.      George    Ham, 


John   V 


now    of  Winnipeg,    is    one    of  the 
known  journalists  in  Canada. 


best 


The  Beauties  of  a  Royal  Commission.—  "When  shall  we  three  meet  again. 

FROM    "GRIP,"   AUGUST   23,  1873. 


RANDOLPH  OF  ROANOKE  AND  HIS  PEOPLE. 

By  Albert  G.  Evans. 


STUDY  of  the 
Randolph  slaves, 
detailing  their 
migration  from 
their  Virginia  home 
to  lands  in  Ohio, — 
has  a  special  in- 
terest at  present, 
as  survivors  of  the 
band  are  putting 
forth  efforts  to  secure  the  adjustment  of  a 
long  neglected  wrong. 

John  Randolph,  though  an  eccentric 
genius,  was  an  illustrious  statesman,  and 
a  man  gifted  with  a  noble  mind  and  a 
humane  heart.  He  was,  without  any 
fault  of  his  own,  involved  in  the  em- 
barrassments and  legal  relations  of  sla- 
very. A  strange  combination  of  oppo- 
site natures  was  always  visible  in  him ; 
as  his  father  before  him  had  sold  slaves 
to  supply  the  cause  of  freedom  with 
power,  so  the  son  was  both  aristocrat 
and  democrat.  Hatred  of  slavery  was  a 
part  both  of  his  Virginian  and  English 
education.  During  his  long  service  in 
both  branches  of  the  national  legislature, 
he  maintained  a  stand  of  vigorous  opposi- 
tion to  all  measures  looking  to  the  ad- 
vancement and  perpetuation  of  slavery. 
As  early  as  1799,  he  manifested  Jacobin 
ideas  on  the  subject,  and  when,  in  1803, 
Indiana  presented  a  memorial  for  permis- 
sion to  introduce  slaves  into  the  territory 
in  spite  of  the  Ordinance  of  1787,  as  one 
of  a  committee  on  such  business  he  re- 
ported against  it,  pronouncing  it  "  cal- 
culated to  retard  the  happiness  and  pros- 
perity of  the  northwestern  country." 

In  the  Congress  of  1819-20,  he  op- 
posed the  Missouri  Compromise,  stigma- 
tizing the  northern  members,  by  whose  co- 
operation it  was  carried,  as  "dough- 
faces." In  a  letter  to  William  Gibbons 
about  this  time,  he  says :  "  With  un- 
feigned respect  and  regard,  and  as  sin- 
cere a  deprecation  of  the  extension  of 
slavery  and  its  horrors  as  any  other  man, 
be  he  who  he  may,"  etc.     In  the  course 


of  a  speech  in  Congress,  he  said :   "Sir, 
I  envy  neither  the  head  nor  the  heart  of 
that  man  from  the  North,  who  rises  here 
to    defend    slavery    on    principle."       He 
helped  to  develop  a  distinctive  anti-slavery 
party,  and  he  wrote  a  will  liberating  his 
slaves,    on    the    ground    that    they   were 
equally  entitled  to  freedom  with  himself. 
Only  the  legal  restrictions  on  emancipa-  ! 
tion,  and   the   injustice   to    his   creditors  1 
that   would    be   involved,  prevented   the 
emancipation    of    his    slaves    before    his  ; 
death. 

In  his  will    drawn    in    1819,  fourteen  j 
years  before  his  death,  he  says  : 

"  I  give  to  my  slaves  their  freedom,  to  which  i 
my  conscience   tells  me   they  are  justly  entitled. 
It  has  been  a  matter  of  the  deepest  regret  to  me 
that  the  circumstances  under  which  I   inherited  i 
them,  and  the  obstacles  thrown  in  the  way  by  the  ! 
laws  of  the  land,  have  prevented  my  emancipating  | 
them  in  my  lifetime,  which  it  is  my  full  intention 
to  do  in  case  I  can  accomplish  it." 

After  thus  providing  for  their  manu- 
mission, he  continues  : 

"  All  the  rest  and  residue  of  my  estate  (with 
the  exceptions  hereafter  made),  whether  real  or 
personal,  I  bequeath  to  "VYm.  Leigh,  Esquire,  of 
Halifax,  attorney-at-law,  to  the  Rev.  \Vm.  Meade 
of  Frederick,  and  to  Francis  Scott  Key,  Esqr.,  of 
Georgetown,  District  of  Columbia,  in  trust  for  the 
following  uses  and  purposes,  viz. : 

"  1st.  To  provide  one  or  more  tracts  of  land  in 
any  of  the  states  or  territories,  not  exceeding  four 
thousand  acres,  nor  less  than  two  thousand  acres, 
to  be  partitioned  and  apportioned  by  them  in  such 
manner  as  to  them  may  seem  best  among  the 
said  slaves. 

"  2nd.  To  pay  the  expenses  of  their  removal,  and 
of  furnishing  them  with  the  necessary  cabins, 
clothing,  and  utensils." 

A  codicil,  appended  in  1826,  says: 
"  I  do  hereby  confirm  the  bequests  to  or 
for  the  benefit  of  each  and  every  one  of  my 
slaves,  whether  by  name  or  otherwise." 

"Finally,"  as  related  by  one  who  stood 
near,  "  in  his  dying  hour  he  gathered 
witnesses  around  him,  and  when  the 
spirit  was  trembling  to  escape  from  the 
frail  tenement  that  bound  it,  summoned 
all  his  energies  in  one  last  moment,  and 
confirmed  in  the  most  solemn  form  before 


RANDOLPH  OF  ROANOKE  AND  HIS  PEOPLE. 


443 


God  and  those  witnesses  all  the  disposi- 
tions he  had  made  in  his  will  in  regard  to 
his  slaves." 

No  mean  policy,  no  pretentious  phil- 
anthropy, no  cheap  charity,  but  the 
strongest  consideration  of  duty  prompted 
Randolph  to  free  his  "people"  from 
thraldom.  He  believed  in  the  word  of 
the  ancient  political  philosopher,  who 
said,  "  Mankind  has  no  title  to  demand 
service  in  spite  of  the  unwillingness  of 
the  ones  who  serve  ;  "  and  he  contended 
that  those  who  were  not  against  slavery 
were  for  it. 

He  had  a  morbid  sensibility  on  the 
subject  of  his  family  and  his  property. 
He  belonged  to  one  of  the  oldest,  most 
numerous,  and  wealthiest  families  of  Vir- 
ginia ;  he  cherished  the  family  pride,  and 
valued  hereditary  fortune  far  beyond  its 
pecuniary  worth.  A  money-loving  or  a 
money-getting  spirit  constituted  no  part 
of  his  character.  His  feelings  on  the 
subject  of  slavery  were  purely  English ; 
the  proud  yet  accomplished  and  muni- 
ficent baron  of  some  time-honored  castle, 
with  its  thousand  acres,  and  its  villages 
of  grateful  and  happy  tenants  handed 
down  from  sire  to  son,  with  all  the  asso- 
ciations of  pride  and  affection  clustering 
around  its  walls  and  its  forests,  con- 
stituted his  ideal  of  the  gentleman,  and 
to  the  consummation  of  his  ideal  he  de- 
voted much  time,  both  in  adding  im- 
provements to  his  estate  and  in  engender- 
ing in  the  hearts  of  his  "  people "  a 
respect  for  their  master  and  a  satisfaction 
with  their  condition  as  long  as  it  of  neces- 
sity existed. 

He  did  not  attempt  to  cajole  his 
slaves  into  the  belief  that  they  were  a 
freer  and  happier  people  on  the  bond- 
man's soil  than  they  would  be  if  subsisting 
on  the  fruits  of  their  voluntary  labor  in  a 
far  off  region.  He  believed  that 
"Ignorance  is  the  curse  of  God, 
Knowledge  the  wing  wherewith  we  fly  to 
heaven." 

He  did  not  traduce  his  slaves  by  the 
epithet  of  "  nigger  "  ;  with  him  they  went 
by  the  name  of  "  my  people  "  or  "  my 
children."  As  he  went  among  them  it 
was  his  wont  to  address  individuals  by 
name,  and  frequently  shake  hands  with 
them. 


Stringent  laws  forbade  giving  instruc- 
tion to  black  persons  in  bondage  by 
means  of  schools  or  books,  but  at  even- 
tide, when  the  hands  had  come  in  from 
toil,  it  was  the  habit  of  the  kind  master 
to  go  occasionally  among  them,  and 
present  to  them  in  simple  words  the  prin- 
ciples of  right  thinking  and  living.  To 
this  day  survivors  of  those  who  knew  him 
speak  in  most  appreciative  terms  of  his 
indulgence. 

Let  us  roam  once  more  over  the  old 
plantation  of  nearly  seven  thousand  acres. 
Roanoke,  as  the  place  was  called,  la*y 
along  the  Staunton  River  near  its  con- 
fluence with  the  Roanoke. 

"  A  boundless  contiguity  of  shade, 
Where  rumor  of  oppression  and  deceit 
Might  never  reach  me  more,"  — 

as  Randolph  himself  exclaimed,  when  he 
retired  from  his  first  long  period  of 
public  service  to  the  quiet  of  home. 

The  plantation  was  divided  into  vari- 
ous sections  known  as  quarters.  The 
Middle  Quarter  occupied  a  beautiful  ex- 
tent of  picturesque  country,  comprising 
eighteen  hundred  acres.  On  one  side, 
far  down  at  the  terminus  of  a  long  slope, 
an  extensive  forest  tract  began  and  formed 
a  green  wall  to  break  ravaging  winds. 
On  the  other  side  lay  the  Lower  Quarter, 
showing  a  broad  expanse  of  feitile  bot- 
tom land.  In  this  quarter  were  located 
the  great  barns,  the  enormous  grain- 
cribs,  and  the  extensive  stock-yards. 
Here,  too,  the  cabins  of  the  negroes  were 
aligned  in  long  rows,  like  the  huts  of  an 
African  village.  Huntley  Quarter  was 
separated  from  the  main  plantation  by 
Carrington  Place,  a  neighbor's  posses- 
sion. The  residue  of  the  tract  reposed 
along  the  river. 

On  a  commanding  eminence  in  the 
midst  of  this  extensive  scene,  the  old 
mansion  house  reared  its  ample  propor- 
tions, and  with  its  offices  and  spreading 
wings  was  not  an  unworthy  representative 
of  the  baronial  style  for  which  the  owner 
cherished  such  regard. 

"The  mistletoe  hung  in  the  castle  hall, 
The  holly  branch  shone  on  the  old  oak  wall, 
And  the  baron's  retainers  were  blithe  and  gay, 
Keeping  perpetual  holiday." 

The  serpentine  paths,  the  broad 
avenues  and  smooth  gravel,  the  mounds, 


444 


RANDOLPH  OF  ROANOKE  AND  BIS  PEOPLE. 


the  green  turf,  and  the  shrubbery  of  the 
extended  pleasure-grounds  evidenced  the 
pride  which  was  taken  in  the  pursuit  of 
that  most  fascinating  and  never-ending 
task  of  creating  a  model  home.  Here 
the  host  dispensed  a  hospitality  which 
more  than  a  half  century  of  subdivision, 
exhaustion,  and  decay  has  not  entirely 
effaced  from  the  memory  of  his  impover- 
ished descendants  and  servitors. 

As  appurtenances,  several  hundred 
slaves  belonged  to  this  estate.  The 
kindest  of  masters,  the  most  considerate 
treatment,  ample  provision  for  their 
wants,  and  the  assured  hope  of  freedom, 
elevated  their  condition  above  the  usual 
lot  of  serfs.  Some  of  the  old  "  aunties," 
in  looking  back  and  recounting  the  scenes 
of  these  days,  have  assured  me  that  it 
seemed  like  a  dream,  a  dream  that  brought 
tears  to  their  eyes. 

When  a  slave  of  the  plantation  fell 
sick,  he  was  humanely  cared  for,  and 
allowed  to  rest  from  his  labors.  Every 
family  was  apportioned  a  plot  of  ground 
for  private  use,  on  which  it  planted  a 
garden,  reared  chickens,  ducks,  turkeys 
and,  perhaps,  a  shote  or  two.  A  peck 
and  a  half  of  meal  was  furnished  each 
person  every  Sunday  morning  for  his  use 
during  the  week.  Exemption  from  the 
cruelty  of  "  blood-letting  "  created  in  the 
hearts  of  the  slaves  a  feeling  of  trust  and 
comfort,  which  was  cultivated  by  the 
educational  methods  of  Randolph,  who 
more  than  once  averred  that  distrust  was 
a  sin  which  he  could  not  easily  forgive. 

But  one  day  word  came  that,  after  long 
suffering  from  mental  and  physical  de- 
rangements, the  kind  master  had  died 
and  would  be  brought  home  to  Roanoke 
for  burial.  With  tearful  eyes  his  "  peo- 
ple "  stood  around,  and  saw  him  interred 
beneath  the  sod  of  the  front  lawn,  be- 
tween two  ancestral  oaks. 

Scenes  changed.  Different  methods 
obtained.  Old  favorites  were  bluffed  and 
snubbed.  The  whole  force  was  hard 
driven  by  new  masters,  —  and  the  blessed 
promise  of  freedom  alone  tempered  the 
sufferings  of  the  hitherto  fostered  "  chil- 
dren." 

Randolph  had  expressed  it  as  his  wish 
that,  if  he  died  in  the  spring,  his  slaves 
should  be  liberated  in  the  fall  ;   if  he  died 


in  the  fall,  the  change  was  to  be  accom- 
plished in  the  succeeding  spring.  But 
dissensions  arose.  His  half-brothers, 
Henry  and  Belvy  Tucker,  took  exception 
to  this  wholesale  deliverance  of  valuable 
property,  and  attempted  to  break  the  will 
wherein  such  ample  and  explicit  provi- 
sions were  made  for  the  execution  of  a 
long-cherished  desire. 

The  slaves  were  doomed  to  unwonted 
hardships  during  a  period  occupying 
above  thirteen  years.  For  this  long  time 
testamentary  charities  were  defeated. 
But,  finally,  justice  triumphed,  and  the 
slaves  were  ordered  to  proceed  to  Mays- 
ville  Court-house  and  receive  their  certi- 
ficates of  freedom.  Oh,  the  rejoicing  of 
hearts  made  glad  !  In  accordance  with 
the  spirit  which  Randolph's  influence  had 
wrought,  they  returned  thanks  to  the  God 
whom  they  had  been  taught  to  reverence, 
in  a  grand  praise  meeting ;  and  now  that 
freedom  was  theirs,  they  suffered  a  re- 
maining residence  of  two  months,  under 
the  hard  hands  of  overseers,  with  pa- 
tience. 

Every  day  saw  the  settled  portions  of 
the  Lower  Quarter  alive  with  the  bustle 
and  stir  of  preparation.  The  great  wains 
were  put  in  readiness ;  provisions  were 
packed  therein  in  prodigious  quantities ; 
clothing  was  formed  into  bales ;  harness 
was  repaired  and  adjusted. 

On  the  eve  of  the  exodus,  all  the  peo- 
ple assembled  at  the  great  mansion  in 
the  Middle  Quarter,  to  pass  the  night. 
The  long  halls  of  the  building  were  strewn 
with  pallets,  on  which  the  happy  "peo- 
ple" reposed;  and,  during  the  long 
watches  of  the  night  the  silence  was 
often  broken  by  subdued  and  gleeful 
whisperings.  At  the  first  sign  of  dawn 
on  the  following  morning,  the  sonorous 
voice  of  Tom  Card  well  sounded,  and  the 
emigrating  band,  aroused  from  slumber, 
was  soon  busy  in  making  final  prepara- 
tions for  departure  from  the  old  home. 
Farewells  were  interchanged  between 
those  going  and  those  remaining.  A  sol- 
emn procession  moved  past  the  solitary 
grave  of  Randolph,  and  last  tears  were 
dropped  to  his  memory.  The  train  of 
sixteen  wagons  drew  up  in  line.  The 
children  were  stowed  away  among  the 
various  bundles  of  bag^ase.     The  adults 


RANDOLPH  OF  ROANOKE  AND  HIS  PEOPLE. 


445 


were  formed  into  line  on  either  side  of 
the  wagons,  and  at  the  word  of  command 
from  Tom  Cardwell,  the  veteran  slave- 
driver,  who  superintended  the  voyage 
north,  the  cavalcade  quickened  into  mo- 
tion, and  passed,  a  picturesque  party, 
down  the  road.  As  the  last  of  the  band 
emerged  from  the  shadow  of  the  gate- 
way, their  voices,  led  by  the  clarion  tones 
of  old  Aunt  Jemimy,  rang  out  with, 

"Stand  back,  Satan,  an'  let  me  come  by; 
Stand  back,  Satan,  an'  let  me  come  by; 

Then  I'll  shout  glory,  glory  ! 
You  whipped  ole  Sal,  an'  you'll  whip  her  again; 
Stand  back,  Satan,  an'  let  me  come  by; 

Then  I'll  shout  glory,  glory,  hallelujah  !  " 

To  the  whites,  this  exodus  of  faithful 
servants  rejoicing  in  freedom  was  an  af- 
fecting sight,  and  many  wept  at  the  scene  ; 
but  in  the  breasts  of  the  emancipated 
blacks  rang  a  joy  unspeakable,  and  we 
can  conceive  of  their  hearts  responding 
to  the  hallelujah  melody  : 

"Sound  the  loud  timbrel  o'er  Egypt's  dark  sea  — 
Jehovah  hath  triumphed  —  his  people  are  free." 

On  June  10,  1846,  the  band  left  the 
old  estate  and  began  the  journey  over 
the  mountains.  The  wagons  resembled 
the  "prairie  schooner,"  though  scarcely 
as  commodious,  and  were  drawn  by  teams 
of  four  horses  each,  with  the  exception 
of  the  "  general  wagon,"  whose  extra  size 
and  weight  required  the  addition  of 
another  team  of  two.  The  travelling  to 
Charleston,  West  Virginia,  was  accom- 
plished at  the  rate  of  forty  miles  a  day, 
little  occurring  to  vary  the  monotony  of 
jogging  over  rough  roads.  A  few  inci- 
dents, however,  impressed  themselves  up- 
on the  minds  of  the  credulous  travellers. 

Unhitching  one  day  for  the  noon  rest, 
they  found  upon  a  grassy  plateau,  in  a 
wild  section,  some  relics  of  former  occu- 
pancy that  seemed  to  indicate  that  the 
spot  had  been  the  scene  of  a  tragedy. 
There  were  two  "foundations,"  a  few 
rods  apart.  In  the  lingo  of  frontiersmen, 
a  "foundation"  meant  four  logs  laid 
across  each  other  so  as  to  form  a  square, 
and  was  a  legal  notification  of  intent  to 
build  a  cabin  and  take  up  a  claim.  The 
two  foundations  so  near  together  were 
evidences  of  a  dispute  about  the  title  to 
the  little  strip  of  land  on  which  the  oc- 
cupants   evidently    expected    to     settle. 


Within  one  of  the  log  quadrangles  were 
found  bloody  clothing,  almost  worn  away, 
a  rusty  axe,  a  camp  kettle  and  a  coffee- 
pot, a  knife  and  numerous  other  articles. 
The  excitable  imaginations  of  the  negroes 
speedily  constructed  from  these  materials 
a  story  of  murder.  Many  completely 
lost  their  appetites  for  the  time,  and 
moved  cautiously  about,  conversing  in 
whispers.  The  effects  of  the  mystery 
gradually  wore  off  during  the  afternoon, 
and  at  dark  it  was  a  relief  to  all  to  lariat 
the  horses,  pitch  the  tents,  and  kindle 
the  camp  fires  in  a  grassy  glade  fringed 
with  a  thicket  of  wild  rose  bushes. 

The  cooks  were  legion  —  old  "  aun- 
ties "  with  gray  hairs  and  an  air  of  bus- 
tling importance ;  among  them  were 
Aunt  Hannah,  aged  one  hundred  years, 
Aunt  Nancy,  and  Aunt  Dinah  Young. 
Of  mornings,  these  old  culinary  queens 
were  often  preparing  breakfast  by  the 
light  of  the  fires  long  before  the  first 
glimmer  of  dawn ;  and  as  early  as  three 
o'clock,  a  long-drawn  shout  would  bring 
all  the  sleepers  to  their  feet  in  an  instant. 

As  they  advanced,  the  route  led  them 
past  Hawk's  Nest,  one  of  the  landmarks 
of  West  Virginia.  The  mountain  rises  a 
considerable  distance  perpendicularly 
above  the  river  channel,  then  bulges  out 
in  a  manner  suggestive  of  a  pendent 
bird's  nest.  This  rock  is  one  of  the 
points  of  interest  to-day  along  the  pic- 
turesque line  of  the  Chesapeake  and 
Ohio  railroad.  The  fantastic  shapes  re- 
flected in  the  mirror  of  waters  below  the 
nest  struck  terror  to  the  hearts  of  the 
children,  no  less  than  the  towering  cliff. 

The  happy-go-lucky  natures  of  the 
wagoners,  together  with  their  disregard 
of  each  others'  rights,  brought  them  into 
frequent  collision,  much  to  the  delight  of 
the  negroes,  who  derived  as  much  amuse- 
ment from  the  fistic  encounters  as  the 
Spaniards  do  from  bull-fights.  Among 
the  wagoners  were  two  brothers,  Dave 
and  Sam  Harvey,  who  were  inveterate 
quarrellers.  On  one  occasion,  Dave  be- 
came angry  at  his  brother  over  some  in- 
dignity, and  enlisting  the  help  of  Tom 
Cousin,  another  teamster,  he  watched  his 
chance  for  revenge.  It  came  at  dark 
that  night,  when  Sam  left  his  wagon  un- 
attended   for    a    short    time.      The    two 


446 


RANDOLPH  OF  ROANOKE  AND  HIS  PEOPLE. 


avengers  unloaded  all  his  cargo  and  piled 
it  by  the  roadside. 

One  day,  upon  crossing  Black  River, 
so  called  because  of  the  inky  hue  of  its 
waters,  the  unsophisticated  travellers  were 
induced  to  believe  that  a  miracle  had 
been  wrought  in  changing  the  color  of 
the  waters,  which  presaged  a  dire  cala- 
mity. 

On  the  eighteenth  of  June  the  band 
reached  Charleston.  Here  the  steamer 
Ohio  awaited  them,  but  proving  to  be 
too  small,  the  steamer  Old  Kentucky  was 
substituted  for  it.  As  the  boat  took  its 
way  down  the  Kanawha  and  up  the  Ohio, 
toward  Cincinnati,  laden  with  its  dusky 
burden  of  nearly  four  hundred  persons, 
it  presented  an  animated  spectacle.  Over 
all  waved  proudly  the  banner  of  the  free. 
The  Ohio  was  at  low  water  mark,  and 
during  the  voyage  the  steamer  grounded 
upon  a  sand-bar.  Immediately  the  ex- 
citable passengers  were  filled  with  con- 
sternation, and  giving  themselves  up  for 
lost,  prayed  to  go  straight  to  heaven. 
They  were  safely  unloaded  in  skiffs,  and 
conveyed  to  the  Kentucky  shore  to  await 
the  floating  of  the  steamer.  When  all 
was  well  once  more,  and  they  were  aboard 
unharmed,  they  were  full  of  song,  and 
with  all  their  fervor  struck  up  : 

"  Seek  him,  seek  him,  seek  him  truly, 

My  Lord,  I  feel  like  I'm  new-born  again; 
I've  got  free-grace,  'deemin'  Lord, 

I'm  new-born  again. 
Glory,  glory,  free  at  last; 

I'm  new-born  again  ! 
We've  been  a  long  time  talkin'  'bout  trials  here 
below, 
I'm  new-born  again  !  " 

Then  as  a  single  voice  continued, 

"  We've  been  a  long  time  talkin'  'bout  trials  here 
below," 

the  entire  band  joined  in, 

"  I  'clare  to  God,  I  'clare  to  God,  I'm  new-born 
again ; 
Pray  hard,  pray  hard,  pray  hard,  mourners, 
I  feel  like  I'm  new-born  again." 

At  Cincinnati,  they  were  transferred 
from  the  river  steamer  to  three  canal 
boats,  and  by  easy  stages  began  the  prog- 
ress up  the  "  Miami  and  Erie  "  toward 
the  prospective  homes,  which  the  execu- 
tors   of  Randolph's    estate    had    already 


purchased  in  Mercer  County,  about  one 
hundred  miles  north  of  Cincinnati. 

The  manoeuvring  required  to  effect 
passage  through  the  first  of  the  many 
locks  of  the  canal  greatly  puzzled  the 
travellers.  They  maintained  a  breath- 
less and  awestruck  silence  while  the 
boat  slowly  sank,  and  when  it  rose  again 
manifested  a  belief  that  some  supernal 
power  had  grasped  invisible  strings 
attached  to  their  craft,  and  was  raising 
them  up  and  up,  they  knew  not  where. 

As  they  came  into  rural  regions,  im- 
mense fields  of  wheat  and  corn,  stretch- 
ing away  on  every  side  as  far  as  the  eye 
could  reach,  alternated  with  green  pas- 
tures in  which  the  groups  of  horses,  cattle, 
sheep,  and  swine  fed.  The  rugged  scenery 
of  the  mountain  way,  and  the  high  bluffs 
along  the  river  were  replaced  in  the  land- 
scape by  the  low  round  hills,  not  much 
elevated  above  the  rest  of  the  land,  with 
long  gentle  slopes  and  wide  valleys  be- 
tween, which  make  the  country  of  Ohio 
beautiful.  Fields  of  flax  and  tobacco 
took  the  people  back  in  memory  to  fami- 
liar scenes  in  Virginia,  but  did  not  dam- 
pen their  zeal  for  the  new  life  which  they 
were  about  to  enter  upon. 

At  every  town  and  hamlet  along  the 
way,  crowds  of  people  assembled  to 
gratify  their  curiosity  about  the  appear- 
ance of  a  band  of  real  live  plantation 
negroes.  Those  who  remember  seeing 
them,  testify  to  their  hilarious  joyousness. 
When  near  their  destination,  as  if  in- 
spired by  the  prosperous  aspect  of  the 
country,  and  the  sight  of  liberty  beckon- 
ing still  onward,  they  again  lifted  their 
voices  in  song  : 

"  Any  more,  any  more, 
I'll  never  turn  back  any  more; 
When  I  get  there  on  yonder  hill, 
I'll  never  turn  back  any  more." 

On  the  4th  of  July,  the  boats  were 
drawn  up  along  the  dock  at  Bremen. 
The  long  journey  was  seemingly  ended 
and,  strangers  in  a  strange  land,  the 
emancipated  "children"  were  prepared 
to  enter  upon  modes  of  life  eminently 
different  from  those  which  prevailed  on 
the  old  plantation,  not  realizing  that  the 
jubilant  feeling  manifested  in  the  spirit  of 
the  last  song  was  soon  to  be  rudely  dis- 
pelled by  impending  misfortunes. 


RANDOLPH  OF  ROANOKE  AND  HIS  PEOPLE. 


447 


At  this  time  significant  ripples  in  the 
great  agitation  of  the  slavery  question 
had  appeared  on  the  surface  of  society. 
Many  who  were  in  sympathy  with  the 
cause  of  the  slaves  were  decidedly  averse 
to  association  with  them.  While  such 
persons  would  have  been  ready  to  fight 
for  their  liberation,  they  would  not  have 
cherished  them  when  freed.  The  in- 
habitants of  the  section  to  which  the  Ran- 
dolph family  emigrated  were  of  this  class. 

The  intelligence  of  the  approach  of  a 
band  of  liberated  slaves  from  the  planta- 
tion of  John  Randolph  of  Roanoke, 
coming  for  the  purpose  of  settlement, 
preceded  their  arrival  at  Bremen,  and  the 
inhabitants,  captained  by  a  man  named 
John  Young,  were  ready  to  give  a  recep- 
tion anything  but  reassuring  to  the 
negroes.  As  they  disembarked,  the 
whites  surrounded  them  with  an  armed 
guard,  and  thus  conducted  them  under 
surveillance  to  the  dry  basin  of  a  pond 
used  at  times  for  soaking  flax  before 
breaking  it.  From  William  Stewart,  an 
old  colored  man,  a  resident  of  the  parts 
referred  to,  and  from  a  few  of  the  older 
members  of  the  "family,"  yet  living,  we 
glean  the  facts  concerning  the  treatment 
of  the  negroes  by  the  German  whites. 

Reason  proved  of  little  avail  with  the 
obdurate  Germans,  who  were  fixed  in 
their  determination  that  this  colony 
should  not  settle  among  them.  Not  only 
did  they  maltreat  the  new  arrivals,  — 
menace  them  with  clubs,  kick  and  cuff 
them,  —  but,  stirred  to  anger  by  their 
coming,  manifested  an  active  hostility 
toward  colored  residents  who  had  dwelt 
in  their  midst  for  years.  The  man  Young 
was  zealous  in  circulating  remonstrances 
throughout  the  region,  and  thereby 
became  the  ringleader  in  the  persecution. 
Cabins  of  negroes  were  torn  down  and 
set  on  fire ;  tools  and  implements  were 
destroyed ;  lives  were  threatened ;  and 
many,  filled  with  fear,  sold  or  abandoned 
their  farms  and  moved  into  more  friendly 
communities.  But  Stewart's  was  one  of 
the  brave  spirits.  He  heroically  breasted 
all  storms,  and  because  of  his  courage 
came  to  be  feared  by  Young  and  his 
accomplices. 

One  day,  intimations  were  made  to  the 
negroes  that  the   cabin   of   one  of  their 


number  would  be  demolished  that  night 
by  Young  and  his  men.  In  order  to  pre- 
vent this,  the  owner,  Butler  Enyeart, 
secreted  himself  in  his  well,  taking  with 
him  three  guns,  with  the  intention  of 
firing  several  shots  as  indications  of  a 
considerable  opposition  party.  When 
the  gang  began  work,  he  fired  one  shot. 
"Fire  again,"  yelled  Young.  Bang  \ 
bang  !  went  the  second  and  third  guns  in 
quick  succession.  The  ruse  was  effec- 
tive, and  as  the  marauders  retreated, 
Young  whispered  to  his  pals,  "  By  G  — , 
that's  Stewart." 

The  Randolphs  were  quartered  for 
three  days  under  the  hot  sun  by  day  and 
in  the  dampness  by  night.  The  agents 
in  charge  were  careful  to  prevent  trouble 
by  refraining  from  any  active  opposition 
to  this  treatment,  for  the  minds  of  the 
Germans  were  in  such  a  state  of  irrita- 
tion that  an  open  warfare  might  easily 
have  been  precipitated.  Believing  it 
better  to  sacrifice  the  property  than  the 
lives  of  their  charges,  the  agents  con- 
cluded at  last  to  abandon  the  attempt  to 
plant  the  colony  on  the  land  which  they 
had  purchased.  Since  this  land  had  been 
purchased  from  the  government,  and 
no  buyers  could  be  found  in  the  region, 
it  was  simply  left,  without  realizing  any 
return  whatever  of  the  purchase  money. 
It  was  thus  for  a  time  unclaimed  land, 
until  illegally  incorporated  by  the  Ger- 
mans into  their  farms. 

Sorrowfully,  the  discouraged  "  chil- 
dren "  re-embarked,  and  began  to  retrace 
their  way,  that  they  might  find  homes  in 
other  localities.  Some  were  placed 
among  the  farmers  at  Sidney.  At  this 
place,  "Old  man"  Quashee,  who  had 
been  a  body-slave  of  the  "  old  marster," 
died.  Strangers  buried  him  by  the  side 
of  the  river,  and  "  no  man  knoweth  his 
sepulchre  unto  this  day."  The  rest  con- 
tinued the  retreat  to  Piqua,  where  a  con- 
siderable number  landed  and  encamped 
on  the  site  of  the  present  council-house. 
In  this  town  the  writer  recently  visited 
Nero  Randolph,  who  was  a  house-boy  in 
the  mansion  of  his  master.  He  and  his 
wife  came  North  together,  and  both  still 
live,  in  a  comfortable  home  of  their  own 
creation.  The  remainder  of  the  band 
went    back    still    further,  and    landed    at 


448 


PHYLLIS. 


Troy,  where  are  still  to  be  found  a  con- 
siderable number.  Among  others,  Aunt 
Sallie  Jones  and  Aunt  Chloe  Williams,  to 
whom  we  are  indebted  for  the  snatches 
of  plantation  songs,  which  they  sang  for  us 
in  true  old  style,  with  all  the  accompanying 
grotesque  motions  of  the  head  and  body, 
which  contribute  so  much  to  the  effect. 

To-day,  wherever  found,  the  Randolph 
people  are  noticeable  among  their  neigh- 
bors of  the  same  race  for  their  sobriety, 
industry,  and  thrift.  Ten  years  ago  they 
began  an  investigation  of  their  claims  to 
the  lands  which  they  were  driven  from  in 
1846,  with  a  view  to  recovering  damages 
to  the  amount  of  the  present  value  of 
the  lands  ;  but,  suspecting  dishonest  in- 
tent on  the  part  of  the  counsel  which 
they  had  employed,  they  abandoned  the 
case.  Recently,  they  have  resumed  the 
investigation,  and  seem  determined  to 
push  it  to  a  conclusion.  They  are  greatly 
hampered,  however,  by  lack  of  funds  and 
business  tact.  About  two  hundred  per- 
sons remain  (including  heirs),  who  hold 
a  legal  claim  to  the  property  which  their 


master's  money  bought  for  them.  Rec- 
ords in  the  archives  of  Mercer  County 
show  about  twenty-five  hundred  acres  of 
land  to  have  been  deeded  to  them  from 
the  government,  in  the  name  of  Judge 
Leigh,  the  only  one  of  the  executors  of 
Randolph's  estate  who  came  with  them 
to  Ohio.  All  transfers  of  the  property 
have  been  made  without  clear  titles,  so 
that  the  present  owners  live  in  fear  of 
being  compelled  to  give  up  their  farms  to 
the  negroes  who  have  the  first  and  only 
claim  to  them.  By  virtue  of  the  general 
improvement  of  the  country,  these  lands 
have  an  accrued  value  of  upwards  of 
seventy-five  thousand  dollars. 

A  fraud  perpetrated  at  such  variance 
with  Christian  ethics  and  the  civilization 
of  the  age  calls  for  an  equitable  adjust- 
ment, even  at  this  late  day.  Let  us  hope 
that  time,  the  righter  of  every  wrong, 
with  the  aid  of  philanthropy,  will  ripen 
events  for  the  desired  consummation  of 
the  labors  and  the  fulfilment  of  the  cher- 
ished hopes  of  the  survivors  of  "  the 
Randolph  People." 


PHYLLIS. 

By  Henry   Cleveland  Wood. 


HOW  fair  the  day  that  Phyllis  came, 
What  matter  if  the  chill  winds  blew 
The  wan  snow-blossoms  through  the  air, 
And  whistled  in  the  branches  bare? 
What  matter  if  the  skies  were  gray, 
And  singing  birds  had  gone  away? 
I  heeded  not,  my  fond  heart  knew 
Her  rosy  cheeks  were  all  aflame 
For  love  of  me,  —  the  day  all  through 
Was  fair,  —  the  day  that  Phyllis  came. 

How  drear  the  day  that  Phyllis  went  ; 
What  matter  if  the  sun  shone  bright? 

What  matter  if  the  odorous  breeze 

Stole  softly  through  the  budding  trees? 

What  matter  if  the  skies  were  blue? 

I  heeded  not,-  my  poor  heart  knew 
That  it  had  lost  its  sole  delight 

On  which  its  richest  love  was  spent ; 

Her  cheeks  and  lips  were  marble  white ; 

Oh,  woe  the  dav  that  PhvlHs  went  ! 


Gov.  James  Bowdoin. 

BRUNSWICK  AND  BOWDOIN  COLLEGE. 

By   Charles  Lewis  Slattery. 


THREE  hundred  years  ago  the  valley 
of  the  Androscoggin  River  was  the 
home  of  the  Anasagunticook  In- 
dians. The  Pejepscot  Indians  belonged 
to  this  tribe,  and  lived  at  one  time  at  the 
Brunswick  Falls.  One  finds  many  a  spot 
on  the  Androscoggin  now  where,  sur- 
rounded only  by  the  stately  trees  and  the 
music  of  wind  and  river,  one  can  picture 
how  the  Indian  "lived  and  loved  and 
hunted  and  made  war."  As  he  paddled 
down  the  beautiful  river  in  his  canoe,  he 
must  often  have  wondered  if  he  were  not 
already  in  the  happy  hunting-grounds. 
But  one  day  in  the  spring  of  1605,  the 


herald  of  a  new  race  appeared.  Captain 
George  Weymouth  was  on  a  voyage  of 
discovery,  and  sailed  up  the  Androscog- 
gin River  as  far  as  the  falls.  The  Indians 
may  have  peered  at  him  from  behind  the 
bushes,  but  that  was  all ;  for  he  did  not 
stay.  In  1628  the  first  settler  came. 
His  name  was  Thomas  Purchase  ;  further, 
we  know  almost  nothing.  He  cheated 
the  Indians,  and  sold  them  rum  contain- 
ing much  water.  One  Indian  said  that 
he  had  paid  a  hundred  pounds  for  water 
drawn  out  of  "Purchase  his  well."  Pur- 
chase and  his  companions,  besides  mak- 
ing   treaties    with    the    Indians,    fished, 


450 


BRUNSWICK  AND  BOWDOIN  COLLEGE. 


ploughed,  hunted,  and  built 
forts.  They  called  the  coun- 
try Pejepscot. 

The  land  was  sold  and 
resold  until  at  last  it  came 
into  the  hands  of  the  Pejep- 
scot Company,  who  were 
"  the  tenants  in  common  " 
of  the  soil.  In  17 15  this 
company  set  forth  proposals 
"  to  encourage  substantial 
farmers  to  remove  with  their 
stock  from  England."  They 
were  going  to  found  towns 
of  at  least  fifty  families  each ; 
they  were  to  have  military 
protection  from  the  Indians ; 
their  purchase  was  to  be 
legally  confirmed,  and  they 
intended  to  lay  out  a  con- 
venient plot  of  ground  in 
each  town  for  "  the  sub- 
sistence of  the  first  minister, 
the  ministry,  and  a  school." 
Later  they  voted  to  lay  out. 
a  broad  road  from  the  river 
to  the  sea,  which  was  called 
"  the  Twelve-rod  Road." 
On  this  road  they  decided 
to  lay  out  the  "  Town  of 
Brunswick  in  one  Line  of 
Houses."  Each  proprietor 
was  to  take  a  lot  and  build 
upon  it  at  once.  A  man 
named  Noyes  promised  to 
build  a  "  Defensible  House," 
and  so  was  given  the  lot 
next  the  sea.  The  fort  was 
by  the  river,  and  was  called 
Fort  George  in  honor  of  the 
king.  Midway,  the  meeting- 
house was  built,  and  the  lots 
for  "  the  ministry,  the  first 
minister,  and  the  school," 
were  the  centre  lots.  As 
for  the  other  lots,  he  who 
came  first  took  his  choice. 
In  171 7,  Brunswick  was 
made  a  township,  and  on 
February  4th,  1739  (O-  S. 
January  26th,  1738),  it  was 
incorporated  by  the  govern- 
ment of  Massachusetts,  and 
thus  became  the  eleventh 
corporate  town  in  Maine. 


BRUNSWICK  AND  BOWDOIN  COLLEGE. 


451 


Bowdoin  College  in   1830. 


The  people  of  Brunswick  had  hard 
work  to  hold  their  own  during  the  eigh- 
teenth century.  The  Indians  were  con- 
stantly coming  down  upon  them,  so  that 
most  of  them  had  to  live  in  block-houses, 
which  were  really  forts.  The  children 
had  to  be  kept  near  the  door,  or  an  In- 
dian would  dart  from  behind  a  thicket 
and  whisk  a  youngster  off  to  his  wigwam. 
When  the  men  worked  in  the  field,  they 
placed  the  cattle  between  them  and  the 
forest,  since  the  cattle  would  always  show 
great  terror  as  soon  as  the  Indians  ap- 
proached, and  so  warn  the  farmers. 

The  population  was  made  up  of  adven- 
turers, speculators,   heretics,    and    scape- 
graces.    The  historian  of  Brunswick  tells 
us  that  these  early  settlers  "  used  to  peek 
out    through    a 
crack      or     partly 
opened    door,    to 
see   whether  their 


callers  were  friends  or  foes ;  and,"  he 
adds  with  keen  observation,  "  the  same 
habit  of  peeking  out  through  a  half-open 
door  to  see  who  their  callers  may  be  is 
noticed  to  this  day  in  their  descendants." 
But  people  who  came  later  were  often 
well-to-do  folks.  They  wore  rich  and 
fashionable  clothes ;  and  it  is  said  that 
the  hoop  in  the  ladies'  dresses  "  drew 
forth  the  gaze  and  wonder  of  the  earlier 
and  more  rustic  settlers."  Slaves  were 
held  even  as  late  as  1765  in  Brunswick. 
A  few  names  stand  out  in  the  records 
of  these  times.  Jeannie  Miller  was  sen- 
tenced to  be  put  into  the  public  stocks 
and  to  have  rotten  eggs  thrown  at  her  by 
those  who  passed  by.  The  Rev.  John 
Miller  was  to  marry  a  couple  in  Topsham, 
—  the  town  that  had  sprung  up  on  the 
northern  bank  of  the  river;  but  there 
was  no  bridge,  and  a  freshet  had  made 
crossing    by    ferry    impossible ;     so    the 


Main   Street,  Brunswick. 


452 


BRUNSWICK  AND  BOWDOIN  COLLEGE. 


bride  and  groom  stood  on  the  Topsham 
side  at  the  ferry-landing,  and  "  after  the 
bridegroom  and  bride  had  joined  hands, 
Mr.  Miller,  on  the  opposite  shore,  lifted 
up  his  voice,  and  in  a  speech  heard  dis- 
tinctly across  the  river,  pronounced  the 
twain  to  be  one  flesh."  Another  mar- 
riage is  worth  noticing  here  :  the  Misses 
Jones  of  Brunswick  were  twin  sisters,  and 
in  1825  married  the  Messrs.  Cole  of 
China,  who  were  twin  brothers. 


which  fell  out  of  a  cart  as  he  was  trying 
to  unload  it.  A  surgeon  was  sent  for, 
and  though  in  great  agony  Andrews  com- 
posed the  following  characteristic  lines : 

"  By  a  sudden  stroke  my  leg  is  broke, 
My  heart  is  sore  offended; 
The  doctor's  come  —  let's  have  some  rum, 
And  then  we'll  have  it  mended." 
Life  in  eighteenth   century  Brunswick 
was  by  no  means  a  merry  life.     Indian 
wars  were  too  numerous  for  any  tale  except 


Joseph    McKeen,    First   President  of  Bowdoin   College. 


Patience  Wallace  was  going  to  a  party 
one  night.  Her  hair  must  be  powdered. 
But  she  had  no  powder,  chalk,  or  flour ; 
so  she  took  some  unslacked  lime.  "  Dur- 
the  evening,"  her  historian  solemnly  re- 
lates, "  she  danced,  and  as  she  got  heated 
the  perspiration  slacked  the  lime,  which 
entirely  destroyed  the  hair.  She  never 
thereafter  had  any  hair." 

Before  the  days  of  temperance  socie- 
ties, rum  flowed  freely.  One  Andrews 
had  his  leg  broken  by  a  barrel   of  rum 


some  sad  story  about  the  kidnapping  of 
a  child  or  the  hairbreadth  escape  of  a 
party  of  fishermen.  The  wild  beasts, 
especially  wolves,  made  the  woods  dan- 
gerous. And  what  with  the  severe 
climate  and  the  Indian  raids,  starvation 
was  frequently  staring  the  settler  in  the 
face.  Happily,  however,  these  good  peo- 
ple found  great  comfort  in  their  religion. 
On  Sunday  every  one  went  to  "  meet- 
ing." The  sermon  was  so  long  that  the 
parson    had    to    pause    occasionally    and 


BRUNSWICK  AND  BOWDOIN  COLLEGE. 


453 


shout,  "Wake  up,  my  hearers!"     Even 
to-day    we  have  the   memorials  of  these 
pious    people     in    the     old    churchyard 
"midway    between     the     river    and    the 
sea,"  about  a  mile  south  of  the  present 
village.     This  has  been  a  graveyard  since 
1735.     Many  of  the  stones  are  crumbled 
and  broken,  and  the  words   thereon  are 
no  longer  legible.      But  the  passer  by  can 
still  read  the  names  of  a  few,  together  with 
the  verses  they  or  their  friends  composed. 
Let  me  quote  one  or  two  inscriptions  : 
"  Samuel  is  gone,  he  is  at  rest 
From  worldly  care,  pain,  and  distress. 
To  a  brighter  world  his  spirit's  fled, 
His  body  slumbers  with  the  dead." 

"The  grave  receives  the  incongruous  dust, 
The  spirit  lives  among  the  just; 
Where  youth  and  virtue  o'er  the  tomb 
Shall  triumph  in  immortal  bloom." 


As  one  stands  now  in  this  old  burying" 
ground,  sees  the  weeping  willows  or 
skulls  and  cross-bones  cut  on  the  gray 
stones  roundabout,  reads  the  inscriptions 
dreary,  yet  hopeful,  casts  the  eye  out 
over  the  sandy  plain  to  the  rugged  pines 
that  surround  the  plat  of  open  ground, 
catches  the  smell  of  the  cold  mist  blow- 
ing up  from  the  sea,  and  beholds  the  one 
lonely  house  near  by,  —  one  can  well 
imagine  what  the  sad  life  of  these  early 
settlers  was;  for  here  is  one  spot  in 
Brunswick  which  has  not  advanced  with 
the  century.  The  railroad  and  the  elec- 
tric lights,  the  colleges  and  the  mills  are 
a  mile  away,  and  about  them  is  the  new 
town. 

The  first  meeting-house  stood  in  front 
of  this    graveyard ;    before    it    were    the 


King      Chapel,  Bowdoin. 


'  Farewell  my  friends,  dry  up  your 
I  must  be  here  till  Christ  appears 


tears, 


"  How  blest  the  change  to  give  a  world  like  this 
For  robes  of  glory  and  a  crown  of  bliss." 

"  My  loving  friends,  as  you  pass  by, 
On  my  cold  grave  pray  cast  an  eye; 
Remember  as  I  am,  so  you  must  be, 
Prepare  to  die  and  follow  me." 

Beneath  these   last    lines   some  one  has 
cut  two  more  lines  : 

"  To  Follow  you  I'm  not  content, 
Until!  I  know  which  way  you  went." 


stocks,  and  behind,  the  whipping-post. 
At  the  north  of  the  graveyard  was  a 
pound  carefully  fenced  and  locked.  This 
meeting-house  was  never  warmed  by  a 
stove  or  fireplace,  though  sometimes  peo- 
ple carried  foot-stoves  to  meeting.  Dur- 
ing the  Revolution,  part  of  the  building 
was  used  as  a  powder  magazine.  Here 
until  1806  the  people  worshipped  on 
Sunday  and  held  town-meetings  on  an 
occasional  week-day.  In  1 806,  the  "  First 
Parish  "  built  its  meeting-house  near  the 


454 


BRUNSWICK  AND  BOWDOIN  COLLEGE. 


Lincoln   Street,  Brunswick. 


college,  and  the  old  building  was  aban- 
doned. Fire  destroyed  it  in  1834;  and 
now  a  single  house  and  the  graveyard 
alone  mark  the  centre  of  the  eighteenth 
century  village. 

With  the  new  century  came  a  new 
order  of  things  for  Brunswick;  for  in 
1802,  Bowdoin  College  was  opened,  to 
promote,  as  the  founders  said,  "virtue 
and  piety,  and  a  knowledge  of  the 
languages,  and  of  the  useful  and  liberal 
arts  and  sciences."  On  September  2,  a 
president  and  one  professor  were  in- 
augurated, and  the  next  day  eight  men 
were  admitted  to  the  freshman  class. 
The  single  building  of  the  college  was 
just  completed,  and  on  the  day  of  the  in- 
auguration was  named  Massachusetts  Hall. 
In  1806,  Bowdoin  held  her  first  com- 
mencement. People  came  from  all  parts 
of  the  great  commonwealth  of  Massachu- 
setts ;  they  came  as  to  a  militia  muster, 
one  writer  tells  us.  In  1807,  there  were 
forty-four  students,  the  library  had  fifteen 
hundred  volumes,  and  the  departments 
of  chemistry  and  physics  had  apparatus 
unexcelled  in  New  England,  except 
at  Harvard.  Prominent  graduates  of 
Harvard  showed  their  interest  and  ap- 
proval, and  the  college  was  looked  upon 
as  one  of  Harvard's  children.  The  Hon. 
James  Bowdoin,  the  earliest  patron  of 
the  college,   died  in  181 1,  and  bestowed 


upon  the  college  his  valuable  library  of 
two  thousand  volumes,  many  minerals 
and  curiosities,  and  a  priceless  collection 
of  paintings,  engravings,  and  original 
sketches  by  the  masters,  collected  in 
Europe. 

The  first  president  of  Bowdoin  was  the 
Rev.  Joseph  McKeen.  He  was  a  man  of 
learning  and  judgment,  and  did  much  to 
start  the  new  institution  rightly.  He 
built  a  picturesque  cottage  near  by,  which 
still  stands  as  the  home  of  two  of  his 
grandchildren.  He  died  in  1807,  and 
was  succeeded  by  the  Rev.  Jesse  Apple- 
ton,  a  graduate  of  Dartmouth,  and  a 
famous  theologian  in  his  day.  Mr. 
Appleton  served  the  college  with  great 
faithfulness  till  his  death  in  18 19,  when 
the  Rev.  William  Allen  was  chosen  presi- 
dent.    He  was  inaugurated  in  May,  1820. 


This  year  was  marked  by  important 
changes,  owing  to  the  fact  that  at  this 
time  Maine  became  a  state.  The  Maine 
Medical  School  was  founded  in  connec- 
tion with  the  college,  and  through  the 
new  president's  energy  was  within  a  year 
in  great  prosperity. 

But  these  early  years  of  President 
Allen's  administration  are  interesting  to 
people  at  large  for  far  different  reasons 
than  those  that  seemed  so  important  at 
the  time.  In  1820,  Franklin  Pierce  en- 
tered Bowdoin  to  meet  William  Pitt  Fes- 


BRUNSWICK  AND  BOWDOIN  COLLEGE. 


455 


senden  as  a  sophomore.  Calvin  Ellis 
Stowe  was  also  a  freshman  in  1820.  The 
next  year  the  illustrious 
class  of  25  entered  ;  among 
its  members  were  John  S. 
C.  Abbott,  James  Brad- 
bury, Horatio  Bridge, 
George  B.  Cheever, 
Jonathan  Cilley,  Nathaniel 
Hawthorne,  and  Henry  W. 
Longfellow.  We  must 
therefore,  turn  aside  a 
moment  to  inquire  more 
particularly  what  Bow- 
doin College  was  in  the 
days  of  these  interesting 
men,  —  in  the  days  be- 
tween 1820  and  1825. 

And  first,  how  did  the 
college  look  ?  "  The  col- 
lege buildings  at  this  time 
(1821),"  says  an  author- 
ity, "were  three  in  num- 
ber, arranged  to  form  the  Longfellow's 
three  sides  of  a  square, 
but  at  suitable  intervals  from  each  other. 
The  southern  building  was  of  wood,  and 
two  stories  high.  The  lower  apartment 
contained  the  library,  consisting  at  that 
time  of  about  six  thousand  volumes. 
The  building  on  the  north  was  a  large 
square  brick  building,  three  stories  high, 
divided  into  apartments  for  philosophi- 
cal apparatus,  laboratory,  mineralogical 
cabinet,  etc.  The  eastern  building  was 
of  brick  and  was  four  stories  high, 
and  contained  thirty-two  rooms  for  stu- 
dents. In  1822,  an  additional  building, 
Winthrop  Hall,  was  erected  for  dormi- 
tories." These  buildings,  severely  plain, 
stood  in  a  beautiful  grove.  To  the  east 
there  is  still  a  multitude  of  "  whispering 
pines  "  which  the  graduate  never  forgets. 

But  more  important  than  the  buildings 
are  the  teachers.  I  have  already  men- 
tioned President  Allen.  A  graduate  from 
Harvard  in  the  noted  class  of  1802,  a 
pupil  in  theology  of  the  Rev.  Dr.  Pierce 
of  Brookline,  the  orator  of  the  Harvard 
Phi  Beta  Kappa  in  18 10,  a  successful 
preacher  at  Pittsneld,  and  the  acceptable 
president  of  the  short-lived  Dartmouth 
University,  he  was  "  vigilant  and  efficient 
as  a  college  officer"  at  Bowdoin,  and 
"  by  example,  by  precept,  by  action  when 


necessary,  he  inculcated  order  and  good 
morals."  The  professors  were  Parker 
Cleveland,  Samuel  P.  New- 
man, Nathan  Smith,  and 
John  D.  Wells.  John 
Abbot  was  librarian,  and 
Alpheus  S.  Packard  and 
Benjamin  Hale  were  tutors. 
The  great  name  in  this 
list  is  undoubtedly  that  of 
Parker  Cleaveland,  "  Pro- 
fessor of  Mathematics, 
Natural  Philosophy,  Chem- 
istry,and  Materia  Medica." 
Graduated  from  Harvard 
in  1803,  he  returned  to 
Cambridge  as  a  tutor.  But 
in  1805  the  new-born  col- 
lege in  Maine  offered  him 
the  first  professorship  of 
mathematics  and  natural 
philosophy,  and  he  came 
to  Bowdoin.  He  became 
an  original  investigator  in 
the  natural  sciences,  and 
was  recognized  both  at  home  and  abroad. 
He  never  became  so  prominent  as  his 
genius  deserved,  on  account  of  his 
abundant  caution.     "  So  far  from  ventur- 


ers Picture. 


Henry  W.  Longfellow  at  the  Age  of  Thirty-five. 

ing  across   the  Atlantic,"  a  friend   once 
wrote,  "  he  would  not  cross  a  river  except 


456 


BRUNSWICK  AND  BOWDOIN  COLLEGE. 


} 


The  Cabot  Cotton  Mills,  Brunswick. 


by  a  bridge,  and  then  only  after  a  careful 
investigation  of  its  strength.  As  to  steam- 
boat and  railway  travel,  he  is  more  in- 
nocent of  it  than  many  a  child  unborn," 
So  he  gave  his  idiosyncrasies,  his  knowl- 
edge, his  inspiring  example  of  promptness, 
faithfulness,  and  untiring  research  to  the 
generations  of  Bowdoin  students,  of  whom, 
it  is  reckoned,  no  less  than  two  thousand 
were  in  his  classes.  He  died  in  1858, 
after  serving  Bowdoin  for  more  than  half 
a  century.  Graduates  of  Bowdoin  have 
delighted  to  draw  his  picture  and  sing 
his    praise.       In    one    of  Mr.    Kellogg's 


Town   Hall,  Brunswick. 


clever  books  there  is  a  chapter  devoted 
to  him.  Mr.  Kellogg  assures  us  that 
"  there  was  no  lack  of  projections  to 
which  affections  might  cling  and  around 
which  associations  clustered  ;  "  the  epithet 
"Old  Cleve  "  was  the  most  dearly  be- 
loved in  the  college.  If  he  had  a  good 
chance,  when  lecturing  on  hydraulics,  he 
was  sure  "  to  souse  those  on  the  front 
seats,  to  send  a  stream  down  the  throat 
of  some  one  who  chanced  to  have  his 
mouth  open,  or  into  his  eyes  if  he  wore 
the  appearance  of  having  been  out  late 
the  night  before."  The  town-people 
loved  him,  too,  for  while  at 
the  height  of  his  fame  he 
was  captain  of  the  fire  com- 
pany and  "  held  the  hose  at 
every  fire." 

"Although  the  professor 
would  work  for  weeks,"  says 
Mr.  Kellogg,  "  amid  the 
most  deadly  poisons  and  ex- 
plosive gases,  he  cherished 
a  mortal  dread  of  lightning 
or  a  thunder  shower,  and 
the  prospect  of  one  near  the 
hour  of  recitation  always 
signified  an  adjournment. 
The  students  said  it  was 
because  he  knew  so  much 
about  it ;  some  few,  indeed, 
cherished  grave  doubts  as 
to  his  getting  into  the  mid- 
dle of  a  featherbed  or  a 
hogshead  of  water  up  to  his 
chin  for  fear  of  the  light- 
ning;   but    they    were   be- 


BRUNSWICK  AND  BOWDOIN  COLLEGE. 


457 


nighted    freshmen,  and    what    could   you 
expect?  " 

He  was  also  terribly  afraid  of  dogs, 
and  so  seldom  went  out  at  night.  "  Upon 
one  occasion,  while  escorting  two  young 
ladies,  he  espied  a 
dog  in  the  distance, 
and  leaving  them  to 
the  protection  of  a 
kind  Providence  (in 
which  he  cherished 
the  most  implicit 
confidence)  took  to 
his  heels." 

He  was  kind- 
hearted  and  won 
the  affection  of  the 
scared  freshman  at 
his  entrance  exami- 
nation, and  kept  it 
forever. 

" '  Richardson, ' 
said  the  professor, 
'  what  is  the  capital 
of  the  United  States?' 

"Richardson's  lips  moved,  his  eyes 
starting  from  their  sockets,  but  never  a 
word  could  he  utter.  As  th°  professor 
looked  upon  the  face  of  th>  beautiful 
boy,  in  which  there  was  a  world  of  in- 
telligence, he  perceived  the  difficulty. 

"-'Wash,  wash,'  whispered  Cleve. 

" '  Washington  !  '  burst  from  the  lips  of 
Richardson,  like  a  round  shot  from  a  gun. 


of  a  friend,  answered  the  remaining  ques- 
tions promptly.  Do  you  think  Richard- 
son ever  forgot  that?  " 

Professor  Cleveland  had  nothing  to  do 
with    college    discipline.       He    was    too 


House  in  which   Uncle  Tom's  Cabin  was  written,  Brunswick. 

much  afraid  of  dogs  to  go  to  a  bonfire ; 
and  he  cared  not  whether  the  chapel  bell 
were  thrown  into  the  Androscoggin  or 
not,  so  long  as  the  day  was  cle^v,  ?'witii 
no  white  floating  clouds  to  v.erfere  with 
his  lecture  on  light."  ne  could,  how- 
ever, be  severe.  For  instance,  he  never 
allowed  a  student  to  say  unprepared. 
"One  morning,"  Mr.  Kellogg  tells  us, 
"  Hathaway  said, '  Unprepared,  sir.'     In- 


Up  the  Androscoggin. 


"  <  What's  the  capital  of  Canada? ' 
"  Bothered  again. 
"'Que,  Que/  whispered  Cleve. 
"The   boy,    now   encouraged    by   the 
consciousness  that  he  was  in  the  presence 


stant  as  the  lightning's  flash,  Old  Cleve's 
eyes  turned  as  green  as  an  enraged  tiger's, 
his  stern,  massive  features  flushed,  he  ex- 
claimed in  tones  that  made  the  whole 
class  tremble,  and  almost  annihilated  the 


458 


BRUNSWICK  AND  BOWDOIN  COLLEGE. 


Professor  Cleveland. 

delinquent,  'What's  that  you  say?'  It 
was  the  first  and  last  time  that  Hathaway 
or  any  member  of  that  class  said  unpre- 
pared to  him. 

He  also  demanded  promptness.  "  Was 
a  student  late,  the  moment  the  door 
opened  he  stopped  short ;  there  was  an 
awful  pause ;  fixing  his  eyes  on  the  in- 
dividual, he  continued  to  look  at  him  till 
he  had  taken  his  seat,  and  for  some 
moments  after,  causing  that  unhappy  per- 
son to  feel  as  small  as  can  be  imagined." 

This  was  the  man 
who  stayed  at  Bow- 
doin  while  all  things 
else  changed.  The 
graduate  returning 
after  long  years  at 
some  Commencement 
season,  looked  in  vain 
for  this  or  that  picture 
drawn  on  the  walls  of 
his  old  room  or  carved 
on  his  door,  but  he 
was  always  sure  to 
meet  Professor  Cleve- 
land "  before  the  door 
of  old  Massachusetts 
on  Commencement 
morning,  who,  the 
moment  his  eye  rested 
upon  his  face,  would 


grasp  his  hand  and  call  him  by 
name."  We  can  see  how  this 
funny,  manly  man  influenced  the 
humor  of  Hawthorne.  And  Long- 
fellow was  inspired  by  him  we  know 
from  his  own  sonnet,  written  on  a 
visit  to  Brunswick  fifty  years  after 
his  graduation  : 

"  Among  the  many  lives  that  I  have  known, 
None  1  remember  more  serene  and  sweet, 
More  rounded  in  itself  and  more  com- 
plete, 
Than  his,  who  lies  beneath  this  funeral 

stone. 
These  pines  that  murmur  in  low  mono- 
tone, 
These  walks  frequented  by  scholastic  feet, 
Were  all  his  world;    but    in   this  calm 

retreat 
For  him  the  Teacher's  chair  became  a 

throne. 
With  fond  affection  memory  loves  to  dwell 
On  the  old  days,  when  his  example  made 
A  pastime  of  the  toil  of  tongue  and  pen; 
And  now,  amid  the  groves  he  loved  so 
well, 
That  naught  could  lure  him  from  their  grateful 

shade, 
He  sleeps;  but  wakes  elsewhere,  for  God  hath 
said,  Amen  !  " 


The  other  distinguished  name  in  this 
list  of  Bowdoin  instructors  is  Alpheus 
Spring  Packard.  A  tutor  from  1819,  he 
was  made  a  full  professor  in  1824,  and 
held  successively  the  chairs  of  Greek  and 
Latin,  of  Rhetoric  and  Oratory,  and  of 
Natural  and  Revealed  Religion.  After 
the  resignation  of  President  Chamberlain 


Massachusetts  Hall,  Bowdoin 


BRUNSWICK  AND  BOWDOIN  COLLEGE. 


459 


in  1883,  Mr.  Packard  held  the  office  of 
acting-president  till  his  death.  His  saintli- 
ness  and  learning  made  him  the  idol  of  the 
sons  of  Bowdoin.  Indeed,  he  held  almost 
the  same  place 
at  Bowdoin  that 
Dr.  Andrew  Pea- 
body  still  holds  at  /^"^^' 
Harvard.  Though 
the  students  felt 
his  goodness  and 
purity  unap- 
proachable, he  en- 
deared himself  to 
them  by  his  con- 
stant kindness  and 
consistent  living. 
When  Mr.  Long- 
fellow delivered 
his  "Morituri 
Salutamus"  to  his 
old  class  in  1875, 
he  speaks  of  Pro- 
fessor Packard  as 
their  only  surviv- 
ing teacher : 

"  They  are  no  longer  here ;    they  all  are  gone 
Into  the  land  of  shadows  —  all  save  one. 
Honor,  and  reverence,  and  the  good  repute 
That  follows  faithful  service  as  its  fruit, 
Be  unto  him  whom  living  we  salute." 

In  1824,  the  faculty  of  Bowdoin  was 
adorned  by  a  new  professor  of  meta- 
physics and  moral  philosophy,  Thomas 
Upham.  He  published  many  books,  and 
was  at  one  time  prominently  before  the 
philosophical  and  religious  world.  Cal- 
vin Stowe  became  librarian  the  last  year 
Longfellow  was  in  college.  William 
Smyth,  then  a  tutor  in  the  mathematics, 
became  a  full  professor  in  1828.  He 
was  philanthropic  and  interested  himself 
greatly  in  the  public  schools  of  Bruns- 
wick, which  are  now  worthily  of  good  re- 
pute. 

One  can  now  have  some  idea  of  the 
instruction  Longfellow  and  Hawthorne 
received  at  Bowdoin.  The  year  they  en- 
tered college  there  were  49  medical  stu- 
dents, 24  senior  sophisters,  36  junior 
sophisters,  20  sophomores,  and  38  fresh- 
men, making  a  total  of  167.  In  1825 
the  total  had  increased  to  190.  Of 
course,  the  dormitories  were  insufficient 
for  this  number,  and  then,  as  now,  many 


of  the  students  roomed  at  private  houses. 
Hawthorne  roomed  outside  the  college 
yard  during  his  whole  course ;  the 
brothers  Longfellow  had  a  college  room 


The  Oldest  House  in   Brunswick. 

the  last  two  years.  As  for  the  appear- 
ance of  Bowdoin  students  at  this  time, 
let  me  quote  from  Hawthorne's  "  Fan- 
shawe  "  : 

"  From  the  exterior  of  the  collegians  an  ac- 
curate observer  might  pretty  safely  judge  how 
long  they  had  been  inmates  of  those  classic  walls. 
The  brown  cheeks  and  the  rustic  dress  of  some 
would  inform  him  that  they  had  but  recently  left 
the  plough  to  labor  in  a  not  less  toilsome  field. 
The  grave  look,  and  the  intermingling  of  gar- 
ments of  a  more  classic  cut,  would  distinguish 
those  who  had  begun  to  acquire  the  polish  of 
their  new  residence;  and  the  air  of  superiority, 
the  paler  cheek,  the  less  robust  form,  the  spec- 
tacles of  green,  and  the  dress,  in  general  of 
threadbare  black,  would  designate  the  highest 
class  who  were  understood  to  have  acquired 
nearly  all  the  science  their  Alma  Mater  could 
bestow,  and  to  be  on  the  point  of  assuming  their 
stations  in  the  world.  ...  A  few  young  men  had 
found  their  way  hither  from  the  distant  seaports; 
and  these  were  the  models  of  fashion  to  their 
rustic  companions,  over  whom  they  asserted  a 
superiority  in  exterior  accomplishments,  which 
the  fresh,  though  unpolished,  intellect  of  the 
sons  of  the  forest  denied  them  in  their  literary 
competitions.  A  third  class,  differing  widely  from 
both  the  former,  consisted  of  a  few  young  de- 
scendants of  the  aborigines,  to  whom  an  unprac- 
ticable  philanthropy  was  endeavoring  to  impart 
the  benefits  of  civilization. 

"  If  this  institution  did  not  offer  all  the  advan- 
tages of  elder  and  prouder  seminaries,  its  de- 
ficiencies were  compensated  to  its  students  by  the 


460 


BRUNSWICK  AND  BOWJDOIN  COLLEGE, 


Woodlawn,  Brunswick. 


inculcation  of  regular  habits,  and  of  a  deep  and 
awful  sense  of  religion,  which  seldom  deserted 
them  in  their  course  through  life.  The  mild  and 
gentle  rule  was  more  destructive  to  vice  than  a 
sterner  sway;  and,  though  youth  is  never  without 
its  follies,  they  have  seldom  been  more  harmless 
than  they  were  here.  The  students,  indeed, 
ignorant  of  their  own  bliss,  sometimes  wished  to 
hasten  the  time  of  their  entrance  on  the  business 
of  life;  but  they  found,  in  after  years,  that  many 
of  their  happiest  remembrances,  many  of  the 
scenes  which  they  would  with  least  reluctance 
live  over  again,  referred  to  the  seat  of  their  early 
studies." 

It  may  be  interesting  to  glance  at 
Longfellow  as  he  was  at  Bowdoin.  His 
classmate,  Mr.  Bradbury,  speaks  of  "  his 
slight,  erect  figure,  delicate  complexion, 
and  intelligent  expression  of  counte- 
nance."    Another  classmate  writes  : 

"  I  remember  him  distinctly  as  of  fresh,  youth- 
ful appearance,  as  uniformly  regular  and  studious 
in  his  habits,  rather  disinclined  to  general  inter- 
course, maintaining  a  high  rank  as  a  scholar,  and 
distinguished,  especially  for  the  excellence  of  his 
compositions." 

Another  at  first  thought  him  unsocial ; 
"  but  first  acquaintance,"  he  says,  "  showed 


to  me  that  what  I  had  mistaken  for  in- 
difference, and  an  unwillingness  to  form 
new  friendships,  was  merely  a  natural 
modesty.  I  soon  found  him  to  be  one 
of  the  truest  of  friends."  "  In  his  recita- 
tions," says  still  another  classmate,  "he 
was  rather  slow  of  speech,  and  appeared 
absorbed,  but  was  almost  always  correct,, 
if  not  always.'"  "He  was  always  a 
gentleman  in  his  deportment,"  Mr.  Brad- 
bury testifies  again,  "  and  a  model  in  his 
character  and  habits.  .  .  .  As  a  scholar, 
Longfellow  always  maintained  a  high 
rank  in  a  class  that  contained  such 
names  as  Hawthorne,  Little,  Cilley, 
Cheever,  Abbott,  and  others.  Although 
he  was  supposed  to  be  somewhat  devoted 
to  the  muses,  he  never  came  to  the  recita- 
tion-room unprepared  with  his  lesson." 

While  in  college,  Longfellow  con- 
tributed several  poems  to  the  literary 
papers  of  Boston,  but  received  no  com- 
pensation beyond  a  year's  subscription 
and  a  copy  of  Coleridge's  Poems.  He 
was  assigned  a  commencement  oration, 
and  took  for  his  subject  "  Native  Writers." 


BRUNSWICK  AND  BOWBOIN  COLLEGE, 


461 


Just  before  leaving  college  he  had  his 
picture  taken,  as  did  all  his  classmates, 
except  the  obstinate  Hawthorne.  There 
being  no  photographers  in  the  world  as 
yet,  a  "silhouette  artist"  was  found,  and 
he  produced  the  "  class  pictures."  Long- 
fellow was  only  nineteen  when  he  grad- 
uated, but  at  the  senior  examination  he 
made  a  translation  from  Horace  that  so 
delighted  an  influential  trustee,  that  he 
was  recommended  for  the  chair  of  Modern 
Languages;  and  in  1829,  after  study  in 
Europe,  he  returned  to  Bowdoin  as  a 
teacher. 

Hawthorne  was  very  different  from  the 
studious  Longfellow.  It  is  true  both 
loved  to  wander  through  the  woods  and 
along  the  river,  and  neither  cared  much 
for  fishing  or  gunning,  or  any  of  the 
usual  pastimes  of  the  Bowdoin  student  of 
that  day.  During  his  college  career 
Hawthorne,  too,  wrote  verses;  but,  so 
far  as  they  are  known,  critics  do  not  re- 
gret that  Hawthorne  gave  up  trying  to 
be  a  poet.     Here  is  a  stanza  : 

"  The  ocean  hath  its  silent  eaves, 
Deep,  quiet  and  alone. 
Though  there  be  fury  on  the  waves, 
Beneath  them  there  is  none." 

But  Hawthorne  was  notably  a  poor 
scholar,  insomuch  that  he  was  one  of  the 
twelve  who  received  no  commencement 
parts  in  1825.  He  did  two  things  well. 
however :  he  wrote  elegant  Latin  and 
elegant  English. 

His  classmate  Bradbury  wrote  in  1882  : 

"  Hawthorne  (then  spelt  Hathorne)  was  in 
college  a  peculiar  and  rather  remarkable  young 
man, —  shy,  retiring,  fond  of  general  reading,  busy 
with  his  own  thoughts,  and  usually  alone  or  with 
one  or  two  of  his  special  friends,  Pierce  (after- 
wards president),  and  Horatio  Bridge  of  Augusta." 

In  his  prefatory  note  to  the  Snow 
Image,  he  thus  addresses  Mr.  Bridge  : 

"If  anybody  is  responsible  at  this  day  for  my 
being  an  author,  it  is  yourself  I  know  not 
whence  your  faith  came ;  but  while  we  were  lads 
together  at  a  country  college  —  gathering  blueber- 
ries in  study  hours  under  those  tall  Academic 
pines;  or  watching  the  great  logs  as  they  tumbled 
along  the  current  of  the  Androscoggin;  or  shoot- 
ing pigeons  and  gray  squirrels  in  the  woods ;  or 
bat-fowling  in  the  summer  twilight;  or  catching 
trout  in  that  shadowy  little  stream,  which  I  sup- 
pose is  still  wandering  riverward  through  the  for- 
est —  though  you  and  I  will  never  cast  a  line  in  it 
again  —  two  idle  lads,  in  short  (as  we   need  not 


fear  to  acknowledge  now),  doing  a  hundred  things 
the  faculty  never  heard  of,  or  else  it  had  been 
worse  for  us  —  still  it  was  your  prognostic  of  your 
friend's  destiny  that  he  was  to  be  a  writer  of  fic- 
tion." 

He  played  cards  and  drank  a  little 
wine,  but  never,  I  think,  did  anything 
disgraceful;  though  the  president  wrote 
to  Mrs.  Hawthorne  concerning  her  son's 
bad  habits,  saying  that  now  that  a  certain 
student  had  been  sent  home,  her  son 
would  have  no  further  temptation ;  at 
which  insinuation,  Hawthorne  was  indig- 
nant, and  wrote  to  his  sister : 

"  I  have  a  great  mind  to  commence  playing 
again,  merely  to  show  him  that  I  scorn  to  be  se- 
duced by  another  into  anything  wrong.  Ever 
since  my  misfortune,  I  have  been  as  steady  as  a 
sign-post,  and  as  sober  as  a  deacon;  have 
been  in  no  '  blows  '  this  term,  nor  drank  any  kind 
of  '  wine  or  strong  drink.'  So  that  your  compari- 
son of  me  to  the  *  prodigious  son  '  will  hold  good 
in  nothing,  except  that  I  shall  probably  return 
penniless,  for  I  have  had  no  money  this  six 
weeks." 

One  may  be  interested   to  know  how 


The  First   Meeting-House   in   Brunswick. 

Hawthorne  took  part  in  these  '  blows.' 
It  is  said  that  much  as  he  enjoyed  being 
present  at  these  festal  scenes, 

"  he  never  told  a  story  nor  sang  a  song.  His  voice 
was  never  heard  in  any  shout  of  merriment :  but 
the  silent  beaming  smile  would  testify  to  his  keen 
appreciation  of  the  scene,  and  to  his  enjoyment 
of  the  wit.  He  would  sit  for  a  whole  evening  with 
head  gently  inclined  to  one  side,  hearing  every 
word,  seeing  every  gesture,  and  yet  scarcely  a 
word  would  pass  his  lips." 

Jonathan  Cilley  used  to  say  of  his 
college  mate  :  "  I  love  Hawthorne  ;  I 
admire  him  ;  but  I  do  not  know  him.     He 


462 


BRUNSWICK  AND  BOWDOIN  COLLEGE. 


lives  in  a  mysterious  world  of  thought 
and  imagination  which  he  never  permits 
me  to  enter." 

Professor  Packard,  his  old  teacher, 
wrote  a  few  years  ago  that  if  he  had  the 
gift  of  the  pencil  he  could  portray  Haw- 
thorne "  as  he  looked  in  the  recitation- 
room  of  those  days, —  with  the  same 
shy,  gentle  bearing,  black,  drooping,  full 
inquisitive  eye,  and  low,  musical  voice, 
that  he  ever  had." 

Hawthorne  was  very  handsome.  His 
long,  black,  wavy  hair,  his  heavy  eye- 
brows, his  deep,  beautiful  eyes,  and  his 
regular  features  and  graceful  figure  made 
him  the  Apollo  of  the  college.  It  is  re- 
lated that  one  day  while  he  was  wander- 
ing through  a  woodland  path  in  Bruns- 
wick, an  old  gypsy  woman  gazed  at  him 
admiringly,  and  exclaimed,  "  Are  you  a 
man  or  an  angel?  " 

Linked  with  Hawthorne's  name,  his 
friend  Franklin  Pierce  must  be  men- 
tioned. Fortunately,  I  may  use  Haw- 
thorne's own  sentences  from  a  biography 
of  Pierce  written  during  his  campaign 
for  the  presidency.  Speaking  of  him  as 
he  was  in  college,  Hawthorne  writes  : 

"  He  was  then  a  youth,  with  the  boy  and  man 
in  him,  vivacious,  mirthful,  slender,  of  a  fair  com- 
plexion, with  light  hair  that  had  a  curl  in  it. 
Pierce's  class  (1824)  was  small,  but  composed  of 
individuals  seriously  intent  on  the  duties  and 
studies  of  their  college  life.  Their  first  scholar, — 
the  present  Professor  Stowe, —  has  long  since  es- 
tablished his  rank  among  the  first  scholars  of  the 
country." 

Hawthorne  then  points  out  that  Pierce 
studied  as  little  as  possible ;  and  when 
the  first  official  standing  was  ascertained 
in  the  junior  year,  lo  !  Frank  Pierce  was 
precisely  at  the  foot  !  He  was  so  morti- 
fied that  he  tried  to  get  himself  expelled  ; 
but  the  president  was  surprisingly  lenient, 
and  took  no  notice  of  his  repeated 
"  cuts."  Pierce  gaining  a  better  frame 
of  mind  meanwhile,  determined  to  atone 
for  the  past.  He  studied  early  and  late, 
gave  up  time-taking  frivolity,  though  as 
jolly  as  ever ;  and  in  the  end  graduated 
third  in  his  class.  And  here  Mr.  Haw- 
thorne draws  the  moral  that  he  himself 
did  not  see  fit  to  follow  as  a  collegian. 

It  would  be  interesting  to  glance  at 
the  college  days  of  William  Pitt  Fessen- 
den,  of  whom  the  words  are  quoted  : 


"  He  was  a  scholar,  and  a  ripe  and  good  one, 
Exceeding  wise,  fair-spoken,  and  pervading; 
Lofty  and  sour  to  those  who  loved  him  not, 
But  to  those  men  who  sought  him,  sweet  as  sum- 
mer." 

No  less  interesting  is  the  record  of 
Calvin  Stowe  —  "  witty,  brilliant,  popu- 
lar, and  withal,  an  acknowledged  and  con- 
sistent Christian."  Then  there  are  the 
brothers  Abbott,  Bradbury,  Little,  and 
many  others  that  one  might  dwell  on  till 
a  volume  was  made  ;  but  we  must  pass  to 
the  later  days  of  Bowdoin. 

Mr.  Longfellow's  term  as  professor  of 
modern  languages  lasted  from  1829  to 
1835,  when  he  accepted  the  choice  of 
belles-lettres  at  Harvard,  which  Mr.  Tick- 
nor  had  just  resigned.  Daniel  R.  Good- 
win took  the  place  at  Bowdoin,  and  re- 
mained till  his  election  as  President  of 
Trinity  College,  in  1853.  In  1839,  Presi- 
dent Allen  resigned,  and  the  Reverend 
Leonard  Woods  was  elected  as  his  succes- 
sor. Mr.  Woods  was  admired  as  a  scholar 
and  as  a  gentleman.  People  in  Bruns- 
wick tell  to-day  of  his  wonderful  conver- 
sational power, —  when,  as  at  a  dinner 
party,  the  guests  would  refrain  from  talk- 
ing, even  from  eating,  that  they  might  en- 
joy to  the  full  the  doctor's  "  flow  of 
thought." 

It  was  during  Dr.  Woods's  administra- 
tion that  the  beautiful  King  Chapel 
was  built.  It  is  a  granite  structure  in  the 
Romanesque  style,  graced  by  twin  spires. 
The  interior  is  finished  in  black  walnut, 
with  stalls  facing  from  opposite  sides,  like 
an  English  choir ;  and  the  walls  are  dec- 
orated with  elaborate  fresco  by  German 
artists.  The  panels  on  the  walls  have 
since  been  filled,  through  the  generosity 
of  individuals,  as  memorials.  The  sub- 
jects on  one  side  are  drawn  from  the  Old 
Testament ;  on  the  other,  from  the  New. 
One  of  the  paintings  is  a  copy  of  the 
famous  picture  of  St.  Michael's  triumph 
over  the  devil.  The  artist  was  about  to 
put  his  last  stroke  to  the  picture  one  Sat- 
urday night ;  but  the  light  failed  him,  and 
he  had  to  stop  work.  He  was  anxious  to 
go  away  Sunday,  so  he  went  to  President 
Woods  to  ask  him  if  he  might  finish  the 
painting  Sunday  morning.  "  Ah  !  "  said 
the  gentle  president,  "  wouldn't  that  look 
as  if  the  devil  were  getting  the  upper 
hand?" 


BRUNSWICK  AND  BOWDOIN  COLLEGE. 


463 


William   DeWitt  Hyde,  President  of  Bowdoin  College. 


In  1850,  Calvin  E.  Stowe  was  elected 
to  the  chair  of  Natural  and  Revealed  Re- 
ligion, just  founded;  and  in  1856,  Egbert 
C.  Smyth  was  made  professor  of  rhetoric 
and  elocution.  After  Professor  Good- 
win's resignation  in  1853,  Charles  Carroll 
Everett,  a  Bowdoin  graduate,  became 
professor  of  modern  languages.  But  he 
soon  accepted  a  call  to  Harvard,  where 
he  now  does  honor  to  Bowdoin  as  a  bril- 
liant philosopher.  So  teachers  came  and 
went.  And  when  the  war  broke  out, 
Bowdoin  did  her  full  share.  Professor 
Chamberlain  resigned  the  chair  of  mod- 
ern languages  to  take  his  place  in  the 
army;  but  he  was  granted  only  leave 
of  absence.     Coming  back  in  1865  with 


the  reputation  of  a  "  dashing  general," 
he  became  professor  of  rhetoric  and  ora- 
tory; but  in  1866  he  was  made  governor 
of  Maine,  and  so  again  resigned. 

In  1865,  the  alumni  of  the  college 
voted  to  build  a  Memorial  Hall,  in  honor  of 
the  college  men  who  died  in  the  war.  The 
building,  now  completed,  is  a  severe  gran- 
ite building,  presenting  but  little  architec- 
tural beauty ;  but  its  rigid  plainness  fitly 
represents  the  sturdy  bravery  of  the  sons 
of  Bowdoin  who  fought  for  the  Union. 
Its  walls  are  hung  with  the  portraits  of 
the  Bowdoin  family,  of  the  presidents  of 
the  college,  and  of  distinguished  alumni ; 
and  a  bust  of  Longfellow  is  placed  above 
the  platform  of  the  assembly-room. 


464 


BRUNSWICK  AND  BOWDOIN  COLLEGE. 


: 


lift--, 


Joshua   L.   Chamberlain,    Ex-President  of  Bowdoin   College. 


President  Woods  resigned  in  1866,  and 
was  succeeded  by  the  Reverend  Samuel 
Harris,  of  the  class  of  1833.  Mr.  Har- 
ris, in  turn,  was  followed  by  "  the  eminent 
scholar,  civilian,  and  general,"  Ex-Gover- 
nor Chamberlain.  With  his  administra- 
tion, the  college  was  re-organized  :  a  sci- 
entific department  came  into  being,  and 
new  professorships  were  founded. 

It  would  be  useless  to  mention  the 
other  learned  men  who  have  taught  at 
Bowdoin ;  for  I  could  barely  say  their 
names.  Among  those  of  late  years  are 
Professor  Goodale,  now  at  Harvard  ;  Pro- 
fessor Charles  H.  Smith,  now  at  Yale  ; 
and  Professor  John  Avery,  whose  knowl- 
edge of  the  languages  and  history  of  the 
East  was  profound. 


Eighteen  hundred  and  seventy-five 
was  one  of  Bowdoin's  great  years; 
for  then  the  class  of  1825  celebrated 
the  fiftieth  anniversary  of  their  grad- 
uation. Eleven  of  the  thirteen  sur- 
viving members  were  present.  The  after- 
noon before  commencement,  they  held 
their  exercises,  which  consisted  of  prayer 
by  John  S.  C.  Abbott,  a  poem  by  Henry 
W.  Longfellow,  and  an  address  by  George 
B.  Cheever.  Mr.  Longfellow's  poem, — 
Morituri  Salutamus, —  has  been  judged 
by  some  critics,  the  noblest  poem  extant 
on  old  age.  Thus  he  addresses  the  col- 
lege : 

"  O  ye  familiar  scenes, —  ye  groves  of  pine, 
That  once  were  mine,  and  are  no  longer  mine: 
Thou  river,  widening  through  the  meadows  green 


BRUNSWICK  AND  BOWDOIN  COLLEGE. 


465. 


To  the  vast  sea  so  near,  and  yet  unseen; 

Ye  halls,  in  whose  seclusion  and  repose 

Fhantoms  of  fame,  like  exhalations,  rose 

And  vanished, —  we  who  are  to  die 

Salute  you;   earth  and  air,  and  sea  and  sky, 

And  the  imperial  sun  that  scatters  down 

His  sovereign  splendors  upon  grove  and  town." 

After  President  Chamberlain's  resigna- 
tion in  1883,  Professor  Alpheus  S.  Pack- 
ard was  acting  president  till  his  death. 
In  1885  William  DeWitt  Hyde,  Harvard 
'79,  was  elected  president  of  the  college. 
He  was  then  only  twenty-six  years  old ; 


F  " 


Chief  Justice  Fuller. 

and  still  has  the  honor,  I  believe,  of  being 
the  youngest  college-president  in  Amer- 
ica. The  faculty,  too,  is  made  up  of 
young  men :  the  senior  member,  Henry 
L.  Chapman,  professor  of  English,  being 
only  forty-six.  Accordingly,  while  the 
work  of  the  college  is  conducted  on  the 
well-tried  principles  of  the  past,  the  fresh 
life  of  young  teachers  makes  the  conser- 
vatism progressive. 

In  the  early  part  of  the  century,  the 
hatred  between  the  college  students  and 
the  town-boys,  called  "Yaggers,"  was 
intense ;  so  that  of  an  evening  influential 
citizens  would  be  called  out  to  put  down 


a  "  Yagger  War."  The  violence  has  en- 
tirely passed  away ;  but  the  distinction 
is  still  sharply  kept. 

An  important  institution  peculiar  to 
Bowdoin  is  the  college  jury.  This  happy 
organization  was  suggested  by  the  ingen- 
ious Professor  Charles  H.  Smith.  It  con- 
sists of  representatives  from  the  classes 
and  fraternities.  When  any  fences  have, 
been  destroyed  to  build  a  college  bonfire, 
the  jury  meets  to  decide  who  shall  pay 
for  a  new  fence.  If  it  is  the  night  for 
a  sophomore  celebration,  and  it  is 
■  known  that  none  but  sophomores  took 
I  part,  the  expense  of  the  good  time  is 
divided  among  the  sophomores,  and 
an  extra  dollar  or  two  is  added  to  the 
next  term  bill  of  each.  Of  course, 
this  representative  body  of  students 
always  knows  who  the  offenders  are ; 
and  justice  is  justice,  and  prompt 
at  that.  Occasionally  those  finding 
the  decision  of  the  jury  distasteful, 
appeal  to  the  president,  but  he  gener- 
ally, if  not  always,  sustains  the  jury's 
verdict.  The  faculty  cannot  be  too 
grateful  to  Professor  Smith  for  this 
discovery,  since  it  saves  them  untold 
bother  and  worry. 

A  word  more  must  be  said  about 
Professor  Smith.  For  many  years  he 
held  the  chair  of  mathematics.  In  a 
college  where  mathematics  is  pre- 
scribed, it  is  hard  to  find  the  teachers 
popular.  Professor  Smith  was  a 
marked  exception.  Still,  men  could 
not  always  like  mathematics  for  all 
that.  One  winter  day,  I  am  told, 
a  grand  plan  was  concocted  by  the 
members  of  one  of  the  courses.  The 
windows  of  the  recitation-room  were 
taken  out  and  concealed;  the  black- 
boards were  covered  with  lard ;  and  tar 
was  placed  on  every  one  of  the  students' 
benches.  The  members  of  the  class 
came  early  to  see  the  astonished  Mr. 
Smith  enter.  The  room  was  very  cold, 
and  they  huddled  in  a  corner  warmed 
only  by  their  expectations.  At  last, 
punctually  on  time,  the  door  was  opened 
and  Mr.  Smith  walked  in,  laden  with  over- 
coats and  shawls.  He  seemed  not  at  all  sur- 
prised, took  his  seat  behind  his  desk,  and 
covered  himself  with  his  many  wraps. 
Then  he  said    coolly,  "You   may  sit   or 


466 


BRUNSWICK  AND  BOWDOIN  COLLEGE. 


stand,  gentlemen, —  as  you  please.  We 
will  begin  the  recitation  at  once  ;  "  and 
the  outwitted,  shivering  pupils  had  to  do 
their  "  sums "  on  the  floor,  while  the 
brilliant  professor  betrayed  not  a  sign  of 
ungentlemanly  triumph.  Professor  Smith 
went  to  Yale  last  year  as  professor  of 
American  history,  and  every  one,  from 
president  to  freshman,  mourned. 

The  Junior  Ivy  Day  is  one  of  the  feast 
days  of  Bowdoin.  Celebrated  at  the 
close  of  the  year,  it  is  chiefly  remarkable 
for  its  informal  exercises,  after  the  more 
dignified  program  has  been  finished. 
The  junior  class  is  assembled  in  Memo- 
rial Hall,  surrounded  by  friends  from  far 
and  near.  The  president  of  the  day  ad- 
dresses his  classmates,  and  then  presents 
appropriate  gifts  to  certain  members. 
The  lazy  man  (who  is  generally  never 
idle)  receives  a  child's  arm-chair;  the 
popular  man,  a  spoon ;  the  dig,  a  spade  ; 
the  handsome  man,  a  looking-glass ;  and 
the  "  tough,"  a  whiskey  flask.  After 
each  presentation,  a  short  reply  is  made 
by  each  recipient.  If  a  class  has  any 
wit,  it  is  displayed  on  Ivy  Day. 

Class  Day  and  Commencement  are 
much  the  same  as  in  other  small  colleges. 
The  chief  interest  of  Commencement 
day  is  to  see  some  old  graduate  of  nat- 
ional reputation.  Two  years  ago,  Chief- 
Justice  Fuller,  of  the  class  of  '53,  came 
to  receive  the  highest  degree  his  college 
could  bestow.  It  must  be  remembered 
that  Speaker  Reed,  Dr.  Newman  Smyth, 
Senator  Frye,  and  General  Chamberlain 
may  be  expected  as  sons  ;  and  occasion- 
ally a  friend  comes  to  express  his  regard, 
as  when  Mr.  Blaine  came  in  1883  as  an 
honored  guest. 

Bowdoin  College  to-day  seems  very 
prosperous.  President  Hyde  is  beloved 
by  the  students,  and  his  discipline  seems 
perfect,  for  he  has  brought  about  reforms 
in  student-life  that  were  once  deemed 
hopeless.  Bowdoin  makes  no  -pretence 
to  the  title  of  a  "University,"  but  pre- 
fers the  humbler  work  of  a  college,  for 
which  she  is  admirably  fitted.  So  when 
a  young  graduate  desires  further  instruc- 
tion, she  sends  him  to  Johns  Hopkins,  to 
Yale,  or  to  her  mother  Harvard.  She 
shows  an  enterprising  spirit,  moreover ; 
for  example,  during  the  summer  just  past 


she  sent  an  exploring  expedition  to  Lab- 
rador under  the  charge  of  Professor  Lee. 
Bowdoin  is  a  college  with  traditions,  with 
able  teachers,  and  with  ample  equipment 
to  do  the  work  she  attempts.  Though 
under  Congregational  control,  the  policy 
of  the  college  is  not  narrow  or  petty. 
Altogether,  while  Bowdoin  is  proud  of 
her  illustrious  sons,  they  have  reason  to 
be  proud  of  her ;  and  never  more  than 
to-day. 

Let  us  return,  before  closing,  to  the 
town.  To  be  sure  the  life  of  the  town 
has  been  influenced  by  the  college  :  but 
there  is  still  something  separate.  The 
manufacturing  life  of  Brunswick  is  now 
considerable.  Begun  about  1820,  the 
mills  have  increased  in  number  and  im- 


Seal  of  Bowdoin  College. 

portance.  Cotton  cloth,  paper,  wooden 
boxes,  and  pasteboard  and  plush  boxes 
are  sent  away  constantly  from  Brunswick. 
The  cotton  mill  is  being  enlarged  by  a 
dignified  brick  building,  which  appears 
the  more  imposing  from  its  position  at 
the  foot  of  Maine  Street.  There  is  a 
large  population  (about  1500)  of  French, 
who  work  in  these  mills,  living  in  crowded 
tenement-houses  near  by ;  and  it  is  inter- 
esting to  pass  through  the  quiet  village 
of  a  summer  evening  to  "French  Town'" 
by  the  river  bank,  see  the  gayly  dressed 
people  gathered  in  groups  here  and  there 
and  jabbering  merrily  in  their  Canadian- 
French  dialect.  One  seems  to  have 
passed  from  a  stern,  stiff  New  England 
village  into  the  very  midst  of  a  foreign 
hamlet.  These  people  keep  together  in 
their  own  district,  and  do  not  disturb  the 
English-speaking  people.  The  influence 
of    the    college    is    too    strong    to    allow 


BRUNSWICK  AND  BOWDOIN  COLLEGE. 


467 


Brunswick  to  become  a  noisy  manufactu- 
ring town. 

Famous  as  Brunswick  is  for  eccentric 
professors  and  learned  men  who  walk  the 
streets,  it  is  by  no  means  the  least  jewel 
in  her  crown  that  "  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin  " 
was  written  on  her  own  Federal  Street,  in 
the  old  "  Titcomb  House."  It  is  an 
amusing  and  pathetic  chapter  of  Mrs. 
Stowe's  biography,  in  which  she  describes 
her  life  in  Brunswick.  She  tells  about 
her  landlord,  John  Titcomb,  who  is  "  a 
man  studious  of  ease,  and  fully  possessed 
with  the  idea  that  man  wants  but  little 
here  below;"  so  he  boards  himself  in  his 
workshop  on  crackers  and  herring, 
washed  down  with  cold  water,  and  spends 
his  time  working,  musing,  reading  new 
publications,  and  taking  his  comfort.  In 
his  shop  you  shall  see  a  joiner's  bench, 
hammers,  planes,  saws,  gimlets,  varnish, 
paint,  picture  frames,  fence-posts,  rare 
old  chairs,  one  or  two  fine  portraits  of  his 
ancestry,  a  bookcase  full  of  books,  the 
tooth  of  a  whale,  an  old  spinning-wheel 
and  spindle,  a  lady's  parasol  frame,  a 
church  lamp  to  be  mended ;  in  short, 
Henry  says  Mr.  Titcomb's  shop  is  like 
the  ocean :  there  is  no  end  to  the  curios- 
ities in  it." 

In  this  Titcomb  house,  Mrs.  Stowe  read 
the  news  of  the  "  Compromise  "  and  the 
Fugitive  Slave  Law.  Here  she  kept 
house  and  guarded  and  guided  her  chil- 
dren's mental  and  moral  development. 
Here  she  wrote  stories  for  the  Washing- 
ton Era,  to  eke  out  Professor  Stowe's 
slender  and  well-earned  income.  And 
here,  surrounded  by  children,  busy  over 
household  matters,  perplexed  over  big 
bills,  she  wrote  "  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin," 
crying  or  laughing  as  she  wrote.  Her 
son  tells  us  in  her  biography  that  at  a 
communion  service  at  the  college  church, 
the  whole  picture  of  the  death  of  Uncle 
Tom  suddenly  unrolled  before  her  mind. 

"  So  strongly  was  she  affected  that  it  was  with 
difficulty  she  could  keep  from  weeping  aloud.  Im- 
mediately on  returning  home  she  took  pen  and 
paper,  and  wrote  out  the  vision  which  had  been 
as  it  were,  blown  into  her  mind  as  by  the  rushing 
of  a  mighty  wind.  Gathering  her  family  about 
her,  she  read  what  she  had  written.  Her  two  lit- 
tle ones  of  ten  and  twelve  years  of  age  broke  into 
convulsions  of  weeping,  one  of  them  saying 
through  his  sobs,  '  Oh,  mamma !  slavery  is  the 
most  cruel  thing  in  the  world.'  " 


Mrs.  Stowe  long  afterwards  wrote  to 
one  of  her  children,  who  was  then  a 
baby,  saying  : 

"  I  remember  many  a  night  weeping  over  you, 
as  you  lay  sleeping  beside  me,  and  I  thought  of 
the  slave  mothers  whose  babes  were  torn  from 
them." 

I  have  heard  how  Mrs.  Stowe  used  to 
go  through  the  streets  of  Brunswick  with 
a  brown  paper  bundle  and  a  new-bought 
broom  , —  the  picture  of  the  womanly 
independence  you  desire  for  the  author 
of  "  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin."  But  in  a 
recent  after-dinner  speech  in  the  town 
hall,  a  friend  of  "  Freddy  "  Stowe, 
when  the  Stowes  lived  in  Brunswick, 
said  that  although  Mrs.  Stowe  had  written 
a  book  to  thrill  the  world,  her  pies  and 
cakes  were  abominable.  One  is  inclined 
to  think  that  the  economical  and  skilful 
Mrs.  Stowe  could  have  made  good  cake 
and  pie  if  she  had  wanted  to  :  but  real- 
izing how  bad  they  were  at  best,  she 
gloried  in  their  weight  and  sour  flour,  be- 
cause the  hungry  boy,  once  fed  with  them, 
would  desire  no  more. 

Brunswick  has  had  its  great  days. 
February  22,  1800,  was  observed  in 
memory  of  Washington's  life  just  closed. 
Dr.  Page  delivered  an  oration,  finishing 
with,  "  If  Washington  is  dead,  we  can 
thank  our  God  that  we  have  our  Adams 
in  the  chair."  Independence  Day  was 
often  celebrated  with  great  gusto.  The 
Declaration  of  Independence  was  read  in 
church,  the  people  sang  "  America  "  and 
"  Old  Hundred,"  listened  to  a  long 
prayer,  and  thereafter  retired  to  a  colla- 
tion in  the  grove. 

In  the  days  of  shipbuilding  in  Maine, 
there  were  frequent  "  launchings  "  to  go 
to,  within  the  limits  of  the  town, —  at 
"  Pennellville,"  at  "  New- Wharf,"  or  at 
"  Maquait." 

It  was  in  a  Brunswick  ship-yard  that 
Longfellow  found  the  material  and  im- 
pulse to  write  "  The  Building  of  the 
Ship."  The  town  is  full  of  retired  sea- 
captains,  who  in  the  busy  days  gone  by 
toiled  and  brought  home  much  gold,  and 
now  live  in  the  glowing  memory  of  adven- 
ture and  commerce.  People  recall  now 
how  of  a  Sunday  afternoon,  thirty  or  forty 
years  ago,  these  dignified  old  men,  dressed 
in  their  fine  blue    broadcloth  and  brass 


468 


BRUNSWICK  AND  BOWDOIN  COLLEGE. 


buttons,  would  be  seen  making  their  way, 
one  by  one,  with  seemingly  no  common 
purpose,  to   the   old   tavern. 

Nowadays,  Commencement  is  the  one 
great  day  of  the  Brunswick  year.  The 
town's  folk  are  careful  that  their  bonnets 
are  stylish  and  their  dresses  new  for  this 
season,  and  the  week  before  is  the  week 
of  brisk  trade  in  Brunswick.  But  June 
13,  1889,  was  undoubtedly  the  greatest 
feast  day  of  modern  Brunswick,  for  the 
people  then  celebrated  the  one  hundred 
and  fiftieth  anniversary  of  the  incorpora- 
tion of  the  town.  In  the  morning,  Pro- 
fessor C.  C.  Everett  of  Harvard  Univer- 
sity, a  native  of  Brunswick  and  a  graduate 
of  Bowdoin,  delivered  an  oration,  in  which 
he  spoke  philosophically  of  the  value  of 
"  the  town  as  the  essential  thing  in  a 
nation."  Then  he  touched  briefly  on  the 
history  of  Brunswick,  pointing  out  the 
anti-climax  in  its  development  —  "  the 
church,  the  college,  the  factory."  This, 
he  said,  "  shows  well  the  temper  of  the 
times,  —  first  the  needs  of  the  spirit, 
then  those  of  the  intellect,  and  at  last 
those  of  the  outward  life."  Then  Prof. 
H.  L.  Chapman  of  Bowdoin  College  read 
a  poem  on  the  Androscoggin. 

The  exercises  over,  the  procession 
formed  and  marched  through  the  principal 
streets  of  the  town.  Town  and  college 
displayed  themselves  with  their  distin- 
guished guests,  and  at  the  end  (the  whole 
procession  was  three-quarters  of  a  mile  in 
length)  came  the  trade  exhibits  and  the 
floats  representing  the  early  history  of 
the  town.  There  was  a  dramatic  repre- 
sentation of  the  capture  of  Molly  Phin- 
ney  by  three  Indians,  a  spinning-wheel  in 
constant  motion,  a  minute  man  at  his 
plough,  an  old  chaise  driven  by  a  man 
dressed  in  clothes  made  in  1789,  and 
Parson  Dunlap  represented  riding  on  an 
old  saddle,  with  a  Bible  of  1737  and  a 
hymn-book  of  1820.  Dinner  was  served 
in  the  town  hall,  with  speeches  by  Gov- 
ernor Burleigh,  Hon.  Nelson  Dingley, 
Hon.  Thomas  B.  Reed,  President  Hyde, 
and  Professor  Everett.  Fireworks,  a  re- 
ception in  the  town  hall,  and  an  exhibi- 
tion of  historic  relics  closed  the  day. 

A  railway  centre  like  Brunswick  has 
many  visitors.  Many  a  traveller  on  his 
way  to  Bar  Harbor  stops  in  Brunswick  an 


hour  or  two  to  run  up  to  the  college  or 
over  to  Federal  Street  to  see  the  house 
where  " Uncle  Tom's  Cabin"  was  writ- 
ten. At  the  college  the  library  and  art 
gallery  are  of  chief  interest.  The  As- 
syrian tablets  in  excellent  preservation, 
the  governor  of  Gibraltar,  an  original 
painting  by  Van  Dyck,  the  Stuart  portraits, 
of  Jefferson  and  Madison,  portraits  of 
graduates  and  teachers,  young  and  old. 
all  these  are  interesting  to  the  travellers 
The  library  and  art  gallery  are  under 
the  same  roof  with  the  chapel,  and  to- 
gether make  the  most  artistic  building  in 
the  college-yard  both  inside  and  out. 

In  the  room  of  the  village  library  in 
the  town  hall  are  many  memorials  of  the 
early  history  of  Brunswick,  also    a  note    \ 
from  Mrs.  Stowe  assuring  the  reader  that    ! 
she   really  wrote   "Uncle  Tom"   in    the    ; 
old    "Titcomb    House."      The    Lincoln    ! 
house,  on  Main  Street,  is  one  of  the  Rev-    ; 
olutionary  houses,  and  is  notable  as  the 
home  of  the  Drs.  Lincoln,  father  and  son,    [ 
The  congregational  "  meeting-house,"  by    1 
the  college-yard,  is  also  interesting  both    ! 
in  itself  and  for  the  sake  of  the  saintly    • 
Dr.  Adams,  for  forty  years  its  pastor.     St. 
Paul's    Church,    on    Pleasant    Street,    is 
attractive    for    its    memorials    to    Bishop    i 
Burgess  and  Dr.  Ballard  ;  here  for  twelve    | 
years  Dr.  Edward  Ballard  preached,  and   • 
his  name  is   still  a  proverb  through  the 
town  for  dignity  and  high  purposes. 

With  just  pride  in  her  history,  Brans-  ; 
wick  is  moving  forward  to  the  innova- 
tions of  the  closing  century.  Electric 
lights  are  everywhere,  and  soon,  it  is  pre- 
dicted, electric  cars  will  be  running 
through  the  streets.  But  with  the  stability 
of  a  college  town  with  a  history,  the 
conservative  inhabitant  jumps  into  no 
new  improvement  suddenly,  so  Bruns- 
wick will  never  have  a  "boom"  to  dis- 
turb the  even  growth  of  her  story. 

Naturally  the  society  of  Brunswick  is 
of  a  much  higher  tone  than  in  most 
towns  of  seven  thousand  people.  I 
doubt  if  any  town  can  boast  so  many 
really  notable  women.  One  of  the  most 
distinguished  is  Miss  Kate  Furbish,  who 
has  devoted  many  years  to  the  "  Maine 
flora." 

Brunswick  is  therefore  by  no  means  the 
least    of    New    England    villages.     Here 


PARNELL. 


469 


thinkers  and  statesmen  were  educated; 
and  here  noble  men  have  lived.  From 
the  woods  and  the  river  and  the  sea  the 
young  poet  received  his  inspiration, 
"  whose  poems  were  to  charm  the 
world ;  "  and  here  wandered  "  that  brood- 
ing spirit  whose  genius  was  to  glorify  the 
colonial  age,  of  which  the  town  had  borne 


so  much  of  the  burden."  I  can  do  no 
better  than  to  close  with  the  last  lines  of 
Mr.  Chapman's  poem, — 

"  So,  listening  to  the  river  and  the  sea, 
Whose  voices  blend  in  sweetest  harmony 
Of  hope  and  memory,  thou  dost  seem  to  greet 
Thine  elder  sons  and  future,  as  they  meet, 
And  join  with  us,  who  throng  about  thee  now, 
To  crown  with  living  love  thy  radiant  brow." 


PARNELL. 

By  T.  H.  Farnham. 


DEAD  in  his  prime  !     How  pitiful  the  fate  ! 
His  work  unfinished,  but  his  fame  secure  ; 
Whose  name,  enshrined  within  a  nation's  heart, 
Through  all  succeeding  ages  shall  endure. 

Wisely  he  spake  who  first  the  precept  gave, 
Naught  of  the  dead  but  good.     In  memory 
Of  him  let  but  the  good  alone  survive, 
And  speech  be  tempered  with  sweet  charity. 

Remember  One  who  once  in  mercy  spoke 
Words  of  divine  compassion,  when  he  said 
Neither  do  I  condemn.     Who  sinless  is 
Let  him  first  cast  a  stone  upon  the  dead. 

To-day,  while  bitter  tears  bedew  his  bier, 
Let  strife  and  hatred,  clash  of  faction,  cease, 
And,  like  a  guardian  spirit,  gently  brood 
Above  his  grave  the  white  winged  dove  of  peace. 

And  when  in  coming  years  shall  be  effaced 
From  him  who  loved  not  wisely  but  too  well, 
The  one  dark  stain,  a  people's  grateful  voice 
Shall  ever  softly  breathe  the  name  —  Parnell. 


THE  ODOR  OF  SANCTITY. 

By  Ellen  Marvin  He  a  ton. 
CHAPTER    IX. 


OTHING  is  more 
kaleidoscopic  than 
an  operetta  troupe. 
The  chorus  is  sub- 
ject to  constant 
change,  so  that 
Edith  felt  quite  like 
an  old  member  when 
she  found  herself 
one  among  the  very  few  who  had  proved 
constant  all  winter.  But  summer  was 
coming,  and  she  was  confronted  with  the 
question  of  continuing  with  the  company 
during  its  provincial  rounds.  The  only 
alternative  would  be  to  go  home  for  the 
season,  since  all  engagements  for  lessons 
would  be  discontinued  for  nearly  three 
months.  She  wondered  what  became  of 
people  who  had  no  homes,  when  the 
pittance  which  barely  supported  them 
was  suspended.  In  the  midst  of  her 
perplexity  a  fortunate  event  occurred, 
which  settled  matters. 

She  had  continued  regular  in  her  at- 
tendance at  the  choir-rehearsals  at  St. 
Cecelia's.  It  was,  as  Mr.  Stevenson  had 
said,  a  kind  of  training  school  for  church 
choirs,  and  the  director  detained  Edith 
as  she  was  leaving  after  rehearsal,  one 
evening,  and  informed  her  that  he  had 
been  applied  to  for  a  contralto  to  fill  a 
vacancy  in  the  Twiller  Street  choir. 
Would  Miss  Campbell  undertake  it? 

Edith  blushed  and  was  about  to  ex- 
press her  doubts  of  her  ability,  when  it 
occurred  to  her  that  the  director  was 
perhaps  the  better  judge  of  that ;  so  she 
simply  said,  "If  you  advise  me  to  try,  I 
will  do  my  best."  She  then  learned  what 
the  compensation  would  be,  and  agreed 
to  report  at  the  given  time  and  place  for 
rehearsal.  The  result  was  satisfactory, 
and  an  offer  was  made  her  for  the  coming 
year,  which  she  gladly  accepted.  The 
salary  was  not  large,  for  the  church  was  a 
small  one  ;  but  the  question  of  continuing 
with  the  troupe  was  now  settled,  and  she 


could  remain  in  the  city,  as  the  Twiller 
Street  church  did  not  close  its  doors  dur- 
ing the  summer,  like  some  of  the  more 
fashionable  places  of  worship. 

Her  great  concern  was  to  be  at  hand 
upon  Mr.  Stevenson's  return.  "  Bring 
your  brother  to  me,  and  I  will  set  him  to 
work,"  were  the  words  which  recurred  to 
her  constantly,  and  kept  all  despondency 
at  bay. 

Another  piece  of  good  fortune  occurred 
about  this  time.  Mrs.  Delevan  proposed 
that  Edith  should  come  to  her  as  com- 
panion for  the  summer.  The  girl  joy- 
fully consented,  and  exchanged  her  close 
quarters  at  the  "  Home  "  for  a  comfort- 
able room  on  the  third  floor  of  the  house 
in  Thirty-seventh  Street. 

She  had  been  there  only  a  few  days 
when  Mrs.  Delevan  informed  her  that 
Mr.  Stevenson  would  return  in  July. 
Edith's  heart  gave  a  great  jump.  What 
if  he  had  forgotten  her  and  her  brother ! 
His  life  was  so  filled  with  more  important 
matters  !  Would  he  come  again  to  visit 
his  relative,  or  should  she  write  and 
remind  him,  —  should  she  send  Joe  to 
him,  as  he  had  said? 

"Take  him  at  his  word,"  said  Mrs. 
Delevan,  to  whom  she  confided  her  per- 
plexities. "  He's  not  the  kind  of  man  to 
say  what  he  doesn't  mean."  Edith  felt 
this  to  be  true.  She  wrote  the  joyful 
news  to  Joe,  and  bade  him  be  in  readi- 
ness, enclosing  an  amount  sufficient  for 
his  travelling  expenses. 

In  her  capacity  of  companion,  the 
greater  part  of  the  day  was  passed  with 
Mrs.  Delevan,  conversing,  reading  aloud, 
or  helping  the  old  lady  through  the  mazes 
of  the  elaborate  pieces  of  fancy-work 
with  which  she  beguiled  the  hours.  The 
latter  bestowed  upon  Edith  a  vast  amount 
of  autobiography,  and  claimed  in  return 
some  passages  from  Edith's  life.  In  this 
way  she  came  to  know  quite  familiarly 
the    few    of    whom    Edith    spoke,    chief 


THE   ODOR   OF  SANCTITY. 


471 


among  them  Aunt  Hannah,  Doctor 
North,  and  Otis  Field. 

The  latter  had  learned  Edith's  present 
address  from  his  aunt,  and  one  afternoon 
while  Mrs.  Delevan  was  taking  her  cus- 
tomary nap,  his  card  was  sent  up. 

Edith  had  been  so  engrossed  with  her 
own  plans  that  it  required  quite  an  effort 
to  recall  all  that  Otis  had  been  through 
since  they  had  met.  "Poor  Otis  !  "  she 
thought,  "  What  a  change  in  his  life  ! 
I  wonder  if  he  will  be  equal  to  it  !  " 

He  came  to  meet  her  as  she  entered, 
took  both  her  hands  in  his,  and  looked 
at  her  in  wonder.  "  How  you  have 
changed  !  "  he  exclaimed. 

She  was  upon  the  point  of  reciproca- 
ting the  expression,  but  remembering  all 
he  had  been   through   she   merely  said  : 

"  That  is  what  time  generally  does  for 
us,  you  know." 

He  released  her  hands,  but  continued 
to  study  her  face.  "  It  is  but  little  more 
than  a  year  since  I  went  to  Rockford 
such  a  wreck,"  he  said. 

"But  now  you  are  fully  restored,  I 
hope." 

"  Thank  Heaven,  yes  !  I  cannot  afford 
the  luxury  of  helplessness  now,  you  know." 

He  looked  at  her  wistfully.  The 
months  had  so  matured  her,  and  her 
earnest  work  had  given  her  features  that 
expression  of  nobility  which  comes  with 
noble  purposes.  He  had  found  her 
attractive  before  ;  now  all  the  old  feeling 
rushed  back  to  him,  tinged  with  something 
finer. 

To  fill  the  abyss  which  threatened  to 
yawn  between  them,  the  two  launched 
into  personalities.  Edith  inquired  about 
his  father,  his  travels,  and  Mr.  Chapin. 
Otis  made  her  reciprocate  with  details 
from  her  own  experience,  and  she  con- 
gratulated herself  that  she  could  speak 
frankly  of  her  own  life  as  it  was  at  pre- 
sent. 

"So  you  see  I  am  a  working  woman," 
she  concluded,  with  a  touch  of  the  old 
archness. 

"And  I  hope  to  become  a  working- 
man,"  he  returned.  "  It  is  surprising 
how  much  more  attractive  work  looks, 
now  the  necessity  is  upon  me.  And  I 
must  tell  you  of  a  great  piece  of  good 
fortune.     I  supposed  everything  was  swept 


away  except  the  amount  settled  upon  my 
mother.  That  will  only  suffice  for  her 
and  Maud.  So  you  can  imagine  my 
feelings  when,  rummaging  through  some 
papers,  I  came  upon  a  bank  book  with 
my  name  upon  the  cover.  It  seems  that 
my  father  was  accustomed  to  put  a  sum 
to  my  credit  each  birthday.  At  first  I 
imagined  it  must  have  been  drawn  out 
for  use  in  his  emergency,  but  it  proved 
that  there  was  an  amount  to  my  credit 
sufficient  to  keep  me  above  water  while  I 
am  getting  my  profession." 

"How  fortunate!"  exclaimed  Edith. 
"  And  you  will  study  law  ?  ' ' 

"  No,  —  medicine.  I  don't  know 
whether  it  is  Dr.  North's  influence  or 
my  experience  of  the  last  year,  but  I 
feel  that  is  the  only  work  I  can  go  into 
with  enthusiasm." 

At  the  mention  of  Dr.  North,  Edith's 
expression  changed.  "  Ah  !  "  she  said 
meditatively,  "  Dr.  North  is  one  of  a 
thousand  !  I  don't  wonder  he  influenced 
your  choice." 

A  quick  shaft  of  jealousy  shot  through 
Otis.  It  had  never  occurred  to  him  that 
there  could  be  any  attraction  between 
these  two.  Now  he  called  himself  an 
ass  not  to  have  foreseen  it.  He  struggled 
not  to  betray  his  emotion,  but  he  could 
actually  feel  the  gloom  that  darkened  his 
face.  Edith  was  too  preoccupied  to 
notice  it,  however,  and  that  only  in- 
creased his  alarm. 

"  You  have  seen  a  good  deal  of  the 
doctor?  "  he  said. 

"  No,  I  have  seen  him  only  once  since 
I  left  Rockford.     But  —  " 

Otis  waited  with  emotion  for  what  was 
to  follow,  but  Edith  did  not  finish  the 
sentence ;  she  blushed  instead.  This 
was  confirmation  enough.  The  blood 
rushed  to  Otis's  face,  and  he  was  almost 
blinded  by  the  shock  of  the  discovery. 
If  he  could  only  have  known  the  cause  of 
Edith's  confusion  !  She  had  been  near 
saying  that,  now  she  was  in  desirable 
quarters,  she  hoped  to  see  more  of  her 
friends  than  was  possible  before.  In  the 
pause  which  ensued,  they  regarded  each 
other  awkwardly. 

"  But  what?  "  insisted  Otis,  almost  deA 
fiantly,  and  determined  to  know  the  worsti 

"  But    Dr.    North    leaves   behind    him 


472 


THE  ODOR  OF  SANCTITY. 


such  an  impression,  —  I  mean  he  has  so 
much  individuality,  —  that  I  cannot 
realize  I  have  seen  him  but  once.  Don't 
you  think,"  she  went  on  with  growing 
vivacity,  "  that  the  doctor  has  a  wonder- 
ful gift  of  imparting  himself — his  strength, 
I  mean  —  to  others?  " 

Any  outsider  would  have  found  Edith's 
frankness  sufficient  guaranty  of  absence 
of  sentiment,  but  to  a  lover  the  inference 
was  just  the  contrary. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  reflecting  that  it  was 
probably  from  the  doctor  that  Edith  had 
drawn  strength  for  her  own  use. 

"And  he  is  so  versatile!"  pursued 
she,  analyzing  for  the  first  time,  and  with 
a  pleasure  that  surprised  her,  the  doctor's 
Character.  "  You  know  what  a  lover  of 
music  he  is.  And  then  he  is  so  droll ! 
He  has  such  a  sense  of  humor  !  "  and  she 
smiled  as  various  proofs  of  the  last  asser- 
tion recurred  to  her. 

The  smile  and  the  thought  of  the 
doctor's  humor  dissipated  Otis's  gloom. 
The  sense  that  a  woman  in  love  would  not 
appreciate  humor  in  her  lover  broke  into 
his  darker  mood.  After  this  the  chat 
flowed  on  like  a  babbling  brook.  It  was 
astonishing  how  much  there  was  to  be 
said.  It  was  wonderful  what  an  interest 
attached  to  the  smallest  details.  They 
smiled  into  each  other's  faces,  they  ex- 
changed reminiscences  of  childish  hostili- 
ties, and  finally  they  grew  sober  and 
began  to  discuss  the  future. 

Otis  found  himself  saying,  "  And  when 
I  have  finished  my  studies,  I  shall  buy  a 
house  up-town,  '  pay  down '  for  the  door- 
handle, and  mortgage  the  rest,  and  put 
out  my  '  shingle  '  at  once.  And  as  the 
first  step  towards  success  in  a  doctor's 
career  is  to  marry,"  — 

Here  the  door  opened  and  Mrs.  Dele- 
van  walked  in,  the  evidences  of  her  nap 
showing  in  her  eyes  and  in  her  confusion 
at  finding  a  visitor.  After  this  Otis  re- 
mained only  long  enough  to  prevent  his 
departure  seeming  abrupt.  He  made  a 
note  of  that  hour  as  a  favorable  one  for 
future  visits,  and  he  ventured  upon  a 
pressure  of  Edith's  hand  at  parting,  which 
provoked  such  a  shaft  of  indignation 
from  her  eyes  that  Otis  feared  he  had 
more  than  lost  what  he  hoped  he  had 
gained. 


"  Idiot  !  "  he  muttered  to  himself  as  he 
descended  the  steps.  "  She'll  refuse  to 
see  me  again,  —  and  serve  me  right  too  ! " 
he  went  on,  recalling  his  last  ill-chosen 
speech.  "She  will  think  I  regard  matri- 
mony as  a  financial  investment  !  " 

Much  as  Otis  dreaded  his  next  inter- 
view, suspense  was  more  dreadful.  So 
he  betook  himself  to  the  Twiller  Street 
church  the  following  Sunday  morning, 
and  remained  at  the  entrance  after  ser- 
vice until  Edith  appeared.  What  was  his 
astonishment  to  find  her  greeting  as  cor- 
dial and  unembarrassed  as  ever  !  For  a 
moment  his  elation  was  unbounded. 
Then  came  the  thought  that  her  cordiality 
only  showed  her  indifference.  She  had 
totally  forgotten  his  betises! 

Well,  the  future  was  before  him  and  the 
prize  worth  the  winning.  Filled  with  this 
purpose,  Otis  appeared  to  better  advan- 
tage than  ever  before.  The  egotism  so 
natural  to  his  age  fell  away  from  him,  and 
deference  took  the  place  of  his  former 
complacency. 

From  this  time  he  improved  every 
opportunity  to  see  Edith,  during  the  short 
time  his  business  required  him  to  remain 
in  town.  By  the  end  of  the  month, 
however,  it  was  finished,  and  he  returned 
to  Rockford,  to  the  care  of  the  poor 
invalid.  He  felt  guilty  as  he  realized 
how  he  longed  for  October,  when  his 
medical  studies  would  require  his  return 
to  town  for  the  winter.  He  was  baffled 
as  to  what  impression  he  had  made  upon 
Edith.  He  had  discovered  that  if  he 
would  see  her  at  her  best,  he  had  but  to 
speak  of  her  brother,  when  she  would 
glow  with  a  warmth  which  transfigured 
her.  This  was  both  reassuring  and  dis- 
couraging. Otis  passed  many  hours  med- 
itating upon  what  it  involved. 

The  doctor  also  dedicated  much  of  his 
time  to  Edith.  When  the  two  men  met, 
each  discerned  the  state  of  the  other's 
mind  regarding  the  girl,  yet  each  fatu- 
ously fancied  his  own  sentiment  a  dead 
secret.  The  doctor,  reflecting  upon  the 
opportunity  Otis  would  have  of  prose- 
cuting his  addresses,  felt  the  result  a 
foregone  conclusion.  It  was  characteris- 
tic of  him  that,  instead  of  nursing  his 
own  disappointment,  he  fell  to  studying 
Otis  with  new  interest. 


THE   ODOR  OF  SANCTITY. 


473 


As  to  Edith,  it  was  little  thought  she 
gave  to  either  swain.  She  had  accepted 
Otis's  attentions  as  a  matter  of  course  — 
a  tribute  to  a  friendship  dating  from  child- 
hood. Moreover,  the  time  was  drawing 
near  when  her  great  hope  would  be  real- 
ized. Mr.  Stevenson  was  expected  back 
within  the  month.  To  their  great  joy  he 
appeared  to  them  a  fortnight  sooner  than 
anticipated. 

"Took  you  by  surprise,  eh?  Well  I 
came  over  on  an  electric  current  —  short- 
est trip  on  record  !  "  he  exclaimed  as  he 
greeted  them.  "  I  knew  you  would  be 
going  off  to  the  country  soon,"  he  con- 
tinued, turning  to  Mrs.  Delevan,  "  and  I 
lost  no  time  in  coming  around." 

"And  your  brother  —  what  of  him?" 
he  said  suddenly  to  Edith,  after  some 
further  chat.  "Still  at  his  studies,  eh? 
It  ought  to  be  vacation  with  him  at  this 
time  of  year.  Well,  send  him  to  me  as 
soon  as  you  like.  He'll  be  glad  to  drop 
his  books." 

Edith's  face  gleamed.  As  soon  as  the 
guest  departed  she  flew  to  her  room  and 
wrote  the  wonderful  tidings  to  Joe. 
"And  you  are  not  coming  as  an  adven- 
turer, dear  Joe.  You  have  his  promise. 
Were  ever  two  people  so  fortunate  as 
we  ?  And  you  are  to  stay  here  with  me 
for  the  six  weeks  Mrs.  Delevan  is  to  be 
away ;  so  we  shall  have  plenty  of  time  to 
hunt  up  quarters  for  next  winter  —  for  a 
home  we  will  have." 

Of  course  his  coming  had  to  be  secret. 
The  station  was  two  miles  away.  He 
was  to  walk  there,  and  he  was  not  to 
attempt  to  bring  anything  with  him. 
Edith  read  her  letter  over  more  than 
once  to  be  sure  that  nothing  was  forgot- 
ten; and  as  she  went  out  to  post  it,  it 
was  hard  to  keep  from  breaking  out  into 
singing  upon  the  street.  What  a  won- 
derful world  it  was  !  how  great  a  thing 
was  life  !  how  good  a  thing  was  work  — 
when  it  was  congenial !  And  they  would 
both  work,  —  she  at  her  music,  he  at  his 
science,  and  at  night  each  would  tell  the 
other  what  the  day  had  brought  ! 

Filled  with  these  anticipations,  Edith 
sought  Mrs.  Delevan  upon  her  return,  to 
find  relief  for  her  joy.  The  drawing- 
room  door  was  ajar,  and  voices,  —  could 
one  be  Dr.  North's?     Yes,  but  how  sober 


he  looked  !  What  could  be  the  matter? 
He  saw  her  and  rose,  but  did  not  ad- 
vance and  smile.  She  stood  as  if  spell- 
bound. Why  did  they  both  look  at  her 
so?  What  could  it  mean?  She  gazed 
from  one  to  the  other  and  went  towards 
them.  Why  did  he  not  greet  her?  Mrs. 
Delevan  came  to  her  and  put  both  arms 
about  her. 

"  My  dear,  dear  child,"  she  said,  "  Dr. 
North  has  bad  news  for  you.     I  wish — " 

"My  sister!  Is  she  ill?  —  Not  Joe! 
Don't  tell  me  Joe  is  ill !  No,  no  !  you 
can't  mean  that !  " 

"  I  wish  I  could  spare  you.  But  there 
has  been  an  accident —  " 

"Is  it  Joe?     Is  he  hurt?" 

"  Yes,  Edith.  I  went  to  him  immedi- 
ately, and  —  " 

"  And  you  will  take  me  to  him.  You 
have  come  to  take  me  to  him?" 

The  doctor's  features  worked  convul- 
sively. How  should  he  tell  her  the 
truth  ? 

"  Why  don't  you  speak?  "  she  shrieked. 
"You  are  deceiving  me.  Have  they 
killed  him?" 

"Edith,"  said  the  doctor,  taking  both 
her  cold  hands  in  his,  "you  had  better 
not  go.  He  would  not  know  you.  He 
was  insensible  from  the  first." 

She  drew  her  hands  away  and  stepped 
backwards.     She   read    the   truth    in   his* 
sad  eyes. 

"Joe  is  dead  !  "  she  said. 

He  did  not  contradict  her. 

"Joe  is  dead!"  she  repeated  almost 
in  a  defiant  tone,  as  if  daring  him  to 
deny  it. 

"  He  did  not  suffer,"  was  all  the  con- 
solation he  could  offer. 

She  gave  one  wild  look  about  her.  The 
desolation  in  her  eyes  was  heartrending. 

"  Oh,  where  is  he  ?  Where  shall  I 
go?"  she  said.  "Take  me  away.  I 
must  go  —  I  must  go  —  somewhere  !  " 

She  was  struggling  with  the  instinct  to 
join  her  brother's  spirit.  If  she  had 
been  a  more  fragile  girl,  she  would  have 
fainted,  and  it  would  have  been  a  mercy. 

There  had  been  no  opportunity  of 
softening  the  news.  She  did  not  know 
the  worst  even  yet.  The  poor  boy  had 
been  instantly  killed  by  a  blow  inflicted 
in  a  frenzy  by  the  irresponsible  Walters. 


474 


THE  ODOR  OF  SANCTITY. 


Mr.  Campbell  had  been  summoned  by 
telegraph,  and  the  doctor  had  accom- 
panied him.  Thence  he  had  come  direct 
to  Edith.  And  now  that  the  blow  had 
fallen,  how  futile  was  any  help  he  could 
offer  !  There  she  stood,  with  hands  half 
extended,  —  a  world  of  desolation  in  her 
eyes  ! 

"  My  poor,  poor  child  !  "  said  the  old 
lady,  taking  Edith  again  in  her  arms,  and 
pressing  her  head  down  upon  her  own 
motherly  breast.    "  My  poor,  poor  child  !  " 

She  drew  her  gently  to  the  sofa.  The 
tears  were  streaming  down  her  face,  but 
Edith's  eyes  were  dry  and  bright.  She 
sat  upright,  looking  straight  before  her. 
At  last  she  shuddered,  and  a  groan  gave 
token  that  she  was  beginning  to  compre- 
hend her  sorrow.  She  looked  about  her. 
Was  it  the  same  world?  All  the  pur- 
pose which  had  filled  her  life,  making  it 
tense  and  fruitful,  had  vanished,  —  in  a 
moment,  —  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  ! 
The  utter  emptiness  appalled  her ! 
Whither  should  she  go?  What  should 
she  do?  She  was  conscious  of  an  awful 
void,  —  oh,  such  an  aching  void  !  Was 
it  in  her  head  or  in  her  heart?  She 
pressed  a  hand  to  each. 

"I  —  cannot  —  bear  it !  "  she  ex- 
claimed brokenly. 

"  Don't  try  to  be  brave,  dear  Edith  — 
don't  try,"  said  the  doctor,  taking  her 
hand  in  his.  She  turned  uncomprehend- 
ing eyes  to  him,  and  her  hand  lay  list- 
lessly in  his.  He  felt  that  he  must  break 
this  awful  spell.  He  began  softly  to 
speak  of  her  brother. 

She  groaned  again,  and  opened  her 
lips  as  if  to  speak.  At  last  she  said  halt- 
ingly, "I  know  —  you  mean  —  to  be 
kind.     But  oh  !   I  want  Joe  !  " 

The  last  words  were  a  great  cry,  and 
she  wept  violently. 

Mrs.  Delevan  learned  with  surprise,  as 
she  talked  with  the  doctor  late  that 
night,  that  Edith's  father  was  living. 
The  doctor's  story  explained  many  things 
in  the  girl's  character  and  conduct  which 
had  puzzled  her. 

"  Now,"  she  exclaimed,  "  I  can  ask 
Edith  to  remain  with  me  altogether  !  I 
should  have  done  so  before,  but  for  this 
mystery  hanging  over  her.  Poor  child  ! 
Poor  child  !  " 


Noticing  that  the  doctor  did  not 
brighten  at  this  proposal,  the  good  lady 
appealed  to  him  for  his  opinion.  He 
scowled,  as  was  his  custom  when  per- 
plexed, and  was  intent  for  a  moment. 
Then  he  said  : 

"  You  are  very  kind.  It  would  seem  a 
great  opportunity  for  Edith.  But  I  know 
her  so  well,  and  how  necessary  an  active 
life  is  to  her.  She  needs  activity  now 
more  than  ever.  Work  must  be  her  sal- 
vation. With  you  she  would  have  time 
to  brood.     But,  —  " 

"  She  has  lost  her  motive  for  work 
now,"  said  Mrs.  Delevan. 

"  Yes,  that  is  what  I  was  going  to  say. 
We  must  provide  one.  I  don't  yet  see 
how.  But,  —  yes,  that  is  the  very  thing  !  " 
exclaimed  the  doctor  suddenly,  starting 
up. 

He  explained  his  thought  of  consult- 
ing Mr.  Chapin,  in  the  hope  of  finding 
that  Edith  could  be  useful  in  the  work 
which,  of  late,  had  grown  so  fast  as  to 
make  more  help  necessary. 

The  result  justified  the  doctor's  hope, 
and  it  was  arranged  that  Edith  should 
become  a  working  member  of  Mr.  Cha- 
pin's  family  whenever  she  felt  disposed. 

But  the  poor  girl  was  prostrate.  She 
lay  half  conscious,  —  the  prey  of  a  low 
fever.  The  doctor  was  her  constant 
attendant ;  and  at  last  she  rallied.  There 
were  days  when  there  were  drives  in  the 
open  air,  and  then  the  days  came  when 
it  became  evident  that  work  would  be 
the  best  medicine. 

Meantime  Mrs.  Delevan  affectionately 
urged  on  Edith  her  offer  of  a  home. 
The  girl  was  grateful,  but  still  apathetic, 
and  postponed  her  decision.  One  day 
the  doctor  proposed  her  going  back  home 
for  awhile.  The  effect  of  his  proposal 
frightened  him. 

"Home!"  she  echoed.  "To  that 
home  from  which  my  poor  Joe  was 
driven?  To  live  in  the  same  house  with 
his  — "  She  faltered  at  the  dreadful 
word.  "No  —  I  will  speak  !  "  she  cried. 
"  I  have  grown  up  under  such  a  system  ! 
I  have  seen  such  wrongs  done  in  the 
name  of  duty  !  I  have  seen  love  crowded 
out  and  my  poor  Joe  —  oh,  Joe,  so  full 
of  genius,  so  full  of  talents  which  ought 
to  have  been  fostered  —  made  to  lead  the 


THE  ODOR  OF  SANCTITY. 


475 


skulking  life  of  a  coward !  His  tastes 
were  made  to  appear  criminal !  Oh,  it 
might  have  been  so  different !  It  ought 
to  have  been  so  different !  " 

"And  the  world  is  full  of  Joes,"  said 
the  doctor,  "full  of  people  who  could 
be  good  and  great,  but  who  find  the 
struggle  with  circumstances  too  much4for 
them.  Some  fall  by  the  way  and  fill  early 
graves.  Others,  less  fortunate,  succumb 
to  the  evils  which  beset  them  and  drag 
out  their  thwarted,  perverted  lives." 

She  looked  at  him  with  eager  eyes. 
In  her  own  terrible  grief,  the  struggles  of 
others  had  never  occurred  to  her.  The 
doctor  knew  that  no  sense  of  duty  would 
compel  her  to  effort.  The  impulse  must 
be  one  of  affection. 

Other  people's  Joes  ! 

That  was  the  idea  which  aroused  her. 
Was  it  possible  that  other  boys  were 
struggling  and  sinking,  struggling  and 
sinking  day  by  day,  for  want  of  a  chance  ? 

Other  people's  Joes  ! 

What  could  be  done  for  them  ?  Could 
she  do  anything?  She  had  done  every- 
thing for  her  own  Joe.  How?  She 
wondered  now  as  she  looked  back  at 
what  she  had  accomplished.  It  was  such 
a  mixture  of  effort  and  good  fortune  !  It 
seemed  as  if  the  first  step  led  to  all  the 
others. 

"  Other  people's  Joes  ! "  she  said  aloud. 
"Who  can  find  them?" 

"Mr.  Chapin  can  and  does,"  said  the 
doctor.  "He  and  his  wife  give  all  their 
time  to  them.  But  they  have  more  than 
they  can  do.  They  need  help.  Will  you 
go  and  help  them,  Edith?  " 

He  watched  the  new  light  dawn  in  the 
girl's  eyes.  He  went  on  to  tell  more  of 
the  work,  of  what  had  already  been  done, 
and  what  the  future  promised. 

Grief  has  many  ways  of  materializing. 
Beds  in  hospitals,  memorial  windows, 
mission  chapels,  all  these  and  many  more 
attend  the  aching  void  which  Faith  tries 
to  fill  with  worthy  monuments.  But 
better  than  any  visible  sign  was  the  im- 
pulse now  growing  in  this  girl's  heart. 
It  was  rooted  in  love,  and  destined  to 
find  expression  in  devotion  to  —  other 
people's  Joes. 

"Yes,"  she  said  at  last  softly,  "I  will 
go." 


Mrs.  Chapin  came  for  Edith  the  fol- 
lowing day,  and  as  the  latter  took  leave 
of  her  benefactress,  she  felt  that  the  door 
of  the  past  closed  behind  her. 

The  doctor  made  his  farewell  visit  to 
her  the  same  evening.  Some  dawning 
sense  of  his  devotion  made  Edith's  man- 
ner very  tender  when  they  parted.  He 
held  her  hand  long  in  his,  and  she  did 
not  withdraw  it. 


Since  then,  three  years  have  sped. 
Otis  Field  has  earned  the  right  to  put 
"  M.  D."  after  his  name.  His  visits  to 
Edith  have  been  many,  and  his  devotion 
sincere,  but  he  has  not  again  ventured  to 
refer  to  that  "  house  up-town  with  its 
door-handle  paid  for  and  the  rest  on 
mortgage."  His  sense  of  Edith's  high 
purposes  and  earnest,  successful  work 
have  taught  him  humility.  But  there  will 
come  a  day,  and  that  very  soon,  when  he 
will  persuade  himself,  with  that  sophistry 
of  the  heart  which  lovers  use,  that  she 
can  work  better  with  his  help ;  and  he 
will  try  to  persuade  her  so. 

As  for  Dr.  North,  time  has  only 
strengthened  his  sentiments.  He  has 
seen  Edith  rarely,  for  it  has  long  been  a 
foregone  conclusion  with  him  that  she  and 
Otis  were  destined  for  each  other.  Of 
late,  doubt  has  sprung  up  in  his  mind, 
and  with  the  doubt  has  come  the  resolu- 
tion to  put  his  fate  also  to  the  test. 

The  situation  is  very  transparent  to 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Chapin,  who  often  discuss 
it.  The  former  is  on  the  doctor's  side, 
and  when  he  sounds  his  friend's  praises, 
no  one  assents  more  fervently  than  does 
Edith.  Mrs.  Chapin  predicts  that  youth 
and  opportunity  will  win  in  the  person  of 
Otis  Field.  The  only  apparently  un- 
biased person  is  Edith  herself.  It  is 
doubtful,  Mr.  Chapin  sometimes  thinks, 
whether  her  heart  is  not  already  irrevo- 
cably given  to  —  other  people's  Joes. 

And  still  the  invalid  babbles  on,  — 
winding  up  occasionally  with,  "  My  wife 
says  I  grow  rusty.  Gad  !  I'd  like  a 
chance  to  rust  !  "  as  he  smiles  confidingly 
in  the  face  of  the  listener. 

And  another  elderly  pilgrim  still  pur- 
sues his  abstract  way  —  confident,  as  he 
has  ever  been,  of  following  the  path  of 


476 


WINTER. 


BLACK  AND   WHITE. 


duty.  To  him  his  son's  sudden  end  was 
"a  mysterious  Providence."  In  his  own 
sight,  and  in  that  of  the  community,  his 
life    has    been   one    of    rectitude.     Aunt 


Hannah  only  occasionally  confides  to 
the  doctor  that,  in  her  opinion,  the  most 
disgusting  of  all  odors  is  the  odor  of 
sanctity. 


WINTER. 

By  Julie  M.  Lippmann. 

E'EN  as  in  days  of  old  when  Jael  went 
Forth  for  to  meet  the  chieftain  on  his  way, 
And  spread  o'er  him  her  mantle  as  he  lay 
Within  the  fancied  fastness  of  her  tent ; 
And  as  he  slept,  with  wandering  forspent, 
Dreaming  perchance  of  triumph-wreaths  of  bay, 
All  stealthily  she  crept  with  nail  to  slay 
The  trusting  guest  o'er  whom  she  breathless  bent : 
So  comes  pale  Winter  to  the  aged  Year, 

And  spreads  her  mantle  o'er  him,  friendly- wise ; 
He,  sleeping,  dreams  not  once  of  death  or  fear, 

So  pure  she  seems  in  all  her  shining  guise, 

While  with  the  spiked  frost,  full  cold  and  clear, 

She  works  his  ruin  and  he,  dreaming,  dies. 


BLACK  AND  WHITE. 

By  Lillie  B.    Chace    Wyman. 


HE  history  of  the  Anti- 
Slavery  movement  in 
the  United  States  is  full 
of  picturesque  as  well 
as  significant  scenes. 
One  January  day  in 
1850,  Fredrika  Bremer,  a  Swedish 
romance  writer,  attended  a  meeting  in 
Faneuil  Hall  in  company  with  Charles 
Sumner  who,  forty  years  old,  had  not  yet 
been  heard  in  the  Senate.  Miss  Bremer 
looked  on  with  foreign  eyes,  and  listened 
to  the  speaking  with  foreign  ears.  She 
gives  the  account  in  her  book  entitled 
"The  Homes  of  the  New  World,"  and 
says  : 

"  A  young,  fair  lady,  in  a  simple  white  dress,  and 
hair  without  any  ornament,  stepped  forward,  lead- 
ing a  dark  mulatto  woman,  by  the  hand.  She  had 
been  a  slave,  and  had  lately  escaped  from  slavery 
on  board  a  vessel,  where  she  had  been  concealed. 
Her  owners,  who  suspected  her  place  of  conceal- 
ment obtained  a  warrant  for  searching  the  vessel, 
which  they  did  thoroughly,  burning  brimstone  in 
order  to  compel  her  to  come  forth.  But  she  en- 
dured it  all,  and  succeeded  in  making  her  escape. 


It  was  a  beautiful  sight,  when  the  young  white 
woman,  Miss  Lucy  Stone,  placed  her  hand  upon 
the  head  of  the  black  woman,  and  called  her  sister, 
before  the  assembled  crowd.  It  looked  well  and 
beautiful,  and  it  was  certainly  felt  by  all,  that  the 
white  woman  stood  here  as  the  friend  and  pro- 
tector of  the  black.  She  then  related  the  history 
of  the  late  slave,  and  talked  about  slavery  for  a 
full  hour,  with  perfect  self-possession,  perspicuity 
and  propriety  of  tone  and  gesture." 

Miss  Anne  Warren  Weston  in  a  report 
published  in  an  issue  of  the  Liberator  of 
that  month,  says  the  ship  in  which  this 
fugitive  girl  was  hidden,  was  "  repeatedly 
smoked,"  while  it  waited  at  the  Southern 
wharf,  in  the  hope  of  forcing  her  to  be- 
tray herself.  Miss  Weston  adds  that  the 
girl  was  only  nineteen  years  old,  and  that 
she  came  to  the  cold  North,  half  starved 
and  half  frozen,  leaving  behind  her  own 
baby,  who  could  not  have  survived  the 
hardships  of  her  way  of  escape. 

Dramatic  as  was  the  scene  which  Miss 
Bremer  beheld  in  Boston's  old  Cradle  of 
Liberty,  Lucy  Stone  was  destined  before 
many  years  had  passed  to  associate  her- 


BLACK  AND   WHITE.. 


477 


self  with  a  tragedy  more  awful  and  more 
suggestive  of  classic  heroism  than  that 
which  enveloped  the  life  of  the  young 
creature  who  left  her  infant  forever  and 
fled  in  the  dead  of  winter  to  the  Com- 
monwealth of  Massachusetts. 

The  name  of  Margaret  Garner  was 
long  a  name  for  Abolitionists  to  conjure 
by,  but  it  is  very  probable  that  few  people 
to-day  know  the  details  of  her  story  or 
attach  any  special  significance  to  its  men- 
tion. The  incidents  of  her  experience 
are  nevertheless  worthy,  even  now,  of 
study,  not  only  because  they  illustrate 
some  phases  of  our  national  history,  but 
because  the  development  of  a  great  despair 
and  a  great  resoluteness  in  a  lowly  mind 
evidences  with  peculiar  power  the  divine 
essence  of  the  soul,  which  sometimes 
bears  noble  fruit,  though  it  may  have 
received  but  rude  nurture. 

A  connected  account  of  the  Margaret 
Garner  tragedy  is  given  in  a  volume  of 
"  Reminiscences  "  published  in  1876,  by 
Levi  Coffin,  a  Quaker  Abolitionist. 

The  Cincinnati  journals  reported  the 
case  as  it  proceeded,  and  from  these 
sources,  and  from  Lucy  Stone's  own  ver- 
bal relation,  it  is  possible  to  gather  the 
main  facts.  The  details  vary  slightly, 
but  not  more  than  it  is  to  be  expected 
that  hastily  written  newspaper  reports 
would  differ  from  the  recollections  of 
persons  intimately  affected  by  th£  events. 
All  that  is  essential  and  unfortunately  all 
that  is  terrible  in  the  story  stands  out  in 
unmistakable  truth  and  clearness. 

In  the  winter  of  1856,  the  Ohio  River 
was  frozen  over,  and  a  tempting  path  to 
possible  freedom  was  thus  opened  to  the 
slave  men  and  women  of  Kentucky. 
Seventeen  negroes  undertook  to  avail 
themselves  of  it  one  Sunday  night. 
They  took  possession  of  a  pair  of  horses 
and  a  large  sled  belonging  to  one  of  their 
masters,  and  drove  to  a  place  just  below 
Covington.  They  left  their  conveyance 
here,  crossed  the  ice-covered  stream,  and 
reached  Cincinnati,  after  daylight  had 
broken.  They  dared  not  remain  together, 
as  people  were  now  walking  about  the 
streets,  and  the  movements  of  such  a 
large  party  as  theirs  would  naturally  ex- 
cite attention.  They  separated,  and  nine 
of  the  fugitives  found  friends  who  con- 


cealed them  until  night,  and  then  for- 
warded them  safely  to  Canada.  The 
other  eight  were  less  happy.  They 
sought  the  house  of  a  colored  man  named 
Kite,  whose  freedom  had  been  purchased 
by  his  own  father.  His  dwelling  was  on 
a  river  road  in  the  lower  part  of  the  city, 
and  they  had  to  inquire  their  way  to  it. 
Meanwhile,  one  of  their  masters,  Archi- 
bald K.  Gaines,  traced  them,  by  means 
of  the  sled,  which  had  been  left  on  the 
Kentucky  bank  of  the  Ohio  and  followed 
them  to  Cincinnati.  The  questions  the 
fugitives  asked  enabled  the  hunter  to 
track  them  to  Kite's  house,  within  a  few 
hours  of  their  arrival.  Kite  himself 
went  early  that  morning  to  consult  Levi 
Coffin  as  to  the  best  way  to  secure  their 
safety,  and  when  he  returned  he  found 
that  the  master,  in  company  with  United 
States  Marshall  Ellis,  "  and  a  large  body 
of  assistants,"  were  gathered  before  his 
house.  The  assailants  sent  in  word  to 
the  fugitives  to  surrender,  but  the  negroes 
were  armed,  and  they  barred  the  doors 
and  windows  and  prepared  to  fight.  The 
party  consisted  of  an  elderly  man,  named 
Simon,  his  wife  Mary,  their  son  Robert, 
and  his  wife  Margaret  or  Peggy  Garner 
.and  her  four  little  children.  Several 
shots  were  fired  on  both  sides,  the  win- 
dow was  broken,  and  one  of  the  deputy 
marshals  was  wounded  in  his  hand. 
Then  the  door  was  battered  down,  the 
pursuers  rushed  in,  and  Margaret's  hus- 
band was  overpowered  and  dragged  out. 
All  hope  was  over  for  the  fugitives.  Mar- 
garet Garner  seized  a  kitchen  knife 
which  lay  on  the  table,  and  "  with  one 
stroke  cut  the  throat  of  her  little  daugh- 
ter." She  then  struck  two  of  the  other 
children  and  wounded  them  slightly, 
but  the  officers  caught  and  disarmed 
her. 

The  Cincinnati  papers  reported  that 
she  "  avowed  herself  the  mother  of  the 
three  children,  and  said  that  she  had 
killed  one,  and  would  like  to  kill  the 
three  others,  rather  than  see  them  again 
reduced  to  slavery."  The  little  dead 
girl,  her  oldest,  was  very  pretty,  and 
nearly  white.  The  two  next  in  age  were 
"  woolly-headed  little  fellows,  with  fat, 
dimpled  cheeks."  The  baby  was  whiter 
than  the  mother,  according  to  the  testi- 


478 


BLACK  AND   WHITE. 


mony  of  Mr.  Coffin.  The  story  of  what 
was  happening  at  Kite's  house  spread 
over  the  city.  A  great  crowd  collected 
speedily  about  the  premises.  The  help- 
less negroes  were  put  with  difficulty  into 
carriages  and  conveyed  to  the  United 
States  District  Court  rooms  on  Fourth 
Street.  The  populace  followed  closely, 
but  showed  little  inclination  to  attempt  a 
rescue.  The  slaves  were  ushered  into 
the  court-room,  and  seated  around  the 
stove,  preserving  a  moody  silence.  The 
son  of  one  John  Marshall,  of  Kentucky, 
had  now  arrived  on  the  scene,  and  said 
that  Simon,  Mary  and  Robert,  belonged 
to  his  father,  and  had  "never  expressed 
any  dissatisfaction  in  regard  to  their  re- 
maining in  bondage."  Possibly,  in  saying 
this,  he  hoped  to  impress  his  hearers  with 
the  belief  that  liberty-loving  slaves  were 
apt  to  exchange  confidences  of  that  nature 
with  their  owners  in  Kentucky. 

Various  formalities  passed  among  the 
legal  folk,  and  the  fugitives  were  moved 
about  in  person  and  on  paper  in  exchange 
from  United  States  to  State  authority,  and 
back  again,  while  it  was  decided  that  a 
habeas  corpus  warrant  could  not  be  made 
effective  as  a  step  towards  their  libera- 
tion. 

In  the  course  of  all  this  miserable 
shuffling  of  these  poor  human  cards,  one 
attempt  was  made  to  convey  them  in 
carriages  to  the  Station  House.  When 
the  crowd  in  the  street  saw  the  captives 
appear,  guarded  by  a  strong  posse  of 
police,  they  shouted  to  the  coachmen, 
"  Don't  take  them  !  "  "  Drive  on  !  "  — 
and  the  drivers  either  became  frightened 
or  caught  the  sympathetic  impulse,  for 
they  whipped  up  their  horses  and  drove 
their  empty  carriages  rapidly  away.  *The 
officers,  thus  left  in  the  lurch,  proceeded 
on  foot,  carefully  guarding  their  prisoners 
through  the  city. 

The  Abolitionists  were  naturally  much 
interested  while  the  case  pended,  but  it 
is  a  curious  fact  that  Mr.  Garrison  made 
no  editorial  comment  upon  it  in  the 
Liberator,  although  that  paper  copied 
full  accounts  of  the  affair  from  the  Cin- 
cinnati sheets,  published  letters  from 
Henry  C.  Wright  about  it,  and  re-printed 
from  the  New  York  Tribune  a  poem  on 
the   subject,   written  by   Mary   A.   Liver- 


more,  who  was  then  unknown  to  the  gen- 
eral public.  The  explanation  for  this 
silence  is  easily  found.  A  glance  at  the 
situation  in  the  whole  country  makes  it 
manifest  that  the  time  was  too  crowded 
with  momentous  events  to  allow  the 
thoughts  of  anti-slavery  people  to  con- 
centrate upon  one  poor  woman,  even 
though  that  woman  were  a  mother  like 
Margaret  Garner. 

Salmon  P.  Chase  was  then  governor  of 
Ohio  and  a  possible  candidate  for  the 
presidency.  He  did  not  at  first  make 
himself  prominent  in  this  fugitive  slave 
case.  Kansas  was  seething  with  strife. 
A  Free  Soiler  in  that  state,  named  R.  P. 
Brown,  had  just  been  murdered  at 
Easton  by  a  Border-Ruffian  military  com- 
pany called  the  "  Kickapoo  Rangers." 
Charles  Sumner  was  still  sitting  quiet  in 
the  Senate  Chamber,  but  was  soon  to 
make  his  great  speech,  and  the  character 
of  Preston  S.  Brooks  was  ripening  to 
purposes  of  assassination.  Slaves  were 
constantly  trying,  with  more  or  less  suc- 
cess, to  escape  to  the  North.  The  Anti- 
Slavery  Bugle  at  this  time  quoted  the 
New  Orleans  Picayune  as  authority  for  a 
report  of  "  the  burning  of  a  negro  in 
Lexington  in  that  state,  after  chaining 
him  to  a  stake  in  the  public  street,"  in 
punishment  of  a  hideous  crime,  of  which 
a  young  woman  —  presumably  white  — 
had  be^n  the  victim.  The  American 
people,  North  and  South,  anti  and  pro- 
slavery,  had  much  to  think  of  during  the 
six  weeks  which  elapsed  after  the  seizure 
of  Margaret  Garner,  before  her  fate  and 
that  of  her  companions  was  definitely 
settled. 

Some  attempt  was  made  to  hold  Mar- 
garet subject  to  the  Ohio  law  on  the 
charge  of  murder,  and  thus  prevent  her 
from  being  remanded  to  slavery,  but  the 
attempt  was  defeated,  and  the  precedence 
in  authority  was  given  to  the  United 
States  Court.  The  lawyer  Joliffe  who 
acted  on  behalf  of  the  fugitives,  said, 
indignantly,  "  that  even  a  savage  tribe 
reserved  to  itself  the  right  to  investigate 
a  charge  for  murder  committed  within  its 
borders,  but  the  sovereign  state  of  Ohio 
allowed  itself  and  its  laws  to  be  over- 
ruled by  the  infamous  Fugitive  Slave  Law, 
made  in   the  interests  of   slaveholders." 


BLACK  AND    WHITE. 


479 


Joliffe  pressed  a  motion  in  vain,  that  pa- 
pers should  at  once  be  served  on  his 
clients,  so  that  they  might  be  tried  — 
Margaret  for  murder,  and  the  others  for 
complicity,  giving  as  a  reason  for  his 
course  that  the  fugitives  had  all  assured 
him  they  would  go  "  singing  to  the  gal- 
lows, rather  than  be  returned  to  slavery." 

An  effort  was  also  made  to  prove  that 
the  negroes  were  legally  free,  because 
their  masters  had  in  former  years  brought 
them  into  Ohio ;  but  the  Court  decided 
that  since  the  slaves  had  then  returned  to 
Kentucky  with  their  owners,  the  tempo- 
rary sojourn  in  a  free  state  had  not  suf- 
ficed to  entitle  them  to  freedom. 

Visitors  were  permitted  to  see  Mar- 
garet in  the  jail.  P.  S.  Bassett,  in  a  let- 
ter dated  from  the  Fairmount  Theological 
Seminary  and  published  during  the  trial, 
states  that  he  preached  in  the  prison  and 
talked  with  her.  She  told  him  that  if 
she  had  had  time,  she  would  have  killed 
all  her  children.  She  did  not  care  about 
her  own  fate,  "  but  she  was  unwilling  to 
have  her  children  suffer  as  she  had  done." 
She  said  she  was  not  excited,  but  perfectly 
cool,  when  she  made  the  attempt,  and 
described  her  life  in  slavery,  while  tears 
ran  down  her  face  and  her  countenance 
expressed  the  agony  of  her  soul ;  but  she 
alluded  to  the  child  that  she  had  killed 
with  perfect  satisfaction,  and  dwelt  upon 
its  freedom  from  suffering. 

She  seemed  to  him  to  be  about  twenty- 
five  years  old,  and  to  possess  "  an  average 
amount  of  kindness,  with  a  vigorous  in- 
tellect, and  much  energy  of  character." 

In  the  court-room,  Margaret  wore  a 
dark  calico  dress,  with  a  white  handker- 
chief around  her  neck,  and  a  yellow  tur- 
ban on  her  head.  She  carried  her 
baby  in  her  arms,  and  the  little  thing 
constantly  caressed  her  face  with  its  tiny 
hands,  while  her  two  little  boys  in  happy 
unconsciousness  played  on  the  floor  near 
her  feet.  She  occasionally  looked  tim- 
idly about  her,  but  most  of  the  time  she 
gazed  upon  the  floor.  She  had  a  very 
sad  expression,  and  she  seldom  noticed 
her  baby,  yet  Mr.  Bassett,  speaking  of 
her  manner  in  prison,  says,  "  She  evi- 
dently possessed  all  the  passionate  ten- 
derness of  a  mother's  love."  She  had  a 
scar  on    her   forehead    and   one   on   her 


cheek  bone.  Some  one  asked  her  "what 
caused  these  marks."  She  answered  sim- 
ply, "White  man  struck  me." 

Simon,  his  wife  Mary,  and  Margaret's 
husband,  did  not  manifest  the  same  de- 
spair that  the  young  mother  did.  Their 
religious  trust  survived  their  experiences. 
They  longed  to  be  free,  but  said  they 
would  not  try  to  kill  themselves  if  re- 
turned to  slavery ;  but  Margaret  brooded 
in  a  stony  grief,  which  no  one  had  the 
power  to  assuage. 

"  Those  who  came  to  speak  words  of 
comfort  and  cheer  felt  them  die  upon 
their  lips,"  says  Mr.  Coffin,  "when  they 
looked  into  her  face,  and  marked  its 
expression  of  settled  despair."  The  ne- 
gress  Mary  told  Mr.  Bassett  that  she  had 
neither  encouraged  nor  discouraged  Mar- 
garet to  kill  the  children,  "  for  under 
similar  circumstances  she  would  probably 
have  done  the  same."  She  was  an  old 
woman  and  had  once  been  separated  for 
many  years  from  her  husband. 

Lucy  Stone  who  was  then  living  in 
Cincinnati,  went  to  see  Margaret.  She 
describes  her  to  the  writer  of  this  sketch 
as  a  beautiful  woman,  not  very  dark, 
and  of  a  dignified  presence.  She  talked 
with  her,  doubtless  in  that  same  sisterly 
fashion  of  intense  sympathy  in  which 
she  had  once  held  the  hand  of  that 
other  fugitive  woman  in  Faneuil  Hall. 
But  Margaret  shed  no  tears  as  she 
listened  to  the  kindly  words.  Her 
misery  seemed  to  her  visitor  too  deep  for 
tears.  Perceiving  her  unalterable  sad- 
ness, Lucy  Stone  told  her  of  a  method 
by  which,  even  though  deprived  of  wea- 
pons, it  would  be  possible  for  her  to  take 
her  own  life.  The  marshal,  a  man  named 
Brown,  was  present  at  this  interview,  and 
some  gossip  as  to  the  white  woman's 
speech  got  abroad. 

The  following  day,  Colonel  Chambers, 
counsel  for  the  slaveholders,  complained 
to  the  court  that  the  lady  had  asked 
Marshal  Brown  to  permit  her  to  give  the 
prisoner  a  knife,  so  that  she  might  kill 
herself  and  her  remaining  children. 
When  the  court  adjourned,  the  audience 
resolved  itself  into  a  public  assembly, 
and  Mr.  R.  Pullen  acted  as  chairman. 
Lucy  Stone  went  up  into  the  judge's 
place,  and  quietly  began  to  speak,  in  her 


480 


BLACK  AND   WHITE. 


peculiarly   sweet    and   penetrating  voice. 
She  spoke  of  Margaret : 

"  I  told  her,  "  she  said,  "  that  a  thousand  hearts 
were  aching  for  her,  and  that  they  were  glad 
one  child  of  hers  was  safe  with  the  angels. 
Her  only  reply  was  a  look  of  deep  despair,  of 
anguish,  such  as  no  words  can  speak.  I 
thought  the  spirit  she  manifested  was  the  same 
with  that  of  our  ancestors  to  whom  we  had 
erected  the  monument  at  Bunker  Hill  —  the 
spirit  that  would  rather  let  us  all  go  back  to 
God  than  back  to  slavery.  The  faded  faces  of 
the  negro  children  tell  too  plainly  to  what  degra- 
dation female  slaves  must  submit.  Rather  than 
give  her  little  daughter  to  that  life  she  killed  it. 
.  .  .  Who  shall  say  she  had  no  right  to  do  so? 
...  If  I  were  a  slave  as  she  is  a  slave,  behind 
prison  bars,  with  the  law  against  me,  society 
against  me,  the  church  against  me,  and  no  death- 
dealing  weapon  at  hand,  with  my  own  teeth 
would  I  open  my  veins  and  let  the  earth  drink  my 
blood,  rather  than  wear  the  chain's  of  slavery. 
How,  then,  could  I  blame  her  for  wishing  her  child 
to  find  freedom  with  God  and  the  angels,  where 
no  chains  are?  " 

The  speaker  went  on  to  say  that  she 
had  talked  with  the  claimant,  Mr.  Gaines, 
and  had  besought  him  passionately  to 
free  Margaret,  and  she  stated  that  he  had 
promised  that  he  would  do  so  after  his 
right  to  her  possession  as  property  had 
been  legally  recognized ;  whereupon  Mr. 
Chambers  arose  to  deny  on  behalf  of 
Mr.  Gaines  that  he  had  made  any  prom- 
ise upon  which  a  claim  could  be  founded. 

The  drama  of  shame  proceeded  to  its 
end,  and  in  March  the  fugitives  were 
carried  to  the  ferry-boat,  to  go  back  to 
Kentucky.  The  United  States  marshal 
openly  exulted,  to  an  audience  in  the 
street,  and  said  that  "  the  people  in  Ohio 
might  well  be  proud  that  day." 

Mr.  Finnell  of  Kentucky  assured  the 
crowd,  that  the  Union  "was  far  dearer 
to  him  than  it  was  two  hours  ago."  Mr. 
Gaines  was  "  ten  thousand  times  obliged  " 
to  the  gentlemen  who  had  been  diligent 
in  carrying  out  the  laws,  and  he  called 
on  Mr.  Flinn  of  Cincinnati  to  speak  for 
him  ;  whereupon  that  gentleman  declared 
that  Mr.  Gaines  was  actuated  by  princi- 
ple and  not  by  any  mercenary  motives  in 
his  pursuit  of  his  slaves,  as  was  evident 
from  the  fact  that  their  recovery  "  had 
cost  him  more  money,"  said  Mr.  Flinn, 
"  than  would  boulder  that  whole  street 
with  woolly  heads." 

The  Cincinnati  papers  were  not  all 
pleased  with  the    result.     One    declared 


boldly  that  the  negroes  had  been  deliv- 
ered up  in  order  to  secure  Southern  trade 
to  the  city ;  and  a  bitter  feeling  is  dis- 
cernible in  the  Leader's  record  that  "  a 
body  guard  of  Union  savers  assembled 
and  escorted  the  slave-catchers  in  tri- 
umph to  the  ferry-boat." 

It  was  understood  that  Gaines  would 
hold  the  slaves  for  a  time,  subject  to  a 
possible  requisition  from  the  state  of 
Ohio,  if,  prompted  by  an  after-thought 
of  its  sovereign  dignity,  the  Common- 
wealth should  demand  the  return  of  Mar- 
garet Garner  to  be  tried  for  murder  com- 
mitted within  its  borders.  So,  shortly 
after  the  United  States  authorities  had 
declared  the  woman  to  be  a  piece  of 
personal  property  like  a  horse,  and  as 
such  had  given  her  to  her  owners,  Gov- 
ernor Chase  made  a  requisition  upon 
Governor  Morehead  of  Kentucky  that 
she  be  sent  back  and  tried  on  a  capital 
charge  like  a  responsible  human  being. 
Of  course,  this  was  done  with  the  hope 
of  rescuing  her  from  slavery,  and  of 
finally  saving  her  from  punishment  for  her 
unconscious  imitation  of  the  Roman  me- 
thod of  averting  dishonor  from  her  child. 

One  Mr.  Joe  Cooper  was  intrusted 
with  the  business  of  getting  Margaret 
back ;  but  probably  the  nature  of  his 
errand  leaked  out,  for  when  he  reached 
Frankfort,  Gaines  started  with  the  negroes 
for  Louisville,  before  Mr.  Cooper  was 
able  to  obtain  a  necessary  acknowledg- 
ment and  order  from  Governor  More- 
head.  The  eager  northern  agent  followed 
and  arrived  at  Louisville  two  hours  after 
the  boat,  the  Henry  Lewis,  had  sailed 
down  the  river  for  the  South,  with  the 
slaves  on  it,  handcuffed,  in  charge  of 
Marshal  Butts  of  Covington.  The  boat 
came  in  collision  with  another  vessel. 
Margaret's  baby  was  thrown  into  the 
water  and  drowned.  Lucy  Stone  says 
that  as  she  understood  the  occurrence 
the  mother  might  have  saved  the  infant, 
but  allowed  it  to  slide  out  of  her  lap. 
Another  story  is  that  Margaret  herself 
was  thrown  or  sprang  into  the  water  with 
the  little  one,  and  that  she  was  pulled  out 
by  a  colored  man.  At  any  rate,  she  was 
taken  after  the  collision  on  to  another 
vessel,  the  Hungarian,  and  she  displayed 
"  frantic  joy  when  told  that  her  child  was 


BLACK  AND   WHITE. 


481 


Lucy  Stone. 


drowned,  and  said  she  would  never  reach 
alive  Gaines's  Landing  in  Arkansas,  the 
point  to  which  she  was  shipped."  A 
blanket  was  wrapped  around  her,  and  she 
crouched  "like  a  wild  animal,  near  the 
stove." 

This  is  the  last  picture  I  have  been 
able  to  find  in  any  printed  record  of  this 
woman.  Her  after  fate  was  wrapped  in 
such  mystery,  that  most  of  the  men  and 
women  in  the  country,  who  had  wept  and 
agonized  over  her  story  never  knew  aught 


of  what  became  of  her.  Even  Mr.  Coffin, 
her  staunch  friend  in  Cincinnati,  wrote 
sadly  twenty  years  afterwards,  "  Margaret 
was  lost  in  what  JolirTe  called  'the  seeth- 
ing hell  of  American  slavery.' "  But 
during  most  of  those  years  she  was  at 
rest,  for  before  the  abolition  of  slavery  a 
letter  found  its  hazardous  way  to  Lucy 
Stone,  signed  by  Robert  Garner,  saying 
that  he  knew  she  would  be  glad  to  hear 
that  Margaret's  troubles  were  over.  The 
slave  woman  was  dead. 


482 


MOZART. 


Mozart. 

FROM   THE   BUST   IN    MUSIC    HALL,  BOSTON. 

MOZART. 

By  Zitella    Cocke. 

AS  through  the  leafy  close,  the  crystal  shine 
Of  streamlet  purling  on  its  way  is  seen, 
Nor  in  its  mazes  down  the  clust'ring  green 
Of  interlacing  boughs  and  pendent  vine, 
Nor  'neath  the  shadows  of  the  day's  decline 

Is  hid,  —  so  doth  thy  melody's  bright  sheen, 
Flash  through  close  harmony's  inwoven  screen ; 
And  well  we  call  thy  matchless  strains  divine  ! 
Who  lists,  shall  live  in  Golden  Age  once  more, 

Shall  catch  the  voice  of  sweet  Arcadian  lutes, 
Behold,  as  erst,  glad  nymphs  dance  on  the  shore, 
To  tabor's  sound  and  dithyrambic  flutes,  — 
Hear  Philomel  within  the  moonlit  grove, 
And  tuneful  shepherd  piping  to  his  love. 


MENDELSSOHN. 


483 


Mendelssohn. 

FROM   THE   BUST   IN   MUSIC   HALL,  BOSTON. 

MENDELSSOHN. 

By  Zitella  Cocke. 

HARK  !  hear  the  lark,  bold  prodigal,  elate 
And  jubilant,  his  wealth  of  music  fling 
To  listening  vales,  that  all-expectant  wait 
The  thrilling  touch  of  rosy-fingered  Spring  ! 
Thus  hath  she  touched  thy  heart,  O  Mendelssohn, 

Till  of  her  life  and  beauty  thou  art  fain, 
And  all  her  winning  witcheries  of  tone, 

Her  coy  caprices,  and  her  joyous  strain 
Are  thine.     Lift  but  thy  magic  wand,  and  lo  ! 

Queen  Mab  and  all  her  fairy  court  shall  trip 
To  chorus  of  bright  waterfalls,  and  flow 

Of  streams  melodious  'neath  the  rhythmic  dip 
Of  elfin  oars,  —  while  in  enchanted  boat, 
On  sounds  mellifluous,  we  dream  and  float  ! 


I — 


The  Shores  of  Two  Continents  alternately  approach  and  recede. 


PEN  PICTURES  OF  THE  BOSPHORUS. 

By  Alfred  D.  F.  Hamlin. 

HE  passenger  jpon  the  little  black  steamers  of  the 
Chirket-i-Hairie —  the  "  Association  for  Promoting 
the  Public  Welfare  "  — may  not  be  provided  with 
the  most  sumptuous  accommodations,  but  he  is 
furnished  with  the  most  sumptuous  feast  for  the 
eyes  that  any  fifteen-mile  stretch  of  land  and 
water  upon  the  earth's  surface  can  afford.  The 
partisans  of  the  Hudson  and  of  the  Rhine,  of 
the  Danube  with  its  Gates  of  Iron,  and  of  the 
Trossachs,  or  the  English  Lakes,  and  those  again 
for  whom  the  Bay  of  Naples  epitomizes  all  the 
loveliness  of  earth  and  sea  and  sky,  may  protest 
against  such  a  claim.  But  that  is  because  they 
have  never  lived  upon  the  shores  of  the  Bosphorus, 
nor  felt  the  spell  which  exhales  with  its  evening 
vapors  and  morning  mists,  from  its  wooded  heights  and  imperial  palace-gardens. 
It  is  a  spell  compounded  of  natural  beauty  and  romantic  charm,  into  which  are 
woven  graceful  myths  of  classic  antiquity  and  sombre  tragedies  of  mediaeval 
Byzantium  and  Turkish  Stamboul,  marshalling  before  us  the  ghosts  of  the  Argonauts 
and  the  Achaemenidae,  of  Constantine  and  Justinian  and  Bayazid  the  Thunderer  and 
Soliman  the  magnificent.  Under  its  magic  the  beautiful  shores  and  sparkling  waters 
of  these  straits  grow  more  entrancing  with  each  day's  contemplation  of  their 
picturesque  wildness  and  luxurious  splendor.  The  shores  are  fringed  with  marble 
palaces  and  rambling  mansions  with  terraced  gardens,  and  in  the  embrace  of  their 
steep  valleys  lie  the  quaintest  of  wooden  villages,  whose  sesquipedalian  names  greet, 
at  every  landing,  the  ears  of  the  passenger  by  the  boats  of  the  company  with 
the  philanthropic  name, —  Dolma  Bagtche  and  Arnaoutkieiiy,  Konskoundjouk  and 
Beyler-Bey  and  Khandilli  succeeding  one  another  in  sonorous  euphony  as  the  boat 
touches  now  at  the  shore  of  Europe,  and  now  of  Asia.  At  each  landing  a  motley 
and  polyglot  throng  embarks  and  disembarks,  and  the  crowded  deck  presents  a 
scene  of  the  most  animated  and  various  interest.  Its  coffee-sipping  and  chattering 
multitude  salute  the  ear  with  a  very  Babel  of  confused  tongues,  and  the  nostrils  with 


486 


PEN  PICTURES  OF  THE  BOSPHORUS. 


f§r.  H 


i"  ■  '  ':-;;'"r;":S 


"The   Boat  touches    now  at  the   Shore  of  Europe,  and    now  of  Asia." 


the  redolent  fumes  of  Samsoun  and  Latakia 
exhaling  from  countless  pipes  and  cigar- 
ettes. There  is  a  fascination  in  all  this, 
but  let  not  the  neophyte  delay  over  its 
attractions,  for  fairer  things  await  him 
when  he  shall  mount  to  the  upper  deck. 
From  that  vantage-ground,  his  eyes  com- 
mand such  a  glorious  panorama  as  makes 
all  commonplace  things  fade  from  the 
mind.  The  shores  of  two  continents 
alternately  approach  and  recede  in  a  va- 
ried succession  of  bays  and  promontories, 
of  wooded  heights  and  populous  valleys. 
The  prospect  is  surpassingly  lovely,  and 
if  there  be  a  jaded  traveller  who  longs 
for  one  rekindling  of  his  youthful  enthu- 
siasm, let  him  betake  himself  straightway 
hither,  it  is  but  a  fortnight's  journey  or 
less  from  New  York.  His  sensibilities 
must  be  dead  indeed  if  they  do  not 
awaken  to  new  and  joyous  life  ;  for  Na- 
ture will  touch  him  here  not  with  the 
awfulness  of  her  sublimest  moods,  nor 
yet  with  mere  prettiness  and  dainty  ele- 
gance, but  with  a  varied  and  uncloying 
beauty  which  fills  the  tired  soul  with  ever 
new  delights,  and  stirs  the  emotions  by 
gentle  pulsations  instead  of    overwhelm- 


ing shocks.  And  the  longer  he  subjects 
himself  to  the  spell,  the  more  beneficent 
and  complete  will  be  its  mastery  over 
him,  until  he,  too,  confesses  the  Straits  of 
Constantinople  the  fairest  spot  on  earth. 

Undoubtedly,  the  charm  of  this  favored 
region  belongs  partly  to  the  conditions 
which  surround  life  there.  These  are 
external  to  the  scenery,  and  yet  minister 
greatly  to  the  fascination  it  exerts.  When 
one  has  dwelt  awhile  amid  these  scenes, 
surrounded  by  these  fatalistic  orientals, 
whose  character  so  curiously  blends  good 
nature  and  fanatical  bitterness,  artistic 
taste  and  blindness  to  many  forms  of 
beauty,  the  mind  opens  to  new  impressions 
and  assumes  new  points  of  view.  The 
contrasts  and  combinations  everywhere 
met  with,  seem  to  envelop  everything  in 
a  sort  of  glamour.  The  East  and  West,  the 
Old  and  the  New,  races  and  religions  of 
divers  sorts,  are  continually  brought  into 
strange  and  picturesque  juxtaposition. 
Here  civilization  has  grown  old  and  died 
and  revived  again,  and  the  wrecks  ol  its 
successive  developments  strew  the  hills, 
adding  new  attractiveness  to  the  scene. 
The  peaceful  deliberateness  of  life  among 


PEN  PICTURES  OF  THE  BOSPHORUS. 

3L 


487 


The  "  Castle    of  Oblivion. 


the  lethargic  Turks  contributes  to  one's 
appreciation  of  it  all,  for  here  one  has 
plenty  of  leisure  to  enjoy  the  visible 
world.  Modern  improvements  have  not 
converted  life  into  a  ceaseless  rush.  The 
telephone  is  unknown,  and  no  messenger 
boy  hastens  with  feigned  eagerness  along 
the  sidewalk  —  for  sidewalks  and  mes- 
senger boy  are  equally  wanting.  Here 
and  there  a  deliberate  horse  car  jingles 
through  crowded  thoroughfares;  a  rail- 
way train  shrieks  its  way  through  one  of 
the  city  gates,  bound  for  Adrianople  and 
Vienna ;  and  the  bustling  Chirket  steam- 
ers afford  a  moderately  rapid  transit  be- 
tween the  great  city  and  its  suburbs. 
But  all  these  have  only  ruffled  the  sur- 
face of  Turkish  repose.  One  may  still 
substitute  for  the  steamer  the  fleet  caique, 
gracefullest  of  all  craft  propelled  by  oars, 
and  enjoy  its  easy  motion  over  the  waves 
of  the  Bosphorus.  Business  and  house- 
keeping move  alike  on  oriental  wheels. 
In  vain  the  Yankee  resident  multiplies 
his  cries  of  "  Chabotik,  chabouk"  l  in  the 
futile  endeavor  to  expedite  the  dignified 
movement  of  his  subordinates  ;  "  Yarash, 
Yarask,"*  is  their  motto,  and  even  the 
Yankee  succumbs  at  last  to  the  prevailing 

1  "  Lively,  lively."     2  «  Slowly,  slowly." 


otium  cum  dignitate,  doubtless  not  with- 
out gain  to  his  comfort  and  to  the  quiet 
of  his  nerves.  His  soul  opens  wider  to 
the  voices  of  Nature  and  the  influences 
of  beauty  in  a  land  where  prices  current 
are  discussed  and  bargains  made  over  hot 
coffee  and  bubbling  narghiles,  beneath 
the  spreading  leafage  of  giant  sycamores 
by  the  water's  edge,  instead  of  amid  the 
din  of  the  Stock  Exchange  and  the  rush 
of  Western  business  methods. 

But  aside  from  the  atmosphere  of 
poetry  created  by  special  conditions  of 
life,  the  Bosphorus  owes  its  delightsome- 
ness  quite  as  much  to  its  elements  of 
human  interest  as  to  its  natural  charms. 
One  cannot  conceive  of  its  shores  as  un- 
inhabited. It  is  impossible,  even  in  im- 
agination, to  denude  them  of  their  palaces 
and  villages,  their  castles  and  gardens,  or 
to  picture  these  laughing  waters  swept 
clear  of  the  darting  caiques,  the  throng- 
ing sails  and  smoke -belching  steamships 
which  enliven  their  surface.  Even  this 
done,  the  Bosphorus  would  still  be  beauti- 
ful to  the  eye.  The  pristine  wildness 
upon  which  the  Argonauts  gazed  in  the 
days  of  myth,  which  witnessed  the  pas- 
sage of  Darius  and  his  hosts,  and  the 
march    of   Xenophon's    Ten    Thousand, 


48b 


PEN  PICTURES  OF  THE  BOSPHORUS. 


would,  if  thus  restored,  still  warrant  our 
claiming  for  these  the  first  place  among 
the  straits  of  the  world ;  their  scenery 
would  in  parts,  at  least,  be  not  wholly  un- 
like our  own  regal  Hudson  at  West  Point, 
though  with  less  of  loftiness  to  its  hills. 
But  the  hand  of  man,  through  five  and 
twenty  centuries,  has  been  transforming 
that  untamed  wildness  into  something 
fairer  and  more  welcome  to  our  human 
natures.  However  ruthless  the  first  col- 
lision of  man  with  nature,  however 
savage  his  first  attack,  when  the  strife 
has  lasted  long  enough,  nature  seems  to 


make  friends  again  with  him.  Her  re- 
venge upon  him  is  gentle,  decking  with 
grace  and  loveliness  the  decay  and  havoc 
she  works  upon  his  evanescent  doings; 
and  the  hills  and  shores  covered  with  the 
peaceful  fruits  of  his  labor,  fields  and 
forests  alternating  with  palaces  and  towns 
and  gardens,  and  crumbling  ruins  clad 
with  moss  and  ivy,  smile  instead  of 
frowning  on  us,  and  win  us  by  their  nearer 
kinship  with  ourselves.  So  man  has  en- 
dowed the  Bosphorus  with  a  beauty  be- 
yond that  of  mere  topography,  vegeta- 
tion, and  color.     Her  shores  are  fringed 


PEN  PICTURES  OF  THE  BOSPBORUS. 


489 


with  palaces,  her  waters  flecked  with 
sails,  and  her  hillsides  covered  with 
villages, — villages  unlike  any  others  in 
the  world,  piled  with  the  strangest  and 
quaintest   of   habitations    in   picturesque 


whose  upper  stories  and  widespreading 
eaves  jut  curiously  out  with  strange  and 
irregular  angles  over  the  street.  Here  and 
there  some  sudden  turning  brings  us  to  an 
unexpected    splendor    of    prospect;    the 


The  Bosphorous  with  its  Vill 


ind    Palaces  far  below  us." 


confusion ;  terraced  into  gardens  upheld 
by  gray  and  ivy-mantled  walls,  with  fig- 
trees  and  umbrella-pines  peeping  refresh- 
ingly out  over  the  red  and  brown  tiles  of 
the  fantastic  roofs.  They  repose  in  the 
green  valleys,  spreading  up  their 
sides  well  to  the  summits,  and  \.m^% 
extending  along  the  water-front 
in  a  succession  of  comfortable, 
rambling  mansions  with  lovely 
parks  and  gardens  about  them, 
with  here  and  there  the  white 
facade  of  a  palace  of  the  Sultan 
to  add  distinction  and  splendor 
to  the  landscape.  Less  fascinating 
upon  closer  acquaintance  than 
when  they  seem  to  pass  in  pano- 
rama before  the  traveller  by 
steamboat,  they  are  yet,  even 
then,  delightful  places,  full  of 
charming  surprises  for  the  lover 
of  the  picturesque.  Their  roughly- 
paved  streets  wind  deviously  up 
from  the  water's  side,  flanked  by 
high  garden  walls  of  stone,  and 
gayly-painted  wooden  mansions 
with  latticed  windows,  or  by  more 
modest  dwellings  whose  once 
bright  colors  have  faded  to  in- 
distinguishable hues  of  gray,  and 


Bosphorus  far  below  us  heavenly  blue, 
with  its  palaces  and  hills  and  other  vil- 
lages like  this  one,  breaks  without  warn- 
ing on  our  sight. 

If  we  retrace  our  steps,  we  shall  reach 


Innumerable  Windows  Flood  the  Rooms  with  Sunshine. 


490 


PEN  PICTURES  OF  THE  BOSPBORUS. 


The  Village  Mosque  !s  not  tar  off.' 


at  the  water's  side  the  focus  of  the  vil- 
lage's activity.  Here  we  find  the  charshi 
or  market,  and  the  village  square,  adorned 
with  its  marble  fountain,  and  cool  in  the 
shade  of  gigantic  oaks  and  plane-trees, 
around  which  rude  chairs  and  tables  — 
the  property  of  neighboring  cafes  —  in- 
vite to  &?/"with  black  coffee  and  cigarettes 
or  naj-ghiles}  Kef  is  the  Turkish  equi- 
valent of  dolce  far  niente;  the  quintes- 
sence of  earthly  beautitude,  made  up  in 
equal  parts  of  repose,  coffee,  and  nicoti- 
nous  fumes.  Around  the  groups  of  smok- 
ers under  the  trees,  and  in  the  merry 
coffee-house,  stirs  the  traffic  of  the  little 
town  and  its  port.  Along  the  stone  em- 
bankment and  the  occasional  shelving 
beaches  are  ranged  the  caiques  and  other 
craft,  whose  owners,  the  cdique-djis,  in 
spotless  white  shirts  and  trousers,  voci- 
ferate the  merits  of  their  boats  and  their 
own  skill.  Fishermen  mend  their  nets 
near  by,  or  tar  and  caulk  their  leaky 
boats  ;  hucksters  with  fruit  or  sweetmeats 
drive  a  prosperous  trade,  and  Jew-ped- 
dlers, looking  for  all  the  world  as  though 
they  had  just  stepped  over  from  Hester 
Street,  cry  their  thread  and  needles  with 

1  The  narghile  is  the  Turkish  hubble-bubble  or  water- 
pipe  for  Persian  tobacco. 


nasal  twang.  Sober  Moslems  about  the 
fountain  in  the  square,  perform  their  ablu- 
tions as  the  noon  or  sunset  call  to  prayer 
sounds  musically  from  the  minaret  gallery 
of  the  village  mosque,  and  yellow-slippered 
Turkish  dames  with  white  veils  chatter  on 
their  way  to  the  bath  or  the  boat.  The 
scene  is  gay  and  full  of  life,  but  with  no 
suggestion  of  hurry  or  worry.  The  streets 
about  the  square  and  market-place  boast  a 
few  stores  where  the  necessaries  of  life 
may  be  procured,  and  which  display  their 
more  or  less  tempting  wares  to  every 
passer  by,  on  counters  which  alone  mark 
the  limit  between  street  and  shop.  The 
whole  front  is  open  to  the  weather  by 
day,  and  closed  at  night  by  a  series  of 
wooden  shutters  ;  the  haggling  customer 
stands  in  the  street,  the  haggling  dealer  in 
the  shop,  and  separated  by  the  window- 
sill  counter,  they  exchange  offer  and  re- 
fusal, and  compromise  in  re  a  can  of 
Pratt's  Astral  oil,  a  slice  of  caviare,  or  an 
oke  of  figs. 

Away  from  this  centre  of  life  the  streets 
seem  buried  in  slumber.  The  passers  by 
are  few,  and  the  houses,  from  their  latticed 
windows,  give  no  hint  of  the  life  within. 
The  narrow  and  ill-paved  streets  make 
wheeling  almost  impossible,  and  the  ab- 


PEN  PICTURES  OF  THE  BOSPHORUS. 


491 


sence  of  the  roar  and  rumble  of  traffic  on 
wheels  explains  in  part  the  strange  and 
sleepy  quietude.  But  another  reason  lies 
in  what  is  one  of  the  great  charms  of 
these  villages,  —  the  fact  that  they  are  so 
entirely  composed  of  dwellings.  The 
unlovely  accompaniments  of  manufactur- 
ing industry  and  the  railway  with  its  dis- 
figuring area  of  tracks,  sheds,  and  round- 
houses, are  not  to  be  found.  Even  what 
we  call  "  public  buildings  "  are  few  and 
unpretending.  Near  the  water  stands 
the  guard-house  or  barracks  of  the  local 
police,  a  modest  yellow-washed  building 
of  stone  ;  across  the  square,  one  may  find 
the  baths,  with    their    odd    little    domes 


shops  are  merely  the  first  stories  of  dwell- 
ings, and  every  house  is  a  home,  and  has 
its  garden,  large  or  small,  jealously  secluded 
by  the  high  street  wall  that  joins  house  to 
house  without  break  from  street  corner  to 
corner.  These  walls  usually  present  no 
opening  but  the  house-door  and  garden- 
gate  ;  but  from  over  their  tiled  copings 
one  sees  the  boughs  of  trees,  or  over- 
hanging masses  of  fragrant  wistaria  very 
suggestive  of  the  shade  and  freshness  on 
the  other  side.  The  houses  themselves, 
built  of  wood,  and  almost  destitute  of 
architectural  ornament,  are  yet  not  with- 
out a  certain  expression  of  spaciousness 
and  at  least  a  possible  comfort ;  and  the 


/e-u^-Ji^fthn^Xi 


•'The  Narrow,  Ill-paved  Streets  make  Wheeling  almost  Impossible." 


studded  with  glass  bulls-eyes,  and  their 
smoking  chimneys  ;  the  village  mosque  is 
not  far  off,  its  slender  minaret  towering 
above  the  surrounding  roofs ;  these,  and 
one  or  two  little  churches  and  schools 
belonging  to  the  Greek  and  Armenian 
communities,  make  up  the  list  of  buildings 
not  devoted  to  residence.     For  even  the 


irregularity  of  their  exteriors,  their  over- 
hanging stories  and  broad  eaves,  give 
them  a  quaint  and  picturesque  aspect 
that  is  very  pleasing.  And  when  the 
foreigner  has  finally  adjusted  himself  to 
changed  conditions,  and  learned  the 
habits  of  thought  of  the  people  he  has  to 
deal   with ;  when    he    has    mastered    the 


492 


PEN  PICTURES  OF  THE  BOSPHORUS. 


The  Mosque  of  Miri-Ma  at  Scutar 


PEN  PICTURES  OF  THE  BOSPHORUS. 


493 


i#i 


-  1 


.  a 


"The   Projecting  Wings  and   Bays  absolutely   Disregard  the   Line  of  Basement." 


language  enough  to  defend  himself  from 
the  petty  swindling  to  which  foreigners, 
ignorant  of  the  vernacular  are  in  every 
land  alike  exposed,  he  will  not  improbably 
find  these  houses  and  their  steep-terraced 
gardens  the  most  charming,  homes  pos- 
sible. He  will  forget  the  need  of  those 
multifarious  conveniences  he  deemed  in- 
dispensable to  comfort  in  his  American 
home.  Life  swings  along  peacefully  and 
quietly  without  them,  and  a  hundred 
modest  luxuries  dear  to  Oriental  taste 
take  their  place. 

For  one  thing,  these  Bosphorean  houses 
never  make  one  feel  cramped  for  room. 
Rarely  more  than  two,  or  at  most  three- 
stories  high,  they  spread  over  a  large 
area,  with  wide  halls  and  staircases  and 
roomy  apartments,  furnished  with  a 
wonderful  array  of  doolaps  or  capacious 
closets.  Innumerable  windows  flood  the 
rooms  and  halls  with  sunshine ;  broad 
divans  beneath  them  tempt  to  repose, 
and  the  terracing-up  of  the  hillsides 
affords    to    every    house    an    unimpeded 


prospect  over  the  roofs  of  the  neighbors 
in  front.  In  the  moderate  temperature 
of  the  Constantinople  winters,  these  rooms 
are  easily  kept  comfortably  warm,  while 
in  summer  their  size  and  height  and 
airiness  make  them  delightful  refuges 
from  the  sestival  heats.  If  the  kitchens 
are  somewhat  primitive  in  equipment, 
they  suffice  amply  for  the  demands  made 
upon  them ;  and  the  water-supply  from 
wells,  cisterns,  and  aqueducts  is  usually 
abundant  and  of  excellent  quality.  The 
architectural  pretensions  of  these  houses 
are  slight,  lying  rather  in  the  direction  of 
spaciousness  and  quaintness  than  of  ele- 
gance, and  but  a  small  part  of  their  cost 
goes  for  rare  materials  or  expensive 
decorations,  but  they  are,  nevertheless, 
not  without  points  of  full  suggestiveness 
to  the  architects  even  of  our  own  land. 

One  of  the  first  impressions  they  make 
on  the  foreigner,  alike  in  Stamboul  and 
in  its  suburbs,  is  of  the  amazing  variety 
of  exterior  shape  evolved  out  of  two  or 
three     simple     elements.        The     owner 


494 


PEN  PICTURES  OF  THE  BOSPHORUS. 


A  Turkisk   Interior. 


appears  to  be  little  hampered  by  the  exi- 
gencies of  street  alignment ;  if  the  house 
lot  is  of  inconvenient  shape,  he  remedies 
the  defect  in  the  upper  stories,  which  he 
builds  out  over  the  street  to  the  desired 
plan.  The  projecting  wings  and  bays 
absolutely  disregard  the  line  of  the  base- 
ment wall,  and  are  supported  by  huge 
curved  brackets  of  ship-timber,  which 
give  the  facade  a  striking  aspect  of  bold 
originality,  until  one  has  seen  the  device 
repeated  eight  or  ten  thousand  times. 
But  even  in  this  repetition  there  is  end- 
less variety  and  the  oddity  and  absurdity 
of  the  capricious  angles  and  projections 
seem  to  have  no  limit.  Above  are  tiled 
roofs  of  extraordinary  design,  if  design 
can  be  predicated  of  roofs,  which,  like 
Topsy,  seem  to  have  "growed"  rather 
than  to  have  been  constructed.  Hips 
and  valleys  are  disposed  without  regard 
to  the  resulting  intersections  and  warped 
surfaces,  and  the  whole  is  covered  with 
primitive   tiles   held   down  by  their  own 


weight  in  lieu  of  nails,  with  the  help, 
perhaps,  of  an  occasional  paving-stone. 
And  as,  with  true  Oriental  pertinacity  of 
tradition,  these  roofs  are  invariably  built 
low-pitched,  and  every  wind,  and  even 
the  tread  of  cats  is  likely  to  dislodge  and 
break  a  tile  or  two,  they  become  in  time 
very  porous  aifairs,  and  a  reserve  of  pots 
and  pans  becomes  a  necessity  to  catch 
the  leakage  in  a  rainstorm.  In  this,  how- 
ever, they  are  not  wholly  unlike  certain 
much  more  elaborate  and  pretentious 
roofs  in  the  favored  lands  of  the  West. 
But  with  their  pink  tiles  turned  grey  and 
green  by  time  and  lichens,  they  form  a 
charming  element  in  the  landscape,  nor 
could  shingles,  nor  steep  gables  be  made 
to  accord  so  well  with  the  surrounding 
scenery.  Broad  shadows  are  cast  by  the 
eaves,  which  are  of  almost  excessive 
width,  projecting  sometimes  five  or  six 
feet,  and  not  infrequently  panelled  and 
carved  on  the  under  side.  The  public 
fountains,  whose  graceful  forms  are  among 


PEN  PICTURES  OF  THE  BOSPHORUS. 


495 


the  most  characteristic  creations  of  Turk- 
ish architecture,  depend  largely  for  their 
picturesque  elegance  upon  their  spread- 
ing eaves,  which  slope  upwards  and  out- 
wards in  very  Chinese  fashion,  and  are 
adorned  wkh  carvings  of  an  almost  gro- 
tesque rococo  style,  brilliant  with  gilding 
and  color.  One  sees  occasionally  a  house 
or  summer-kiosque  similarly  bedecked 
like  a  militia-general  with  cocked  hat  and 
plumes.  But  such  is  the  sparkle  of  the 
atmosphere,  and  such,  after  all,  in  spite 
of  the  oddity  and  gaudiness  of  some  of 
its  products,  is  the  innate  decorative  taste 
of  the  Turks,  that  one  rarely  feels  inclined 
to  quarrel  with  these  gay  embellishments. 
These  broad  eaves  must  be  a  survival  of 
Tartar  or  Arabian  ideas,  for  in  Constanti- 
nople they  are  a  climatic  absurdity,  the 
latitude  being  that  of  New  York,  and  the 
summer  heat  less  intense,  if  anything,  than 
in  the  Western  city,  though  drier  and 
more  prolonged.  The  deep  shadows  they 
cast  are  artistically  rather  than  practically 
valuable.  Indeed,  the  Stambailli  courts 
the  sunshine,  and  innumerable  windows 
invite  its  genial  rays ;  windows  so  large 
and  so  crowded  that  one  almost  wonders 
how  the  walls  hold  together.  The  Turk 
is  no  partisan  of  subdued  lights,  and  these 
veritable  walls  of  glass  give  him  a  wide 
sweep  of  view  from  the  divan,  upon  which, 
seated  cross-legged  in  that  posture  which 
is  the  torture  and  the  despair  of  Euro- 
peans, he  can  scan  half  the  horizon  with- 
out moving,  for  to  move  is  no  serious 
matter  for  the  cross-legged  sitter,  and  is 
only  undertaken  for  the  greatest  of 
reasons.  But  to  the  European  this  ex- 
panse of  glass  suggests  a  greenhouse 
rather  than  a  dwelling,  and  calls  up 
whimsical  queries  as  to  the  possible  origin 
on  the  Bosphorus  of  a  familiar  proverb 
concerning  those  who  shouldn't  throw 
stones.  The  writer  well  remembers  one 
mansion  whose  parlor  was  lighted  by  nine 
windows,  each  four  feet  wide.  Its  Amer- 
ican purchaser  walled  up  four  of  the  nine, 
in  order  to  procure  furniture  space  and 
to  shut  out  a  little,  at  least,  of  the  pene- 
trating rain  which  sometimes  beat  through 
their  broad  and  loosely-set  sashes.  Fur- 
niture space  is,  however,  a  minor  consid- 
eration with  the  Turk,  for  whom  a  divan, 
a  few  rugs  and  cushions,  and   one  or  two 


low  stands  of  inlaid  ebony  or  palm-wood, 
suffice  for  a  room.  And  as  for  the  beat- 
ing in  of  the  rain  and  the  wintry  rattling 
of  shaky  sashes,  he  endures  these  with 
the  resignation  of  fatalism.  They  are  the 
offspring  of  bad  workmanship  rather  than 
of  faulty  design,  but  he  makes  no  effort 
to  correct  or  improve  the  workmanship. 
The  Yankee  tenant,  as  winter  approaches, 
closes  up  the  numerous  cracks  with  listing 
or  strips  of  paper  pasted  over  them. 
"  Pasting-day  "  was  a  great  event  in  the 
calendar  of  my  youth,  but  its  labors  did 
not  result  in  beautifying  the  room. 

There  is  no  national  no  local  unifor- 
mity in  the  pattern  of  these  windows; 
some  are  hinged  and  some  double-hung, 
but  the  latter  seldom  boast  the  refinement 
of  sash-weights,  and 
in  order  to  keep 
them  open  one  has 
recourse  to  sticks  of 
assorted  lengths,  to 
wooden  buttons,  or 
even  to  the  adven- 
titious aid  of  boot- 
jacks or  brushes. 
But  all  these  crudi- 
ties of  construction 
are  insufficient  to 
destroy    the    charm 


of  many  of  these  rambling  old  houses, 
and  one  soon  learns  not  to  mind  trifles. 
The  climate  is  seldom  severe,  either  in 
its  heat  or  cold,  and  the  comfort  of 
spaciousness,  the  pleasure  of  delightful 
gardens  and  a  glorious  prospect,  the 
quaintness  and  faded  splendor  of  mansions, 
now  in  humble  ownership,  but  once  the 


496 


PEN  PICTURES  OE  THE  BOSPHORUS. 


A  Street  in  Stamboul. 


abodes  of  princely  wealth  or  rank,  make 
abundant  compensation  for  petty  incon- 
veniences. 

The  situation  and  the  gardens  !  Who 
but  a  Turk  or  an  Alpine  shepherd  would 
think  of  building  on  such  precipitous 
hillsides !  When  he  may  not  set  his 
house  on  the  very  brink  of  the  shore,  the 
Bosphorean  prefers  the  steepest  lot  he 
can  find,  because  of  its  unobstructed 
view  over  his  neighbors'  roof-trees.  Lit- 
tle as  we  are  inclined  to  credit  the  "  un- 
speakable Turk  "  with  the  gentler  senti- 
ments, it  is  a  fact  that  he  possesses  a 
profound  appreciation  of  certain  aspects 
of  the  beautiful  in  Nature,  loving  espe- 
cially trees  and  flowers,  and  manifesting 


even  toward  the  brute  creation  a  kindness 
that  often  surprises  the  European.  He 
cares  little  for  formal  regularity  in  the 
placing  of  his  house,  which  he  faces 
whichever  way  the  lay  of  the  land  may 
make  most  convenient,  or  a  broad  hori- 
zon may  invite  ;  and  no  abruptness  of 
slope  affrights  him  when  the  lines  are 
once  marked  out.  He  cuts  the  hill  into 
terraces,  —  two,  three,  or  even  four,  each 
fifteen  or  twenty  feet  high,  held  up  by 
massive  walls  of  stone,  strengthened 
where  required,  by  huge  buttresses.  From 
the  various  levels  thus  provided  one 
catches  lovely  glimpses  of  the  Bosphorus, 
while  each  terrace  forms  a  garden  by  it- 
self, scenting  the  air  with  the  perfume  of 


PEN  PICTURES  OF  THE  BOSPHORUS. 


497 


its  roses  and  jessamines,  or  shaded  by 
fruit-trees  and  pines,  or  rich  with  the 
vegetables  the  Turkish  epicure  esteems. 
The  larger  estates  boast  their  hot-houses 
and  orangeries ;  rustic  seats,  summer- 
houses  and  gold-fish  ponds,  grottoes  and 
fountains  adorn  their  various  stages,  above 
which  are  spread  the  umbrageous  masses 
of  the  umbrella-pine  and  the  kokonari.1 
About  the  whole  property  is  a  massive 
circuit- wall,  whose  masonry,  added  to  that 
of  the  terraces,  often  costs  more  than  the 
whole  house  to  which  they  belong.  All 
this  stonework  would  look  bare  enough 
in  the  landscape  but  for  the  ivy  and  wis- 
taria which  mantle  it,  and  the  lichens 
and  hyssop  which  vary  its  hues  and  give 
it  a  pleasing  air  of  antiquity  and  perma- 
nence. The  house  bestrides  two  or  even 
three  of  the  terraces,  two  stories  high  in 
front,  four  or  five  in  the  rear,  and  is  often 
bracketed  out  over  the  lower  terrace,  on 
which  it  perches  like  an  eagle's  nest  on  a 
crag. 

From  the  water,  these  irregularly- 
built  habitations,  piled  rank  behind  rank, 
the  basement  windows  of  one  overlook- 
ing the  ridge-pole  of  another,  have  a 
singularly  attractive  appearance.  To  the 
brilliant  color  of  gardens  and  foliage  and 
the  gray  and  yellow  of  the  terrace  walls 
are  added  the  varied  hues  of  the  houses 
themselves,  giving  a  wonderful  gayety  to 
the  picture.  Built  of  wood,  they  are 
decked  with  the  wildest  variety  of  pig- 
ments. While  some  have  weathered  to  a 
sober  neutral  tint,  and  others  wear  a 
modest  coat  of  burl  or  dark  red  ochre, 
others  still  are  begauded  with  strange 
tints  of  pink  or  blue,  green,  lavender,  or 
brilliant  yellow ;  but  somehow  the  land- 
scape seems  to  rejoice  even  in  these  crude 
idiosyncrasies  of  color.  There  is  in  the 
brightness  of  sky  and  air,  and  in  the 
sparkle  of  the  water,  something  which 
harmonizes  the  whole  into  a  truly  exqui- 
site beauty.  It  is  a  picture  in  a  high 
key,  but  the  tone  is  preserved  throughout. 
And  there  is  a  sort  of  humor,  to  our 
minds  at  least,  —  in  this  barbaric  choice 
of  pigments,  which  accords  well  with  the 
oddities  of  site  and  shape  of  the  houses 
themselves. 


1  A  species  of  pine  much  valued  for  the  edible  nuts  in  its 
cone. 


The  Turk  has  been  for  centuries  the 
most  ruthless  of  Vandals  in  classic  lands, 
destroying  the  most  precious  antique 
monuments  to  obtain  lime  and  mortar. 
Much  havoc  of  this  sort  has  been  wrought 
in  and  about  Stamboul,  but  a  wiser  use 
has  sometimes  been  made  of  ancient 
ruins.  Wherever  a  bit  of  mediaeval  wall 
could  answer  his  purpose,  he  has  made 
of  it  the  basement  of  his  house,  thus 
subserving  at  once  the  interests  of  his 
purse  and  of  the  picturesque.  The 
frowning  machicolations  of  the  old  for- 
tress become  the  windows  of  his  kitchen 
and  storeroom,  and  upon  their  crest  his 
wooden  walls  perch  in  truly  triumphant 
fashion.  Part  of  the  walls  of  old  Byzan- 
tium are  thus  crowned  with  houses,  and 
at  Roumeli-Hissar,  beneath  the  windows 
of  the  American  Robert  College,  a  whole 
village  clings  to  the  scarpments  and 
towers  of  the  frowning  "  Castle  of  Obliv- 
ion."2 No  odder  or  more  delightful 
confusion  of  beetling  walls  and  comical 
houses  could  be  imagined.  The  tops  of 
the  thick  walls  from  lanes  and  alley-ways, 
leading  down  from  level  to  level  by  steep 
inclines  or  crumbling  steps.  The  crow's- 
nest  houses  stand  at  every  possible  angle 
and  elevation,  overhanging  the  abyss  on 
the  further  side  of  their  lofty  foundations, 
and  gay  with  all  the  hues  of  the  spec- 
trum. A  fine  triple  gate,  commanding  a 
noble  prospect  up  the  straits  towards  the 
Black  Sea,  forms  the  upper  entrance  to 
this  extraordinary  hamlet,  whose  lower 
exit  upon  the  quay  is  through  an  arch 
scarce  five  feet  high. 

And  since  we  are  now  again  by  the 
water's  side,  let  us  follow  along  the  em- 
bankment fringed  with  konaks  and  yalis, 
the  mansions  of  pashas,  bankers,  and 
grandees.  Here  and  there  stands  an 
imperial  palace  with  its  long  frontage  of 
white  marble,  extending  for  a  quarter  of 
a  mile  with  its  sumptuous  gardens  and 
dependencies.  Bad  as  is  the  mongrel 
architecture  of  these  palaces,  their  gen- 
eral effect  is  magnificent,  in  the  impres- 
sion they  produce  of  splendor,  gayety,  and 
costliness.  They  sparkle  a  moment  on 
the  sight  as  the  tourist  sails  by,  and  then 

2  This  is  the  gigantic  fortification  built  in  1453  by 
Mehuret  II.,  the  conqueror  of  Constantinople,  to  blockade 
the  passage  of  the  Bosphorus.  It  is  one  of  the  finest  mili- 
tary ruins  in  Europe. 


4^8 


PEN  PICTURES  OF  THE  BOSPHORUS. 


give  place  to  the  less  pretentious  yalis 
and  koriaks.  These  advance  to  the  very 
edge  of  the  water  in  many  places,  over- 
hanging its  waves  with  their  upper  sto- 
ries, while  their  cellars,  open  to  the  Bos- 
phorus  through  tunnel-like  arches  in  the 
embankment,  serve  not  as  storerooms, 
but  as  bDithouses.  One  can  sit  in  the 
parlor  and  hear  the  rip#pling  of  the  waves 
under  one's  feet,  or  step  into  the  caique 
without  leaving  the  house.  In  such  cases 
the  quay-road  bends  landward,  and  passes 
behind  the  house,  or  occasionally  under 
it,  for  the  larger  houses  sometimes  span 
the  road  with  a  wing  which  extends  across 
to  the  park  or  gardens  on  the  other  side. 
But  for  the  greater  part  of  the  way,  the 
quay  or  street  passes  in  front  of  the 
houses,  which  are  often  of  great  size, 
with  facades  a  hundred  and  fifty  to  two 
hundred  feet  long,  deserving  by  their 
extent,  if  not  by  their  architectural  splen- 
dor, the  name  of  palaces  rather  than  of 
mere  houses.  But  from  many  of  them 
the  ancient  glory  has  departed.  The 
mildew  of  Turkish  ruin  has  come  upon 
them.  The  princely  line  has  come  to  an 
end,  and  the  house  has  fallen  into  hands 
too  poor  to  maintain  its  former  grandeur ; 
or  the  fortune  born  of  imperial  favor  has 
*  waned  with  the  waning  of  that  favor,  and 
the  bankrupt  has  resigned  his  wealth  to 
Jew  brokers  or  Armenian  bankers.  So 
the  house  decays  with  the  increasing  pov- 
erty of  successive  owners,  until  it  appears 
ready  to  fall  apart  in  one  crash  of  ruin, 
like  the  famed  deacon's  "  one-hoss  shay." 
The  Turk  is  never  fore-handed  with  his 
repairs.  When  it  rains,  'tis  too  inclem- 
ent to  mend  the  roof,  and  when  'tis  fair, 
where  is  the  need?  Thus  a  flavor  of 
mild  and  gradual  decay  comes  to  pervade 
the  house.  The  windows  fall  victims  to 
a  pane-less  ruin ;  the  clapboards  drop 
away,  posts  and  rafters  rot,  and  some  fine 
morning  the  neighbors  look  out  upon 
bare  basement-walls  and  a  heap  of  rub- 
bish from  which  the  rats  have  fled  in  dis- 
may. But  so  full  of  life  and  animation 
is  the  general  scene,  that  the  various 
stages  of  disintegration  met  with  along 
the  Bosphorus,  impart  to  it  only  an  air  of 
picturesque  antiquity  in  no  wise  marring 
its  lovlieness. 

In  spite  of  the  variety  of  exterior  form 


of  these  large  houses,  their  plans  are 
generally  only  variations  of  one  common 
type,  in  which  the  basement  is  devoted 
to  the  domestic  service  of  the  establish- 
ment, the  reception-rooms  and  private 
apartments  occupying  the  floors  above. 
There  is  always  a  main  hall  of  entrance, 
extending  through  the  house  on  the 
street  floor  paved  with  flagstones,  and 
entered  through  ponderous  doors  directly 
from  the  street,  or  more  often  through  an 
entrance  court  with  pebbled  walks  and 
flower-beds.  To  the  gardens  behind  the 
house,  this  hall  gives  access  through  another 
large  door,  while  at  one  side  are  the 
main  stairs  leading  to  the  upper  stories. 
In  the  adjoining  domains  of  cook  and 
steward,  the  kitchen  is  the  most  interest- 
ing part,  but  not  by  its  resemblance  to 
the  complicated  establishment  presided 
over  by  the  chef  of  a  swell  house  in  Paris 
or  New  York.  A  stone-flagged  floor, 
one  or  two  tables,  and  rush-seated  stools, 
a  marble  fountain  and  basin  at  one  side, 
and  across  the  whole  end  of  the  room  a 
cavernous  arch,  gathering  up  the  smoke 
of  a  half-dozen  tiny  charcoal  fires,  —  these 
are  what  one  sees.  The  great  arch  and 
the  stone  bench  or  ledge  under  it,  with  its 
minute  fireplaces  heating  each  its  kettle 
or  stew-pan,  forms  the  ojdk  or  range,  and 
is  equipped  at  one  end  with  a  copper 
cauldron,  and  at  the  other  with  a  brick 
oven.  Around  the  walls  hangs  an  impos- 
ing array  of  shining  copper  saucepans, 
and  sometimes  there  stands  in  the  corner 
a  huge  terra  cotta  amphora  of  antique 
pattern,  to  serve  as  water-cooler  when 
the  cistern  is  low  or  the  aqueduct  runs 
dry.  In  this  primitive  atelier,  the  tur- 
baned  chef  fanning  the  microscopic  fire- 
places with  a  turkey's  tail,  or  damping 
them  with  ashes  to  keep  the  stew  at  a 
gentle  simmer,  concocts  his  savory  chor- 
bas,  his  toothsome  pilafs  and  well-sea- 
soned dohnas,  with  results  which  no 
epicure  ventures  to  despise. 

A  great  reception  hall  is  the  main 
feature  of  the  second  floor,  and  is,  indeed, 
the  most  characteristic  part  of  the  house 
of  every  Turk,  from  pasha  to  peasant.  It 
extends  nearly  or  quite  through  the  house, 
thus  often  reaching  really  imposing  dimen- 
sions, measures  commonly  about  twenty 
by  thirty  feet,  but  is  sometimes  of  nearly 


PEN  PICTURES  OF  THE  BOSPBORUS. 


499 


double  these  dimensions,  and  twelve  to 
eighteen  feet  high.  From  the  sides  of 
this  hall  open  the  several  rooms  and  pas- 
sages belonging  especially  to  the  private 
life  of  the  household.  One  or  both  ends 
of  the  hall  are  filled  with  windows,  under 
which  are  divans  piled  with  cushions  and 
rugs.  Here  the  house  lord  receives  his 
guests  with  an  etiquette  strictly  propor- 
tioned to  their  rank,  and  guided  by  an 
unwritten  and  unchangeable  code.  The 
Turk  yields  nothing  to  the  Parisian  in 
politeness  and  courtly  dignity  of  bearing, 
and  his  hospitality  is  ungrudging  and 
generous.  Here,  too,  are  served  his  din- 
ners of  ceremony,  from  richly-chased 
brass  trays,  unencumbered  by  knives  or 
forks,  and  set  upon  stands  of  ebony  inlaid 
with  mother-of-pearl.  But  no  voice  of 
woman  reaches  his  guests,  and  none  ven- 
tures upon  the  vulgar  and  (according  to 
Turkish  ideas)  indecent  liberty  of  asking 
after  the  health  of  the  host's  wives,  sisters, 
and  daughters.  These,  within 
their  own  apartments,  wives, 
concubines,  and  slaves  to- 
gether, are  perfectly  secluded 
from  external  approach,  but 
can  freely  watch  from  behind 
their  window  lattices  all  that 
passes  in  the  street,  and  here 
they  spend  those  lives  of 
idleness  which  are  one  curse 
of  the  Mohammedan  social 
system.  But  of  the  harem  we 
are  not  privileged  further  to 
speak;  the  sterner  half  of 
humanity  never  sees  anything 
beyond  the  walls  that  separate 
the  harem  from  the  seladmlik, 
except  what  each  beholds 
within  the  inviolable  precincts  of  his  own 
harem. 

Those  who  expect  to  find  in  the  halls 
of  even  the  larger  houses  all  the  splendors 
of  Turkish  decorative  art  are  usually  dis- 
appointed. Rarely,  except  in  the  palaces 
of  great  pashas,  will  one  meet  with  those 
exquisite  Persian  tile-wainscots,  those 
finely-wrought  doors  inlaid  in  minute 
geometric  panels,  that  rich  frostwork  of 
Saracenic  and  Moorish  patterns  in  plaster, 
and  those  elaborate  moucharabiye  lat- 
tices which  play  so  large  a  part  in  the 
domestic     architecture     of     Cairo     and 


Granada.  Even  the  distinctively  Turk- 
ish type  of  fireplace,  with  its  tall  open- 
ing and  elegant  polygonal  hood  of  tiles,  is 
rare  in  these  houses  of  the  Bosphorus. 
The  preoccupation  of  housebuilders  here 
seems  to  be  rather  the  view,  the  gardens, 
the  air  of  space  and  breadth  than  any  dis- 
play of  interior  ornamentation.  The  great 
cost  of  terraces  and  foundations  may  pos- 
sibly be  another  reason  for  this  economy 
of  decoration.  But  such  modest  adorn- 
ments as  they  boast  are  often  charming 
and  suggestive,  and  here  and  there  one 
is  surprised  by  an  unexpected  bit  of  wood 
mosaic,  a  carven  niche,  a  cupboard  door 
of  Arabic  star-panelling,  or  some  other 
example  of  Mohammedan  skill  in  the 
decorative  arts.  The  walls  are  plastered 
and  highly  finished  with  a  fine  quality  of 
hard  stucco,  sometimes  wrought  into 
large  panels  with  ornamental  borders. 
The  ceilings,  always  of  wood,  are  made 
attractive  by  a  simple  scheme  of  mould- 


■cvpied '  bj/S&sSiortczngr 


ings,  nailed  into  the  sheathing  of  care- 
fully-matched boards,  and  forming  long 
and  narrow  panels,  or  intersecting  in  a 
small  quarry  pattern.  At  each  intersec- 
tion is  a  rosette  or  pendant,  and  a  larger 
rosette  or  star  adorns  the  centre  of  each 
quarry.  The  cornice  usually  consists 
merely  of  a  coving  with  a  few  mouldings  ; 
the  whole  is  painted  in  various  tints,  and 
there  is  no  fear  of  falling  plaster  or  cracked 
ceilings.  The  doors  are  wide,  ornamen- 
tally panelled,  and  surrounded  by  a 
pseudo-classic  trim  of  more  or  less  ele- 
gance, not  unlike  what  one   sees   in  our 


500 


PEN  PICTURES  OF  THE  BOSPHORUS. 


colonial  mansions,  and  betraying  the  in- 
fluence of  those  Italian  architects  who 
seem  to  have  revolutionized  Turkish 
architecture  a  century  and  a  half  or  two 
centuries  ago.  Like  nearly  all  the  wood- 
work they  are  generally  made  of  pine  or 
maple  and  painted,  finish  in  "  native 
woods"  being  exceptional. 

Another  architectural  embellishment 
peculiar  to  these  Turkish  houses  is  that 
of  their  indoor  fountains.  They  are  of 
marble,  carved  sometimes  into  forms  of 
considerable  grace  and  beauty,  and  spout 
forth  a  minute  stream  of  water  whose 
musical  tinkle  is  most  refreshing.  These 
fountains  usually  adorn  the  reception 
hall,  and  are  either  of  purely  Saracenic 
type,  or  carved  in  that  sprawling  and 
florid  but  not  wholly  unpleasing  Turkish 
rococo  style  to  which  allusion  has  already 
been  made. 

The  whole  realm  of  pictorial  decoration 
is  forbidden  the  Turk  by  Koranic  injunc- 
tion, but  in  the  great  houses  of  Greeks 
and   Armenians    the    luxury    of   frescoed 


Xo/ia/i  /7earJ3e5eA:. . 


ceilings  and  walls  is  not  uncommon. 
Perhaps  the  less  said  of  their  artistic 
merit,  the  better ;  they  do  not  betray  the 
touch  of  a  Raphael  or  a  Tiepolo.  There 
is  a  famous  mansion  in  the  village  of 
Bebek,  erected  some  ninety  years  ago  by 
the    Sultan's    Greek    banker    Yorghaki,1 

1  It  was  sold  by  his  descendants  to  the  American  Mission, 
was  then  the  property  of  Robert  College,  and  is  now 
occupied  as  an  apartment-house  and  chapel  by  a  number 
of  English  families. 


which  once  boasted  an  unusual  splendor 
of  ornamentation.  Carved  ceilings  and 
alcoves,  flanked  by  rows  of  pigeon-holes 
for  bric-a-brac,  marble  fountains  and 
plaster  relief-work,  and  an  extraordinary 
set  of  rococo  and  pseudo-Pompeiian 
frescoes  made  it  the  wonder  of  the  day. 
In  one  of  these  frescoes,  Turks  and 
Greeks,  issuing  from  opposite  castles 
waged  a  bloody  fray.  The  owner's  Greek 
patriotism  and  his  Turkish  loyalty  found 
equal  expression  in  the  absolute  evenness 
of  the  conflict,  which,  though  fierce,  seemed 
in  nowise  to  affright  a  disciple  of  the  gentle 
Izaak  in  the  foreground,  whose  rod  was 
bending  with  the  weight  of  the  huge  trout. 
A  more  peaceful  scene  adorned  the  parlor 
alcove.  In  the  background  was  the  Bos- 
phorus  with  its  hills,  up  which  toiled 
three  colossal  figures  (ninety  feet  high  by 
the  scale  of  the  hills  themselves)  while  in 
the  foreground  a  bit  of  Pompeiian  archi- 
tecture sheltered  other  figures  of  more 
modest  proportions,  and  a  marble  foun- 
tain in  the  left  middle  distance  poured 
forth  its  cool  stream. 
Theatrical  draperies 
in  the  highest  style 
of  Italian  scenic  art, 
seemed  to  veil  the 
arched  top  of  the 
alcove. 

The  banker  for 
whom  all  this  splen- 
dor was  created,  has 
passed  away,  and  all 
his  family  and  de- 
scendants. Robert 
College,  which  in  its 
infancy  tenanted  this 
palace,  moved  twenty 
years  ago  to  its  pres- 
ent  regal  situation 
upon  the  heights  of 
Hissar,  whence  its 
enlightening  influence  has  streamed  so 
freely  into  Armenia  and  Bulgaria,  kin- 
dling the  nascent  patriotism  of  oppressed 
peoples  into  effective  life,  and  so  work- 
ing powerfully  towards  the  solution  of 
that  nightmare  of  Europe,  the  Eastern 
Question.  The  glories  of  the  old  man- 
sion have  grown  dim  or  vanished  before 
the  "  improvements  "  introduced  by 
successive     tenants.      Its    huge    timbers 


ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 


501 


are  decaying,  like  the  framework  of  the 
Turkish  state,  and  like  that  state,  it  is 
doomed  to  fall  some  day,  we  know  not 
when.  And  so  must  pass  away,  one  after 
another  all  these  rambling  konaks  and 
picturesque  yalis  crumbling  to  dust,  or 
giving  way  to  something  more  modern 
and  European.  These  villages  are  very 
slowly  but  surely  changing.  The  Western 
leaven,    if  not    Western  conquest,    must 


work  in  time  its  mighty  transformation  ; 
the  crescent  must  wane,  the  Turk  decamp, 
with  his  dignified,  leisurely  ways.  This 
is  the  law  of  Progress,  doubtless  of  Right ; 
but  it  may  well  be  questioned  whether 
one  hundred  years  hence  the  Bosphorus, 
thus  modernized,  can  be  as  lovely,  its 
houses  and  villages  as  quaintly  interesting, 
as  to  the  traveller  of  to-day  on  the  little 
black  steamers  of  the  Chirket-i-Hdirie. 


ONLY   AN    INCIDENT. 


By  Herbert  D.    Ward. 


YOUNG  man 
sauntered  into  the 
smoking  -  room  of 
the  Queen's  hotel 
in  Edinburgh  and 
sat  down  by  the 
window.  It  was 
five  o'clock,  and 
February  of —  let 
us  call  it  about  ten 
years  ago.  The 
coal  fire  in  the  open 
grate  had  at  last 
succeeded  in  wor- 
rying the  tempera- 
ture of  the  large 
mahogany  room  up 
to  a  tolerable  de- 
gree of  comfort.  At 
superficial  sight,  the  young  man  would 
have  been  taken  for  a  Scotchman,  with  his 
broad  shoulders,  his  six-feet-one,  and  his 
ruddy  beard ;  but  the  experienced  eye 
would  have  decided  otherwise  upon  ob- 
serving the  mobile  lips,  the  nervous  eyes, 
and  the  pale  forehead,  that  bespoke  a 
more  highly  organized  nationality.  As 
there  are  only  two  peoples  that  have  added 
fire  to  the  Scotch  stolidity  and  canniness, 
he  must  have  been  an  Australian  or  an 
American. 

Kendall  Crocker  was  of  New  England 
blood,  and  a  senior  of  Harvard  Univer- 
sity. He  was  considered  to  have  much 
promise  and  little  contemporary  worth  as 


a  student.  He  had,  however,  by  the 
modern  gauge  of  compensation,  made 
up  an  ample  equivalent  through  taking 
high  honors  in  the  gymnasium.  His 
specialty  was  the  horizontal  bar.  But  it 
broke  with  him  one  afternoon  while  he 
was  doing  the  "giant  swing"  to  the 
adoration  of  some  freshmen  and  their 
giggling  cousins,  and  the  possibility  of  a 
diploma  became  suddenly  microscopic. 
After  hovering  between  brain  fever  and 
permanent  paralysis,  he  had  recovered  so 
far  as  to  take  his  first  trip  abroad,  with 
letters  of  introduction  to  distant  Scottish 
relatives.  The  Circassia  had  come  in 
only  the  day  before,  and  Kendall  was 
waiting  until  he  could  walk  straight  and 
sleep  in  a  steady  bed  before  entering  upon 
a  round  of  Highland  hospitality,  such  as 
a  gay  fellow  does  not  forget  when  his 
graver  years  overtake  him. 

As  he  looked  out  of  the  window  into 
the  steady  drizzle,  he  perceived  the  ob- 
vious difference  between  the  old  men  of 
Edinburgh  and  of  New  York.  Through 
the  well-defined  glare  of  the  hotel  lights  a 
hundred  gentleman  on  the  black  side  of 
sixty  had  passed  by,  always  erect,  hand- 
some, able,  well-preserved,  and  invariably 
braving  the  penetrating  down-pour  with 
their  umbrellas  tucked  safe  and  dry  under 
their  arms.  This  phase  of  Edinburgh 
customs  amused  Kendall  considerably.  In 
a  semi-scientific  spirit,  natural  to  the  dab- 
bler   in    mineralogy  and    chemistry,    he 


502 


ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 


began  to  estimate  the  ratio  of  men  who 
used  their  umbrellas  for  the  purposes  of 
protection,  compared  to  those  who  did 
not,  when  he  was  interrupted  in  his  cal- 
culations by  two  gentlemen  stopping  di- 
rectly before  his  window.  The  rain  now 
fell  thicker  and  faster.  A  few  merchants 
even  quickened  their  paces  and  shook 
their  heads  cautiously,  as  if  afraid  of  being 
observed  in  an  impious  act.  The  two 
who  stopped  were  both  at  least  seventy, 
and  they  were  gesticulating  furiously  with 
their  umbrellas  closed  to  the  tightest  fold. 
The  water  shone  from  their  derbies  and 
dripped  from  their  coats.  The  altercation 
waxed  until  it  threatened  to  be  serious. 
It  occurred  to  Kendall  Crocker  to  rush 
into  the  storm  between  them.  But  the 
foot-passengers  passed  the  disputants  by 
carelessly,  as  if  it  were  no  great  matter  if 
a  heptagenarian  chose  to  have  his  eyes 
pricked  out.  The  squall  passed ;  the 
disputants  closed  together,  smuggled  their 
watersheds  under  their  arms,  and  in  a 
most  friendly  manner  walked  on.  A 
difference  of  opinion  in  Scotland  looks 
more  fatal  than  it  really  is.  Kendall 
laughed  aloud  at  this  tame  ending  to  an 
aged  "  set-to."  The  athlete  looked  for  a 
bit  of  a  row,  at  least,  and  was  disap- 
pointed. He  sat  down  again,  turned 
impulsively  to  a  man  in  the  seat  next  to 
him,  and  said : 

"  Don't  the  people  in  Scotland  use 
their  umbrellas  when  it  rains?  What  do 
they  buy  them  for?" 

The  man  shifted  his  chair  a  little 
toward  his  young  interlocutor  as  if  he 
were  grateful  for  the  privilege  of  conver- 
sation, turned  upon  him  a  delicate  face 
that  would  at  once  have  struck  a  finer 
observer  than  Kendall  as  superlatively 
sad,  and  answered  in  an  accent  Scottish 
enough,  but  modified  by  evident  educa- 
tion : 

"This  is  nothing,  sir.  We  don't  call 
this  rain.  It's  only  a  slight  mist.  It's 
foggy  this  evening,  I  notice  again." 

Kendell  knew  not  whether  to  distrust 
his  eyes  or  his  ears.  He  could  hear  the 
rain  and  he  could  see  it.  "  The  man  is 
a  professor,"  he  thought;  "  perhaps  he's 
guying  me." 

But  the  man  interested  him.  The  first 
bona  fide  son  of  a  foreign  soil,  no  matter 


what  or  where  he  may  be,  generally  has 
a  fascination  of  his  own  to  the  traveller. 

"  If  this  isn't  rain,  will  you  kindly  tell 
me  what  it  is?"  proceeded  Kendall, 
turning  around.  He  now  obtained  a  full 
view  of  his  new  acquaintance.  He  was  a 
middle-aged  man  with  a  rough,  uncut 
beard,  not  unlike  that  worn  by  Carlyle, 
according  to  the  pictures.  This  orna- 
ment might  have  been  the  freak  of  a 
genius,  or  the  carelessness  of  poverty. 
The  man's  face  was  not  regular  or  hand- 
some ;  but  the  features  had  evidently 
been  moulded  by  the  influence  of  thought 
or  study  into  a  refinement  that  was  ex- 
ceedingly attractive.  His  cheeks  were 
hollow,  as  if  from  midnight  watches  or 
from  hunger.  His  eyes  were  dark  and 
deep-set ;  they  glowed  with  more  than 
commonplace  intelligence.  "  He  is  a 
prof."  said  Kendall  to  himself,  "  prob- 
ably of  the  University  here." 

But  when  the  natty  Harvard  student 
observed  the  man's  dress,  he  began  to 
doubt.  Kendall  had  been  told  that 
Scotchmen  were  famous  for  the  peculiar 
care  they  gave  to  their  clothes.  A  sec- 
ond glance  revealed  to  him  that  this  man 
was,  to  say  the  least,  shabby.  His  over- 
coat of  rough,  cheap  material  was  worn 
to  threads  about  the  collar  and  down  the 
front ;  yet  it  was  neat.  The  under  coat 
was  a  very  shiny,  over-sponged  diagonal, 
and  so  closely  buttoned  at  the  throat  that 
the  absence  of  a  shirt  was  too  ostenta- 
tiously hidden.  Kendall's  eyes  involun- 
tarily rested  upon  these  details  ;  he  could 
not  help  it ;  there  was  such  a  marked 
contrast  between  the  face  and  its  setting. 
He  then  allowed  his  gaze  to  wander  down 
to  the  stranger's  shoes,  —  the  problem 
was  so  interesting ;  but  these,  to  his  sur- 
prise, he  found  of  superior  make  and 
material.  This  inspection  occupied  but 
a  few  seconds,  yet  the  young  man  already 
felt  ashamed  of  a  curiosity  which  was  in- 
delicate enough  to  surprise  this  stranger 
of  a  secret,  which  all  but  beggars  hope  to 
conceal  —  poverty. 

The  American  raised  his  eyes  and 
encountered  a  bleak  look  of  reproach  that 
he  could  never  forget.  With  an  obvious 
effort  the  man  broke  the  pause,  and  with 
a  singular  grace  of  manner  proceeded  to 
answer    Kendall's    light    question.      The 


ONL  Y  AN  INCIDENT. 


503 


cultivated  modulations  of  this  soft  Scotch 
voice,  so  fascinatingly  different  from  the 
strident  noises  that  generally  emanate 
from  the  New  England  throat,  were  suffi- 
cient in  themselves  to  oust  from  Kendall's 
easy  memory  his  acute  deductions. 

"  I  see  that  you  are  a  stranger,  sir." 
Kendall  nodded. 

"  Perhaps  an  American?  " 

"  How  did  you  know  that?  " 

"  It's  a  trick  of  the  voice  you  from 
over  the  water  have.  Now,  sir,  I  don't 
doubt  that  you  would  call  this  rain  in 
New  York ;  but  when  it  rains  with  us, 
umbrellas  are  of  no  use  —  it  pours  right 
through.  An  umbrella  with  us  is  a  more 
constant  companion  than  a  wife.  A 
Scotchman  carries  it  with  him  wherever 
he  goes,  irrespective  of  the  weather,  for 
he  can  never  tell  what  it  will  do  the  next 
hour." 

"Then  I  suppose,"  interrupted  Ken- 
dall with  a  roguish  smile,  "  they  are  never 
used  at  all ;  this  deluge  is  considered 
nothing.  If  it  could  possibly  rain  harder, 
it  would  pour  through." 

"  I  remember  one  time  in  Linlithgow- 
shire, the  day  I  discovered  a  new  cyclo- 
phyllum"  said  the  Scotchman  musingly. 
"  Now,  that  was  a  wet  day.  It  took  me 
five  hours  to  dig  one  specimen  out  with- 
out spoiling  its  delicate  septa.  I  was 
working  in  a  hollow.  Before  I  knew  it 
the  water  was  up  to  my  knees.  It  was 
either  a  new  species  or  nothing.  But  I 
finally  dug  it  out  intact.  By  that  time  I 
was  up  to  my  waist,  and  just  managed 
to  wade  out.  That  was  a  rain.  I  was 
taken  advantage  of,  for  I  had  no  um- 
brella with  me,  what  with  my  bag  and 
tools." 

The  stranger  laughed  softly  at  the 
recollection  of  his  exploit,  and  his  eyes 
twinkled  for  a  moment  like  two  stars  in  a 
rift.  Then  they  saddened  quietly,  and 
he  sighed.  At  this  sigh  the  young  man 
glanced  up  keenly,  and  his  eye  happened 
to  fall  upon  his  companion's  hands.  Their 
backs  were  delicate  from  the  knuckles  to 
the  wrist,  but  the  fingers  were  rough  and 
coarse  from  manual  labor.  "  Probably 
from  chipping  rocks,"  thought  Kendall; 
then  he  added  aloud  : 

"  I  can  appreciate  your  not  giving  in. 
You   see,   I've   collected    minerals    for  a 


good  many  years.  You  are  a  professor, 
aren't  you?  " 

"No  —  I  am  not  a  professor,"  an- 
swered the  man,  shaking  his  head  sadly, 
"  although  —  " 

"You  look  like  one,  anyway,"  said 
Kendall  cheeringly.  "  I'm  a  member  of 
Harvard  University  and  know  slews  of 
professors,  and  I  took  you  for  one." 

At  this  careless  speech,  there  came  a 
hopeless,  chilly  look  into  the  man's  face. 
Kendall  did  not  notice  it.  He  was  now 
looking  at  the  increasing  gusts  of  rain, 
and  congratulating  himself  on  not  having 
to  dine  out  in  such  weather.  He  had  ex- 
perienced eight  days  of  it  on  the  trip  over, 
and  speculated  idly  on  how  long  it  could 
hold  out.  With  an  effort  his  chance 
acquaintance  recovered  himself.  He  per- 
ceived quickly  that  he  was  passing  out  of 
the  American's  mood.  Had  Kendall  been 
a  man  used  to  observing  the  sufferings  of 
others,  he  would  have  been  pierced  to 
the  heart  by  the  expression  of  the  Scotch- 
man's face.  He  turned  lazily  from  the 
window,  and  began  to  speak  again  in  his 
easy,  pleasant  way : 

"Have  you  collected  minerals?  Is 
there  anything  of  interest  to  be  had  near 
Edinburgh?  I  mean  to  run  down  to 
your  famous  Cornwall  mines.  I  wish  to 
collect  some  fine  cassiterite  and  fluor." 

Kendall  was  really  an  enthusiastic  col- 
lector, but  his  knowledge  of  anything  but 
the  physical  features  of  the  minerals  and 
their  localities  was  exceedingly  super- 
ficial. 

"My  department  is  narrow,"  said  the 
Scotchman  quickly.  "  I  only  collect  fos- 
sils, and  of  these  only  corals.  I  have  one 
or  two  scarce  specimens  in  my  cabinet. 
If  you  would  care  to  come  and  see  them, 
you  would  confer  on  me  a  favor,  and 
perhaps  experience  a  slight  interest  your- 
self." 

Kendall  fancied  that  the  man  looked 
eagerly  at  him,  as  if  hoping  for  his  ac- 
ceptance. 

"  I  should  like  above  all  things  to  come 
if  you  will  let  me,"  replied  the  young 
man  heartily.  "  I  don't  know  anything 
about  fossil  corals,  though.  Here's  my 
card.  I'm  staying  here  for  about  a 
month.  When  would  it  be  convenient 
for  me  to  call?  " 


504 


ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 


I   am   not  a   Professor." 


At  this  ready  response  to  his  timid 
hint,  the  stranger's  face  turned  radiant. 
He  took  the  pasteboard,  glanced  at  it, 
and  put  it  carefully  into  his  pocket. 

"I  have  no  card,  Mr.  Crocker,"  — 
with  a  courteous  bow  ;  "  but  "  —  A  slight 
flush  of  embarrassment  mounted  to  his 
forehead.  He  drew  a  bundle  of  letters 
from  his  pocket  and,  taking  one  out  of  its 
envelope,  he  handed  the  envelope  to  the 
young  man.  "  I  am  not  a  professor  my- 
self, but  this  is  from  the  professor  of 
palaeontology  at  the  University  of  Oxford. 
He  is  a  correspondent  of  mine. 

He  paused,  while  Kendall,  with  a  de- 
cided advance  in  respect  for  what  was 
previously  an  unknown  quantity,  read  the 
name  and  address.  As  the  Scotchman 
spoke,  he  rose  from  his  seat  and  stood  in 
an  attitude  in  which,  for  a  brief  moment, 
pride  dominated  his  usual  expression  of 
hopelessness.  He  was  a  tall,  thin  man, 
lean  as  a  spendthrift's  purse.  Even  as 
he  stood  in  the  light  of  the  room  his 
clothes  seemed  thinner  than  himself. 
Which  of  the  two  were  more  worn,  thev 


or  he  ?  A  waiter  in  the  garb  of  his  p  &- 
fession  now  entered,  cast  a  disdaimul 
glance  at  the  correspondent  of  an 
Oxford  professor,  and  obsequiously  an- 
nounced to  the  rich  American  that  din- 
ner was  served.  Without,  the  rain  had 
burst  down  with  renewed  vitality.  Ken- 
dall noticed  that  the  man  had  no  um- 
brella, and  he  protested  cordially  : 

"  You  can't  think  of  going  out  in  this 
weather  with  no  protection  ?  Take  mine 
Mr.  —  "  glancing  at  the  envelope,  — "  Mr. 
Mentieth." 

Before  Kendall  could  call  a  boy,  his 
gaunt  acquaintance  shook  his  head,  put- 
ting both  hands  gently  on  the  young 
man's  arm.  In  the  full  light,  his  face, 
especially  the  upper  part  of  it  where  the 
forehead  meets  the  corners  of  the  eyes 
and  cheeks,  had  a  heroic  cast.  As  he 
answered,  there  came  a  wistfulness  into 
his  voice  and  mouth  that  touched  Ken- 
dall more  deeply  than  he  liked.  Was  it 
the  need  of  food  or  sympathy  ? 

"  By  no  means,  Mr.  Crocker.  It  is 
nothing. 


I  am  used  to  it.     I  can  change 


ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 


505 


about  when  I  get  home.  And  you  will 
come,  will  you  not  ?  It  isn't  very  pleasant 
where  I  live.  You  had  better  take  a  cab, 
sir,  for  the  street  is  ill  lighted.  I  am 
always  home  in  the  evening." 

He  buttoned  his  coat  tightly  to  his 
throat.  The  coat  seemed  to  Kendall 
stretched  like  a  skin  across  its  wearer's 
back.  He  stooped  a  little  when  he 
reached  the  corridor,  dropped  his  eyes 
uneasily  before  the  clerk,  hastened  to  the 
front  door,  shivered  on  the  sill,  and  then 
made  the  leap  into  the  storm.  Kendall 
watched  the  man  to  the  corner,  pitching 
unsteadily  in  the  wind,  and  beaten  by  the 
rain.  Thoughts  that  were  new  to  the 
luxurious  invalid  stirred  within  him.  He 
could  not  formulate  them.  He  was  dimly 
conscious  of  but  one  thing,  namely,  that 
he  was  a  brute  not  to  have  asked  his 
enigma  to  stay  to  dinner. 

Kendall  Crocker  stood  before  his  mir- 
ror in  the  Queen's  Hotel,  putting  the 
finishing  touches  to  his  evening  dress. 
Like  so  many  Americans  before  him, 
immediately  upon  his  arrival  he  had 
hunted  up  the  best  tailor  in  the  city,  and 
had  ordered  clothes  enough  to  last  him 
three  years.  He  looked  upon  this  as  a 
method  of  paying  for  his  trip.  It  was 
a  subtle  stroke  of  economy  not  appre- 
ciated by  the  parental  understanding. 
The  dress-suit  had  just  come  that  day, 
and  he  surveyed  himself  critically  before 
the  glass. 

"By  Jove!"  he  ejaculated  after  two 
twists  and  a  turn,  "it's  fine  stuff,  but  a 
beastly  poor  fit  about  the  shoulders." 

He  surveyed  the  creases  darkly  for  a 
moment,  and  then  brightened  up. 

"  I  guess  it  will  have  to  go.  It  isn't 
any  worse  than  the  natives  wear,  —  that's 
one  comfort."     Nor  was  it. 

Kendall  had  starred  it  in  Edinburgh  to 
his  heart's  satisfaction.  His  distant  rel- 
atives proved  of  unexceptionable'  blood, 
and  wealthy  enough.  Moreover,  they 
took  cordially  to  this  representative  of 
Western  civilization,  and  were  delighted 
that  he  had  distinguished  manners,  and 
showed  no  trace  of  Mohawk  blood.  The 
absence  of  feathers  and  war-paint  puzzled 
them  for  a  space,  but  they  were  becoming 
used  to  it.  American  travellers,  at  the 
time  of  which  we  write,  had  not  been  so 


frequently  entertained  in  the  homes  of 
Scotland  as  they  have  been  since.  Ken- 
dall had  been  invited  to  a  real  castle  with 
a  wall  of  stone  ten  feet  thick,  a  monk's 
chamber,  a  secret  staircase,  a  rookery, 
and  a  ghost.  He  had  attended  a  "  meet," 
and  had  followed  the  hounds  creditably, 
in  spite  of  his  broken  back ;  he  had  met 
a  marquis,  and  numberless  viscounts  and 
baronesses.  He  had  been  regularly  lion- 
ized, for  handsome  foreigners  were  scarce 
in  February.  He  had  met  the  prettiest 
girl  in  the  world,  the  sister  of  an  M.  P. 
What  more  was  there  needed  to  make  a 
very  young  man  perfectly  happy? 

But  this  happened  to  be  a  night  off.  By 
some  slip,  he  was  to  dine  at  the  hotel 
alone,  and  he  felt  considerably  bored. 
Time  could  but  hang  heavily  on  his 
hands  till  nine,  when  he  was  due  at  the 
club.  He  emptied  the  pockets  of  three 
or  four  old  coats,  to  see  if  there  were  any 
letters  which  he  had  failed  to  answer. 
He  sat  down  to  his  table,  lighted  a  cigar- 
rette,  and  sorted  over  a  small  pack.  A 
crumpled  envelope  fell  out  and  stared  at 
him.  Kendall  threw  it  on  the  floor  with- 
out looking  at  it,  and  then  thinking  that 
it  might  contain  something  valuable, 
stooped  and  picked  it  up. 

"Mr.  James  Mentieth,  28  Mary's 
Court,  Edinburgh," — he  read  slowly. 
"Who  the  Dickens  is  that?"  he  asked 
of  himself;  then,  after  a  puff  or  two, 
"by  Jove,  it's  that  old  chap  with  the  col- 
lection of  corals." 

He  tipped  back  in  his  chair,  and 
through  the  curls  of  smoke  began  to  re- 
call his  first  Scotch  acquaintance.  Ken- 
dall had  entirely  forgotten  him.  What  are; 
the  claims  of  an  obscure  old  scholar  to 
those  of  society?  He  got  up  and  walked 
about  the  room,  and  consulted  his  watch. 

"  I  will  go  and  call  on  the  old  fellow. 
He  seemed  considerably  cut  up.  It  will 
please  him,  I'll  wager  half  a  crown." 

Kendall  skipped  two  courses  of  his 
dinner,  to  the  disapproval  of  his  grim 
waiter,  and  hurried  through  the  remainder 
in  an  American  fashion,  very  different 
from  the  languid  dignity  which  he  had 
already  acquired. 

"You  may  take  me  to  28  Mary's 
Court,"  he  ordered  his  driver  curtly,  ten 
minutes  after. 


506 


ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 


"  Where,  son-?  "  The  man  touched  his 
hat,  and  appeared  to  doubt  his  senses. 

Kendall  took  out  the  envelope,  read 
the  address  peremptorily  aloud,  and  got 
in.  The  driver  shook  his  head  and  mut- 
tered to  himself. 

The  cab  whirled  Kendall  far  away 
from  his  Edinburgh  ;  away  from  the  city 
of  fashion ;  away  from  broad  streets, 
granite  shops,  luxurious  hotels,  and  beauti- 
ful homes.  The  lights  became  dimmer, 
the  streets  tortuous,  narrower,  and  darker, 
the  houses  lower  and  sad.  There  was  an 
interminable  winding  in  and  out,  a  rush 
up  a  black  alley,  and  the  cab  came  to  a 
sudden  halt  like  a  surprised  curse. 

"  Hullo  !  "  cried  Kendall,  poking  his 
head  out  of  the  window,  "  what's  this  ? 
What  are  you  stopping  here  for?"  He 
had  a  vague  suspicion  of  foul  play.  It 
was  a  wicked-looking  spot.  But  he  was 
quickly  convinced  that  this  was  the  place 
he  sought.  His  common  sense,  or  at  least 
his  commonplace  sense,  urged  him  to  re- 
turn immediately.  This  forbidding  court 
was  enough  to  make  him  distrust  any 
stranger ;  but  a  voice  within  bade  him 
seek  the  adventure  to  its  end.  When  he 
stood  in  the  mud  and  saw  the  cab  rattling 
off,  he  felt  a  cold  shiver  stealing  over 
him  such  as  precedes  an  act  of  daring  or 
of  chivalrous  folly. 

A  little  ragged  girl  sat  upon  the  step 
before  him,  rocking  to  and  fro.  Kendall 
noticed  her  bare  feet  and  a  ragged  bit  of 
woollen  fringe  over  her  head.  She  must 
have  been  very  cold.  He  made  a  trou- 
bled inquiry  of  the  child  concerning  the 
whereabouts  of  this  Mentieth.  He  glanced 
as  he  spoke  into  the  open  door,  and  saw 
a  black,  bare  hallway.  There  were  no 
lights  visible  in  the  building,  only  a  glim- 
mer from  the  top  story.  The  little  girl 
made  an  upward  motion  with  her  head, 
and  moved  along  as  if  to  let  him  pass. 

"  Here's  sixpence.  Now,  show  me  his 
rooms  and  it  is  yours." 

This  the  child  understood.  Her  eyes 
rolled  at  the  sight  of  this  inconceivable 
wealth.  She  uttered  her  first  plaintive 
note. 

"  She's  at  it.     Dinna  ye  hear?" 

"Who?" 

"  She.  You'll  see.  Coom  !  "  With 
an  odd,  instinctive   motion  she  took  his 


gloved  hand  in  her  cold  fingers  and 
silently  led  him  up  the  three  flights  of 
unsafe  stairs. 

"What  does  Mr.  Mentieth  do,  little 
one?"  Kendall  asked  on  the  way.  He 
felt  bound  to  see  the  thing  through. 

"Got  a  shop."  The  child  evidently 
thought  this  explanation  enough,  and  very 
lucid  at  that.  The  little  girl  pattered 
along  noiselessly,  but  Kendall  purposely 
tramped  with  all  his  might.  The  noise, 
re-echoing  moodily  in  this  desolate  shell, 
kept  his  spirits  up.  Before  the  child 
could  lead  him  to  the  door  he  sought,  it 
opened,  and  the  face  of  his  hotel  acquain- 
tance looked  out  from  it  with  a  startled 
expression.  The  man  recognized  the 
child  first. 

"Ah,  Meg,"  he  said  drearily,  "that 
you?  Better  not  come  in  just  now.  We 
are  not  very  happy  here  to-night." 

"  Here's  a  mon  fur  saxpunce.  Gim- 
me !  "  said  the  mite.  She  had  a  chari- 
ness of  words,  as  if  she  were  accustomed 
to  be  beaten  for  every  effort  at  articula- 
tion. 

Kendall  slipped  the  silver  piece  into 
her  clinging  fingers,  and  advanced  towards 
the  man  at  the  door,  clearly  revealing 
himself  before  he  said : 

"  I  have  come  to  see  your  corals,  Mr. 
Mentieth." 

The  scientist  stared  at  him  pathetically. 
For  the  instant,  he  seemed  more  fright- 
ened than  pleased.  He  recovered  him- 
self with  tremulous  pleasure. 

"  This  is  —  this  is  kind  indeed,  sir.  I 
thought  you  had  forgotten  me.  I  am 
sorry  the  stairs  are  so  dark.  I  kept  them 
lighted  for  you  for  seven  nights.  I  had 
given  you  up.  Come  in,  sir.  Come 
right  in." 

Kendall  Crocker  bowed  rather  stiffly 
and  walked  in.  As  he  did  so,  an  inner 
door  shut  with  a  slam,  and  he  thought  he 
heard  muffled  moans  and  a  suppressed 
exclamation.  Decidedly  an  uncanny  at- 
mosphere !  Should  he  turn  around  and 
rush  down  stairs?  He  might  have  done 
so  without  a  word  of  apology,  had  not  the 
imploring  eyes  of  his  sad  host  compelled 
him  to  the  spot. 

Kendall  was  not  a  sensitive,  imagina- 
tive youth.  His  muscles  were  too  highly 
developed.     He  was  luxurious  and  easy- 


ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 


507 


going  and  careless ;  even  his  own  acci- 
dent had  not  sobered  him.  Now,  for  the 
first  time  in  his  career,  he  felt  that  trage- 
dies are  not  a  monopoly  of  the  stage, 
and  that  before  him  one  of  the  most 
hopeless  was  enacting.  A  woman,  how- 
ever encrusted  her  heart,  would  have  read 
Mr.  Mentieth's  history  from 
a  glance  at  this  room.  With 
Kendall,  it  was  the  first  suc- 
cessful effort  at  intuition. 

The  room  was  about  fifteen 
feet  square  ;  it  had  one  win- 
dow, and  three  doors ;  one 
led  to  the  hall,  the  second 
to  an  inner  chamber,  and 
the  third  to  a  dark  closet  at 
at  the  right.  Kendall  was 
too  well  bred  to  have  be- 
trayed curiosity  or  surprise 
at  the  interior  of  the 
Marquis  of  Bute's  Island 
Palace  ;  but,  entrapped  from 
his  guard,  he  could  not  help 
looking  about  him  in  this 
dim  place.  This  was  made 
the  more  easy,  for  his  host  did 
not  speak  to  him,  but,  with 
contracted,  questioning  eyes 
hungrily  watched  Kendall's 
changing  expressions,  as  if 
waiting  for  the  verdict. 

The  first  thing  that  smote 
tjie  gay  American  was  the 
terrible  contrast  between  his 
own  rich,  almost  foppish 
costume  and  that  of  the  man 
before  him.  He  felt  quietly  conscious  ol 
his  fur-trimmed  overcoat ;  of  the  diamond, 
gleaming  from  the  embroidered  bosom 
of  his  shining  shirt ;  of  his  patent  leather 
shoes;  his  crush  hat,  held  lightly  in  a 
hand  protected  by  spotless  kids ;  and  of 
his  silver-headed  silk  umbrella.  It  was 
the  insolence  of  wealth  flaunting  itself  in 
the  teeth  of  desperate  poverty. 

The  correspondent  of  an  Oxford  pro- 
fessor wore  a  leather  apron,  which  was 
attached  by  straps  over  his  shoulders  and 
which  reached  to  his  ankles.  Only  a 
rough,  gray  undershirt  was  beneath  it. 
His  arms  were  bare.  His  trousers  were 
patched  at  the  knees  and  neatly  darned 
at  the  foot.  A  pair  of  rough,  woollen 
stockings    completed    his    scanty    outfit. 


The  leathern  apron  furnished  the  grim 
hint,  and  the  corner  behind  the  entry 
door  completed  it.  Here  stood  a  low 
stool  and  a  low  work-bench  filled  with 
shoemaker's  tools.  Beside  the  bench 
were  lasts,  and  under  it  a  tub  of  black 
water,   out  of   which  a  ragged  angle  of 


Does  Mr.  Menteith   live  here? 


leather  peered  with  a  hard  look,  as  if 
refusing  to  be  softened.  Mr.  Mentieth  — 
this  gentleman,  this  learned  man,  the 
correspondent  of  the  palseontological 
professor  at  Oxford  University  —  was  a 
cobbler. 

But  the  aspect  of  the  room  was  another 
matter.  Oxford  University  might  have 
well  been  proud  of  it.  The  poor  place 
was,  in  short,  a  magnificent  museum. 
With  the  exception  of  the  unhappy  corner, 
the  window  and  the  doors,  the  entire 
space  was  dedicated  to  the  occupant's 
scientific  specialty.  Cabinets  lined  the 
walls,  rising  to  the  ceiling.  Behind  spot- 
less glass  doors  rows  upon  rows  and  pyra- 
midal tiers  upon  tiers  of  fossils  appeared, 
methodically  arranged ;   while  the  whole 


508 


ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 


centre  of  the  apartment  was  taken  up  by 
one  large  glass  case,  within  which  were 
exhibited  fossil  slides.  These  were  ex- 
quisitely mounted,  each  in  front  of  its 
looking-glass,  and  with  all  the  latest  ap- 
pliances for  showing  off  these  delicate 
wonders.  Kendall  was  quick  to  note  the 
absence  of  carpet,  of  dust,  of  everything 
that  could  detract  from  the  perfection 
and  dignity  of  such  a  noble  collection. 
And  there,  between  him  and  a  tall,  stately 
cabinet,  whose  reflective  glass  was  a 
shimmering  background,  whose  stained 
pine  was  an  outline  frame,  stood  this  rude 
trunk  with  its  grand,  patient  head,  look- 
ing like  a  terrible  cameo,  engraven  by  a 
divine  hand  to  represent  the  torturous 
marriage  of  brains  and  penury. 

The  room,  by  reason  of  its  one  neces- 
sary blot,  exhaled  the .  musty  odor  of 
tanned  hide  unearthed  from  the  lower 
carboniferous  formation.  Kendall's  hand 
was  upon  the  broad  case  in  the  middle 
of  the  room.  After  this  inspection,  he 
instinctively  dropped  his  eyes  before  the 
burning  gaze  of  his  host.  He  was  em- 
barrassed, as  if  caught  in  an  indiscretion. 
The  little  mirrors,  each  flung  back  its 
specimen  at  him,  and  danced  merrily  in 
the  flicker  of  the  one  dim  light.  The 
prince  of  curators  might  have  classified 
and  catalogued  them.  Their  great  value 
was  evident  even  to  the  undergraduate's 
light  eye.  The  corals  seemed  to  show  a 
certain  respect  for  their  surroundings. 
Their  scant  duty  was  performed  when 
they  had  flashed  their  own  little  reflec- 
tions, "each  after  its  kind."  This  ser- 
vice was  rendered  as  graciously  in  this 
garret  as  it  might  have  been  in  the  great 
British  Museum. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  it,  Mr. 
Crocker?" 

The  collector  had  noted  the  different 
expressions  of  surprise  and  astonishment 
fleeting  over  the  young  man's  face.  He 
noticed  also  that  the  New  Englander  had 
none  of  the  insular  contempt  for  struggle 
and  poverty,  such  as  he  had  fought  against 
all  his  life.  Kendall's  long  look  of  boyish 
admiration  seemed  to  touch  the  lonely 
cobbler  at  his  depth  ;  and  it  was  sweet  to 
him  to  hear  the  enthusiastic  word  he 
craved — who  could  have  said  how  much? 

",  It  is  wonderful,  Mr.  Menteith  !     It  is 


superb  !  It's  a  stunner  !  How  on  earth 
did  you  do  it  ?    Why  are  you  doing  this  ?  " 

He  pointed  at  the  bench.  The  last 
question  was  not  an  impertinence.  It 
was  a  compliment ;  and  so  the  shoe- 
maker took  it. 

"Take  off  your  coat,  sir,  and  I'll  tell 
you.  Lay  it  on  the  case.  Take  the  lamp 
and  look  about.  Excuse  me  for  a  minute. 
You'll  stay  a  bit,  will  you  not,  sir?" 

Kendall  assented  gracefully,  though 
waiving  the  point  of  the  overcoat.  He 
found  the  room  cold  ;  it  occurred  to  him 
to  wonder  whether  its  tenants  were  quite 
comfortable.  He  took  the  flickering 
lamp  ;  it  cast  restless  shadows  on  these 
ghostly  cabinets.  Had  they  been  stolen 
by  a  maniac  from  some  museum?  They 
were  as  much  out  of  place  in  that  room 
as  an  escritoire  by  Boule.  Kendall  was 
devoured  by  curiosity.  Here  was  an 
adventure  !  Was  this  scientific  cobbler 
in  political  disguise  ?  Or  was  he  a  philo- 
sopher in  voluntary  seclusion  and  poverty? 
Or  the  unhappy  offspring  of  a  noble 
house,  sacrificed  or  sacrificing  himself 
for  a  name?  He  looked  noble  enough; 
he  had  the  unmistakable  air  of  one  who 
would  yield  liberty  or  life  itself  to  that 
all-comprehensive  sentiment  which  men 
are  pleased  to  include  in  the  word  honor. 

Kendall,  while  left  to  himself,  examined 
the  collection  with  a  pseudo-scientific 
eye.  He  could  roughly  appreciate  its 
importance,  but  not  its  value,  nor  the 
extent  of  patience  and  labor  which  it 
represented.  These  hundreds  of  fossi- 
lized specimens  were  the  mute  aDpeal  of 
the  weakest,  the  most  persistent,  the  most 
significant  creatures  in  the  economy  of 
nature.  This  polyp  is  godlike,  for  it  is  a 
creator.  Choose  between  man  and  the 
zoophyte  !  Which  is  the  eternal  archi- 
tect !  Not  Nebuchadnezzer,  the  Pharaohs, 
Pericles,  Augustus,  nor  Michael  Angelo, 
but  the  microscopic  life  that  deposits  the 
calcareous  coral.  Kings  have  built  cities 
and  tombs  and  temples,  but  the  coral  has 
raised  islands  and  created  continents, 
which  nourish  man,  and  will  outlast  his 
mightiest  works.  There  is  no  more  en- 
ticing, no  more  delicate  field  of  research 
in  the  broad  realm  of  fossil  remains  than 
the  microscopic  study  of  corals. 

Kendall  dowed    over  these    treasures 


ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 


509 


with  the  enthusiasm  of  an  amateur  col- 
lector. In  his  junior  year  he  had  under- 
stood Darwin's  theory  of  barrier  reefs, 
and  had  approved  of  it,  as  a  junior 
might.  He  had  seen  in  Bermuda  evi- 
dences of  the  zoophyte's  tremendous 
push  and  perseverance,  and  had  learned 
to  respect  creatures  that  were  responsible 
for  so  fascinating  a  winter  resort,  and 
whose  innumerable  sarcophagi  furnished 
the  sawn  blocks  to  build  the  hotel  he 
lived  in.  But  his  complacent  college 
learning  was  staggered  before  labels 
solemnly  ensconced  beside  five-fingered 
specimens  bearing  the  lucid  inscription  : 
campophyllum  paracida,  and  so  on,  row 
upon  row. 

The  young  man's  scientific  investiga- 
tions were  suddenly  diverted  by  strange 
sounds.  Harsh,  gutteral  noises  were  in- 
terrupted by  a  soft,  pleading  feminine 
voice  : 

"  Don't,  mother  !  There,  there  ;  that's 
a  dear.  Now  sit  down  here  while  father 
goes  into  the  other  room." 

Kendall  put  the  lamp  down  on  the 
glass  case  and  listened.  He  felt  uncom- 
fortable. Silence  reassured  him  a  little, 
and  Mr.  Mentieth  came  out,  dressed  as 
he  first  appeared  at  the  Queen's  Hotel. 
The  man  bore  a  haggard,  hopeless  look. 
His  deep-set  eyes  had  the  dulness  which 
indicates  the  endurance  of  all  but  unbear- 
able anguish.  Kendall  had  experienced 
so  many  new  emotions  during  the  last 
quarter  of  an  hour  that  he  had  hardly 
another  left  to  spend  on  the  sight  of  such 
irremediable  sadness.  The  man  came  in 
stooping.  For  some  reason  he  had  evi- 
dently come  almost  to  the  end  of  his 
self-control.  His  expression  of  irresi- 
stance  was  heart-breaking.  He  sat  down 
on  the  bench,  and  motioned  Kendall  to 
take  the  three-legged  stool  beside  him. 
His  lips  were  tightly  bitten  together  as  if 
he  would  groan  if  they  were  unlocked. 
He  put  his  two  hands  over  his  face  and 
bent  to  his  knees.  Kendall  did  not  know 
what  to  say.  He  was  not  used  to  con- 
sider the  discomfort  of  other  people. 
Plainly,  here  was  no  effort  at  acting. 
Tne  man  did  not  want  pounds  or  pence ; 
he  craved  sympathy.  The  convict  in 
solitary  confinement  would  gladly  barter 
a  ten  years'  lease  of  life  for  an  hour  in 


which  to  unbosom  his  misery  to  a  heart 
of  flesh.  The  collector  of  corals  had 
been  singularly  attracted  to  this  young 
American,  as  broken  age  and  disappoint- 
ment are  attracted  to  youth  and  careless 
hope.  Kendall  was  natural ;  he  was  no 
snob,  and  his  expression  was  cheerful  and 
kind.  The  shoemaker  had  not  invited  a 
guest  to  his  miserable  home  for  two  years. 
This  evening  was  an  epoch  in  his  exis- 
tence ;  it  was  an  odd  incident  in  Kendall's 
European  tour. 

"I  wish  I  could  help  you,  sir,"  faltered 
Kendall  with  a  blush.  He  felt  immedi- 
ately sorry  that  he  had  made  such  a 
boyish  remark.  Nothing  more  mature 
occurred  to  him.  The  Scotchman  started 
up  with  a  sudden  motion,  and  took  the 
lamp  in  his  hand,  and  looked  at  his 
guest  piercingly. 

"  Come,  sir,  let  me  show  you  my  col- 
lection. It  will  do  me  good.  You  will  see 
many  rare  and  some  unique  specimens. 
I  have  collected  every  one  myself.  It  is 
not  boasting  to  say  that  this  is  the  best 
private  collection  of  corals  in  Great 
Britain.  Even  the  British  Museum  can- 
not show  such  a  collection  from  the  car- 
boniferous system  of  Scotland." 

He  bustled  from  case  to  case,  flushed 
and  excited. 

"  Just  look  at  this  Clisiophylium,  sir. 
This  is  one  of  my  discoveries,  sir.  I  have 
named  it  after  the  eminent  paleontologist, 
McCoy.  This  is  the  McCoyianiim. 
Here  is  its  section.  Notice  these  dense, 
interlamillar  dissepiments ;  that  is  its 
characterization.  What  a  delicate,  won- 
derful product  of  God's  genius  !  Look 
at  its  numerous  septal  system  through  the 
microscope.  It  is  almost  allied  to  the 
bipartitum,  but  not  quite.  A  small,  im- 
palpable divergence  from  the  typical  lines 
makes  all  the  difference  in  the  world. 
Do  you  think  it  strange,  sir,  for  an  Hon- 
orary Member  of  the  Royal  Ducal  Society 
of  Jena  to  be  cobbling  shoes  ?  It  is  no 
boast,  you  will  pardon  me  if  I  say  it,  but 
there  is  not  a  man  in  the  United  King- 
dom who  is  such  an  authority  on  corals, 
sir,  as  I  am ;  and  this  is  recognized,  too. 
That  is  the  terrible  bitterness  of  it.  See 
here  !  "  dragging  Kendall  up  to  another 
tall  cabinet.  "This  is  my  life  work,  sir. 
I  may  die   in    this    garret,  but   my  name 


510 


ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 


cannot  be  forgotten.  Look  at  them  ! 
Here  is  a  new  family  of  Rugose  Corals, 
sir.  I  discovered  this  family  and  de- 
scribed it  in  a  publication  which  I  shall 


"Why  are  you   doing  this?" 

take  pleasure  in  giving  you,  if  you  think 
it  is  worthy.  This  is  my  family.  It 
bears  the  name  I  gave  it.  A  much  valued 
friend  suggested  it  to  me  —  '  Diplocyath- 
ophyllidce?  " 

The  enthusiast  waited  for  a  moment  to 
let  this  hundred-ton  name  sink  into 
Kendall's  soul.  The  young  man  looked 
as  intelligent  as  he  could,  and  nodded  as 
if  he  had  met  an  old  acquaintance.  It 
might  have  been  a  slight  wandering 
glance,  or  an  imperceptible  shrug  indica- 
tive of  a  shrinking  from  a  hobby  ahead, 
that  made  the  sensitive  coralist  stop  in 
the  middle  of  his  eager  description.  Per- 
haps it  was  the  absurdity  of  firing  such 
names  at  his  fashionable  caller  that  made 
him  utter  a  deep  sigh  and  turn  around. 

"Ah,"  he  said,  "of  course  you  are  not 
interested?      Come  away  from  this.      If 


you  don't  mind  taking  this  old  chair,  let 
us  sit  down.  I  will  fetch  —  Martha  !  —  she 
will  get  a  jug  of  ale  from  around  the  cor- 
ner, and  I  have  some  crackers  and 
cheese  ;  then  let  us  talk.  It 
will  benefit  me,  if  you  don't 
mind,  sir?  " 

With  the  instinct  of 
hospitality  so  strong  in  the 
Scotch  nature,  this  host 
would  have  spent  his  last 
penny  for  his  guest's  enter- 
tainment. But  Kendall,  now 
a  little  tutored  in  the  make- 
shifts of  misery,  divined 
through  the  feverish  eager- 
ness of  the  request  that  even 
a  sixpence  was  more  than 
the  poor  man  owned  that 
night.  He  put  the  sugges- 
tion easily  by,  adding  that 
the  next  time  he  called,  they 
should  have  the  proper  feast. 
As  it  was,  his  host  insisted 
on  crackers  and  cheese.  He 
brought  them  in  a  spotless 
crockery  plate,  and  Kendall 
noticed  that  while  the  man 
talked,  he  ate  in  an  absent- 
minded  way,  as  if  he  were 
hungry.  Kendall  sat  on  the 
three-legged  stool  with  his 
back  to  the  table  and  the 
lamp,  while  the  shoemaker 
sat  on  his  bench  before  him, 
the  light  shining  full  in  his  grand,  haggard 
face.  Kendall  was  profoundly  puzzled. 
The  contrast  of  that  bench,  the  tools,  the 
dreary  toil  with  the  daring  intelligence, 
the  broad  forehead,  and  such  eyes  be- 
neath it,  perplexed  as  much  as  it  moved 
him ;  nay,  more,  for  Kendall  was  a 
butterfly.  His  face  must  have  betrayed 
his  thoughts  plainly.  The  Scotchman 
hastened  to  speak. 

"It  may  strike  you  strangely,  sir,  but 
I  was  born  to  this  bench.  It  was  my 
father's.  He  was  a  shoemaker.  I  am 
not  ashamed  of  that ;  nor  is  Martha,  my 
daughter,  sir.  Twenty  years  ago  we  lived 
in  Beith,  —  that's  in  Ayrshire,  sir.  We 
were  happy  then,  and  I  cared  for  nothing 
but  my  trade.  One  day  there  came  a 
Londoner,  a  barrister,  on  a  vacation,  into 
my  shop,  and  he  waited  while  I  was  put- 


ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 


511 


ting  a  patch  on  one  of  his  boots.  Among 
other  things  he  asked  me  —  he  had  a 
careless  way  with  him — if  I  ever  saw 
any  fossils  about,  and  if  I  had  been  to 
the  Langside  Quarry.  What  did  I  know 
about  fossils  then?  And  he  laughed  at 
me  good-naturedly,  and  showed  me  a 
specimen  he  had  found,  and  told  me  if  I 
could  get  any  number  of  them  he  would 
send  for  them  and  pay  me  well.  He 
gave  me  the  name  of  a  book  on  corals, 
and  he  seemed  amused  at  the  cobbler's 
enthusiasm.  Martha  calls  that  one  — 
see  ?  —  the  Governor  of  my  collection. 
The  Londoner  gave  it  to  me.  After 
I  had  studied  for  ten  years  'from  all 
the  books  I  could  buy,  I  found  that  it 
was  a  new  species  ;  —  so  I  named  it  con- 
centricum ;  that  was  my  revenge  on  the 
laughing  barrister.  So  the  fever  got  me, 
and  so  I  studied  —  all  my  odd  time.  My 
God,  sir  !  it  is  a  terrible  thing  for  a  man 
in  my  station  in  life  to  dare  to  wedge  his 
way  among  universities  and  professors 
and  to  try  to  understand  even  the  tiniest 
of  God's  secrets.  It  brings  a  thimbleful 
of  comfort,  and  a  homeful  of  misery. 
And  so  I  began  to  collect,  whenever  I 
could  lay  by  a  penny  or  two  to  tramp 
about.  I  collected  in  all  parts  of  Scot- 
land. A  few  years  ago  we  came  to  Edin- 
burgh. I  thought  I  could  find  more 
work  and  be  nearer  the  libraries  at  the 
same  time.  That  was  the  day  troubles 
began  with  us,  sir." 

He  stopped,  as  if  hesitating  whether  to 
confide  further.  Kendall  was  oppressed 
by  the  moment  of  silence.  He  saw  his 
companion's  face  twitching.  He  remem- 
bered the  word  of  the  little  waif  that 
piloted  him  to  the  door.  He  thought  of 
the  mysterious  sounds  from  the  inner 
room.  He  felt  that  he  had  to  say  some- 
thing. 

"  Pardon  me,  is  it  your  wife?"  The 
Scotchman  nodded  faintly. 

"Eh — is  —  eh  —  she  —  eh — "  Kendall 
faltered,  lest  he  should  have  committed  the 
unpardonable  sin  of  a  false  interpretation. 
The  man  looked  up,  and*  Kendall  in  de- 
spair tapped  his  forehead  significantly 
with  his  finger.     A  groan  answered  him. 

"  Five  years  she  has  been  out  of  her 
head,  sir.  Only  Martha  can  manage  or 
comfort  her.     She  obeys  Martha,  and  has 


forgotten  me.  We  used  to  be  happy,  sir. 
WThy  should  the  good  God  do  such 
things?  " 

"  How  did  it  happen?  "  inquired  Ken- 
dall, feeling  that  it  would  be  brutal  not  to 
interest  himself  in  this  tragedy. 

"  I  cannot  tell.  The  first  I  knew  of  it, 
I  came  home  and  found  her  throwing  my 
specimens  into  the  court.  She  said  they 
were  thieves  and  took  away  her  bread. 
Ah,  I  could  stand  it  better  if  she  didn't 
strike  at  my  life's  blood.  For  my  corals 
are  my  life,  sir,  and  I'm  afraid  to  go  from 
home  lest  I  find  them  destroyed,  and  the 
work  of  years  undone.  Now  and  then  I 
despair.  I  crave  companionship.  I  hun- 
ger and  thirst  for  the  intelligent  world, 
and  I  go  out  and  sit  in  the  hotels  watch- 
ing people  and  sometimes  hazarding  a 
little  conversation.  It  was  thus  that  you 
did  me  good.  We  have  watched  my  wife, 
Martha  and  I,  for  five  years.  She  has 
never  been  alone.  Do  you  think  a  man 
would  send  his  wife  to  an  asylum?  Not 
if  he  loved  her,  sir." 

The  poor  man  brushed  a  hot  tear  from 
his  cheek.  He  did  not  mention  for  how 
many  years  he  had  slept  on  the  floor  at 
the  door  of  that  closed  room,  that  he 
might  protect  his  wife  and  his  corals  at 
the  same  time. 

"  I  shouldn't  have  told  you  this,  sir.  I 
have  no  friends.     I  live  alone." 

"  But  the  professor  at  Oxford,  is  he  not 


He   put  his   Hands  to   his   Face. 


512 


ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 


your  friend  ?  "  demanded  Kendall  thought- 
lessly. 

"  These,  sir,  are  paper  friends.  I  could 
show  you  letters  from  Huxley  and  Tyndall 
and  Darwin  and  Geikie  :  these  and  many 
more  are  my  good  friends  by  correspon- 
dence. Do  you  think  one  of  them  would 
call  a  cobbler  his  friend?  " 

"Why,  yes  !  "  cried  Kendall  in  a  burst 
of  genuine  feeling  ;  "  I  do,  certainly  I  do." 

The  other  shook  his  head  skeptically. 

"  Not  one  of  them  knows  that  I  mend 
shoes  for  a  living.  I  meet  these  at  the 
rooms  of  the  Philosophical  Society, 
of  which  I  am  a  member  —  here  in 
Edinburgh.  They  don't  know  of  my 
poverty  or  my  misery.  You,  sir,  are  the 
first  that  has  stepped  foot  in  my  room  for 
two  years.  I  have  been  so  poor,  and  she 
so  —  as  she  is,  sir.  Good  God,  sir  !  and 
this  cabinet  is  worth  two  thousand  pounds, 
and  I  less  than  sixpence,  unless  I  finish 
these  boots  to-night  !  " 

He  got  up  and  paced  the  room  in 
great  emotion.  It  was  pitiful  to  witness 
these  struggles  of  a  high  order  of  intelli- 
gence against  the  roughtest  throws  of  fate. 
Kendall  felt  a  dramatic  fascination  in  the 
sight.  The  contrast  of  pathetic  learning 
with  pitiable  ignorance  and  deprivation 
was  overwhelming  to  one  to  whom  the 
value  of  an  education  had  been  propor- 
tionate to  his  ability  of  cashing  his  father's 
checks.  The  gentle  language  spoken  by 
the  miserable  man  told  what  years  of  cul- 
ture in  his  specialty  had  done  for  him. 
The  loneliness,  the  terrible  battle  for 
supremacy  in  one  department  of  human 
knowledge,  the  narrow  selection,  and  the 
rigid  adherence  to  his  choice  :  these, 
united  with  the  stubborn  pride  of  the 
middle  class,  and  the  determination  to 
avenge  his  lowly  birth  by  compelling  the 
respect  of  the  great  scientists,  were  suffi- 
cient to  lend  the  accent  of  education  to 
his  voice,  to  expand  his  forehead,  refine 
his  mouth,  give  the  lustre  of  power  to 
his  eyes,  and  dignity  to  his  carriage,  while 
the  sublime  self-sacrifice  involved  in  his 
domestic  tragedy  had  lifted  an  otherwise 
rude  countenance  into  moral  grandeur. 

Not  long  ago  there  died  a  cutter  of 
tombstones  whose  leisure  life  was  spent  in 
the  gathering  of  one  of  the  finest  private 
collections    of    butterflies    in    the    world. 


But  he  had  three  dollars  a  day  and  no 
skeleton  at  home.  This  James  Mentieth, 
in  spite  of  those  tremendous  odds,  had 
discovered  no  less  than  two  hundred  un- 
named varieties  of  corals,  and  even  a 
whole  new  family.  This  was  in  itself  a 
title  to  recognition.  It  had  won  him 
"paper  friends,"  corresponding  disciples 
by  the  score,  honorary  memberships  to 
many  a  foreign  scientific  society,  and 
that  kudos  which  satisfies  vain  minds,  but 
no  sympathy.  What  is  there  impossible 
for  a  man  to  do  if  he  but  concentrate  his 
existence  into  that  resistless  form  of 
energy  described  by  the  term  will  ? 

Kendall  pondered  this  problem  of 
effort  versus  condition  as  his  eyes  followed 
the  motions  of  his  host. 

"Why  don't  you  sell  your  collection, 
and  get  out  of  your  troubles  that  way." 

The  young  man  was  disturbed  at  the 
result  of  his  practical  inquiry,  as  soon  as 
it  was  made.  The  collector  turned  upon 
him  with  quivering  lip  : 

"  Sell?  Sell  my  specimens?  What 
should  I  do  if  they  took  my  corals  and 
did  not  take  me  too?  " 

"  But  why  don't  you  become  a  profes- 
sor of  corals  somewhere  and  take  them 
along.  '  There  must  be  plenty  of  such 
chances."  Kendall  was  now  cutting  un- 
awares to  the  quick. 

"  Not  with  us,  sir.  I  am  not  well  con- 
nected. I  am  only  a  shoemaker.  Peo- 
ple would  not  forget  that  in  England.  I 
have  no  influence,  only  the  little  knowl- 
edge I  have  acquired.  Now  it  is  dif- 
ferent in  America.  All  men  are  equal,  I 
understand,  there.  If  I  could  only  get  to 
the  other  side  — ,"  he  faltered.  Ken- 
dall felt  that  the  man  had  uttered  the 
secret  desire  of  his  soul  in  that  last  wail. 

"  Oh,  perhaps  I  can  help  you  in  that," 
interrupted  the  youth  with  his  enthusi- 
astic, careless  exuberance,  and  also  with 
a  slight  air  of  patronge.  "  My  uncle  en- 
dowed the  geological  cabinet  at  Harvard. 
He  gave  them  a  hundred  thousand  dol- 
lars. I  guess  they  would  do  anything  I 
asked  them  to.  They  could  easily  buy 
your  collection  and  appoint  you  profes- 
sor of  it,  or  curator.  I'll  speak  to  them 
about  it  when  I  go  home." 

Just  as  an  aspen  pushing  its  head  up- 
ward for  many  a  waiting  year  in  a  shady 


ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 


513 


hollow,  meets  at  last  the  sun  and  trembles 
toward  it  —  so  the  struggling,  quivering 
man  bent  toward  and  clutched  at  the 
good-natured  suggestion  of  this  sunny 
young  lord. 

"You  don't  mean  it,  sir?  America  is 
such  a  rich,  such  a  generous  country  ! 
It  appreciates  learning  and  is  not  ashamed 
of  honest  poverty.  My  good  wife  might 
recover  in  America  ?  Do  you  think,  sir, 
that  your  land,  your  university,  would 
consent  to  receive  met" 

Kendall  was  a  little  frightened  at  the 
hope  he  had  so  thoughlessly  raised  in  this 
despairing  life.  He  made  a  movement 
as  if  to  speak,  but  said  nothing. 

"Martha,"  cried  the  collector  eagerly, 
"Martha,  Martha  !   come  here  !  " 

The  door  opened  and  a  tall  woman 
appeared.  She  was  freckled  and  red- 
haired  and  ugly,  but  her  eyes  had  that 
curious  steadiness,  her  manner  that  au- 
thoritative calmness  which  characterize 
eminent  alienists. 


While  the   Man  talked   he  ate   in  an  absent-minded  way." 


"Well,  father?" 

"  Come  in,  Martha.  This  is  an  Ameri- 
can gentleman,  come  to  see  us.  He 
takes  a  great  interest  in  our  collection, 
Martha.  This  is  my  daughter,  Mr. 
Crocker.  Mr.  Crocker  is  an  under- 
graduate of  the  great  Harvard  University 
in  America.  His  uncle  is  a  very  rich  man, 
and  he  will  have  the  university  buy  my 
corals,  and  they  will  take  me  too.  Thank 
him,  Martha  !  It  is  very  kind  of  him  to 
take  so  much  trouble  for  strangers." 

The  young  woman  advanced  with  a 
stately  step  to  Kendall,  and  gave  him  a 
warm,  firm  hand.  She  then  cast  a 
troubled  look  at  her  father,  and  put  her 
hand  upon  his  arm.  Kendall  felt  strangely 
when  she  touched  his  hand.  It  seemed 
to  him  as  if  a  giant  had  stroked  him  and 
bade  him  be  still.  He  tried  to  speak, 
but,  not  for  the  first  time  that  evening, 
found  that  he  hadn't  a  word  to  say. 

"  Mr.  Crocker  thinks  very  highly  of  my 
collection,  Martha,"  proceeded  the  pal- 
aeontologist excitedly.  "  There  is  nothing 
like  it  in  the  great  Harvard  University, 
he    says.     America    is   a    noble    country, 


514 


ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 


Martha.  This  is  the  first  American  she 
has  seen,  sir." 

Kendall  was  not  a  little  embarrassed  at 
the  old  man's  words.  He  began  to  see 
that  he  had  conjured  hopes  which  he 
might  not  be  able  to  gratify.  He  in- 
wardly cursed  his  boastful  suggestion,  or 
careless  promise.  What  had  he  said? 
These  poor  people  were  too  terribly  in 
earnest  to  take  his  colloquial  varnish  as 
he  had  meant  it.  This  was  not  society. 
It  was  life. 

"  Let  us  show  Mr.  Crocker  my  pub- 
lications." The  collector  rose  feverishly. 
"  He  shall  have  some  copies  to  send  to 
his  university.  Here  are  two  papers 
read  before  the  Philosophical  Society." 
He  handed  two  fat,  gray  pamphlets  to 
his  disturbed  guest. 

"  Martha,  show  him  the  plates.  Look, 
sir,  these  were  engraved  by  me." 

Kendall  could  not  credit  his  ears  at 
this  preposterous  statement.  He  looked 
up  quickly  at  the  strong  eyes  of  the 
young  woman  beside  him.  These  were 
serious,  masterful,  compelling  belief. 
He  looked  at  the  lower  left-hand  corner 
of  the  page  spread  before  him.  Truly, 
there  it  was,  printed  in  smallest  type  : 
"  Jas.  Mentieth,  Del."  Above  this  patent 
of  the  cobbler's  truthfulness  were  the 
most  marvellous  results  of  the  engraver's 
needle  which  the  American  had  ever 
seen.  He  glanced  at  his  host  gently. 
His  eyes  apologized  for  a  moment's  dis- 
trust. He  was  lost  in  wonder.  A  pen- 
niless shoemaker,  interrupted  at  his 
bench,  one  of  the  greatest  authorities  on 
corals?  That  was  incredible  enough, 
but  to  find  the  same  brown  hand  that 
cobbled  old  shoes  producing  engravings 
like  these  —  it  was  a  miracle.  Kendall 
brushed  his  hand  over  his  forehead.  He 
felt  as  if  he  were  intoxicated.  The  room 
with  its  dark  cases  and  little  spots  of 
mirrors  seemed  to  dance  about  him. 

"  Yes,  sir,  that  is  my  work,  all  of  it, 
except  what  Martha  does.  Her  hand  is 
steadier  than  mine.  I  am  a  hard-work- 
ing man.  I  am  growing  old.  Perhaps 
you  would  be  interested,  sir,"  continued 
the  shoemaker,  drawing  close  and  point- 
ing to  one  of  the  plates.  "This  has  taken 
me  fifteen  years  to  do,  sir.  The  process 
is   a   discovery  I  made.     It   is  a  secret. 


Only  Martha  knows.  It  is  a  process  of 
photo- engravure.  There  was  nothing 
microscopic  enough  before  to  represent 
the  sections  of  my  new  corals.  So  I 
made  up  my  mind  to  do  it  myself.  I 
have  done  it,  sir.  Here  is  a  fineness 
never  before  attained.  Why,  I  could  en- 
grave your  portrait,  if  I  were  that  kind 
of  an  artist,  in  half  an  hour,  to  an  eye- 
lash." 

Kendall  did  not  think  this  boast  im- 
modest, and  received  it  with  silent  re- 
spect. 

"  But  the  process  is  very  expensive, 
sir.  I  sell  duplicate  specimens,  and  have 
been  able  from  time  to  time  to  buy  plates 
and  acids  and  tools.  Get  Mr.  Crocker 
my  last  plate  from  the  closet,  Martha,  my 
dear." 

The  woman  put  a  large  copper  plate 
into  Kendall's  hands,  and  then  held  the 
light  over  it.  Kendall  could  hardly  con- 
tain an  exclamation  of  admiration.  There 
was  only  one  small  completed  engraving 
upon  the  plate.  It  represented  a  trans- 
verse section  of  what  Mr.  Mentieth  was 
pleased  to  call  a  Microphylhun,  dis- 
covered by  himself.  The  lines,  the  cells, 
the  structural  details,  the  most  intricate 
parts  of  that  microscopic  anatomy,  were 
cut  with  faithful  fineness  and  delicacy. 
With  the  naked  eye  Kendall  could  not 
detect  most  of  the  strokes.  They  seemed 
to  be  the  work  of  an  intelligent  spider 
rather  than  of  a  man,  so  filmy,  so  impal- 
pable were  the  infinitesimal  outlines  of 
the  imperceptible  molecular  structure  in 
this  deft  engraving. 

"It  is  wonderful,  marvellous  !  "  cried 
Kendall,  seizing  the  engraver's  hand. 
"  Why  don't  you  make  a  fortune  with  this 
process?  " 

He  was  interrupted  by  the  familiar  de- 
precatory gesture.  The  cobbler's  hand 
was  laid  upon  his  arm.  Martha's  eyes 
pleaded  with  him. 

"  You  forget,  Mr.  Crocker,  I  could  en- 
grave nothing  but  corals." 

"You  might  as  well  say  you  have 
achieved  nothing  but  glorv  ! "  cried  Ken- 
dall. 

Martha  laid  her  face  against  her 
father's  shoulder,  and  kissed  his  coat. 
She  nodded  gravely  to  her  elegant  guest. 
Her  father  put  his  arm  about  her.     His 


ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 


515 


eyes  looked  into  her  face  and  drank  in- 
spiration. They  blazed  back  at  Kendall 
in  pardonable  exultation.  He  felt  him- 
self every  inch  a  man,  worthy  of  honor 
from  the  greatest  of  American  universi- 
ties. Yet  it  was  not  hard  to  see  that  the 
daughter  was  the  strength  of  the  two. 

As  Mr.  Mentieth 
was  opening  his  lips 
to  reply,  the  door  of 
the  inner  room  was 
flung  open,  and  the 
maniac  walked  slowly 
into  the  museum.  It 
was  the  mother  — 
the  wife.  She  looked 
about  the  group,  then 
centred  her  stern  eyes 
upon  her  husband, 
stretched  out  her 
hand,  and  pointed 
her  finger  at  him. 
Her  chin  and  fore- 
head retreated,  of 
hair  she  had  none. 
Kendall  hastily  took 
up  his  hat  and  um- 
brella from  the  glass 
case,  and  made  ready 
to  leave  the  room. 

The  poor  man 
shrivelled  under  his 
wife's  look,  and 
trembled  before  her 
pitiless  finger.  Mar- 
tha took  a  calm  step 
toward  her  mother. 

"Jamie  !  "  began  the  woman  in  an  ex- 
pressionless voice.  "Jamie,  gang  to  yer 
bench  an'  finish  them  butes.  Did  ye 
think  them  stones  would  feed  ye  ?  They 
will  rise  up  and  curse  ye,  Jamie,  as  I  do. 
Them  corals  are  thieves.  They  steal 
yer  brains  and  yer  vittles.  Go  to  yer 
bench  !  "  The  wretched  woman  pointed 
to  the  bench  in  the  corner.  Drops  stood 
out  upon  the  husband's  face.  He  ap- 
pealed mutely  to  his  daughter.  Kendall 
grew  cold,  and  edged  to  the  door,  to 
escape  witnessing  the  poor  man's  shame. 
But  Martha  went  up  to  her  mother,  and 
drew  her  into  the  inner  room. 

"  Not  now,  mother  dear  !  "  she  soothed 
the  lunatic,  "  there  is  a  stranger  here.  — 
a  gentleman,  who   came   to   help   father. 


Father    will    finish     his    work    when    the 
stranger  is  gone." 

She  shut  the  door  gently.  Dull  grum- 
bling and  cursing  sounded  from  behind 
it.  She  came  back,  and  kissed  her 
father  again,  and  then  she  turned  with 
dignity   to  the  guest. 


You  forget,  Mr.  Kendall,  I   could   engrave   nothing  but  Corals. 


"You  will  not  disappoint  my  father, 
will  you,  sir?"  she  said  in  a  low  voice. 
Kendall  even  fancied  he  detected  a  tone 
of  rebuke  in  it.  Before  he  could  reply,, 
she  had  gone. 

"Must  you  go,  sir?"  pleaded  the 
palaeontologist,  as  he  saw  Kendall  bowing 
at  the  door.  Tears  were  streaming  down 
the  Scotchman's  face.  "You  will  pardon 
this,  sir,  will  you  not?  Martha  should 
not  have  left  her.  I  am  afraid  you  will 
not  come  again.  You  have  seen  my 
misery,  sir.    I  feel  that  you  will  respect  it." 

Kendall  wrung  his  host's  hand  silently. 

"  I  will  light  you  down.  You  will  not 
forget  what  you  spoke  about,  sir.  When 
do  you  think  you  can  hear  from  Harvard 
University?  We  shall  be  very  eager,  my 
daughter  and  I." 


516 


ONLY  AN  INCIDENT. 


"  Oh,  in  about  a  month,  I  should  say," 
answered  Kendall  near  the  bottom  of  the 
stairs. 

"  You  have  my  pamphlets,  sir.  I 
should  like  to  call  on  you.  You  must 
drop  me  a  line  before  you  come  again, 
that  I  may  receive  you  properly.  Ah, 
sir,  if  we  should  go  to  America,  how 
could  I  repay  you?  I  think  that  God 
has  sent  you  to  me  at  my  darkest  hour." 

Kendall  tried  to  answer.  What  was  it 
that  smote  him  dumb?  Such  a  trust  as 
this  was  enough  to  suffocate  a  man  ! 

"I  say,"  piped  a  thin  voice  at  the 
corner  of  the  court,  "  when  will  ye  be 
coomin  back,  me  lud?  " 

It  was  the  little  girl  to  whom  he  had 
given  the  sixpence.  She  dogged  him  for 
a  short  distance,  like  his  half-developed 
conscience,  —  then  fell  back. 

Four  weeks  after,  the  shoemaker  sat 
in  his  garret  looking  dreamily  at  one  of 
his  Rugose  family. 

"  Haven't  ye  seen  him  to-day,  father?  " 

Martha  his  daughter  asked  the  ques- 
tion cheerfully.  She  had  given  up  hope 
herself;  but  he  should  not  know  that. 
The  collector  shook  his  head. 

"  They  said  he  had  gone  to  the  High- 
lands on  a  visit,  and  would  be  back 
some  time.  The  answer  from  his  letter  is 
due  from  America  soon." 

"  Isn't  he  but  a  young  mon  to  have  so 
much  power  —  to  do  the  thing  you've 
set  your  heart  on?"  suggested  Martha 
with  evasive   caution. 

"Should  he  deceive  a  poor  man?" 
cried  the  cobbler  piteously.  "  He  was  a 
gentleman,  Martha,  and  a  gentleman 
keeps  his  word.  Watch  for  the  postman, 
girl,  whenever  I  am  out  !  It  might  come 
at  any  time.  It  may  come  to-day.  I 
am  sorry  I  haven't  heard  from  him  since 
he    was    here.     It    seems    a    long  while. 


Perhaps  he  was  displeased  with  us  about 
something.  Or,  maybe,  Martha,  the 
young  man  means  to  surprise  us  with  his 
kindness.  But  we  shall  hear.  I  am  not 
afraid,  Martha.  He  is  an  American  gen- 
tleman.    He  will  keep  his  word." 

****** 

Another  three  weeks  and  a  month 
went  by.  Kendall  was  very  busy,  and 
luxurious  homes  were  very  hospitable, 
and  he  was  having  too  good  a  time  to 
think  of  miserable  strangers. 

On  the  steamer,  coming  home,  for  the 
first  time  he  began  to  think  seriously  of 
his  promise  to  the  collector.  There  was 
a  pretty  widow  on  board,  the  daughter 
of  a  great  senator.  Kendall  thought 
himself  in  love  with  her  —  for  the  time  j 
and,  under  the  smoke-stack,  he  told  her 
the  story,  and  asked  her  co-operation  in 
aiding  the  shoemaker.  But  she  laughed 
merrily  at  the  boy's  innocence  and  en- 
thusiasm. If  he  had  travelled  in  Europe 
as  much  as  she,  he  would  not  have  been 
so  easily  taken  in,  she  told  him.  Then 
she  dismissed  with  a  light  shrug  his  im- 
probable story,  and  began  to  chat  about 
the  new  casino  at  Lennox,  until  Kendall 
really  felt  ashamed  of  his  unworldliness. 

But  the  young  man  did  not  brutally 
forget  his  promise.  Upon  his  arrival  at 
college,  he  called  upon  the  president  the 
first  thing,  and  began  to  tell  his  story; 
but  before  he  was  fairly  under  way,  a 
tremulous  freshman  was  ushered  in  —  and 
a  trustee  followed,  —  and  Kendall  re- 
tired, the  president  bowing  him  and  the 
fate  of  a  family  out. 

Then  came  the  excitement  of  foot- 
ball, training  for  athletics,  "boning"  for 
rank,  until  —  like  the  narrowing  perspec- 
tive of  the  railroad  track  from  the  rear 
of  the  train  —  the  palaeontological  cob- 
bler insensibly  became  but  a  line  —  a  spot 
—  a  blank,  in  Kendall's  hurrying  memory. 


Cf\AFT 


By    Winfield  S.  Nevins. 
I.     The  Early  Witchcraft  Cases. 


BELIEF  in  witchcraft,  demonology, 
spiritualism  and  kindred  isms,  un- 
der slightly  differing  names  and 
phases,  is  as  old  as  the  history  of  man- 
kind. We  read  very  early  in  our  Bible  : 
"Thou  shalt  not  suffer  a  witch  to  live  !  " 
We  find  other  mention  of  witchcraft  in 
the  Holy  Book,  and  so  on  down  through 
all  the  pages  of  history  to  the  very  year 
1889.1  In  the  twelfth  century  it  was  be- 
lieved that  a  witch  was  a  woman  who  had 
made  a  secret  compact  with  the  devil,  and 
received  from  him  power  to  ride  through 
the  air  when  going  to  meetings  of  kin- 
dred spirits.  In  1484,  Pope  Innocent 
VIII.  issued  a  bull,  ordering  the  arrest 
of  persons  suspected  of  witchcraft.  In 
1485,  forty-one  aged  women  were  burned 
at  the  stake  in  Burlia  for  substantially  the 
same  thing  as  was  alleged  against  the 
men  and  women  of  Essex  County  in 
1692,  and  others  in  Massachusetts  earlier 
than  that.  Some  years  later,  forty-eight 
persons  were  condemned  in  Raven sburg, 
and  a  hundred  in  Piedmont.  In  Geneva, 
in  15 15,  five  hundred  persons  are  said  to 
have  been  executed  for  witchcraft  in 
twelve    weeks.2     England,    that    boasted 

1  The  Kadkaz,  a  leading  Russian  journal,  gave  an  inter- 
esting account,  in  the  early  part  of  1889,  of  a  revolting 
case  of  witchcraft  superstition.  An  old  peasant  woman 
living  near  Sookoom,  in  Caucasus,  was  suspected  of  witch- 
craft. Beyond  the  infirmities  of  age,  and,  perhaps,  of  ill 
temper,  the  unhappy  wretch  was  no  doubt  as  innocent  as 
the  victims  of  our  own  witch  finders  were.  Her  son  died, 
and  immediately  the  rumor  ran  that  she  had  slain  him  with 
the  assistance  of  the  Evil  One,  whose  co-operation  she  had 
claimed.     The  neighbors  sat  in  judgment  over  her  and  de- 


land  of  light,  liberty,  and  law,  has  been 
cursed  with  the  superstition.  History 
records  that  as  far  back  as  the  reign  of 
King  John,  about  the  year  1200,  persons 
were  executed  for  the  so-called  crime. 
It  continued  to  be  a  recognized  crime 
down  to  1712  in  England,  and  1727  in 
Scotland.  Executions  are  recorded  in 
Aberdeen  in  1597,  when  twenty-four  per- 
sons were  burned  to  death.  In  the  same 
place,  in  161 7,  twenty-seven  women  were 
burned  at  the  stake.  Others  were  hanged 
or  burned  in  Barking,  in  1 5  7  5  ;  in  Chelms- 
ford, Abingdon,  and  Cambridge,  in  1579  ; 
thirteen  in  St.  Osith's,  in  1582.  Ninety 
were  hanged  in  1645,  and  one  hundred 

cided  that  she  should  be  submitted  to  the  ordeal  by  fire  — 
that  is  to  say,  she  was  to  be  burned  and  tortured  in  the 
hope  that  she  would  confess  her  supposed  crime.  The  ter- 
ror of  the  poor  old  woman  deprived  her  of  coherent  speech. 
This  was  assumed  to  be  a  proof  of  her  guilt.  She  was 
seized  and  tied  to  a  pole  and  burned  to  death.  What  gives 
a  still  more  fiendish  aspect  to  this  carnival  of  cruelty  is 
that  her  surviving  son  was  among  the  most  energetic  of 
those  who  tortured  his  mother.  The  peasantry  of  this 
remote  region  are  said  to  be  generally  amiable  and  affec- 
tionate, and  it  is  only  when  their  supernatural  terrors  are 
aroused  that  they  seek  their  own  safety  in  malignant  mani- 
festations of  fanatic  cruelty. 

Some  of  the  negroes  of  the  South  still  believe  in  the 
reality  of  witchcraft.  In  the  spring  of  1890  a  woman  of 
the  name  of  Jaycox.  living  in  Georgia,  attempted  to  be- 
witch Willis  Mitchell.  She  dropped  a  toad  before  his  door 
after  having  decorated  it  with  a  long  strip  of  red  flannel  in 
which  she  had  tied  numerous  knots  and  to  which  she  had 
attached  pieces  of  white  sewing  thread  and  a  bundle  of  red 
flannel  in  which  were  a  lot  of  roots  and  sewing  needles. 
See  Journal  of  American  Folk  Lore,  Vol.  HI.  p.  205, 
"The  Plantation  Negro  as  a  Freeman,"  by  Bruce,  and 
"  Negro  Myths  from  the  Georgia  Coast,"  by  C  C  Jones. 
See  also  London  Spiritual  Magazine  for  1868  for  a  case 
that  happened  in  London  that  year;  Notes  and  Queries, 
London,  V.,  143  (4th  series);  Morgan  Advertiser,  Eng., 
for  1862. 

2  Pop.  Hist.  U.  S.  II.,  451. 


518 


STORIES  OF  SALEM  WITCHCRAFT. 


and  twenty  in  1661.  The  last  execution 
for  witchcraft  in  England  was  in  1712, 
and  in  Scotland  in  1727.  Sir  Matthew 
Hale,  one  of  the  ablest  of  English  jurists, 
tried  many  of  these  cases,  and  firmly 
believed  there  was  such  a  thing  as  witch- 
craft. Dr.  More,  Sir  Thomas  Brown, 
Boyle,  Cranmer,  Edward  Fairfax,  and 
many  other  of  England's  wise  men  were 
believers.  When,  therefore,  such  men  as 
these  believed  in  witchcraft,  how  could 
the  people  who  dwelt  in  the  American 
wilderness  in  1692  be  expected  to  doubt? 
Chief  Justice  Holt  was  the  only  man  of 
prominence  on  the  English  bench  who, 
down  to  that  time,  had  doubted  the  cor- 
rectness of  the  extreme  view  of  the  de- 
lusion. He  at  least  protected  the  rights 
of  the  accused,  which  is  more  than  was 
done  by  the  judges  at  the  trials  in  Salem. 
The  result  of  a  century  and  a  half  of 
prosecutions,  trials,  and  executions  in 
England  was  a  crop  of  books  and  pam- 
phlets on  the  subject,  mostly  written  by 
clergymen  who  had  been  believers  and 
prosecutors,  or  by  jurists  who  would  na- 
turally defend  themselves  and  their  asso- 
ciates and  their  interpretation  of  the  law. 
Some  of  these  books  found  their  way  to 
America.  Many  of  them  were  read,  dur- 
ing the  long  winter  evenings,  before  the 
roaring  open  fires,  by  the  simple  New  Eng- 
land people.  Children  were  undoubtedly 
allowed  access  to  them,  as  to  the  Bible  and 
the  "  Pilgrim's  Progress."  Mr.  Parris 
himself  seems  to  have  founded  his  knowl- 
edge of  the  delusion  on  "  Discourses  of 
the  Damned  Art  of  Witchcraft,"  written 
about  1600  by  William  Perkins,  As  late 
as  1765,  Blackstone,  the  great  expounder 
of  English  law,  wrote  : 

"To  deny  the  possibility,  nay,  actual  existence 
of  witchcraft  and  sorcery,  is  at  once  flatly  to  con- 
tradict the  revealed  word  of  God  in  various  pas- 
sages both  of  the  Old  and  New  Testament;  and 
the  thing  itself  is  a  truth  to  which  every  nation  in 
the  world  hath,  in  its  time,  borne  testimony  either 
by  example,  seemingly  well  attested,  or  by  pro- 
hibitory laws  which  at  least  suppose  the  possi- 
bility of  commerce  with  evil  spirits." 

Blackstone  adds  that 

*''  These  acts  continued  in  force  until  lately,  to  the 
terror  of  all  ancient  females  in  the  kingdom,  and 
many  poor  wretches  were  sacrificed  thereby  to 
the  prejudice  of  their  neighbors,  and  their  own 
illusions,  not  a  few  having,  by  some  means  or 
other,  confessed  the  fact  at  the  gallows." 


How    accurately    this    last    sentence    dt 
scribes  the  condition  of  affairs  in  Essex 
County  in  1692,  we  shall  see. 

What  was  witchcraft  ?  What  did  peo- 
ple mean  by  the  term  ?  These  are  ques- 
tions which  should  be  understood  in 
studying  the  delusion  in  the  seventeenth 
century.  In  early  times,  witchcraft  evi- 
dently meant,  in  connection  with  the 
terms  sorcery,  conjurer,  etc.,  almost  any 
singular  conduct  on  the  part  of  a  person, 
more  especially  if  that  person  were  an 
aged  female.  The  crabbedness  of  old 
age  or  misfortune  was  evidently  looked 
upon  as  witchcraft.  People  whom  we 
now  term  common  scolds,  neighborhood 
gossips,  —  those  who,  in  some  unaccount- 
able manner,  know  the  inmost  secrets  of 
their  neighbors,  what  they  have  done  and 
what  they  contemplate  to  do  in  the  fu- 
ture, —  would  have  been,  two  or  three 
centuries  ago,  accused  of  witchcraft,  in 
all  human  probability.  Witches  were 
persons  supposed  to  have  formed  a  com- 
pact with  the  devil  to  torment  God's 
people,  and  sometimes  to  cause  their 
death.  The  apparitions  of  these  be- 
witched persons  were  supposed  to  go 
through  the  air,  mostly  at  night  and  on 
broomsticks  or  poles,  to  a  place  of  meet- 
ing. Many  of  them  were  charged  with 
having  signed  a  book  presented  to  them 
for  signature  by  his  satanic  majesty. 
This  book  was  said  to  contain  a  contract 
which  bound  those  who  signed  it  to  do 
his  bidding.  Sometimes,  as  was  believed, 
they  took  the  form  of  negroes,  hogs, 
birds,  or  cats  when  going  to  perform  their 
supernatural  deeds. 

For  the  punishment  of  witchcraft,  in 
whatever  form  it  appeared,  the  nations  of 
the  earth,  as  we  have  already  seen,  fixed 
the  penalty  of  death,  usually  without 
benefit  of  clergy.  England  by  the  statute 
of  33  Henry  VIII.,  chap.  8,  declared  all 
witchcraft  and  sorcery  to  be  felony  with- 
out benefit  of  clergy.  Later,  by  statute 
of  Jas.  I.,  chap.  12,  it  was  enacted  that 
all  persons  invoking  any  evil  spirit,  or 
consulting  or  covenanting  with,  entertain- 
ing, employing,  feeding,  or  rewarding  any 
evil  spirit,  etc.,  should  be  guilty  of  felony 
without  benefit  of  clergy,  and  suffer 
death.  Under  the  colonial  charter,  laws 
for   the    government  of  the   colony  were 


STORIES  OF  SALEM  WITCHCRAFT. 


519 


adopted,  among  them  one  against  witch- 
craft. It  provided  that,  "  if  any  man  or 
woman  be  a  witch  (that  is,  hath  or  con- 
sulteth  with  a  familiar  spirit)  they  shall 
be  put  to  death."  l  When  the  Charter 
was  taken  away,  in  1684,  these  laws  were 
abrogated.  Whether  they  were  revived 
by  the  proclamation  of  Andros,  on  his 
becoming  governor,  that  all  colony  laws 
not  repugnant  to  the  laws  of  England 
would  be  observed2  and  whether  the  forci- 
ble removal  of  the  governor  a  few  years 
later  terminated  them  again,  have  been 
open  questions  among  historians  and 
lawyers.  The  early  witchcraft  prosecu- 
tions in  1692  were  undoubtedly  brought 
under  the  statute  of  James.  That  some 
of  the  later  ones  were,  it  is  certain.  Most 
of  the  indictments  closed  in  these  words 
—  which  would  have  been  the  form, 
probably,  under  English  law  direct,  or 
colonial  law  approved  by  the  king  — 
"  against  the  peace  of  our  sovereign  Lord 
and  Lady,  the  king  and  queen,  their 
crown  and  dignity,  and  against  the  form 
of  the  statute  in  that  case  made  and  pro- 
vided."3 The  indictments  against  Sam- 
uel Wardwell  and  Rebecca  Earns,  how- 
ever, refer  directly  to  the  statutes  of 
James  I.  They  were  among  the  last 
found.  The  closing  words  are  as  fol- 
lows : 

"  With  the  evil  speritt  the  devill  a  covenant  did 
make,  wherein  he  promised  to  honor  worship  & 
believe  the  devill  contrary  to  the  statute  of  King 
James  the  first  in  that  behalf  made  and  pro- 
vided." 4 

This  would  seem  to  settle  beyond  con- 
troversy the  question  which  has  been 
raised,  as  to  what  law  these  prosecutions 
were  made  under.  On  June  15,  1692, 
that  General  Court,  which  had  convened 
on  the  8th  in  obedience  to  the  summons 
of  Governor  Phips,  passed  an  act  to  the 
effect  that  all  local  laws  made  by  the  late 
Governor  and  Council  of  Massachusetts 
Bay,  and  by  the  late  government  of  New 
Plymouth,  being  not  repugnant  to  the 
laws  of  England,  should  be  and  continue 
in  force  until  November  10.  At  the  ad- 
journed session    in    October,  a    general 

1  "Notes  on  the  History  of  Witchcraft  in  Mass."  1888. 
Geo.  H.  Moore.  6. 

2  Ibid.,  7.  9  Gray,  517.  Mass.  Hist.  Coll.,  '2d  series, 
VIII.,77. 

3  Essex  Court  Records. 
*  Ibid. 


crimes  bill  was  passed,  the  second  section 
of  which  read  : 

"  If  any  man  or  woman  be  a  witch,  that  is,  hath 
or  consulted  with  a  familiar  spirit,  they  shall  be 
put  to  death."  5 

This  was  substantially  the  language  of  the 
old  colonial  law.  On  the  14th  of  the 
following  December,  an  act  was  passed 
"  for  the  more  particular  direction  in  the 
execution  of  the  law  against  witchcraft." 
The  wording  was  substantially  that  of  the 
statute  of  James.  The  first  section  de- 
clares that  any  person  who  shall  "  use, 
practise  or  exercise  any  invocation  or 
conjuration  of  any  wicked  spirit  or  shall 
consult,  covenant  with,  entertain,  or  em- 
ploy, feed  or  reward  any  evil  or  wicked 
spirit  ...  or  take  up  any  dead  man, 
woman  or  child,  out  of  his,  her  or  their 
grave,  or  any  other  place  where  the  dead 
body  resteth,  or  the  skin,  bone  or  any 
other  part  of  any  dead  person,  to  be  em- 
ployed or  used  in  any  manner  of  witch- 
craft, sorcery,  charm  or  enchantment 
whereby  any  person  shall  be  killed,  de- 
stroyed, wasted  or  consumed,  pined  or 
lamed  in  his  or  her  body,  shall  suffer  the 
pains  of  death."  The  second  section 
provides  that  if  any  person  attempt  by 
sorcery  to  discover  any  hidden  treasure, 
or  restore  stolen  goods,  or  provoke  un- 
lawful love  or  hurt  any  man  or  beast, 
though  the  same  be  not  effected,  he  shall 
be  imprisoned  one  year  and  once  every 
quarter  stand  on  the  pillory  in  the  shire 
town  six  hours  with  the  offence  written  in 
capital  letters  on  his  breast.  For  a  sec- 
ond offence  of  this  nature  the  punish- 
ment was  death.  Both  of  these  acts 
were  disallowed  on  August  22,  1695,  but 
they  had  full  force  and  effect  in  the  mean 
time. 

It  is  a  little  uncertain  just  when  the 
first  case  of  witchcraft  occurred  in  New 
England.  Hutchinson  says  it  was  in  1645 
at  Springfield,  Mass.,  when  several  per- 
sons were  afflicted,  among  them  two  of 
the  minister's  children,  and  that  every 
effort  was  made  to  convict  some  one  of 
bewitching  them,  but  in  vain.  It  is  not 
quite  certain  that  Hutchinson  has  not 
here  confounded  the  Springfield  case  of 
165 1  with  this  date. 

The   first    execution   for   witchcraft    in 

5  Province  Laws,  i.,  55. 


520 


STORIES  OF  SALEM  WITCHCRAFT. 


the  new  world  was  at  Charlestown,  in 
1648,  the  victim  being  Margaret  Jones. 
She  was  accused  of  practising  witchcraft, 
tried,  found  guilty  and  hanged.  The 
records  of  her  case,  if  ever  there  were 
any,  have  long  since  been  destroyed. 
The  best  account  of  it,  undoubtedly,  is 
that  found  in  the  journals  of  Governor 
Winthrop.  He  was  not  only  governor  of 
the  colony  at  the  time,  but  presided  at 
the  trial.  He  says  that  the  evidence 
against  her  was  "  that  she  was  found  to 
have  such  a  malignant  touch  as  many 
persons,  men,  women  and  children, 
whom  she  stroked  or  touched  with  any 
affection  or  displeasure  or,  &c,  were 
taken  with  deafness,  or  vomiting,  or  other 
violent  pains  or  sickness."  Her  medi- 
cines, being  anise-seed  or  other  harmless 
things,  yet  had,  he  says,  such  extraor- 
dinary effect,  and  she  used  to  tell  such  as 
would  not  make  use  of  her  physic  that 
they  would  never  be  healed,  and  "  ac- 
cordingly their  diseases  and  hurts  con- 
tinued with  relapses  against  the  ordinary 
course."  "Again,"  Winthrop  says,  "in 
the  prison  there  was  seen  in  her  arms  a 
little  child  which  ran  from  her  into 
another  room  and  the  officer  following  it, 
it  vanished."  l 

Such  is  the  story  told  by  the  judge 
who  tried  the  case.  Can  we  doubt  the 
correctness  of  his  summary  of  the  evi- 
dence? No  man  in  the  colony  stood 
higher  than  John  Winthrop.  Margaret 
Jones,  from  all  we  can  learn  of  her,  was 
something  of  a  physician,  an  "  irregular 
practitioner,"  perhaps  what  would  be 
called  a  "quack"  in  this  age.  Possibly 
she  met  with  success  sometimes  where  a 
"  regular  "  had  failed.  As  indicating  the 
sentiments  of  the  times,  it  is  worthy  of 
note  that  the  governor,  a  man  naturally 
of  sterling  common  sense,  relates  in  his 
journal  that,  "  same  day  and  hour  she 
was  executed,  there  was  a  very  great 
tempest  at  Connecticut  which  blew  down 
many  trees." 

Shortly  after  the  execution  of  Margaret 
Jones,  her  husband  endeavored  to  secure 
passage  to  Barbadoes  in  a  vessel  then 
lying  in  Boston  harbor  with  a  hundred 
and  eighty  tons  of  ballast  and  eighty 
horses  on  board.     He  was   refused  pas- 

1   Winthrop' s  Journal,  II.  326. 


sage  because  he  was  the  husband  of  a 
witch,  and  "  it  was  immediately  observed 
that  the  vessel  began  to  roll  as  if  it  would 
turn  over."  This  strange  action  was 
alleged  to  be  caused  by  Jones.  The 
magistrates,  being  notified,  issued  their 
warrant  for  his  arrest.  As  the  officer, 
going  to  serve  the  warrant,  was  crossing 
in  the  ferry,  the  vessel  continued  to  roll. 
He  remarked  that  he  had  that  which 
would  tame  the  vessel  and  keep  it  quiet, 
at  the  same  time  exhibiting  the  document. 
Instantly  the  vessel  ceased  to  roll,  after 
having  been  in  motion  twelve  hours. 
Jones  was  arrested  and  thrown  into  prison, 
and  the  vessel  rolled  no  more.  2  He  was 
not  executed,-  and  I  do  not  find  that  he 
was  ever  tried. 

Mary  Parsons,  wife  of  Hugh  Parsons 
of  Springfield,  in  1649,  circulated  a  re- 
port that  the  Widow  Marshfield  was  guilty 
of  witchcraft.  The  widow  began  an  ac- 
tion against  the  Parsons  woman  before 
Mr.  Pynchon,  the  local  magistrate,  on  the 
ground  of  slander.  Mrs.  Parsons  was 
found  guilty  and  sentenced  to  pay  a  fine 
of  three  pounds  or  be  whipped  twenty 
lashes.3  In  May,  165 1,  Mary  Parsons 
was  herself  charged  with  witchcraft  on 
Martha  and  Rebeckah  Moxon,  children 
of  the  minister.  She  was  tried  before 
the  General  Court  in  Boston  on  May  13, 
165 1,  and  acquitted.  She  was  then 
charged  with  the  murder  of  her  own  child, 
to  which  charge  she  pleaded  guilty,  and 
the  court  sentenced  her  to  be  hanged.  A 
reprieve  was  granted  on  May  19,  but 
whether  it  was  made  permanent  is  not 
known.  Hugh  Parsons  was  tried  in  Eos- 
ton  on  May  31,  1652,  on  a  charge  of 
witchcraft,  and  acquitted.  4  The  partic- 
ulars in  these  cases  are  very  meagre. 
It  is  hardly  safe  to  say  that  any  statement 
relative  to  the  final  disposition  of  them  is 
true  beyond  question.  As  showing  some- 
what the  state  of  the  public  mind  at  that 
time,  it  is  related  that  on  the  same  day 

2  Everett's  Anecdotes  of  Early  Local  History. 

3  King's  Handbook  of  Springfield. 

4 Mass.  Colonial  Records  for  May  13,  1651.  Also.  May 
31,  1652.  Drake  says  Man'  Parsons  died  in  prison,  and 
that  she  had  charged  her  husband  with  bewitching  her. 
(Hist,  of  Boston,  322).  Palfrey  thinks  she  was  executed. 
(Hist.  New  England,  IV..  96,  note).  A  writer  in  the  Mer- 
curius  Pnblicns,  a  London  newspaper,  of  Sept.  25.  1651, 
says:  "  Four  in  Springfield  were  detected,  whereof  one  was 
executed  for  murder  of  her  own  child  and  was  doubtless  a 
witch,  another  is  condemned,  a  third  under  trial,  a  fourth 
under  suspicion."     (Ibid.) 


STORIES  OF  SALEM  WITCHCRAFT.  521 

that  Parsons  was  tried,  the  General  Court  "familiarity  with  the  Devil."  The  order 
appointed  a  day  of  humiliation,  in  con-  of  the  court,  subsequently  pronounced, 
sideration,  among  other  things,  "  of  the     was    that,    "  John   Bradstreet    upon    his 


Governor  Bradstreet. 


extent  to  which  Satan  prevails   amongst  presentation  of  the  last  court  for  suspicion 

us  in  respect  of  witchcraft."1  of  having  familiarity  with  the  Devil,  upon 

John  Bradstreet  of  Rowley  was  tried  in  examination  of  the  case  they  found   he 

Ipswich  on  July  28,  1652,  on  a  charge  of  had  told  a  lie,  which  was  a  second,  being 

1  Mass  Colonial  Records  for  May  13,1651.  convicted  once  before.     The   court   sets 


522  STORIES  OF  SALEM  WITCBCRAFT. 


Site  of  "  Salem  Village  "  Church,  Danvers. 


a  fine   of  twenty  shillings  or  else   to  be 
whipped." 

The  next  case  of  which  we  have  a 
record  was  that  of  Ann  Hibbins  of  Bos- 
ton, a  widow,  whose  husband  had  died 
in  1654.  Hibbins  had  been  a  prosper- 
ous trader,  but  during  the  later  years  of 
his  life  had  met  with  reverses,  and  soon 
sickened  and  died.  This  double  afflic- 
tion is  said  to  have  made  his  widow 
crabbed  and  meddlesome.  At  all  events, 
she  had  so  much  trouble  with  her  neigh- 
bors that  the  church  censured  her.  Dur- 
ing the  closing  weeks  of  1655  she  was 
accused  of  being  a  witch.  We  have  no 
record  of  her  trial.  We  do  not  know 
just  what  the  form  of  the  charge  against 
her  was,  nor  the  nature  of  the  evidence. 
The  jury  returned  a  verdict  of  guilty,  but 
the  judges  would  not  receive  it.  The 
case,  under  the  law  of  the  times,  went  to 
the  General  Court  for  trial.  Mrs.  Hib- 
bins was  called  to  the  bar  and  pleaded 
not  guilty.  The  evidence  which  had 
been  taken  in  court  was  read,  and  the 
witnesses,  being  present,  acknowledged 
it.     The    General   Court    thereupon    ad- 


judged the  woman  guilty.  Governor 
John  Endicott  pronounced  sentence,  and 
she  was  hanged.1  Mr.  Beach,  a  minister 
at  Jamaica,  wrote  in  a  letter  to  Increase 
Mather  that  Mr.  Norton  once  said  that 
Ann  Hibbins  was  hanged  for  "  having 
more  wit  than  her  neighbors;  that  the 
principal  evidence  against  her  was  that, 
once  on  a  time,  seeing  two  neighbors 
conversing  on  the  street  she  remarked 
that  they  were  talking  about  her,  and  so 
it  proved."9  One  John  Scottow,  a  select- 
man and  otherwise  a  prominent  citizen, 
testified  somewhat  in  favor  of  Mrs.  Hib- 
bins, and  the  court  compelled  him  to 
write  a  most  humble  apology  for  having 
appeared  to  say  a  word  in  favor  of  one 
accused.  It  is  a  little  singular  in  this 
case  that  while  the  woman  was  a  sister  of 
Deputy-Governor  Bellingham,  and  he 
could  undoubtedly  have  exerted  sufficient 
influence  to  save  her,  nothing  of  the  kind 
appears  to  have  been  done. 

In     1659,    John    Godfrey,    an    Essex 

1Mass.  Colo.  Record,  VI.,  pt.  I,  269.  Also.  Witch- 
craft Papers,  State  House,  Boston. 

2  Poole's  Introduction  to  Johnson's  Wonder  Working 
Providences,  note  cxxix. 


STORIES  OF  SALEM  WITCHCRAFT. 


523 


County  man,  was  accused  of  witch- 
craft, and  bound  over  to  the  higher 
court.  As  no  further  record  of  his  case 
is  to  be  found,  it  is  presumed  he  was 
either  not  brought  to  trial  or,  if  so,  ac- 
quitted. He  sued  two  of  the  prosecutors 
and  witnesses  against  him,  and  recovered 
damages  from  them.  Another  item  on  a 
later  court  record  indicates  that  Godfrey 
was  before  the  court  and  fined  for  being 
drunk.  Ann  Cole  of  Hartford,  Conn.,  in 
1662,  was  concerned  with  two  people  of 
the  name  of  Greensmith,  man  and  wife, 
in  some  sort  of  transaction  which  brought 
against  them  all  a  charge  of  witchcraft. 
John  Whiting  wrote  to  Increase  Mather 
that  she  was  "  a 
person     esteemed  „;-<?-• 

pous,  behaving  her- 
self with  a  pleasant 
mixture  of  humility 
and  faith  under  very 
heavy  suffering.1 
She  made  a  "  con- 
fession "  and  used 
the  names  of  the 
Greens miths  to 
their  prejudice. 
The  Greensmith  wo- 
man made  some 
grotesque  confes- 
sions.2 She  was 
executed,  and  two 
of  the  others  con- 
demned, but  prob- 
ably not  hanged. 
It  looks  very  much 
as    if,    beneath    all 

this  piety  and  humility  exhibited  by  Ann 
Cole,  there  was  some  evil ;  that  her  con- 
duct was  not  always  perfect,  and  that  to 
cover  up  her  responsibility  for  evil  deeds 
she  confessed  to  being  a  witch. 

The  next  case  in  chronological  order 
was  that  of  Elizabeth  Knapp  of  Groton, 
Mass.,  in  167 1.  I  quote  largely  from 
Putnam's  account,  condensed  from  the 
record  left  by  Rev.  Samuel  Willard.3 
Elizabeth  was  at  first  subject  to  mental 
moods  and  violent  physical  actions. 
Strange,  sudden  shrieks,  strange  changes 
of  countenance  appeared,  followed  by  the 

iMass.  Hist.  Coll.,  VIII. ,466. 

2  Hutchinson's  Hist.  Mass.  Bay,  II.,  23. 

3  Putnam's     Witchcraft     Explained,     etc.,     157.        Also, 
Mass  Hist.  Coll.,  VIII.,  555. 


exclamations:  "  Oh,  my  leg,"  which  she 
would  rub;  "Oh,  my  breast,"  and  she 
would  rub  that.  Afterwards  came  fits  in 
which  she  would  cry  out, "  Money,  money." 
offered  her  as  inducement  to  yield  obedi- 
ence, and  sometimes,  "Sin  and  misery," 
as  threats  of  punishment  for  refusal  to 
obey  the  wishes  of  her  strange  visitant. 
Subsequently  she  barked  like  a  dog 
and  bleated  like  a  calf.  Then  she  told 
Mr.  Willard  he  "was  a  great  rogue." 
Some  voice  replied,  "  I  am  not  Satan,  I 
am  a  pretty  black  boy,  this  is  my  pretty 
girl."  She  charged  Willard  himself  and 
some  others  of  his  parish  with  being  her 
tormentors.   Elizabeth  Knapp's  case  seems 


The   Parris   House,  Danvers. 

to  call  for  little  comment.  We  may  form 
our  own  opinions  as  to  the  disorder  from 
which  she  suffered. 

The  first  important  Essex  County  case 
of  witchcraft  was  that  which  occurred  in 
the  family  of  William  Morse  of  Newbury 
—  now  Newburyport — in  1679.  The 
family  consisted,  beside  the  old  gentle- 
man himself,  of  his  wife,  about  sixty-five 
years  of  age,  and  grandson,  John  Stiles, 
twelve  or  fifteen  years  of  age.  To  show 
the  condition  of  affairs  as  it  appeared  to 
Morse,  I  quote  from  his  testimony  : 

"  About  midnight,  the  door  being  locked  when 
we  went  to  bed,  we  heard  a  great  hog  in  the 
house  grunt  and  make  a  great  noise,  as  we 
thought  willing  to  get  out,  and  that  we  might  not 
be  disturbed  in  our  sleep  I  rose  to  let  him  out,  and 


524 


STORIES  OF  SALEM  WITCHCRAFT. 


Gage   House,  Danvers. 
Osburn    House,  Danvers. 

I  found  a  hog  in  the  house  and  the  door  unlocked. 
The  door  was  firmly  locked  when  we  went  to  bed. 
.  .  .  The  night  following,  I  had  a  great  awl  lying 
in  the  window,  the  which  awl  we  saw  fall  down 
out  of  the  chimney  into  the  ashes  by  the  fire. 
After  this  I  bid  the  boy  put  the  same  awl  into  the 
cupboard,  which  we  saw  done  and  the  door  shut 
to.  This  same  awl  came  presently  down  the 
chimney  again  in  our  sight,  and  I  took  it  up  my- 
self. Again  the  same  night  we  saw  a  little  Indian 
basket  that  was  in  the  loft  before  come  down  the 
chimney  again.  And  I  took  the  same  basket  and 
put  a  brick  into  it,  and  the  basket  with  the  brick 
was  gone,  and  came  down  again  the  third  time 
with  the  brick  in  it,  and  went  up  again  the  fourth 
time  and  came  down  again  without  the  brick,  and 
the  brick  came  down  again  a  little  after.  .  .  . 
The  next  day  in  the  afternoon,  my  thread  four 
times  taken  away,  and  came  down  the  chimney, 
again  my  awl  and  gimlet  wanting,  again  my 
leather  taken  away,  came  down  the  chimney, 
again  my  nails,  being  in  the  cover  of  a  firkin, 
taken  away,  came  down  the  chimney.  .  .  .  The 
next  day,  being  Sabbath  day,  I  saw  many  stones 
and  sticks,  and  pieces  of  brick   come  down  the 


Ann    Putnam    House,  Danvers. 

chimney.  On  Monday  I  saw  the 
andiron  leap  into  the  pot,  dance  and 
leap  out  again  leap  in  and  dance 
and  leap  out  again  and  leap  on  a  table 
and  there  abide,  and  my  wife  saw  the 
andirons  on  the  table.  Also,  I  saw 
the  pot  turn  itself  over  and  throw  down 
all  the  water." 

Morse  continued  for  some  time 
to  relate  such  occurrences  as 
these.  He  subsequently  testified 
that  Caleb  Powell  came  in  and 
said  :  "  This  boy  is  the  occasion 
of  your  grief,  for  he  hath  done 
these  things,  and  hath  caused 
his  poor  old  grandmother  to  be 
counted  a  witch."  Powell  then 
told  Morse  that  he  had  seen 
young  Stiles  do  many  of  the  things,  and 
that  if  he  would  let  him  have  the  boy  he 
should  be  free  from  trouble.  He  did  let 
Powell  have  the  lad  Monday  night,  and 
had  no  more  trouble  until  Friday  night. 
Then  the  strange  performances  were  re- 
newed. The  old  man's  cap  was  pulled 
off  his  head  and  the  cat  thrown  at  him. 
They  put  the  cat  out  and  shut  the  doors 
and  windows,  and  presently  she  walked 
in.  After  they  went  to  bed  the  cat  was 
thrown  at  them  five  times,  once  wrapped 
in  a  red  waistcoat.  Such  is  the  story 
told  under  oath  by  an  old  mam,  whom 
Rev.  Mr.  Hale  said  was  "  esteemed  a 
sincere  and  understanding  Christian  by 
those  who  knew  him."  He  and  his  wife 
under  all  the  solemnities  of  their  oaths, 
—  and  an  oath  meant  much  in  those 
days,  —  made  these  startling  depositions. 


STORIES  OF  SALEM  WITCHCRAFT. 


525 


What  shall  we  say  of  them?  Have  the 
statements  exaggerated  the  facts?  How 
can  they  be  met?  how  explained?  Do 
we  believe  these  old  people  wilfully  falsi- 
fied? Caleb  Powell  seems  to  have  sus- 
pected the  boy  John  of  mischievously 
perpetrating  the  tricks  on  the  old  people. 
He  thought  he  could  put  an  end  to  them 
by  removing  the  youth  from  their  house ; 
and  he  did.  So  long  as  John  was  away, 
there  were  none  of  those  strange  occur- 
rences. Powell  was  a  seafaring  man, 
and  when  on  land  dwelt  near  the  Morses. 
He  was  perhaps  a  trifle  boastful  of  his 
powers,  and  told  these  simple,  untravelled 
people  what  remarkable  things  he  could 
do,  among  others  that  he  could  detect 
witchcraft.  We  should  naturally  expect, 
after  Powell  had  demonstrated  to  Morse 
that  his  grandson  was  a  mischievous 
scapegrace,  that  the  grandfather 
would  have  taken  the  boy  home  and 
given  him  a  sound  thrashing,  and 
then  thanked  the  man  who  had 
exposed  the  imposture.  But  no. 
It  was  an  age  of  religious  bigotry, 
and  superstition.  Morse  at  once 
turned  upon  Powell  and  charged 
him  with  practising  witchcraft.  Com- 
plaint was  made  against  him  in  the 
local  court  on  December  3,  1679. 
His  examination  took  place  on  De- 
cember 8,  and  the  court  ordered 
Morse  to  give  bonds  to  prosecute 
at  the  next  term  of  court  in  Ips- 
wich. The  case  was  heard  on 
March  30,  1680.  The  court  ordered, 
that  though  it  found  no  grounds  for 
the  procedure  against  Powell,  "yet 
he  had  given  such  ground  for  suspi- 
cion of  his  so  dealing  that  they  could 
not  acquit  him,  but  that  he  deserved 
to  bear  his  own  share  of  costs  of 
prosecution." 

Complaint  was  then  made  against  Mrs. 
Morse  herself,  and  on  May  20,  1680,  she 
was  tried  and  convicted.  Governor 
Bradstreet,  on  May  27,  after  lecture  in 
the  meeting-house  in  Boston,  sentenced 
her  to  be  hanged.  He  granted  a  re- 
prieve on  June  1  until  the  next  session 
of  the  court,  when  the  reprieve  was  still 
further  extended.  The  House  of  Dep- 
uties protested,  and  urged  execution. 
In   1 68 1,   however,  the   House   voted   to 


give  her  a  new  trial,  the  magistrates  con- 
curring in  the  vote.  We  next  hear  of 
Mrs.  Morse  at  her  home  in  Newbury, 
through  a  letter  written  by  Rev.  John 
Hale  in  1699.  The  records  do  not  in- 
form us  whether  she  was  ever  tried  again 
or  how  she  obtained  her  liberty.  All  we 
know  is  that,  from  all  the  testimony,  she 
lived  a  Christian  life  the  remainder  of  her 
days,  and  always  denied  that  she  was  ever 
guilty  of  witchcraft.  Governor  Bradstreet, 
who  passed  sentence  on  Mrs.  Morse,  sub- 
sequently lived  in  Salem,  and  his  remains 
were  buried  in  the  old  Charter  Street 
burying-ground.  In  1692,  as  in  1680, 
he  dared  to  resist  the  clamors  of  a  bigoted 
people  and  judiciary,  and  an  ignorant, 
superstitious  populace.  Had  Governor 
Phips  possessed  his  intelligence  and  firm- 
ness the  harvest  of  death  on  Witch  Hill 


Old  First  Church  (Roger  Williams'),  Salem. 

would  not  have  formed  a  part  of  our 
early  American  history.  It  is  note- 
worthy that  in  1692,  the  witchcraft  delu- 
sion did  not  reach  old  Newbury.  Her 
people  evidently  learned  a  lesson  from 
the  Morse  case  which  they  did  not  soon 
forget. 

One  of  the  latest  and  most  interesting  of 
the  ante-Salem  village  cases  was  that  in  the 
Goodwin  family  in  1688.  The  daughter 
of  a  Mrs.  Glover  was  laundress  in  the 
Goodwin    household    in    Boston.      John 


526 


STORIES  OF  SALEM  WITCHCRAFT. 


Goodwin  had  four  children,  aged  respec- 
tively, thirteen,  eleven,  seven,  and  five. 
The  eldest,  a  girl  named  Martha,  ac- 
cused the  laundress  of  carrying  away  some 
of  the  family  linen.  Mr.  Glover  is  de- 
scribed by  Hutchinsons  1  and  Calef '2  as 
"a  wild  Irishwoman  of  bad  character." 
She  talked  harshly,  perhaps  profanely,  to 
the  children.  The  girl  Martha  immedi- 
ately fell  into  a  fit.  The  other  children 
soon    followed     her     example.       "  They 


-■if 


Governor   Bradstreet's   Home,  Salem 


were  struck  dead  at  the  sight  of  the 
Assembly's  catechism,  Cotton  Mather's 
'  Milk  for  Babes,'  and  some  other  good 
books,  but  could  read  the  Oxford  Jests, 
Popish  and  Quaker  books,  and  the  com- 
mon prayer,  without  any  difficulties.  .  .  . 
Sometimes  they  would  be  deaf,  then 
dumb,  then  blind,  and  sometimes  all 
these  disorders  together  would  come 
upon  them.  Their  tongues  would  be 
drawn  down  their  throats,  then  pulled 
out  upon  their  chins.  Their  jaws,  necks, 
shoulders,  elbows,  and  all  their  joints 
would  appear  to  be  dislocated,  and  they 
would  make  most  piteous  outcries  of 
burnings,  of  being  cut  with  knives,  etc. 
The  ministers  of  Boston  and  Charlestown 
kept  a  day  of  fasting  and  prayers  at  the 

1Hist.  Mass.,  II.,  25. 
2  Fowler's  Ed.,  357. 


troubled  house,  after  which  the  youngest 
child  made  no  more  complaints,"  The 
magistrates  then  interposed,  and  the 
elder  Glover  woman  was  apprehended. 
Upon  examination  she  would  neither  con- 
fess nor  deny,  and  appeared  disordered 
in  her  senses.  Physicians  declared  her 
to  be  of  sound  mind,  whereupon  she  was 
convicted,  sentenced,  and  executed.  The 
eldest  child  went  to  live  in  the  family  of 
the  minister.  For  some  time  she  be- 
haved properly,  and 
then  had  fits  for  a 
short  time.  Hutchin- 
son says  that  after 
this  they  "  returned 
to  their  ordinary  be- 
havior, lived  to  adult 
age,  made  profession 
of  religion,  and  the 
affliction  they  had 
been  under  they 
publicly  declared  to 
be  one  motive  to  it. 
One  of  them,"  he 
says,  "  I  knew  many 
years  after.  She  had 
the  character  of  a 
very  virtuous  woman, 
and  never  made  any 
acknowledgment  of 
fraud  in  the  trans- 
action." 3 

I  have  thus  traced, 
all  too  briefly,  the 
more  important  witchcraft  cases  in  New 
England  previous  to  1692.  Enough 
has  here  been  given,  I  trust,  to  show 
that  the  outbreak  in  Salem  Village  was 
nothing  phenomenal;  that  it  did  not 
differ  from  what  had  happened  else- 
where, save  in  obtaining  a  firmer  hold  in 
the  minds  of  the  people,  and  being  fos- 
tered by  certain  ministers  and  prominent 
men  more  than  in  other  places.  A  few 
strong,  calm  words,  from  them  in  February, 
1692,  would  have  summarily  allayed  the 
excitement  and  put  an  end  to  the  whole 
wretched  business.  But  these  words  were 
not  spoken,  and  the  tragedy  followed. 

II.  —  The  Outbreak   ix  Salem  Village. 

The  witchcraft  delusion  of    1692   un- 
doubtedly had  its  inception  in  the  home 

SHist.  Mass.,  II.,   25-26.     Mass.  Hist.  Coll..  VIII.,  =57- 


STORIES  OF  SALEM  WITCHCRAFT. 


527 


of  Rev.  Samuel  Parris,  pastor  of  the 
church  in  Salem  Village.  In  his  family 
were  a  daughter,  Elizabeth,  nine  years  of 
age,  a  niece,  Abigail  Williams,  eleven 
years  of  age,  and  a  servant,  Tituba,  half 
Indian,  half  negro.  The  tradition  is 
that  the  two  girls,  with  a  few  other  chil- 
dren of  the  neighborhood,  used,  during 
the  winter  of  169 1-2,  to  assemble  in  the 
minister's  kitchen  and  practise  tricks  and 
incantations  with  Tituba.  Among  the 
other  girls  of  the  neighborhood,  some  of 
whom  are  believed  to  have  been  present 
at  a  portion  of  these  performances,  were 
Ann  Putnam,  twelve  years  of  age,  daugh- 
ter of  Sergeant  Thomas  Putnam ;  Mercy 
Lewis,  seventeen  years  of  age,  maid  in 
the  family  of  Sergeant  Putnam  ;  Elizabeth 
Hubbard,  seventeen  years  of  age,  a  niece 
of  the  wife  of  Dr.  Griggs,  the  village 
physician,  and  a  servant  in  the  family ; 
and  Sarah  Churchill,  aged  twenty  years, 
a  servant  in  the 
family  of  George 
Jacobs,  senior. 
Mercy  Lewis  had 
previously  lived  in 
the  family  of  Rev. 
George  Burroughs. 
During  the  winter 
these  girls  held  oc- 
casional meetings  in 
the  neighborhood, 
usually  at  the  minis- 
ter's house.  Calef 
says  they  began  to 
act  after  a  strange 
and  unusual  man- 
ner, by  getting  into 
holes  and  creeping 
under  chairs  and 
stools,   and    to    use 

sundry  odd  postures  and  antic  gestures, 
uttering  foolish,  ridiculous  speeches,  which 
neither  they  themselves  nor  any  others 
could  make  sense  of. ] 

This  state  of  affairs  continuing  from 
late  in  December  until  into  February, 
1692,  the  elder  people  learned  something 
of  what  was  transpiring  in  their  midst. 
Great  was  their  consternation.  Dr.  Griggs 
was  called,  but  as  sometimes  happens, 
even  in  this  age  of  great  learning,  the 
doctor  did  not  know  what  ailed  the  young 

1  Calefs  "  More  Wonders,"  Fowler's  ed.,  224. 


people.  Their  "  disease  "  was  one  un- 
known to  medical  science.  Evidently 
feeling  obliged  to  give  some  explanation 
of  the  disorder,  the  doctor  declared  that 
the  girls  were  possessed  of  the  devil,  in 
other  words,  bewitched.  Thereupon  the 
curiosity  of  the  whole  community  was 
awakened.  People  came  from  far  and 
near  to  witness  the  strange  antics  of  these 
children.  Their  credulity  was  taxed  to 
its  utmost,  Mr„  Parris,  as  was  natural, 
was  not  only  an  interested  spectator,  but 
he  took  charge  of  the  whole  business. 
He  called  a  meeting  of  the  ministers  of 
the  neighboring  parishes  to  observe,  to 
investigate,  to  pray.  They  came,  they 
saw,  they  were  conquered.  They  unan- 
imously agreed  with  Dr.  Griggs  that  the 
girls  were  bewitched.  The  all-important 
question  was.  Who  or  what  caused  them 
to  act  as  they  did?  Who  bewitched 
them?     Whose  spirit  did  the  devil  take 


Cotton   Mather's  Grave,  Boston. 

to  afflict  them?  Mr.  Parris  and  some  of 
the  ministers  and  prominent  people  of 
the  Village  undertook  to  solve  the  mys- 
tery. Several  private  fasts  were  held  at 
the  minister's  house,  and  several  were 
held  publicly.  The  children  at  first  re- 
fused to  tell  anything  about  the  mysteri- 
ous affair.  Tituba  professed  to  know  how 
to  discover  witches,  and  tried  some  ex- 
periments with  that  end  in  view.  With 
the  assistance  of  her  husband,  John 
Indian,  she  mixed  some  meal  with  the 
urine  of  the  afflicted  and  made  a  cake. 


528 


STORIES  OF  SALEM  WITCHCRAFT. 


Witch  Hill,  Saiem. 


The  children,  hearing  that  Tituba  was 
attempting  to  discover  the  witches,  are 
said  to  have  "  cried  out "  against  her. 
They  said  she  pinched,  pricked,  and 
tormented  them,  and  they  fell  into  fits. 
She  acknowledged  that  she  had  learned 
how  to  find  out  a  witch,  but  denied  that 
she  was  one  herself.  Tituba  was  called  an 
Indian,  but  she  was  not  a  North  American 
Indian.  She  and  her  husband,  John,  were 
brought  from  the  West  Indies  by  Mr.  Parris 
when  he  came  to  Massachusetts  Bay.  They 
had  been  his  slaves  there.  Both  spoke 
English  but  imperfectly,  and  understood 
it  only  partially.  In  addition  to  Tituba, 
the  children  named  Sarah  Good  and 
Sarah  Osburn  as  their  tormentors.  Most 
of  the  early  writers,  and  Mr.  Upham  as 
well,  think  there  was  method  in  their 
madness.  They  describe  Good  as  "  a 
melancholy  distracted  person,"  and  Os- 
burn as  "a  bedridden  old  woman."  No 
one  of  the  three  women,  they  reason,  was 
likely  to  be  believed  in  any  denial  of  the 
statements  of  the  girls  connected  with 
families  of  prominence  and  respecta- 
bility. 

This,  in  brief,  is  the  story  that  has 
come  down  to  us  from  all  the  early  and 
most  of  the  later  writers.  I  am  not  dis- 
posed to  deny  its  correctness ;  but  two 
or  three  suggestions  occur  in  this  con- 
nection, which  seem  worthy  of  mention. 
Is  it  probable  that  these  girls,  living  miles 
apart  —  in  some  instances  five  miles  from 
the  minister's  house  —  in  a  wilderness 
almost,    where    carriages    were    unknown 


and  bridle  paths  often  dangerous,  would 
travel  by  night,  in  the  dead  of  winter,  to 
Parris's  house  and  home  again?  Is  it 
probable  that  their  parents  or  mistresses 
would  allow  them  out  and  away  from 
home  in  this  manner?  Is  it  probable 
that  such  meetings  —  "circles"  as  some 
would  call  them  —  could  be  held  at  the 
minister's  house  and  he  not  know  it,  or 
knowing,  permit  their  continuance  ? 

Tituba  undoubtedly  had  familiarity  with 
the  strange  tricks  and  jugglery  practised 
by  the  semi-barbarous  races ;  and,  al- 
though we  know  nothing  definite  about 
it,  is  it  not  reasonable  to  presume  that 
she  exhibited  some  of  these  to  Elizabeth 
Parris  and  Abigail  Williams,  who  lived  in 
the  house  with  her,  and  that  they  told 
their  young  friends  in  the  Village  about 
the  performances ;  that  these  friends 
came  secretly  to  witness  the  mysterious 
tricks ;  that  they  were  instructed  in  the 
practice  of  them,  and  did  practise  them 
for  self-amusement  or  the  amazement  of 
other  young  people  ;  and  that  eventually 
the  business  got  noised  abroad  and  came 
to  the  knowledge  of  the  elder  people? 
They  would  naturally  institute  an  inquiry. 
The  girls,  probably,  realized  that  if  the 
exact  truth  were  known  to  their  elders 
they  would  be  severely  punished,  possibly 
publicly  disciplined  in  church.  To  pre- 
vent this,  may  they  not  have  claimed 
that  they  could  not  help  doing  as  they 
did  ?  They  undoubtedly  had  some  knowl- 
edge of  witchcraft,  enough  at  least  to 
enable  them  to  make  a  pretence  of  being 


STORIES  OF  SALEM  WITCHCRAFT. 


529 


bewitched.  The  girls  could  not  for  a 
moment  realize  the  terrible  consequences 
which  were  to  follow.  Having  taken  the 
first  step,  they  were  in  the  position  of  all 
who  take  a  first  step  in  falsehood  or  any 
other  wrongdoing  —  another  step  became 
necessary,  and  then  another.  Then  they 
were  probably  commanded  by  their  elders 
to  tell  who  caused  them  to  do  these 
strange  things  or,  as  most  writers  put  it, 
who  "  afflicted  "  them.  As  already  stated, 
they  named  Tituba,  Good,  and  Osburn. 
Is  it  possible  that  we  have  misunderstood 
the  first  statements  of  these  children? 
Is  it  possible  they  did  not  say  Tituba's 
apparition  caused  them  to  do  certain 
strange  things,  but  that  they  said  she 
taught  them?  Is  it  possible  that  Parris, 
to  save  scandal  in  his  own  immediate 
household,  made  Tituba  declare  that  she 
had  bewitched  the  girls?  I  do  not  mean 
to  assert  that  this  is  the  correct  version 
of  the  outbreak  of  witchcraft  in  Salem 
Village.  I  only  desire  to  suggest  what 
may  have  been,  something  which  offers, 
perhaps,  a  rational  explanation  of  the 
beginning  of  this  horrid  nightmare.  Cer- 
tainly such  a  course  is  as  plausible,  as 
reasonable,  and  has  as  much  basis  of  fact 
as  any  of  the  theories  heretofore  ad- 
vanced. We  know  nothing  about  these 
things  as  matter  of  absolute  knowledge  : 
all  is  largely  conjecture. 

At  all  events,  the  children  "named" 
the  three  women  as  their  tormentors. 
Joseph  Hutchinson,  Edward  Putnam, 
Thomas  Putnam  and  Thomas  Preston 
lodged  complaint  against  Tituba,  Good 
and  Osburn  ;  and  on  February  29,  Jona- 
than Corwin  and  John  Hathorne,  the  lo- 
cal magistrates,  issued  warrants  for  their 
arrest  —  the  first  warrants  issued  for  witch- 
craft in  1692.  The  examinations  were 
begun  on  Tuesday,  March  1,  1692.  They 
were  to  have  been  held  in  the  house  of 
Lieutenant  Nathaniel  Ingersoll  in  Salem 
Village,  the  tavern  of  the  place.  But 
the  numbers  who  came  to  witness  the 
opening  scene  in  this  great  drama  of  the 
new  world  could  not  be  accommodated 
in  its  rooms,  and  the  court  therefore 
adjourned  to  the  meeting-house. 

As  Sarah  Good  was  the  first  person 
examined  I  will  deal  with  her  case  first. 
Sarah  Good  was  wife  of  William  Good, 


"laborer."  Calef  says1  she  had  long 
been  counted  a  melancholy  or  distracted 
woman  ;  and  Upham  says 2  she  was  bro- 
ken down  by  wretchedness  of  condition 
and  ill-repute.  Her  answers  to  the  ques- 
tions propounded  to  her,  as  the  reader 
will  see,  give  no  evidence  of  coming  from 
a  person  "broken  down,"  or  "forlorn." 
She  appears  to  have  answered  with  a  fair 
degree  of  spirit.  During  most  of  the 
first  week  in  March,  while  on  trial  before 
the  local  magistrates,  Sarah  Good  was 
taken  to  Ipswich  jail  every  night  and 
returned  in  the  morning,  a  distance  of 
about  ten  miles  each  way.  From  the 
testimony  of  her  keepers  and  the  officers 
who  escorted  her  to  and  from  jail,  we 
learn  that  she  exhibited  considerable 
animation.  She  leaped  off  her  horse 
three  times,  railed  at  the  magistrates, 
and  endeavored  to  kill  herself.  Putnam 
says  3  there  is  no  evidence  that  Sarah 
Good  ever  had  trouble  with  any  of  her 
neighbors  or  accusers,  or  that  any  of 
them  had  hostile  feelings  toward  her. 
Evidently  he  had  never  seen  the  testi- 
mony of  the  Abbeys  and  the  Gadges. 
Samuel  Abbey,  aged  thirty-five,  told  the 
magistrates  that  three  years  previous  to 
the  hearing,  William  and  Sarah  Good, 
being  destitute  of  a  house,  came  to  dwell 
in  their  house  out  of  charity ;  that  they 
let  them  live  there  until  Sarah  Good  was 
of  "  so  turbulent  a  spirit,  spiteful  and  so 
maliciously  bent"  that  they  could  not 
suffer  her  to  live  in  their  house.  Ever 
since  that  time  "  Sarah  Good  hath  carried 
it  very  spitefully  and  mallitiously  towards 
them."  After  she  had  gone  from  them 
they  began  to  lose  cattle,  and  lost  several 
"  in  an  unusual  manner,  in  a  drooping 
condition,  and  yet  they  would  eat."  Al- 
together they  lost  seventeen  in  two  years, 
besides  sheep  and  hogs ;  and  "  both  doe 
believe  they  dyed  of  witchcraft."  They 
further  testified  that  William  Good  told 
them  he  went  home  one  day  and  told  his 
wife  the  Abbeys  had  lost  two  cows,  and 
she  said  she  did  not  care  if  the  Abbeys 
had  lost  all  their  cows.  They  concluded 
their  testimony  with  this  remarkable  state- 
ment:  "   "Just   that  very   day  that   they 

1  Fowler's  Ed.  p.  236. 

2  Salem  Witchcraft  II.  13. 

3  Putnam's  Witchcraft  Explained.     334. 


530 


STORIES  OF  SALEM  WITCHCRAFT. 


said  Sarah  Good  was  taken  up  we  the 
deponents  had  a  cow  that  could  not  rise 
alone,  but  since  presently  after  she  was 
taken  up,  the  said  cow  was  well  and  could 
rise  so  well  as  if  she  had  ailed  nothing." 
Sarah  Gadge  deposed  that  Sarah  Good 
came  to  her  house  about  two  and  a  half 
years  previously  and  wanted  to  come  in ; 
Gadge  told  her  she  could  not,  for  she 
was  afraid  she  had  been  with  them  that 
had  had  small-pox,  whereupon  Good  fell 
to  muttering  and  scolding.  The  next 
morning  Gadge's  cows  died,  "  in  a  sud- 
den, terrible,  and  strange  unusual  man- 
ner soe  that  some  of  the  neighbors 
said  and  deponent  did  think  it  to  be  done 
by  witchcraft."  The  testimony  of  these 
witnesses  shows  that  some  of  Good's  ac- 
cusers had  had  personal  encounters  with 
her,  which  may  have  engendered  ill- 
feeling. 

We  come  now  to  the  examination  of 
Sarah  Good  herself.     It  is  given  here  as 


First  Church  in  Salem  Village. 

FROM   AN   OLD   PRINT. 

found  on  the  court  files  in  Salem.  The 
warrant  issued  by  Hathorne  and  Corwin 
charged  her  with  "  suspicion  of  witchcraft 
done  to  Elizabeth  Parris,  Abigail  Williams, 
Ann  Putnam,  and  Elizabeth  Hubbard, 
at  sundry  times  within  this  two  months." 
This  warrant  was  returned  with  the  certif- 
icate of  George  Locker,  constable,  that 
he  had  "brought  the  person  of  the 
within  named  Sarah  Good."     Her  testi- 


mony was  written  down  by  Ezekiel  Chee- 
ver,  and  is  given  below?  The  examina- 
tion was  on  the  first  and  fifth.  It  is  quite 
evident  that  only  portions  of  the  testi- 
mony were  taken,  and  that  it  is  inter- 
spersed with  comments  by  the  reporter. 
And  here  a  word  of  caution  may  as  well 
be  uttered,  which  will  apply  not  more  to 
the  case  of  Sarah  Good  than  to  others. 
All  the  testimony  in  these  trials,  or  ex- 
aminations, before  the  local  magistrates 
was  taken  by  persons  intensely  prejudiced 
toward  the  prosecution.  In  reading  it 
this  should  always  be  borne  in  mind. 
Much  of  it  was  taken  by  Parris  himself. 
Knowing  his  feelings,  and  that  he  was  the 
leading  prosecutor  very  often,  we  feel  that 
he  would  be  pretty  sure  to  devote  more 
attention  to  testimony  against  the  ac- 
cused than  to  that  in  their  favor.  In 
fact,  this  is  evidenced  throughout  the 
records  which  have  been  preserved : 

The  examination  of  Sarah  Good  before  the 
Worshipful  Esqrs.,  John  Hathorne  and  Jona- 
than Corwin. 

Sarah  Good,  what  evil  spirit  have  you 
familiarity  with  ?  —  None. 

Have  you  made  no  contracts  with  the 
Devil?  — No. 

Why  do  you  hurt  these  children?  —  I  do 
not  hurt  them.     I  scorn  it. 

Who  do  you  employ  then  to  do  it?  —  I  em- 
ploy nobody. 

What  creature  do  you  employ  then?  —  No 
creature;    but  I  am  falsely  accused. 

Why  did   you  go  away  muttering  from  Mr. 
Parris   his    house?  —  I    did    not   mutter,   but 
4     thanked  him  for  what  he  gave  my  child. 
\         Have  you  no  contract  with  the  Devil? — No. 
J  Hathorne  desired  the  children  all  of  them 

t-  to  look  upon  her  and  see  if  this  were  the  per- 
son that  hurt  them,  and  so  they  all  did  look 
upon  her,  and  said  that  this  was  one  of  the 
persons  that  did  torment  them.  Presently  they 
were  all  tormented. 

Sarah  Good,  do  you  not  see  what  you  have 
done?  Why  do  you  not  tell  us  the  truth? 
Why  do  you  thus  torment  these  poor  children? 
—  I  do  not  torment  them. 

Who  do  you  employ  then?  —  I  employ  no- 
body.    I   scorn  it.  —  How  came  they  thus  tor- 
mented?—  What  do  I  know?     You  bring  others 
here  and  now  you  charge  me  with  it. 

Why,  who  was  it  ?  —  I  do  not  know,  but  it  was 
some  you  brought  into  the  meeting-house  with 
you. 

We  brought  you  into  the  meeting-house. — 
But  you  brought  in  two  more. 

Who  is  it  then  that  tormented  the  children?  — 
It  was  Osburn. 

What  is  it  you  say  when  you  go  muttering  away 

from  persons'  houses?  —  If  I  must  tell,  I  will  tell. 

Do  tell  us,  then.  —  If  I  must  tell,  I  will  tell.     It 


STORIES  OF  SALEM  WITCHCRAFT. 


531 


is  the  commandments;  I  may  say  my  command- 
ments, I  hope. 

What  commandment  is  it?  —  If  I  must  tell  you, 
I  will  tell ;    it  is  a  Psalm. 

What  Psalm? — (After  a  long  time  she  mut- 
tered over  some  part  of  a  Psalm.) 

Who  do  you  serve  ?  —  I  serve  God. 

What  God  do  you  serve?  —  The  God  that 
made  heaven  and  earth  (though  she  was  not 
willing  to  mention  the  word  "  God.") 

Her  answers  were  in  a  very  wicked,  spiteful 
manner,  reflecting  and  retorting  against  the 
authority  with  base  and  abusive  words;  and 
many  lies  she  was  taken  in.  It  was  here  said 
that  her  husband  had  said  that  she  was  either  a 
witch  or  would  be  one  very  quickly.  The  wor- 
shipful Mr.  Hathorne  asked  him  his  reason  why 
he  said  so  of  her,  whether  he  had  ever  seen  any- 
thing by  her.  He  answered :  "  No,  not  in  this 
nature,  but  it  was  her  bad  carriage  to  him;  and 
indeed,"  said  he,  "  I  may  say  with  tears,  that  she 
is  an  enemy  to  all  good." 

Here  is  the  account  of  this  examina- 
tion of  Sarah  Good  as  written  down  by 
Hathorne  himself: 

"  Salem  village,  March  the  first,  1692.  —  Sarah 
Good,  upon  examination,  denied  the  matter  of 
fact,  viz.,  that  she  ever  used  any  witchcraft  or 
hurt  the  above-said  children,  or  any  of  them. 
The  above-named  children,  being  all  present, 
positively  accused  her  of  hurting  them  sundry 
times  within  this  two  months,  and  also  that 
morning.  Sarah  Good  denied  that  she  had  been 
at  their  houses  in  said  time  or  near  them,  or  had 
done  them  any  hurt.  All  the  above-said  children 
then  present  accused  her  face  to  face.  Upon 
which  they  were  all  dreadfully  tortured  and  tor- 
mented for  a  short  space  of  time,  and  the  affliction 
and  tortures  being  over  they  charged  said  Sarah 
Good  again  that  she  had  then  so  tortured  them, 
and  came  to  them  and  did  it,  although  she  was 
personally  then  kept  at  a  considerable  distance 
from  them. 

"  Sarah  Good  being  asked  if  that  she  did  not 
then  hurt  them,  who  did  it,  and  the  children 
being  again  tortured,  she  looked  upon  them,  and 
said  it  was  one  of  them  we  brought  into  the 
house  with  us.  We  asked  her  who  it  was.  She 
then  answered  and  said  it  was  Sarah  Osburn,  and 
Sarah  Osburn  was  then  under  custody,  and  not  in 
the  house,  and  the  children,  being  quickly  after 
recovered  out  of  their  fit,  said  that  it  was  Sarah 
Good  and  also  Sarah  Osburn  that  then  did  hurt 
and  torment  or  afflict  them,  although  both  of 
them  at  the  same  time  at  a  distance  or  remote 
from  them  personally.  There  were  also  sundry 
other  questions  put  to  her,  and  answers  given 
thereunto  by  her  according  as  is  also  given  in." 

On  March  7,  Good,  with  Osburn  and 
Tituba,  was  sent  to  jail  in  Boston.  There 
she  remained  until  June  28  when  the 
grand  jury  presented  an  indictment 
against  her  as  follows  : 

"  The  jurors  for  our  sovereign  Lord  and  Lady, 
the  King  and   Queen,  present  that  Sarah  Good, 


wife  of  William  Good  of  Salem  village,  husband- 
man, the  second  day  of  May  in  the  fourth  year  of 
the  reigne  of  our  sovereign  Lord  and  Lady,  Wil- 
liam and  Mary,  by  the  grace  of  God,  of  England, 
Scotland,  France,  and  Ireland,  King  and  Queen, 
defenders  of  the  faith,  etc.,  and  divers  other  days 
and  times,  as  well  before  as  after,  certain  detest- 
able arts  called  witchcraft  and  sorceries,  wickedly 
and  feloniously  hath  used,  practised  and  exercised, 
at  and  within  the  township  of  Salem  within  the 
county  of  Essex  aforesaid,  in  upon  and  against 
one  Sarah  Vibber,  wife  of  John  Vibber  of  Salem 
aforesaid,  husbandman,  by  which  said  wicked 
arts  she,  said  Sarah  Vibber,  the  said  second  day 
of  May  in  the  fourth  year  above-said  and  divers 
other  days  and  times  as  well  before  as  after,  was 
and  is  afflicted,  pined,  consumed,  wasted,  and 
tormented,  and  also  for  sundry  other  acts  of 
witchcraft  by  said  Sarah  Good  committed  and  done, 
before  and  since  that  time,  against  the  peace  of 
our  sovereign,  Lord  and  Lady,  the  King  and 
Queen,  their  crown  and  dignity,  and  against  the 
forme  of  the  statute  in  that  case  made  and  pro- 
vided." 

A  second  indictment  charged  her  with 
practising  the  same  arts  on  Elizabeth 
Hubbard ;  a  third  charged  a  similar 
offence  committed  on  Ann  Putnam.  The 
time  alleged  in  the  last  two  indictments 
was  March  1,  which,  it  will  be  remem- 
bered, was  the  date  of  the  preliminary 
examination.  During  the  trial  of  these 
cases,  Deliverance  Hobbs  gave  a  "  con- 
fession "  as  follows  : 

"  Being  at  a  meeting  of  the  witches  in  Mr. 
Parris'  field  when  Mr.  Burroughs  preached  and 
administered  the  sacrament  to  them  saw  Sarah 
Good  among  the  rest,  and  this  fully  agrees  with 
what  the  afflicted  relate." 

Abigail  Hobbs  testified  that  "  she  was 
in  company  with  Sarah  Good  and  knows 
her  to  be  a  witch,  and  afterwards  was 
taken  deaf;  and  Mary  Walcott  saw  Good 
and  Osborn  run  their  fingers  into  this 
(deponent's)  ears  and  a  little  after  she 
spoke  and  said  Good  told  her  she  should 
not  speak." 

Mary  Warren  confessed  that  "  Sarah 
Good  is  a  witch  and  brought  her  the 
book  to  sign." 

William  Batten,  William  Shaw,  and 
Deborah  Shaw  testified  that  Susan  Shel- 
don's hands  were  tied  in  such  a  manner 
that  they  were  forced  to  cut  the  string. 
Sheldon  told  them  it  was  Good  Dustin 
that  tied  her  hands ;  that  she  had  been 
tied  four  times  in  two  weeks,  "  the  two 
last  times  by  Sarah  Good."  They  further 
declared  that  whenever  she  touched  the 


532 


STORIES  OF  SALEM  WITCHCRAFT. 


string  she  was  bit ;  also  to  a  broom  being 
carried  out  of  the  house  and  being  put  in 
a  tree. 

Johanna  Chilburn  testified  that  "  the 
apparition  of  Sarah  Good  and  her  last 
child  appeared  to  deponent  and  told  her 
that  its  mother  murdered  it  "  ;  that  Good 
said  she  did  it  because  she  could  not 
attend  it ;  that  the  child  told  its  mother 
she  was  a  witch,  and  then  "  Sarah  Good 
said  she  did  give  it  to  the  Devil." 

Henry  Herrick  testified  that  Sarah 
Good  came  to  his  father's  house  and  de- 
sired to  lodge  there  ;  his  father  forbade 
it,  and  she  went  away  grumbling.  Being 
followed  and  forbidden  to  sleep  in  the 
barn,  she  replied  that  it  would  cost  his 
father  one  or  two  of  his  best  cows. 
Jonathan  Batchelder  added  to  this  that 
about  a  week  after,  two  of  his  "  master 
cattle  "  were  removed  and  younger  cattle 
put  in  their  places,  and  since  then  several 
cattle  had  been  let  loose  in  a  strange 
manner. 

Elizabeth  Hubbard,  one  of  the  afflicted, 
saw  the  apparition  of  Sarah  Good,  "  who 
did  most  grievously  afflict  her  by  pinch- 
ing and  pricking,"  and  so  continued  hurt- 
ing her  until  the  first  day  of  March,  and 
then  tortured  her  on  that  day,  the  day  of 
her  examination.  She  had  also  seen  the 
apparition  of  Sarah  Good  afflict  Elizabeth 
Parris,  Abigail  Williams,  Ann  Putnam  and 
Sarah  Vibber.  "  One  night,"  she  con- 
tinued, "  Samuel  Sibley,  that  was  attend- 
ing me,  struck  Sarah  Good  on  the  arm." 
Susannah  Sheldon  said  she  had  been  most 
grievously  tortured  by  the  apparition  ot 
Sarah  Good  "  biting,  pricking,  pinching 
and  almost  choking  me  to  death."  On 
June  26,  1692,  Good  most  violently  pulled 
her  down  behind  a  chest  and  tied  her 
hands  together  with  a  wheel  band  and 
choked  her,  and  William  Battis  and 
Thomas  Buffinton  were  forced  to  cut  the 
band  from  her  hands  for  they  could  not 
untie  it.  During  the  examination  of 
Good,  this  girl  pretended  to  be  afflicted, 
and  said  Sarah  Good,  by  invisible  hands, 
took  a  censer  off  the  table  and  carried  it 
out  doors.  Here  is  the  deposition  of 
Ann  Putnam  : 

"The  deposition  of  Ann  Putnam,  Jr.,  who  testi- 
fieth  and  saith  that  on  the  25th  of  February,  1691 
-92,  I  saw  the  apparition  of  Sarah  Good  which 


did  torture  me  most  grievously,  but  I  did  not 
know  her  name  until  the  27th  of  February,  and 
then  she  told  me  her  name  was  Sarah  Good.  And 
then  she  did  pinch  me  most  grievously,  and  also 
since,  several  times  urging  me  vehemently  to  write 
in  her  book.  And  also  on  the  first  of"  March, 
being  the  day  of  her  examination,  Sarah  Good  did 
most  grievously  torture  me,  and  also  several  times 
since.  And  also  on  the  first  day  of  March,  1692, 
I  saw  the  apparition  of  Sarah  Good  go  and  afflict 
the  bodies  of  Elizabeth  Parris,  Abigail  Williams 
and  Elizabeth  Hubbard.  Also,  I  have  seen  the 
apparition  of  Sarah  Good  afflicting  the  body  of 
Sarah  Vibber.  mark 

"Ann  X  Putnam." 

Sarah  Vibber,  a  woman  thirty-six  years 
of  age,  testified  that  Good  tortured  Mercy 
Lewis  on  April  nth,  and  herself  on  May 
2d,  by  pressing  her  breath  almost  out, 
and  also  afflicted  her  infant  so  that  she 
and  Vibber  could  not  hold  it.  Since  then 
the  apparition  of  Sarah  Good  had  pinched, 
beat  and  choked  her,  and  pricked  her 
with  pins.  Subsequently,  one  night, 
Good's  apparition  came  into  her  room, 
pulled  down  the  clothes,  and  looked  at 
her  four-year  old  child,  and  it  had  a  great 
fit. 

During  this  trial,  one  of  the  witnesses 
who  sat  in  the  room,  cried  out  that  Good 
had  stabbed  her,  and  had  broken  the 
knife-blade  in  so  doing.  The  point  of 
the  blade  was  taken  from  her  clothes 
where  she  said  she  was  stabbed.  There- 
upon a  young  man  arose  in  the  court  and 
stated  that  he  broke  that  very  knife  the 
previous  day  and  threw  away  the  point. 
He  produced  the  remaining  part  of  the 
knife.  It  was  then  apparent  that  the  girl 
had  picked  up  the  point  which  he  threw 
away  and  put  it  in  the  bosom  of  her 
dress,  whence  she  drew  it  to  corroborate 
her  statement  that  some  one  had  stabbed 
her.  She  had  deliberately  falsified,  and 
used  the  knife-point  to  reinforce  the  false- 
hood ;  if  she  was  false  in  this  statement, 
why  not  in  all?  If  one  girl  falsified,  how 
do  we  know  whom  to  believe  ? 

The  most  remarkable  witness  in  this 
case,  and  in  respect  to  age,  the  most  re- 
markable in  this  whole  history,  was  that 
of  Dorcas  Good.  Dorcas  was  daughter 
of  the  accused,  Sarah  Good,  and  only  five 
years  of  age.  She  was  called  to  testify 
against  her  own  mother.  Her  evidence 
was  merely  that  her  mother  "  had  three 
birds,  one  black,  one  yellow,  and  these 
birds  hurt  the  children  and  afflicted  per- 


GWENLYN.  533 

sons."     It  may  be  as  well   to  dispose  of  book."       Ann    Putnam    testified    to    the 

little  Dorcas  and  her  part  in  the  witch-  same  sort  of  torment  in  almost   the  exact 

craft  tragedy  at  this  point  as  later.     She  words  of  Walcott.     Dorcas  was  committed 

was  herself  accused  of  being  a  witch,  and  to   jail  with    her  mother.      We    have  no 

three  depositions  against  her  are  on  the  further  record  of  her.      Whether  she  was 

files.  ever  tried   is  not   known ;    probably  not. 

"The  deposition  of  Mercy  Lewis,  aged    about  Certainly  she  was  not  executed, 

nineteen  years,  who  testifieth  and  saith  that  on  the  Sarah     Good    was    convicted     and    sen- 

2d    of    April     1692,  the    apparition    of   Dorothy  tenced  tQ   be  hanged<       She  was  executed 

Good,  Sarah   Goods  daughter,  came  to  me   and  T    .                   _,           ,,       XT                 , 

did  afflict  me,  urging  me  to  write  in  her  book,  and  on   July  x9-        Rev.    Mr.    Noyes,  who  was 

several  times  since    Dorothy  Good   hath   afflicted  present,    told    her    as    she     Stood    on    the 

me,  biting,  pinching  and  choking  me,  urging  me  scaffold,  "  You  are  a  witch,  and  you  know 

to  write  in  her  book."  you  are  a  witch>»      «  You  are  a  liar,"  was 

Mary  Walcott  deposed  that  March  21,  her   indignant    reply;   "I    am  no   more  a 

"  saw    the    apparition  of    Dorcas     Good  witch   than  you  are  a  wizard,  and    if  you 

come  to  her,  bit  her,  pinched  her,  and  take  my  life,  God  will  give  you  blood  to 

afflicted  her  most  grievously,  also  almost  drink."  1 

choking  her  and  urged  her  to  write  in  a  1  Calef>  Fowler's  Ed.  250. 

(  To  be  continued?) 


GWENLYN. 

By  Ernest  Rhys. 

THEY  were  two  children,  like  these  flowers 
In  simple  beauty  drest  ; 
I  loved  as  dearly  Gwenlyn's  grace 
As  Eva's  deep  unrest. 

They  were  but  children, — joyous,  free, 

And  I  thought  no  harm  to  tell 
Of  the  hopes  of  eternal  fame  of  song 

That  the  poet  knows  so  well. 

But  time  went  on,  and  they  became 
New  dowered  in  woman's  ways, 

And  I  saw  their  eyes  had  a  deeper  light, 
And  their  forms  a  fairer  grace. 

And  Eva  shone,  a  flower  of  gold, 

A  flower  to  sun  the  night ; 
But  Gwenlyn  as  the  spring's  first  bloom 

That  makes  the  sad  heart  light. 

And  light  and  glad  with  wondrous  love 

My  sad  heart  quickly  grew, 
And  the  merry  sun  of  spring  and  youth 

Made  all  old  things  seem  new. 

And  yet  a  little  while,  and  then  — 

And  then  the  end  was  come  ; 
And  Gwenlyn's  was  the  way  of  light, 

And  mine  was  the  way  of  gloom. 


THE  TRAPPING  OF  THE  WIDOW  ROSE. 

By  Francis  Dana. 
I. 


HERE  AS  there  be  many 
who,  from  the  very  lack 
of  well-to-do  and  benefi- 
cent uncles,  are  in  great 
straits  and  know  not 
whither  to  look  for  assist- 
ance, and 

Whereas,  we  are  blessed  with  abun- 
dance, and  have  nothing  in  particular 
to  do, 

Resolved,  i.  That  we  adopt  the  World 
as  our  Nephew,  for  the  purpose  of  ren- 
dering, collectively,  an  Uncle's  care  to 
such  as  do  most  sorely  need  the  same,  etc. 

The  above  is  an  extract  from  the  Con- 
stitution of  the  Uncle's  Club  of  New  York. 

The  club  was  composed  of  twoscore  of 
the  jolliest  old  jolly  fellows,  —  prac- 
tical men,  men  of  leisure,  favorites  of 
fortune,  but  all  practical.  They  believed 
that  nothing  in  the  world  was  without  its 
use,  if  one  only  chose  to  use  it. 

Having  contemplated  human  affliction 
from   this   point   of    view,   they  found   it 
qualified  to  afford  amusement  and  grati 
flcation  to  the    club,  and    treated  it  ac- 
cordingly. 

Once  a  week  they  met,  to  amuse  them- 
selves with  the  woes  of  others.  Once  a 
week  they  dined  together  royally  —  the 
Uncles  —  in  luxurious  rooms. 

The  business  of  the  club  was  done 
after  dinner. 

In  a  cloud  of  smoke  the  secretary  read 
communications  from  members. 

When  a  member  found  a  man  in  dis- 
tress, debt,  hard  luck,  that  man,  deserv- 
ing or  not,  was  reported  to  the  Uncles. 

And  as  the  secretary  read,  pictures  of 
sorrow  and  trouble  drawn  in  the  light 
and  shade  of  humor  and  pathos,  floated 
in  the  fragrant  smoke-cloud  —  pictures 
that  took  richer  hues  and  warmer  tints 
from  the  club's  good  wine,  that  went 
merrily  round  the  while. 


Then  when  the  Uncle's  hearts  were 
warm  with  good  cheer,  checks  were 
drawn  and  signed,  ways  and  means  con- 
sidered, committees  appointed,  and,  ere 
the  next  meeting,  all  the  aforesaid  trou- 
bles were  as  far  as  possible  relieved  — 
many  turned  to  positive  rejoicing. 

With  infinite  tact  and  delicacy  the 
work  was  done,  men  too  proud  to  take 
help  from  their  own  brothers  would  find 
their  difficulties,  as  it  seemed,  miraculously 
removed.  Debts  would  suddenly  be  paid, 
favorite  plans  (almost  given  up  for  sheer 
hopelessness  and  discouragement)  would 
become  easy  of  accomplishment,  a  poor 
man  struggling  with  misfortune  would 
find  the  foe  yielding  when  it  had  seemed 
strongest. 

After  these  reports  had  been  read  and 
disposed  of,  came  the  reports  of  commit- 
tees of  the  previous  week,  and  the  Un- 
cles chuckled  and  roared  with  mirth  and 
satisfaction,  as  they  heard  how  Trotter 
had  looked  when  bills  one  after  another 
came  —  all  receipted  —  to  his  office,  or 
how  Downes  had  congratulated  himself 
on  the  consummate  ability  with  which  he 
had  managed  his  last  deal,  or  how  old 
Mrs.  Murphy,  on  her  knees,  had  thanked 
St.  Bridget  for  "  puttin'  a  new  prig  in  the 
sty  in  me  absince,  an'  the  ould  wan  sould 
for  rint," — all  being  in  fact  due  to  the 
timely  help  of  the  merry  Uncles. 

And  if  they  met  with  ingratitude  here 
and  there  (for  some  people  will  be  un- 
grateful on  general  principles,  even  though 
they  know  not  to  whom  they  shall  be  so) , 
they  laughed  the  louder;  after  all  they 
had  done  it  for  their  own  amusement. 
So  they  dined,  and  the  gods  were  their 
guests. 

Wit  and  Art  were  there,  and  Wisdom, 
and  free-hearted  Mirth. 

And  hand  in  hand  with  Bacchus  in  his 
merriest  mood  came  the  Christian  Graces 


THE  TRAPPING   OF  THE   WIDOW  ROSE. 


535 


—  for  Bacchus  in  good  company  is  no 
pot-house  deity  but  an  inspiring  influ- 
ence—  and  the  Graces  disdain  not  the 
feasts  of  men  of  good  will. 

And  the  secretary  read  as  follows  : 

"  Skokomish,  Nov.  15. 
"  Dear  Old  Boys  :  —  I  don't  know  when  this 
letter  v/ill  reach  you,  for  the  snow,  in  spite  of 
the  delightful  climate  attributed  to  the  Puget 
Sound  forests,  is  four  feet  deep  on  the  trail,  and 
we  are  seventeen  good  miles  —  bad  miles,  I  mean 

—  eleven  by  land  and  six  by  water  from  the  Post 
Office,  and  the  storm  that's  smashing  through  the 
tops  of  the  big  trees,  three  hundred  feet  over- 
head, means  more  snow;  and  more  snow  means 
a  flooded  trail  for  several  days  after  the  first  thaw, 
for  the  Skokomish  drains  a  large  part  of  the 
east  side  of  the  Olympic  Range,  and  is  a  sort  of 
wet  tornado  when  it  rises. 

"  It's  lonely  here,  awfully  lonely,  in  the 
shadow  of  these  huge  mountains  among  the  white 
columns  of  the  trees  —  white  because  the  snow 
has  clung  to  the  moss  and  they  look  like  enor- 
mous marble  pillars,  holding  up  the  mass  of 
storm-clouds.  In  fact,  it's  like  a  gigantic  ceme- 
tery, which  makes  it  semi-terri-fic.  It  is  so 
lonely  that  the  snoring  of  Jackson  in  the  next 
room  (for  this  cabin  has  two  whole  rooms  in  it), 
snoring,  which  under  ordinary  circumstances  would 
support  a  plea  in  justification  of  homicide  —  is 
here  a  welcome  and  companionable  sound.  And, 
speaking  of  Jackson,  he's  the  subject  of  this  let- 
ter. If  there  ever  was  an  unfortunate  wretch,  it's 
Jackson.  I  recommend  him  unhesitatingly  for 
adoption,  on  the  following  grounds :  Jackson  is 
deeply  —  but  the  less  said  about  that,  the  more 
(which  means  that  the  less  I  say  about  it  now,  the 
more  I  shall  by  and  by).  To  begin  with,  Jackson 
is  the  best  shot  in  the  Skokomish  Bottom,  and  a 
skilful  trapper.  He  is  terribly  hard  up ;  for  the 
game  has  all  gone  down  to  the  coast  on  account 
of  the  inclemency,  to  put  it  gently,  of  the 
winter.  Jackson  —  'Three-Fingered  Jackson,' 
we  call  him,  for  obvious  causes  —  would  go 
there  also,  if  it  were  not  that  he  has  good  reason 
of  his  own  —  and  some  one  else's  —  for  staying 
here,  and  he  can't  even  go  off  to  work  in  a  log- 
ging camp,  which  is  the  settler's  usual  resource 
when  fish  and  game  give  out. 

"He  is  a  thoroughly  good  fellow  when  sober; 
and  as  the  heavy  snow  caught  him  at  the  bottom 
of  the  bottle,  and  as  we  have  been  snowed  up 
ever  since  —  living,  by  the  way  on  salt  bear, 
which  I  don't  like  —  he's  been  sober  for  some 
time.  And  even  when  it's  otherwise  he's  not 
bad. 

"  Every  day  he  takes  his  rifle  and  goes  out. 
So  do  I.  And  sometimes  he  brings  home  a  bit 
of  game,  but  it  doesn't  last  long,  and  then  we  fall 
back  on  salt  bear,  of  which  there  seems  to  be  an 
unfailing  supply. 

"Every  day  he  goes  the  round  of  his  traps, 
and  his  invariable  answer  when  asked  what  he 
has  caught  is,  '  What  the  little  boy  shot  at !  ' 

"The  little  boy  in  question  is  legendary  and 
proverbial,  and  is  supposed  to  have  shot  at 
*  nothinV 


"  As  to  the  reason  of  Jackson's  staying  here, 
the  Widow  Rose  is  responsible.  A  pretty  little 
woman  of  about  twenty-one,  with  two  children, 
who  would  be  the  death  of  most  mothers,  left  to 
take  care  of  herself  and  them  in  this  black  wil- 
derness of  forest.  Her  husband  was  killed  in  a 
logging  camp  a  year  and  a  half  ago,  by  a  falling 
tree.  Her  little  ranch  —  which  she  keeps  in 
prime  order  —  is  about  a  mile  down  the  river 
from  here.  Jackson  goes  over  every  day  to  help 
her  milk  the  cows,  get  in  wood,  etc.,  and  her 
loneliness  and  utter  helplessness  in  case  of  acci- 
dent keep  him  from  going  away.  Besides,  as  I 
was  saying  when  interrupted,  Jackson  is  deeply 
smitten  with  the  lady.  She  knows  it,  but  doesn't 
encourage  his  advances,  because  he  never  makes 
any,  and,  I  think,  for  no  other  reason. 

"  '  I  hain't  got  two  bits  to  my  name,'  says  Jack- 
son, '  that's  what  I  hain't.  And  she's  got  a  good 
little  ranch  as  ever  you  see,  and  I  won't  be  called 
no  fortune-hunter  by  no  man.  If  I  could  just 
lay  up  a  bit  —  but  how  can  I  leave  her  an'  them 
two  kids  stay  all  alone  in  this  bit  o'  timber,  an'  go 
off  to  get  work  ?  That's  what !  And  she  ain't 
nowhere  else  to  go  to.'  In  fact,  Jackson  is  too 
proud  to  marry  Mrs.  Rose,  till  he  can  give  her  as 
good  as  she  brings. 

"  Boys,  the  candidate  for  your  avuncular  pro- 
tection needs  it,  and,  which  is  rare,  deserves  it. 

"  If  we  can  manage  to  set  him  up  without  in- 
juring that  same  pride  of  his,  and  it  don't  take 
much  in  the  woods  here  to  make  a  rich  man, 
he'll  have  no  scruples  about  asking  the  Widow 
Rose. 

"Then  —  unless  I'm  greatly  mistaken  in  the 
lady's  feelings  —  the  children  will  have  a  father, 
and  the  helpless  woman  a  husband,  and  lackson 
will  have  all  he  wants  in  this  world,  and,  counting 
the  children,  perhaps  a  little  more. 

"  If  we  can  only  get  him  into  possession  of  a 
small  sum,  he'll  marry  that  girl  at  once,  and  there 
will  be  joy  on  the  banks  of  the  Skokomish.  I 
hope  to  hear  from  you  sooner  or  later,  and  will  do 
all  in  my  power  to  further  any  good  turns  you 
may  care  to  do  Jackson.  (If  he  knew  I  had 
written  this,  I'd  have  to  sleep  in  a  snowdrift.) 
"  Your  obedient  servant,  J.  M.  P. 

"To  the  Uncles,  at  the  Uncles'  Club,  N.  Y. 
City." 

As  the  secretary  fell  comfortably  back 
in  his  chair,  there  arose  a  murmur  of 
approbation. 

One  of  the  best  cases  the  Uncles  had 
met  with  for  some  time. 

Moved  and  seconded  that  J.  M.  P.  be 
fined  for  the  pun  on  cemetery  —  amount 
to  be  left  to  his  own  conscience,  and  to 
be  expended  as  he  should  see  fit  for  the 
benefit  of  Jackson.     Carried. 

Moved  and  seconded  that  Three- 
Fingered  Jackson  of  Skokomish,  and  the 
Widow  Rose  of  Skokomish  be  formally 
adopted,  and  that  a  fund  be  sent  to  J. 
M.  P.  for  the  purpose  of  enabling  him  to 


bS6 


THE  TRAPPING   OF  THE   WIDOW  ROSE. 


extend  the  Avuncular  Protection  to  the 
Nephew  and  Niece  so  adopted. 

Carried  unanimously,  with  acclama- 
tion. And  far  into  the  night  the  Uncles 
laughed  and  sang  and  chatted,  and  by 
and  by  they  rolled  away  to  home  and 
bed. 


II. 

There  had  been  a  flood  on  the  Skoko- 
mish.  A  hundred  mountains  had  poured 
the  wash  of  their  snow-clad  sides  with  its 
canons  and  the  river  had  over-leaped  its 
bounds  and  swept  the  snow  from  the 
trail  and  the  low  land.  Now,  receding 
again  it  had  left  the  banks  clear,  but  still 
roared  lustily  between  its  rocky  walls,  and 
thundered  a  great  peal  of  angry  laughter 
to  the  mountains,  and  the  mountains 
thundered  back  and  called  one  to  another 
with  resounding  voices,  and  the  forests 
shook  with  their  mirth. 

Well  up  the  river  trail  walked  the 
Widow  Rose,  behind  her  with  a  bag  now 
nearly  empty,  the  representative  of  the 
Uncle's  Club. 

"  Did  you  know  that  Jackson  couldn't 


from 


you 


he  was  saying  to 


live  away 
the  lady. 

"Here's  the  best  trap  but  one,"  said 
she. 

"Now,  truly,  Mrs.  Rose,"  said  he, 
"don't  you  think  he's  a  splendid  fellow? 
You  can't  find  a  better  man  nor  a  stronger 
in  all  Washington  —  and  mighty  few  big- 
ger—  and  then  see  how  he's  stayed  right 
here  and  looked  after  you  and  the  chil- 
dren this  winter —  " 

"  Well,  if  he  can't  live  away  from  me 
as  you  were  sayin',  how  can  he  help  liv- 
in'  here?  I  ain't  nowhere  else,"  said  the 
Widow  Rose.  "And  as  for  bein'  a  fine 
man,  he  may  be  all  you  say  —  and  a 
good  deal  more  —  and  he  is  the  best  shot 
in  Mason  County,  and  the  best-hearted 
man  in  or  out  of  it,  maybe ;  but  as 
for  me  likin'  him,  he  ain't  never  asked 
me  too,  and  I've  no  use  for  a  man  as 
can't  say  what  he  means.  And  if  he's 
as  good  a  feller  as  you  said,  he'd  do  as 
much  for  any  woman  as  he  has  for  me, 
so  that  don't  prove  nothin'." 

"  Don't  you  know  he's  afraid  to  ask 
you    because    he    has    nothing,    and  you 


have  a  ranch,  and  he  thinks  it  would 
seem  —  " 

"Oh,  bother!"  said  .she;  "these 
things  don't  count,  an'  if  he  had  .plain 
sense  he'd  know  that  much." 

"  Why  won't  you  make  it  easy  for  him 
in  some  way?"  said  the  Uncle  plead- 
ingly. "  Give  him  a  good  chance  to 
speak,  just  to  see  what  he'll  say,"  he 
added,  offering  as  strong  an  induce- 
ment as  he  could  to  the  feminine  mind. 

"This,"  said  the  Widow  Rose,  again, 
"  is  the  last  trap  but  one.  You  can  put 
that  parcel  in  this  one,  an'  watch  from 
that  there  holler  stump  —  an'  I'll  goon 
to  the  next,  which  it  ain't  fur  off,  with 
the  rest  o'  yer  things  there,  an'  join  ye 
when  he's  gone  back.  It's  about  time 
he  come  along  —  so  get  a  move  on." 

So  saying  she  took  the  bag  and  went 
on.  He  took  from  his  pocket  a  fat  en- 
velop marked  : 

"  Three-Fingered  Jackson, 

"  From  his  affectionate  Uncles." 

snapped  the  trap  on  one  of  its  corners, 
and  hid  in  the  stump. 

About  this  time  an  immensely  tall  fel- 
low, broad  and  sinewy,  with  his  rifle  on 
his  shoulder,  was  coming  up  the  trail. 

"  Looks  like  somethin'  had  been  there," 
said  he  reflectively.  "  Can't  see  no 
tracks  though  —  snow's  washed  off  an' 
the  trail  froze." 

Then  he  stopped  to  look  at  his  first 
trap.  "Sprung,"  said  he,  "an'  by  all 
that's  mighty  —  what  kinder  bird  is  that? 
Well,  now,  that'll  make  Hatty  an'  the  kids 
a  good  dinner,  but  I  never  see  no  turkey 
here  before."  Stopping  at  the  next  trap 
he  was  further  surprised  to  find  a  sucking 
pig  in  splendid  order.  "  Bald-headed 
Solomon's  beard  !  "  said  he ;  "  there's  a 
hen  an'  pig  ranch  broke  loose  up  in  the 
mountains  some  place.  But  here's  this 
feller  already  butchered  an'  ready  for 
pork.  Well,  some  one's  a  playin'  it  on 
me,  an'  it  can't  be  helped,  an'  I'm  'bliged 
to  him.  It's  that  feller  from  the  East  — 
that's  what  it  is,  an'  I  don't  know  where 
he's  gone,  nor  where  his  home  is — an' 
he  left  here  this  mornin'  early.  Well  — 
God  bless  him  —  he  always  was  a  good 
fellow,  only  he  didn't  know  much." 

The  next  trap  had  captured  a  beauti- 
ful Winchester —  the  result,  together  with 


THE  TRAPPING   OF  THE    WIDOW  ROSE. 


537 


a  belt  and  much  ammunition,  of  J.  M. 
P's.  fine ;  the  next,  a  fine  Smith  and 
Wesson  ;  the  next,  a  good  knife. 

"  The  feller's  a  millionnaire,"  said  Jack- 
son, "  an'  if  he'd  offered  to  give  me 
them  things  any  other  way  I  wouldn't  a 
took  'em ;  but  comin'  in  my  traps  it 
seems  different  some  way.  He  was  a 
good  feller."  A  fur  cap  was  in  the  next 
trap,  and  Jackson  put  it  on  without  a 
murmur.  The  next  contained  an  enve- 
lope sealed  : 

"  Three-Fingered  Jackson, 

"  From  his  affectionate  Uncles." 

A  paper  inside,  and  another  envelope. 

"  Know  all  men  by  these  presents. 

"  That  we,  the  Uncle's  Club  of  New  York,  do 
hereby  acknowledge  as  our  beloved  Nephew,  pro 
tem;  three-Fingered  Jackson  of  Skokomish, 
and  beg  him  to  accept  the  enclosed  as  a  mark  of 
our  affection." 

This  was  sealed  with  the  seal  of  the 
Uncle's  Club  —  an  ant  dressed  in  mas- 
culine attire  —  and  it  was  signed  with 
forty  names.  And  the  inner  envelope 
contained  a  roll  of  bills,  one  thousand 
dollars  —  for  the  Uncles  did  well  by  their 
adopted.  That  sum  is  a  large  fortune  on 
the  Skokomish.  The  Uncle  watched 
from  the  stump.  Jackson  was  staggered 
for  a  moment.  Then  he  sat  down  on 
the  trail  and  read  the  letter  over  and 
over.  Then  he  counted  the  roll  of  bills. 
He  opened  his  mouth,  and  shut  it  again. 
At  last  he  said  : 

"Well,  I  never  knew  I  had  no  Uncles 
—  but  as  this  here  note  says,  I  might 
know  it  now  —  by  these  presents'"  — 
and  he  went  on  up  the  trail. 

The  Uncle  crept  from  the  stump,  and 
followed  stealthily,  at  some  distance. 
Presently  the  trapper  stopped,  before  a 
great  rock  whose  base  was  surrounded 
with  brush. 

Man  is  never  satisfied.  The  more  you 
give  him,  the  more  he  wants. 

"  Now  comes  the  last  trap,"  said  Jack- 
son. "  I  wish  that  I  might  find  Hatty  in 
it  —  seems  like  I  could  ask  her,  now." 

The  Uncle  heard  a  rustle  in  the  brush, 
and  the  sharp  snap  of  a  sprung  bear- 
trap. 

"Bear,"  said  Jackson;  and,  forgetting 


for  the  moment  the  fruits  of  his  adop- 
tion, Hatty  —  all  but  the  game  —  sprang 
to  the  rock,  and  stopped.  The  Uncle 
crept  after  him  and  peered  through  the 
leafless  bushes.  Under  the  rock  was  as 
pretty  a  grotto  as  a  nymph  of  ice  and 
winter  could  wish  for  a  home.  The  ledge 
overhung,  and  long,  thick  icicles  like 
supporting  pillars  reached  the  ground  on 
either  side.  From  the  top  and  front, 
where  a  cleft  gave  them  a  place,  hung 
ferns  and  grasses,  frozen  into  a  thick 
fringe  of  ice.  In  this  cave  stood  the 
Widow  Rose,  cheeks  flushed,  eyes  bright 
with  excitement,  hat  off,  and  her  thick 
hair  torn  from  its  restraining  ribbon  by 
the  bushes,  falling  in  rich  dark  masses  to 
her  knees.  Beside  the  grotto,  open- 
mouthed,  wide-eyed,  astonished  beyond 
the  usual  power  of  man  to  be  astonished, 
stood  Jackson,  his  rifle  at  his  feet,  his 
hand  half-lifted,  still  and  dumb  with 
amazement. 

"Well,  you  big  booby,  can't  you  help 
a  lady  off  your  bear-trap,  or  ain't  you  got 
no  manners?  or  are  you  too  stuck  on 
yourself  in  your  new  hat  to  think  of  any- 
thin'  else?  Here  I  am  caught  in  yer 
horrid  old  trap,  an'  my  fingers  too  numb 
to  do  anything  and  I  can't  get  my  feet 
on  the  springs." 

Jackson  grasped  the  situation  —  and 
the  woman.  The  Uncle,  satisfied  and 
unwilling  to  intrude,  departed  by  stealth 
and  took  the  trail  for  Hoodsport,  near 
Skokomish,  where  his  bqggage  awaited 
him.  At  the  next  meeting  but  one  of 
the  Uncle's  Club,  he  reported  in  person, 
and  gained  several  pounds  in  weight. 
As  to  the  couple  on  the  Skokomish,  ere 
Hatty's  skirt  was  free  from  the  trap,  hei 
fingers  were  no  longer  numb,  and  Three- 
Fingered  Jackson  had  promise  of  happi- 
ness. And  the  two  coming  heme  along 
the  trail  met  -he  parson  from  the  Reser- 
vation, who  had  come  over  at  once  on 
the  Uncle's  representations.  When  the 
news  was  received,  there  was  mirth  at  the 
Uncle's  Club,  and  the  health  of  the 
Jacksons  was  drunk  thrice  over. 

"  Not  forgetting  the  kids,  gentlemen," 
said  the  president,  as  an  excuse  for 
another. 


THE  NEW  SOUTH.  — THE  CITY  OF  FORT  WORTH. 

By  F.  M.  Clarke. 


IN  the  spring  of  1849,  Major  Ripley 
Arnold  of  the  Second  Dragoons, 
United  States  Army,  in  seeking  for 
an  eligible  site  for  one  of  a  line  of  posts, 
then  recently  designated  to  extend  from 
the  Red  River  southwestwardly  to  the 
Rio  Grande,  camped  on  the  Trinity 
River  about  one  mile  northeast  of  where 
the  Qourt  House  of  Tarrant  County  now 
stands,  choosing  the  spot  as  particularly 
eligible  for  a  garrison  on  account  of  its 
elevation  and  water  supply.  The  policy 
of  the  government  was  to  establish  this 
cordon  of  posts  for  the  protection  of  the 
frontier  against  hostile  Indians  and  bands 
of  marauders  from  the  Mexican  territory, 
Northern  Texas,  west  of  the  Lower  Cross 
Timbers,  being  then  almost  exclusively 
inhabited  by  Indians.  The  post  became 
a  base  of  supplies  for  the  more  distant 
posts,  and  was  christened  "Fort  Worth" 
by  Major  Arnold,  in  honor  of  one  of  the 
heroes  of  the  Mexican  War,  —  he  who 
stormed  the  Bishop's  Palace  at  Monterey. 
In  1853,  the  post  had  a  population  of 
about  one  hundred,  and  settlers  were 
rapidly  coming  into  the  place,  and  in 
November  of  the  same  year  the  last  de- 
tachment of  the  Second  Dragoons  were 
removed,  and  since  that  time  no  troops 
have  been  stationed  here. 

Fort  Worth  is   the  capital  of  Tarrant 
County.       It    is    situated    nearly    in    the 


Fort  Worth   looking  Northeast. 


centre  of  the  county  on  an  elevated  pla- 
teau overlooking  the  Trinity  River  from 
its  high  bluffs.  The  city  proper  is  upon 
a  mesa  of  peninsular  contour,  so  made  by 
the  winding  Trinity  River,  the  plateau 
having  a  general  elevation  of  from  sixty 
to  seventy  feet  above  the  river  channel, 
lifting  the  city  above  miasmatic  influences. 
It  is  six  hundred  and  seventeen  to  six 
hundred  and  forty  feet  above  sea  level, 
and  so  obtains  the  best  possible  natural 
drainage,  which  has  been  assisted  by  all 
the  most  modern  scientific  principles  of 
sewerage  disposal.  It  has  perhaps  the 
best  system  of  sewerage  in  Texas,  con- 
sisting of  fifty-eight  miles  of  sewer  mains 
and  laterals,  leading  to  the  Trinity  River 
below  the  city.  Its  suburbs  mount  the 
elevations  that  surround  it  like  an  amphi- 
theatre, but  still  afford  it,  through  the 
vales  between,  an  exposure  to  the  South. 
The  temperature  on  a  summer  day  is, 
on  an  average,  fifteen  to  twenty  degrees 
less  than  it  is  at  St.  Louis  and  Kansas 
City,  and  the  altitude  of  the  city  affords 
exceedingly  dry  and  pure  air.  The 
death  rate  is  but  one  to  ten  thousand. 
The  winters  are  usually  mild,  owing  to  the 
nearness  of  the  Gulf. 

The  city  has  beautiful  suburbs,  and 
from  their  heights  a  panorama  is  unfolded 
of  manifold  charms.  In  the  foreground 
is  the  city,  with  its  clustering  spires  and 


THE  NEW  SOUTH.  —  THE   CITY  OF  FORT  WORTH. 


539 


towers,  and  its  central  squares  of  urban 
stateliness,  with  the  clear  waters  of  the 
sinuous  river  winding  by ;  in  the  distance, 
the  fields,  the  orchards,  and  the  wood- 
lands of  Tarrant  County. 

In  the  residence  portion,  every  dwell- 
ing sits  apart,  embowered  in  a  fragrant 
garden,  where  roses,  clematis,  heliotrope, 
and  arbutus  run  luxuriant  riot.  The  visitor 
from  the  older  states  is  at  once  struck 
with  the  curious  appearance  of  the  streets, 
which,  laid  out  with  uniformity  at  right 
angles,  are  broad  and  level,  and  in  the 
general  plan  convenient,  but  very  few 
diagonal  streets  occur.  The  apparent 
haphazard  way  in  which  the  buildings  are 


ber  26,  1876,  when  the  Town  Council 
adopted  the  general  charter  of  the  state, 
incorporating  cities  of  one  thousand 
population  or  over.  A  census  taken  at 
that  time  showed  that  something  over 
1,100  people  wre  living  within  the 
boundaries  of  the  tract  officially  fixed 
as  the  city  site.  The  business  at  this 
time  was  done  on  the  "  Plaza,"  or  public 
square  about  the  Court  House,  and  from, 
this  building,  at  that  time  a  quaint,  one- 
story,  frame  structure,  to  the  city  limits, 
brought  one  into  the  country.  To-day, 
Fort  Worth,  including  its  suburbs,  has 
30,000  population,  her  business  reaches 
out     over     1 1     thoroughfares    of     steel. 


Idlewild  "  on  Trinity   River,  near  Fort  Worth. 


located  outside  of  the  strictly  business 
centre  of  the  city,  will  perhaps  most 
arrest  the  attention  of  the  stranger.  A 
magnificent  eight-story  structure,  built  of 
granite  and  sandstone,  occupied  from 
ground  to  roof  with  busy  offices,  elbows  a 
dilapidated  one-story  frame  building,  with 
curling  clapboards  and  sway-back  roof. 
A  huge  wholesale  house  blockades  the 
sidewalk  with  boxes,  barrels,  and  bales 
for  half  a  block,  and  beside  it  are  a 
couple  of  vacant  lots.  A  retail  dry  goods 
store,  palatial  in  size  and  equipment, 
shares  its  occupancy  of  the  block  with  a 
six-by-ten  fruit  stand. 

Fort  Worth  became  a  city  on  Septem- 


ber residences  extend  beyond  the  city 
limits,  and  a  number  of  additions  to  the 
city  have  been  made.  In  the  year  1877 
the  total  assessable  value  of  Fort  WTorth 
amounted  to  $246,516;  in  1880  they 
had  reached  $1,467,580;  and  in  1891, 
$23,927,047.  City  taxation  for  all  pur- 
poses being,  this  year,  $1.15  on  each 
$100  assessed.  In  1878,  wagons  went  to 
their  hubs  in  mud  on  the  principal  street. 
An  improvement  is  now  visible,  in  the 
presence  of  65  miles  of  paved,  guttered, 
curbed,  and  macadamized  streets. 

Fort  Worth  is  not  a  paradise  for  dream- 
ers. It  is  one  of  the  busiest  marts  of 
trade  in  the  country.     The  first  trading 


540 


THE  NEW  SOUTH.  —  THE  CITY  OF  FORT  WORTH. 


was  with  the  cattle  men,  and  it  remains 
with  her.  The  bulk  of  the  supplies  for 
the  ranches  scattered  over  the  Staked 
Plains  are  purchased  here.  It  has  now 
50  jobbing  houses,  doing  $30,000,000 
of  annual  trade ;  a  manufactured  pro- 
duct   of  $6,000,000    a    year,    and    bank 


Cumberland  Church. 

clearings    (which    may   be   taken   as   the 
sum    total    of   its    commerce)    of   nearly 
$100,000,000   per  year.     Its   real  estate 
transfers    have    aggregated    as    much    as 
$10,000,000  in  6  months,  and  its  build- 
ings and  public  improvements  $,3000,000 
in    12.      The     city    is    fully    abreast    of 
the   times   in  all 
the   modern   ap- 
plications    of 
science     to     the 
necessities  of 
mankind.       Fort 
Worth    was    the 
first    city  in   the 
land  to  use  elec- 
tric    street    rail- 
roads.    Forty-six 
miles  of  electric 
street  car   lines  ; 
together    with    3 

electric     light  Fort  Worth   High   School. 


companies,  one  of  them  owned  by  the 
city,  furnishing  illumination  for  200  arc 
and  1,000  incandescent  street  lamps,  show 
the  extent  to  which  electricity  is  used. 
Numerous  business  blocks  employ  their 
own  plant. 

Fort  Worth  is  sometimes  called  the 
city  of  artesian  wells.  Its  water  supply 
is  both  excellent  and  bountiful ;  being 
provided  partly  by  public  and  partly  by 
private  funds.  The  public  supply  used 
for  municipal,  manufacturing,  and  rail- 
road purposes,  is  obtained  from  the  river 
by  a  system  of  gang  wells,  and  is  dis- 
tributed through  39  miles  length  of 
mains.  The  city  is  now  engaged  in  add- 
ing additional  water  works  at  a  cost  of 
half  a  million  dollars.  The  private  sup- 
ply is  drawn  from  about  300  artesian 
wells,  sunk  through  the  limestone  sub- 
structure of  the  city's  site,  to  depths  ran- 
ging from  150  to  2,000  feet.  From  these 
two  sources  about  10,000,000  gallons  daily 
are  obtained.  The  purity  of  the  artesian 
supply  is  unexcelled,  the  most  rigid 
analysis  failing. to  discover  any  trace  of 
organic  taint.  Until  within  the  two 
years  last  past,  the  wells  were  all  taken 
from  the  150  foot  stratum.  In  the  spring 
of  1890,  the  city  government  began  the 
experiment  of  sinking  a  deep  well  in 
search  of  flowing  water.  Tucker's  Hill, 
an  elevation  situated  in  the  southern  por- 
tion of  the  city  at  a  height  of  52  feet 
above  the  bench  mark  at  the  Court 
House  Square,  was  selected  as  the  site. 
The  boring  of  the  well  was  begun,  and 
at  the  depth  of  895  feet  a  flow  of  water 
was  reached  that  discharged  200,000 
gallons  per  24  hours,  through  a  circular 
o  r  ifi  c  e  of  8 
inches  diameter, 
at  a  pressure  of 
1 7  pounds  to  the 
square  inch. 
This  flow  was 
cased  off  (that 
is,  an  iron  pipe 
wras  driven  down 
so  as  to  com- 
pletely shut  off 
all  of  the  water 
from  the  well 
tube) ,  the  boring 
w  a  s      continued 


THE  NEW  SOUTH.  —  THE   CITY  OF  FORT  WORTH. 


541 


downwards,  and  at  a  depth  of  1,035  feet 
another  stratum  of  water  was  reached 
yielding  a  flow  of  250,000  gallons  in  24 
hours  through  a  7 -inch  circular  orifice,  at 
a  pressure  of  22  pounds  per  square  inch. 
This  was  in  turn  cased  off  and  the  boring 
proceeded  with.  At  the  depth  of  1,135 
feet  a  third  stratum  of  water  was  found, 
which  gave  through  a  6-inch  circular 
orifice,  a  flow  of  332,000  gallons  per  24 
hours  at  a  pressure  of  29  pounds  to  the 
square  inch.  This  flow  was  also  cased 
off,  and  the  boring  continued  to  a  depth 
of  3,641  feet,  but  without  finding  any 
other   stratum   of  potable   water.      Brine 


turn,  78  degrees;  and  that  of  the  1,135 
feet  stratum  being  84  degrees  Fahrenheit. 
The  presence  of  so  desirable  a  water  sup- 
ply has  been  a  valuable  factor  in  solving 
the  problem  of  economical  administration 
of  manufacturing  enterprises. 

One  of  the  finest  buildings  in  Fort 
Worth,  is  the  Natatorium,  occupying  one- 
fourth  of  a  block.  The  flow  of  two  large 
wells  is  utilized.     The  building  contains 


"  High    Brie 


:ross  Trinity  River  near 


and  traces  of  gas  and  oil  were  passed 
through.  The  problem  of  flowing  wells 
was  solved.  Since  that  time  a  large  num- 
ber of  wells  have  been  sunk  to  the  various 
strata,  some  of  them  reaching  the  lowest 
stratum  and  the  flow  of  all  the  strata 
utilized.  The  well  at  the  packing-house 
is  one  of  this  kind,  and  yields  a  flow  of 
considerably  over  1,000,000  gallons  daily. 
The  natural  pressure  of  the  flowing  wells 
is  sufficient  to  carry  the  water  to  the  tops 
of  the  tallest  buildings,  —  the  water  of  the 
Brewing  Company's  well  flowing  to  the 
height  of  90  feet  above  the  ground.  The 
temperature  of  the  water  varies  with  the 
strata.  That  of  the  shallowest  stratum, 
150  feet,  being  60  degrees;  of  the  895 
feet,  68  degrees;  of  the   1,035   feet  stra- 


one  of  the  largest  enclosed  swimming 
pools  in  the  country,  and  is  equipped 
with  all  the  latest  appliances  in  the  na- 
ture of  Turkish,  and  Russian  baths,  etc. 
The  Natatorium  is  one  of  the  institutions 
of  Fort  Worth  and  is  a  constant  source 
of  pardonable  pride  to  the  citizens.  The 
supply  of  water  for  domestic  uses  is  al- 
most entirely  derived  from  the  artesian 
source ;  not,  that  the  river  water  is  im- 
pure or  unpalatable,  it  is  exceptionally 
good,  but  from  the  known  absolute  purity 
of  the  artesian.  To  this  is  largely  due 
the  low  death  rate.  An  analysis  of  this 
water  shows  the  following  results  in 
grains  per  U.  S.  gallon.  Silica,  1.3456; 
alumina,  trace;  iron,  sesquioxide,  1.496; 
sodium    chloride,    5.0267  ;     sodium    and 


542 


THE  NEW  SOUTH.—  THE   CITY  OF  FORT  WORTH. 


Some  Residences  at  Arlington   Heights,  Fort  Worth. 


potassium  sulphates,  17.2583;  sodium 
carbonate  and  bi-carbonate,  16.6587  ; 
calcium  carbonate  11. 15 79;  magnesium 
carbonate  .9432  ;  total  solids  by  all  cal- 
culation:  43.801  grains.  Eminent  med- 
ical authorities  testify  to  the  beneficial 
influence  of  these  waters  in  all  cases  of 
visceral  engorgements,  functional  diseases 
of  the  digestive  organs,  diseases  of  the 
liver  and  kidneys,  as  well  as  skin  diseases, 
though  they  are  in  no  sense  mineral 
waters. 

Standing  at  the  edge  of  the  fertile 
grain  fields  of  the  Texas  Panhandle 
region,  in  close  rapport  with  the  bound- 
less cattle  plains,  and  fairly  within  the 
great  cotton  belt ;  possessed  of  an  unex- 
celled water  supply,  and  abundant  and 
cheap  fuel,  —  it  was  not  long  before  Fort 
Worth  was  recognized  as  the  proper 
place  where  manufacturers  could  be  lo- 
cated. Shrewd  men  of  business  care- 
fully viewed  the  field,  decided,  and 
promptly  acted.  The  manufacturing  in- 
dustries of  Fort  Worth  are  both  varied 
and  extensive.  The  Lead  Packing  Com- 
pany's Works    embrace  a    pork   packery 


having  a  daily  capacity  of  1,500  hogsr 
a  refrigerator  with  a  daily  capacity  of 
500  beeves  and  600  sheep,  an  ice  plant 
of  60  tons  daily,  together  with  the  con- 
comitant industries  of  lard  producing, 
sausage  making,  canning  and  packing, 
bone  and  fertilizer  work,  tanning,  etc. 
There  are  5  grain  elevators,  having  a 
combined  capacity  of  half  a  million 
bushels  (too  small  for  the  great  harvests)  ; 
4  flour  mills,  minimum  capacity  of  each,. 
700  barrels  per  day ;  3  stock  yards,  one 
of  them  capable  of  accommodating,  with 
shelter  and  water,  5,000  head  of  cattle 
and  3,000  hogs  ■  2  iron  foundries  ;  an  iron 
rolling  mill ;  a  stove  foundry ;  a  windmill 
and  pump  factory ;   a  boot  and  shoe  fac- 


tory 


cotton  mill ;  a  tannery ;    a  jute 


bagging  factory;  a  cracker  factory ;  two 
candy  factories  ;  a  granite  roofing  factory ; 
the  largest  brewery  in  the  State,  the  plant 
of  which,  including  lands,  cost  $300,000 
the  output  for  the  first  year  being  50,000 
barrels.  Fuel  costs  an  average  of  S3. 2 5 
per  ton.  This  establishment  has  one  of 
the  finest  of  the  flowing  wells,  affording 
500,000  gallons  in  24  hours ;  also  a  plant 


THE  NEW  SOUTH.  —  THE   CITY  OF  FORT  WORTH. 


543 


for  the  manufacture  of  ice,  producing  60 
tons  per  day,  all  of  which  is  used  by  the 
refrigerating  portion  of  the  brewery  and 
the  ice  chests  of  its  customers.  At  $5.00 
per  ton,  this  item  is  a  most  valuable  ad- 
junct to  the  establishment.  The  build- 
ings are  handsome,  and  are  located  in  the 
city  on  the  Gulf,  Colorado  and  Santa  Fe 
Railroad,  and  are  also  connected  by 
switches  with  all  of  the  other  eleven  rail- 
way outlets.  In  addition,  there  is  a  huge 
cotton  compress ;  woven  wire  mattress 
and  cot  factory  j  baking  powder  factory ; 
wagon  factory ;  cement  works ;  canning 
factory ;    large  woollen    mill ;    6    planing 


of  Texas,  producing  already  such  re- 
markable wheat  crops,  that  12,000,000 
bushels  is  reported  a  conservative  estimate 
of  its  yield  for  1891.  To  the  west,  and 
extending  slightly  southward,  is  the  ex- 
tensive and  fertile  "  corn  lands  "  region 
of  the  state  ;  while  southwest  and  south 
are  the  rich  fields  of  the  immense  belt  of 
the  "  cotton  king."  A  vast  area,  extend- 
ing from  the  26th  to  the  37  th  parallels  of 
north  latitude,  and  from  the  97th  to  the 
105th  degrees  of  west  longitude. 

Imagine   an    irregular    pentagon,   with 

Texline  at  the  northern  apex,  El  Paso  at 

the  western  edge,  Bronwood  and  Galveston 

marking  the  southern  base  line,  and 

Fort  Worth  at  the  eastern  corner, 

containing  close    upon   200  square 

""as* 


Residence  of  T.  J.  Roe. 

mills ;  2  paint  factories ;  and  the  ma- 
chine and  repair  shops  of  the  Union 
Pacific,  Texas  Pacific,  Fort  Worth  and 
Denver,  and  St.  Louis  and  Southwestern 
Railroads.  A  beginning  only  has  been 
made  by  Fort  Worth  in  the  manufactu- 
ring industries ;  and  yet  it  has  30  large 
establishments  comprehending  standard 
lines  of  production,  and  giving  employ- 
ment to  nearly  2,000  people. 

Within  a  radius  of  150  miles  of  Fort 
Worth,  2,500,000  of  people  are  resident, 
and  this  number  bids  fair  to  be  increased 
to  3,000,000  before  the  close  of  1893. 

Northwest  of  it  lies  the  vast  domain 
popularly  known   as    the    "  Panhandle " 


miles,  where  cotton,  wheat,  corn, 
and  cattle  are  the  staples,  and  one 
can  at  once  understand  what  it  is 
that  has  caused  the  growth  of 
Fort  Worth.  On  it  rests  her  future  great- 
ness. That  such  is  assured,  is  evident 
from  the  fact  that  no  other  large  city  lies 
nearer  to  the  golden  grain  fields.  Fort 
Worth  stands  nearest  in  line  between  the 
spinning  jennies  of  the  East  and  the 
white  billows  gathered  "  in  the  chill 
September." 

To  give  a  measurable  idea  of  this  ex- 
panse of  territory,  it  may  be  well  to  state 
that  the  Texas  Pacific  road  runs  west 
about  600  miles  from  Fort  Worth  before 
crossing  the  state  line,  and  that  it  is  400 
miles  northwest  on  the  Fort  Worth  and 
Denver  road  to  where  the  road  crosses 
into  New  Mexico.  The  600  miles  of 
Texas  Pacific  road  runs  through  lands 
unsurpassed  in  fertility ;  lands  that  grow 


544 


THE  NEW  SOUTH.  -■  THE   CITY  OF  FORT  WORTH. 


cotton,  corn,  wheat,  oats,  rye,  and  barley ; 
lands  that  produce  apples,  pears,  peaches, 
apricots,  and  grapes  unsurpassed  in  size 
and  flavor  •  lands  that  cover  with  light 
mantle,  beds  of  coal,  salt,  gypsum,  and 
the  precious  metals.  To  the  northwest 
lie  the  magnificent  wheat  lands  of  the 
Red  River  country,  and  the  Wichita  and 
Pease  Valleys,  where  sod  land  gives  20 
bushels  of  wheat  to  the  acre,  and  the 
products  of  older  lands  from  25  to  40 
bushels. 

These  sections  are  rapidly  filling  up 
with  men  who  go  to  reap  what  the  country 
will  produce,  and  between  both  and  the 
great  markets  of  the  east  lies  Fort 
Worth,  with  unrivalled  raiload  facilities, 
the  entrepot  of  this  whole  southwest  era- 


Hendricks'  Office   Building. 

pire.     No  other  large  city  is  so  centrally 
located. 

This  view  of  the  case  is  evidently  taken 
by  the  railroad  managements  who,  with 
their  proverbial  sagacity,  have  built  their 
trunk    lines    to    and   from   the    city,  and 


made  Fort  Worth  the  great  railroad  cen- 
tre of  the  southwest.  Although  in  1876 
it  was  without  a  railroad,  in  1891,  nine 
different  roads  with  eleven  outlets  are 
taxed  to  their  utmost  complement  to 
carry  its  commerce.  Other  railroads  are 
projected  and  partly  graded,  and  already 
Fort  Worth  is  the  largest  railroad  centre 
in  the  state,  more  main  lines  centring 
here  than  at  any  other  point  in  Texas. 
Many  of  the  main  lines  at  Fort  Worth 
have  branches  leading  from  the  city  to 
important  crop  and  cattle  regions. 

In  1876,  according  to  Dun's  com- 
mercial register,  Fort  Worth  stood  num- 
ber twenty-two  in  a  list  of  twenty-two  of 
the  largest  Texas  cities.  In  1890,  ac- 
cording to  the  same  authority,  Fort 
Worth  was  the  fourth  city  in 
the  same  list.  Eight  national 
banks  handle  the  finances  of 
the  place  with  an  aggregate 
capital  stock,  undivided  pro- 
fits and  surplus,  of  four  million 
dollars  ;  with  loans  and  dis- 
counts amounting  to  five  mil- 
lions, and  with  one  and  three- 
quarters  million  dollars  cash 
p1  in  bank.     Fort  Worth's  bank 

jfSjji        clearings  were,  for  1889,  S63-, 
J^-|:        264,782.23,    and    for    1890, 
$98,443,413.60,   an  increase 
of  $35,178,631.37,    or    55.6 
per  cent. 

A  commodious  federal 
building  is  one  of  the  assured 
improvements  in  the  near 
future  ;  an  appropriation  hav- 
ing been  made  for  that  pur- 
pose by  Congress,  and  the 
site  selected  by  the  Treasury 
Department  and  paid  for.  A 
new  city  hall,  to  cost  S 2 00,000, 
is  being  arranged  for. 

The  convenience  with 
which  building  materials  of 
various    kinds    can    be    ob- 
tained   here    contributes    no 
little     to     the     presence     of 
many  handsome  edifices.     A  fine  quality 
of    brick    is     made     from     clay    which 
abounds    here.       The    kinds    of    stone 
used  in  buildings    recently  erected,  and 
now    being     erected    in    this    city,    are 
numerous,  and  come   from   the    quarries 


THE  NEW  SOUTH.  —  THE   CITY  OF  FORT  WORTH. 


545 


in  the  surrounding  sections,  rendered  easy 
of  approach  to  Fort  Worth's  builders  by 
the  many  railroads  radiating  from  this 
centre.  There  is  the  red  sandstone  from 
the  Pecos,  of  which  the  Chamber  of  Com- 
merce building  is  constructed ;  it  can  be 
seen  also  to  good  advantage  in  the  Hen- 
dricks Block.  The  famous  Granbury  and 
Millsap  white  sandstone,  susceptible  of 
fine  finish,  and  of  enduring  quality. 
These  are  all  popular  with  builders, 
and  are  now  being  largely  used 
in  the  construction  of  the  best 
edifices.  The  railroads  reaching 
the  various  sections  of  the  state 
place  the  marbles  and  granite 
within  easy  reach  of  those  in  this 
city  who  prefer  them  to  the  kinds 
heretofore  used.  The  eastern 
forests  of  Texas    are   furnishing 


taught  or  mode  of  teaching ;  1 8  private 
schools  and  two  business  colleges  aid  in 
conferring  knowledge.  The  High  school 
of  Fort  Worth  is,  perhaps,  the  finest  build- 
ing of  its  kind  in  the  state.  It  is  very 
large  and  is  a  model  of  beauty,  and  has 
all  the  modern  conveniences,  laboratory, 
library,  and  with  all  apparatus  and  appli- 
ances to  be  found  at  the  best  institutions. 
The  Fort  Worth  University  is  under  the 
care  of  the  Methodist  Episcopal  church. 


Some  leading  Industries  of  Fort  Worth. 

to  this  market  the  finest  qualities  of  hard 
wood,  and  they  are  much  in  demand  in 
the  northern  states. 

Nowhere  is  the  as- 
sertion that,  "  the  Re- 
public rests  upon  the 
common  school" 
more  fully  believed  in 
or  more  heartily  sus- 
tained by  intelligent 
action,  than  here. 
Fort  Worth  has  13 
public  schools,  valued 
at  $200,000,  employing  60  teachers,  who 
receive  annually  $57,000,  the  individual 
salaries  ranging  from  $65.00  to  $100.00 
per  month,  exclusive  of  superintendent. 
The  number  of  scholars  between  the  ages 
of  7  and  20  is  4817.  Separate  schools 
are  provided  for  white  and  colored,  but 
without  distinction,  either  in  the  matter 


_.=-.-- 


It  has  several  fine  buildings  and  is  well 
attended.  The  Polytechnical  Institute  is 
also  the  protege  of  the  Methodist  Episco- 
pal church,  South. 

The  Fort  Worth  people  are  a  church- 
going  class,  and  the  large  church  congre- 
gations here  surprise  all  visitors.  Fort 
Worth    has   been    called    the    "  Railroad 


546 


THE  NEW  SOUTH.  —  THE  CITY  OF  FORT  WORTH. 


centre,"  the  "Cattle  centre,"  and  it  is 
equally  the  Religious  centre  of  the 
southwest,  for  both  the  bishops  of  the 
P.  E.  church  and  the  M.  E.  church, 
South,  reside  here.  The  edifices  of  the 
Methodist,  Presbyterian,  Baptist,  Catholic 
and  Congregational  denominations  are 
good  specimens  of  ecclesiastical  architec- 
ture. Fort  Worth  is  kept  well  in  touch 
with  the  continent  and  the  rest  of  the 
world  by  its  news- 
papers.  The 
principal  paper  is 
the  Gazette,  an 
eight-page,  seven 
column  folio,  pub- 
lished daily  and 
weekly,  which 
under  the  able 
editorship  of  Mr. 
W.     L.     Malone, 


Chamber  of  Commerce  and   Board  of  Trade, 

has  achieved  recognition  as  one  of  the 
foremost  Journals  of  the  South.  The 
Mail,  an  evening  issue,  is  a  bright  newsy 
sheet,  occupying  a  high  place  in  the 
ranks  of  live  newspapers.  The  Trade 
Revieiv;  Texas  Live  Stock  Journal;  Critic, 
Sunday  Mirror;  Oracle;  Anzeiger  (Ger- 
man) ;  Argus;  Columbian  World ;  and 
Torchlight  Appeal,  are  published  weekly. 
The  Texas  Railway  Gtiide  is  a  monthly 


journal,  devoted  to  railway  issues.  There 
are  the  usual  number  of  fraternal  and 
benevolent  societies. 

The  Commercial  Club,  an  organization 
for  social  purposes,  embraces  within  its 
membership  some  of  the  best  citizens  of 
Fort  Worth.  The  club  has  richly  ap- 
pointed quarters  in  a  fine,  four-story 
building  owned  by  it  on  Main  Street. 
The  Railway  Employees  Club  is  the  latest 
acquisition  to  the  list,  having 
been  recently  organized.  Its 
commodious  quarters  in  the 
Hendricks  Building  are  com- 
plete in  every  appointment. 

The  Grand  Army  of  the 
Republic  has  a  strong  post 
here  ;  and  R.  E.  Lee  Camp 
of  Confederate  Veterans  as- 
sembles a  goodly  host  of 
comrades.  The  two  or- 
ganizations turn  out  together 
on  their  respective  memorial 
days,  standing  side  by  side 
over  the  graves  where  lie  the 
memories,  bitter  and  sweet, 
of  the  past. 

The  police  and  fire  de- 
partments are  models  of 
systematic  organization.  But 
Fort  AVorth  enjoys  an  es- 
pecial immunity  from  the 
presence  of  criminal  classes. 
The  residence  suburbs  of 
Fort  Worth  are  very  attrac- 
tive. Arlington  Heights,  lo- 
cated west  of  the  city,  begins 
about  1^2  miles  from  the 
business  centre,  and  extends 
about  i  mile  further.  It  is 
150  feet  higher  than  the  city 
^TsT    ..  itself,    and    about    200    feet 

above  the  Clear  Fork  River, 
which  sweeps  its  eastern  bor- 
der. The  Chamberlin  In- 
vestment Company,  a  wealthy  corporation, 
has  already  expended  nearly  $500,000  in 
the  work  of  improving  and  beautifying  the 
Heights  ;  and  is  not  done  yet.  About  1 2 
miles  of  streets  have  been  graded  and 
gravelled,  and  a  fine  boulevard,  3  miles  in 
length,  125  feet  wide  with  a  triple  row  of 
trees  along  it,  is  the  fashionable  driveway. 
Completed  water-mains,  with  hydrants 
attached,  are  laid  throughout   the   tract. 


THE  NEW  SOUTH.  —  THE   CITY  OF  FORT  WORTH. 


547 


A  large  electric  plant,  capable  of  supply- 
ing all  needs  of  the  future,  has  been  in 
operation   for  some  time,  furnishing  the 


First  Presbyterian   Church. 

illumination  of  the  Heights,  and  also  the 
requisite   current    for   the    rapid    transit, 
electric  railway  that  connects  the  Heights 
with    the    business    centre    of    the    city. 
Artesian  wells  have  been    sunk,  and    an 
abundance  of  pure  water  secured.     A 
pumping-house  conveys  the  water  to 
a  large    elevated    reservoir,   standing 
on  the  crest  of  the  Heights  ioo  feet 
above  the  ground,  and  having  a  capa- 
city of  110,000  gallons.     In  the  cen- 
tre of  the  grounds  is  an  artificial  body 
of  water,  covering  forty  acres  of  land, 
known  as  "  Lake  Como."     The  lake 
and    surrounding  shores    are    lighted 
by     sparkling     electric     lamps,    and 
pleasure-seekers  assemble  here  every 
evening  to  listen  to  good  music,  while 
over   the    lake's    smooth    surface  are 
scattered  pretty  boats,  each   with  its 
colored  lantern,  that  rocks  and  swings 
to  the    rhythm   of   the  music.      The 
beauty  of  a  southern   summer  night 
must  be  seen  and  heard  to  be  appre- 
ciated.    Southerners   are  devoted  to 
sweet  sounds  and  pleasing  colors,  and 
enter  into  the  enjoyment  of  an  affair 
like   this  with  an  abandon  that  is   a 
stranger    to     colder     climes.        The 
Heights  bid  fair  to  become  the  aristocra- 
tic portion,  not  only  of  Fort  Worth,  but 
also   of   a   very    large    share    of  Tarrant 
county.       A  number  of  high-class   resi- 


dences   already    occupy    desirable    sites, 
and  many  others  are  in  process  of  con- 
struction.    A  one  hundred  thousand  dol- 
lar hotel  is  projected. 

North  Fort  Worth  is  an  addition 
lying  immediately  north  of,  and  ad- 
joining, the  original  town  of  Fort 
Worth.  Many  of  the  most  im- 
portant manufacturing  plants  and 
industries  are  located  here. 

To  the  eastward,  a  couple  of 
miles  from  the  city,  is  Riverside,  a 
very  charming  residence  suburb,  lo- 
cated on  the  west  bank  of  the  Trinity 
River,  amid  a  shady  grove  of  noble 
live  oaks.  A  fine  park  is  one  of 
the  attractions  of  the  place. 

The  South  of  to-day  presents  to  the 
view  a  situation  which,  in  social, 
political,  and  commercial  aspects  is 
truly  encouraging  to  the  unpartisan 
and  progressive  citizen.  Its  social 
life  to-day  is  one  of  the  most  wonderful 
illustrations  of  progress  ever  presented. 
From  a  condition  of  vicious  prejudice, 
the  rank  growth  of  generations  of  un- 
natural   practices,    the    South    has    risen 


The  Natatonur 


to  a  position  that  is  prophetic  of  a  yet 
higher  attainment  of  those  features  which 
render  living  within  its  borders  comfortable 
and  desirable. 


FORTUNE-TELLING. 

By  Marion  P.  Guild. 

MY  darling  has  learned  the  secret 
That  the  gypsies,  long  ago, 
Wielded  to  lure  the  yellow  gold 
From  credulous  hands  of  snow  ; 
And  now,  in  a  charmed  silence 

No  voice  from  the  world  must  break, 
She  deals  and  ponders  the  fateful  cards 
For  dear  Dame  Fortune's  sake. 

Anon,  she  starts,  exulting  : 

"  A  letter,  a  company, 
The  smile  of  the  sun,  the  laugh  of  the  lute, 

And  a  lover  of  high  degree  ! 
But  alas  for  my  wish  !      It  comes  not." 

The  broad  brows  knit  as  in  pain. 
The  poor  little  prophets  are  straight  upswept 

And  the  tale  begins  again. 

O  gray  eyes,  masterful,  steady, 

On  the  whimsical  game  intent, 
Little  ye  reck  of  the  shining  forms 

That  over  your  folly  are  bent ; 
Little  ye  reck  of  the  promise 

That  throbs  in  the  living  air, 
Or  the  gracious  hands  outstretched  in  vain 

With  gifts  that  mock  compare  ! 

Great  Mother  Nature  lingers, — 

"  I  have  almost  lost  my  child  "  ; 
And  stately  Learning  echoes  her 

In  accents  deep  and  mild. 
That  was  Love's  plumy  pinion 

That  brushed  against  your  face. 
That  strain  of  music  is  calling  you 

As  it  soars  to  the  heavenly  place. 

But  hist  !   what  hurrying  footsteps 

Nearer  and  nearer  sound? 
What  shape  more  fair  than  all  beside 

Transfigures  the  scene  around? 
Quick,  maiden,  break  from  your  glamour  ! 

Down,  the  false  prophets  !     'Tis  she  ! 
O  quick,  or  eternity  hides  her,  sweet ! 

'Tis  Opportunity  ! 


THE  EDITORS'  TABLE. 


A  WORK  is  going  on  in  Brooklyn  at  the  present 
time,  which  it  would  be  a  grateful  and  encouraging 
thing  to  see  going  on  in  every  city  in  America. 
Politics  and  religion  have  met  together  and  kissed 
each  other  in  the  city  of  churches.  A  course  of 
Sunday  evening  lectures,  devoted  to  all  the  lead- 
ing questions  in  our  current  politics,  and  to  extend 
through  the  entire  winter,  has  been  inaugurated 
in  the  church  of  which  the  poet-preacher,  John 
W.  Chadwick,  is  the  minister.  The  opening 
lecture  in  this  course  was  given  by  President 
Andrews  of  Brown  University,  on  "  The  Duty  of  a 
Public  Spirit."  Other  subjects  in  the  course  are 
"  Suffrage  and  the  Ballot,"  "The  Land  Problem," 
"The  Problem  of  City  Government,"  "Taxation 
and  Revenue,"  "  The  Immigration  Problem," 
"Education  as  related  to  Citizenship,"  etc., — 
eighteen  lectures  in  all.  The  Brooklyn  Ethical 
Association,  under  whose  auspices  these  lectures 
are  given,  is  not  an  association  identified  in  any 
strict  way  with  Mr.  Chadwick's  church,  although 
its  organizers  and  many  of  its  leading  members 
are  connected  with  that  church,  so  that  the 
church  may  be  properly  spoken  of  as  its  home. 
It  is  an  association  of  men  and  women  representing 
various  forms  and  phases  of  religious  life  in 
Brooklyn,  but  all  drawn  together  in  common  de- 
votion to  studies  related  to  the  interests  of  a 
better  society  and  a  better  state.  These  men  and 
women  are  mainly,  we  judge,  radicals  in  re- 
ligion; but  they  a"re  to  be  congratulated  on 
pioneering  the  way  backward  to  a  condition  and 
relation,  a  feeling  and  usage,  as  concerns  religion 
and  politics,  much  more  like  those  which  marked 
more  orthodox  times  than  ours.  Our  sharp 
separation  of  Church  and  State,  which  for  the 
present  at  any  rate  is  an  excellent  and  necessary 
thing,  has  gradually  led  to  an  almost  entire 
separation  of  religion  and  politics,  which  is  a  very 
bad  thing.  It  has  come  to  that,  —  or  it  had  come 
to  that  a  few  years  ago;  things  have  been  bet- 
tered somewhat  in  this  very  latest  time,  —  that  any 
striking  or  strong  attention  to  week-day  matters 
in  Sunday  sermons  has  been  looked  upon  almost 
as  a  desecration.  "  Preaching  politics "  has 
come  to  be  a  stigma  upon  a  pulpit,  in  many  re- 
ligious quarters.  The  minister  of  the  most  his- 
toric church  in  New  York  recently  thanked  God, 
through  the  columns  of  the  New  York  Herald, 
that  he  had  never  preached  a  political  sermon. 
Religion,  to  his  thinking,  as  to  the  thinking  of  so 
many,  seems  to  be  something  related  expressly  to 
the  department  of  "  kingdom  come,"  and  to  be 
carefully  protected  and  reserved  for  the  concerns 
of  that  department.  Such  was  not  the  theory 
nor  the  practice  of  the  fathers  of  New  England, 
nor  of  the  great  Puritans  of  old  England,  nor  of 
the  men  whose  lives  make  the  Bible  which  we 
read  in  our  churches.  That  Bible  has  very  little 
to  do  with  the  interests  or  performances  of  priests 
or  with  things  peculiar  to  Sabbath  days;  it  has 
very  much  to  do  with  the  words  and  deeds  of 
kings  and  statesmen  and  social  reformers.  There 
was  no  divorce  between  politics  and  religion  in 


the  great  leaders  of  Israel,  like  Moses  and  David 
and  Isaiah.  Three-quarters  of  the  Jewish  proph- 
ecy which  our  ministers  read  to  their  congrega- 
tions on  Sundays  has  to  do  with  Jewish  politics. 
Jewish  politics  has  become  American  religion. 
It  were  much  to  be  wished  that  American  politics 
might  become  so  to  some  extent.  The  old  Puri- 
tan divines,  the  ministers  of  Boston  and  Salem  and 
Plymouth,  would  have  found  it  hard  to  under- 
stand the  regard  into  which  "  preaching  politics  " 
-has  fallen  since  their  time;  they  would  not  have 
relished  cautions  about  the  danger  of  too  great  mix- 
ing in  public  affairs  on  the  part  of  the  clergy.  It 
was  natural  for  our  fathers  to  vote  and  have  their 
town-meetings  in  their  churches,  because  the 
feeling  with  which  they  went  to  vote  was  more 
like  the  feeling  with  which  they  went  to  pray  and 
to  hear  sermons  than  is  the  case  with  most  en- 
lightened folk  to-day.  It  is  on  Sunday,  after 
morning  service  in  their  churches,  that  the  sturdy 
voters  in  the  little  Swiss  cantons  —  in  Uri,  in 
Appenzell  —  gather  to  transact  their  political 
business  and  elect  their  magistrates.  Is  it  likely 
that  they  vote  worse  for  praying  first?  Is  it 
likely  that  their  chances  of  heaven  will  suffer  for 
the  voting  after  the  praying  ?  It  is  high  time 
for  us  here  in  America  to  approach  our  poli- 
tical duties  in  the  religious  spirit  of  these  men 
of  Switzerland.  It  is  time  for  us  to  leave  our 
feebleness  and  ghostliness  in  religion,  and  get 
back  closer  to  our  Puritan  fathers  and  the  men 
who  lived  our  Bible.  We  do  not  think  that 
we  shall  soon  see  our  people  voting  again  in  their 
churches,  as  the  fathers  did  —  although  the  com- 
mon feeling  of  incongruity  or  unfitness  in  this  is 
something  which  accuses  us;  but  we  do  think 
that  we  shall  see  our  ministers  and  our  people 
rapidly  getting  over  the  notion  that  it  is  not  the 
thing,  that  it  is  "  bad  form,"  to  consider  in  the 
church  their  duties  to  the  State.  We  look  for  a 
great  revival  of  high  political  study  and  political 
devotion  under  church  roofs;  and  we  count  the 
movement  of  these  Brooklyn  radicals  a  salutary 
sign  of  the  times. 


Mr.  Foster,  the  Secretary  of  the  Treasury,  has 
recently  said,  with  reference  to  the  ruin  of  the 
Maverick  Bank  in  Boston  and  the  failure  of  the 
bank  examiners  to  discover  the  irregularities 
which  must  have  existed  in  the  bank  for  a  long 
period  before  the  final  catastrophe,  that  the  best 
system  in  the  world  and  the  most  careful  rules 
and  regulations  in  the  world  are  not  security 
against  the  machinations  of  shrewd  and  dishonest 
men.  "The  business  world,"  said  Mr.  Foster,  " has 
only  one  real  security  and  protection,  and  that  is 
in  having  honest  men.''''  This  is  a  word  worth  say- 
ing and  worth  taking  to  heart  —  worth  taking  to 
heart  not  only  with  regard  to  business,  but  with 
regard  to  politics.  Let  us  certainly  have  the  best 
political  machinery  that  we  can  create,  or  that  we 
can  discover  in  Australia  or  anywhere  in  the 
world;    but  let  us  have  no  superstition  about  our 


550 


THE  EDITORS'   TABLE. 


machinery,  nor  lull  ourselves  to  sleep  in  the  fancy 
that  we  can  delegate  to  it  the  functions  of  indi- 
vidual virtue.  Mr.  Lowell  has  warned  us,  in  one 
of  his  most  impressive  passages,  of  the  danger  of 
imagining  that  popular  government  itself  is  a 
panacea,  that  it  is  better  than  any  other  form,  ex- 
cept as  the  wisdom  and  the  virtue  of  the  people 
make  it  so.  Things  do  not  "  go  "  of  themselves 
in  politics  any  more  than  in  Boston  banks.  The 
scales  of  the  State  are  as  exact  as  the  scales  of 
the  grocer.  Just  so  much  thought  and  devotion 
as  we  put  into  our  political  life,  so  much  in  the 
way  of  abiding  good  results  shall  we  realize.  If 
we  expect  to  see  this  republic  continue  firm  and 
steadfast,  then  we  have  got  to  give  a  degree  of 
attention  to  our  politics  vastly  greater  than  ever 
before.  The  problems  of  our  past,  with  our 
boundless  areas  of  available  land,  with  the  simple 
life  of  our  towns,  and  with  our  comparative  insu- 
lation here  on  a  separate  continent,  have  been 
slight  compared  with  the  problems  of  our  future, 
with  a  population  becoming  great  and  crowded, 
like  that  of  the  countries  of  the  Old  World,  with 
the  grave  municipal  evils  which  we  see,  and  with 
those  relations  daily  multiplying  which  make  it 
harder  and  harder  for  us  to  keep  wholly  outside 
of  the  complications  of  European  politics.  To 
deal  with  these  things  wisely  demands  not  only 
more  attention  to  our  politics,  but  a  higher  quality 
of  attention.  We  must  not  only  give  more  thought 
to  our  politics;  we  must  put  more  conscience  into 
our  politics.  We  must  not  only  study  to  improve 
our  system  and  our  laws;  we  must  labor  to  make 
sturdier  and  more  sensitive  citizens  —  to  fill  the 
state  with  honest  men.  Citizenship  and  its  duties 
must  be  viewed  from  the  highest  standpoint  and 
in  the  most  serious  spirit;  and  so  it  is,  we  say, 
an  encouraging  thing  to  see  our  people  beginning 
to  go  into  their  churches  on  Sunday  evenings  to 
consider  their  duties  as  citizens. 


From  a  very  different  quarter  from  that  which 
we  have  spoken  of  comes  an  expression  no  less 
remarkable  in  its  way  of  the  feeling  of  the  duty 
of  the  religious  world  to  the  world  of  affairs.  This 
expression  is  from  the  midst  of  the  Roman  Catholic 
Church,  to  which  many  of  us  are  less  apt  to  look 
for  practical  and  vigorous  words  and  deeds  con- 
cerning things  political  and  social  than  to  the 
other  churches.     It  is  in  the  form  of  an  address 


on  "The  Church  and  Poverty,"  by  Mr.  John 
Brisben  Walker,  first  given  at  the  Roman  Catholic 
University  in  Washington  last  March,  but  only 
now  published  in  pamphlet  form,  or  only  nou  at 
any  rate  finding  its  way  to  our  table.  When  it  is 
considered  that  the  speaker  is  a  very  prominent 
Roman  Catholic,  and  that  his  audience  was  per- 
haps the  most  learned,  thoughtful,  and  representa- 
tive Roman  Catholic  audience  that  is  in  the  habit 
of  gathering  anywhere  in  the  country,  it  will  be 
felt  by  every  reader  that  the  address  and  the 
occasion  were  remarkable  in  the  highest  degree. 
"  No  such  plain  speaking  has  been  heard  upon  a 
platform  under  similar  circumstances,"  said  one 
of  the  leading  Washington  papers  at  the  time; 
and  when  we  turn  the  pages  of  the  printed 
address  and  find  Mr.  Walker  asking  his  dis- 
tinguished Catholic  audience,  in  his  earnest  zeal 
for  truth,  "  Why  do  Catholic  writers  seek  to  cover 
up  the  horrors  of  St.  Bartholomew,  the  cruelties 
of  an  Inquisition  which  burned  the  flesh  of 
human  beings  made  in  God's  likeness,  or  the  self- 
sufficient  wisdom  which  refused  to  recognize  the 
truths  discovered  in  Galileo?"  —  when  we  read 
such  words,  we  certainly  feel  ourselves  reading 
what  distinguished  Catholics  are  not  in  the  habit 
of  listening  to  from  one  of  their  own  number. 
But  it  is  not  such  words  as  these  that  give  this 
address  its  significance;  these  things  are  merely 
by  way  of  a  preliminary  clearing  of  the  field.  The 
significance  of  the  address  is  in  its  severe  arraign- 
ment of  our  present  industrial  organization,  of  the 
wicked  inequalities  in  our  society,  and  of  re- 
ligious men  and  the  churches  —  other  churches  as 
well  as  the  writer's  own  —  for  their  neglect  of  duty 
in  the  matter.  We  have  read  nothing  in  this  field 
more  trenchant,  nothing  more  exact,  and  nothing 
more  righteous.  It  is  to  be  hoped  that  it  will  be 
read  by  Protestants  as  much  as  by  Catholics. 

* 
The  face  of  Gordon  Brown  will  be  missed  by 
many  Canadian  readers  of  the  article  on  "  Cana- 
dian Journalists  and  Journalism."  The  omission 
is  due  to  the  fact  that  Mr.  Brown  had  no  portrait 
of  himself  which  he  could  loan  to  the  writer,  and 
the  exigencies  of  a  publication  office  compelled 
the  editors  to  send  the  article  to  press  before  a 
woodcut  could  be  executed.  A  fine  pen-and-ink 
portrait  of  Mr.  Brown,  by  H.  M.  Russell  of 
Toronto,  arrived  after  the  forms  were  closed  and 
the  article  was  on  the  press. 


THE  OMNIBUS. 


At  the  time  of  his  death  a  few  years  ago,  John 
B.  Finch  was  one  of  the  most  popular  of  all  tem- 
perance orators.  Of  all  the  temperance  orators, 
too,  he  was  the  most  cordially  disliked  by  his 
opponents.  His  unanswerable  logic,  irresistible 
humor,  and  mastery  of  pathos  and  appeal  were 
powerful  weapons  for  the  temperance  cause,  and 
carried  consternation  into  the  ranks  of  its  enemies. 
Mr.  Finch  was  speaking  one  evening  in  the  Pro- 
hibitory Amendment  Campaign  in  Ohio,  in  1882. 
He  was  emphasizing  very  strongly  the  point  that 
the  friends  of  the  amendment  bore  no  ill-will 
toward  the  liquor  dealers  as  persens,  but  were 
simply  opposed  to  the  business  they  were  in. 

"  Why,"  said  Mr.  Finch,  "  take  an  ant,  —  put 
him  under  a  microscope,  and  you  will  be  astonished 
at  his  hideous  appearance;  again  take  a  bed  bug 
—  examine  him  in  the  same  way,  and  you  will  be 
equally  astonished  at  his  good  looks.  Why  is 
one  extolled  the  world  over,  and  the  other  held  in 
universal  dislike?  Their  manner  of  getting  a 
living  is  an  easy  answer  to  the  question."  Mr. 
Finch  did  not  have  time  to  apply  his  illustration 
before  a  man  in  the  audience  rose  to  his  feet  in 
a  rage  and  excitedly  exclaimed  : 

"  Mr.  Speaker." 

"  Sir." 

"  May  I  ask  a  question?  " 

"  Certainly." 

"  Well,  what  is  the  difference  between  you  and 
a  fool?  " 

A  few  titters  were  heard  here  and  there  in 
different  parts  of  the  hall,  but  this  was  speedily 
hushed,  for  curiosity  was  at  a  high  pitch  to  hear 
Mr.  Finch's  reply.  Mr.  Finch  was  always  cool 
upon  such  occasions,  and  this  time  was  equal  to 
the  emergency.  Carefully  calculating  the  dis- 
tance from  where  he  was  standing  on  the  plat- 
form to  the  place  where  the  questioner  was  still 
standing  in  the  audience,  he  replied  : 

"  Well,  about  thirty  feet,  I  reckon." 

The  disturber  apparently  agreed  with  Mr. 
Finch,  for  he  slunk  out  of  the  hall  amidst  the  up- 
roarious cheers  and  laughter  of  the  audience. 


A  century  ago  and  more,  Connecticut  was  the 
possessor  of  a  scold  who  became  famous  in  her 
day  and  has  been  carefully  embalmed  in  local 
tradition.  She  was  the  wife  of  Jethro  Rogers,  a 
most  meek  and  inoffensive  man.  Tradition  speaks 
of  her  as  having  an  ungovernable  temper  and  a 
tongue  of  flame.  If  a  visitor  approached  her 
house,  she  invariably  ordered  her  husband  to 
"  get,"  and  he  always  obeyed.  On  one  occasion, 
however,  the  advent  of  the  minister  gave  him  no 
time  to  escape,  and  Jethro  was  ordered  under  the 
bed.  The  minister  made  a  long  call,  and  the 
henpecked  husband,  wearied  by  his  cramped  posi- 
tion ventured  to  look  out.  The  scold  espied  him, 
and  her  eyes  met  him  with  a  stern,  "  How  dare 
you?" 

For  once  the  hitherto  obedient  husband  re- 
belled  and   lowly    exclaimed :   "  You   may  wink, 


Mrs.  Rogers,  as  much  as  you  have  a  mind  to,  but 
as  long  as  I  have  the  spirit  of  a  man  in  me  I  will 
peek." 

On  another  occasion,  when  death  seemed  almost 
preferable  to  his  never-ceasing  servitude,  Jethro 
ventured  on  some  very  emphatic  language.  The 
scold  was  astounded  and  shouted,  accompanying 
her  words  of  command  with  a  sweeping  gesture : 
"Jethro  Rogers,  not  another  crooked  word." 
But  the  meek  but  rebellious  Jethro  drew  himself 
up  to  his  full  height  and  defiantly  exclaimed, 
"  Ramshorn  !  ramshorn  !  ramshorn  !  if  I  die  for  it." 


The  Wabbaquassett  Indians,  a  portion  of  whom 
lived  in  eastern  Connecticut,  were  a  very  peace- 
able and  industrious  tribe.  John  Eliot,  the  Indian 
missionary,  visited  them  and  introduced  many 
civilized  customs  among  them.  During  one  of 
his  visits  he  appointed  Waban,  a  shrewd  and  well- 
known  Indian,  justice  of  the  peace.  Many  anec- 
dotes are  still  current  showing  the  Indian  justice's 
oddities  and  never-ceasing  sense  of  fair  play.  His 
legal  papers  contrast  very  strikingly  with  those  of 
to-day  in  respect  to  brevity.  When  he  directed 
his  warrant  to  a  constable  he  uniformly  wrote : 
"  Quick  you  catch  um,  fast  you  hold  um,  and 
bring  before  me,  Justice  Waban." 

A  young  justice  was  very  much  puzzled  as  to 
what  verdict  to  render  in  a  case  in  which  the  de- 
fendant, complainant  and  witnesses  were  all 
mixed  up  in  a  drunken  debauch.  Justice  Waban, 
who  was  the  great  legal  light  of  his  tribe,  was 
appealed  to  by  the  young  justice  for  advice. 
Justice  Waban  listened  to  all  the  particulars  of 
the  case  and,  assuming  a  very  judicial  expression, 
emphatically  answered  :  "  Whip  um  plaintiff,  whip 
um  defendant,  whip  um  witnesses."  No  doubt 
the  wise  justice's  advice,  if  it  was  carried  out,  had 
a  discouraging  influence  on  that  kind  of  litigation. 

* 

For  a  century  the  stern  laws  of  Connecticut 
prohibiting  Sunday  travel  were  rigidly  enforced. 
Any  man  was  authorized  to  stop  a  person  travel- 
ling on  Sunday  with  a  team  and  oblige  him  to 
stay  at  the  nearest  house  until  morning,  and,  be- 
fore resuming  his  journey  pay  expenses  and  a  fine. 

The  story  is  told  of  a  Connecticut  justice  who 
felt  it  his  duty  to  look  carefully  to  the  enforce- 
ment of  the  Sunday  laws.  One  day  he  accosted 
a  stranger  who  was  violating  the  law,  inquiring  his 
name,  residence,  and  excuse  for  his  unlawful  con- 
duct. The  stranger  replied  with  apparently  the 
utmost  sincerity,  giving  name  and  address  in  full, 
and  stating  that  he  was  on  the  way  to  his  native 
town  where  his  father  lay  dead.  He  was  deemed 
excusable  and  allowed  to  proceed.  A  short  time 
afterward  the  justice  was  attending  county  court, 
and  meeting  a  lawyer  from  the  town  reported  by 
the  traveller  to  be  his  home,  the  justice  inquired 
of  the  lawyer  if  he  knew  the  person  named,  and 
was  answered  affirmatively. 

"  He  has  lately  buried  his  father,  has  he  not?  " 
inquired  the  justice. 


do: 


THE   OMNIBUS. 


"  Buried  his  father !  "  exclaimed  the  lawyer, 
"  why,  his  father  has  been  dead  these  twenty 
years." 

"Dead  these  twenty  years?  "  asked  the  aston- 
ished justice;  and  then  the  thought  flashed  upon 
him  that  sure  enough  the  stranger's  father  "  lay 
dead  "  at  the  time. 

Another  story  is  told  of  a  pious  deacon  who 
never  failed  to  call  a  halt  on  all  Sunday  travellers. 
One  Sunday  morning  the  good  deacon  observed  a 
man  approaching  in  the  distance,  riding  in  great 
haste.  The  deacon  jumped  to  the  conclusion 
that  he  was  trying  to  dash  by  his  house  to  avoid 
arrest.  He  hurried  to  his  yard  gate,  opened  it, 
and  placed  himself  squarely  in  the  road  so  as  to 
stop  the  traveller.  The  man  came  up,  and  to  the 
deacon's  astonishment  rode  willingly  into  the 
yard,  jumped  from  the  wagon  and  began  unhar- 
nessing his  horse.  The  deacon  was  amazed  at 
the  traveller's  excited  condition.  His  amazement 
soon  turned  to  intense  nervousness  when  he  be- 
gan to  hear  groans  coming  from  the  wagon. 

"Have  you  a  sick  companion?"  asked  the 
deacon.  But  the  wary  traveller  paid  no  attention 
to  the  deacon's  inquiry.     It  was  repeated. 

The  traveller  saw  his  opportunity,  and,  turning 
to  the  deacon,  apparently  in  a  state  of  suppressed 
anxiety,  requested  the  deacon  to  examine  the  per- 
son in  the  bottom  of  the  wagon,  covered  with 
blankets,  and  see  if  he  had  the  small  pox. 

"Small  pox!"  shouted  the  alarmed  deacon; 
"  has  he  got  the  small  pox?  " 

"  No,  I  am  sure  not,"  replied  the  traveller. 
"  I  think  after  a  little  rest  and  good  care  he  will 
be  better." 

The  deacon  was  thoroughly  alarmed,  however, 
and,  distrusting  the  stranger,  he  begged  him  to 
harness  his  horse  and  proceed  on  his  way.  The 
deacon  urged  that  he  had  a  large  family  and  that 
he  could  not  run  any  risk.  In  vain  did  the  trav- 
eller protest  that  there  was  no  danger  from  the 
person  in  the  wagon,  that  there  was  not  much 
the  matter  with  him,  and  that  he  was  positively 
sure  that  he  would  be  able  to  accompany  him  on 
his  journey  in  the  morning.  The  deacon  would 
not  yield,  and  the  traveller  harnessed  his  horse 
and  resumed  his  journey.  It  is  needless  to  say 
that  being  forewarned,  he  had  carefully  arranged 
his  hoax.  Next  morning  the  story  circulated  rap- 
idly through  the  neighborhood  and  the  deacon 
never  heard  the  last  of  it. 


One  of  the  most  popular  and  wealthy  persons 
of  Eastern  Connecticut,  a  century  ago,  was  Squire 
Elderkin.  Although  a  lawyer  noted  for  his  keen- 
ness and  ability,  he  was  equally  famous  for  his 
convivial  habits.  On  town  meeting  clays,  and  dur- 
ing seasons  of  general  muster,  it  was  a  common 
thing  for  him  to  need  an  escort  home.  This  was 
always  a  source  of  worry  and  mortification  to  his 
proud  and  aristocratic  wife.  On  one  occasion, 
when  he  had  imbibed  a  little  more  freely  than 
usual,  he  was  obliged  to  be  brought  home  by  his 
companions.  They  were  met  at  the  door  by  his 
enraged  wife  who,  taking  in  the  situation  at  a 
glance,  sternly  ordered :  "  Bring  him  in,  gentle- 
men; bring  him  in,  gentlemen;  but,  thank  the 
Lord,  he  is  no  blood  relation  of  mine." 


The  Fire  in  the  Grate. 

When  all  the  shadows  merge  in  one, 

When  leaves  and  grass  have  met, 
When  roofs  and  steeples  blend  into 

An  endless  silhouette; 
When  skies  are  red  as  russet  leaves 

That  speak  the  Summer's  fate,  — 
I  sit  and  dream  alone  beside 

My  fire  in  the  grate. 

Tho'  whistles,  bells,  and  hurrying  feet 

And  fast  receding  light 
Tell  that  the  despot  Toil  has  given 

The  toiler  a  respite; 
I  sit  unheedful  in  my  chair, 

My  fancy  for  a  mate, 
And  watch  the  faces  come  and  go 

Within  the  glowing  grate. 

Faces  of  friends  and  fancied  foes, 

Who  lie  in  silent  state; 
And  one  who  brings  the  tears  to  dim 

The  fire  in  the  grate. 
Leap  high,  blue  flames  !  glow  red,  bright  coals  ! 

Your  spirits  mine  elate; 
My  love  like  Salamander  lives 

Within  your  glowing  grate  ! 

So  while  my  friends  go  skurrying  on 

On  gastric  joys  intent, 
For  one  sweet  hour  I  gladly  live 

A  self-imposed  Lent. 
My  dinner  may  be  spoiled,  perhaps, 

Because  it  has  to  wait : 
I  taste  of  Barmecidal  joys 

Beside  my  friend,  the  grate. 

—  Charles  Gordon  Rogers. 


A  "  Has-Been." 

He  held  a  score  of  millions 

Grasped  in  his  bony  hand; 
He  dreamed  that  future  billions 

Would  come  at  his  command; 
Men  rushed  to  try  their  luck  at 

The  ventures  he  was  in;  — 
Now,  he's  not  worth  a  ducat, 

A  broken,  old  "  Has-been  !  ' 

What  hint  of  Fortune's  hour 

Lies  in  that  faded  coat? 
Who'd  dream  that  words  of  power 

Came  from  that  withered  throat? 
But,  ah,  who  dares  deride  him, 

Or  mock  his  low  estate? 
We're  proud  to  walk  beside  him 

And  say,  "That  man  was  great." 

Wealth,  though  we  may  pursue  it, 

Yields  but  a  brief  success; 
We  gain  a  final  fuit, 

A  permanent  address  : 
A  polished  shaft  of  granite 

Is  all  that  we  may  win; 
We  vanish  from  the  planet  — 
"  Here  lies  —  "a  great  Has-been. 

—  Harry  Romaine. 


PHILLIPS    BROOKS. 


THE 


New  England  Magazine 


New  Series. 


JANUARY,   1892. 


Vol.  V.     No.  5 


PHILLIPS   BROOKS. 


By  Julius  H.    Ward. 


Phillips  Brooks  as  a   Harvard  Student. 

GREAT  as  is  the  charm  which  other 
writers  have,  this  writer,  who 
writes  solely  because  the  man  of 
whom  he  writes  seems  to  him  to  belong 
to  all  mankind,  and  to  have  something  to 
say  to  every  age,  must  always  have  charm 
deeper  than  any  other.  Great  is  he  who 
in  some  special  location,  as  a  soldier,  a 
governor,  a  scientist,  does  good  and  help- 
ful work  for  fellowmen.  Greater  still  is 
he  who,  doing  good  work  in  his  special 
occupation,  carries  within  his  devotion  to 


it  a  human  nature  so  rich  and  true  that 
it  breaks  through  his  profession  and 
claims  the  love  and  honor  of  his  fellow- 
men,  simply  and  purely  as  a  man.  His 
is  the  life  which  some  true  human  eye 
discerns,  and  some  loving  and  grateful 
hand  makes  the  subject  of  a  picture  to 
which  all  men  enthusiastically  turn." 

Phillips  Brooks  wrote  these  words  with 
reference  to  Professor  Masson's  "  Life  of 
Milton ;  "  and  they  emphasize  his  idea 
of  "  the  great  Puritan  poet,  standing  in 
the  centre  of  the  great  tumult  of  human 
life,"  and  the  attitude  of  his  biographer 
toward  him.  Bishop  Brooks  is  in  that 
central  position  in  public  interests  among 
Americans  which  Milton  occupied  in  the 
political  and  religious  convulsions  in  Eng- 
land during  the  middle  of  the  seventeenth 
century.  He  is  not  only  a  distinguished 
preacher,  but,  to  use  the  language  of  one 
of  his  friends,  "  a  twelve-sided  man." 
He  has  arrested  attention  from  the  be- 
ginning of  his  career  through  the  posses- 
sion of  remarkable  gifts  and  the  exercise 
of  them  in  great  simplicity  and  in  a 
unique  manner ;  and  in  this  passage  from 
his  lecture  on  "  Biography  "  he  has  uncon- 
sciously outlined  his  own  career.  His 
rich  intellectual  and  emotional  gifts  have 
been  controlled  by  a  warm  and  earnest 
devotional  life,  which  has  played  through 
them  and  made  them  its  voice  to  man- 
kind. 

It  is  felt  that  the  time  has  come  when 
a  true  and  faithful  account  of  what  can 
be  properly  stated  concerning  the  personal 


556 


PHILLIPS  BROOKS. 


life  of  Phillips  Brooks  should  be  given 
to  the  public.  Nearly  all  that  has  been 
published  about  him  is  either  a  fulsome 
statement  which  has  caused  him  pain, 
or  it  abounds  in  mistakes  which  should 
have  been  avoided,  or  stories  which  are 
apocryphal.  There  is  nothing  wonderful 
or  exceptional  in  the  events  of  his  early 
life  or  in  any  part  of  his  career.     He  dis- 


Rev.   Alex.   H.  Vinton. 

missed  the  subject  in  writing  about  him- 
self to  the  secretary  of  his  class  at  Harvard 
in  what  could  be  put  into  a  single  line,  and 
has  never  been  induced  to  go  beyond  it. 
His  modesty  concerning  himself  is  exces- 
sive. Even  members  of  his  own  family 
find  it  difficult  to  obtain  from  him  any 
mention  of  the  great  honors  which  have 
from  time  to  time  been  paid  to  him.  He 
is  equally  reticent  among  his  personal 
friends.     It   would    seem    as    if   he    had 


never  put  upon  himself  the  estimate  in 
which  he  is  regarded  by  others,  and  per- 
haps there  is  not  a  man  in  the  country 
equally  prominent,  about  whom  in  a 
strictly  personal  sense,  so  little  can  be 
said.  This  is  here  remarked,  both  to 
excuse  the  poverty  of  details  and  to 
show  why  his  life  cannot  be  considered  by 
those  who  know  him  well  with  the  free- 
dom which  is  taken  with 
other  persons  who  are 
equally  before  the  public. 
All  that  can  here  be  at- 
tempted is  to  trace  the  lead- 
ing and  shaping  influences 
which  have  guided  and  con- 
trolled him,  so  far  as  they 
can  properly  be  a  matter  of 
comment. 

Phillips  Brooks  has  the 
best  Puritan  blood  of  New 
England  in  his  veins.  On 
the  side  of  his  mother,  who 
was  the  granddaughter  of 
Judge  Phillips,  the  founder 
of  Phillips'  Academy,  at  An- 
dover,  he  is  descended  from 
a  family  that  has  had  a  con- 
trolling influence  in  New 
England,  and  whose  tradi- 
tions of  piety  and  learning 
and  benevolence  are  fondly 
cherished  at  the  present  day. 
Mary  Ann  Phillips,  his 
mother,  was  a  woman  of  fine 
intellect,  and  known  for  her 
unusually  intense  and  ear- 
nest religious  life.  She  was 
a  believer  in  prayer,  and 
used  to  spend  hours  by  her- 
self in  devotions.  His  father, 
William  Gray  Brooks,  was 
likewise  descended  from  an 
eminent  ancestry.  The 
famous  Puritan  divine,  John  Cotton,  after 
whom  one  of  Bishop  Brooks's  brothers  is 
named,  was  his  ancestor,  and  the  position 
of  the  family  in  Boston  society  may  be 
inferred  from  this  fact.  The  ancestors  on 
both  sides  held  high  positions  in  church 
and  state.  His  father  was  a  hardware 
merchant  in  Dock  Square,  and  was  greatly 
interested  in  the  local  antiquities  of  Boston. 
He  liked  the  society  of  editors  and  liter- 
ary people,  and  when  the  late  Daniel  N. 


PHILLIPS  BROOKS. 


557 


St.   Paul's  Church,   Boston. 


Haskell  was  the  editor  of  the  Transcript, 
he  was  almost  daily  to  be  seen  in  com- 
pany with  the  little  band  of  congenial 
men  of  whom  the  late  Edward  Stearns, 
the  late  Thomas  Starr  King,  and  Hon. 
M.  P.  Kennard  were  members,  who  re- 
sorted to  Mr.  Haskell's  office  after  the 
editorial  labors  of  the  day  were  over,  to 
tell  stories,  to  discuss  the  new  books,  or 
to  go  over  the  gossip  of  the  town.  Mr. 
Brooks  had  the  capacity  for  keeping 
quiet  and  absorbing  what  was  going  on, 
which  has  often  been  manifested  by  his 
son,  who  seems  to  have  inherited  from 
his  mother  the  deep  and  earnest  piety 
and    intellectual      strength    which    have 


always  been  his  characteristics,  and  from 
his  father  the  robust  physical  constitu- 
tion, the  strong  and  resolute  spirit,  which 
he  has  shown  in  using  them.  The  oldest 
son  of  the  family  is  William  Gray  Brooks, 
who  was  born  in  1834.  Phillips  is  a  year 
and  a  half  his  junior,  and  was  born 
December  13,  1835,  on  High  Street,  in 
Boston,  which  was  then  a  residential  part 
of  the  city.  William  and  Phillips  were 
so  nearly  of  the  same  age  that  they  were 
constant  companions  and  playmates. 
They  had  such  a  rich  and  generous 
boyhood  together  as  those  who  know 
them  both  can  imagine.  They  studied 
together  in   1843,  at    the  Adams  School 


558 


PHILLIPS  BROOKS. 


Boston   Latin  School,   Bedford  Street. 

in  Mason  Street,  where  they  remained 
until  Phillips  entered  the  Latin  School 
in     1846,    and    William,    after    a    short 


stay  in  the  Latin  School,  was  trans- 
ferred to  the  English  High  School,  from 
which  he  was  graduated  to  enter  upon  a 
business  career.  He  is  now  cashier  of 
the  National  Eagle  Bank  of  Boston. 
Phillips  was  baptized  as  a  child  by  Dr. 
N.  L.  Frothingham,  the  pastor  of  the 
First  Church  in  Chauncy  Place  of  that 
day;  but  later  the  family  changed  their 
religious  home,  and  his  father  became  a 
vestryman  in  St.  Paul's  Church  on  Tre- 
mont  Street,  when  Dr.  Alexander  H. 
Vinton  was  the  rector.  This  brought 
young  Brooks  very  early  under  the  in- 
fluence of  one  who  had  much  to  do  in 
directing  his  life,  and  the  lives  of  his 
two  younger  brothers,  Dr.  Arthur  Brooks, 
now  rector  of  the  Church  of  the  Incarna- 
tion in  New  York  City,  and  the  Rev. 
John  Cotton  Brooks,  now  rector  of  Christ 
Church,  Springfield,  and  also  of  his  other 
brother,  the  late  Frederick  Brooks,  who 
died  while  rector  of  St.  Paul's  Church, 
Cleveland,  and  who  gave  abundant 
promise  of  a  brilliant  and  successful 
service  in  the  Episcopal  ministry.  He 
was  drowned  while  crossing  the  bridge 
between  Charlestown  and  Boston  by 
falling  through  the  openings  on  the  rail- 
road track  into  the  rushing  water  below, 
in  the  night,  when  no  one  was  near  to 
render  him  assistance.  A  volume  of  his 
sermons  was  published,  and  there  was  a 


Massachusetts   Hall,    Harvard. 


PHILLIPS  BROOKS. 


559 


Rev.  John  C.   Brooks. 

feeling  among  many  that  one  who  might 
have  repeated  the  career  of  Frederick 
Robertson  in  England  then  suddenly 
passed  away. 

Phillips  Brooks  is  said  to  have  been  a 
quiet  but  good  scholar,  always  among  the 
first  in  his  class  in  the  languages,  and  not 
deficient  in  any  studies.      He  has  himself 
been  the  historian  of  the  Latin  School  in 
an  address  which  he   delivered   in    1885, 
on  the  occasion  of  the 
celebration  of  its   two 
hundred    and     fiftieth 
anniversary.      At    that 
time      he     was     more 
anxious    to   do   justice 
to    the    great    masters 
in   its    earlier    history, 
than  to   tell  stories  of 
his     own     connection 


and  the  life  of  the  world.  His  is  a  noble,  nay, 
a  holy  priesthood;  he  is  the  lens  through  which 
truth  pours  itself  on  human  souls;  he  is  the 
window  through  which  fresh  young  eyes  look 
out  at  human  life,  and  there  around  him  sit 
his  scholars.  Like  Homers  heroes,  Mr.  Hil- 
lard  says  they  are,  in  the  frankness  and  direct- 
ness of  their  life.  They  make  their  friendships 
and  their  feuds.  They  meet  the  old  tempta- 
tions with  their  sublime  young  confidence. 
That  school  life  is  to    them  their  hill  of  Ida  or 


with    it 


the  ad- 
without 
in   con- 

his 


own 


but 
dress  is  not 
some  interest 
nection  with 
life.  He  gives  a  bright 
picture  of  the  school 
of  that  day  : 

"There  stands  the  mas- 
ter, like  a  priest  between 
the  present  and  the  past 
between  the  living  and  the 
between    the    ideas 


dead, 


Rev    Arthur  Brooks. 


Rev.   Frederick   Brooks. 

their  palace  of  Jerusalem.     They  are  Paris  or  Sol- 
omon in  the  critical   encounters  with  the  nobler 
and  the  baser  allurements  of  their  life.     Yet  for 
the  time  they   live  magni- 
■  "-r-      ficently    apart.       The    old 
J      world    roars    around    them 
and  they  do   not    care  but 
to  live   their  separate   life, 
and  are   in    no   impatience 
for    State    Street    or  Court 
Street.        In     these      days 
School  Street  and  the  Com- 
mon and  the  Charles  River 
make  their  sufficient  world. 
This    ever-recurring  life  of 
the     new    generation,    this 
1      narrow     life     of     boyhood 
.    \      opening  by  and  by  into  the 
larger  experience    of   man- 
hood, to  be  narrowed  again 
into   the  boyhood  of  their 
children,  and  so  on  perpet- 
ually, —  this     makes     per- 
i      petual      inspiration  ;       this 
makes  the  rhythmic  life  of 
the  community." 

a*  d         The  head  master  of 
the    Latin    School    in 


560 


PHILLIPS  BROOKS. 


Professor  William  Sparrow. 

his  time  was  Francis  Gardner,  a  strong 
and  unique  character,  whom  his  dis- 
tinguished pupil  thus  characterizes  : 

"Tall,  gaunt,  muscular,  uncouth  in  body; 
quaint,  sinewy,  severe  in  thought  and  speech; 
impressing  every  boy  with  the  strong  sense  of 
vigor,  now  lovely  and  now  hateful,  but  never 
for  a  moment  tame,  or  dull,  or  false ;  indignan-t, 
passionate,  an  athlete  both 
in  body  and  mind  - —  think 
what  an  interesting  mixture  ol 
opposites  he  was !  He  was 
proud  of  himself,  his  school, 
his  city,  and  his  time;  yet  no 
man  saw  more  clearly  the  faults 
of  each,  or  was  more  discon- 
tented with  them  all.  He  was 
one  of  the  frankest  of  men,  and 
yet  one  of  the  most  reserved. 
He  was  the  most  patient  mortal 
and  the  most  impatient.  He 
was  one  of  the  most  earnest  of 
men,  and  yet  nobody,  probably 
not  even  himself,  knew  his  posi- 
tive belief  upon  any  of  the 
deepest  themes.  He  was  al- 
most a  sentimentalist  with  one 
swing  of  the  pendulum,  and 
almost  a  cynic    with    the    next. 


There  was  sympathy  not  un- 
mixed with  mockery  in  his  grim 
smile.  He  clung  with  an  almost 
obstinate  conservatism  to  the  old 
standards  of  education,  while  he 
defied  the  conventionalities  of 
ordinary  life  with  every  movement 
of  his  restless  frame.  .  .  He 
was  a  narrow  man  in  the  intensity 
with  which  he  thought  of  his  pro- 
fession. I  heard  him  say  once 
that  he  never  knew  a  man  who 
had  failed  as  a  schoolmaster  to 
succeed  in  any  other  occupation. 
And  yet  he  was  a  bread  man  in 
his  idea  of  the  range  which  he 
conceived  that  his  teaching  ought 
to  cover.  He  made  the  shabby 
old  schoolhouse  blossom  with  the 
first  suggestions  of  the  artistic  side 
of  classical  study,  with  busts  and 
pictures,  with  photographs  and 
casts;  and  hosts  of  men  who  have 
forgotten  every  grammar  rule,  and 
cannot  tell  an  ablative  from  an 
accusative,  nor  scan  a  verse  in 
Virgil,  nor  conjugate  the  least 
irregular  of  regular  verbs  to-day, 
still  feel,  while  all  these  flimsy 
superstructures  of  their  study  have 
vanished  like  the  architecture  of 
a  dream,  the  solid  moral  basis  of 
respect  for  work  and  honor,  for 
pure  truthfulness,  which  he  put 
under  it  all,  still  lying  sound  and 
deep  and  undecayed.  .  .  The 
life  of  Francis  Gardner  was  not 
without  a  certain  look  of  pathos, 
eve-n  in  the  eyes  of  his  light-hearted  pupils. 
As  we  looked  back  upon  it  after  we  had  left 
him,  we  always  thought  of  it  as  sad.  That 
color  of  pain  and  disappointment  grew  deeper 
in  it  as  it  approached  its  end.  It  was  no  smug, 
smooth,  rounded,  satisfactory  career.  It  was 
full  of  vehemence  and  contradiction  and  dis- 
turbance. He  was  not  always  easy  for  the  boys 
to    get    along  with.     Probably  it  was  not    always 


Theological   Seminary,   Alexandria. 


PHILLIPS  BROOKS. 


561 


easy  for  him  to  get  along  with  himself.  But  it 
has  left  a  strength  of  truth  and  honor  and  devoted 
manliness  which  will  always  be  a  treasure  in  the 
school  he  loved." 

This  is  the  mature  judgment  of  a  great 
teacher  by  a  pupil,  and  it  is  a  sketch  of 
the  first  instructor  who  influenced  the  life 
of  young  Brooks.  He  never  distinguished 
himself  at  the  Latin  School  in  public 
speaking.  His  compositions  were  nota- 
ble for  imaginative  vigor  and  rush  of 
style,  but  he  was  not  eminent  above  his 
fellows,  and  gave  no  indication,  beyond  a 
certain  command  of  words  to  express  his 
ideas,  of  the  distinction  which  he  was 
subsequently  to  attain. 

Like  almost  all  of  the  boys  trained  in 
the  Boston  Latin  School,  he  was  pre- 
destined to  enter  Harvard  College,  where 
he  was  matriculated  as  a  freshman  in  the 


St.  George's  Hall,  Alexandria,  in  Mr.  Brooks's  time. 

are  the  late  Dr.  William  R.  Dimmock,  Col. 
Theodore  Lyman,  Mr.  F.  B.  Sanborn, 
and  Prof.  James  K.  Hosmer.  At  this  time 
young  Brooks  was  as  tall  as  he  is  now,  but 
not  at  all  filled  out.  He  had  grown  too 
rapidly  in  height  to  be  able  to  take  any 
part  in  athletics,  but  he  was  one  of  the 


Mr.   Brooks  in  his  old  Room  at  Alexandria. 

FROM   A    RECENT   PHOTOGRAPH. 


fall  of  185 1.  Among  his  classmates  were 
several  men  who  are  now  widely  known. 
The  first  scholars  were  General  Francis 
C.  Barlow  and  Mr.  Robert  Treat  Paine ; 
and  others  who  have  become  distinguished 


best  scholars,  always  made  good  recita- 
tions, and  did  his  work  without  strain  or 
effort.  He  never  spoke  at  any  public 
gatherings  in  college,  and  made  himself 
exceptionally  prominent    in   nothing  be- 


562 


PHILLIPS  BROOKS. 


yond  his  compositions,  in  which,  how- 
ever, he  was  always  head  and  shoulders 
beyond  his  classmates.  He  struck  into 
subjects  with  the  bold  and  confident 
range  that  marks  his  best  efforts  to-day. 
He  never  seemed  to  feel  that  he  was 
doing  anything  wonderful,  and  few  of  his 
classmates  dreamed  that  he  would  reach 
the  eminence  which  he  has  gained.     He 


Church  of  the  Advent,   Philadelphia. 

never  seemed  to  be  anything  but  a  tall, 
modest,  good-natured  young  man,  who 
was  always  faithful  and  manly  and  seri- 
ous, ready  to  do  his  part,  but  never 
putting  himself  forward.  Harvard  in 
those  days  had  many  great  men,  but  few 
teachers  who  made  an  impression  on 
the  students.  Agassiz  and  Felton  and 
Childs  and  Lowell  influenced  him,  but 
none  of  them  shaped  his  life. 

After  graduation,  he  was  a  tutor 
for  some  time  in  the  Boston  Latin  School, 
where  he  learned  to  handle   himself  and 


earned  the  first  money  which  he  could 
call  his  own.  His  family  rector,  Dr. 
Vinton,  on  learning  that  young  Brooks 
was  thinking  of  entering  the  Episcopal 
ministry,  advised  him  to  go  to  the  Theo- 
logical Seminary  which  had  been  estab- 
lished by  Evangelical  churchmen  at  Alex- 
andria, Virginia,  in  1823.  The  special 
distinction  of  this  institution  is  that  it  has 
trained  nearly  all  the  Episco- 
pal clergy  who  have  taken  a 
prominent  part  in  foreign 
missions.  Young  Brooks  ac- 
cepted Dr.  Vinton's  advice 
to  go  to  Alexandria,  and 
entered  late  in  the  year  1856 
upon  his  residence  in  that 
institution,  having  a  room 
assigned  to  him  in  Saint 
George's  Hall,  where  he  re- 
mained until  he  was  gradu- 
ated in  1859.  No  greater 
contrast  could  be  presented 
than  that  between  his  student 
life  at  Alexandria  and  the 
large  secular  scope  of  his  life 
in  Boston  ;  but  with  his  usual 
command  of  himself,  he 
quickly  assimilated  his  habits 
and  thoughts  to  the  new 
conditions  which  surrounded 
him.  Here  for  the  first  time 
he  came  in  contact  with  a 
type  of  piety  which  was  a  re- 
flection of  the  spirit  of 
Simeon  and  Romaine  in 
England,  and  found  its  intel- 
lectual expression  in  such  men 
as  the  late  Bishop  Lay,  the 
famous  Dr.  Bedell,  and  in 
the  present  Bishop  Whittle, 
modified  by  the  unique  social 
life  of  the  aristocratic  families  that  were 
then  established  in  Fairfax  county  in 
Virginia.  The  seminary  was  at  that  day 
in  its  best  estate.  The  old  Evangelical 
school  was  marked  in  its  fervent  spiritu- 
ality, and  its  deficiencies  in  intellectual 
stir  and  snap  had  not  been  discovered. 
It  was  a  curious  and  audacious  thing 
to  put  a  brilliant  Harvard  graduate  into 
that  atmosphere,  but  young  Brooks  re- 
sponded to  it  as  if  he  had  always  lived  in 
it.  He  attended  the  weekly  prayer- 
meetings    and    threw   himself   heart    and 


PHILLIPS  BROOKS. 


563 


soul  into  them.  He  soon  caught  up  with 
his  class  and  was  for  three  years  their 
leader  in  all  kinds  of  student  work.  His 
residence  at  Alexandria  seemed  to 
open  the  windows  of  his  soul  and  give 
vent  to  his  religious  de- 
votion. His  classmates 
still  remember  the  simple 
and  fervent  prayers  which 
he  used  to  offer  in  their 
student  meetings,  and  his 
spirit  and  manner  with 
them  was  always  that  of 
an  equal,  never  that  of  a 
superior.  In  a  recent 
letter  to  Dr.  Joseph 
Packard,  who  is  the  pres- 
ent dean  of  the  Semi- 
nary, he  thus  speaks  of 
the  late  Dr.  Sparrow,  who 
was  in  those  days  the 
head  and  the  strength 
of  the  institution  : 

"  It  is  easy  to  say  of  men 
who  have  not  much  accurate 
knowledge  to  impart,  that  they 
are  men  of  suggestion  and  in- 
spiration. But  with  the  doctor, 
clear  thought  and  real  learn- 
ing only  made  the  suggestion 
and  inspiration  of  his  teaching 
more  vivid.  I  have  never 
looked  at  Knapp  since  he 
taught  us  out  of  it.  My  im- 
pression of  it  is  that  it  is  a 
dull  and  dreary  book,  but  it 
served  as  a  glass  for  Dr. 
Sparrow's  spirit  to  shine 
through,  and  perhaps  from 
its  own  insignificance  I  re- 
member him  in  connection 
with  it  more  than  in  con- 
nection with  Butler.  His  simplicity  and  ig- 
norance of  the  world  seemed  always  to  let  one 
get  directly  at  the  clearness  of  his  abstract 
thought;  and  while  I  have  always  felt  that  he 
had  not  comprehended  the  importance  of  the 
speculative  questions  which  were  just  rising  in 
those  days,  and  which  have  since  then  occupied 
men's  minds,  he  unconsciously  did  much  to  pre- 
pare his  students'  minds  to  meet  them.  His 
intellectual  and  spiritual  life  seem  to  me,  as  I 
look  back  upon  him,  to  have  been  mingled  in 
singular  harmony,  and  to  have  made  but  one 
nature,  as  they  do  in  few  men.  The  best  result 
of  his  work  in  influence  upon  any  student's  life 
and  ministry  must  have  been  to  save  him  from 
the  hardness  on  the  one  hand  or  the  weakness  on 
the  other,  which  partly  intellectual  or  purely 
spiritual  training  would  have  produced.  His 
very  presence  on  the  Hill  was  rich  and  salutary. 
He  held  his  opinions  and  was  not  held  by  them. 
His  personality  impressed  young  men  who  were 


at  just  that  point  in  life  when  a  thinker  is  more  to 
them  than  the  results  of  thought,  because  it  is  of 
most  importance  that  they  should  learn  to  think, 
and  not  that  they  should  merely  fortify  their 
adherence  to  their  inherited  creed.  With  all  his 
great   influence,  I    fancy  that  he   did   not    make 





Phillips   Brooks. 

FROM    A    PORTRAIT    DURING    HIS    RECTORSHIP    OF    THE    CHURCH    OF   THE    ADVENT. 


young  men  his  imitators.  There  has  been  no 
crop  of  little  Dr.  Sparrows.  That  shows  I  think 
the  reality  and  helpfulness  of  his  power.  The 
Church  since  his  day  has  had  its  host  of  little 
dogmatists  who  have  thought  that  God  had  given 
his  truth  to  them  to  keep,  and  of  little  ritualists 
who  thought  that  God  had  bidden  them  to  save 
the  world  by  drill.  Certainly,  Dr.  Sparrow  is 
not  responsible  for  any  of  them.  He  did  all  that 
he  could  to  enlarge  and  enlighten  both.  He 
loved  ideas,  and  did  all  that  he  could  to  make  his 
students  love  them.  As  to  his  preaching,  I  have 
not  very  clear  impressions.  I  remember  that  his 
sermons  sometimes  seemed  to  us  to  be  remark- 
able; but  I  imagine  that  the  theological  student 
is  one  of  the  poorest  judges  of  sermons,  and  that 
the  doctor  had  preached  too  much  to  students  to 
allow  him  to  be  the  most  effective  and  powerful 
preacher  to  men.  On  the  whole,  he  is  one  of  the 
three  or  four  men  whom  I  have  known,  whom  I 
look  upon  with  perpetual  gratitude  for  the  help 


564 


PHILLIPS  BROOKS. 


lair 


Holy  Trinity,    Philadelphia. 


and  direction  they  have  given  to  my  life,  and 
whose  power  I  feel  in  forms  of  action  and  kinds 
of  thought  very  different  from  those  in  which  I 
had  specifically  to  do  with  them.  I  am  sure  that 
very  many  students  would  say  the  same  of  Dr. 
Sparrows." 

Dr.  Vinton  showed  a  wonderful  instinct 
and  foresight  in  directing  him  to  Alexan- 
dria, so  that  he  might  come  under  a  man 
who  could  feed  his  intellect  without  de- 
stroying his  spirituality. 

Men  are  often  surprised  into  the  things 
which  are  to  be  the  chief  concern  of  their 


lives ;  and  the  way  in  which  Phillips 
Brooks  began  to  preach  the  Gospel  is  so 
unique  that  the  story  must  be  told  in  full. 
Two  or  three  miles  from  the  hill  on  which 
the  Alexandria  Seminary  stands  is  a  little 
hamlet  called  Sharon,  composed  of  poor 
whites  and  negroes,  which  one  of  his 
classmates,  who  subsequently  became  a 
foreign  missionary,  undertook  to  work  up. 
It  was  a  task  in  which  he  needed  help, 
and  he  begged  Brooks  to  go  out  with  him 
to  the  mission  for  a  Sunday.     He  reluc- 


PHILLIPS  BROOKS. 


565 


tantly  consented  to  go ;  and  after  he  had 
gone  once,  his  heart  was  interested  and 
he  was  ready  to  go  again.  Here  he 
preached  his  first  sermon,  and  began  the 
work  of  ministering  to  human  souls  in 
which   he   has  ever   since  been  engaged. 


quite  unconscious  that  his  talks  were  im- 
portant. At  this  time  he  showed  the 
same  simple  and  Evangelical  fervor  and 
intense  feeling  which  have  marked  his 
subsequent  ministrations.  In  the  student 
prayer-meetings  he  took  his  part  in  a  way 


Phillips  Brooks. 

FROM   A   PORTRAIT   DURING   HIS    RECTORSHIP   OF   HOLY   TRINITY,    PHILADELPHIA. 


His  addresses  were  always  unwritten,  but 
they  instantly  interested  the  plain  and 
simple  folk  in  the  neighborhood.  The 
chapel  or  schoolhouse  was  quickly 
crowded,  and  soon  people  were  standing 
in  the  doorway  and  listening  at  the  open 
windows  to  the  preacher  student,  who  in 
his   fresh    and    glowing    earnestness   was 


that  surprised  the  young  men  who  were 
with  him.  They  could  not  understand 
how  one  who  had  been  trained  at  Har- 
vard, and  who  might  be  supposed  to  be 
touched  with  Unitarian  sentiments,  could 
be  so  simple  and  fervent  in  his  devotional 
life.  It  was  then  seen,  as  it  has  been 
seen  ever  since   by  those  who   have  fol- 


566 


PHILLIPS  BROOKS 


Old  Trinity  Church.   Summer  Street,    Boston. 


lowed  him  intimately,  to  be  the  natural 
expression  of  his  life.  It  would  seem  as 
if  his  mind  moved  freely  and  was  at  home 
in  spiritual  moods,  and  that  he  saw  life 
from  the  centre  of  things.  In  all  the 
work  which  he  did  as  a  religious  man, 
there  was  a  certain  inspiration  or  fervor 
which  lifted  it  out  of  the  common.  It 
was  as  if  his  mind  and  heart  were  instru- 
ments through  which  passed  the  stirrings 
of  his  soul.  He  first  found  vent  for  his 
spiritual  life  in  this  simplest  form  of  stu- 
dent preaching.  His  classmate  was  de- 
lighted with  such  assistance,  and  the 
whole  neighborhood  was  eager  to  hear 
him  every  Sunday.  The  success  of  the 
little  mission  stirred  up  opposition,  which 
was  headed  by  a  Northern  man,  who  had 


become  an  infidel  and  delighted  to  ex- 
press his  opinions  to  a  few  followers. 
These  men  determined  to  break  up 
the  meetings;  and  when  young  Brooks 
was  fully  aware  of  their  purpose,  one 
Sunday,  he  denounced  the  whole  set  in 
terms  of  scathing  rebuke,  which  his  class- 
mate still  remembers  as  the  most  searching 
and  sarcastic  speech  that  he  ever  heard. 
Little  as  he  may  have  occasion  to  use  it, 
Bishop  Brooks  is  as  effective  and  powerful 
a  master  of  invective  as  ever  was  Theodore 
Parker  and  the  effect  of  his  speech 
upon  this  little  community  was  to  destroy 
the  opposition,  and  to  bring  all  but  one 
of  the  hostile  persons,  and  he  was  not 
the  leader,  to  baptism  and  confirmation. 
This  was  a  great  triumph  for  the  young 


PHILLIPS  BROOKS. 


- f — 


Mr.   Brooks's  Residence,   Clarendon  Street,   Boston. 


students,  and    their   walks    to  and    from  When    his    classmate    went    home    to 

Sharon    were    eagerly    taken,  with     such  Philadelphia,    he    told    his    friends  what 

thankful  hearts  as  they  had  over  the  sue-  wonderful    work   was    being    done.     The 

cess  of  their  work.  Church   of  the  Advent  in  that   city  was 


Trinity  Church,   Boston. 


568 


PHILLIPS  BROOKS. 


Interior  of  Trinity  Church,    Boston, 


then  without  a  rector,  and  the  suggestion 
was  made  that  a  committee  should  be 
appointed  to  hear  this  young  student.  It 
was  arranged  that,  without  his  knowledge, 
they  should  visit  Alexandria  and  hear 
him  speak  at  the  mission  ;  and  the  first  sight 
these  gentlemen  had  of  their  future  rector 
was  a    glimpse  of  a    tall   and   beardless 


youth  stepping  over  a  fence  on  his  way  to 
the  chapel,  just  after  he  had  waded 
through  a  stream  which  he  was  obliged  to 
cross.  Young  Brooks  was  in  his  best 
mood,  and  utterly  unconscious  of  the 
ordeal  through  which  he  was  passing. 
One  of  the  committee  was  so  taken  cap- 
tive that  he  exceeded  his  commission  and 


PHILLIPS  BROOKS. 


569 


at  once  tried  to  exact  a  promise  from  him 
that  he  would  not  accept  any  other  call 
until  they  had  extended  one  to  him,  and 
assured  him  that  it  would  be  their  wish  to 
have  him  as  their  future  rector. 

One  further  incident  connected  with 
his  seminary  life  deserves  mention.  It 
must  be  given  substantially  in  his  own 
words.  The  present  Bishop  Potter  and 
Bishop  Randolph  of  Virginia,  who  were 
elected  to  the  Episcopate  at  about  the 
same  time,  were  students  at  Alexandria 
with  Bishop  Brooks.  At  the  session  of 
the  General  Convention  in  Philadelphia, 
the  two  bishops-elect  were  the  special 
guests  at  a  breakfast  given  to  the  gradu- 
ates of  the  Alexandria  Seminary.  Dr. 
Brooks  was  present,  and,  when  called  to 
speak,  expressed  himself  substantially  as 
follows  : 

"  When  I  went  to  the  Virginia  Seminary  late  in 
the  fall  of  1857,  I  was  put  into  St.  George's  Hall, 
and  given  an  attic  room  in  which  there  were  only 
two  or  three  feet  of  space  where  I  could  stand  up 
straight.  I  was  wondering  what  I  should  do, 
when  I  heard  a  knock  at  the  door.  In  came  a 
nice  young  fellow,  who  said,  '  I  am  Henry  Potter, 
and  until  you  have  more  comfortable  quarters  as- 
signed to  you,  I  invite  you  to  share  my  room.'  I 
did  so,  and  I  venture  the  prediction  that  if  that 
man  ever  becomes  the  real  bishop  of  New  York, 
he  will  let  every  man  have  room  !  " 

It  should  be  said  that  at  this  time  Dr. 
Brooks  was  as  tall  as  he  is  now,  but  that 
he  had  not  grown  out  into  his  present 
amplitude  of  body.  It  should  also  be 
stated  that  Dr.  Henry  Potter  was  first 
chosen  as  assistant-bishop  of  New  York, 
his  uncle,  Dr.  Horatio  Potter,  being  the 
authorized  occupant  of  the  see.  In  this 
connection  the  following  extract  from 
Bishop  Potter's  personal  address  to  the 
Bishop-elect  at  his  recent  consecration, 
is  a  still  further  illustration  of  the  intimacy 
which  then  existed  between  two  men  who 
are  to-day  among  the  most  influential 
bishops  of  the  American  Church. 

"  I  wonder  if  you  can  recall  as  vividly  as  I  the 
day  when  first  we  met.  The  old  seminary  of 
Alexandria,  the  simple  but  manly  life  there,  our 
talks  with  fit  companionship,  though  few,  the 
chapel  and  prayer  hall,  Sparrow  and  May,  and  the 
dear  old  Rab,  and  all  the  rest, — how  it  comes 
back  again  out  of  the  mist,  and  how  the  long  tale 
of  years  that  stretch  between  seem  but  the  shadow 
of  a  dream !  Your  privilege  and  mine  it  was  to 
begin  our  ministries  under  the  Episcopate  of  one 
whose  gifts  and  character,  I  rejoice  to  believe,  you 
prized  and  loved  as  I  did." 


It  was  said  at  the  time  that  no  man 
had  ever  been  at  the  Alexandria  Sem- 
inary who  was  Brooks's  equal,  or  who 
gave  equal  promise.  He  stood  physi- 
cally and  intellectually  above  all  others, 
and  in  his  essays  and  recitations,  and 
in  his  bearing,  impressed  all  who  met 
him  with  the  wonderful  vital  quality  of 
his  work.  Dr.  Sparrow,  the  substantial 
head  of  the  seminary  in  those  days,  and 
one  whom  Bishop  Brooks  regards  as  the 
teacher  who  most  influenced  his  life  in 
the  right  direction,  was  greatly  impressed 
with  his  extemporaneous  power,  and  fol- 
lowed the  career  of  his  pupil  with  zeal  and 
admiration.  To  young  Brooks  it  was  a  new 
sort  of  life  and  thinking,  and  for  his  tem- 
perament and  leadings  it  was  perhaps  the 
only  place  where  his  genius  could  have 
been  developed  in  full  religious  freedom. 
It  was  surely  then  a  place  where  men 
"builded  better  than  they  knew." 

It  has  always  been  characteristic  of 
Bishop  Brooks  that  he  distrusted  himself. 
Though  he  shrank  from  the  responsibility 
implied  in  taking  holy  orders,  he  was  ad- 
mitted to  the  diaconate  in  June,  1859,  by 
Bishop  Meade  of  Virginia,  and  proceeded 
immediately  to  the  Church  of  the  Advent, 
where  he  preached  his  first  sermon  from 
the  text,  "  Master,  what  is  the  great  com- 
mandment of  the  law?  "  It  was  like  him 
that  he  consented  to  be  the  minister  of  the 
parish  for  only  three  months,  refusing  to 
engage  longer,  lest  he  might  not  come  up 
to  expectations.  Then  he  engaged  him- 
self for  a  year,  at  a  salary  of  a  thousand 
dollars,  and  at  once  set  about  his  work  in 
earnest.  The  parish  was  in  one  of  the 
poorer  parts  of  the  city,  where  it  was  not 
easy  for  a  young  man  to  acquire  an  out- 
side reputation ;  but  he  was  at  once  ap- 
preciated by  the  plain  people  who  mostly 
made  up  his  congregation.  His  sermons 
were  conceived  in  such  a  vein  that  he 
opened  to  people  a  new  life.  He  in- 
spired everybody.  People  said  to  one 
another  as  they  went  out  of  church, 
"That  was  the  Gospel  we  have  had  to- 
day." Others  would  say,  "  We  never 
heard  that  here  before." 

Mr.  Brooks's  early  pastor,  Dr.  Vinton, 
had  then  removed  to  Philadelphia,  and 
was  the  rector  of  the  Church  of  the  Holy 
Trinity,    a    new    parish    that    had    been 


570 


PHILLIPS  BROOKS. 


Phillips   Brooks's   House  at  North   Andover. 


created  in  a  wealthy  and  growing  part 
of  the  city.  He  felt  much  interest  in 
his  friend  and  former  parishioner,  and 
used  to  invite  him  to  preach  in  his  church 
on  Sunday  afternoons.  Mr.  Brooks 
was  here  a  revelation  to  the  young 
people.  The  inquiry  was  in  everybody's 
mouth,  "Who  is  this  Mr.  Brooks?" 
Dr.  Vinton  was  delighted,  and  is  reported 
to  have  said,  "  I  never  preached  such 
sermons  at  his  age  or  since."  From  this 
time  there  was  a  steady  pilgrimage  of 
Trinity  parishioners  to  the  Church  of  the 
Advent,  and  the  latter  place  of  worship 
was  full  to  overflowing.  Dr.  Vinton  was 
maganimous  over  this  interest  in  his  "  son 
in  the  ministry,"  and  little  dreamed,  when 
he  was  called  away  from  that  parish  to  St. 
Mark's  in  the  Bowery,  New  York,  that  his 
friend  would  be  his  successor. 

Mr.  Brooks  was  admitted  to  the  priest- 
hood by  Bishop  Potter  in  less  than  a  year 
after  his  entrance  upon  the  work  of  his 
first  parish.  It  was  not  till  he  had  been 
invited  the  third  time  to  the  Church  of 
the  Holy  Trinity,  that  he  consented  to 
consider  the  call,  and  even  then  he  would 


not  decide  the  matter  till  he  had  consulted 
his  former  fellow-worker  at  Sharon,  who 
was  then  the  rector  of  a  country  parish  at 
Swedesborough,  twenty  miles  distant  from 
Philadelphia.  The  tall  form  of  Mr.  Brooks 
confronting  him  out  of  doors  was  the  first 
knowledge  he  had  of  the  arrival  of  his 
classmate,  who  impulsively  and  abruptly 
said,  "  I  want  your  advice  about  going  to 
Holy  Trinity."  "Let  us  go  into  the 
house,"  said  his  friend.  "No,"  replied 
Mr.  Brooks,  "  Let  us  talk  it  out  here  " ; 
and  the  two  sat  down  on  a  log  and  talked 
the  matter  out.  Mr.  Brooks  returned 
to  Philadelphia  and  accepted  the  rector- 
ship of  Holy  Trinity.  Not  long  after 
this  he  was  invited  to  the  chair  of 
ecclesiastical  history  in  the  Philadelphia 
Divinity  School,  at  a  salary  of  one  thou- 
sand five  hundred  dollars  a  year,  and 
seriously  thought  of  accepting  it.  The 
difficulty  was  that  he  did  not  see  how 
he  could  live  on  the  salary,  and  he  deter- 
mined at  the  suggestion  of  a  parishioner 
to  publish  a  volume  of  his  sermons  to  in- 
crease his  income.  The  sheets  had  been 
printed,  and  the  book  was  soon  to  come 


PHILLIPS  BROOKS. 


571 


out,  when  he  reached  the  conclusion  that 
the  pulpit  was  his  chosen  field  and  with- 
held it  from  publication,  giving  the  only 
copy  of  proofs  to  his  Swedesborough 
friend,  from  whose  library  it  was  subse- 
quently stolen.  Thus  ended  the  first  ef- 
forts of  Phillips  Brooks  to  appear  in  print. 
The  new  rectorship  was  his  stepping 
out  into  a  large  field,  where  he  rapidly 
gained  distinction  and  still  more  thor- 
oughly developed  his  power  as  a  preacher. 
This  is  the  place  to  give  his  estimate  of 
Dr.  Vinton,  the  friend  of  his  youth  and 
early  manhood.  At  his  death,  Mr.  Brooks 
delivered  a  memorial  sermon,  in  which 
he  paid  the  tribute  of  his  heart  to  this 
great  religious  leader.     He  says  : 

"  I  think  that  Dr.  Vinton  did  more  than  any 
other  man  who  ever  worked  in  Boston  to  make  our 
Church  be  and  make  her  seem  American.  He 
had  no  sympathy  himself  with  the  sentimental 
yearnings  which  would  weaken  the  Church  in  this 
land,  by  making  her  wear  the  dress  or  ape  the 
language  of  the  Church  in  England." 

In  another  place  he  says  : 

"  The  whole  ministry  of  Dr.  Vinton  in  Philadel- 
phia is  one  of  the  brightest  and  sunniest  pictures 
which  the  annals  of  clerical  life  have  anywhere  to 
show.  It  is  like  a  summer's  day  and  moves  in  life 
and  music.  The  powers  were  all  tested.  The 
position  was  assured.  The  range  of  a  pastor's 
duty  had  been  measured  in  the  fields  in  which  he 
had  already  worked.  There  was  neither  the 
anxiety  of  the  young  minister  afraid  of  the  inde- 
finiteness  of  his  work,  nor  the  discouragement  of 
•the  old  minister  who  feels  already  the  premonitions 
of  decay.  He  had  come  to  a  city  just  different 
enough  from  that  which  he  had  left  to  give  the 
stimulus  of  freshness  and  variety;  and  yet  he  had 
come  with  such  a  faith  in  the  perpetual  and  uni- 
versal Gospel,  that  he  was  haunted  by  no  im- 
aginary necessity  of  adapting  his  preaching  to  his 
new  hearers.  He  was  just  different  enough  him- 
self from  preachers  born  and  bred  upon  the  soil  to 
win  a  special  interest,  and  yet  he  threw  himself  so 
cordially  into  the  people's  life,  that  no  one  dreamed 
of  counting  him  a  stranger.  And  then  the  church 
to  which  he  came  was  new.  He  preached  for  six 
months  in  the  chapel  before  the  church  was 
finished.  No  old  traditions  hampered  him.  He 
had  no  predecessor  with  whom  he  could  be  com- 
pared. Made  up  of  persons  trained  in  the  old, 
long  settled  churches,  his  congregation  was  yet  in 
large  part  of  young  people.  But  few  white  heads 
were  in  the  pews  in  those  first  days.  And  round 
him  there  was  gathered  a  multitude  of  the  best 
workers  in  the  city.  The  working  laity  of  Phila- 
delphia is  unmatched  by  any  in  the  land,  and 
here  assembled  many  of  the  most  active  and  best 
trained  out  of  many  parishes.  It  was  in  many  re- 
spects a  picked  parish." 

In  the  following  passage  there  is  a  per- 


sonal  acknowledgment  of  the    influence 
of  Dr.  Vinton  over  himself: 

"  For  my  part  I  thank  Dr.  Vinton  for  many  and 
many  a  word  even  of  protest  against  what  I 
thought  was  true,  which,  while  it  made  me  more 
ambitious  to  be  sure  that  what  I  thought  was 
truth  was  really  true,  made  me  also  more  earnest 
in  holding  it  as  I  became  convinced  that  I  was  not 
mistaken.  I  am  sure  that  his  great  soul  would 
not  grudge  me  that  gratification.  And  I  think 
that  it  is  one  that  many  others  share  with  me." 

There  is  still  another  personal  touch  in 
this  discourse  : 

"  He  was  a  splendid  man  to  succeed  in  the 
charge  of  a  parish.  Many  a  good  and  saintly  old 
minister  half  grudges  the  work  which  yet  he  prays 
that  his  successor  may  have  the  grace  to  do  in 
the  parish  where  he  himself  can  work  no  longer. 
But  I  am  not  the  only  minister  here  to-day  who 
could  tell  you  of  the  quick  and  earnest  sympathy, 
and  the  ever-ready  encouragement  and  pleasure 
with  which  this  great  predecessor  in  our  parishes 
made  us  rejoice  whenever  he  came  among  us  and 
looked  with  kindly  interest  to  see  how  well  our 
younger  hands  were  doing  his  old  work." 

He  entered  upon  duty  in  his  new 
parish  on  the  ist  of  January,  1862,  and 
remained  in  it  until  the  last  Sunday  in 
October,  1869,  when  he  preached  his 
first  sermon  in  Trinity  parish,  Boston.  In 
his  new  sphere  Mr.  Brooks  did  not  for- 
sake Gospel  themes ;  but  he  rose  to  the 
adequate  treatment  of  questions  of  the 
day.  He  could  not  see  a  wrong  without 
longing  to  set  it  right.  He  found  that 
the  people  in  Philadelphia  socially  pro- 
scribed the  negro.  They  drew  the  line 
at  the  horse-cars  and  said  that  the 
colored  people  should  go  afoot.  Mr. 
Brooks  was  one  of  the  first  to  point  out 
and  rebuke  their  inconsistency,  and  he 
was  so  bold  and  earnest  about  it  that 
Philadelphia  society  was  compelled  to 
change  its  rule.  The  horse-car  corpora- 
tion was  on  the  side  of  the  white  people, 
but  fortunately  there  was  a  legal  right 
given  in  their  charter  for  people  to  ride  in 
the  cars  without  distinction  of  color.  So 
strong  was  the  sentiment  that  at  one  time, 
in  the  fear  of  this  law,  nearly  all  the  cars 
in  the  city  were  side-tracked.  When- 
ever a  negro  entered  a  car  it  was  im- 
mediately drawn  off  to  one  side,  and  so 
thoroughly  were  the  colored  people  equal 
to  the  situation  that  hundreds  of  solitary 
negroes  could  be  found  sitting  in  these 
side-tracked  cars  one  day,  waiting  pa- 
tiently to  be  carried  to  their  destination. 


PHILLIPS  BROOKS. 


The  proscription  was  carried  to  the  point 
of  absurdity,  and  then  society  gave  way. 

Not  less  earnest  was  Mr.  Brooks  in  deal- 
ing on  suitable  occasions  with  the  questions 
arising  out  of  the  Civil  War.  Two  of 
these  efforts  have  passed  into  history. 
One  was  a  Thanksgiving  sermon,  preached 
November  26,  1863,  on  "Our  Mercies 
of  Re-occupation,"  in  which  he  threw 
himself  with  his  whole  heart  into  the 
issues  of  the  hour,  and  thanked  God  "  that 
the  institution  of  African  slavery  in  our 
beloved  land  is  one  big  year  nearer  to  its 
inevitable  death  than  it  was  last  Thanks- 
giving Day."  The  sermon  is  full  of  the  stir 
and  throbbing  of  the  middle  years  of  the 
war,  and  the  impulse  of  that  hour  still 
beats  in  its  quiet  pages.  He  preached 
when  President  Lincoln  was  assassinated 
a  striking  sermon  on  the  event,  which  is 
another  of  the  very  few  discourses  which 
he  published  in  those  early  days.  His  in- 
terest in  progress,  the  way  in  which  he  filled 
his  pulpit,  and  a  rare  personal  magnetism 
put  him  into  the  forefront  of  the  citizens 
of  Philadelphia,  which  is  largely  a  city  of 
local  interests,  and  was  all  the  more  ready 
to  welcome  one  who  in  the  flush  of  man- 
hood was  living  in  the  full  tide  of 
the  times.  He  stepped  forward  by 
the  side  of  Bishop  Potter  and  Horace 
Binney  as  one  of  the  few  men  who  were 
in  touch  with  the  whole  community ;  and 
when  peace  was  reached,  the  rector  of 
Holy  Trinity  was  put  forward  as  the  rep- 
resentative of  the  clergy  in  emphasizing 
publicly  the  end  of  the  war.  He  was 
asked  to  make  the  prayer  on  this  occas- 
ion, standing  in  front  of  old  Independence 
Hall  before  an  immense  crowd  of  people. 
His  well-known  habit  in  offering  prayer 
is  to  throw  up  his  head,  so  that  he  might 
seem  to  some  to  be  looking  over  his 
audience.  Two  rough  men  were  standing 
on  the  outer  edge  ot  the  crowd,  when  one 
said  to  the  other,  "  That  man  is  a  fool ; 
he  prays  with  his  eyes  open."  His  com- 
panion replied,  "  Say  that  again  if  you 
dare."  The  remark  was  repeated,  where- 
upon the  other  party  dealt  him  so  strong 
a  blow  in  his  forehead  that  he  knocked 
him  down.  That  was  the  way  he  em- 
phasized    his    belief  in  Phillips   Brooks. 

No  rectorship  in  America  could  have 
been    happier   ot    more   prosperous  than 


that  which  Mr.  Brooks  had  in  Philadel- 
phia. But  to  a  New  England  man  there 
is  no  place  like  Boston.  Bishop  Brooks 
was  heard  to  say,  shortly  after  his  election, 
"  Two  things  are  first  and  foremost  in  my 
life.  One  is  my  interest  in  the  State  of 
Massachusetts,  and  the  other  is  my  love 
for  the  Episcopal  Church."  The  attrac- 
tion of  Boston,  alike  his  birthplace  and 
his  home  in  boyhood,  and  then  still  the 
home  of  his  parents,  grew  with  his  years 
and  the  development  of  his  mind  and 
heart ;  and  while  he  had  all  that  one 
could  ask  for  in  Philadelphia,  there  was 
a  growing   yearning  for  Boston. 

When  Harvard  celebrated  the  end  of 
the  war,  he  was  asked  to  make  the  prayer 
for  Commemoration  Day.  The  man  whose 
heart  and  imagination  had  been  fired  to 
the  utmost  in  the  heat  of  the  contest  rose 
as  if  by  inspiration  to  the  feeling  of  the 
hour;  and  Colonel  Henry  Lee,  the  Har- 
vard marshal  for  the  day,  thus  speaks  of  it 
and  him  :  "  The  services  on  that  occasion 
were  not  equal  to  what  men  felt.  Every- 
thing fell  short  and  words  seemed  to 
be  too  weak.  Phillips  Brooks'  prayer  was 
an  exception.  That  was  a  free  speaking 
to  God,  and  it  was  the  only  utterance  of 
that  day  which  filled  out  its  meaning  to 
the  full  extent.  Lowell's  Commemoration 
Ode  was  great,  and  so  was  General  Devens's 
speech,  but  Brooks  surpassed  them  both." 
The  eager  inquiry  of  that  day  after  prayer 
was,  "Who  is  Phillips  Brooks?"  It  was 
the  first  time  that  he  had  appeared  before 
the  most  distinguished  audience  that 
could  be  collected  in  New  England,  and 
from  that  moment  the  growing  thought 
at  Trinity  Church  was  to  induce  Bishop 
Eastburn  to  resign,  and  to  call  Phillips 
Brooks  to  the  rectorship  of  the  parish. 

Before  the  great  fire  of  1872,  Trinity- 
Church,  a  Gothic  edifice,  said  to  have 
been  the  first  of  its  kind  in  the  country,, 
and  built  of  Quincy  granite,  was  located 
in  Summer  Street,  then  just  ceasing  to  be 
the  section  of  the  city  inhabited  by  many 
of  the  oldest  families.  Bishop  Eastburn 
had  been  the  rector  for  many  years  and 
had  carried  on  the  parish  in  his  stiff 
English  way,  making  it  an  eminently 
respectable  congregation  but  failing  to 
use  it  so  as  to  make  a  strong  impression 
upon  the  people  of  Boston.     There  had 


PHILLIPS  BROOKS. 


573 


been  many  assistants,  of  whom  the  late 
Dr.  John  Cotton  Smith  and  the  present 
Bishop  Potter  were  the  latest ;  but 
with  even  this  aid  the  parish  was  emi- 
nently conservative  and  inactive.  The 
parishioners  had  used  every  effort  to 
induce  the  Bishop  to  resign  his  charge, 
and  when  he  finally  consented,  they  in- 
vited Phillips  Brooks  from  his  delightful 
work  in  Philadelphia  to  the  vacant  rector- 
ship. Temporarily  the  youthful  preacher 
lost  by  the  exchange.  He  left  a  better 
congregation  than  he  found ;  but  the 
temptation  to  return  home  and  to  labor 
for  the  rest  of  his  life  among  his  own  kith 
and  kin  was  too  great  to  be  resisted,  and 
on  the  31st  of  October,  1869,  he  preached 
his  first  sermon  as  the  rector  of  old  Trinity 
in  Summer  Street.  He  was  then  in  his 
thirty-fourth  year,  and  in  the  freshness  of 
his  strength. 

Whatever  men  may  do  elsewhere,  the 
Boston  people  only  believe  in  what 
they  can  do  in  Boston,  and  Phillips 
Brooks  had  to  win  his  laurels  anew 
in  the  old  Puritan  city.  He  was  not 
long  in  doing  this.  He  had  two  su- 
perb qualities  for  his  position.  He  knew 
how  to  mind  his  own  business,  and 
he  refused  to  be  drawn  aside  by  engage- 
ments that  were  foreign  to  his  work.  He 
also  developed  from  the  first  a  great 
amount  of  sturdy  common  sense.  His 
sermons  were  new  to  an  Episcopal  audi- 
ance.  They  had  the  literary  culture  and 
fine  ethical  flavor  which  distinguished 
the  retiring  clergy  of  the  Unitarian  pulpit, 
and  they  also  had  an  Evangelical  fervor 
and  a  belief  in  the  divine  personality  of 
Christ  which  entered  the  hearts  as  well 
as  the  minds  of  his  hearers  and  drew 
people  to  him.  Soon  old  Trinity  was 
full.  When  the  Bishop  first  returned, 
after  giving  up  the  charge,  to  preach  in 
his  former  pulpit,  he  looked  in  vain  for 
vacant  pews ;  and  when  the  older  heads 
of  the  parish  took  counsel  of  one  another 
in  regard  to  the  new  rector,  one  of  the 
most  distinguished  members,  still  living 
in  venerable  age,  said  to  the  rest : 
"  Phillips  Brooks  will  be  good  for  ten 
years,  and  then  he  will  have  said  all 
that"  he  has  to  say  and  we  shall  want  a 
new  man."  But  as  time  went  on,  it  was 
found  that   Mr.    Brooks    had    something 


fresh  and  new.  to  say  every  Sunday,  and 
the  longer  he  preached  the  more  eager 
people  were  to  hang  upon  his  lips  and  to 
enjoy  the  stimulating  thoughts  which  he 
gave  to  them.  It  gradually  dawned 
upon  the  members  of  Trinity  parish 
that  they  had  in  their  rector  a  man  of 
genius;  and  when  the  fire  of  1872  de- 
stroyed the  church  edifice,  they  rose  as 
one  man  to  the  opportunity  which  opened 
to  them  to  build  a  magnificent,  cathe- 
dral church  on  what  was  then  the  outer 
edge  of  the  Back  Bay.  Mr.  Brooks  had 
gathered  a  congregation  which  possessed 
collectively  the  wealth  to  erect  a  church 
which  could  in  the  future  be  the  dio- 
cesan centre  of  Massachusetts,  and  which 
would  be  architecturally  one  of  the 
ornaments  of  Boston.  Though  costing 
altogether  perhaps  a  million  dollars,  the 
burdens  of  the  undertaking  were  cheer- 
fully borne,  and  the  Trinity  people  put 
up  with  all  manner  of  inconveniences 
during  the  five  years  that  they  worshipped 
in  Huntington  Hall.  Mr.  Brooks  kept 
the  congregation  together  by  his  wonder- 
ful personality  and  by  his  rich  and  sug- 
gestive sermons,  and  when  in  1877  the 
church,  designed  and  erected  by  a  man 
of  genius  for  another  man  of  genius,  was 
consecrated,  the  venerable  Dr.  Vinton 
preaching  the  sermon  of  the  occasion, 
the  churchmen  of  Massachusetts,  sitting 
down  to  the  collation  at  the  Brunswick, 
realized,  for  the  first  time  as  they  looked 
over  the  goodly  company,  that  the  little 
one  had  become  a  thousand  in  a  com- 
munity where  the  progress  of  the  Epis- 
copal Church  had  been  stoutly  resisted  at 
every  step. 

It  would  be  hard  to  express  the  joyous 
and  rightful  enthusiasm  with  which  Mr. 
Brooks  entered  upon  what  might  be 
called  his  enlarged  rectorship  in  the  new 
edifice.  He  had  some  things  his  own 
way.  If  the  seats  must  be  rented,  the 
galleries  must  be  free,  and  if  the  parish- 
ioners did  not  occupy  their  own  seats,  the 
public  must  have  the  use  of  them.  It 
should  be  said  here  that  the  wardens  and 
vestrymen  and  the  pew-owners  of  Trinity 
parish  took  their  cue  from  the  rector 
and  have  been  inspired  to  repeat  his 
large-mindedness  in  their  generosity 
toward  the  people  who  wished  to  profit 


574 


PHILLIPS  BROOKS. 


by  his  sermons.  Nowhere  else  in  Boston 
has  a  church  been  more  fully  open  to 
all  sorts  and  conditions  of  men,  and  it 
may  be  said  that  no  other  Episcopal 
clergyman  has  to  the  same  degree  exer- 
cised the  preaching  function  in  all  parts 
of  Massachusetts.  Phillips  Brooks  has 
always  been  willing  to  preach  in  the 
suburban  and  other  parishes,  to  the 
extent  of  his  ability,  and  the  people  have 
heard  him  gladly.  Though  a  pronounced 
Broad  Churchman,  and  not  himself  in- 
clined to  ritualistic  practices,  he  has 
warmly  recognized  the  loyalty  to  the 
Church  of  those  with  whom  he  differed 
in  matters  of  doctrine  and  ritual.  His 
liberality  gradually  extended  to  other 
religious  bodies,  and  his  affiliations  with 
them,  though  never  compromising  his 
own  position,  have  done  much  to  put 
aside  the  prejudice  against  the  Episcopal 
Church  which  once  made  it  almost  im- 
possible for  this  communion  to  make 
headway  in  New  England.  One  act  of 
his,  which  has  been  greatly  misunder- 
stood, was  a  singularly  brave  and  noble 
exhibition  of  his  Catholic  spirit.  At  the 
consecration  of  Trinity  Church,  he  in- 
vited prominent  Unitarian  clergymen, 
and  at  least  one  layman,  to  receive  the 
communion.  They  were  representatives, 
excepting  President  Eliot,  of  the  old  and 
conservative  Unitarian  and  Trinitarian 
parishes  in  Boston,  and  whatever  might 
have  been  the  difference  between  their 
beliefs  and  his,  he  put  the  Christian 
interpretation  on  their  position  and 
accepted  them  personally  as  baptized 
members  of  the  Church  of  Christ.  No 
more  effective  rebuke  to  the  traditional 
doctrinal  hostility  to  Unitarianism  could 
have  been  administered,  and  yet  if  Mr. 
Brooks  had  then  and  there  been  required 
to  give  an  account  of  himself,  he  would 
have  boldly  stated  that  his  Christian 
belief  was  anything  but  Unitarian.  He 
asserted  the  comprehensiveness  of  his 
church,  and  he  renewed  it  when  he 
was  invited  as  the  rector  of  one  of  the 
oldest  Boston  parishes  to  be  present  at 
the  two  hundred  and  fiftieth  anniversary 
of  the  founding  of  King's  Chapel.  His 
speech  on  that  occasion  had  the 
flavor  of  Christian  charity  and  broth- 
erly relation  between  Christian   parishes 


in  the  same  community  which  is  too 
rarely  manifested  on  account  of  our 
sectarian  divisions.  But  courteously  and 
kindly  as  he  spoke  on  these  occasions,  one 
cannot  put  his  finger  upon  an  indiscreet 
word.  If  ever  a  man  took  up  the  fences 
of  religious  separation  and  laid  them  low, 
it  is  this  Phillips  Brooks,  whom  the 
people,  when  the  death  of  Bishop  Pad- 
dock made  a  vacancy  in  the  Episcopate, 
demanded,  as  with  one  voice,  for  the 
next  bishop  of  Massachusetts.  The 
foundation  for  this  deep  and  universal 
interest  was  not  laid  in  the  idea  that  he 
was  disloyal  to  the  Episcopal  Church,  but 
in  the  conviction  that  he  made  more  of 
Christianity  and  of  what  all  Christians 
hold  in  common  than  he  did  of  the 
special  position  of  the  Episcopal  Church, 
not  ignoring  its  claims,  but  insisting  upon 
its  higher  identity  with  their  own  aims 
and  purposes. 

Mr.  Brooks  was  made  Doctor  of  Divin- 
ity by  Harvard  University  in  1877  ;  but 
it  was  not  until  about  1883,  when  the 
venerable  Dr.  Peabody,  the  best  beloved 
of  all  Harvard's  preachers,  began  to  feel 
that  he  must  give  up  his  work,  that  he 
began  to  be  invited  to  preach  to  the 
Harvard  students.  His  sermons  have 
always  had  the  flavor  that  pleases  persons 
of  education  and  culture,  and  like  his 
early  friend,  Dr.  A'inton,  he  has  con- 
stantly had  deep  interest  in  young  men. 
During  the  very  last  weeks  of  his  Trinity 
rectorship  he  invited  the  son  of  a  brother 
clergyman,  who  had  just  entered  Harvard 
as  a  freshman,  to  spend  a  Sunday  with 
him,  giving  the  youth  as  much  time  as  he 
could  spare  in  the  intervals  of  duty,  and 
treating  him  with  that  frank  courtesy 
which  captivates  the  hearts  of  youth 
like  the  tenderness  of  women.  The 
young  man  naturally  talked  with  the 
great  preacher  about  his  future,  and 
found  in  Phillips  Brooks  a  wise  and  sym- 
pathetic friend.  The  next  day,  after  he 
had  returned  to  Harvard,  he  wrote  a  let- 
ter to  the  father,  in  which,  after  praising 
his  son,  he  said:  "What  dear,  beautiful 
creatures  these  boys  are  !  "  Of  all  the 
Harvard  preachers,  who  have  been  also 
pastors,  Dr.  Brooks  has  been  the  nearest 
to  its  young  men,  since  the  new  plan 
of    Sundav  ministrations  began.     It  has 


PHILLIPS  BROOKS. 


575 


seemed  as  if  the  Harvard  parish  was  even 
larger  than  the  Trinity  one,  and  in  it  Dr. 
Brooks  has  done  a  great  part  of  his  best 
work.  Whether  at  Harvard  vespers,  or 
on  Sunday  evenings,  or  in  the  confidences 
of  personal  ministration,  he  has  rendered 
a  great  service  to  doubting  and  anx- 
ious and  unguided  minds  and  hearts. 
He  has  done  much  to  create  a  new  con- 
ception of  American  University  preach- 
ing, and  at  many  other  institutions  the 
plan  which  he  has  helped  to  render 
successful  at  Harvard  has  been  repeated. 

Dr.  Brooks  made  Trinity  parish  during 
his  rectorship  like  a  Christian  family.  It 
was  singularly  homogeneous  and  united. 
If  persons  did  not  like  the  rector,  they 
could  go  elsewhere.  The  parish  was 
composed  of  people  who  were  attracted 
and  helped  by  his  sermons,  who  liked  the 
spirit  of  progress  that  animated  them,  and 
who  agreed  with  him  in  churchmanship  ; 
and  there  was  always  a  large  fringe  of 
outsiders,  who  felt  that  it  was  good  to  be 
there.  It  was  not,  in  one  sense,  an  or- 
ganized parish,  and  yet  it  was  highly 
organized.  Dr.  Brooks  was  faithful  to 
the  regular  work  of  the  church,  and  at  an 
early  day  applied  the  funds  of  the  Greene 
foundation  to  local  missions  in  the  city,  for 
which  the  parish  employed  two  assistants  ; 
but  in  addition  to  this  he  interested  the 
Trinity  people  in  a  great  many  special 
things,  the  largest  of  which  was  the  Trinity 
House  in  Borroughs  Place.  If  any  one, 
whether  man  or  woman,  felt  called  to  any 
particular  undertaking,  he  accepted  it  as 
proof  that  this  person  should  undertake 
it  and  bade  him  or  her  God-speed  in 
doing  it ;  and  thus  a  great  many  special 
enterprises  have  grown  up  in  Trinity  par- 
ish and  become  centres  of  moral,  social, 
and  spiritual  influence. 

It  was  inevitable  that  such  a  popular 
rector  would  call  forth  the  spontaneous 
enthusiasm  of  women.  Dr.  Brooks  has 
always  been  courteous  and  responsive 
to  women,  and  treats  them  as  he  does 
men,  with  that  frank  appeal  to  their  com- 
mon sense  and  intelligence,  which  is  the 
best  compliment  he  could  pay  them.  In 
a  few  homes  in  Boston,  and  in  perhaps 
fewer  families  than  one  can  number  on 
the  fingers  of  one  hand,  he  has  been  ac- 
customed to  a  social  freedom  in  which 


the  minister  was  lost,  as  soon  as  he 
crossed  the  threshold,  in  the  personal 
friend ;  and  those  who  have  been  ad- 
mitted thus  freely  to  his  confidence  speak 
of  these  informal  visits  at  dinner  or  for  an 
evening  as  full  of  the  navete  and  genial 
by-play  in  which  a  brilliant  man,  surfeited 
with  the  adulation  of  admirers,  likes  to 
indulge.  He  has  never  lived  in  a  fool's 
paradise.  Fixed  and  resolute  in  his  views 
on  social  and  religious  questions,  he  has 
always  been  willing  that  the  other  side 
should  be  heard  ;  and,  like  Bishop  Potter, 
he  has  been  able  to  be  at  once  a  man  of 
the  world  and  a  devout  and  fervent  ser- 
vant of  his  Master.  In  connection  with 
his  own  parish,  in  later  years,  he  has  found 
himself  obliged  to  undertake  a  much, 
larger  ministry.  Two  years  ago,  he  de- 
livered noon-day  sermons  in  Trinity 
Church,  New  York,  and  compelled  the 
suspension  of  business  in  Wall  Street  in 
order  that  the  brokers  and  bankers  might 
hear  him.  At  the  Lenten  services  in  St. 
Paul's,  Boston,  for  several  years,  crowds 
have  left  their  duties  at  midday  to  hear 
him ;  and  wherever  he  goes  he  touches 
human  hearts  at  their  point  of  need,  and 
ministers  to  their  hopes  and  fears. 

Colonel  Henry  Lee  once  remarked : 
"  Dr.  Brooks  is  a  great  exhorter.  His 
sermons  are  not  argumentative,  but  fresh 
and  inspiring  appeals  to  the  emotional 
and  spiritual  nature  of  men.  He  never 
put  an  argument  into  a  sermon  in  his 
life."  The  late  Dr.  Vinton  once  said  to 
me  :  "Dr.  Brooks  will  take  any  text  in 
the  Bible  and  make  a  sermon  out  of  it. 
He  writes  down  the  text,  and  straightway 
his  imagination  begins  to  play  upon  it, 
and  principles  start  out,  and  illustrations 
multiply,  and  he  grasps  the  leading  idea, 
and  puts  the  force  and  rush  of  his  soul 
into  it,  and  before  you  are  aware  he  has 
wrought  out  a  discourse  that  moves  and 
inspires  you."  This  is  a  fair  explanation 
of  the  mental  evolution  which  is  to  be 
traced  in  his  sermons.  He  never  re- 
peats himself.  The  ideas  may  be  famil- 
iar, but  they  are  always  clothed  in  the 
fresh  and  fervent  language  of  his  imagin- 
ation. They  also  breathe  the  spirit  of  a 
devout  man.  Busy  as  Dr.  Brooks  con- 
stantly is,  it  is  the  truth  to  say  that  he  is 
a  man  who  lives  habitually  in  communion 


576 


PHILLIPS  BROOKS. 


with  God,  and  when  you  are  talking  with 
him  he  has  the  bearing  and  spirit  of 
one  who  believes  that  this  is  God's  world, 
and  that  God  is  in  it.  Latterly  he  has 
quite  as  often  preached  extemporaneous 
as  written  sermons ;  but  in  either  case  he 
always  displays  the  rare  power  of  going 
far  enough,  and  never  going  too  far. 
One  of  his  classmates  tells  a  story  which 
illustrates  his  resources  and  command  of 
himself.  One  Sunday  he  went  into  Trin- 
ity pulpit  and  opening  his  sermon  case 
was  observed  to  look  puzzled.  In  a  mo- 
ment he  went  to  the  reading  desk  and 
took  up  a  small  copy  of  the  New  Testa- 
ment, and  began  to  fumble  over  its 
leaves.  Presently  he  found  a  text 
began  to  preach  on  it,  rolling  and  ram- 
bling around  it  in  a  somewhat  confused 
manner  for  a  few  moments  until  he  had 
gotten  hold  of  it,  when  his  mind  seemed 
to  open,  and  he  poured  out  a  rich  and 
copious  stream  of  thought  and  illustrations 
and  suggestions,  resulting  in  the  most 
impressive  and  powerful  sermon  which 
his  friend  had  ever  heard  from  his  lips. 
As  soon  as  the  service  was  over,  he  went 
into  the  vestry  to  ask  what  was  the  mat- 
ter. ''Why,"  said  Dr.  Brooks,  "  I  found 
when  I  got  into  the  pulpit  that  I  had 
brought  in  the  sermon  which  I  preached 
last  Sunday  morning." 

He  has  published  five  volumes  of  ser- 
mons. His  first  printed  work  was  the 
"  Lectures  on  Preaching,"  which  were 
delivered  in  New  Haven  as  the  Lyman 
Beecher  course  of  1877.  In  this  volume 
we  obtain  a  very  complete  idea  of  his 
conception  of  his  work.  It  is  plain  that 
the  personal  and  the  manly  element  rather 
than  the  dogmatic  idea  rules  his  thought. 
No  book  on  preaching  has  had  a  greater 
success  in  modern  times,  and  none  has 
gone  so  thoroughly  into  the  heart  of  the 
subject.  This  volume  was  quickly  fol- 
lowed by  the  first  publication  of  his  ser- 
mons in  1878,  in  which  the  public  had 
an  opportunity  to  test  his  theories  by  their 
fruits.  The  next  volume  was  the  Bohlen 
Lectures  of  1879,  on  "The  Influence  of 
Jesus,"  in  which  he  ventured  upon  the 
delicate  ground  of  attempting  to  gauge 
the  human  personality  of  our  Lord.  If  this 
work  is  carefully  studied,  it  will  be  found 
to  contain  the  substance   of  his  thought 


about  Christ.  A  second  volume  of  dis- 
courses appeared  in  1881,  entitled  "The 
Candle  of  the  Lord,  and  Other  Sermons." 
The  next  volume  came  out  in  1883,  and 
bore  the  title,  "  Sermons  in  the  English 
Churches."  In  1886  a  fourth  volume 
was  given  to  the  public,  dedicated  to  the 
memory  of  Frederick  Brooks  and  entitled 
"Twenty  Sermons."  His  next  publica- 
tion was  "Tolerance,"  consisting  of  two 
lectures  on  religious  liberty.  His  latest 
volume  appeared  in  1890,  "The  Light 
of  the  World,  and  Other  Sermons,"  and 
was  dedicated  to  the  memory  of  his 
brother,  George  Brooks,  who  died  in  the 
war.  Besides  a  few  stray  articles  in  the 
magazines,  this  is  the  sum  total  of  his 
authorship,  unless  one  or  two  Christmas 
carols  and  a  few  poems  are  included. 

In  his  personality,  Dr.  Brooks  is  unlike 
any  one  else.  There  are  times  when  he 
is  as  silent  as  the  grave.  I  have  seen 
him  at  clerical  and  other  gatherings  when 
he  seemed  like  a  sponge,  absorbing 
everything  and  giving  out  nothing.  When 
the  spirit  moves  him  to  speak,  you  find, 
even  if  you  have  studied  the  subject  care- 
fully, that  very  often  he  has  gone  into  it 
far  deeper  than  you  have.  Intercourse 
with  him  is  constantly  marked  by  these 
surprises.  He  grows  upon  those  who  have 
come  to  know  him.  This  is  why  young 
men  are  so  delighted  with  him.  He  is 
like  Coleridge  in  the  fascination  which  he 
has  for  them,  —  and  for  the  same  reason  ■ 
they  cannot  look  through  him.  He 
takes  optimistic  views.  The  devil  has 
no  place  in  his  thought  or  conduct. 
He  likes  nothing  better  than  to  do  kind 
acts  in  a  quiet  way.  The  question  is 
often  asked,  "  When  does  he  study?  "  He 
is  always  busy.  He  has  the  power  to 
read  like  lightning,  and  his  companions 
in  travel  say  that  he  never  fails  to  fill  up 
the  interstices  of  time  with  a  book.  He 
is  an  omnivorous  reader,  and  remembers 
what  he  reads.  He  never  needs  to  pre- 
pare himself  to  write  sermons.  His 
mind  is  always  full  of  good  matter,  and 
he  gets  through  with  his  immense  work 
easily  because  he  never  wastes  a  moment. 
He  never  worries ;  he  has  a  good  diges- 
tion and  can  sleep  like  a  top.  He  has 
been  from  early  life  a  student  of  the  best 
literature.     Tennyson  was  the  poet  over 


PHILLIPS  BROOKS. 


577 


whom  he  went  wild  in  his  youth,  and  even 
as  far  back  as  the  Alexandria  days  he  was 
an  earnest  student  of  Browning.  Though 
a  direct  pupil  of  Maurice,  he  never  met 
him  personally,  he  once  heard  him  preach 
at  St.  Peter's,  Vere  Street,  London.  He 
first  saw  Stanley  at  Oxford,  and  first  met 
him  a  year  later.  The  future  Dean  of 
Westminster  liked  to  be  the  patron  of 
brilliant  young  men,  and  Mr.  Brooks  had  an 
instinctive  response  for  his  English  friend. 
They  came  to  stand  in  the  tenderest  rela- 
tions to  one  another.  It  was  through  Dr. 
Brooks's  influence  that  Stanley  came  to 
America,  and  it  was  through  Stanley's 
agency  that  Dr.  Brooks  was  invited  to 
preach  before  Queen  Victoria,  and  received 
a  cordial  welcome  again  and  again  in 
the  Church  of  England.  No  part  of  his 
career  has  had  more  sunshine  in  it  than 
that  which  he  has  spent  in  English 
churches  and  homes.  In  this  connec- 
tion a  word  should  be  said  about  his 
love  of  travel.  For  one  year  he  had 
a  leave  of  absence  from  Trinity,  which 
he  used  in  travelling  to  India,  where 
he  spent  the  winter,  and  in  preaching 
ing  in  England  during  the  summer.  He 
has  frequently  spent  his  summer  vacations 
in  England  and  on  the  Continent,  and  in 
this  way  has  obtained  mental  rest.  He 
has  also  found  much  comfort  in  his  an- 
cestral home  at  North  Andover,  where  he 
lives  during  the  summer  if  he  does  not 
go  abroad. 

In  1886  Dr.  Brooks  was  elected  the 
assistant-bishop  of  Pennsylvania,  and  at 
about  the  same  time  was  offered  a  pro- 
fessorship in  Harvard  University.  He 
declined  both  positions.  In  refusing  the 
Pennsylvania  Episcopate,  he  remarked 
that  if  he  ever  should  feel  any  attraction 
for  the  highest  order  of  the  ministry,  it 
would  be  for  that  position  in  Massachu- 
setts, where  he  belonged,  and  where  he 
felt  that  he  could  do  the  most  good. 
"But,''  said  he,  "Bishop  Paddock  will 
unquestionably  survive  me,  and  that  is  not 
to  be  thought  of."  In  the  divine  order- 
ing of  events,  Bishop  Paddock  was  unex- 
pectedly stricken  with  illness,  and  passed 
away  early  in  1 89 1 .  In  the  state  of  ecclesi- 
astical parties  in  Massachusetts  there  was 
very  little  prospect  that  a  Broad  Church 
bishop  could  succeed  Dr.  Paddock.     He 


had  united  a  discordant  diocese,  but 
numerically  the  High  Churchmen  had 
the  controlling  influence,  and  the  impres- 
sion was  that  Dr.  Brooks,  who  had  de- 
clined the  invitation  to  Pennsylvania, 
would  not  accept  a  similar  invitation 
to  leave  Trinity  pulpit  for  the  cares  of 
the  Episcopate.  In  the  casting  about 
to  see  what  should  be  done,  it  was 
ascertained  that  Dr.  Brooks  would  not 
decline  an  election,  that  Trinity  parish 
would  not  oppose  his  candidacy,  and 
that  the  High  Churchmen  would  go 
against  him  because  he  had  expressed 
himself  at  different  times  strongly  op- 
posed to  the  belief  in  the  divine  au- 
thority of  the  Episcopate.  It  was  then 
determined  to  make  an  appeal  to  the 
people  of  Massachusetts.  It  was  not 
known  at  the  time,  even  by  Dr.  Brooks' 
friends,  except  to  perhaps  one  or  two, 
that  he  had  any  special  desire  to  enter 
the  Episcopal  office,  but  the  fact  was 
afterwards  learned  that,  though  he  was 
not  aspiring  for  it  or  making  the  slightest 
effort  to  obtain  it,  he  felt  that,  if  he  were 
called  to  it,  it  would  not  only  be  his  duty 
to  accept  it,  but  that  he  could  accomplish 
more  for  the  Episcopal  Church  in  Massa- 
chusetts during  the  rest  of  his  life  in  this 
way  than  he  could  by  remaining  in  Trinity 
parish.  It  was  not  until  the  efforts  to 
elect  him  were  well  advanced  that  this 
was  known.  On  the  2 2d  of  March,  1891, 
the  Boston  Herald  published  in  its  Sun- 
day edition  an  editorial  advocating  on 
the  broadest  and  highest  grounds  the 
wisdom  of  choosing  Dr.  Brooks  as  the 
next  bishop  of  Massachusetts.  This  was 
the  first  mention  of  his  name  as  a 
candidate.  The  editorial  was  widely  read 
and  discussed,  and  within  the  Church 
helped  much  to  confirm  the  hopes  of  the 
Broad  Churchmen  that  Dr.  Brooks  might 
be  elected.  In  less  than  three  weeks  the 
people  in  every  hamlet  and  household  in 
Massachusetts  were  astir  with  the  convic- 
tion that  Dr.  Brooks  must  be  the  next 
bishop.  At  first,  it  was  said  that  any- 
body could  be  a  bishop,  —  that  Dr. 
Brooks  was  too  great  a  man  for  the 
office ;  but  the  strength  was  taken  out 
of  this  talk  by  referring  to  what  certain 
great  bishops  in  England  and  America 
had  done,  who  were  equal  to  the  office  \  if 


578 


PHILLIPS  BROOKS. 


Dr.  Brooks  could  be  elected,  it  was  further 
urged  that  he  might,  under  God,  make 
the  office  a  magnificent  reality  throughout 
the  length  and  breadth  of  Massachu- 
setts. This  turned  the  tide  of  public 
opinion.  The  feeling  became  so  intense 
and  earnest  that  almost  the  entire  press 
in  Massachusetts  urged  his  appointment ; 
and  when  the  annual  Convention  of  the 
diocese  was  held  on  the  29th  of  April, 
though  the  High  Churchmen  had  named, 
in  Dr.  Satterlee,  a  candidate  of  eminent 
standing,  it  was  believed  that  a  sufficient 
portion  of  their  number  had  reached 
such  comprehensive  views  of  the  situation 
as  to  secure  the  election  of  Dr.  Brooks. 
At  the  first  and  only  vote  on  the  issue  he 
was  elected  by  a  two-thirds  majority  of 
the  clerical  and  lay  vote.  He  declined 
to  come  into  the  Convention  to  speak, 
but  sent  word  that  he  would  be  glad  to 
see  the  members  of  the  Convention  at 
his  home.  In  the  afternoon  of  that  day 
nearly  every  clerical  and  lay  member  con- 
gratulated the  Bishop-elect  upon  the  result 
of  the  contest.  It  was  one  of  the  most 
affecting  events  in  the  life  of  Dr.  Brooks. 
He  was  profoundly  moved.  In  those  close 
moments  where  a  friend  is  nearer  than  a 
brother,  the  ties  of  a  new  relation  be- 
tween him  and  the  diocese  of  Massachu- 
setts were  cemented  in  a  fresh  conception 
of  his  largeness  of  heart  and  sterling  com- 
mon-sense. 

Then  followed  a  long  period  of  wait- 
ing, while  the  different  dioceses  were 
passing  upon  his  credentials.  The  action 
of  Massachusetts  was  not  accepted  with- 
out challenge.  An  attempt  was  made  to 
defeat  and  prevent  his  confirmation,  and  so 
persistent  were  the  attacks  upon  his  ecclesi- 
astical position  and  supposed  beliefs,  that 
all  that  he  could  do  was  to  remain  quiet  and 
stand  upon  his  integrity  as  a  man.  When 
Father  Grafton  had  been  elected  the 
bishop  of  Fond  du  Lac  a  similar  contest 
arose  during  his  confirmation  by  the 
Standing  Committees.  The  Standing 
Committee  of  Massachusetts  was  equal 
to  the  occasion,  and  sent  out  a  cir- 
cular letter  affirming  that  Father  Graf- 
ton was  not  too  extreme  a  man  for 
the  Episcopate.  Dr.  Brooks  was  one 
of  the  members  of  the  Standing  Com- 
mittee.    In  addition  to  signing  this  cir- 


cular letter,  he  sent  to  the  Rev.  Dr.  Per- 
kins, President  of  the  Standing  Com- 
mittee of  Kentucky,  the  following  letter  : 
"  My  dear  Dr.  Perkins  :  —  If  we  reject  ex- 
treme men  from  the  Episcopate,  we  shall  make 
the  Episcopate  narrower  than  it  is. 
"  Faithfully, 

"  Phillips  Brooks." 

That  appeal  had  the  desired  effect, 
and  Father  Grafton  was  admitted  into 
the  House  of  Bishops.  But  no  such 
magnanimity  was  shown  toward  Dr. 
Brooks,  among  many  of  the  Standing 
Committees  or  among  a  large  number 
of  the  bishops,  although  a  bare  ma- 
jority in  each  case  was  finally  obtained 
in  his  favor.  He  was  consecrated  in 
Trinity  Church  by  Bishop  Williams,  as- 
sisted by  Bishops  Clark,  Doane,  Little- 
john,  and  Howe,  on  the  14th  of  October, 
and  the  next  Sunday  administered  the 
rite  of  confirmation  to  the  smallest 
parish  church  in  his  diocese.  He  has 
entered  upon  his  Episcopate  with  the  un- 
doubted love  and  loyalty  of  every  clergy- 
man in  this  diocese,  no  matter  what  may 
be  his  ecclesiastical  or  doctrinal  opin- 
ions ;  and  it  is  felt  that  he  has  before  him 
the  possibility  of  realizing  to  the  Ameri- 
can people  perhaps  a  higher  and  more 
complete  conception  of  what  the  Epis- 
copal office  may  stand  for  than  has  as  yet 
been  illustrated  in  this  country.  From 
the  pulpit  of  Trinity  Church  his  preaching 
power  has  been  extended  to  almost  daily 
addresses  or  sermons  in  all  parts  of  his 
diocese,  and  he  has  grappled  with  his 
work  in  "  the  spirit  and  power  of  Elias," 
the  keynote  being  at  once  spiritual  and 
practical.  An  Albany  clergyman  wrote  to 
a  friend  in  the  Massachusetts  diocese, 
before  the  Convention  met  that  elected 
Dr.  Brooks  to  the  Episcopate,  concerning 
the  effect  that  the  choice  of  Dr.  Brooks 
might  have  upon  the  Church  at  large, 
and  it  seems  as  if  his  words  were  pro- 
phetic : 

"  It  would  give  a  new  and  significant  start  to 
our  Church  progress,  not  only  there,  but  all  through 
the  Church,  to  have  his  manly,  brotherly  idea  of    \ 
wholesome,     everyday     Christianity     proclaimed 
from  a  bishop's  chair  —  a  living,  towering  cathe-    j 
dral,  bodily,  mentally,  spiritually.'' 

This  is  what  the  outlook  is  for  the 
great  work  that  has  been  placed  in  his 
hands. 


THE  MASTER  OF  RAVEN'S-WOE. 

By  Arthur  L.  Salmon. 

THE  wail  of  a  woman's  voice, 
And  the  cry  of  a  new-born  child  !  — 
The  snowy  drifts  were  eddying  far, 
The  night  was  bitter  and  wild ; 
And  ever  above  the  wind  there  came, 

And  over  the  snowdrifts  piled, 
The  wail  of  a  weary  woman's  voice, 
The  cry  of  a  little  child. 

In  his  large  arm-chair  the  Master  sat 

And  cowered  above  the  flame  ; 
For  he  heard  the  wail  of  that  weary  voice, 

And  he  knew  that  it  called  his  name. 
And  it  smote  his  heart  with  a  deadly  chill 

Though  the  fire  was  blazing  high, 
Though  the  curtains  close  were  shutting  out 

The  strife  of  the  troubled  sky. 

In  his  large  arm-chair  he  sat,  and  gazed 

On  the  fire  with  reddened  eyes ; 
And  ever  along  the  wind  there  came 

Those  strange,  unearthly  cries. 
And  he  shouted,  "  Keep  the  woman  out  — 

Let  her  not  come  in,  I  say  !  —  " 
While  the  servants  shuddering  in  the  hall 

Were  like  enough  to  obey. 

By  God,"  he  muttered,  "am  I  a  babe 

To  be  scared  by  a  coward's  fear? 
'Tis  a  roughish  night,  'tis  a  dreary  wind, 

Yet  the  dead  cannot  come  here." 
But  ever  above  the  storm  there  came, 

And  over  the  snowdrifts  piled, 
The  wail  of  a  weary  woman's  voice, 

The  cry  of  a  little  child. 

Let  her  not  come  in  !  "  he  shouted  again, 

While  the  women  shrieked  with  fear, 
For  that  dismal  cry  on  the  driving  gust 

Seemed  coming  terribly  near ; 
And  he  drew  his  chair  more  close  to  the  blaze, 

And  cursed  the  wind  as  it  blew, 
But  the  wind  laughed  loud  in  the  creaking  panes 

At  the  secrets  that  it  knew. 

Nearer  and  nearer  the  crying  came 

Till  it  seemed  at  the  very  door ; 
And  the  Master  quailed  as  he  heard  the  voice, 

And  cursed  and  muttered  the  more. 
Then  a  bitter  gust  of  the  howling  wind 

Along  the  corridor  passed, 
And  the  door  was  suddenly  driven  wide 

With  a  blow  of  the  icy  blast. 


580  PURIFICATION. 

From  his  huge  armchair  the  Master  sprang 

With  the  cry  of  a  frighted  hound ; 
And  he  faced  to  the  door  where  the  woman  stood 

In  the  snowflakes  eddying  round. 
Her  face  was  pale  as  a  face  long  dead, 

A  ghastly  terrible  white,  — 
No  word  she  spake,  but  her  eyes  shone  forth 

With  a  strange  unearthly  light. 

None  other  saw  what  the  Master  saw, 

None  other  heard  what  he  heard ; 
None  other  knew  what  the  Master  knew 

In  the  shadows  chill  and  blurred. 
But  there  in  his  bitter  trial's  hour 

He  stood  with  madden'd  dread  — 
Alone  with  the  ghost  of  a  bygone  deed, 

Alone  with  the  risen  dead. 


PURIFICATION. 

By   George  Edgar  Montgomery. 

H,  human  nature  is  a  thing 

Too  often  bitter,  selfish,  dull ; 
Which  grovels  when  it  cannot  sting, 
And  scorns  the  wise  and  beautiful ; 


AH 


But  your  undarkened  soul  is  worth 

All  that  hands  strive  and  strain  to  hold  — 

The  precious  jewels  of  the  earth, 
The  hoarded  mines  of  potent  gold ; 

And  yours  is  such  a  gentle  heart 

That  fools  can  wound  it,  yet  so  deep 

That  few  may  sound  it  with  their  art, 

Though  they  may  force  you,  dear,  to  weep. 

Through  you  I  rise  above  the  lust 

Of  sin,  the  burning  shame  and  crime, 

Above  despoiling  years  that  thrust 
Desires  into  the  graves  of  time. 

Through  you  I  learn  what  life  may  be 
To  one  who  dreams  and  utters  truth 

In  love,  which  lifts  him  strong  and  free, 
And  showers  its  glory  on  his  youth. 


THINK  for  a  moment  of  the  strange 
mysteries  treasured  in  secret  by  us 
little  mice.  In  the  business  world 
we  listen  to  the  vast  money  projects,  whis- 
pered to  a  trusted  listener.  If  we  were  to 
give  a  column  or  two  of  our  knowledge  in 
the  daily  paper,  the  whole  financial  world 
would  be  shaken.  Many  of  the  social, 
the  moral,  and  the  political  celebrities 
that  now  glimmer  in  resplendent  light 
might  forever  be  banished  to  a  shadowy 
obscurity  by  the  knowledge  in  possession 
of  us  little  rodents. 

The  poverty  of  the  church  mouse  is 
proverbial ;  but  in  all  the  varied  realms 
of  micedom,  those  that  dwell  in  the 
atmosphere  of  the  artistic  Bohemian  are 
the  most  entitled  to  sympathy.  I  say 
this,  not  with  any  selfish  desire  for  unde- 
served compassion,  as  I  have  recently 
vacated  the  studio  of  Raphael  Smith,  of 
Boston,  and  taken  up  my  abode  in  a  de- 
serted church,  much  to  the  improvement 
of  my  wasted  physical  condition.  It  is 
not  in  the  spirit  of  retaliation  that  I  men- 
tion the  name  of  my  former  landlord,  for 
he,  poor  fellow,  did  the  best  he  could, 
and  when  there  was  anything  to  eat,  was 
never  over-anxious  to  sweep  up  the 
crumbs,  but  gave  us  rodents  a  chance  to 
clean  house  for  him. 

In  my  former  tenancy  I  learned  much 
that  the  ordinary  mouse  is  not  supposed 
to  know ;  for  instance,  that  to  paint  a 
picture  that  shall  combine  all  the  quali- 
i  ties  requisite  to  a  great  work  is  a  tremen- 
dous task,  one  that  calls  for  unremitting 
effort,   united   with   a   temperament   that 


sees  the  picturesque  and  feels  the  poetic 
aspect  of  all  about  him.  When  men  of 
mature  years,  after  a  life  of  energetic 
study,  feel  that  they  are  just  approaching 
the  standard  they  desire,  one  can  com- 
prehend, in  a  degree,  the  magnitude  of 
their  undertaking. 

These  bits  of  wisdom  I  have  deduced 
from  many  lengthy  conversations.  I 
have  also  concluded  that  tradition  has  it 
aright,  for  once,  that  poverty  seems  an 
attribute  of  the  profession,  though  it  does 
not  necessarily  follow  that  to  be  an  artist 
is  to  be  poor.  I  have  often  heard  refer- 
ence made  to  sleek,  well-fed  men,  who 
had  followed  this  profession  for  years, 
and  contrived  to  lay  by  a  considerable 
sum  for  a  "  rainy  day  "  ;  but  as  I  have 
never  been  intimate  with  this  class,  per- 
haps my  views  of  artists  are  somewhat 
colored  by  my  experience.  There  has 
been  frequent  mention  of  younger  men, 
who  are  in  receipt  of  liberal  incomes 
from  their  art  work.  But  the  number  of 
these  fortunate  ones  dwindles  into  in- 
significance, when  compared  with  the 
vast  throng  that  are  struggling  for  an  ex- 
istence. If  the  artist  paints  truthfully, 
as  he  sees,  and  what  he  most  deeply 
feels,  it  may  not  reach  the  popular  taste,  — 
and  this  means  financial  disaster  ;  on  the 
other  hand,  in  attempting  to  cater  to  the 
prevailing  fashion,  he  degrades  his  sacred 


582 


MICE  AT  EAVESDROPPING. 


r  what  yer  doin?     What  yer  doin?' 


art,  and  quite  likely  fails  to  please  any 
one,  if  he  has  not  first  satisfied  himself. 
He  is  thus  ever  at  the  mercy  of  the  fickle 
public  until,  as  is  the  case  with  a  very 
few  of  the  brightest  lights,  his  pictures 
become  a  permanent  fashion,  for  the  pos- 
session of  which  millionnaires  contend, 
as  it  is  for  the  name  and  not  the  merit 
that  the  average  purchaser  invests  his 
money. 

I  have  noticed  that  most  of  the  fa- 
vored ones  take  all  their  good  fortune 
with  a  complacency  that  implies  they 
feel  it  but  too  meagre  for  their  deserts. 
The  remorseless  way  in  which  fate- deals 
with  others  leads  them,  in  moments  of 
depression,  to  rail  at  the  public,  with  a 
strength  of  language  that  is  perhaps  bet- 
ter unrecorded  ;  while  others  seek  refuge 
for  their  troubled  minds  in  extreme  gay- 
ety,  and  among  their  intimates  speak 
with  much  droll  humor  of  their  misfor- 
tunes. Their  troubles  are  many  and  va- 
ried, as  the  experiences  of  Raphael 
Smith  may  serve  to  show  ;  his  experiences 
are  not  unlike  those  of  many  other  art- 
ists. 


After  study  abroad,  which  he  was  en- 
abled to  procure  by  means  of  a  slight 
legacy,  together  with  the  small  amount 
his  own  energies  had  enabled  him  to  set 
apart  for  the  purpose,  he  found,  on  his 
return  to  Boston,  with  a  very  small  bank 
account  and  great  hopes,  that  the  streets 
were  not  paved  with  golden  cobbles,  even 
for  a  favorite  of  Julian's  school.  Vainly 
did  he  look  for  purchasers  at  his  first  ex- 
hibition. The  much  dreamed  of  art 
"  boom  "  had  come  to  be  a  sickly  vision, 
of  which  poor  Raphael  had  nearly  lost 
sight.  That  spacious  studio  which  he 
had  at  first  found  scarcely  large  enough 
to  contain  his  swelling  hopes  had  now 
been  replaced  by  an  attic  chamber  in  a 
quarter  once  the  abode  of  aristocracy, 
but  where  business  now  held  sway,  — 
business  not  of  a  lively,  enterprising  na- 
ture, but  of  a  slow,  drizzling  character. 
Broken-down  lawyers,  real  estate  and  in- 
surance men,  and  seedy  professors  of 
various  sorts  here  looked  in  vain  for  pa- 
trons. When  Raphael  had  climbed  his 
four  dingy  flights,  it  was  his  custom  to 
throw  himself  into  the  nearest  chair,  light 
his  long-stemmed  pipe,  and  become  a 
diligent  disciple  of  Micawber.  That 
was  a  precious  chair  in  which  he  sat,  al- 
though the  cane-seat  had  yielded  to  the 


MICE  AT  EAVESDROPPING. 


583 


work  of  time ;  it  was  replaced  by  a  ma- 
hogany panel,  which  had  been  covered 
with  paint  at  an  exhibition  value  of  $300. 

Yes,  Raphael  Smith's  soundings  were 
near  the  depths  of  woe.  A  ten  cent 
breakfast,  no  lunch,  and  fifteen  cents  for 
dinner  made  not  an  unusual  day  with 
him,  and  even  this  meagre  allowance  was 
very  uncertain.  In  spite  of  the  most 
determined  attempts  at  respectability,  his 
wardrobe,  too,  was  sadly  in  need  of  re- 
inforcements. 

Realizing  that  in  his  gloomy  state  of 
mind,  the  result  of  a  continued  money 
drought,  it  would  be  impossible  to  pro- 
duce creditable  work,  Raphael  sought  re- 
freshment in  a  day's  sojourn  to  the  coun- 
try. The  warmth  and  beauty  of  color 
and  sunlight  revived  his  spirits  in  a 
measure.  Seating  himself  upon  the  trunk 
of  a  fallen  tree,  before  opening  his  color 
box,  he  thought  to  make  a  note  of  a  pas- 
sive old  bovine,  placidly  munching  her 
cud.  As  yet  she  had  scarcely  noticed 
him ;  but  when  his  pencil  had  drawn  a 
line  or  two  of  her  contour,  it  was  as 
though  an  electric  shock  passed  through 
her  frame  ;  immediately,  with  a  nervous 
toss  of  the  head  and  switch  of  the  tail, 
she  moved  away  with  that  indifferent  air 
that  seemed  to  Smith  a  rebuke  upon  the 
frivolous  pursuit  of  art.  But  when  he 
has  carefully  selected  his  subject  from  the 
landscape,  and  is  about  to  take  his  posi- 
tion, he  suddenly  becomes  conscious  of  a 
flank  movement,  and  some  distance  from 
his  first  location  he  collects  his  startled 
senses  and  shaken  frame,  in  season  to 
change  his  line  of  battle  and  confront  his 
opponent. 

"  Has  it  come  to  this,"  exclaims  Smith, 
as  he  faces  his  adversary,  "  that  even  the 
goats  would  trample  on  me  !  No,  mon- 
sieur Goat,  I  draw  the  line  of  retreat 
here.  For  the  first  time  in  years,"  he 
exclaims  as  he  swoops  down  the  enemy, 
"  a  tangible  obstacle  confronts  me ;  see 
how  I  can  deal  with  it  !  " 

The  fight  was  brief,  but  glorious  for 
Smith,  as  with  his  umbrella  rod  he  stormed 
and  took  his  original  position.  Mosqui- 
toes and  black  flies  were  numerous,  but 
he  worked  diligently,  in  spite  of  the  fact 
that  the  sunlight  was  coquettish  that  day. 
When  Raphael  had  chosen  the  effect  he 


desired,  the  clouds  obscured  the  sun 
where  he  would  have  had  it  shining,  and 
when  he  attempted  to  paint  the  depth  of 
landscape  in  shadow  the  light  burst  upon 
it  with  all  its  brilliancy.  As  he  realized 
that  his  study  was  a  failure,  there  came 
from  behind  in  rapid  succession  the 
queries  : 

"  Mister,  what  yer  doin'  ?  What  yer 
doin'  ?     Mister,  what  yer  doin'  ?  " 

Smith  recognized  the  voice  of  the  little 
girl  who,  earlier  in  the  day,  as  he  came 
along  the  road,  had  insisted  upon  know- 
ing what  he  peddled.  To  ask  what  he 
was  doing  was  not  flattering,  as  the  child 
was  looking  directly  at  his  canvas.  As 
the  reply  was  tardy,  the  child's  com- 
panion remarked  apologetically  :  "  Ther 
poor  thing  dun'no  what  he  is  er  doin'." 

Raphael  felt  this  to  be  all  too  true,  and 
returned  to  his  quarters,  cynically  declar- 
ing that  life  offers  nothing  but  a  pipe  to 
some  men,  and  dollars  and  cents  to 
others,  as  a  compensation  for  living. 

All  this,  and  much  more,  have  I  heard 


"  A   Precious  Chair." 

related,  while  quietly  waiting  for  the 
cover  of  night,  that  I  might  venture  on  a 
marauding  excursion. 

After  Raphael  had  lived  alone  for 
some  time,  and  found  much  trouble  in 
meeting  his  rent  bill,  he  took  unto  him- 


584 


MICE  AT  EAVESDROPPING. 


K-  -! 


"A  Strange   Expression   of  Distress  escaped   Hi 


self  a  wife ;  or  so  he  called  his  com- 
panion, who  had  theretofore  been  known 
as  Rembrandt  Jones.  Jones  was  supposed 
to  assist  in  satisfying  the  unreasonable 
agent,  who  insisted  upon  the  payment  of 
rent.  He  was  a  very  uncertain  relief, 
however,  as  he  had  but  taken  a  different 
road  to  arrive  at  the  same  position  as  my 
first  artist  acquaintance.  Coming  from 
the  western  part  of  the  state  when  quite 
a  youth,  he  entered  the  Art  Museum ;  but 
after  a  brief  course  of  instruction,  he 
found  the  necessity  of  gaining  a  liveli- 
hood pressing  hard  upon  him.  "  Illus- 
trating "  was  the  most  to  his  taste,  as  a 
means  of  earning  a  dollar ;  so  with  char- 
acteristic energy  he  sought  the  various 
publishers  and  engravers  who  had  a  de- 
mand for  this  kind  of  work.  Preparing 
a  number  of  drawings,  as  samples  of  his 
ability,  he  started  in  pursuit  of  his  for- 
tunes. A  very  little  art  editor,  with 
great  dignity  and  vast  ignorance,  took 
occasion    to    display    his    knowledge    of 


terms,  in  commenting  upon  the  drawings. 
Mr.  Busybee,  with  a  sweeping  glance, 
commended  them  all  as  works  of  art,  but 
feared  they  would  not  print  well. 

A  weary  tramp  it  was  for  Rembrandt, 
from  one  to  another,  each  successive  man 
praising  what  the  former  one  had  de- 
nounced, and  vice  versa.  As  he  climbed 
the  many  long  flights  to  the  office  of 
Toodles,  Son  &  Brother,  engravers,  his 
heart  was  sinking  within  him ;  but  he 
again  made  application.  There  were  two 
gentlemen,  growing  gray  in  service,  but 
strangely  they  seemed  not  to  have  gained 
hardness  with  their  years,  for  they  spoke 
words  of  encouragement  that  were  free 
from  patronage,  and  they  sent  poor  Jones 
forth  to  encounter  the  less  sympathetic, 
with  a  lasting  memory  of  their  kind  re- 
ception. Another  weary  round  of  offices, 
and  that  of  Pumpelly  is  reached.  With 
one  glance  at  Jones's  work,  this  man, 
with  his  Jewish  propensities,  sees  his 
opportunity  to  gain  a  dollar.     For    this 


MICE  AT  EAVESDROPPING. 


585 


reason,  and  none  other,  could  he  be 
courteous.  Here,  at  last,  Rembrandt 
gets  a  commission;  his  drawing  is  to 
appear  in  an  elaborate  holiday  book, 
with  prominent  artists.  His  hopes  are  at 
their  zenith.  He  feels  dazed  as  he  pur- 
sues his  way  to  his  dreary  lodgings ;  the 
lodgings  never  looked  so  bright  before. 
By  day  he  works,  and  at  night  his  dreanu 
are  haunted  with  his  labors.  After  the 
most  unremitting  endeavor,  his  picture  is 
complete.  After  another  weary  round  of 
offices  to  show  this  new  example  of 
ability,  he  delivers  it  to  the  engraver, 
and  receives  the  liberal  compensation  of 
seven  dollars  and  a  half;  he  learned  from 
the  publishers  afterwards  that  they  paid 
the  engraver  forty  dollars  for  the  drawing. 

There  are  times  when  Jones  is  prosper- 
ous. He  has  really  existed  for  several 
years  with  no  other  resource  than  art. 
He  tries  to  fancy  that  perhaps  the  dark 
days  have  flown  —  when  again  comes  a 
season  of  drought.  The  wolf  is  not  only 
at  the  door,  but  seems  gnawing  at  his 
vitals ;  keen  hunger  is  upon  him,  and  in 
sore  distress  he  turns  humorist.  With 
pangs  of  hunger  urging  him,  he  grinds 
out  a  pb  .  bit  of  humor  to  amuse  the 
public  in  their  idl^  hours,  or  to  refresh 
them  when  the  duties  of  the  day  are 
ended.  To  his  amazement,  he  finds  a 
ready  market  for  this  funny  drawing,  and 
receives  a  commission  for  six  more,  to  be 
executed  as  soon  as  possible.  With  a  por- 
tion of  the  proceeds  of  the  first  sale,  he 
enjoys  what  is  known  to  his  fellows  in  his 
guild  as  a  "royal  fill-up."  His  spirits  are 
restored  and  the  walls  ring  with  laughter. 

"  Only  to  think  of  it !  "  he  exclaims,  — 
"I,  whom  the  boys  call  'Old  Solemnity,' — 
I  am  funny  —  get  paid  for  being  funny  !  " 

The  merriment  of  his  voice  startles 
him  and  recalls  the  grave  fact  that  he  has 
six  humorous  drawings  to  make.  Behold, 
now,  the  funny  man ;  like  a  hopeless 
idiot  he  glares  into  open  space,  groping 
for  an  idea.  Some  of  the  boys  are  coming 
gayly  up  the  stairs  while  he  mutters, 
"  Saxe  was  right, 

"  '  Always  wear  a  sober  phiz, 
Be  stupid  if  you  can, 
'Tis  such  a  very  serious  thing, 
To  be  a  funny  man.'  " 

After  a  brief  silence,  a  strange  expres- 


sion of  distress  escapes  him,  which  the 
boys  hasten  to  investigate.  They  find 
him  a  startling  figure  ;  his  hair  erect,  face 
distorted,  eyes  glaring  into  space,  while 
his  fingers  clutch  at  the  surface  of  the 
table,  and  from  his  twisted  coat  one  might 
imagine  that  some  desperate  struggle  had 
been  going  on. 

"What's  the  trouble,  Rembrandt?" 
they  cried. 

"  Trouble  ?  Trouble  ?  Trouble  enough  I 
I  have  six  funny  drawings  to  make  !  " 

They  seized  him,  carried  him  to  the 
couch,  took  the  decorative  fan  from  the 
wall  to  cool  his  heated  brow,  felt  his 
pulse,  and  bathed  his  temples. 

Smith  was  despairing  of  ever  making 
another  sale  ;  and  Jones's  vein  of  humor 
proved  not  to  issue  from  a  mine,  for  after 
his  first  flattering  reception  his  witticisms 
seemed  a  drug  in  the  market.  They 
were  sent  hither  and  yon,  far  and  wide,, 
but  to  return  with  little  printed  slips,  ex- 
pressing thanks  for  the  contribution  and 
regrets  that  they  were  not  available. 
And  so  their  little  funds  dwindled  away 
until  nothing  was  left  them.  A  summons 
from  the  collector  threatened  them  with 
proceedings  at  law  if  their  poll  taxes 
were  not  paid.  Their  gas  was  turned  off 
until  arrears  were  settled.  A  substantial 
meal  was  known  to  them  only  in  memory. 

Matters  looked  serious.  Smith  was 
engaged  in  grafting  a  buttonhole,  that 
had  survived  the  garment  which  it  origi- 
nally served,  into  a  shirt  that  was  weak 
at  this  point.  He  was  boldly  asserting 
that  this  performance  was  something 
"  new  under  the  sun."  While  admitting 
that  the  art  of  grafting  was  known  in 
Biblical  times,  he  claimed  that  his  appli- 
cation of  the  principle  was  entirely  origi- 
nal. Rembrandt  quietly  poked  the  fire 
with  the  bayonet  of  an  old  musket  that 
Cornwallis  had  surrendered  at  Yorktown. 
It  was  a  relic  that  a  pawnbroker  did  not 
appreciate,  so  Jones  still  held  possession ; 
he  muttered,  as  he  stirred  the  coals,  that 
it  was  a  misfortune  that  this  bayonet  had 
not  found  the  vitals  of  all  his  ancestors, 
and  thus  rescued  him  from  Art.  His 
gloomy  soliloquy  did  not  cheer  Raphael ; 
the  latter  turned  abruptly,  remarking  that 
the  sun  was  getting  low,  and  that  he  had 
eaten  nothing  but  two  crackers  that  day. 


o86 


MICE  AT  EAVESDROPPING. 


"What  shall  we  do?"  he  said,  facing 
his  confrhre.  It  was  a  direct  appeal  and 
a  recognition  of  Rembrandt's  readiness 
in  emergencies.  It  was  a  startling  prob- 
lem to  spring  upon  a  fellow-sufferer,  but 
Rembrandt  rose  to  the  occasion 

"  Let's  sweep  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  I've 
been  with  you  a  month  now,  and  in  that 
time  we  hyre  had  money  in  our  pockets, 
which  ma1  nave  shed  a  dime  now  and 
then  when  the  trousers  were  upside  down 
for  the  night.  I  once  found  fifty-three 
cents  under  my  couch  in  this  way,"  he 
continued,  "  and  so  fell  into  the  habit  of 
sweeping  every  fortnight,  —  not  in  the 
usual  way,  but  behind  and  under  the  fur- 
niture." His  countenance  was  illumined 
as  he  turned  to  Raphael,  who  stood  gaz- 
ing dejectedly  into  the  dying  coals. 
"Come,"  he  added,  "gather  up  the  pa- 
pers, and  I'll  wield  the  broom.  Out  with 
the  couch  !  Look,  there,  Smith,  hip,  hi, 
hurrah  !  Twenty-five,  ten  is  thirty-five, 
and  five  is  forty  cents  !  "  He  dropped 
the  broom  where  he  stood,  smiling  with 
satisfaction.  I  was  glad  that  he  did,  for 
it  was  coming  dangerously  near  the  hole 
from  which  I  was  peeping.  "  We'll  sweep 
some  other  time ;  let's  EAT  now,"  he 
said. 

When  the  substance  that  would  give 
the  most  nourishment,  for  the  money, 
had  been  selected  and  disposed  of,  Jones 
was  so  sanguine  that  he  attempted  to 
draw  a  practical  lesson  from  their  late 
experience,  suggesting  that  wealth  was 
lying  within  reach,  and  if  they  but  looked 
in  the  right  place  they  would  doubtless 
find  it.  Smith  assented  to  everything  of 
a  hopeful  character,  admitting  that  his 
great  toe  already  felt  a  little  "  gouty  "  in 
anticipation  of  the  luxuries  to  follow. 

One  day,  when  this  gloomy  state  of 
affairs  had  been  continued  for  some  time, 
Raphael  was  seen  by  a  number  of  his 
colleagues  coming  gayly  along  the  street, 
dressed  in  the  height  of  fashion,  oblivious 
to  all  around  him.  His  feet,  seemed 
scarcely  to  touch  the  ground,  so  buoyant 
were  his  spirits.  His  radiant  smile  was 
something  not  to  be  forgotten.  His 
friends  sprang  to  his  side,  calling  on  him 
to  halt  and  explain  himself. 

"Boys,"  he  exclaimed,  "I  have  had 
an    adventure.      Come    to    the    celestial 


grandeur 


a  tale  unfold 
has  no 


abode  with  me,  and  I  will 
that   for    mystery  and 
equal." 

"Boys,"  he  began,  when  his  lofty 
apartments  were  reached,  "I  —  I  have 
sold  a  picture  !  Yes,  I  was  invited  out  — 
took  tea  —  slept  in  a  real  bed  —  had 
breakfast  —  a  real  breakfast ;  don't  drop 
your  jaws  in  that  fashion  ;  a  repast  it  was, 
fit  for  the  gods.  Believe  me,  gentlemen, 
at  that  moment  of  greatest  enjoyment, 
when  crisp  rolls  and  tenderloin  were  fast 
disappearing,  I  thought  of  you,  and  was 
urged  on.  by  philanthropic  motives.  I 
ate,  not  for  self  alone,  but  put  in  two 
days'  rations  for  every  hungry  artist  in 
New  England,  and  washed  it  down  with 
rivers  of  the  richest  coffee.  And  that 
bed  !  —  not  of  the  Bohemian  sort,  pre- 
pared only  when  necessary  for  use,  upon 
a  couch,  or  drawn  from  behind  portieres 
out  of  some  mysterious  corner,  as  though 
one  were  ashamed  that  he  ever  gave  way 
to  sleep ;  but  standing  upon  all  four  legs, 
a  genuine,  old-fashioned  terra  firma  bed, 
occupying  a  liberal  share  of  the  room,  as 
if  exulting  in  itself  and  extending  to  a 
fellow  a  cordial  welcome  to  its  spacious 
surface.  For  years,  when  a  boy,  I  slept 
in  just  such  a  nest,  but  never  realized 
the  real  comfort  of  the  luxury.  I  was 
determined  to  enjoy  that  night's  rest ;  so, 
by  tremendous  effort,  I  remained  awake 
all  night,  just  to  appreciate  that  bed.  I 
used  to  think  that  art  was  all  there  was 
worth  living  for,"  he  continued;  "but 
the  pleasure  of  turning  over  in  the  night, 
without  getting  up  to  make  your  bed  as 
a  penalty,  quite  surpasses  it  for  pure  joy  !" 

This  event  in  the  life  of  Raphael 
Smith  was  like  the  oasis  to  the  desert ; 
so  vast,  however,  were  the  arid  tracts 
between  the  posts  of  refreshment  that  it 
seemed  oftentimes  that  he  had  seen  the 
last  oasis  he  would  ever  know. 

For  an  intimate  knowledge  of  the  in- 
ner workings  of  the  human  mind,  we 
rodents  are  the  best  authority.  There  is 
something  delightful  in  the  utter  lack  of 
reserve  and  deception  between  two  inti- 
mates when  closeted  together.  Still  bet- 
ter is  the  soliloquy  of  one,  when  his  com- 
panion has  departed.  This  little  literary 
attempt  of  mine  recalls  to  mind  the  many 
noble   efforts   there   are   at    composition, 


MICE  AT  EAVESDROPPING. 


587 


which  never  reach  the  public.  This  is 
especially  true  of  verse.  There  are  many 
serious-minded,  practical-looking  indi- 
viduals, moving  about  in  the  world,  that 
one  would  never  suspect  of  it,  who  in 
secret  have  attempted  the  creation  of 
poetry.  As  I  take  special  delight  in  the 
emotional  side  of  human  nature,  these 
little  effusions  afford  me  a  vast  amount 
of  pleasure.  I  did  not  intend  to  men- 
tion it  when  I  commenced  this  article, 
but  since  any  human  career  is  flavorless 
that  entirely  escapes  the  sentimental,  I 
am  going  to  tell  that  Raphael  Smith  wrote 
verse  in  the  solitude  of  his  studio,  which 
he  read  with  much  effect  —  on  the  echo- 
ing walls  and  my  sensitive  nature.  I  do 
not  recall  the  poem  in  full,  but  there 
was  one  line  that  ran, 

"  Oh  !  that  golden  forest,  her  hair  !  " 

From  this  one  would  infer  that  Smith 
was  sensitive  to  feminine  charms,  —  which 
was  really  the  case.  Poor  fellow  !  —  he 
actually  added  to  his  other  sorrows  by 
falling  in  love. 

The  verses  came  at  a  very  unfortunate 
moment  for  their  immortality.  When 
they  were  completed,  Raphael  looked  in 
vain  for  a  postage  stamp,  in  order  that 
he  might  send  the  poem  to  the  object  of 
his  affections,  to  whom  it  was  addressed. 
But  there  was  a  great  hole  in  the  back 
of  George  Washington's  head.  I  was 
dreadfully  hungry  the  previous  night,  and 
tried  to  nibble  a  little  from  the  other  side 
of  the  stamp  to  gratify  my  palate  ;  but 
the  stamp  was  ruined  —  and  it  was  the 
only  one  he  possessed.  This  was  one  of 
those  occasions  when  he  had  nothing  but 


an  old-fashioned  cent  which  he  carried 
for  luck ;  so  in  high  rage  he  tore  that 
piece  of  paper,  burning  with  tenderness, 
into  shreds,  and  threw  it  on  the  floor. 
Our  nest  was  in  the  wall  near  the  fire- 
place, but  as  Smith's  last  fire  was  fed  by 
but  one  of  his  chairs,  it  was  rather  a 
cold  quarter ;  so  I  lined  our  nest  with 
these  bits  of  paper,  and  we  toasted  our 
toes  through  that  long,  cold  winter  on 
the  warmth  of  his  tender  sentiment.  I 
inferred  from  Smith's  mutterings  in  his 
sleep  that  he  did  not  win  his  love. 

Jones  knew  nothing  of  Smith's  experi- 
ence with  the  muse,  and  he  ventured  to 
try  his  hand ;  and  though  his  verses  as 
compared  with  Smith's  were  cold,  he  won 
his  lady  love,  for  we  had  not  fed  upon 
his  postage  stamps.  The  charitable  lady 
forgave  his  unequal  measures,  and  loved 
him  for  the  sentiments  of  his  heart. 

The  last  I  heard  of  Jones  was  from  a 
note  addressed  ?o  Smith,  which  the  latter 
read  aloud,  and  whistled.  It  was  a  pleas- 
ant invitation  for  Smith  to  dine  at  No.  — 
Commonwealth  Avenue,  which  Jones  now 
called  his  home,  thanks  to  the  timely 
verses  that  won  the  wealthy  wife. 

I  have  quite  lost  track  of  my  old  friend 
Smith  since  I  vacated  his  quarters  for  my 
present  religious  abode.  At  last  ac- 
counts he  had  made  connections  with 
some  prominent  picture  dealers,  and  had 
high  hopes  of  great  returns.  When  I 
left  his  place,  his  visions  had  not  mate- 
rialized, but  if  he  now  revels  in  the  real- 
ization of  his  dreams,  I  think  I  will  look 
him  up ;  a  studio  is  a  grand  place  for 
mice  when  money  is  plenty. 


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THE  CITY  OF  ST.  LOUIS. 


By  Professor  C.  M.    Woodward. 


T.  LOUIS,  OR  PAIN 
COURT.  This  village  is 
one  league  and  a  half 
above  Kaoquias,  on  the 
west  sidi  of  the  Missis- 
sippi, being  the  present 
headquarters  of  the 
French  in  these  parts. 
It  was  first  established 
in  the  year  1764,  by  a 
company  of  merchants, 
to  whom  Mons.  d'  Abbadie  had  given  an 
exclusive  grant  for  the  commerce  with  the  In- 
dian nations  on  the  river  Missoury;  and  for 
the  security  and  encouragement  of  this  set- 
tlement, the  staff  of  French  officers  and  the 
commissary  were  ordered  to  remove  there, 
upon  the  rendering  of  Fort  Chartres  to  the 
English;  and  great  encouragement  was  given 
to  the  inhabitants  to  remove  with  them,  most 
of  whom  did.  The  company  had  built  a  large 
house,  and  stores  here,  and  there  are  about  forty 
private  houses,  and  as  many  families.  No  fort  or 
barracks  are  yet  built.  The  French  garrison 
consists  of  a  captain  commandant,  two  lieuten- 
ants, one  serjeant,  one  corporal,  and  twenty 
men." 

Behold  entire  the  first  sketch  of  St. 
Louis  ever  published.  It  was  written  by 
Captain  Philip  Pittman,  an  English 
officer  sent  out  to  report  upon  the 
European  settlement  on  the  Mississippi 
River,  soon  after  the  close  of  the  French 
and  Indian  War.  He  visited  St.  Louis  in 
1768,  when  it  was  four  years  old.  Fort 
Chartres  was  about  twenty-five  miles 
south  of  St.  Louis  on  the  east  bank.  The 
French  officer  who  had  surrendered  the 
fort  to  the  English  in  accordance  with 
the  treaty  of  Paris  (1763)  was  Captain 
Louis  St.  Ange.  Pierre  Laclede  Liquest, 
the  merchant  from  New  Orleans,  had 
shrewdly  selected  the  first  high  ground 
south  of  the  Missouri  as  the  site  of  his 
post  and  had  landed  there  with  some 
thirty  Frenchmen,  February  14,  1764. 
The  gently  sloping  bank  was  well  suited 
to  the  small  village,  which  was  laid  out  in 
French  style  with  streets  from  thirty  to 
forty  feet  wide.  The  first  buildings  were 
mere  cabins,  built  of  upright  logs  stand- 
ing several  feet  in  the  ground.  The 
rafters,  which  projected  several  feet  be- 
yond the  walls,  were  covered  with  rough- 


hewn  shingles  secured  by  pegs.  The 
business  of  the  adventurers  was  trading 
and  hunting,  and  the  prosaic  occupation 
of  tilling  the  soil  had  no  attractions ;  as 
a  consequence,  St.  Louis  was  not  in- 
frequently short  of  bread,  a  circumstance 
which  led  to  the  nickname  "Pain  Court," 
early  applied  by  the  settlements  on  the 
south. 

The  cession  to  England  of  all  the 
French  territory  east  of  the  Mississippi 
drove  nearly  all  the  French  families  in 
what  is  now  southern  Illinois  across  the 
river  to  the  new  village  of  St.  Louis,  giv- 
ing it  unexpected  numbers  and  promi- 
nence. With  Laclede  came  from  New 
Orleans  Mrs.  Chouteau  and  several  sons, 
a  family  which  has  held  and  still  holds 
high  rank  in  St.  Louis.  The  people  who 
fled  from  British  rule  were  strongly  French. 
Hence  the  great  array  of  French  names 
and  relics  in  St.  Louis. 

Under  the  stress  of  circumstances 
which  forced  Louis  XV.  to  yield  Canada 
and  the  east  bank  to  England,  France 
had  at  the  same  time  by  a  secret  treaty 
ceded  the  west  bank  to  Spain.  This  was 
not  known  in  St.  Louis  till  about  January 
1,  1765.  Its  announcement  was  re- 
ceived with  surprise,  indignation  and 
shame.  It  appeared  that  Laclede  had 
really  settled  on  Spanish  territory,  and 
that  those  who  had  fled  from  British  rule 
had  came  under  the  Spanish  yoke. 
This  transfer  stopped  the  growth  of  St. 
Louis.  During  nearly  forty  years  of 
Spanish  dominion,  the  little  village  was 
almost  stationary.  However,  the  Span- 
iards were  slow  in  taking  possession,  and 
it  was  not  till  1770  that  Spanish  authority 
was  established. 

From  1770  till  1804,  the  history  of  St. 
Louis  was  most  uneventful.  The  un- 
American  communities  west  of  the 
Mississippi  knew  little  and  cared  less 
about  what  was  transpiring  beyond  the 
Alleghanies  between  1775  and  1783; 
they  had  no  sympathy  with  either  party, 
and  only  wished  to  be  left  free  to  trade 


590 


THE   CITY  OF  ST.  LOUIS. 


The  Mercantile  Club  Building,  St.  Louis. 

ISAAC    S.    TAYLOR,  ARCHITECT. 


with  the  Indians  in  peace.  In  1780  were  killed  in  the  fields  west  of  the 
there  was  an  Indian  scare,  by  bands  from  palisade,  but  no  attack  was  made  on  the 
the  north,  and  two  or  three  of  the  people     town.     The  Illinois  Indians  to  whom  the 


THE   CITY  OF  ST.  LOUIS. 


591 


territory  of  St.  Louis  had  belonged,  were 
always  friendly  and  a  real  protection. 

The  comparative  insignificance  of 
early  St.  Louis  is  shown  by  the  fact  that 
as  late  as  1799  a  careful  census  showed  a 
white  population  of  only  601,  with  56 
freed  men,  and  268   slaves  —  925  in  all. 

In  1804,  Louisiana,  Upper  and  Lower, 
was  retroceded  to  France,  and  immedi- 
ately sold  by  Napoleon  to  the  United 
States.  St.  Louis  played  no  part  in  this 
momentous  change,  except  to  submit,  and 
the  history  of  the  event  is  too  well  known 
to  justify  insertion  here.  It  is  said  that 
when  Captain  Stoddard  raised  the  Stars 
and  Stripes  over  the  old  Spanish  quarters 
near  where  the  Southern  Hotel  now 
stands,  on  the  9th  of  March,  1804,  some 
of  the  people  wept  at  the  thought  of 
coming  at  last  under  the  jurisdiction  of  a 
people  who  spoke  another  tongue,  who 
were  mainly  Protestants,  and  who  were 
descended  from  the  English.  At  that 
date  there  were  but  two  American  fami- 
lies in  St.  Louis. 

The  purchase  of  Louisiana  was  the 
signal  for  immigration  from  the  States. 
The  English-speaking  people  soon  out- 
numbered the  French.  In  1808,  the 
Missouri  Gazette  (now  the  St.  Louis 
Republic)  was  started.  In  18 13,  the  first 
brick  dwelling-house  was  built  in  the 
city.  The  mansion  house  of  Auguste 
Chouteau,  built  of  hewn  stone,  was  for 
many  years  the  most  imposing  structure 
in  the  city.  In  181 7,  the  steam-boat 
General  Pike  made  its  appearance,  com- 
ing slowly  up  the  Mississippi.  It  created 
immense  excitement ;  the  Indians  were 
fairly  scared.  The  boat  was  much  like 
the  Clermont,  Fulton's  first  steamboat  at 
New  York.  It  could  with  extreme  diffi- 
culty breast  the  current  of  the  swift  river. 
From  that  date,  steamboats  multiplied 
rapidly.  In  a  few  years,  as  the  city  grew, 
steamboats  lined  the  levee  continually. 
In  the  year  1844,  there  were  2105  steam- 
boat arrivals  at  St.  Louis.  Steamboat 
explosions  were  frequent  in  early  days, 
several  being  reported  each  year.  There 
was  no  explosion  on  any  of  the  western 
waters  during  the  year  1890. 

In  1820,  Missouri  became  a  state,  and 
by  a  deliberate  choice  of  the  people,  in 
which  St.  Louis  took  the  lead,  it  clung  to 


negro  slavery,  an  institution  which  had 
been  permitted  by  the  French  and  regu- 
larly fostered  by  Spain.  Although  the 
last  trace  of  slavery  has  disappeared,  it 
cannot  be  denied  that  its  blight  retarded 
the  growth  and  development  of  the  city 
and  state  for  at  least  a  generation.  Mis- 
souri is  not  a  cotton-producing  state ; 
slave  labor  was  employed  in  raising  corn, 
potatoes,  horses,  mules,  and  hogs.  St. 
Louis  is  now  the  greatest  mule  market  in 
the  world. 

It  was  not  till  1831  that  the  city  ex- 
hibited any  marked  tendency  towards  its 
future  career.  Its  population  was  then 
six  thousand.  During  the  years  of  183 1-5, 
a  great  many  Germans  came  to  St.  Louis. 
The  failure  of  the  revolutionary  schemes 
at  home  made  it  prudent  for  many  of  the 
young  men  to  flee  their  fatherland.  These 
refugees  were  well  educated  and  energetic, 
and  they  made  valuable  citizens.  One 
of  them,  William  Palm,  established  a 
machine-shop  and  later  built  the  first 
locomotive  constructed  west  of  the  Mis- 
sissippi. They  were  led  to  St.  Louis  by 
a  book,  published  in  Germany,  giving  a 
glowing  account  of  Missouri,  by  an  en- 
thusiastic German  who  had  come  here  by 
chance  a  few  years  before.  Again  after 
1849,  Germans  came  in  crowds  for  an 
equally  good  reason.  Many  of  our  best 
foreign-born  citizens  came  at  that  time. 

The  spot  just  across  the  Mississippi 
from  St.  Louis,  known  by  the  unsavory 
name  of  "Bloody  Island,"  was  already  a 
notorious  duelling-ground.  There,  in 
181 7,  Thomas  H.  Benton  had  killed  a 
popular  young  man,  a  member  of  the 
Lucas  family.  So  long  as  the  "  code " 
was  in  full  force,  duels  on  Bloody  Island 
were  not  infrequent.  In  1831,  Major 
Thomas  Biddle  of  the  Army,  and  Spencer 
Pettis,  Congressman-elect,  fought  at  a  dis- 
tance of  five  feet.  When  they  wheeled 
and  faced  each  other  at  the  word,  their 
pistols  overlapped.  Both  were  killed. 
Truly  the  battle-ground  was  fitly  named. 
I  remember  seeing  in  1867,  in  the  corner 
of  a  small  churchyard  at  Tenth  and  Bid- 
die  Streets,  a  monumental  stone  with  this 
inscription  :  "  Pray  for  the  souls  of  Thomas 
and  Ann  Biddle."  I  am  told  that  the 
bodies  have  since  been  removed. 

The  Board  of  Public  Schools  was  or- 


592 


THE   CITY  OF  ST.  LOUIS 


ganized  in  1833,  and  the  first  public 
school  was  opened  in  1838,  David  H. 
Armstrong  (afterward  United  States  sena- 
tor, and  still  living)  being  the  teacher. 
The  school  was  not  free,  though  the 
annual  fee  was  only  ten  dollars.  In  1848, 
the  school  board  sent  Edward  Wyman  to 
Massachusetts  to  procure  competent  teach- 
ers. He  brought  back  twelve  women  and 
four  men,  who  came  by  steamboat  via 
the  Ohio  River.  The  first  school  report 
was  published  in  1854,  by  Superintendent 
John  H.  Tice,  who  afterwards  became 
somewhat  famous  by  his  speculations  in 
meteorology  and  his  theory  of  the  plane- 
tary equinoxes.  In  1861,  the  state's 
school  money  was  used  to  arm  the  state 
against  the  United  States  government, 
and  the  schools  were  shortened  in  con- 
sequence. In  1863,  all  the  public  schools 
of  the  city  were  made  permanently  free. 
William  T.  Harris  was  elected  Superin- 
tendent in  187 1. 

In  1847,  eighty-three  years  after  the 
founding  of  the  city,  a  grand  anniversary 
celebration  was  held.     It  was  remarkable 

for  two  things  :   the  presence  as  president 

of    the    day    of    Pierre    Chouteau,    then 

eighty-nine   years   of  age,  the   only   sur- 
vivor from  the  original  party  of  Laclede  ; 

secondly,  a    historical    oration    by    Hon. 

William 

Primm,  in 

which    he 

gave    with 

fulness  the 

early    his-  ^SSgKS^^S 

t  o  r y     of 

what  was  at  last  the  thriving  city 

of  St.   Louis.     Nearly  at  the  head 

of  the  long  procession    were    two 

interesting  features  :   four  mounted 

Indians  in  full  costume,  as  a  sort 

of    bodyguard    of    the     venerable 

president,  and  a  twenty-foot  model  of  the  first  steamboat, 

General  Pike,  already  a  great  curiosity  to  the  boat-builders 

of  the  city. 

The  first   locomotive  ever  seen  in  St.  Louis  was  built 

in   Taunton,  Mass.,  and  brought  here  by  water  via  New 

Orleans.       It  was    placed  on   the    track  of  the    Missouri 

Pacific    in    December,    1852.       In    1855,  that    road    ha 

been  built  to  the  state  capital,  a  distance  of  one  hundred 

and  twenty-five  miles.     An  excursion  train  in  November, 

1855,  over  the   new  road  was  the  occasion  of  a  dreadful 

catastrophe.     Bridge-building  was  new,  and  civil  engineers 


THE   CITY  OF  ST.  LOUIS. 


593 


were  not  trained  as  they  are  now.  The 
first  span  of  the  new  bridge  over  the 
Gasconade  gave  way,  and  the  engine  and 
seven  crowded  coaches  plunged  a  dis- 
tance of  twenty-five  feet  upon  the  low 
bank  of  the  river.  Twenty  prominent 
St.  Louis  people  were  killed  outright, 
and  hundreds  were  more  or  less  injured. 
The  first  locomotive  of  the  Iron  Mount 
Road,  built  in  St.  Louis  by  William  Palm, 
was  put  on  the  track  in  1858.  This  road 
was  constructed  to  Pilot  Knob,  the  Mis- 


new.  Huge  omnibuses  or  barges,  with 
four  or  six  horses  each,  fringed  the  open- 
air  station  in  East  St.  Louis,  and  the  pas- 
sengers were  told  off  into  them  in  short 
order.  Then  came  the  descent  to  the 
ferry,  which  made  one  hold  one's  breath 
and  crowd  to  the  upper  side,  as  the 
landsman  tumbles  to  windward  while 
beating  into  a  stiff  breeze.  It  was  bad 
enough  when  one  could  see ;  by  night  it 
was  dreadful  and  picturesque ;  one  could 
see  only  by  the  torch  of  pine  knots  swing- 


A   Bit  of  the  Levee. 


souri  Pacific  was  extended  to  Sedalia,  and 
the  "  'Frisco  "  to  Rolla,  when  they  were 
stopped  for  four  years  by  the  war.  They 
all  did  the  Union  cause  good  service,  but 
they  suffered  severely ;  the  Missouri 
Pacific  was  utterly  dismantled  by  Price's 
army  from  Franklin  to  Sedalia.  The 
"Ohio  and  Mississippi,"  to  Cincinnati, 
and  the  "  Chicago  and  Alton,"  to  Chicago, 
were  built  just  before  the  war.  All  other 
roads  have  come  in  since. 

Up  to  1874,  the  traveller  from  the  East, 
on  leaving  the  cars,  found  himself  on 
"Bloody  Island,"  with  the  raging  Mis- 
sissippi still  to  cross.  Usually  the  pas- 
sage of  the   river  was  an  ordeal  wholly 


ing  from  the  bow  of  the  boat  or  by  the 
fierce  light  of  the  furnaces  as  they  were 
successively  stocked.  A  Mississippi  ferry- 
boat is  a  unique  affair.  It  has  a  double 
hull,  with  the  wheel  between,  protected 
from  ice.  A  five  or  six  barred  fence 
surrounds  the  spacious  deck,  on  which 
fourteen  loaded  omnibuses  with  six  horses 
each  can  easily  stand.  A  large  ferry- 
boat can  carry  a  drove  of  six  hundred 
head  of  cattle. 

The  river  was  deep,  swift,  and  sur- 
prisingly narrow  (for  the  new-comer 
always  supposed  that  the  Mississippi  must 
be  a  broad,  imposing  stream,  instead  of 
an  immensely  deep  river,  —  at  times  over 


594 


THE  CITY  OF  ST.  LOUIS. 


I; 


St.   Louis   Bridge. 

one  hundred  feet,  about  two  thousand  feet  wide), 
and  the  boat  seemed  to  drift  across  while  aiming 
well  up  stream.  From  the  wharf-boat  to  the  streets 
of  the  city  was  another  experience.  The  steep  levee 
(always  pronounced  leve)  was  paved  with  limestone 


James  B.   Eads. 


blocks,  and  it  was  hard  to 
reason  one's  self  out  of 
positive  fright.  In  winter 
the  river  was  either  full  of 
floating  ice  or  the  rough 
and  crowded  masses  were 
frozen  solid.  In  the  former 
case  the  boats  worked  their 
way  across  slowly  and  la- 
boriously, breaking  or  driv- 
ing the  ice.  When  the  ice 
gorged,  communication  was 
stopped  for  a  time  until  the 
ice  started  again,  or  until 
it  was  safe  to  cross  on  the 
ice.  Passengers  and  mails 
were  known  to  have  waited 
two  and  three  days  on  the 
east  bank,  with  St.  Louis  in 
plain  sight.  The  starting 
of  many  square  miles  of  ice 
piled  many  feet  in  thick- 
ness was  an  event  which 
brought  half  the  city  down 
to  the  levee  to  see  the  de- 
struction wrought  by  its 
resistless  force.  Sometimes 
boat  after  boat,  large  and 
small,  would  be  crushed 
and  sunk  out  of  sight  in  a 
moment.     The  first  winter 


THE   CITY  OF  ST  LOUIS. 


595 


I  was  in  St.  Louis,  seventeen  boats  were 
crushed  and  sunk  in  two  days,  involving 
a  loss  of  nearly   a  million  dollars.     The 
ice  did  not  always   gorge,  and  boatmen 
generally  aimed    to   avoid   the  St.  Louis 
Harbor    in    a    cold    winter.       All  this   is 
now  changed.      Two   steel  bridges  span 
the  river  high  above  all  floods,  and  ice 
blockades   are   no   more.     Even  the  de- 
structive  effects   of  a  start 
of  the  ice  after  a  long  and 
fast  blockade  are  now  pre- 
vented by  the  massive  piers 
of  the    bridge,    which    are 
sufficiently  firm  to  crush  to 
powder   any    mass    of    ice 
that  may  float  against  them. 

The  foundations  of  the 
St.  Louis  Bridges  were  be- 
gun in  1867.  Their  con- 
struction was  a  triumph  of 
engineering.  In  spite  of  a 
deep  and  rapid  river,  in 
spite  of  ice  and  scour,  all 
the  great  piers  of  the  bridge 
were  sunk  to  the  bed-rock, 
in  two  cases  more  than  one 
hundred  feet  below  high 
water.  No  brief  descrip- 
tion can  do  justice  to  the 
beautiful  arches  which  com- 
bine to  form  the  supporting 
members  of  the  bridge. 
Each  span  consists  of  eight 
slender  steel  tubes  ar- 
ranged in  pairs,  connected 
by  a  network  of  struts,  ties 
and  diagonals,  which  seem 
in  the  distance  like  gossa- 
mer. The  steam  roadways 
below  and  the  broad  lofty 
street  above  harmonize  so 
completely  with  the  design  of  the  arch 
that  they  add  both  grace  and  majesty. 

To  James  B.  Eads  and  his  first  assis- 
tant, Henry  Flad,  is  due  the  credit  of 
building  the  great  St.  Louis  Bridge.  The 
former  brought  to  his  task,  as  he  did  to 
the  construction  of  his  ironclad  gun- 
boats in  1 86 1,  and  to  the  Mississippi 
Jetties  in  1878,  indomitable  energy  and 
unrivalled  mechanical  fertility.  Colonel 
Flad  brought  a  marvellous  ingenuity,  the 
training  of  a  superior  engineer,  enriched 
by  wide    experience,   and  a  devotion  to 


his  profession  which  placed  him  in  the 
first  rank  of  living  engineers.  The  St. 
Louis  Bridge,  while  building,  was  pro- 
nounced by  London  Engineering  the 
finest  piece  of  engineering  in  the  world. 
Few  European  engineers  came  to  the 
Centennial  in  1876,  who  did  not  extend 
their  trip  to  St.  Louis  to  see  the  great 
steel    bridge.     The    universal    verdict    is 


James   E.   Yeatman. 

that,  beautiful  and  interesting  as  it  is 
seen  from  the  river  above  or  below,  it  is 
far  more  beautiful  and  doubly  interesting 
when  one  inspects  closely  its  graceful 
members  and  sees  in  every  smallest  de- 
tail the  evidence  of  a  finished  design. 

Three  miles  up  river  is  the  new  Mer- 
chants' Bridge,  also  of  steel,  and  a  mar- 
vellous work  in  its  way.  It  is  a  double- 
track  truss  bridge,  built  by  the  Union 
Bridge  Company,  as  designed  by  George 
S.  Morison,  whose  home  is  among  the 
hills   of  Peterboro',  N.  H.     The    bridge 


596 


THE   CITY  OF  ST  LOUIS. 


stands  70  feet  above  the  water,  in  three 
spans,  each  over  500  feet  long.  The 
steel  in  a  single  span  weighs  3,000,000 
pounds,  and  yet  so 


&## 


exact  was  the  con- 
struction  of  the 
parts,  and  so  com- 
plete the  appliances 
for  erection,  that 
one  of  the  spans 
was  put  together  in 
47  working  hours. 
While  trains  from 
the  old  bridge  enter 
the  yards  of  the 
central  station 
through  a  tunnel 
under  the  city, 
those  from  the  new 
bridge  enter  over 
an  elevated  road. 

The  old  Union 
Depot  has  always 
been  the  occasion 
of  much  abuse  and 
many  apologies. 
Scanty  room  and 
numerous  trains 
have  resulted  in 
confusion  and 
jostling  crowds.  At  last,  however,  a  Union 
Depot  is  under  way,  of  which  the  city 
may   well   be    proud.     Some  idea  of  its 


.^■::^J-7":/"  '    "   - 


The   late   Henry  Shaw. 


Vaults  of  Equitable   Building. 


grace  and  dignity  may  be  inferred  from 
the  illustration  given  on  another  page, 
and  its  size  may  be  inferred  from  the  fact 
that  under  its 
" train  shed"  thirty- 
two  trains  may  stand 
side  by  side  ;  it  will 
be  the  largest  rail- 
way station  in  the 
world. 

In  the  St.  Louis 
of  sixty  years  ago, 
there  was  said  to 
be  a  lovely  sheet  of 
water  called  "  Chou- 
teau's Pond,"  in  the 
valley  of  Mill  Creek, 
which  fairly  bisects 
the  city  territory, 
lying  at  right  angles 
to  the  river.  The 
little  lake  was  a 
mile  or  so  long,  and 
boat  races  were  held 
on  it  years  ago. 
Latterly  the  basin 
has  been  drained 
and  filled,  while  Mill 
Creek  has  been 
arched  over  and 
buried  out  of  sight.  The  entire  valley, 
some  half  a  mile  wide  and  several  miles 
long,  is  being  given  over  to  railroads, 
warehouses,  coal- 
y  r,       yards,     shops     and 

jf  factories.     The  city 

M  \       is  thus  cut  in  two, 

S&k-  and     "  Southside  " 

|^J*  and     "  Northside  " 

'im   J^*'**-^  are    definite   terms. 

Street  traffic  is  car- 
ried over  on  bridges, 
of  which  there  are 
now  seven ;  the 
finest,  at  Grand  Av- 
enue, is  shown  in 
perspective  in  our 
illustration.  The 
bridge  is  60  feet 
wide  and  1,600  feet 
long,  and  immense- 
ly strong.  Its  ap- 
pearance is  fine  from 
every  point.  The 
suspension      cables 


THE   CITY  OF  ST.  LOUIS. 


597 


are  stiffened  by  a  continuous  system  of 
bracing,  which  adds  much  to  their 
beauty  and  renders  them  extremely  rigid. 

Up  to   1850,  the  city  was  without  any 
system  of  house  drainage.     The  dreadful 
consequence   of  a   lack  of  sanitary  engi- 
neering   was  illustrated    by    the    cholera 
scourge  of  1849,  when  4,285  people  died 
of   cholera,   and    as    many 
more   from  other  diseases, 
one  person  out  of  eight  in 
the    city  population    dying 
during  the  year.     The  fol- 
lowing   year     the     scourge 
was    less    severe,    but    the 
lesson  was  learned.     Sewers 
were  begun,  and  by   i860, 
there  were  31  miles  of  main 
and    district    sewers.       But 
the    system    was    far    from 
complete,  and  in  1866   the 
cholera     came     again. 
Though   not   as   bad   as  in 
1849,  it  was  frightful,  and 
measures  were  adopted   to 
put    the    city    in    the    best 
possible  sanitary  condition. 
By    1870,   the   system    had 
fairly    caught  up    with    the 
growth  of  the  city.     Since 
that  date  it  has  grown  with 
the  city.     St.  Louis  is  now 
a  healthy  city,  far  more  so 
than   formerly,  and   this   is 
due,  first,  to  the  disappear- 
ance of  the  numerous  ponds 
or  "  sink  holes,"  which  for- 
merly infested  every  unim- 
proved section   of  the  city 
territory ;    secondly,   to    an 
efficient  sewer  system  em- 
bracing  every    house; 
thirdly,   to  an  abundance   of  pure   water 
for    flushing    sewer    connections    as    well 
as  for  kitchen  and  table  use.     The  sew- 
ers range  from  clay  pipes  twelve  inches 
in  diameter  to  vast  subways  in  which  two 
omnibuses  might  pass  each  other.     The 
system  contains  336  miles  of  pipe,  large 
and  small. 

During  the  Civil  War,  St.  Louis  was 
more  of  a  hospital  and  a  camp  than  a 
battle  field.  To  be  sure  it  narrowly  es- 
caped falling  into  the  hands  of  the  dis- 
unionists    in    the    very    beginning.     The 


United  States  Arsenal,  situated  in  the 
southern  part  of  the  city  proper,  con- 
tained arms  for  forty  thousand  men  in 
care  of  a  small  number  of  federal  troops 
under  Captain  Nathaniel  Lyon.  The 
governor  of  the  state,  who  had  already 
written  President  Lincoln  that  "  Missouri 
would  not  send  a  single  man  to  his  un- 


Linnean  House,  Shaw's  Garden. 

holy  war,"  was  anxious  to  secure  these 
arms,  and  a  portion  of  the  state  militia 
was  called  into  camp  just  within  the  old 
city  limits.  By  May,  1861,  the  force  of 
Captain  Lyon  had  increased  to  400  reg- 
ular troops,  five  regiments  of  Missouri 
volunteers,  and  five  regiments  of  "  Home 
Guards."  The  volunteers  had  been  or- 
ganized by  Frank  P.  Blair,  in  response  to 
the  President's  call ;  and  the  Home  Guards 
had  been  organized,  equipped  and  drilled 
in  secret  by  patriotic  citizens  of  the  city ; 
these  last  troops  were  largely  Germans. 


598 


THE   CITY  OF  ST.  LOUIS. 


On  the  ioth  of  May,  Lyon  marched 
out  with  six  new  regiments  and  captured 
"  Camp  Jackson  "  containing  some  800 
men.      The    prisoners    were    paroled    as 


was  outwardly  loyal.  Armored  gunboats 
were  built  in  Carondelet,  now  South  St. 
Louis,  and  forwarded  to  the  support  of 
Grant's    army;     regiments    and    supplies 


"* '     >/ 

\ 

£r«\v '.■•.<•.'•. 

^&4cj& 

JM 

%#;^i 

■Li^.  ,.Jfa&:--£*" 

/ 

; 

Apse  of  Christ  Church   Cathedral. 

FROM  A  DRAWING  BY  M.  P.  MCARDLE. 


soon  as  they  would  take  the  oath  of  loy- 
alty —  some  immediately  and  the  rest  the 
next  day.  From  that  day  till  the  war 
was  over,  Union  forces  in  greater  or  less 
numbers  occupied  the  city,  and  the  city 


were  sent  into  the  field.  Though  Price's 
army  came  within  thirty  miles,  the  city 
was  never  attacked.  Active  disunionists 
in  the  city  were  arrested  and  sent  within 
the     Confederate    lines,     and    in    some 


THE   CITY  OF  ST.  LOUIS. 


599 


flagrant  cases  property  was  confiscated. 
Passive  sympathizers  simply  stayed  at 
home,  discreetly  keeping  control  of  their 
tongues  and  their  property. 

As  soon  as   Lyon    took   the   field,   the 
sick  and  wounded  began  to 
come  in  large  numbers.  After 
the  desperate  battle  of  Wil- 
son's  Creek,  at  which  Lyon 
was  killed,  721  wounded  men 
were    brought    to    St.    Louis. 
Every  hospital  was  crowded, 
and  more  room  and  hospital 
supplies  were  in  pressing  de- 
mand.      As  with   one  spirit, 
those  who  could  not  fight  set 
to  work  to  care  for  those  who 
fell.     New  buildings  erected 
for    business    purposes    were 
rented    and    converted    into 
"  Soldiers    Hospitals,"    in 
charge  of  Dr.  John  T.  Hodg- 
en.      The  Western    Sanitary 
Commission  was  organized  to 
care  for  the  sick  and  wounded 
at  home,  and  to  carry  nurses, 
surgeons,    and     supplies    to    the    armies 
in    the    field.       The     Managers    of    the 
Commission  appointed   by  General  Fre- 
mont,   then    in    command    of    the    city, 
were  James  E.  Yeatman,  Esq.,  president : 
C.  S.  Greely,  treasurer ;   Dr.  J.   B.  John- 
son, Mr.  George  Partridge,  and  Rev.  Wm. 
G.  Eliot.     The  splendid  work  done  under 


these  men  is  the  pride  of  St.  Louis.  I 
have  no  room  for  its  history,  but  readers 
of  this  magazine  should  know  that  since 
those  sad  and  weary  years,  St.  Louis  holds 
all   those   men   in    grateful   and   reverent 


"^™ 


■!H 


Part  of  the   Levee. 

remembrance.  During  four  years  they 
distributed  in  money  and  supplies,  the 
enormous  sum  of  $4,270,998.55.  A 
single  item  in  the  history  of  the  Sanitary 
Commission  is  worthy  of  mention  here. 
It  was  resolved  to  hold  a  Mississippi  Val- 
ley Fair  in  the  broad  area  of  Twelfth 
Street  between  Washington  Avenue  and 


600 


THE  CITY  OF  ST.  LOUIS. 


'V 


' 


/ 


/ 


Olive  Street,  in  May,  1864.  A  vast  frame 
building  was  erected,  and  a  fair  was  held 
for  twelve  days.  The  great  mass  of  ma- 
terial offered  for  sale  was  largely  given. 
Every  conceivable  device  was  employed 
to  give  people  opportunity  to  spend 
money.  Miss  Nellie  Grant  as  the  "  Old 
Woman  That  Lived  in  a  Shoe  "  was  an 
immense  success. 
The  net  proceeds  of 
this  fair  in  cash  were 

#554,591. 

It  is  with  special 
pleasure  that  the 
portraits  of  Mr. 
Yeatman  and  Dr. 
Eliot  are  given  with 
this  article.  Both 
have  been  for  many 
years  so  active  in 
good  causes  that  St. 
Louis  would  hardly 
have  been  herself 
without  them. 


When  I  came  to  St.  Louis 
two  years  after  the  war,  mat- 
ters were  still  in  a  chaotic 
state.  Old  business  was  re- 
covering and  new  business 
was  booming,  but  much  capi- 
tal and  a  great  part  of  the 
disposition  for  business  en- 
terprise had  been  ruined. 
There  was  much  adverse 
criticism  at  the  apathy  and 
inaction  of  the  old  families. 
It  was  grimly  declared  that 
what  St.  Louis  needed  most 
of  all  was  a  few  first-class 
funerals.  The  more  north- 
ern men  flocked  to  St.  Louis 
and  cast  their  lots  with  a  city 
and  state  which  had  just 
thrown  off  the  curse  of  sla- 
very and  invited  immigration, 
the  more  Confederate 
families  withdrew  from  affairs 
and  maintained  a  haughty 
reserve.  This  aloofness  of 
the  friends  of  the  "  Lost 
Cause  "  showed  itself  in  the 
maintenance  of  a  peculiarly 
southern  social  life,  and  an 
attempt  to  foster  Southern 
sports.  Instead  of  baseball 
and  trotting  horses,  they  indulged  in 
tournaments  and  running  horses.  I  had 
the  pleasure  of  attending  a  tournament 
in  the  grand  amphitheatre  at  the  Fair 
Grounds.  The  young  knights  sabred 
wooden  heads  right  and  left,  and  cap- 
tured rings  on  their  swords  in  quick 
succession  as  thev  rode  furiouslv  around 


Grand   Avenue   Bridge. 


THE   CITY  OF  ST  LOUIS. 


601 


the  arena.  Stylish  young  ladies  were 
crowned  by  the  victors  with  all  the  pomp 
of  chivalry.  It  was  generally  admitted 
that  the  young  men  sat  their  horses  well 
and  that  beauty  and  grace  and  skill  char- 
acterized the  spectacle.  To  be  sure,  no 
end  of  fun  was  made  of  the  "  chivalry," 
and  the  tournament  was  so 
effectually  burlesqued  that  its  f.  ™  ,  _ 
life  was  short. 

Twenty  -  five  years  have 
worked  a  vast  change.  Mat- 
ters which  could  not  be 
mentioned  without  a  rush  of 
hot  blood  and  a  feeling  of 
triumph  or  of  shame  are  now 
spoken  of  tenderly  and  un- 
reprovingly,  as  one  would 
speak  of  the  dead.  The  new 
generation  is  united,  public 
spirited,  and  harmonious  in 
all  the  offices  of  life.  The 
new  state  of  things  is  recog- 
nized by  all  as  immeasurably 
better  than  the  old,  and  by- 
gones are  pretty  effectually 
by-gones  in  St.  Louis. 

St.  Louis  is  fortunate  in 
having  excellent  water  and 
plenty  of  it.  It  comes  from 
the  slopes  of  the  Rocky 
Mountains,  and  reaches  our 
pumping  station  turbid  with 
the  minerals  and  clays  of 
mountain,  valley  and  plain. 
Seen  in  the  river,  it  looks  like 
cream-coffee,  but  when  the 
mineral  matter  is  allowed  to 
settle,  the  water  is  fairly  clear ; 
if  filtered,  it  is  crystal;  in 
either  case  it  is  altogether 
wholesome  and  delicious.  I 
do  not  hesitate  to  say  that  no 
city  has  better  water;  very 
few  have  as  good,  and  the  supply  is 
inexhaustible. 

St.  Louis  has  outgrown  two  pumping 
systems,  and  its  third  is  nearly  built. 
The  map  shows  the  location  of  the  old 
and  the  new  supply  stations.  The  water 
is  pumped  into  large  settling  basins  and 
allowed  to  settle  from  twenty- four  to  forty- 
eight  hours.  It  is  then  pumped  into  the 
city  pipes  with  an  overflow  into  the  city 
reservoir  on  Compton  Hill.     The  street 


pipes  vary  from  three  inches  to  forty- 
eight  inches  in  diameter.  In  1891,  there 
were  374  miles  of  such  pipes.  The 
growth  is  now  twenty  miles  of  street  pipes 
per  year.  The  amount  of  water  used  last 
summer  rose  as  high  as  fifty-five  millions 
of  gallons   per   day,  ten    millions    being 


Church  of  the  Messiah. 

used  to  sprinkle  the  streets.  This  is  an 
average  allowance,  exclusive  of  sprinkling, 
of  nearly  one  hundred  gallons  per  day  to 
every  man,  woman  and  child  in  the  city. 
The  price  in  dwelling-houses  is  three 
cents  per  one  hundred  gallons.  Large 
users  get  water  for  one  cent  and  one- 
quarter  per  one  hundred  gallons.  The 
capacity  of  the  new  waterworks  will  ex- 
ceed one  hundred  million  gallons  per 
day.     A  glance  at  the  map  shows  that  the 


602 


THE   CITY  OF  ST  LOUIS. 


new  waterworks  lie  well  above  the  city 
at  the  foot  of  the  bluff,  where  the  valley 
of  the  Missouri  joins  that  of  the  Missis- 
sippi ;  the  water  used  by  the  city  is 
wholly  from  the  Missouri  stream.  Com- 
pared with  the  Missouri,  the  water  of  the 
upper  Mississippi  is  stained  dark  with 
vegetation,  is  less  palatable,  and  less 
wholesome. 

The  village  of  Laclede,  about  a  mile 
long,  is  shown  on  the  maps.  The  thin 
fortification    built    by  Auguste  Chouteau, 


great  by  60,000  or  70,000.  In  1880, 
it  was  350,218  ;  in  1890,  it  was  460,357. 
By  Jan.  1,  1892,  it  is  probably  485,000. 
Building  in  St.  Louis  has  passed 
through  three  stages,  and  is  now  in  a 
fourth.  In  the  hurry  of  a  new  settlement, 
its  first  buildings  were  of  logs,  built  from 
trees  that  stood  on  the  ground.  The 
next  stage  was  also  of  wood,  the  dwellings 
being  higher  and  more  elaborate.  Dick- 
ens, who  visited  the  place  in  1842,  thus 
describes  them  : 


Washington   Avenue   looking  West. 


ran  along  the  site  of  Fourth  Street.  In 
1822,  when  the  town  became  a  city,  the 
western  line  had  moved  to  Seventh  Street. 
In  185 1,  the  western  boundary  ran  along 
Eighteenth  Street,  and  north  to  the 
mouth  of  "  Stony  Creek."  Carondelet 
was  included  in  1870,  and  in  1876,  the 
present  boundaries  were  adopted.  The 
present  area  is  61.37  square  miles.  The 
length  of  the  river  front  is  nineteen  miles. 
The  growth  in  population  has  been 
rapid  since  about  1834,  when  it  was  only 
seven  thousand.  In  1859,  it  is  given  as 
185,000.  The  official  census  of  1870 
was    incorrect,  giving    a    population    too 


"  In  the  old  French  portion  of  the  town,  the 
thoroughfares  are  narrow  and  crooked,  and  some 
of  the  houses  are  quaint  and  picturesque,  being 
built  of  wood,  with  tumble-down  galleries  before 
the  windows,  approachable  by  stairs,  or  rather 
ladders,  from  the  street.  Some  of  these  ancient 
habitations,  with  high,  garret-gable  windows  perk- 
ing into  the  roofs,  have  a  kind  of  French  shrug 
about  them;  and  being  lop-sided  with  age,  ap- 
pear to  hold  their  heads  askew  besides,  as  if  they 
were  grimacing  with  astonishment  at  the  Ameri- 
can improvements." 

The  third  stage  was  reached  when  the 
streets  were  widened  and  straightened 
and  brick  buildings  three  and  four  stories 
high  replaced  these  grotesque  reminders 
of  the    old   world.     The    new   buildings 


THE  CITY  OF  ST.  LOUIS. 


603 


Lafayette   Park  in  Winter. 


were  considered  fine,  and  many  of  them 
are  still  standing,  The  fourth  style  began 
when  these  last  buildings  were  cleared 
away  and  modern  business  houses,  deep 
and  high,  took  their  places.  The  strength, 
solidity,  and  vast  proportions  of  these 
final  blocks  are  well  shown  by  several  of 
our  illustrations.     Such  buildings  are  now 


going  rapidly  up  on  a  score  of  streets. 
It  is  to  be  regretted  that  all  are  not 
equally  good.  Elaborate  exteriors  are 
out  of  place  in  the  sooty  atmosphere  of 
St.  Louis.  From  projecting  sills,  ledges, 
and  trimmings,  disfiguring  black  streaks 
destroy  an  effect  otherwise  fine.  Conse- 
quently, the  capitals  of  columns  and  pil- 


604 


THE   CITY  OE  ST  LOUIS. 


asters  are  sometimes  so  bald  and  out  of 
proportion  as  to  be  ludricrous. 

A  conspicuous  example  of  recent 
architecture  is  the  City  Hall,  now  in 
process  of  erection.  Its  exterior  is  Mis- 
souri granite  and  brick.  It  stands  in  the 
centre  of  what  was  known  as  Washington 
Square.  In  style  its  architecture  is  essen- 
tially modern,  though  suggesting  the  town 
halls  of  Belgium  and  the  north  of  France. 

Church  architecture  in  St.  Louis  is  in 
no  way  remarkable.     Of  course  there  are 


slightly  arched  roof  and  ceiling  over  the 
nave.  The  pews  are  high  and  stiff,  the 
altar  imposing  and  the  tinting  and  fresco- 
ing are  in  good  condition.  There  are 
some  paintings  (one  of  which  is  very 
fine)  which  were  presented  by  King 
Louis  of  France  nearly  a  century  ago. 

As  a  rule,  the  older  Protestant  churches 
are  plain  and  dingy ;  some  of  the  later 
ones  are  tasteful  and  attractive.  Churches 
as  well  as  church-goers  are  moving  west- 
ward.    Many   have    been    torn    down  to 


Reading-Room,  Mercantile    Library. 


no  really  old  specimens.  The  oldest  is 
known  as  the  French  Cathedral  on  Wal- 
nut Street,  between  Second  and  Third. 
It  was  erected  in  1834  on  the  site  of  the 
original  log  church  built  by  the  first  set- 
tlers and  of  the  larger  wooden  church 
which  followed,  facing  Second  Street, 
then  called  Church  Street.  It  is  136 
feet  long,  84  feet  wide,  and  the  front,  of 
polished  freestone,  is  50  feet  high.  The 
portico  is  imposing,  consisting  of  four 
massive  Doric  columns  with  entablature, 
frieze,  cornice,  and  pediment.  There 
are  inscriptions  in  Hebrew,  Latin,  French, 
and  English.  The  interior  contains  two 
rows   of  fine   Doric    columns  carrying  a 


make  room  for  business  blocks ;  many 
have  been  converted  into  warehouses 
and  some  into  theatres.  Christ  Church, 
the  entrance  to  which  is  shown  by  our 
artists,  is  destined  to  an  early  removal : 
its  tower  will  never  be  built.  West  of 
Grand  Avenue,  the  style  of  church  archi- 
tecture is  thoroughly  modern,  as  in- 
stanced by  the  Church  of  the  Messiah. 

Progress  in  domestic  architecture  has 
fully  kept  pace  with  that  in  business 
quarters.  The  newer  portion  of  the  city 
west  of  Grand  Avenue  in  the  vicinity  of 
our  great  parks  is  being  rapidly  covered 
with  beautiful  and  picturesque  residences, 
scattered  along  broad  streets  and  hand- 


THE   CITY  OE  ST  LOUIS. 


605 


.    :      :; 


tali 


It* 


Mercantile   Library 

some  boulevards.     The  old  tadpole  style  of  dwel- 
ling which  was  universal  twenty  years  ago,  is  built 
no  more.    The  deliberate  construction  of  "  Places," 
or  private  streets,  is  a  fea- 
ture of  the  city.     In  every 
"  Place  "  the  lots  are  large, 
and   lawns    and   shrubbery 
serve  to  set  off  the  details 
of  tasteful  architecture. 

St.    Louis  has   few    sub- 
urbs, because  as  yet  it  has 
an     abundance     of    desir- 
able   grounds    on   its    own 
territory.    Nevertheless,  the 
suburbs  of  Ferguson,  Web- 
ster Groves,  and  Kirkwood 
along    the   lines    of   steam 
railways,  are  building  up  in 
a  most  attractive 
m  a  n  n  e  r.       The 
gentle  rolling  hills 
offer     great     ad- 
vantages to  such 
as  love  the  coun- 
try, yet  would  be 
near  the  town. 


St.  Louis  is  rich  in  parks, 
and  it  will  soon  have  an  un- 
equalled system  of  boule- 
vards connecting  them. 
Forest  Park  is  a  superb 
stretch  of  rolling  woods  and 
dells  of  over  two  square 
miles.  Its  drives  are  fine, 
and  the  walks,  lakes,  and 
groves  charming.  Caron- 
delet,  O 'Fallon,  and  Tower 
Grove  are  all  driving  parks 
of  great  beauty  and  finish. 
Tower  Grove  Park  is  purely 
artificial,  and  forms  a  pleas- 
ant contrast  with  natural 
groves  elsewhere.  The  land 
for  this  park  (266.76  acres) 
was  given  to  the  city  by  its 
great  benefactor,  Henry 
Shaw,  to  whose  taste  and 
judgment  all  the  beauties  of 
the  park  are  due.  The 
finest  statues  of  the  city 
adorn  the  principal  drive  of 
this  park.  They  are  all  of 
bronze,  heroic  in  size,  and 
the  work  of  Baron  von 
Mueller  of  Munich.  The 
Shakespere  and  Columbus 
are  much  admired,  but  the 
Humboldt  is  the  finest,  — 


Fireplace   i 


Mercantile   Library   Reading-Room. 


606 


THE   CITY  OF  ST.  LOUIS. 


St.   Louis  Museum  of  Fine  Arts. 


a  magnificent  work  of  art.  Adelaide 
Neilson  declared  that  she  "  had  seen 
every  memorial  of  Humboldt  of  any 
consequence,  public  and  private,  in  ex- 
istence, and  that  this  was  decidedly  the 
finest."  The  niece  of  Humboldt,  after 
seeing  this  statue,  wrote  Mr.  Shaw  that 
Europe  had  done  nothing  comparable  to 
it  for  the  great  naturalist.  The  pedestal 
of    the    Humboldt    statue    contains    this 


A  St.   Louis   Residence 


graceful  inscription :  "  In  honor  of  the 
most  accomplished  traveller  of  this  or 
any  age." 

There  are  twelve  smaller  parks,  of 
which  Lafayette  is  the  largest  and  the 
gem.  Its  thirty  acres  contain  more 
variety,  grace,  and  finish  than  any  equal 
area  that  I  have  ever  seen.  It  particu- 
larly abounds  in  snowballs  and  roses  in 
May,  while  its  grateful  shade,  its  well- 
kept  lawns,  and  its  bewitching  curves  are 
a  delight  all  summer  long.  Our  artist 
shows  how  it  appears  in  winter.  After 
the  three  fine  statues  in  Tower  Grove 
Park,  and  possibly  the  one  of  Benton  in 
Lafayette  Park,  there  is  little  outdoor 
sculpture  worthy  of  mention.  Several 
attempts  have  been  made,  and  a  few  con- 
spicuous positions  are  occupied,  but  with 
no  distinguished  success. 

Mention  has  been  made  of  Henry 
Shaw's  gift  of  Tower  Grove  Park  and  the 
statues  there.  That  is  but  the  least  of 
his  gifts  to  the  city.     No  words  of  mine 


THE   CITY  OF  ST.  LOUIS. 


607 


can  convey  any  adequate  idea  of  what  he 
has  done  for  botany  in  his  gifts  to  the 
city,  and  to  Washington  University. 
"Shaw's  Garden"  is  now  the  property  of 
the  city,  and  it  has  been  so  munificently 
endowed  by  Mr.  Shaw  that  its  perpetual 
maintenance  in  the  most  complete  man- 
ner can  never  cost  the  city  a  dollar,  and 
yet  with  all  its  manifold  uses  it  is  to  be 


land,  in  1800.  While  attending  a  pri- 
mary school  at  Thorne,  he  was  assigned 
a  patch  of  ground  for  the  cultivation  of 
flowers,  as  was  the  custom  of  the  school. 
There  he  learned  to  cultivate  and  to  love 
a  few  simple  flowers,  "  anemones  and 
ranunculus."  In  181 9,  he  came  to  St. 
Louis  with  a  small  stock  of  cutlery  from 
his  native  town.     For  years   he   devoted 


Vestibule  of  Museum  of  Fine  Arts 


forever  free  to  visitors,  and  to  subserve 
the  interests  of  the  "  Henry  Shaw  School 
of  Botany."  The  Botanical  Garden  cov- 
ers some  fifty  or  sixty  azres,  comprising 
a  "Floretum,"  a  "  Friticetum,"  and  an 
"Arboretum."  The  flower  garden  is 
elaborately  laid  out  in  English  style  and 
contains  two  series  of  plant  houses.  No 
garden  in  America  can  approach  this  in 
extent,  variety,  or  endowment ;  it  is 
doubtful  if  it  is  surpassed  by  any  in  the 
world. 

Mr.   Shaw  was  born  in  Sheffield,  Eng- 


himself  to  selling  hardware,  but  never 
lost  his  love  for  trees  and  flowers.  As  he 
grew  rich  he  bought  large  tracts  of  land 
"out  in  the  country."  When  he  retired 
from  business  he  went  out  there  to  live, 
and  started  his  famous  garden.  Gradu- 
ally the  city  encroached  upon  his  domain 
and  his  broad  acres  brought  him  bound- 
less wealth.  He  died  two  years  ago  at 
the  age  of  eighty-nine. 

Simultaneously  with  the  introduction 
of  modern  business  architecture,  the  city 
began  to   pave   its  business  streets  with 


608 


THE   CITY  OF  ST.  LOUIS. 


granite.  There  are  now  forty-two  miles 
of  broad  durable  streets  paved  from  curb 
to  curb  with  granite  blocks  standing  on 
concrete.  When  I  say  broad,  I  must 
except  a  few  of  the  old  French  streets 
like  Olive,  Locust,  and  Vine  east  of 
Fourth  Street,  which  between  curbs  are 
scarce  twenty  feet  wide.  Two  streets 
have  asphaltum 
pavement ;  there 
are  about  twenty- 
five  miles  of  fine 
Telford  driving 
streets,  and  un- 
limited stretches  of 
macadam.  Lime- 
stone macadam  is 
plenty  and  cheap 
(for  limestone  un- 
derlies the  whole 
city),  but  it  wears 
out  rapidly,  and 
the  dust  and  mud 
formed  from  its 
powder  are  intoler- 
able. Sharp,  coarse 
gravel  is  just  com- 
ing into  extensive 
use  as  a  top-dress- 
ing to  macadam. 
Last  summer  over 
four  hundred  miles 
of  streets  were 
sprinkled  three 
times  a  day  by  the 
city. 

Since  May,  1890, 
all  important  Wk 
streets  have  been 
lighted  by  electri- 
city ;  2000  arc 
lights  are  used  for 
410  miles,  and  600 
incandescent  lights 
are  placed  in  al- 
leys.    The  use   of 

electricity  in  private  houses  for  light  and 
power  is  increasing  rapidly.  One  electric 
company  supplies  50,000  electric  lights 
by  means  of  engines  aggregating  4200 
horse-power.  The  demand  for  gas  seems 
to  be  well  maintained,  by  its  use  for 
cooking  and  heating. 

Improvements  come   most  rapidly  in  a 
growing    city;    as    would    be     expected, 


Statue  of  Alexander  von   Humboldt. 


IN   TOWER    GROVE    PARK 


there  is  less  of  that  conservatism  which 
springs  from  a  dislike  to  disturb  methods 
and  appliances  well  established  and 
familiar.  St.  Louis  is  building  over  four 
thousand  houses  a  year,  and  an  entire 
community  may  spring  up  in  a  season. 
Builders  of  new  houses  want  the  best  of 
everything,  and  as  a  consequence  a  vast 
new  city,  elegant 
and  ornate,  is  com- 
ing rapidly  into 
being  west  of 
Grand  Avenue,  as 
business  en- 
croaches upon  the 
older  quarters 
down  town. 

The  street  rail- 
way system  of  St. 
Louis  is  well  ap- 
pointed and  com- 
plete. The  city  is 
not  compactly 
built,  hence  the 
roads  are  not  only 
numerous  but  they 
are  long.  Four 
cable  lines  have 
47  miles  of  single 
track  where  traffic 
is  heavy ;  three 
unimportant  roads 
have  12  miles 
where  they  still 
use  animals ;  while 
ten  lines  have  161 
miles  of  electric 
road.  The  total 
is  220  miles  of 
single  s  u  r  f  a  c  e 
tracks,  with  1000 
cars  in  constant 
use.  The  fare  is 
uniformly  five 
cents.  Cables  run 
from  1  o  to  12  miles 
per  hour ;  the  electric  cars  with  overhead 
wires  reach  at  times  a  speed  of  20  miles 
per  hour.  In  contrast  with  these,  the 
few  remaining  " bob-tail"  cars  dragged 
by  mules  seem  intolerably  slow.  There 
is  no  record  in  St.  Louis  of  an  accident 
from  an  overhead  railway  wire. 

By    the    light   of  a   tallow    dip   in    his 
lodgings  in  Jefferson  City,  Way  man  Crow, 


THE   CITY  OF  ST  LOUIS. 


609 


senator  from  St.  Louis,  wrote  the  charter 
of  Washington  University.  It  was  short 
and  comprehensive.  It  gave  to  a  corpo- 
ration of  seventeen  of  the  best  men  in 
St.  Louis    the    right    to    manage    "  Eiiot 


to  the  charter  by  legislative  action,  and 
the  name,  Washington  University,  was 
incorporated.  The  original  name  was 
dropped  and  the  present  one  adopted  at 
the  suggestion  of  Dr.  Eliot,  who  was  the 


L^'. '_ 


L_  -<  *: 


„„_^_ i. .-.j, „- „•  ^JLl.. 


Entrance  to  Westmoreland   Place. 


Seminary.  One  only  of  those  seventeen 
men,  Hon.  Samuel  Treat,  is  still  living. 
The  charter  was  signed  by  the  Governor 
of  Missouri  on  Washington's  Birthday, 
February  22,  1853.  A  small  school  for 
boys,  organized  by  Dr.  Eliot,  then  pastor 
of  the  Unitarian  Church,  was  covered  by 
the  charter.  When  the  board  of  incor- 
porators met,  a  constitution  was  adopted 
changing  the  name  and  containing  two 
important  articles.  The  name  then 
adopted  was  "The  O'Fallon  Institute." 

Article  II  asserted  that  the  Institute  should 
"  comprise  a  Collegiate  Department,  a  Female 
Seminary,  a  Practical  and  Scientific  Department, 
an  Industrial  school,  and  such  other  Departments 
as  the  Board  of  Directors  may  determine." 

Article  VIII.  "  No  instruction  either  sectarian 
in  religion  or  partisan  in  politics  shall  be  allowed 
in  any  department  of  the  Institute,  and  no 
sectarian  or  partisan  test  shall  be  used  in  the 
election  of  professors,  teachers,  or  other  officers 
of  the  Institute." 

.     These  articles  were  subsequently  added 


first  and  only  president  of  the  Board  of 
Directors  till  he  died  in  1887. 

No  one  can  question  the  good  taste 
shown  by  President  Eliot  in  objecting  to 
the  use  of  his  own  name  ;  but  now  after 
that  great  and  good  man  has  gone,  we 
may  with  propriety  regret  the  use  of 
a  name  purely  accidental  and  uncharac- 
teristic. The  word  "Washington" 
means  only  "American".  It  is  descrip- 
tive of  neither  place  nor  character  nor 
founder.  Several  hundred  towns  and 
counties,  one  great  city,  and  one  State, 
all  called  "Washington,"  have  so 
thoroughly  deprived  the  word  of  in- 
dividuality that  it  must  always  be  ex- 
plained by  another  word  or  phrase. 
This  is  not  the  place  to  advocate  a  new 
name,  but  as  I  review  the  rise  and 
progress  of  this  institution  during  thirty- 
six  years,  a  feeling  comes  over  me  that 
there  is  one  characteristic  name,  and 
only  one,   which   it   ought  to  bear,   and 


610 


THE   CITY  OF  ST  LOUIS. 


that  is  the  name  of  the  man  who  organ- 
ized and  built  it. 

The  University  opened  auspiciously. 
The  south  wing  of  the  present  University 
building  and  the  Chemical  Laboratory 
were  erected  in  1855,  and  a  beginning 
was  made  in  the  direction  of  a  practical 
and  industrial  department  by  the  building 
of  the  great  "  Polytechnic  "  on  the  cor- 
ner of  Seventh  and  Chestnut.  Prof. 
Joseph  G.  Hoyt,  of  Exeter,  N.  H.,  was 
elected  chancellor,  and  Edward  Everett 
came     out    in     1857    to     pronounce    an 


stands  on,  of  some  $400,000.  When  it 
was  finished,  the  University  was  heavily 
in  debt,  and  worst  of  all,  the  building 
was  found  to  be  totally  unsuited  to  the 
daily  needs  of  a  technical  or  of  an 
industrial  school.  For  a  year  an  effort 
was  made  to  use  it.  It  fell  to  the  writer 
to  take  charge  of  a  large  evening  school 
there  in  1867-8,  but  beyond  the  use  of  a 
few  rooms  and  the  Ames  library,  the  big 
building  was  not  utilized.  In  1868,  as 
the  only  way  out  of  difficulties,  the 
building     and     library,   with     an    unpaid 


Grand  Saloon  of  Mississippi  River  Boat. 


oration  which  should  mark  the  opening 
of  the  University.  The  fair  promise  of 
those  years  was  never  kept.  The  war 
came  with  its  cloud  of  woes :  loss  of 
students,  loss  of  means,  loss  of  opportu- 
tunity,  and  loss  of  sympathy.  The  story 
is  too  long  to  be  told  here  ;  but  few 
people,  even  in  St.  Louis,  know  how 
nearly  the  old  Polytechnic  scheme  came 
to  wrecking  the  whole  institution.  Busi- 
ness men,  interested  in  practical  affairs, 
had  contributed  generously  to  carry  it 
through.  Stopped  a  long  time  by  the 
war,  the  "  Polytechnic  "  was  nine  years 
building,  at  a  final   cost,  with  the  land  it 


bequest  of  $100,000  for  the  benefit  of 
the  library,  were  sold  to  the  school  Board 
of  St.  Louis  for  $280,000.  With  that 
sale  the  Polytechnic  School  as  it  exists 
to-day  at  the  University  really  began. 
It  had  lost  ten  years  and  a  vast  amount 
of  money,  but  it  was  free  to  begin  in  the 
right  way  without  further  sacrifice  or 
loss.  Meanwhile  Chancellor  Hoyt,  who 
died  in  1862,  had  been  succeeded  by 
William  Chauvenet,  the  eminent  pro- 
fessor of  mathematics  and  astronomy. 

The  Female  Seminary  known  as 
"  Mary  Institute  "  had  been  organized  as 
early  as   1859  ;   it  was  now  in  successful 


THE   CITY  OF  ST.  LOUIS. 


611 


operation  in  the  building  which  was  sub- 
sequently assigned  to  the  Law  Depart- 
ment. Between  the  years  1870  and  1880 
the  University  made  great  progress.     The 


been.  Others  still  live  who  have  taken 
up  the  work  and  carried  it  bravely  for- 
ward. In  1870,  Chancellor  Chauvenet 
died,  and  Dr.  Eliot  assumed  the  duties 


A  Tide-marker  in  the   Mississippi. 

Polytechnic  school  was  fully 
organized,  with  its  technical 
courses  in  civil,  mechanical,  and  mining 
engineering,  and  in  chemistry.  The 
St.  Louis  Law  School  was  fully  organ- 
ized and  started  on  its  most  successful 
career.  The  Mary  Institute  was  moved 
to  a  fine  new  building  at  Beaumont  and 
Locust  Streets.  The  Smith  Academy  was 
separated  from  the  undergraduate  de- 
partment and  placed  by  itself  in  an  ele- 
gant building.  The  St.  Louis  School  of 
Fine  Arts  was  developed  and  given  a 
home  in  the  exquisite  Museum  of  Fine 
Arts ;  and  finally  the  Manual  Training 
School  was  organized,  and  the  founda- 
tions of  its  success  were  firmly  laid.  These 
great  advances  required  large  sums  of 
money,  and  it  is  but  justice  to  the  memory 
of  Wayman  Crow,  George  Partridge,  Hud- 
son E.  Bridge,  Nathaniel  Thayer  of  Mas- 
sachusetts, the  brothers  James  and  William 
Smith,  William  Palm,  Gottlieb  Conzel- 
man,  Ralph  Sellew,  William  Brown,  and 
Dr.  Eliot,  to  say  that  without  them  the 
University  as  it  stands  could  never   have 


grain, 


of     both     chancellor 
and    president.       In 
1887,  after   fifty- 
three    years    of  con- 
stant   labor    and 
devotion  in  the  cause 
of  higher  education,  pure   re- 
ligion, and  good  citizenship  in 
the    city  of  his   adoption,   he 
too,   like   a   sheaf  of   ripened 
was    laid    to    rest.      To    no    man 


more   than    to    William    Greenleaf   Eliot 


Headlight  of  River  Steamer. 


612 


THE   CITY  OF  ST.  LOUIS. 


does  St.  Louis  rest  in  profound  obligation 
to-day. 

The  office  of  president  is  now  filled 
by  Col.  Geo.  E.  Leighton ;  and  Prof.  W. 
S.  Chaplin,  lately  dean  of  the  Lawrence 
Scientific  School  of  Harvard  University, 


However,  I  fear  that  the  city  fails  to 
appreciate  its  full  worth  and  dignity. 
The  University  does  not  impress  by  an 
imposing  array  of  buildings  in  the  midst 
of  extensive  grounds,  for  it  has  no 
"  campus,"  and    its   halls,  museums  and 


h 


tfmiiiifsf.nivi 


The  Levee  end  of  the  Great  Bridge. 


is  chancellor.  The  last  steps  of  progress 
have  been  made  :  I.  The  establishment 
and  endowment  of  the  Henry  Shaw 
School  of  Botany,  with  unrivalled  facilities 
for  theoretical  and  practical  study  on  the 
part  of  special  students.  II.  The  incor- 
poration of  the  St.  Louis  Medical  School, 
well  equipped  and  well  endowed  as  a 
medical  department. 

Such  is  a  brief  sketch  of  the  University, 
an  institution  of  the  first  rank,  of  which 
St.    Louis    is    and   ought    to    be    proud. 


laboratories  are  scattered  on 
six  different  blocks,  with  no 
evident  relationship.  It  has 
no  dormitory  system,  no  great  assem- 
bly room,  and  it  makes  no  grand  com- 
mencement parade.  Nevertheless,  it 
stands,  I  do  not  hesitate  to  affirm,  for 
high  aims,  and  thorough  training.  The 
total  enrolment  of  students  in  all  depart- 
ments at  the  present  time  is  1536. 

Early  St.  Louis  was  not  only  intensely 
French,  it  was  exclusively  Roman  Catho- 


THE   CITY  OF  ST  LOUIS. 


613 


lie.  The  descendants  of  those  early 
families  are  with  few  exceptions  Catholics 
to-day.  The  Roman  church  is  therefore 
unusually  strong  in  St.  Louis;  it  has 
wealth,  style,  and  numbers.  The  Jesuit 
fathers  founded  St.  Louis  University  in 
1829,  and  the  College  of  Christian 
Brothers  dates  from  about  1850.  Both 
institutions  are  largely  patronized  and 
occupy  large  and  imposing  buildings. 
They  give  no  technical  training,  confin- 
ing themselves  to  the  "  humanities  "  and 
to  religious  instruction.  Convents  are 
numerous  in  St.  Louis  and  convent 
schools  for  girls  have  been  very  popular. 
There  are  about  fifty  Catholic  churches 
in  the  city. 

St.  Louis  has  good  public  schools,  and 
they  are  cheerfully  and  loyally  supported. 
Their  most  remarkable  feature  is  the 
forty-eight  kindergartens  established  in 
all  parts  of  the  city  as  part  of  the  system. 
Under  what  seems  to  some  an  unnecessary 
ruling,  children  are  not  admitted  to  the 
public  schools  until  they  are  six  years 
old;  St.  Louis,  therefore,  presents  the 
striking  anomaly  of  having  proportionally 
more  kindergartens,  and  less  children  in 
them  of  kindergarten  age,  than  any  other 
city.  In  consequence  of  the  large  num- 
ber of  parochial  schools,  Catholic  and 
Lutheran,  the  enrolment  of  the  public 
schools  is  from  ten  to  fifteen  thousand 
less  than  would  be  expected  in  a  northern 
city.  The  High  and  Normal  school  con- 
tains between  twelve  thousand  and  thir- 
teen thousand  pupils,  and  an  excellent 
corps  of  teachers  ;  it  is  particularly  strong 
in  the  affections  of  the  people.  The 
whole  number  of  teachers  now  engaged 
is  1,254,  and  the  enrolment  of  pupils  is 
59,700. 

The  city  contains  two  libraries,  besides 
those  of  the  universities  and  special 
schools.  The  Mercantile,  with  seventy- 
five  thousand  books,  is  housed  on  the 
fifth  floor  of  a  fire-proof  building  ;  it  is 
very  accessible,  and  its  admirable  reading 
room  is  deservedly  popular.  New  quar- 
ters are  preparing  for  the  Public  Library, 
with  its  eighty  thousand  volumes,  in  the 
fine  Public  School  building  going  up  at 
Ninth  and  Locust  Streets.  Neither  of 
these  libraries  is  absolutely  free,  though 
the  fees  charged  are  small. 


One  ought  not  to  look  for  highly  de- 
veloped society  in  a  new  town,  which  has 
grown  up  without  inherited  wealth.  Cul- 
ture in  philosophy  and  art,  even  in  the 
art  of  good  living  and  social  intercourse, 
depends  chiefly  on  the  ease  and  luxury 
which  only  wealth  can  bring.  Men  who 
are  building  up  business  in  a  new  field 
and  meeting,  day  by  day,  the  imperative 
demands  of  a  new  community,  have  little 
time  or  money  for  certain  refinements 
which  are  matters  of  course  in  older 
cities.  St.  Louis  is  only  now  harvesting 
her  first  crop  of  millionnaires.  Her  men 
of  wealth  are  just  beginning  to  feel  able 
to  use  their  means  to  beautify,  adorn,  and 
enrich,  not  only  private  houses  and 
grounds,  but  the  institutions  which  give 
character  and  comeliness  to  the  city. 
St.  Louis  may  boast  of  no  mean  outlook. 
Its  literary,  aesthetic,  scientific,  and  social 
clubs  are  numerous  and  strong. 

Conspicuous  among  the  influences  lead- 
ing to  the  study  of  philosophy  and  liter- 
ature was  the  work  and  inspiring  example 
of  Dr.  William  T.  Harris,  now  U.  S. 
Commissioner  of  Education.  For  twenty 
years  he  was  teacher  and  superintendent 
of  our  public  schools,  and  since  his  re- 
tirement from  that  work  he  has  contrib- 
uted to  the  activity  of  clubs  which  he 
helped  to  organize.  As  would  be  ex- 
pected, university  and  high  school  men 
have  entered  fully  into  the  intellectual  life 
of  the  city  beyond  the  walls  of  their  lec- 
ture rooms  and  laboratories.  Some  of 
the  clergy  have  helped  outside  of  their 
pulpits.  One,  a  lover  and  creator  of 
good  literature,  has  for  eight  winters  con- 
ducted a  fortnightly  class  of  some  forty 
men  and  women  in  the  study  of  literature. 
Browning,  Emerson,  Wordsworth,  Homer, 
Shelley,  Milton  and  Dante  have  in  succes- 
sion been  the  objects  of  systematic  and 
careful  reading.  There  are  many  similar 
clubs.  The  "Wednesday  Club,"  consist- 
ing of  over  one  hundred  women,  meets 
in  its  rented  hall  every  two  weeks  and 
discusses  literature  and  social  science. 
The  Artists'  Guild  numbers  sixty  mem- 
bers, —  enthusiastic  painters,  sculptors, 
musicians,  and  literateurs.  Every  season 
brings  to  the  front  several  musical  organ- 
izations with  most  excellent  programs. 
The  Germans  are  natural  musicians  and 


614 


THE   CITY  OF  ST.  LOUIS. 


exceedingly  fond  of 
singing,  and  they  con- 
tribute largely,  both  as 
artists  and  as  patrons, 
to  encourage  music.  At 
this  time  the  "Wagner 
Club  "  is  exceedingly 
popular.  The  Histori- 
cal Society,  the  Aca- 
demy of  Science,  the 
Engineers'  Club,  indi- 
cate activity  in  special 
directions  ;  the  last 
named  with  some  one 
hundred  and  eighty 
members,  is  one  of  the 
most  successful  techni- 
cal organizations  in  the 
country. 

Of  clubs  organized 
to  promote  the  public 
weal,  the  "  Commercial 
Club  "  and  the  "  Round 
Table,"  of  some  fifty  or 
sixty  members  each, 
deserve  mention ;  and 
more  recently  the 
"  Union  Club  "  on  the 
"South  Side . ' '  Scarcely 
an  important  public  im- 
provement is  effected 
which  does  not  rely  on 


the  influence  of  these  clubs. 
There  is  such  a  thing  as  public 
spirit  distinct  from  private  in- 
terest, but  there  is  a  great  deal 
more  of  public  spirit  allied  with 
private  interest,  and  St.  Louis 
rejoices  in  both.  The  most 
conspicuous  examples  of  social 
clubs  are  the  "St.  Louis,"  which 
is  large,  and  the  "University," 
which  is  smaller.  The  "  Mer- 
cantile Club  "  is  a  large  organi- 
zation of  business  men  which 
serves  many  useful  ends. 

Art  is  young  in  St.  Louis,  but 
vigorous  and  healthy.  It  takes 
several    generations    of  wealthy 


THE   CITY  OF  ST.  LOUIS. 


615 


patrons  to  build  up  an  art  centre  and 
to  develop  great  artists.  There  are 
doubtless  art  possibilities  in  every  com- 
munity, just  as  there  are  "  mute,  in- 
glorious Miltons,"  but  it  takes  a  power 
of  some  kind  to  draw  them  out.  Home 
talent  is  usually  at  a  discount,  but  St. 
Louis  artists  ought  not  to  complain.  The 
School  of  Fine  Arts  has  a  reputation  de- 
servedly high,  and  it  bears  good  fruit  in- 
creasingly. The  Crow  Museum  is  filling 
with  interesting  treasures,  some  of  great 
merit.  Harriet  Hos- 
mer's  "  (Enone  "  is 
a  wonderfully  beauti- 
ful statue.  It  is  seen 
in  one  of  our  illustra- 
tions. 

I  now  come  to 
speak  of  the  great 
activities  which  ab- 
sorb the  working 
strength  and  energies 
of  our  people.  The 
situation  of  St.  Louis, 
at  the  junction  of 
two  great  rivers  and 
at  the  head  of  deep 
water  navigation,  na- 
turally suggests  trade 
rather  than  manufac- 


ture, yet,  even  now, 
it  is  pre-eminently  a 
manufacturing  city. 
The  reports  of  the 
tenth  and  eleventh 
censuses  furnish 
figures  which  indicate  in  a  most  emphatic 
manner  the  growth  and  tendency  of  the 
city  in  the  direction  of  manufacture 
during  the  past  ten  years.  I  dare  not 
quote  those  figures  here  —  they  make 
a  showing  so  extravagantly  favorable 
as  to  suggest  criticism.  It  is  probable 
that  the  business  statistics  for  1880 
and  those  for  1890  were  compiled  in 
very  different  ways,  and  that  compari- 
sons should  be  made  with  caution.  It  is, 
however,  perfectly  safe  to  say  that,  while 
the  population  of  the  city  has  been  in- 
creasing 31.4  per  cent,  the  capital  in- 
vested in  manufacture,  the  men  employed, 
the  wages  paid,  the  raw  materials  used, 
and  the  annual  product  have  increased  in 
a  much  greater   ratio.     The  figures  show 


beyond  all  question  that  the  city  is  rap- 
idly becoming  wealthy  ;  that  the  people 
are  turning  from  other  pursuits  to  that  of 
manufacture ;  that  the  natural  wealth  of 
Missouri  is  developing;  and  that  our 
workmen  are  commanding  higher  wages. 
In  speaking  of  particular  interests  of 
St.  Louis,  I  shall  not  hesitate  to  name  cer- 
tain corporations  which  are  so  connected 
with  the  growth  and  well-being  of  the 
city  as  to  justify  special  mention.  In 
every  instance  the  facts  I  give  have  been 


Premises  of  the  Ss 


Cupples  Real   Estate  Company. 


of  my  own  seeking.  I  only  regret  that  I 
have  not  space  for  more. 

Beer-brewing  is  an  enormous  interest 
in  St.  Louis,  and  I  have  every  reason  to 
believe  that  its  beer  is  excellent.  St. 
Louis  has  come  honestly  by  this  industry. 
Ever  since  the  German  invasion  we  have 
had  plenty  of  Teutons  who  knew  how  to 
make  beer.  Then  we  have  had  in  St. 
Louis  and  vicinity  hundreds  of  thousands 
of  Germans  who  were  fond  of  drinking 
beer.  Barley  is  grown  in  immense  quan- 
tities on  both  sides  of  the  Upper  Missis- 
sippi. Add  to  these  reasons  the  market 
in  the  south  and  west,  and  the  ready 
means  for  export  to  foreign  lands,  and  no 
further  argument  or  explanation  is  needed. 

The  Anheuser-Busch  Brewery  is  said  to 


616 


THE  CITY  OF  ST  LOUIS. 


be  the  largest  in  the  world.  Its  build- 
ings, yards,  and  tracks  occupy  some  forty 
city  blocks,  and  it  employs  an  army  of 
men.  The  processes  of  beer  making  are 
very  interesting,  and  a  visit  to  these 
magnificent  works  is  most  entertaining. 
The  company  exports  vast  quantities  to 
all  quarters  of  the  world.  The  auxiliary 
industries  of  such  an  establishment  are 
important  matters  to  a  large  area.  The 
barley  and  hop  fields,  the  glass  factories, 
the  cooper  shops,  the  wagon  shops,  the 
coal  mines,  the  water-works,  etc.,  com- 
bine a  large  community.  In  1890,  the 
product  of  the  several  breweries  of  the 
city  reached  the  enormous  total  of 
58,491,814  gallons  of  beer,  of  which  the 
establishment  named  contributed  about 
one-fourth. 

The  N.  O.  Nelson  Manufacturing  Com- 
pany is  interesting  for  two  reasons  :  first, 
because  it  has  built  an  immense  business 
(about  two  millions  of  dollars  per  year) 
in  which  the  chief  feature  is  supplies  for 
sanitary  engineering ;  secondly,  it  ex- 
hibits in  its  management  a  method  of 
"profit-sharing"  which  appears  to  be 
remarkably  successful.  It  has  three  fac- 
tories in  St.  Louis  and  two  in  Illinois, 
and  employs  three  hundred  and  fifty  me- 
chanics and  laborers.  The  company  in- 
augurated profit-sharing  in  1886.  I  am 
informed  that  it  is  highly  satisfactory  to 
all  parties,!and  economically  sound.  The 
hours  of  labor  were  reduced  from  ten  to 
nine,  with  no  diminution  in  the  product. 
This  admirable  experiment  in  social 
economics  is  worthy  of  a  few  words  of 
explanation.  Profit-sharing  means  a  divi- 
sion of  "net  profits  "  between  capital  and 
wages.  As  practised  by  this  company 
(and  it  follows  closely  that  of  Le  Claire 
in  France),  all  wages  and  expenses  are 
first  paid  and  interest  at  six  per  cent  on 
the  capital  stock.  The  remainder  of  the 
year's  earnings  is  known  as  "net  profit." 
Of  this  net  profit,  10  per  cent  is  set  aside 
for  Surplus  Fund;  10  per  cent  is  set 
aside  for  Provident  Fund  j  and  80  per 
cent  is  divided  between  capital  and 
wages.  The  net  capital  and  the  total 
amount  of  salaries  and  wages  for  the  year 
are  added,  and  the  80  per  cent  net  profit 
is  distributed  pro  rata.  The  dividend 
on  wages  in  1890  was   10  per  cent,  which 


was  paid  in  stock.  The  esprit  de  corps  yo 
this  company  is  unusual,  and  it  would  ap- 
pear to  be  secure  against  internal  dis- 
cord. Every  employee  is  at  the  same 
time  a  wage-earner  and  a  capitalist,  and 
he  finds  it  to  be  for  his  interest  to  work 
harmoniously  with  himself. 

Many  of  the  leading  enterprises  of  St. 
Louis  are  of  recent  growth.  Twenty 
years  ago  there  was  not  a  large  shoe  fac- 
tory in  the  city  ;  now  there  are  twenty- five. 
The  total  shoe  product  per  year  reaches 
nearly  4,000,000  of  pairs,  while  the  sales 
amount  to  $21,000,000.  No  American 
city  except  Boston  exceeds  this  amount. 
One  establishment  manufactures  1,500,000 
pairs  and  sells  4,000,000.  The  com- 
position of  this  interesting  company  is 
typical  of  many  of  our  energetic  firms. 
Its  partners  were  four  country  boys,  one 
from  New  York,  one  from  Tennessee,  one 
from  Mississippi,  and  one  from  Alabama. 
The  company  sells  its  shoes  south  to  the 
Gulf  and  west  to  the  Pacific. 

Brick-making  was  early  developed  in 
St.  Louis.  Fine  yellow  clay,  of  the  best 
quality  for  making  red  brick,  underlies  the 
whole  city  and  almost  the  entire  state. 
The  clay  is  free  from  gravel  and  requires 
no  admixture  of  sand,  and  when  used  for 
hand-made  brick  is  prepared  for  the 
"striker"  by  the  aid  of  water  and  shovel 
alone.  Machine-made  brick  have  largely 
superseded  all  others.  One  company  has 
made  such  development  that  it  deserves 
honorable  mention.  E.  C.  Sterling  and 
his  brother,  who  had  learned  brick-mak- 
ing in  Connecticut,  organized  the  Hy- 
draulic Press  Brick  Company  in  1866. 
They  have  steadily  improved  the  quality 
and  increased  the  quantity  of  their  bricks, 
until  now  they  have  six  large  yards  in  the 
city,  and  branch  yards  in  the  cities  of 
Chicago,  Kansas  City,  Washington,  Find- 
lay  (Ohioj,  Omaha,  and  Collinsville 
(Ills.)  The  company  makes  90,000,000 
bricks  per  year  in  St.  Louis.  The  grand 
total  of  all  the  affiliated  yards  is  260,000,- 
000.  About  one-third  of  that  immense 
product  consists  of  high-grade  "  front " 
and  ornamental  brick. 

The  writer  was  familiar  with  brick- 
making  in  Massachusetts  forty  years  ago, 
but  a  hydraulic  press  brick  made  from 
dry  clay  was  a  new  thing  to  him,  and  it 


THE  CITY  OF  ST  LOUIS. 


617 


may  still  be  a  novelty  to  many.  When 
making  bricks  by  hand,  the  clay  is  "  tem- 
pered "  to  such  a  degree  of  moisture  as 


at  once  in  the  kiln.  Vast  supplies  of 
dried  clay  are  stored  under  sheds,  so  that 
the  press  may  run  the  whole  year.     Enor- 


Secunty   Building. 

PEABODY,  STEARNS,  &  FURBER,  ARCHITECTS. 


will  enable  it  to  fill  the  mould  without  pres- 
sure. The  bricks  are  therefore  full  of 
water,  and  can  be  made  and  dried  only 
in  warm  and  pleasant  weather.  Hydraulic 
bricks  are  pressed  from  dry  clay  and  set 


mous  pressure  produces  a  very  strong, 
smooth  brick  which  needs  no  drying,  and 
whose  surface  is  consequently  free  from 
cracks  and  blemishes.  The  press  makes 
ten  bricks  at   once,  giving   each  brick  a 


618 


THE   CITY  OF  ST.  LOUIS. 


pressure  of  about  forty-five  tons.  A 
single  machine  will  easily  make  forty-five 
thousand  bricks  in  ten  hours. 

The  company  have  experimented  with 
different  fuels.  They  burn  natural  gas  in 
Ohio,  where  gas  is  plenty ;  crude  petro- 
leum in  Chicago,  where  oil  is  cheaper 
than  coal  j  and  coal  in  St.  Louis,  where 
coal  is  the  cheapest.  In  every  case  they 
burn  in  a  permanent  kiln  with  a  chimney. 
A  new  feature  of  recent  development  is 
the  use  of  a  low  grade  of  fire-clay  and 
the  production  of  gray  and  mottled  brick. 
This  fire-clay  lies  about  eighty  feet  below 
the  surface  in  a  layer  from  five  to  twelve 


Ely  Walker  Dry  Goods  Company's   Building. 

feet  thick.  St.  Louis  bricks  (and  there 
are  many  companies  which  produce  a 
superior  article)  are  in  demand  as  far 
east  as  New  York,  as  far  west  as  Seattle, 
and  as  far  north  as  Winnipeg. 

I  spoke  above  of  low-grade  fire-clay : 
there  is  in  and  near  St.  Louis  a  large 
supply  of  fire-clay  of  very  superior  qual- 
ity, and  our  fire-brick  companies  are  do- 
ing an  immense  business.  Fire-clay  is 
used  not  only  for  making  fire-bricks,  but 
for  making  paving- bricks,  tiles,  gas-re- 
torts, zinc-retorts,  sewer-pipe,  and  pots 
for    melting    glass.     I    am    told    that  St. 


Louis  clay  is  the  finest  in  the  country  and 
that  it  is  in  demand  by  glass  makers  in 
all  parts  of  the  United  States.  The 
yearly  product  of  all  kinds  amounts  to 
120,000  tons  per  year,  80  per  cent  of 
which  finds  a  market  outside  of  St.  Louis. 
A  very  considerable  amount  is  shipped  to 
Mexico  and  the  Pacific  Coast. 

St.  Louis  takes  the  lead  of  American 
cities  in  the  production  of  white  lead. 
Its  annual  product  of  strictly  pure  white 
lead  is  now  20,000  tons.  Three  large 
factories  share  this  industry,  of  which  one 
in  the  largest  in  the  United  States.  The 
proximity  of  St.  Louis  to  the  lead  mines 
of  Missouri,  and  to  the  sil- 
ver and  lead  mines  of 
Colorado,  gives  to  St.  Louis 
an  advantage  for  such  work. 
A  great  part  of  the  castor 
beans  and  flax-seed  raised 
in  the  West  is  used  in  these 
mills  in  making  their  oil. 

St.  Louis  is  a  natural 
market  for  corn  and  wheat. 
In  the  production  of  flour 
she  is  second  only  to  Min- 
neapolis, and  she  sends  vast 
quantities  of  grain  in  bulk  to 
New  Orleans. 

I  would  gladly  refer  to 
the  tobacco  factories,  the 
stove  works,  the  machine- 
shops,  the  packing  houses, 
the  glass-works,  the  granite- 
ware  works,  the  rolling  of 
tinned-plate  (an  operation 
S      *•  now   going    on    on    a   large 

scale),  to  the  cooper  shops, 
the  carriage  factories,  etc., 
but  I  must  turn  to  the  de- 
partment of  trade.  St.  Louis  sells  vastly 
more  than  she  manufactures.  She  sells 
great  quantities  of  dry  goods,  clothing, 
hardware,  furniture,  paper,  etc.,  very  little 
of  which  is  manufactured  here. 

St.  Louis  possesses  unequalled  facilities 
for  trade.  "Take  the  mileage  of  rail- 
ways centring  in  St.  Louis,  and  we  find 
it  equal  to  the  total  mileage  of  the  Ger- 
man Empire,  and  exceeding  by  about 
5,000  miles  the  total  mileage  of  railways 
of  England  or  of  France.  These  are 
not  boastful  facts,  but  facts  which  point 
to    a    future    far    be  von  d    that    as    yet 


THE  CITY  OF  ST  LOUIS. 


619 


attained  by  Europe's  great  river  cities." 
— \_Supt.  Robert  J.  Porter.'] 

The  freight  carried  by  these  roads  in 
1880,  amounted  to  nearly  9,000,000 
tons  ;  in  1890,  it  exceeded  15,000,000,  an 
increase  of  75  per  cent.  This  is  the 
measure  and  tendency  of  St.  Louis' 
trade. 

It  may  seem  to  some  that  river  trans- 
portation is  destined  to  disappear,  in  the 
face  of  more  and  better  railroad  facili- 
ties. Undoubtedly,  railroads  will  always 
defy  competition  in  the  carriage  of  cer- 
tain articles,  but  it  is  an  error  to  suppose 
that  anything  can  compete  with  large,  im- 
proved rivers  in  the  transportation  of 
grain  and  general  freight.  If  navigation 
is  uncertain  and  dangerous  and  inter- 
rupted in  winter,  it  has  small  chance  in 
competition  with  railroads.  But  if  water 
is  plenty,  in  well-defined  channels,  no 
other  means  of  transportation  is  so  cheap. 
This  may  be  shown  by  a  few  figures.  The 
barges  of  the  Mississippi  Transportation 
Company    have     a     capacity    of    50,000 


bushels  of  grain  each,  and  draw  when 
fully  loaded  ten  feet  of  water.  One  tug 
can  tow  seven  barges,  carrying  an  aggre- 
gate of  350,000  bushels.  The  distance 
by  river  from  St.  Louis  to  New  Orleans 
is  1,241  miles.  Under  favorable  condi- 
tions the  trip  can  be  made  by  tug  and 
tow  in  seven  days.  The  running  expense 
of  the  trip  down  is  about  $2,450.  To 
carry  that  amount  of  grain  by  rail  some 
16  trains  would  be  required,  each  con- 
sisting of  a  locomotive  and  40  cars.  The 
expense  is  about  one  dollar  per  mile  for 
every  train.  Hence  the  cost  of  .hauling 
the  full  cargo  to  New  Orleans  (700 
miles)  would  be  $11,200. 

This  full  advantage  requires  ten  feet  of 
water.  If  during  low  water  bars  are  al- 
lowed to  obstruct  the  channel,  the  barges 
cannot  be  fully  loaded,  and  the  cost  per 
bushel  is  proportionately  increased.  The 
river  improvements  demanded  by  St. 
Louis  have  no  reference  to  the  control  of 
the  river  during  high  water ;  it  asks  for 
such  a  control  during  low  water  as  shall 


620 


THE   CITY  OE  ST.  LOUIS. 


maintain  a  continuous  steamboat  channel 
from  St.  Louis  to  the  Gulf. 

Shipments  by  river  have  not  increased 
as  has  railroad  traffic,  but  with  a  good 
channel  they  will  increase  as  exports  in- 
crease. 

The  amount  of  wheat  and  corn  shipped 
by    barges    to    New  Orleans    during   the 


Entrance  to   Boatmen's   Bank. 

three  years  is  as  follows  :  1889,  1,672,- 
361  bushels  wheat;  13,315,952  bushels 
corn.  1890,  1,427,313  bushels  wheat; 
9>37T>36i  bushels  corn.  1891,7,588,836 
bushels  wheat;   1,780,348  bushels  corn. 

The  small  amount  of  corn  is  due  to 
the  failure  of  the  corn  crop  a  year  ago. 
I  learn  from  the  president  of  the  trans- 
portation company  that  had  it  not  been 
for  lack  of  an  improved  channel  during 
the  low  water  of  September,  October,  and 
November,  the  amount  of  wheat  carried 
in  1 89 1  would  have  reached  10,000,000 
bushels.  There  was  wheat  enough,  but 
the  barges  could  not  take  it  all.  In- 
creased facilities  for  carrying  grain  means 
cheaper  and  readier  means  for  export. 

Only  two  of  our  great  commercial 
houses   have   I    space   to  mention.     The 


Simmons  Hardware  Company  was  organ- 
ized in  1874.  Its  growth  has  been  phe- 
nomenal. Already  its  sales  are  larger 
than  those  of  any  one  house  in  the  world 
engaged  in  this  line  of  business.  I  am 
told  that  they  amount  to  $8,000,000. 
Only  one  other  house  in  America,  or  in 
the  world,  sells  one-half  as  much  hard- 
ware. To  better  illustrate  the  magnitude 
of  the  business,  I  will  cite  the  single  items 
of  files.  The  house  sells  from  40,000  to 
50,000  dozens  of  one  brand  annually. 
The  company  employs  about  700  men. 
It  manufactures  nothing ;  its  goods  are 
made  all  over  the  northern  states,  and 
some  few  in  foreign  lands.  In  1856,  90 
per  cent  of  all  the  hardware  sold  was 
imported  goods.  On  the  other  hand,  a 
great  many  American  goods  are  now  ex- 
ported, fully  enough  to  equal  the  value 
of  the  few  that  are  imported.  The  com- 
pany sells  its  goods  in  all  the  states  and 
territories  except  New  England,  the  Mid- 
dle States,  and  the  two  Virginias.  All 
orders  are  given  to  travelling  salesmen 
from  the  company's  catalogue,  which  is 
a  curiosity  in  its  way.  It  is  as  large  as  a 
big  family  Bible,  has  over  2,000  pages 
and  8,000  illustrations.  The  last  edition 
of  8,000  copies  weighed  65  tons  ! 

The  Samuel  Cupples  Woodenware 
Company  is  an  equally  striking  example 
of  energy  and  success  in  utilizing  natural 
advantages  to  the  full.  The  magnitude 
of  the  transactions  of  this  company  may 
be  inferred  from  the  statement  that  one- 
half  of  the  entire  woodenware  business 
of  the  United  States  is  done  by  this  sin- 
gle company.  Several  important  lines  of 
its  goods,  such  as  brooms,  buckets,  paper 
bags,  barrels,  kegs,  axe-handles,  and 
wooden  packages  are  in  part  manufac- 
tured in  St.  Louis  by  independent  or  al- 
lied companies.  A  single  factory  make 
for  it  400,000,000  paper  bags  annually. 
The  thoroughness  with  which  this  com- 
pany covers  the  territory  tributary  to  St. 
Louis  explains  its  magnificent  success. 
It  has  just  erected  an  immense  warehouse 
in  such  proximity  to  the  railways  that  it 
actually  has  become  a  railway  station,  and 
its  ability  to  handle  goods  has  been  greatly 
increased.  The  substantial  character  of 
this  building  is  shown  in  one  of  our  illus- 
trations. 


THE   CITY  OF  ST.  LOUIS. 


621 


Directors'   Room,    Boatmen's   Bank. 


What  these  companies  are  doing, 
others  are  doing,  or  may  do,  with  equal 
success.  Given  energy  and  business  ca- 
pacity—  and  St.  Louis  enjoys  its  full 
measure  of  those  important  pre-requisites 
—  and  then  supplement  by  an  environ- 
ment unequalled  in  this  or  any  country, 
and  we  have  all  the  conditions  of  success. 
When  the  managers  of  these  corporations 
are  asked  the  secret  of  their  prosperity, 
they  reply  that  they  have  simply  taken 
advantage  of  the  situation  of  St.  Louis,  in 
the  centre  of  a  vast  and  fertile  valley, 
surrounded  on  all  sides  by  populous  and 
thriving  states.  This  is  the  natural  focus 
of  18,000  miles  of  river  navigation,  and 
57,000  miles  of  railways.  In  these  figures 
I  include  only  the  railways  of  Missouri, 
Illinois,  Iowa,  Kansas,  Nebraska,  Arkan- 
sas and  Texas.  If  I  should  include  Ala- 
bama, Georgia,  Mississippi,  Colorado, 
South  Dakota,  Tennessee,  and  Kentucky, 
as  I  may  fairly  do,  the  amount  would  be 
carried  up  to  75,000  miles.  Twenty-one 
railroads  actually  centre  here,  while  sev- 
eral more  send  their  trains  over  hired 
tracks. 

The   size  or  importance  of  a   mother 


city  depends  upon  the  demand  made  by 
the  tributary  region.  San  Francisco  will 
grow  only  as  the  Pacific  Coast  needs  a 
larger  commercial  centre.  Chicago, 
which  shares  with  St.  Louis  the  trade  of 
the  central  West,  and  which  dominates 
the  Northwest  and  the  navigation  of  the 
Great  Lakes,  is  a  trading  city  because  a 
great  one  is  needed,  and  it  will  increase 
as  the  demand  increases  with  the  devel- 
opment of  the  Northwest.  The  region 
naturally  tributary  to  St.  Louis  is  much 
larger,  equally  fertile,  immensely  richer 
in  mineral  wealth,  and  as  yet  quite  unde- 
veloped. The  vast  coal  fields  of  Mis- 
souri and  southern  Illinois  lie  at  its  very 
doors ;  the  boundless  forests  of  southern 
pine  in  Missouri,  Arkansas,  and  Texas 
surpass  many  times  over  the  pine  woods 
of  the  north  ;  the  rich  deposits  of  iron,  lead, 
and  zinc  would  supply  the  world  for  ages  ; 
our  quarries  of  granite  are  as  good,  and  our 
deposits  of  pottery  clays  are  the  best  in 
the  country.  St.  Louis  holds  the  key  to 
this  matchless  region.  With  great  ad- 
vantages as  a  manufacturing  centre,  it 
has  almost  a  monopoly  on  the  trade  of 
the  Southwest,  and  that  trade  is  increas- 


622 


THE   CITY  OF  ST  LOUIS. 


Grain    Barges  on  the   Mississippi 


ing  rapidly.  Gradually,  the  South  is 
emerging  from  the  retarded  civilization 
due  to  a  century  of  slavery.  Education, 
railroads,  water-works,  and  improved  ag- 
ricultural machinery  are  opening  the 
minds  of  its  people  to  the  possibilities  of 
a  new  and  higher  civilization.  The  very 
men  whom  our  St.  Louis  houses  send 
through  every  town  and  hamlet  are  mis- 
sionaries carrying  the  gospel  of  pros- 
perity, comfort,  and  refinement ;  they 
more  than  half  create  the  demand  which 
they  are  so  prompt  to  supply. 

So  I  see  no  immediate  limit  to  the 
prosperity  of  St.  Louis.  Compared  with 
some  cities  its  growth  is  not  very  rapid, 
but  it  is  steady.  It  may  never  be  the 
"  Future  Great  "  pictured  by  the  eccen- 
tric Reavis,  but  it  is  growing  now  more 
rapidly  than  ever.  Its  growth  will  never 
be  at  the  expense  of  other  cities.  It  will 
exist  to  supply  trade  and  manufactures 
to  a  new  region  as  that  region  develops. 
The  Mississippi  can  have  no  permanent 
rival,  nor  can  a  great  manufacturing  city 
exist  much  below  the  latitude  of  St.  Louis. 

St.  Louis  enjoys  superior  advantages 
not  only  as  a  commercial  manufacturing 
centre,  but  also  as  a  residential  city.  It 
stands  on  high  ground  sufficiently  undu- 
lating to  admit  of  easy  and  efficient  drain- 
age. It  has  unlimited  opportunities  for 
growth,  a  river  front  of  nineteen  miles 
and  the  whole  State  behind.  It  shares 
with  other  cities  the  temporary  and  ex- 
asperating evil  of  smoke  from  bituminous 
coal,  but  within  ten  years  that  will  be  in 
a  great  part  removed.  Whenever  the 
city    fathers    shall    acquire    the    courage 


necessary  to  fine  heavily  every  owner  of 
a  smokey  chimney,  the  evil  will  end. 

One  must  not  omit  in  writing  of  St. 
Louis,  to  speak  of  its  great  Exposition 
and  the  festivities  of  October.  The  plan 
of  the  Exposition  building  is  unique.  It 
is  332x506  feet,  and  has  three  floors,  in- 
cluding a  basement  for  "  live  "  machinery. 
The  Exposition  areas  are  spacious  and 
almost  interminable,  while  in  the  very  cen- 
tre of  the  vast  structure,  far  from  the  light 
of  lateral  windows,  is  a  well-appointed 
music  hall  capable  of  seating  four  thou- 
sand people,  and  lighted  through  the 
roof.  The  management  of  the  Exposi- 
tion has  been  most  successful.  Fine  con- 
certs, well-selected  pictures,  and  tasteful 
exhibits  of  St.  Louis  goods,  home-made 
and  imported,  combined  with  moderate 
admission  fees,  attract  vast  throngs  week 
after  week,  and  every  year's  report  shows 
a  balance  on  the  right  side. 

In  October  every  year  the  country 
flocks  to  the  city  to  see  the  "  Veiled  Pro- 
phet," visit  the  Exposition,  and  attend 
the  Annual  Fair ;  for  a  week  the  city  is 
full  of  strangers,  a  hundred  thousand 
strong.  Street  cars,  Fair  grounds,  and 
Exposition  are  thronged  by  day ;  theatres, 
shows,  hotels,  and  boarding-houses  are 
crowded  by  night.  The  streets  are  ablaze 
with  unwonted  lamps,  and  the  grand  and 
imposing  spectacle  of  the  "Veiled  Pro- 
phet," with  his  mystic  attendants  and 
brilliant  allegories,  has  an  unfailing  in- 
terest. It  would  appear  that  railroads, 
hotels,  theatres,  and  merchants  share  in  a 
rich  harvest,  for  the  pageant  is  kept  up 
year  after  year  with  little  variation. 


DEPOSED. 


623 


New  England  men  and  women  have 
played  an  important  part  in  the  creation 
of  St.  Louis.  Ever  since  Mr.  Wyman 
brought  his  boatload  of  Yankee  teachers, 
eastern  brains,  energy,  and  culture  have 
been  in  demand.  With  few  exceptions 
every  circle  and  association  has  welcomed 
New  England  ideas  and  enterprise.  The 
Yankees,  however,  must  not  assume  too 
much.  Kentucky  has  sent  men  of  splen- 
did gifts.  New  York  and  Pennsylvania 
are  well  represented,  and  Germany  has 
sent  us  most  of  all.  According  to  the 
census  schedules,  there  are  fully  seventy 
thousand  citizens  of  St.  Louis  who  were 
born  in  Germany.  As  I  have  said,  many 
of  them  are  political  refugees,  who  could 
not  longer  endure  the  tyranny  of  petty 
dukes  and  princes,  and  who  did  not  hesi- 
tate to  conspire  for  their  overthrow.  The 
failure  of  their  plans  in  Germany  brought 
them  to  St.  Louis.  Their  culture  and  en- 
terprise explains  the  high  rank  Germans 
have  ever  held  among  our  foreign-born. 
As  St.  Louis  is  a  thoroughly  inland 
city,  three  or  four  hundred  miles  from  the 
great  lakes,  and  nearly  a  thousand  miles 
from  salt  water,  with  no  high  mountains 
near,  and  at  an  elevation  of  only  five  hun- 
dred feet  above  the  sea,  an  authentic  state- 
ment  of  average  and  extreme   tempera- 


tures may  be  of  interest.  All  the  figures 
in  the  following  table  were  obtained  from 
Prof.  F.  E.  Nipher,  for  many  years  Di- 
rector of  the  Missouri  Meteorological 
Bureau;  they  refer  only  to  the  city  of 
St.  Louis  : 


Maximum  Temp. 


Minimum  Temp. 

Average     Daily     Max 

imum  for  July- 
Average     Daily      Min' 

imum  for  July 

Average     Daily     Max- 
imum for  Aug. 

Average     Daily     Min- 
imum for  Aug. 


1887 

1888 

1889 

1890 

98.8 

96.2 

95-5 

100. 

—  15.0 

—  8.8 

—  2.2 

3-2 

90.0 

89.5 

86.4 

9"-3 

74.1 

70.8 

69.8 

69.8 

87.2 

83.2 

85.3 

83-5 

71.0 

67.0 

66.9 

66.1 

5-o 

85.8 

65-9 
84.9 
65.6 


Mean  temperatures  based  on  the  ob- 
servations of  fifty-three  years  : 

July,  8o°.4 ;  August,  76°.5  ;  January, 
3i°.i. 

The  difference  between  the  average 
daily  maximum  and  the  average  daily 
minimum  shows  the  range  between  day 
and  night.  This  difference  is  seen  to  be 
about  eighteen  degrees. 


DEPOSED. 

By  Florence  E.  Pratt. 

SO  long  I  loved  thee,  that  my  thought  had  grown 
Round  thee  as  ivy  clings  about  a  wall. 
My  dreams,  my  hopes,  were  centred  in  thee,  all ; 
Thy  presence  was  the  dearest  I  had  known. 
Yet  lo  !  one  evening  as  I  sat  alone, 

And  mused,  and  watched  the  crafty  shadows  fall, 
I  heard  a  voice  like  a  clear  bugle-call, 
And  from  my  heart  there  rolled  away  a  stone. 
Forgive  me  that  I  thought  thee  King,  who  came 
To  hold  my  heart  for  its  predestined  guest. 

At  the  King's  word  the  heavy  gates  swing  in ; 
On  the  high  altar  springs  the  welcoming  flame. 
He  comes  in  all  his  royal  splendor  drest, 
And  makes  the  palace  beautiful  within. 


GEORGE   WILLIAM    CURTIS. 


By  John  IV.    Chadtvick. 


W 


E  praise  the  dead ;   the  sepulchres  we  raise 
Of  mighty  prophets  of  the  elder  days 
Far  seen  through  history's  tender  golden 
haze. 


What  words  too   warm  to    paint    the    men   who 

knew 
Right  words  to  speak,  the  fitting  thing  to  do; 
Let  come  what  would,  were  simple,  just,  and  true  ! 

Why  always  wait  till  they  have  gone  away 
To  that  far  land,  where  what  we  do  or  say 
Adds  light  nor  darkness  to  their  heavenly  day? 

What  time  with  ruffian  flout  or  polished  sneer 
We    name     their     comrades   who    are    with    us 

here  — 
Bayards  like  them  without  reproach  or  fear. 

Laudator  temporis  acti  :  let  him  take 

That  office  high  whose  generous  pulses  make 

Music  like  theirs,  who,  for  thy  glorious  sake, 

O  Truth  and  Right,  are  strong  in  evil  days, 
To  walk  at  need  in  dark  and  lonely  ways, 
Cheered  by  no  shout  of  senseless  vulgar  praise. 

And  such  is  he,  to  whose  Olympian  word 

Our   hearts  leap   up,  as   theirs  whose   souls  were 

stirred 
By  ancient  mysteries,  strangely,  sweetly  heard 

In  breathless  temples,  where  the  incense  dimmed 
The  coffered  ceiling,  and  the  frieze  enlimned 
With  those  great  deeds  that  Homer's  epic  hymned. 

As  Phillips  eloquent;    with  kindlier  art 

Than   his   who    sometimes    tipped    his    jewelled 

dart 
With  deadly  venom  for  the  victim's  heart. 

As  brave  as  he ;    as  willing  to  resign 

Most  that  men  prize,  if  clear  the  mystic  sign, 

For  Duty's  crust,  and  Sorrow's  bitter  wine. 

When  Freedom  called,  not  over-anxious  then, 

Nor  even  anxious  for  the  praise  of  men, 

So  the  poor  slave  might  in  his  loathsome  pen 


Know  him  as  one  who  sought  to  break  his  chain; 
That,  all  the  honor  that  he  cared  to  gain, 
While  in  high  places  sole  the  Enslavers  reign. 

All  fond  delights  of  letters  calm  and  sweet 
Shook  he  as  dust  from  off  his  eager  feet; 
Quick  on  God's  errands  in  the  noisy  street. 

A  truce  to  words  !     Wide  sown  on  field  and  fen 
Up-sprung  a  million  brave  embattled  men  — 
Death  was  the  harvest  that  we  gathered  then. 

Amen  !   for  so  the  aftermath  was  sweet 

With  freedom's  message  and  her  glorious  seat 

Was  'stablished  for  her  perfect  and  complete. 

How  easy,  then,  to  think  that  all  was  done ! 
"  Come,  let  us  glory  in  the  victory  won  ! 
Come,  while  auspicious  shines  the  unclouded  sun, 

Let  us  make  hay,  and  in  the  public  stalls 
Fatten  our  friends  —  a  friend  whoever  bawls 
Loudest  when  greed  for  meanest  service  calls." 

But  some  there  were  to  whom  another  Best, 
Handmaid  of  Freedom,  came  with  high  behest, 
Crying,  "  For  you  no  peace,  for  you  no  rest, 

"Till   this   dear    land — God's   purpose   no  more 

crossed  — 
Shall  win  again  at  whatsoever  cost, 
That  crown  her  keepers  have  so  basely  lost  — 

Nay,  filched  !  —  its  priceless  jewels  to  bestow 
On  sordid  placemen,  who  would  have  you  know, 
To  climb  full  high,  one  cannot  stoop  too  low." 

And  chief  of  those  to  whom  this  message  came, 
Making  their  hearts  aglow,  their  lips  aflame, 
Wast  thou,  our  Sidney,  of  the  stainless  name. 

Long  are  the  years  since  first  thy  voice  rang  out. 
Clear,  calm,  and  sweet,  above  the  rabble's  shout; 
Still  may  it  ring,  until  the  final  rout 

Of  that  vile  horde  that  swarms  whichever  way 
The  victors  march,  their  favors  to  repay 
With  baser  service  —  and  God  speed  the  day  ! 


BEACONSFIELD  TERRACES. 

By  John    Waterman. 


THE  City  of  Boston  is  famous 
throughout  America  for  its  pre- 
eminent social  advantages  —  it  is 
also  famous  for  having  the  most 
delightful  and  most  accessible  suburbs 
of  any  city  in  the  world.  There  is 
no  comparison  possible  between  New 
York  and  Boston  in  this  particular  —  the 
only  comparison  which  really  suggests 
itself  is  London  where  the  problem  of 
rapid  transit  has  been  solved  to  such  an 
extent  that  people  go  home  fifty  miles 
every  evening  to  dinner.  Of  all  Boston 
suburbs,  Brookline  is  not  only  the  most 
get-at-able,  but  perhaps  the  most  beauti- 
ful ;  it  is  celebrated  for  its  charming 
homes,  with  their  survivals  of  the  old 
New  England  airiness  and  roominess. 
And  here  in  Brookline  may  be  witnessed 


one  of  the  most  interesting  experi- 
ments—  if  what  is  already  such  a  pro- 
nounced success  can  be  called  an 
experiment  —  in  Domestic  Economy  in 
this  age  of  conflicting  social  theories. 
This  is  the  group  of  well-to-do  families, 
which,  owing  to  the  untiring  energies  and 
enterprise  of  Mr.  Eugene  R.  Knapp,  has 
been  settled  in  what  are  known  as  the 
Beaconsfield  Terraces  of  Brookline. 

Twelve  years  ago,  Brookline  was  di- 
vided into  a  comparatively  fewlarge  estates 
belonging  to  old  Boston  families,  upon 
which  many  of  the  fine  residences  of 
Boston  merchants  are  now  built.  At 
that  time  there  stood  on  the  high  road  to 
Boston,  within  four  miles  of  the  State 
House,  an  old  homestead  which  had  not 
changed   hands    for    twenty    years.     The 


626 


BEACONSFIELD    TERRACES. 


Eugene    R.    Knapp. 


estate  was  known  as  the  William  Estate 
and  consisted  of  seven  and  one-half  acres 
of  land,  most  of  which  was  devoted  to 
an  apple  orchard  lying  along  Beacon 
Street  at  the  corner  of  what  is  now  Tap- 
pan  and  Beacon  Streets.  Mr.  Knapp 
bought  the  place  in  1880.     He  was  then 


road,  ill  kept  and  always  in  poor  condi- 
tion, filled  with  deep  mud  holes,  and  very 
badly  graded.  Brookline  was  then  quite 
in  the  country  and  there  were  very  few 
Boston  people  who  had  settled  there. 
The  West  end  of  Beacon  Street,  now 
crowded  with  brilliant  equipages,  was  then 
almost  entirely  in  the  possession  of  farm- 
ers driving  their  products  to  market. 
No  one  then  would  have  believed  it  pos- 
sible that  such  a  growth  as  the  Beacons- 
field  Terraces  could  take  place  within  ten 
years. 

A  little  over  four  years  ago,  however, 
Brookline  was  opened  up  for  Bostonians 
in  search  of  homes  outside  of  the  city. 
Beacon  Street  which  had  been  fifty  feet 
wide  was  made  180  feet,  and  the  electric 
cars  brought  Brookline  within  one  half 
hour's  ride  of  the  business  heart  of  the 
city,  and  all  the  theatres  and  amusements. 

The  emigration  of  people  of  means  in 
a  westerly  direction  was  foreseen  by 
Mr.  Knapp,  but  he  did  not  then  hope 
for  such  a  rapid  development  as  has 
taken  place.  In  the  large  centres  of 
population  in  Europe  he  had  seen  the 
same  class  of  citizens  whom  he  wished 
to  interest,  living  in  the  suburban  towns 
and    outskirts    of    the    large    cities,   sur- 


pfeSl! 


The  Park. 


in  search  of  a  pleasant  home  for  his  fam-  rounded  with  all  the  comforts  and  mod- 
ify in  a  locality  accessible  for  a  business  ern  conveniences  of  city  homes  at  a 
man.     Beacon  Street  was  then  a  fifty  foot     much  greater  distance  from  the  heart  of 


BEACONSFIELD    TERRACES. 


627 


FRANCES  TERRACE 


[front.] 

the  city  than  is  Brookline  from  Boston. 
The  dubious  sanitary  advantages  of  made 
land,  upon  which  there  was  a  great  deal 
of  building  going  on  in  another  part  of 
the  city  led  Mr.  Knapp  to  realize  the 
desirability  of  his  property  in  Brookline. 
It  is  all  solid  earth 
and  is  160  feet 
above  tide  water, 
with  a  gradual  as- 
cent from  Boston. 
The  nipping  East 
winds,  the  bane  of 
every  Bostonian,  are 
cut  off  by  Corey 
Hill,  and  the  air  at 
all  times  is  excep- 
tional. The  admir- 
able situation  of 
the  land,  its  near- 
ness to  the  business 
and  social  centres 
of  Boston,  and  the 
commanded  at  every  point,  convinced 
Mr.     Knapp    of    the    feasibility    of    his 


[rear.] 

scheme,  and  he  decided  to 
build  one  of  these  Ter- 
races, as  an  experiment.  He 
was  assured  that  when  the 
economy  and  advantages  of 
this  scheme  of  living  with- 
out loss  of  privacy  and 
seclusion  become  known, 
the  enterprise  would  be  a 
success. 

Confident  that  intelligent 
well-to-do  people  would  ap- 
preciate an  opportunity  of 
living  in  thoroughly-built  houses  which 
would  not  need  the  constant  repairing 
most  houses  in  this  country  require,  Mr. 
Knapp  built  his  houses  on  the  old  Eng- 
lish plan  of  solid  foundations,  solid  walls, 
well-seasoned  timbers,  and  roofs  made  to 


Richter  Terrace. 


beautiful  views    it 


keep  out  rain  as  well  as  look  orna- 
mental. The  Beaconsfield  Terraces  are 
built  of  solid  masonry,  with  foundations 


628 


BEACONSFIELD    TERRACES, 


In  the  Conservatory. 

five  feet  thick  lessening  to  two  feet  at  the 
eaves  of  the  roofs.  The  timbering,  fir- 
ring,  and  studding  are  of  extra  fine 
quality,  and  much  heavier  than  generally 
used  in  this  country.  The  terraces  have 
been  pronounced  by  building  and  insu- 
rance experts  to  be  the  best  and  most 
perfectly  equipped  buildings  ever  built 
in  America. 

When  he  built  the  first  of  the  Beacons- 
field  Terraces,  there  was  considerable 
prophesy  of  failure  at  the  time,  for  it 
was   predicted   that    the   class  of   people 


who    could  become  tenants  or  pur- 
chasers   of    such     luxurious     homes 
would  not  care  to   live  in  a  terrace, 
and  in  going  into  the  country  would 
want  to   own  more  land   as    well    as 
their     homes.       It    certainly   looked 
dubious  in  the    beginning,    but    the 
curiosity  and  interest  excited  by  the 
first     terrace,    consisting    of     eight 
houses  (no  two  of  which  were   alike 
in  their  interior  arrangement)  though 
from   the   exterior  they  had  the  ap- 
pearance of  one  large  building,  im- 
mediately dissipated  all  doubt  as  to 
the  popularity  of  the  new  departure. 
The  houses  in  the  first  terrace  were 
all  disposed  of  before  the   structure 
was   completed.     This  was  certainly 
a  new  departure  in  architectural  de~ 
|        sign.       The    houses    were    built    of 
cream-colored    brick     and    of    gray 
stone  and  the    design  was   indepen- 
dent of  all  the  classic  forms.     It  was 
rather  a  combination  of  the  English  and 
German    mediaeval    castles'    architecture, 
modified  to  insure  all  the   modern  con- 
veniences  in  the  interior  arrangement  of 
the  rooms. 

The  construction  of  the  second  ter- 
race wras  begun  without  delay.  It  con- 
sisted of  seven  houses  situated  on  Beacon 
Street,  at  the  corner  of  Dean  Road,  and 
was  built  of  stone  and  Perth  Ambov  buff- 


The  Terrace   Drag. 


BEAC0NSF1ELD    TERRACES. 


629 


brown  brick,  and  as  a  whole  resembled  of  the  architects  has  been  taxed  to  give 
the  French  chateau  style.  The  first  and  every  room  in  each  house  an  abundance 
•second  terraces  were  named  respectively  of  light  and  a  beautiful  view  of  the  sur- 
Frances  and  Rich- 
ter.  The  next  was 
the  Fillmore  Ter- 
race, built  of  stone 
and  gray  brick  in 
the  same  substan- 
tial manner  as  the 
others,  but  it  com- 
manded a  more 
extended  view  of 
the  West.  The 
bricks  were  similar 
in  color  to  nun's 
veiling,  and  were 
made  especially  to 
suit  the  stonework. 
Other  purchases  of 
land  were  now 
made,  making  in 
all    some    f  o  u  r- 

teen     acres     available,    and     the     con- 
struction of  two  more  terraces  of  similar 
dimensions  was  pushed 
ahead    with    the    utter- 
most expedition,  so  that        I 
there  are  now  thirty-six  § 

houses  all  of  which  are 
nearly  completed,  and 
which  have  been  nearly 
all  sold  in  thirty-six 
months,  on  the  aver- 
age of  one  a  month. 

The  interiors  of  these 
houses  are  all  that  the 
most  elegant  taste  could 
desire.     The   ingenuity 


Gordon    Terrace. 


rounding  country.    The  writer  has  enjoyed 
an  opportunity  of  going  over  every  one  of 


MARGUERITE  TERRACE. 


[FRO  NT  .J 


630 


BEACONSFIELD    TERRACES. 


these  beautiful  dwellings,  and  from  base- 
ment to  garret  has  never  found  a  dark, 
oppressive  corner  in  any  one  of  them.  All 
the  rooms  are  large,  and  what  is  unusual  in 
even  the  most  elegant  modern  houses,  the 
shape  of  each  one  is  pleasant  and  conveni- 
ent. One  of  the  first  things  that  strikes  the 
eye  of  the  visitor  in  these  terraces  is  the 
exquisite  taste  in  which  the  rooms  have 
been   decorated,  and  the   generous   pro- 


terraces.  The  houses  are  all  papered, 
which  is  not  usual  in  houses  for  sale,  and 
the  selection  under  the  direct  superin- 
tendence of  the  architect  is  all  that  the 
most  refined  nature  could  demand.  All 
the  mouldings  and  fixtures  are  in  the 
same  exquisite  taste,  and  each  moulding 
has  an  individuality,  everything  being 
made  from  the  architect's  original  designs. 
The    boiler-house    is    situated  on   the 


FILLMORE  TERRACE 


[front.] 


portions  of  all  the  rooms  and  fittings,  to 
which  is  due  the  loftiness  and  airiness  and 
simplicity  of  the  hallways.  The  floors 
are  all  polished  and  laid  out  in  a  plain 
hardwood  finish.  The  walls  are  panelled 
chair  high  and  finished  in  the  most 
exquisite  designs.  All  the  rooms  are 
lighted  by  electricity  and  warmed  by 
steam  heat  which  is  conducted  into  each 
house  by  an  underground  conduit  from 
the  boiler-house,  which   supplies  all   the 


westerly  side  of  the  terraces,  away  from 
all  the  houses,  in  a  hollow  where  its  lack 
of  architectural  harmony  with  the  rest  of 
the  buildings  is  not  observed.  The  steam 
pipes  are  carried  underground,  in  some 
instances  over  two  thousand  feet,  to  the 
different  terraces,  and  the  main  pipe  runs 
through  the  basement  of  each  terrace,  so 
that  the  occupants  of  each  dwelling  can 
regulate  the  temperature  according  to 
their  individual  liking.     The  temperature 


BEACONSFIELD    TERRACES. 


631 


in  each  room  can  also  be 
regulated,  and  the  general 
supply  to  the  house  can 
be  increased  or  decreased  as 
desired  by  communicating  by 
electric  wire  with  the  engineer 
at  the  boiler-house.  This  sys- 
tem is  known  as  the  indirect 
radiation.  Each  basement  is 
provided  with  a  radiator,  or 
coil  of  pipe,  which  is  enclosed 
in  a  galvanized  iron  box  vary- 
ing in  size,  and  each  radiator 
has  a  large  air  space  which 
connects  with  a  cold  air  box 
on  the  outside  of  the  build- 
ing and  so  furnishes  a  con- 
tinual inflow  of  fresh  air.  This  cold  air 
circulating  over  and  around  the  radiator 
is   heated    and    distributed    through    the 


house   by  regular  furnace  pipes.     There 

are  two  boilers,  each  of  two  hundred  and 

fifty  horse  power,  so  that  in 

case  of  accident    the    house 

will  not  be  without  heat.  The 

cost   of  heating   varies  from 

$17  to  $35   per  month  when 

used,  according   to   the  size 

and  exposure  of  the  house ; 

and  this  subscription  includes 

the  services  of  the  engineer 

and     the    workmen     of    the 

machine-shop  when    needed 

for  any  incidental  repairs. 

The  Casino  connected  with 
the  terraces  is  a  sort  of  club 
building,    used    by    children 


The  Club  Stable. 

during  the  day  to  play  in,  and  for 
dancing  and  social  gatherings  by  the 
adults  in  the  evening. 

It  is  a  low  wooden  building  pleasantly 
situated  nearly  in  the  centre  of  the 
park,  within  two  minutes  walk  of  the 
houses.  It  is  comfortably  furnished 
and  artistically  finished  in  hard  wood, 
and  like  the  other  buildings  lighted  by 
electricity.  The  large  central  room  has 
a  polished  spring  floor  for  dancing,  and 
leading  out  of  this  on  one  side,  is  a  regu- 
lation bowling  alley,  so  arranged  that  if 
wanted  for  amateur  theatricals  it  can  be 
boarded  over  and  converted  into  a  stage 
with  all  the  necessary  equipments.  The 
door  connecting  the  bowling  alley  with 
the  large  room  is  a  sliding  one  opening 
fully  fifteen  feet  wide  so  that  when  the 
rooms  are  needed  for  theatricals  the  hall 
can  be  used  as  an  auditorium,  and  a  full 
and  unobstructed  view  of  the  stage  can 
be    obtained.      The    seating    capacity    is 


The    Boiler-house. 


632 


BEACONSFIELD    TERRACES. 


A  Hallway. 


200.  The  billiard-room  also  connects 
with  the  large  room,  being  screened 
off  with  a  portiere,  and  opening  off 
this  are  the  conservatories,  where  there 
is  an  abundance  of  flowers  in  blos- 
som all  the  year  round,  which  can  be 
obtained  in  any  quantity,  upon  application 


to  the  head  gardener,  at  stated  rates. 
Everybody  living  in  the  terraces  has  free 
access  to  the  Casino  at  any  time,  unless 
some  one  in  particular  has  engaged  it  for 
some  special  entertainment.  This  is  a 
matter  which  can  be  cordially  arranged 
among  the  householders  themselves. 


One  of  the  Chambers. 


BEACONSFIELD    TERRACES. 


633 


To  show  the  increase  in  the  value  of  that  if  any  one  needs  a  coachman  for  any 
this  property,  it  may  be  noted  that  the  particular  occasion  he  can  have  one  at  a 
whole    estate    in    1880    was    assessed    at     stated  price.  There  are  also  in  the  stables, 


A  Corner  of  a   Parlor. 


fifteen  thousand  dollars,  and  last  year's 
taxes  on  it  alone  amounted  to  ten  thou- 
sand dollars. 

The  stables  have  accommodations  for 
two  hundred  and  fifty  horses,  with  a  large 
carriage -room  in  the  basement,  and 
a  harness-room  and  hay-loft  over- 
head. The  whole  building  is  heated 
from  the  boiler-house,  and  everything 
is  ordered  with  military  precision  and 
cleanliness.  It  is  a  large,  handsome 
brick  building  situated  on  low  land, 
one  hundred  and  ten  feet  by  sixty- 
eight,  and  is  capable  of  being  made 
twice  as  large.  All  of  the  house- 
owners,  now  established  and  to  come, 
can  be  accommodated  and  guaran- 
teed that  their  horses  will  have  as 
good  care  and  attention  as  if  in  their 
own  private  stables.  Special  atten- 
tion is  given  to  ventilation.  Another 
convenience    greatly   appreciated    is 


horses  that  can  be  had  at  any  time  by 
parties  not  owning  any  themselves,  at  a 
cost  of   about   one-third    less    than    that 
of  an  ordinary  livery  and  baiting  stables. 
The    stables  are  connected   with  each 


One  of  the   Kitchens. 


634 


BEACONSFIELD    TERRACES. 


house  by  an  electric  bell,  and  a  code  of     attendance,   and  a  night  watchman  is  on 
signals  has  been  devised  so  that  the  occu-     duty   in  the    stable   and  boiler-house,  so 

that  there  is  no  delay  in  case 
of  any  unexpected  emer- 
gency. The  services  of  the 
stablemen  are  included  with 
the  board  of  the  horse. 

The  park  consists  of  about 
six  acres  of  land  laid  out  in 
garden  plots  with  driveways, 
walks,  shade  trees,  flowers, 
tennis  courts,  playgrounds 
for  children,  etc.,  and  be- 
longs to  the  tenants  and 
owners  in  common  for  fifteen 
years  during  which  time  Mr. 
Knapp  is  under  bonds  to 
keep  it  in  thorough  repair. 
After  the  expiration  of  this 
period,  the  tenants  can  un- 
doubtedly by  mutual  arrange- 
ment obtain  possession  of 
the  grounds  for  themselves 
pants  can  have  their  horses  brought  to  and  their  heirs  forever, 
the  door  or  taken  away  from  it  without  The  yards  and  grass  patches  and  side- 
any  trouble.      Stablemen  are  in  constant     walks  are  kept  clear  of  snow  and  in  per- 


A  Bit  of  one  of  the  Libraries. 


A   Hallway. 


BEACONSFIELD  TERRACES. 


635 


Interior  of  the  Casino. 


feet  order  all  the  year  round,  laid  out 
with  ornamental  trees  and  flowers  in 
their  season  at  Mr.  Knapp's  expense. 
There  is  a  large  staff  of  gardeners,  stable- 
men, chore-men,  carpenters,  engineers, 
firemen,  and  others  employed  about  the 
offices  of  the  terraces. 

The  whole  tendency  of  modern  devel- 
opment is  in  the  direction  of  domestic 
economy,  with  the  least  pos- 
sible machinery  and  the 
greatest  possible  centraliza- 
tion in  the  social  body.  The 
advantages  accruing  to  those 
participating  in  such  a 
scheme  of  living  as  has 
been  outlined  in  this  article 
are  most  obvious.  Our 
higher  civilization  has  made 
simple  necessities  of  a 
thousand  things  which  our 
grandfathers  would  have 
considered  the  most  un- 
heard of  luxuries.  It  is 
the  demand  of  all  classes 
of  society  —  the  very  poor- 
est now  enjoy  conveniences,  which  would 
have  been  sybaritic  two  generations  ago. 
The  cost  of  such  living  as  is  enjoyed  by 


the  people  of  the  Beaconsfield  Terraces, 
without  any  such  scheme  of  centralization 
of  authority  and  co-operative  labor,  etc., 
would  probably  exceed  the  means,  or  if 
not  that  the  desires,  of  any  individual 
family  in  the  Terraces,  the  cost  being  but 
half  what  the  same  house  would  cost  in 
Boston  —  as  in  many  cases  the  land  alone 
would  cost  more  than  the  house  and  land 


The  Casino. 


together.  The  residents  enjoy  the  sum- 
mum  bonum  of  material  comforts,  with 
almost   complete  relief  from  the   worries 


636 


THE  PINES. 


and  cares  of  the  average  household.  They 
have  all  the  pleasures  and  benefits  of  a 
large  country  estate,  without  the  care  and 
trouble  and  expense  of  its  maintenance. 
This  is  perhaps  the  main  attraction  of 
these  terraces.  The  residents  have  time 
to  attend  to   the   business  of  happiness, 


which  so  many  over -worked,  over- 
strained heads  of  households  have  no 
leisure  to  dream  of.  It  is  this  feature 
which,  more  perhaps  than  anything  else, 
has  made  this  experiment  interesting 
and  worthy  of  having  attention  directed 
to  it. 


THE   PINES. 

By    Zitella     Cocke. 

FAR  back  in  days  of  childhood  stood  a  grove  of  stately  pines ; 
The  fields  spread  green  around  them,  and  their  shadowy  outlines 
Reached  up  into  the  sky  so  far  that  I  believed  it  true, 
That  angels  in  their  upstretched  arms  passed  through  the  heavenly  blue. 

And  when  the  night  winds  murmured  in  their  branches,  sweet  and  low, 
I  listened  through  the  dark  and  said,  "  'Tis  angels'  harps  I  know  — 
Good  angels  who  will  give  me  all  I  want,  if  I  am  kind," 
For  childhood's  eyes  look  far  out  wide,  but  childhood's  faith  is  blind. 

And  as  the  angel  music  filled  my  soul  with  visions  bright, 

I  lay  upon  my  pillow  in  a  charm  of  rapt  delight, 

Where  noble  knights  and  maidens  moved  in  an  enchanted  land 

Of  palaces  and  gardens  fair  and  castles  tall  and  grand . 


"  Sweet  angels,  grant  me  but  two  gifts,  and  I'll  be  good,  — 
A  palace  for  my  home,  and  let  my  mother  live  alway  : 
My  mother  dear,  so  beautiful  that  like  to  you  she  seems, 
Oh,  let  her  live  forever  !  "  thus  I  whispered  in  my  dreams. 


I  pray 


No  palaces  are  mine,  but  near  me  woods  and  mountains  stand, 
Arrayed  in  all  the  splendor  of  the  wondrous  fairyland ; 
And  o'er  a  grove  beneath  the  pines  the  birds  sing  all  the  day, 
And  Faith's  bright  angel  tells  me  that  my  mother  lives  alway. 


GRAY   DAWN. 

By  S»  Q.  Lapius. 

THE  dense  white  fog  in  drowsy  folds 
Bedecks  the  sleeping  river's  bed  ; 
About  the  hills  it  hangs  and  holds  — 
In  ragged  patches,  overhead, 
It  slowly,  idly  drifts  away. 
The  sullen  mill-dam  booms  and  roars, 
And  drenched  with  clouds  of  flying  spray 
The  wet,  black  rocks  along  the  shores 
Frown  darkly  at  the  coming  day. 

Gray  dawn  peeps  in  and  sweetly  smiles  : 
A  light  breeze,  sweeping  down  the  stream, 
Lifts  high  the  fog  in  snowy  piles ; 
The  sun's  first  burning  lances  gleam 
Along  the  pebbled  river  banks, 
And  misty  hosts,  in  mad  retreat, 
Withdraw  their  broken  scattered  ranks, 
The  bold  sun  marks  their  sad  defeat 
And  dissipates  their  struggling  flanks. 

Gray  dawn  gives  place  to  ruddy  day  : 
The  great  sun  swings  through  azure  skies ; 
And  skimming,  where  the  ripples  play, 
The  screaming  fish-hawks  fall  and  rise. 
The  glassy  water,  cool  and  clear 
Reflects  one  solitary  cloud ; 
And  morning  song-birds,  far  and  near, 
Repeat  their  matins  shrill  and  loud  : 
"The  night  is  done,  and  day  is  here." 


SALEM    WITCH. 

By  Edith  Mary  N orris. 

N    the    year    1690,    late    on    a   summer 
evening,  two  people   might  have  been 
seen  walking  on  the  sands  just  outside 
the  prosperous  town  of  Salem.     Above, 
the  stars  palpitated  in  a  world  of  blue, 
and  all  around  rose  the  myriad  insect 
sounds    of    a    New    England    summer 
night.     In  the  harbor  the  lights  showed 
a  dull  orange  color,  and  ships  loomed 
like  shrouded  phantoms.      In  that  in- 
distinct  light   one   could   almost   fancy 
that  the  sheeted  monsters  had  crept  stealthily  into 
the    harbor,    freighted    with    strange    merchandise 
from    shadowy    and    mysterious    worlds.        In   the 
morning,  with  the  sun  shining  brightly,  and  with  a  brisk 
breeze  filling  the  sails  of  the  floating  craft,  while  the  blue 
waves  danced  merrily,  it  might  be  capped  with  a  necking 
of  white  foam,how  different  the  scene  would  appear. 

Rafe  Orcutt,  one  of  the  two  persons,  said  as  much  to  his  com- 
panion as  they  walked  slowly  along  the  sands.  Rafe  was  one  of  those 
who  "go  down  to  the  sea  in  ships;  who  do  business  in  the  great  waters." 
Stalwart  was  he,  and  strong  and  true.  His  dark  hair  curled  crisply  under  his 
broad-rimmed  hat,  his  brown  eye  had  a  merry  glance,  and  not  even  the  puritanical 
garb  of  those  days  could  mar  his  cheerful  and  ingenuous  bearing.  Having  been  left 
at  an  early  age  dependent  on  himself,  Rafe  had,  by  his  sterling  qualities,  won  a  pro- 
minent position  for  one  of  his  years.  His  first  experience  of  real  life  he  gained 
as  a  boy  working  on  a  fishing-boat  owned  by  one  of  his  neighbors ;  and  later  ap- 
prenticing himself  to  a  shipmaster  who  sailed  up  and  down  the  coast  as  far  as 
Boston  and  Providence,  he  had  become,  at  the  age  of  twenty-seven,  captain  and  part 
owner  of  a  merchant  vessel  trading  between  Salem  and  the  West  Indies,  and  was 
now  on  the  eve  of  his  departure  on  the  last  voyage  he  would  make  before  his  marriage 
to  Margaret  Dalton. 

Very  fair  and  sweet  was  she.  Her  golden  hair  strayed  from  under  her  cap  as 
she  walked  now  at  his  side,  framing  with  curls  her  half-moon  forehead.  Had  it 
been  possible  in  that  dim  light,  one  would  have  seen  that  the  color  came  and  went 
flickeringly  on  her  cheek,  as  they  talked  together ;  the  long  lashes  of  her  deep 
gray  eyes  were  wet  with  tears,  and  her  voice  had  a  little  tremulous  break  in  it 
that  went  straight  to   Rafe's   heart. 

"Foolish  child!"  said  he  tenderly,  "art  greeting,  —  and  for  what?  Why, 
the  months  will  slip  by,  and  before  you  know  it,  the  Oliver  will  be  back  in  Salem 
Harbor.     Then  no  more  partings,  —  but  hey  to  see  the  world  !  " 

"  They  say  it  is  a  wicked  world,"  faltered  Margaret ;  "  and  that  one  were 
safer  here  in  New   England." 

"  They  say  wrong,  sweetheart !  The  world  is  what  a  man's  conscience  maketh 
it.  Evil  there  is,  no  doubt,  and  here  in  Salem  town  as  well  as  elsewhere  :  but  the 
evil  is  in  men's  hearts,  and  they  are  the  same  the  world  over." 

They  had  crossed  a  strip  of  dry  land,  which,  intersected  with  salt-marshes, 
divided  the  sands  from  the  road,  on  the  other  side  of  which  marsh  and  meadow 
stretched  for  some  distance,  dotted  here  and  there  with  a  dwelling  or  a  clump  of 


A    SALEM    WITCH. 


639 


woods.  At  the  door  of  a  small  house, 
whicn  the  lovers  were  now  approaching, 
stood  a  woman  of  about  forty  years  of 
age,  straight,  slim,  and  dark,  with  a  face 
too  worn  for  beauty,  —  and  yet  it  had 
beauty  of  a  certain  sort ;  gentleness  and 
resignation  were  what  it  chiefly  showed, 
and  a  world  of  love  lit  the  dark,  mel- 
ancholy eyes,  whenever  their  glance 
rested  on  the  face  of  the  fair  young  girl, 
whose  sister  she  was.  They  had  dwelt 
here  alone,  their  parents  being  long  since 
dead. 

"  Well,  Dorcas,  did'st  think  we  were 
lost?"  said  Rafe. 

"  Oh,  no,  I  knew  you  better  than  that, 
and  I  have  company,  too.  Here  are 
Mistress  Lawson  and  her  daughter  come 
to  bid  you  Godspeed." 

Two  women  came  forward  to  meet 
them,  as  they  advanced  into  the  room. 
They  were  well-known  to  Rafe,  who  had 
made  his  lodging  at  Mistress  Lawson's  in 
Boston,  when  his  ship  touched  at  that  port, 
but  had  lost  sight  of  her  for  the  past  year. 

"Why,  Mistress  Lawson,"  said  he,  "I 
did  not  think  to  see  you  here  in  Salem." 

"We  came  only  a  few  days  ago,"  was 
the  reply.  "  My  brother  Putnam  was 
eager  for  us  to  live  near  him,  and  Martha 
thought  the  change  might  be  to  her 
benefit." 

"  How,  Martha,"  continued  Rafe,  "  'tis 
something  new  to  think  of  you  needing 
change,  —  you  were  always  so  well." 

"She  hath  not  been  so  well  of  late," 
said  the  widow,"  "and  hearing  you  were 
going  to  sail  so  soon,  I  made  bold  to 
make  my  first  visit  to  Mistress  Dalton, 
and  bid  you  Godspeed  at  the  same  time." 

"And  you  are  heartily  welcome,"  said 
Dorcas.  "  Come,  let  us  take  supper  to- 
gether." 

The  small,  round  table  presented  a 
generous  appearance,  which  Rafe  was  not 
sorry  to  see.  They  drew  up  their  chairs 
and  made  their  evening  meal,  intersper- 
sing it  with  friendly  talk  for  the  space  of 
an  hour,  when  they  rose  to  separate.  We 
will  follow  Martha  Lawson  and  her  mother 
home,  and  leave  Rafe  to  make  his  adieux 
without  spectators. 

"Well,"  said  the  widow,  when  they 
were  well  out  of  hearing,  "  so  it  is  true, 
and  we  gain  naught  for  our  pains." 


"  We  shall  see  yet ;  I  shall  find  some 
way,  —  the  sly  toad  !  A  milk  and  water 
baby  like  that  !  Why,  mother,  I  will 
kill  her  before  he  shall  marry  her." 

"Tut,  tut,  lass,  fair  means  first.  You 
cannot  work  against  fate,  and  it  was 
always  your  fancy  more  than  his." 

"And  I  should  have  won  in  time,  if 
she  had  not  crossed  his  path.  And  she 
shall  not  win  if  I  don't.  There  are  many 
things  may  happen  in  a  year." 

"You  had  best  think  no  more  of  it," 
replied  the  mother. 

"  I  shall  please  myself  in  the  matter," 
said  Martha  sullenly. 

"Aye,  that  you  will,  /  know  full  well," 
said  her  mother  as  she  unlocked  the 
door  of  her  home,  at  which  they  had  by 
this  time  arrived. 

The  next  morning  Rafe  sailed.  He 
came  to  the  sisters'  cottage  in  the  early 
morning  for  a  last  farewell,  and  Margaret 
walked  half  way  to  the  town  with  him, 
and  there  on  the  road  they  parted.  An 
hour  •  later,  Dorcas  and  Margaret  stood 
before  their  dwelling  watching  the  Olivei', 
under  full  sail,  making  her  way  out  of  the 
harbor.  They  watched  until  the  hull  was 
under  the  horizon,  and  then  turned  to 
their  housewifely  tasks. 

The  autumn  glories  faded,  and  the 
face  of  nature  assumed  new  shapes  and 
colors.  From  the  sheltered  calm  of  their 
comfortable  inglenook,  the  sisters,  look- 
ing up  from  the  spinning  or  the  quilting, 
saw  the  wide  sweep  of  sands  and  moor 
beautified  by  its  mantle  of  glistening 
snow,  and  beyond  it,  the  gray  expanse 
of  the  winter  sea.  There  was  less  life 
and  bustle  in  the  harbor  now,  but  once  or 
twice  came  news  from  England,  —  news 
of  the  futile  struggle  of  James  in  Ireland, 
of  want  and  misery  on  the  one  hand,  and 
of  court  festivities  on  the  other.  Once, 
by  great,  good  fortune,  came  a  letter  from 
Rafe,  brought  by  a  merchantman  who 
was  leaving  a  port  the  Oliver  had  just 
made. 

"  We  have  had  a  good  passage,  so  far," 
he  wrote,  "  and  are  like  to  make  a  quick 
return.  Here,  where  I  am,  it  is  still  like 
summer,  but  I  close  my  eyes,  and  seem 
to  see  the  icicles  hanging  from  eaves  and 
windows,  and  the  snow-covered  roof; 
inside,  the  wood-fire   roars  up   the  wide 


640 


A    SALEM    WITCH. 


chimney,  and  I  hear  the  whirr  of  the 
spinning-wheel  which  my  Margaret  turns 
with  her  pretty  foot.  God  keep  you 
both  till  I  come  again." 

Of  Dame  Lawson  and  Martha  they  saw 
something  now  and  again,  —  indeed,  they 
were  near  neighbors ;  but  though  the 
sisters  were  friendly  enough  —  as  they 
were  with  all  creatures  —  between  tem- 
peraments so  different  there  could  be  no 
real  cordiality.  In  Martha  Lawson's 
fierce  and  ungoverned  nature  the  pas- 
sions of  jealousy  and  envy  had  played  sad 
havoc,  and  she  could  scarce  give  a  civil 
word  to  gentle  Margaret  when  they  met. 

So  the  long  winter  passed,  and  at 
length  the  first  indications  of  spring  ap- 
proached. In  this  most  beautiful  of  sea- 
sons the  sisters  spent  much  time  out  of 
doors.  They  planted  the  little  garden 
which  was  to  furnish  their  table,  they 
tended  the  broods  of  early  chickens,  and 
made  the  little  yard  in  front  of  the  house 
gay  with  simple  flowers.  Then  as  the  grass 
grew  green  and  full,  and  the  sun  became 
strong,  they  bleached  the  stores  of  linen 
which  they  had  spun  through  the  winter, 
and,  later,  sewed  many  seams  while  sitting 
under  the  apple-trees  in  their  little  or- 
chard. The  bees  buzzed  and  droned, 
and  the  hens  clucked  to  the  little  puff- 
balls  which  followed  them  about  all  day ; 
and  looking  up  from  their  work  the  sisters 
could  see  the  tall  masts  in  the  harbor  and 
the  wide  sweep  of  waters,  blue  as  the 
summer  sky. 

From  Rafe  they  did  not  hear  again, 
nor  did  they  expect  to ;  he  would  be 
back  in  Salem  some  time  in  September, 
God  willing. 

So  grew  the  year ;  and  as  it  grew,  so 
grew  also  a  tiny  cloud  that  had  uprisen 
in  the  horizon,  and  gathered  size  and 
darkness  until  the  colony  was  steeped  in 
the  blackness  of  the  night. 

One  day  in  February,  Margaret,  going 
to  carry  some  comforts  to  a  sick  neigh- 
bor, had  returned  in  much  excitement. 

"  Dorcas,"  she  said,  as  she  closed  the 
door,  "  it  is  said  there  be  terrible  doings 
in  Salem.  They  say  that  the  minister's 
children  are  bewitched,  for  they  crawl 
into  holes  and  utter  foolish  speeches ; 
and  Abigail  Williams  is  cramped  and 
twisted  as  one  in  a  fit,  at  times." 


"  Perhaps  it  is  a  fit  she  hath ;  ever 
she  hath  seemed  to  me  but  a  witless 
child,"  said  Dorcas. 

"  But  Elizabeth  Parris  is  afflicted  also, 
and  Mr.  Parris,  being  at  his  wit's  end, 
hath  called  in  the  neighbors  for  prayers, 
and  begs  that  you  will  go  thither  also." 

"And  whom  do  they  think  hath  af- 
flicted the  children." 

"They  accuse  Tituba,  the  Indian  wo- 
man." 

"  Alack,  she  ever  seemed  faithful  to 
her  master ;  I  cannot  think  she  would  do 
aught  so  ill,"  replied  Dorcas  ;  "  but  Satan 
hath  many  servitors." 

So  Dorcas  went  to  the  prayer-meeting, 
which,  however,  availed  not,  for  the  trou- 
ble that  had  thus  begun  spread  rapidly 
through  the  small  community,  and,  gam- 
ing force,  became  epidemic.  The  most 
outrageous  accounts  of  sicknesses  (feigned 
or  otherwise),  of  sufferings  supposed  to 
be  inflicted  by  the  malignant  means  of 
others,  were  more  and  n  .e  common, 
and  the  people  generally  were  losing  all 
the  soberness  of  judgment  which  had 
been  hitherto  their  characteristic.  To 
the  children  first  afflicted  were  added 
many  others,  and  a  number  of  poor  per- 
sons, principally  women,  were,  by  the 
malevolence  of  their  neighbors,  accused 
of  the  practice  of  witchcraft  and  thrown 
into  prison. 

"  Margaret,"  said  Dorcas,  one  morning 
in  March.  "  I  have  prayed  for  light,  but 
I  cannot  find  my  way  out  of  this  maze. 
Goodwife  Nurse  was  brought  before  Mr. 
Hathorn  and  Mr.  Curwin  in  the  meeting- 
house, accused  of  being  a  witch." 

"Were  you  there?"  cried  Margaret. 

"Yes,  but  could  hear  almost  nothing, 
the  noise  of  the  accusers  was  so  amaz- 
ing." 

"  How  did  she  comport  herself?  "  ques- 
tioned the  younger  sister. 

"As  one  of  the  saints.  Looking  round 
the  meeting-house,  and  gaining  no 
friendly  look,  distracted  by  the  clamor, 
she  said,  '  I  have  got  no  one  to  look  to 
but  God.'  Then  lifting  her  arms,  she 
spread  out  her  hands  and  cried,  '  O  Lord, 
help  me  ! '  Oh,  Margaret,  I  am  sore  at 
heart,  and  full  of  many  fears.  Here  was 
a  good  woman,  a  good  neighbor,  a  good 
mother,  a  member  of  the  church,  whom 


A    SALEM    WITCH. 


G41 


my  mother  loved,  and  who  hath  kissed  me 
often  with  a  mother's  kiss,  and  I  fear  she 
is  done  to  death." 

Tears  rolled  down  the  cheeks  of  both 
sisters.     Then  Margaret  said  timidly  : 

"  Sister,  do  not  the  pastors  and  magis- 
trates think  her  guilty?  " 

"  Margaret,  Satan  blinds  many  eyes, 
even  those  of  the  saints.  Never  can  I 
think  her  aught  but  a  good  woman.  For 
me,  I  will  go  no  more  to  the  town,  except 
on  the  Sabbath,  to  the  house  of  the 
Lord,  and  I  will  make  supplication  for 
those  accused,  as  well  as  for  the  afflicted 
ones." 

So  the  sisters  busied  themselves  about 
their  own  household,  hearing  as  little  as 
they  could  help  of  those  troublous  do- 
ings ;  but  on  Sundays  the  sermons  and 
prayers  were  full  of  the  all-engrossing 
subject,  and  so  was  the  conversation  of 
the  good  people  of  Salem.  May  and 
June  passed,  each  day  adding  to  the  num- 
ber of  farcica^  ials,  the  impish  actions 
of  the  accusers,  and  the  sufferings  of  the 
poor  wretches  who  had  been  accused  and 
imprisoned.  On  the  nineteenth  of  July, 
Rebecca  Nurse,  with  several  others,  was 
executed.  Dorcas  went  about  her  duties, 
silent  and  white,  and  her  heart  felt  like 
stone  in  her  bosom. 

Margaret  one  day  met  Martha  Lawson, 
who  spoke  roughly  and  cruelly  of  "  the 
old  witch  Nurse.''  Margaret  burst  into 
tears,  and  said  to  her,  "  You  will  be  sorry 
one  day  for  what  you  say  now." 

At  last  came  September.  Margaret, 
who  had  been  much  depressed  by  the 
terrible  occurrences  of  this  dark  summer, 
now  regained  a  little  of  her  wonted 
cheerfulness.  Would  not  Rafe  soon  be 
here  ?  and  would  she  not  soon  be  sailing 
in  the  good  ship  Oliver,  to  the  wondrous 
lands  he  had  told  her  of?  Dorcas  should 
go  with  them,  too  —  she  had  been  so 
unhappy  of  late  —  they  could  not  leave 
her  alone. 

Dorcas  was  indeed  unhappy.  Like 
many  others  less  bigoted  than  the  Mathers 
and  their  followers,  she  felt  herself  lost 
in  a  sea  of  doubt.  She  saw  the  tangible 
evidences  of  a  Christian  life,  as  in  the 
case  of  Goodwife  Nurse,  swept  into  ob- 
livion by  the  absurd  utterances  of  a  few 
apparently  demented    women    and    chil- 


dren, and  she  knew  not  what  to  believe, 
nor  to  whom  to  turn  for  guidance  ;  and 
above  all,  she  felt  an  overwhelming  pre- 
sentiment of  impending  misfortune. 

One  day  in  the  early  part  of  the  month 
came  Martha  Lawson  to  the  cottage,  ask- 
ing for  a  little  honey  for  her  mother,  who 
had  been  ailing  with  fever.  After  talking 
a  while,  she  asked  when  Rafe  was  ex- 
pected, and  was  told,  about  the  middle 
of  the  month. 

"I  go  to  my  Uncle  Putnam's  at  the 
Village  on  the  ninth  of  the  month,  to  see 
the  witches  tried ;  wilt  come  with  me, 
Margaret?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  no  !  I  could  not  bear  it  !  " 
said  Margaret. 

"  Heyday  —  you  don't  say  you  are 
sorry  for  the  wicked  wretches  !  For  me, 
I  will  as  lief  go  to  see  them  hanged  as  to 
see  them  tried." 

"And  I  will  stay  at  home  and  pray  for 
them,"  answered  Margaret. 

"  Pray  for  them,  child?  —  why,  they 
are  in  league  with  the  evil  one  !  Much 
good  your  prayers  would  do  !  " 

"  Yet  they  were  always  good  till  now  — 
at  least,  most  of  them  were  —  and  how 
are  they  become  evil  on  a  sudden?  Oh, 
I  wish  Rafe  were  here,  to  take  me  away 
from  it  all." 

Martha  cast  a  dark  look  at  her  on  this 
mention  of  Rafe,  and  took  up  her  honey 
to  go,  saying  as  she  went,  "  Perhaps  you 
may  change  your  mind  and  I  may  yet 
see  you  at  a  witches'  trial." 

"  Margaret,"  said  Dorcas,  when  she 
had  gone,  "  I  fear  that  girl,  I  know  not 
why  ;  I  saw  a  look  of  hate  on  her  face  as 
she  glanced  at  you  —  and  why  cometh 
she  here  so  smoothly,  who  hath  ever  been 
so  curt?  " 

"  Do  you  know,  Dorcas,  I  have  some- 
times thought  she  cared  for  Rafe,  and 
disliked  me  on  that  account." 

"  Like  enough  —  something  there  is, 
and  I  fear  her." 

"You  are  vaporish,  dear  sister,"  said 
Margaret ;  "  these  ill-doings  have  af- 
frighted you.  What  harm  could  she  do 
us?  And  will  not  Rafe  soon  be  here  to 
take  care  of  us?" 

"Would  he  were  here  now?"  sadly 
answered  Dorcas. 

One  day  a  week  later,  as  Margaret  pre- 


642 


A    SALEM    WITCH. 


pared  the  mid-day  meal,  Dorcas,  who 
was  sewing  in  the  porch  called  to 
her  : 

"  Margaret,  hither  come  the  sheriff  and 
others  ;   what  can  they  want  here  ?  ' 

"  Mayhap  they  are  not  coming  here. 
They  may  only  be  passing,  sister." 

Dorcas  did  not  answer,  but  she  felt  a 
terrible  premonition  of  evil. 

"Good-morrow,  Mistress  Dorcas,"  said 
the  sheriff  as  he  neared  the  gate.  "  Is 
Margaret  Dalton  within?  " 

"She  is,"  said  Dorcas.  "What  do 
you  want  with  her !  "  They  had  now 
entered  the  room  where  Margaret  was. 

"  I  come  to  arrest  her,  in  the  name  of 
our  sovereign  Lord  and  Lady,  the  King 
and  Queen,  on  complaint  of  one  Martha 
Lawson,  upon  a  charge  of  witchcraft." 

"My  little  Margaret!"  cried  poor 
Dorcas.  "  Why,  she  is  but  an  innocent 
child  !  " 

"  So  may  you  prove,  good  mistress  ;  for 
now  she  must  come  with  me,  to  appear 
presently  before  the  magistrates  in  the 
meeting-house." 

Margaret  stood  with  her  hands  crossed 
on  her  breast,  her  large  eyes  wide  open, 
with  a  strained  expression  of  pain,  and 
her  face  ashy  pale.  Dorcas  brought  her 
outdoor  garments  and  put  them  upon  her, 
then  she  strained  her  to  her  bosom  and 
kissed  her  passionately. 

"  My  lamb  !  my  poor  lamb  !  "  she 
said ;  then  folding  her  shawl  around  her, 
added,  "we  are  ready."  She  put  her 
arm  about  the  trembling  form  of  her 
young  sister,  who,  speechless  from  terror, 
had  uttered  no  word,  and  so  walked  with 
her  the  whole  way  to  the  meeting-house. 
As  they  passed  through  the  streets,  the 
children  jeered  and  shouted,  "  A  witch, 
a  witch  !  "  Dorcas  felt  Margaret's  form 
tremble,  but  she  did  not  speak.  The 
once  friendly  faces  of  their  acquaintances 
wore  an  expression  of  fear  and  terror  as 
they  looked  at  Margaret,  and  Dorcas  felt 
her  heart  die  within  her.  In  the  meet- 
ing-house were  the  magistrates,  with  a 
great  concourse  of  people,  and  sitting  in 
the  space  between  the  magistrates  and 
the  place  where  Margaret  was  made  to 
stand  were  Martha  Lawson  and  her 
mother,  and  others  of  the  so-called 
afflicted. 


The  clerk  of  the  court  having  read  the 
charge,  a  magistrate  said,  — 

"  Martha  Lawson,  do  you  recognize 
this  person  as  the  one  who  hath  so 
afflicted  and  tormented  you?  " 

Margaret  looked  straight  at  her  accuser, 
when  the  latter  fell  on  the  ground  writh- 
ing and  shrieking  horribly.  At  length, 
after  many  contortions,  being  helped  to 
her  feet,  she  screamed  :   "  She  is  a  witch 


she  done  to 


you 


she 


—  hang  her." 

"What    hath 
was  asked. 

"  She  torments  me  with  pain,  and 
pinches  me,  and  buffets  me.  On  Tuesday 
she  did  look  over  the  fence  at  our  hens, 
and  six  of  them  were  dead  before  night. 
She  prayeth  for  the  witches.  Once  when 
I  did  speak  of  Witch  Nurse,  she  said,  '  I 
will  make  you  sorry,  yet,  for  what  you  say 
now ' ;  then  was  I  taken  with  pricking, 
pains  in  my  body,  and  crooked  pins  did 
come  from  it.  I  was  pinched  and 
buffetted  in  my  sleep,  and  once  was 
thrown  from  my  bed  on  to  the  floor. 
Last  night  looking  from  the  window  wre 
did  see  her,  or  her  spectre,  flying  in  the 
air."  Margaret  at  this  clasped  her  hands 
tightly  together,  when  Martha  shrieked 
out  that  the  witch  pinched  her. 

"  Hold  out  your  arms  and  stretch  your 
hands  open,"  said  the  magistrate.  Dor- 
cas would  have  held  one  of  her  hands,  but 
was  prevented.  Margaret  becoming  faint 
from  standing  in  this  position,  she  would 
have  supported  her,  but  was  again  pre- 
vented. The  evidence  was  continued, 
and  at  length  Margaret  fainted  and  was 
carried  out,  which  fact  was  used  at  the 
trial,  on  the  seventeenth  of  September,  as 
a  proof  of  her  confusion  and  guilt.  Lor 
the  present  she  was  committed  to  jail, 
and  Dorcas  followed  her  as  one  distraught. 
Meantime,  there  was  no  news  of  the 
Oliver. 

The  seventeenth  of  September  dawned 
with  unusual  brightness.  Not  a  cloud 
marred  the  Italian  blueness  of  the  sky, 
the  air  was  rife  with  sweet  scents  and 
sounds,  and  a  fresh,  soft  breeze  gently 
stirred  the  trees  and  grass.  Outside  the 
town  a  delicious  stillness  reigned,  broken 
now  and  then  by  the  sounds  of  lowing 
cattle.  At  the  cottage  door  stood  Dorcas, 
in  the  early  morning,  her  hand   shading 


A    SALEM    WITCH. 


643 


her  eyes,  looking  out  to  sea.  Alas  !  there 
was  no  sign  of  the  pennant  Rafe  was  wont 
to  fly  on  approaching  the  harbor,  as  a 
signal  to  herself  and  Margaret.  Oh,  if  he 
would  only  come  !  A  sob  broke  from 
her  breast  as  she  looked  round  on  the 
peaceful  scene.  A  flock  of  white  geese 
fed  on  the  common,  the  cows,  Brindle  and 
Mopsey,  chewed  their  cud  in  the  little 
clover  patch,  the  apples  hung  ripe  and 
rosy  in  the  orchard,  —  a  scene  of  sweet 
domestic  peace  and  loveliness.  And  her 
little  sister,  her  one  white  rose,  —  who ' 
had  come  during  the  sorrow  of  her  early 
womanhood,  soothing  and  beguiling  her 
from  bitter  thoughts  with  her  graces  and 
prattle,  and  whom  she  had  taken  to  her 
bosom  as  a  daughter,  and  had  loved  and 
cared  for  ever  since,  —  her  darling  in  a 
cruel  prison,  on  such  a  day  as  this,  to  be 
tried  for  her  life  !  Was  there  a  God? 
What  manner  of  God  could  He  be  who 
allowed  such  things  to  come  to  pass? 
She  flung  out  her  arms  with  a  bitter  cry, 
buried  her  face  in  her  hands,  and  hurried 
into  the  house.  In  a  short  time  the 
paroxysm  passed,  and  she  busied  herself 
making  ready  a  breakfast  to  carry  to 
Margaret,  —  taking  enough  for  those  who, 
"having  no  one  to  carry  food  to  them, 
would  have  fared  hardly  but  for  such  as 
Dorcas.  Finally,  she  put  on  her  cloak 
and  hood,  and  taking  her  basket  in  her 
hand,  closed  the  door  of  the  cottage  and 
started  for  Salem. 

It  was  seven  o'clock  when  she  reached 
the  jail,  and  she  passed  the  intervening 
hours  before  the  opening  of  the  court  in 
feeding  and  tending  Margaret.  And  in- 
deed the  poor  child  had  need  of  such 
kind  care.  A  rude  bench  was  her  only 
resting-place  ;  but  here  Dorcas  had  made 
her  as  comfortable  as  might  be,  with 
blankets  and  garments  carried  from  the 
cottage. 

At  the  appointed  time  they  were  taken 
to  the  court,  and  after  several  of  the 
accused  had  been  subjected  to  examina- 
tion, with  little  diversity  of  result,  Mar- 
garet's name  was  called.  Martha  Lawson 
and  several  others,  with  whom  Margaret 
had  never  spoken,  deposed  in  the  inter- 
vals of  their  writhings  and  shriekings, 
that  she  had  tormented  them  by  biting, 
choking,  pinching,   and    pricking    them ; 


that  she  had  killed  cattle  and  hens,  and 
caused  a  board  to  fall  in  a  chamber  at 
night,  —  with  other  similar  charges. 

"  Is  this  true,"  asked  the  magistrates,  — 
"  that  you  have  done  all  these  vile  things 
to  the  hurt  of  your  neighbors?  " 

"  I  have  never  hurt  anybody,"  sobbed 
Margaret. 

"  Pray,  who  torments  these  people, 
then?" 

"  I  do  not  know." 

"What  have  you  done  towards  this?" 

"Nothing  at  all." 

"  Have  you  ever  entered  into  contract 
with  the  Devil?" 

"  I  never  have." 

If  the  poor  prisoner  moved  her  head, 
their  heads  also  moved  and  they  cried 
out  of  pains  in  their  necks,  and  if  she 
looked  at  them,  they  swooned.  She  was 
made  to  touch  them,  with  her  eyes  turned 
another  way,  and  they  immediately  re- 
covered. Finally,  Margaret  was  con- 
demned, with  eight  others,  to  suffer  death 
by  hanging  on  the  twenty-second  of  Sep- 
tember. 

Dorcas  accompanied  her  sister  back  to 
the  prison,  and  attended  to  her  material 
wants.  She  repeated,  at  Margaret's  re- 
quest, some  favorite  passages  of  Scrip- 
ture, and  prayed  with  her.  Shortly  be- 
fore sun-down  she  was  obliged  to  leave, 
none  being  permitted  to  remain  all  night. 

The  poor  girl  was  sadly  changed.  The 
confinement  had  told  heavily  on  one 
accustomed  to  an  outdoor  life.  She 
seemed  numb  and  apathetic.  Not  even 
the  mention  of  Rafe  could  rouse  her  to 
any  life  ;  she  would  only  give  a  sad  smile. 
Once  she  said. 

"  Dorcas,  tell  him  I  loved  him,  I  loved 
him.     Oh,  Dorcas,  I  am  so  tired  !  " 

The  flesh  had  fallen  from  her  limbs 
and  cheeks,  but  her  eyes  shone  brighter 
than  before ;  and  this,  with  the  hectic 
tinge  on  her  cheeks,  gave  her  a  still  more 
striking  beauty. 

Dorcas,  a  great  wound  gaping  in  her 
tortured  heart,  could  only  long  for  Rafe 
to  return.  She  had  no  one  but  him  to 
look  to  on  earth ;  and  heaven,  —  alas, 
poor  Dorcas  !  she  could  not  look  there 
now.  And  so  the  days  passed  heavily 
and  slowly  by  until  the  day  before  that 
fixed  for  the  execution.     Dorcas  had  all 


644 


A    SALEM    WITCH. 


the  time  ministered  to  her  sister,  who  lay 
day  after  day  in  a  half  stupor,  only  rous- 
ing now  and  then  to  utter  half-delirious 
words  of  happier  days.  This  babbling 
of  home  and  its  delights  was  inexpressi- 
bly painful  to  Dorcas,  though  she  felt  that 
the  oblivion  was  a  merciful  lightening  of 
poor  Margaret's  load.  Sometimes  there 
would  be  lucid  intervals ;  and  one  of 
these  occurred  on  this  last  sad  afternoon. 
Dorcas  was  watching  the  dear  face,  as 
she  waited  for  the  signal  for  departure. 
On  a  sudden  the  gray  eyes  opened,  and 
Margaret  put  her  hand  in  her  sister's, 
with  a  faint  smile. 

"  Dorcas,  I  know  it  all  now  —  all,  and 
I  feel  so  happy  —  I  know  not  why.  Tell 
Rafe  I  loved  him,  and  I  leave  you  to  his 
keeping.  Read  to  me  now,  will  you? 
Read  me  the  psalm  'The  Lord  is  my 
Shepherd."  ' 

Dorcas  read  with  a  clear  voice  until 
the  signal  for  departure  was  given. 

"  Good-night,  darling,  try  and  sleep 
to-night ;  I  will  be  with  you  early  in  the 
morning." 

A  shiver  passed  over  the  frame  of 
Dorcas  as  she  spoke  ;  she  was  past  tears 
now,  and  bore  herself  with  a  cold,  un- 
natural calm.  She  gave  one  last  linger- 
ing look  at  the  slight  form,  then  left  the 
jail  on  her  solitary  walk  home.  Home,  oh, 
what  a  mockery  was  now  in  that  word  ! 

Before  four  o'clock  on  the  morning  of 
the  twenty-second  of  September,  the 
Oliver  sailed  into  Salem  Harbor.  At  the 
topmast  a  little  pennant  streamed  above 
the  white  sails.  No  sooner  was  she  an- 
chored than  the  captain  had  a  boat  low- 
ered and  manned  by  two  stout  sailors, 
who  rowed  him  to  where  he  could  land 
upon  the  sloping  sands  some  half  mile 
outside  the  town.  There  were  few  souls 
yet  stirring,  and  he  met  no  one  to  tell 
him  of  affairs  in  Salem. 

As  he  walked  the  sands  with  a  firm 
step,  and,  surveying  the  familiar  land- 
scape, passed  over  the  downs  towards  the 
little  cottage  he  had  left  so  many  months 
ago,  his  eye  kindled  and  his  cheeks  flushed 
with  happiness.  In  the  east  the  gray  sky 
was  flushed  with  the  coming  dawn ;  and 
presently  the  sun,  like  a  great  ball  of 
flame,  rose  into  the  crimson  sea  of  cloud. 


A  solitary  bird  chirped  occasionally,  and 
a  frog  croaked  from  one  of  the  pools  in 
the  salt  marsh.  The  silence  of  dawn  was 
upon  the  land.  It  was  the  hour  of  uni- 
versal waking. 

Dorcas,  who  had  thrown  herself  upon 
the  bed  to  gather  what  strength  she 
might,  but  from  whose  eyes  sleep  had 
been  absent,  had  risen  at  an  early  hour, 
and,  at  this  moment  stepped  to  the  door, 
as  she  had  done  every  morning  since 
Margaret's  arrest,  to  look  out  to  the  har- 
bor. What  is  that  she  sees  !  It  is,  — 
yes,  it  is  the  pennant  of  the  Oliver  in  the 
offing.  Who  is  this  on  the  downs,  near- 
ing  the  cottage,  with  light  and  happy 
step  ?     Oh,  God,  it  is  Rafe  ! 

Her  heart  stood  still  as  Rafe,  seeing 
one  at  the  door,  but  not  noting  her  sad- 
ness at  the  distance,  waved  his  cap  with 
a  hearty  cheer.  In  a  short  time  he  ran 
up  the  path  to  the  door,  only  to  see  a 
woman  with  white  hair  and  wild  eyes  fall 
at  his  feet  as  one  dead. 

He  carried  her  into  the  house  and  laid 
her  upon  the  settle  in  the  little  living- 
room,  and  called  "Margaret."  At  that 
sound  Dorcas  moaned  and  relapsed  into 
insensibility.  He  hurried  to  the  well  for 
water,  dashed  it  in  her  face,  and  again 
called  "  Margaret."  She  groaned  again, 
but  this  time  lay  trembling,  looking  at 
him  with  wide  open  eyes,  —  but  still  she 
could  not  speak. 

Rafe  looked  about  the  house.  Why 
did  it  look  so  deserted  and  so  disordered  ? 
Margaret's  bird  was  gone  from  its  cage  — 
she  had  asked  Dorcas  to  set  it  at  liberty 
the  day  she  was  committed.  And  where 
was  Margaret  herself? 

"  Dorcas,"  he  cried,  "where  is  Mar- 
garet? "  Dorcas  sat  up  and,  with  a  look 
of  wild  despair,  pushed  back  the  hair 
from  her  face. 

"  How  can  I  tell  you  ?  how  can  I  tell 
you?"  Then  she  burst  into  a  paroxysm 
of  sobs  and  tears,  the  first  tears  she  had 
shed  since  the  dreadful  day  of  the  trial. 
Soothing  her  as  a  brother  might,  Rafe 
drew  from  her  the  sad  story  of  Mar- 
garet's fate.  He  was  frozen  with  horror, 
and  sat  like  a  man  of  stone.  Suddenly 
he  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"  Come  !  "  he  said,  in  a  terrible  voice, 
"let  us  go  thither." 


A    SALEM    WITCH.. 


His  strong  frame  shook  with  an  agony  too  deep  for  words.' 


"Not  yet,"  said  Dorcas;  "we  cannot 
enter  till  seven,  and  I  must  get  food  and 
milk  for  her.  You,  too,  must  eat  a  morsel, 
lest  your  strength  be  spent." 

"  Nay,  I  cannot  eat.  I  will  go  and  see 
if  aught  can  be  done.  I  will  see  you  at 
the  jail." 

"  There  is  nothing  can  be  done,  Dor- 
cas," he  said  with  a  broken  voice,  when 
by  and  by  he  met  her  on  her  way  to  the 
jail ;  "  nothing.  I  pleaded  with  them  as 
man  never  pleaded  before,  but  it  was  of 
no  avail.     My  poor  lost  darling  —  to  be 

—  oh  God  !  how  can  I  bear  it?  "  Then 
his  manner  changed  suddenly.  "  She 
came  with  me,  my  little  sweetheart,  just 
such  a  morning  as  this,  last  year,  and  we 
said  good-by,  near  yon  hillock,  and  she 
bade  God  bless  me  and  bring  me  safe  again 

—  and  now  —  "he  flung  himself  face 
downward  on  the  grass,  and  sobbed  aloud. 
Dorcas  sat  trembling  by  him ;  the  strong 
man's  agony  tore  her  heart. 

"Come,  my  poor  sister,"  he  said  as  he 
rose,  "  I  do  ill  to  add  to  your  trouble. 
Let  us  face  it  together." 


In  front  of  the  jail  at  that  early  hour 
a  knot  of  people  was  already  gathered. 
These  made  way  with  some  awe  for 
Dorcas  and  Rate.  Indeed,  the  young 
man,  his  blanched  face  set  in  the  stern 
curves  of  mental  anguish,  bore  something 
of  the  aspect  of  an  avenger.  At  length, 
as  they  were  permitted  to  enter,  the 
jailer  took  Dorcas  aside. 

"  I  have  news  for  you,  mistress  —  I 
know  not  if  it  be  good  or  ill.  Your  sister 
is  dead,  —  she  passed  away  during  the 
night." 

"The  Lord  hath  delivered  her  from 
the  hands  of  her  enemies  !  "  exclaimed 
Dorcas. 

"Let  us  see  her,"  said   Rafe  quietly. 

The  jailer  threw  open  the  door,  and 
there  on  the  rude  bed  lay  Margaret  — 
dead.  Her  hands  were  crossed  upon 
her  breast,  her  face  wore  a  smile  of  peace, 
and  her  golden  hair  shone  round  her 
head  like  the  nimbus  of  a  saint. 

Rafe's  lips  parted,  but  no  sound  came 
from  them.  His  strong  frame  shook  with 
an  agony  too  deep  for  words  or  for  tears, 


U6 


A    SALEM    WITCH. 


How  different  was  this  meeting  from  that 
which  he  had  expected  but  a  few  hours 
ago,  as  he  swung  lightly  over  the  turf ! 
A  few  hours  ago  —  it  seemed  long  years 
since  that  happy  sunrise  !  A  frightful 
sense  of  the  cruelty  and  hardness  of  it  all 
filled  his  heart;  and  a  mad  desire  for 
revenge  made  his  brain  for  a  moment 
reel ;  only  for  a  moment,  —  then  the 
thought  that  there  was  still  a  duty  which 
he  could  perform  roused  him  as  nothing 
else  could  have  done.  It  was  not  hard 
to  obtain  permission  to  carry  away  the 
body,  and  his  plans  were  quickly  made. 
He  left  Dorcas  in  charge  and  hurried 
back  to  his  ship.  As  he  went  on  board, 
the  men  observing  the  grief  depicted  on 
his  face,  saluted  him  gravely  and  stood 
silent  as  he  passed  to  his  cabin.  He 
stayed  there  a  few  minutes  with  the  mate, 
who  presently  returned  to  the  deck, 
leaving  him  alone.  Soon,  he  too  re- 
turned, and  stepped  into  the  midst  of  the 
little  group. 

"Mates,"  said  he,  "  you  have  heard 
me  speak  of  her  who  was  to  have  voyaged 
with  us,  and  you  have  heard  now  what 
has  come.  One  last  duty  I  can  do  for 
my  poor  girl,  and  I  would  like  those  that 
love  me  to  help  me  to  do  it." 

"Anything  we  can  do  to  help  you, 
lad,  shall  be  done,"  said  the  old  boatswain, 
forgetting  the  captain  and  thinking  only 
of  the  man  who  might  have  been  his  son. 

"Aye,  aye,"  said  the  others. 

And  when  the  town  had  followed  the 
other  unhappy  creatures  to  the  place  of 
their  execution,  another  procession  left 
the  jail,  and  walked  towards  the  cottage 
by  the  sea.     First  came  Rafe,  with  Dorcas 


on  his  arm,  then  an  improvised  bier  car- 
ried by  six  sailors,  and  then  two  by  two 
the  rest  of  the  crew  of  the  Oliver.  They 
buried  her  under  the  trees  in  the  little 
orchard  where  she  had  played  as  a  child, 
and  where  she  and  Dorcas  had  sewed  in 
the  early  summer.  Rafe  thanked  them 
in  simple,  tender  speech  when  all  was 
done ;  and  he  instructed  the  mate  to 
meet  him  in  Boston  with  the  vessel,  when 
her  cargo  was  discharged  and  her  ac- 
counts settled,  bringing  such  things  from 
the  cottage  as  Dorcas  wished  to  preserve. 
Then  he  took  Dorcas  by  the  hand  and 
turned  his  back  on  Salem  forever. 


In  a  little  cottage  on  the  bleak  Cornish 
coast  dwelt  for  many  years  in  the  earlier 
part  of  the  eighteenth  century,  a  white- 
haired  woman  and  a  man  who  was  pre- 
maturely old  and  broken.  They  ad- 
dressed each  other  as  "  brother "  and 
"  sister."  They  were  known  far  and  near 
for  deeds  of  charity  and  sympathy  to 
those  in  sorrow  and  need.  The  good 
people  of  the  village  in  which  they  lived 
were  not  a  little  curious  at  first  about 
these  "  new  folk  "  ;  but  they  never  spoke 
of  their  past,  and  after  a  time  it  seemed 
as  if  they  had  always  been  there.  To 
them,  too,  came  a  measure  of  peace,  as 
it  comes  to  those  who  have  drunk  deepest 
of  the  cup  of  sorrow.  Pursuing  the  tenor 
of  their  way,  they  saw  the  renewal  of  the 
years  and  the  seasons,  while  in  a  far-off 
land  the  winds  made  requiem  and  drifted 
in  turn  the  apple-blossoms  and  the  snow 
over  the  lowly  grave  in  the  garden  by  the 


-=T~i\q^,^ 


I   am  sitting  by  the  Window   in  this  Atrocious   Nursery." 


THE  YELLOW  WALL-PAPER. 


Bv  Charlotte  Perkins  Stetson. 


T  is  very  seldom 
that  mere  ordi- 
nary people  like 
John  and  myself 
secure  ancestral 
halls  for  the 
summer. 

A  colonial  man- 
sion, a  hereditary 
estate,  I  would 
say     a      haunted 

house,  and  reach  the  height  of  romantic 

felicity  —  but    that   would  be   asking   too 

much  of  fate  ! 

Still  I  will  proudly  declare  that  there  is 

something  queer  about  it. 


Else,  why  should  it  be  let  so  cheaply  ? 
And  why  have  stood  so  long  untenanted  ?' 

John  laughs  at  me,  of  course,  but  one 
expects  that  in  marriage. 

John  is  practical  in  the  extreme.  He 
has  no  patience  with  faith,  an  intense 
horror  of  superstition,  and  he  scoffs 
openly  at  any  talk  of  things  not  to  be  felt 
and  seen  and  put  down  in  figures. 

John  is  a  physician,  and  perhaps —  (I 
would  not  say  it  to  a  living  soul,  of 
course,  but  this  is  dead  paper  and  a 
great  relief  to  my  mind  —  )  perhaps  that 
is  one  reason  I  do  not  get  well  faster. 

You  see  he  does  not  believe  I  am  sick  I 

And  what  can  one  do  ? 


648 


THE   YELLOW  WALL-PAPER. 


If  a  physician  of  high  standing,  and 
one's  own  husband,  assures  friends  and 
relatives  that  there  is  really  nothing  the 
matter  with  one  but  temporary  nervous 
depression  —  a  slight  hysterical  tendency 
—  what  is  one  to  do? 

My  brother  is  also  a  physician,  and 
also  of  high  standing,  and  he  says  the 
same  thing. 

So  I  take  phosphates  or  phosphites  — 
whichever  it  is,  and  tonics,  and  journeys, 
and  air,  and  exercise,  and  am  absolutely 
forbidden  to  "  work  "  until  I  am  well  again. 

Personally,  I  disagree  with  their  ideas. 

Personally,  I  believe  that  congenial 
work,  with  excitement  and  change,  would 
do  me  good. 

But  what  is  one  to  do? 

I  did  write  for  a  while  in  spite  of 
them ;  but  it  does  exhaust  me  a  good 
deal  —  having  to  be  so  sly  about  it,  or 
else  meet  with  heavy  opposition. 

I  sometimes  fancy  that  in  my  condi- 
tion if  I  had  less  opposition  and  more 
society  and  stimulus  —  but  John  says  the 
very  worst  thing  I  can  do  is  to  think 
about  my  condition,  and  I  confess  it 
always  makes  me  feel  bad. 

So  I  will  let  it  alone  and  talk  about 
the  house. 

The  most  beautiful  place  !  It  is  quite 
alone,  standing  well  back  from  the  road, 
quite  three  miles  from  the  village.  It 
makes  me  think  of  English  places  that 
you  read  about,  for  there  are  hedges  and 
walls  and  gates  that  lock,  and  lots  of 
separate  little  houses  for  the  gardeners 
and  people. 

There  is  a  delicious  garden  !  I  never 
saw  such  a  garden  —  large  and  shady, 
full  of  box-bordered  paths,  and  lined  with 
long  grape-covered  arbors  with  seats  under 
them. 

There  were  greenhouses,  too,  but  they 
are  all  broken  now. 

There  was  some  legal  trouble,  I  be- 
lieve, something  about  the  heirs  and  co- 
heirs ;  anyhow,  the  place  has  been  empty 
for  years. 

That  spoils  my  ghostliness,  I  am  afraid, 
but  I  don't  care  —  there  is  something 
strange  about  the  house  —  I  can  feel  it. 

I  even  said  so  to  John  one  moonlight 
evening,  but  he  said  what  I  felt  was  a 
draught,  and  shut  the  window. 


I  get  unreasonably  angry  with  John 
sometimes.  I'm  sure  I  never  used  to  be 
so  sensitive.  I  think  it  is  due  to  this 
nervous  condition. 

But  John  says  if  I  feel  so,  I  shall  neglect 
proper  self-control;  so  I  take  pains  to 
control  myself —  before  him,  at  least,  and 
that  makes  me  very  tired. 

I  don't  like  our  room  a  bit.  I  wanted 
one  downstairs  that  opened  on  the  piazza 
and  had  roses  all  over  the  window,  and 
such  pretty  old-fashioned  chintz  hang- 
ings !  but  John  would  not  hear  of  it. 

He  said  there  was  only  one  window 
and  not  room  for  two  beds,  and  no  near 
room  for  him  if  he  took  another. 

He  is  very  careful  and  loving,  and 
hardly  lets  me  stir  without  special  direc- 
tion. 

I  have  a  schedule  prescription  for  each 
hour  in  the  day ;  he  takes  all  care  from 
me,  and  so  I  feel  basely  ungrateful  not  to 
value  it  more. 

Pie  said  we  came  here  solely  on  my 
account,  that  I  was  to  have  perfect  rest 
and  all  the  air  I  could  get.  "  Your  ex- 
ercise depends  on  your  strength,  my 
dear,"  said  he,  "  and  your  food  somewhat 
on  your  appetite ;  but  air  you  can  ab- 
sorb all  the  time."  So  we  took  the  nur- 
sery at  the  top  of  the  house. 

It  is  a  big,  airy  room,  the  whole  floor 
nearly,  with  windows  that  look  all  ways, 
and  air  and  sunshine  galore.  It  was 
nursery  first  and  then  playroom  and 
gymnasium,  I  should  judge  ;  for  the  win- 
dows are  barred  for  little  children,  and 
there  are  rings  and  things  in  the  walls. 

The  paint  and  paper  look  as  if  a  boys' 
school  had  used  it.  It  is  stripped  off — 
the  paper  —  in  great  patches  all  around 
the  head  of  my  bed,  about  as  far  as  I  can 
reach,  and  in  a  great  place  on  the  other 
side  of  the  room  low  down.  I  never  saw 
a  worse  paper  in  my  life. 

One  of  those  sprawling  flamboyant 
patterns  committing  every  artistic  sin. 

It  is  dull  enough  to  confuse  the  eye  in 
following,  pronounced  enough  to  con- 
stantly irritate  and  provoke  study,  and 
when  you  follow  the  lame  uncertain 
curves  for  a  little  distance  they  suddenly 
commit  suicide  —  plunge  off  at  outrage- 
ous angles,  destroy  themselves  in  un- 
heard of  contradictions. 


THE   YELLOW  WALL-PAPER. 


649 


The  color  is  repellant,  almost  revolt- 
ing ;  a  smouldering  unclean  yellow, 
strangely  faded  by  the  slow-turning  sun- 
light. 

It  is  a  dull  yet  lurid  orange  in  some 
places,  a  sickly  sulphur  tint  in  others. 

No  wonder  the  children  hated  it  !  I 
should  hate  it  myself  if  I  had  to  live  in 
this  room  long. 

There  comes  John,  and  I  must  put  this 
away,  —  he    hates    to    have    me   write    a 

word. 

****** 

We  have  been  here  two  weeks,  and  I 
haven't  felt  like  writing  before,  since  that 
first  day. 

I  am  sitting  by  the  window  now,  up  in 
this  atrocious  nursery,  and  there  is  noth- 
ing to  hinder  my  writing  as  much  as  I 
please,  save  lack  of  strength. 

John  is  away  all  day,  and  even  some 
nights  when  his  cases  are  serious. 

I  am  glad  my  case  is  not  serious  ! 

But  these  nervous  troubles  are  dread- 
fully depressing. 

John  does  not  know  how  much  I  really 
suffer.  He  knows  there  is  no  reason  to 
suffer,  and  that  satisfies  him. 

Of  course  it  is  only  nervousness.  It  does 
weigh  on  me  so  not  to  do  my  duty  in 
any  way ! 

I  meant  to  be  such  a  help  to  John, 
such  a  real  rest  and  comfort,  and  here  I 
am  a  comparative  burden  already  ! 

Nobody  would  believe  what  an  effort  it 
is  to  do  what  little  I  am  able,  —  to  dress 
and  entertain,  and  order  things. 

It  is  fortunate  Mary  is  so  good  with 
the  baby.     Such  a  dear  baby  ! 

And  yet  I  cannot  be  with  him,  it  makes 
me  so  nervous. 

I  suppose  John  never  was  nervous  in 
his  life.  He  laughs  at  me  so  about  this 
wall-paper  ! 

At  first  he  meant  to  repaper  the  room, 
but  afterwards  he  said  that  I  was  letting 
it  get  the  better  of  me,  and  that  nothing 
was  worse  for  a  nervous  patient  than  to 
give  way  to  such  fancies. 

He  said  that  after  the  wall-paper  was 
changed  it  would  be  the  heavy  bedstead, 
and  then  the  barred  windows,  and  then 
that  gate  at  the  head  of  the  stairs,  and  so 
on. 

"You   know  the    place    is    doing  you 


good,"  he  said,  "  and  really,  dear,  I  don't 
care  to  renovate  the  house  just  for  a 
three  months'  rental." 

"Then  do  let  us  go  downstairs,"  I 
said,  "  there  are  such  pretty  rooms  there." 

Then  he  took  me  in  his  arms  and 
called  me  a  blessed  little  goose,  and  said 
he  would  go  down  cellar,  if  I  wished,  and 
have  it  whitewashed  into  the  bargain. 

But  he  is  right  enough  about  the  beds 
and  windows  and  things. 

It  is  an  airy  and  comfortable  room  as 
any  one  need  wish,  and,  of  course,  I  would 
not  be  so  silly  as  to  make  him  uncomfort- 
able just  for  a  whim. 

I'm  really  getting  quite  fond  of  the 
big  room,  all  but  that  horrid  paper. 

Out  of  one  window  I  can  see  the 
garden,  those  mysterious  deep-shaded 
arbors,  the  riotous  old-fashioned  flowers, 
and  bushes  and  gnarly  trees. 

Out  of  another  I  get  a  lovely  view  of 
the  bay  and  a  little  private  wharf  be- 
longing to  the  estate.  There  is  a  beauti- 
ful shaded  lane  that  runs  down  there 
from  the  house.  I  always  fancy  I  see 
people  walking  in  these  numerous  paths 
and  arbors,  but  John  has  cautioned  me 
not  to  give  way  to  fancy  in  the  least.  He 
says  that  with  my  imaginative  power  and 
habit  of  story-making,  a  nervous  weak- 
ness like  mine  is  sure  to  lead  to  all  man- 
ner of  excited  fancies,  and  that  I  ought 
to  use  my  will  and  good  sense  to  check 
the  tendency.     So  I  try. 

I  think  sometimes  that  if  I  were  only 
well  enough  to  write  a  little  it  would  re- 
lieve the  press  of  ideas  and  rest  me. 

But  I  find  I  get  pretty  tired  when  I  try. 

It  is  so  discouraging  not  to  have  any 
advice  and  companionship  about  my 
work.  When  I  get  really  well,  John  says 
we  will  ask  Cousin  Henry  and  Julia  down 
for  a  long  visit ;  but  he  says  he  would  as 
soon  put  fireworks  in  my  pillow-case  as  to 
let  me  have  those  stimulating  people 
about  now. 

I  wish  I  could  get  well  faster. 

But  I  must  not  think  about  that.  This 
paper  looks  to  me  as  if  it  knew  what  a 
vicious  influence  it  had  ! 

There  is  a  recurrent  spot  where  the 
pattern  lolls  like  a  broken  neck  and  two 
bulbous  eyes  stare  at  you  upside  down. 

I  get  positively  angry  with  the  imperti- 


650 


THE   YELLOW  WALL-PAPER. 


nence  of  it  and  the  everlastingness.  Up 
and  down  and  sideways  they  crawl,  and 
those  absurd,  unblinking  eyes  are  every- 
where. There  is  one  place  where  two 
breaths  didn't  match,  and  the  eyes  go  all 
up  and  down  the  line,  one  a  little  higher 
than  the  other. 

I  never  saw  so  much  expression  in  an 
inanimate  thing  before,  and  we  all  know 
how  much  expression  they  have  !  I 
used  to  lie  awake  as  a  child  and  get  more 
entertainment  and  terror  out  of  blank 
walls  and  plain  furniture  than  most  chil- 
dren could  find  in  a  tOy-store. 

I  remember  what  a  kindly  wink  the 
knobs  of  our  big,  old  bureau  used  to 
have,  and  there  was  one  chair  that  always 
seemed  like  a  strong  friend. 

I  used  to  feel  that  if  any  of  the  other 
things  looked  too  fierce  I  could  always 
hop  into  that  chair  and  be  safe. 

The  furniture  in  this  room  is  no  worse 
than  inharmonious,  however,  for  we  had 
to  bring  it  all  from  downstairs.  I  sup- 
pose when  this  was  used  as  a  playroom 
they  had  to  take  the  nursery  things  out, 
and  no  wonder  !  I  never  saw  such 
rav.iges  as  the  children  have  made  here. 

The  wall-paper,  as  I  said  before,  is  torn 
off  in  spots,  and  it  sticketh  closer  than  a 
brother  —  they  must  have  had  persever- 
ance as  well  as  hatred. 

Then  the  floor  is  scratched  and  gouged 
and  splintered,  the  plaster  itself  is  dug 
out  here  and  there,  and  this  great  heavy 
bed  which  is  all  we  found  in  the  room, 
looks  as  if  it  had  been  through  the  wars. 

"  But  I  don't  mind  it  a  bit  —  only  the 
paper. 

There  comes  John's  sister.  Such  a 
dear  girl  as  she  is,  and  so  careful  of  me  ! 
I  must  not  let  her  find  me  writing. 

She  is  a  perfect  and  enthusiastic  house- 
keeper, and  hopes  for  no  better  profes- 
sion. I  verily  believe  she  thinks  it  is  the 
writing  which  made  me  sick  ! 

But  I  can  write  when  she  is  out,  and 
see  her  a  long  way  off  from  these  windows. 

There  is  one  that  commands  the  road, 
a  lovely  shaded  winding  road,  and  one 
that  just  looks  off  over  the  country.  A 
lovely  country,  too,  full  of  great  elms  and 
velvet  meadows. 

This  wallpaper  has  a  kind  of  sub- 
pattern  in  a  different  shade,  a  particularly 


irritating  one,  for  you  can  only  see  it  in 
certain  lights,  and  not  clearly  then. 

But  in  the  places  where  it  isn't  faded 
and  where  the  sun  is  just  so  —  I  can  see  a 
strange,  provoking,  formless  sort  of  figure, 
that  seems  to  skulk  about  behind  that  silly 
and  conspicuous  front  design. 

There's  sister  on  the  stairs  ! 

****** 

Well,  the  Fourth  of  July  is  over  !  The 
people  are  all  gone  and  I  am  tired  out. 
John  thought  it  might  do  me  good  to  see 
a  little  company,  so  we  just  had  mother 
and  Nellie  and  the  children  down  for  a 
week. 

Of  course  I  didn't  do  a  thing.  Jennie 
sees  to  everything  now. 

But  it  tired  me  all  the  same. 

John  says  if  I  don't  pick  up  faster  he 
shall  send  me  to  Weir  Mitchell  in  the  fall. 

But  I  don't  want  to  go  there  at  all.  I 
had  a  friend  who  was  in  his  hands  once, 
and  she  says  he  is  just  like  John  and  my 
brother,  only  more  so  ! 

Besides,  it  is  such  an  undertaking  to 
go  so  far. 

I  don't  feel  as  if  it  was  worth  while  to 
turn  my  hand  over  for  anything,  and  I'm 
getting  dreadfully  fretful  and  querulous. 

I  cry  at  nothing,  and  cry  most  of  the 
time. 

Of  course  I  don't  when  John  is  here, 
or  anybody  else,  but  when  I  am  alone. 

And  I  am  alone  a  good  deal  just  now. 
John  is  kept  in  town  very  often  by  serious 
cases,  and  Jennie  is  good  and  lets  me 
alone  when  I  want  her  to. 

So  I  walk  a  little  in  the  garden  or 
down  that  lovely  lane,  sit  on  the  porch 
under  the  roses,  and  lie  down  up  here  a 
good  deal. 

I'm  getting  really  fond  of  the  room  in 
spite  of  the  wallpaper.  Perhaps  because 
of  the  wallpaper. 

It  dwells  in  my  mind  so  ! 

I  lie  here  on  this  great  immovable  bed 
—  it  is  nailed  down,  I  believe  —  and  fol- 
low that  pattern  about  by  the  hour.  It  it 
as  good  as  gymnastics,  I  assure  you.  I 
start,  we'll  say,  at  the  bottom,  down  in 
the  corner  over  there  where  it  has  nos 
been  touched,  and  I  determine  for  the 
thousandth  time  that  I  will  follow  that 
pointless  pattern  to  some  sort  of  a  con- 
clusion. 


THE   YELLOW  WALL-PAPER. 


651 


I  know  a  little  of  the  principle  of 
design,  and  I  know  this  thing  was  not 
arranged  on  any  laws  of  radiation,  or 
alternation,  or  repetition,  or  symmetry,  or 
anything  else  that  I  ever  heard  of. 

It  is  repeated,  of  course,  by  the 
breadths,  but  not  otherwise. 

Looked  at  in  one  way  each  breadth 
stands  alone,  the  bloated  curves  and 
flourishes  —  a  kind 
of  "  debased  Roma- 
nesque "  with  deli- 
rium tremens  —  go 
waddling  up  and 
down  in  isolated 
columns  of  fatuity. 

But,  on  the  other 
hand,  they  connect 
diagonally,  and  the 
sprawling  outlines 
run  off  in  great 
slanting  waves  of 
optic  horror,  like  a 
lot  of  wallowing  sea- 
weeds in  full  chase. 

The  whole  thing 
goes  horizontally, 
too,  at  least  it  seems 
so,  and  I  exhaust 
myself  in  trying  to 
distinguish  the  order 
of  its  going  in  that 
direction. 

They  have  used  a 
horizontal  breadth 
for  a  frieze,  and  that 
adds  wonderfully  to 
the  confusion. 

There  is  one  end 
of  the  room  where 
it  is  almost  intact, 
and  there,  when  the 

crosslights  fade  and  the  low  sun  shines 
directly  upon  it,  I  can  almost  fancy  radia- 
tion after  all,  —  the  interminable  gro- 
tesque seem  to  form  around  a  common 
centre  and  rush  off  in  headlong  plunges 
of  equal  distraction. 

It  makes  me  tired  to  follow  it.     I  will 

take  a  nap  I  guess. 

****** 

I  don't  know  why  I  should  write  this. 

I  don't  want  to. 

I  don't  feel  able. 

And    I    know    John    would    think    it 


absurd.  But  I  must  say  what  I  feel 
and  think  in  some  way  —  it  is  such  a 
relief ! 

But  the  effort  is  getting  to  be  greater 
than  the  relief. 

Half  the  time  now  I  am  awfully  lazy, 
and  lie  down  ever  so  much. 

John  says  I  mustn't  lose  my  strength, 
and  has  me  take  cod  liver  oil  and  lots  of 


She  didn't  know  I  was  in  the  Roor 


tonics  and  things,  to  say  nothing  of  ale 
and  wine  and  rare  meat. 

Dear  John  !  He  loves  me  very  dearly, 
and  hates  to  have  me  sick.  I  tried  to 
have  a  real  earnest  reasonable  talk  with 
him  the  other  day,  and  tell  him  how  I 
wish  he  would  let  me  go  and  make  a  visit 
to  Cousin  Henry  and  Julia. 

But  he  said  I  wasn't  able  to  go,  nor 
able  to  stand  it  after  I  got  there  ;  and  I 
did  not  make  out  a  very  good  case  for 
myself,  for  I  was  crying  before  I  had  fin- 
ished. 


652 


THE   YELLOW  WALL-PAPER. 


It  is  getting  to  be  a  great  effort  for  me 
to  think  straight.  Just  this  nervous  weak- 
ness I  suppose. 

And  dear  John  gathered  me  up  in  his 
arms,  and  just  carried  me  upstairs  and 
laid  me  on  the  bed,  and  sat  by  me  and 
read  to  me  till  it  tired  my  head. 

He  said  I  was  his  darling  and  his  com- 
fort and  all  he  had,  and  that  I  must  take 
care  of  myself  for  his  sake,  and  keep 
well. 

He  says  no  one  but  myself  can  help 
me  out  of  it,  that  I  must  use  my  will  and 
self-control  and  not  let  any  silly  fancies 
run  away  with  me. 

There's  one  comfort,  the  baby  is  well 
and  happy,  and  does  not  have  to  occupy 
this  nursery  with  the  horrid  wallpaper. 

If  we  had  not  used  it,  that  blessed 
child  would  have  !  What  a  fortunate  es- 
cape !  Why,  I  wouldn't  have  a  child  of 
mine,  an  impressionable  little  thing,  live 
in  such  a  room  for  worlds. 

I  never  thought  of  it  before,  but  it  is 
lucky  that  John  kept  me  here  after  all,  I 
can  stand  it  so  much  easier  than  a  baby, 
you  see. 

Of  course  I  never  mention  it  to  them 
any  more  —  I  am  too  wise,  — but  I  keep 
watch  of  it  all  the  same. 

There  are  things  in  that  paper  that 
nobody  knows  but  me,  or  ever  will. 

Behind  that  outside  pattern  the  dim 
shapes  get  clearer  every  day. 

It  is  always  the  same  shape,  only  very 
numerous. 

And  it  is  like  a  woman  stooping  down 
and  creeping  about  behind  that  pattern. 
I  don't  like  it  a  bit.  I  wonder  —  I  be- 
gin to  think — I  wish   John  would  take 

me  away  from  here  ! 

****** 

It  is  so  hard  to  talk  with  John  about 
my  case,  because  he  is  so  wise,  and  be- 
cause he  loves  me  so. 

But  I  tried  it  last  night. 

It  was  moonlight.  The  moon  shines 
in  all  around  just  as  the  sun  does.' 

I  hate  to  see  it  sometimes,  it  creeps  so 
slowly,  and  always  comes  in  by  one  win- 
dow or  another. 

John  was  asleep  and  I  hated  to  waken 
him,  so  I  kept  still  and  watched  the 
moonlight  on  that  undulating  wallpaper 
till  I  felt  creepy. 


The  faint  figure  behind  seemed  to 
shake  the  pattern,  just  as  if  she  wanted 
to  get  out. 

I  got  up  softly  and  went  to  feel  and  see 
if  the  paper  did  move,  and  when  I  came 
back  John  was  awake. 

"What  is  it,  little  girl?"  he  said. 
"  Don't  go  walking  about  like  that  — 
you'll  get  cold." 

I  thought  it  was  a  good  time  to  talk, 
so  I  told  him  that  I  really  was  not  gain- 
ing here,  and  that  I  wished  he  would 
take  me  away. 

"Why,  darling!"  said  he,  "our  lease 
will  be  up  in  three  weeks,  and  I  can't  see 
how  to  leave  before. 

"  The  repairs  are  not  done  at  home,  and 
I  cannot  possibly  leave  town  just  now. 
Of  course  if  you  were  in  any  danger,  I 
could  and  would,  but  you  really  are  bet- 
ter, dear,  whether  you  can  see  it  or  not. 
I  am  a  doctor,  dear,  and  I  know.  You 
are  gaining  flesh  and  color,  your  appetite  is 
better,  I  feel  really  much  easier  about  you." 

"I  don't  weigh  a  bit  more,"  said  I, 
"  nor  as  much  ;  and  my  appetite  may  be 
better  in  the  evening  when  you  are  here, 
but  it  is  worse  in  the  morning  when  you 
are  away  !  " 

"  Bless  her  little  heart  !  "  said  he  with 
a  big  hug,  "she  shall  be  as  sick  as  she 
pleases  !  But  now  let's  improve  the  shin- 
ing hours  by  going  to  sleep,  and  talk 
about  it  in  the  morning  !  " 

"And  you  won't  go  away?"  I  asked 
gloomily. 

"Why,  how  can  I,  dear?  It  is  only 
three  weeks  more  and  then  we  will  take 
a  nice  little  trip  of  a  few  days  while 
Jennie  is  getting  the  house  ready.  Really 
dear  you  are  better  !  " 

"  Better  in  body  perhaps —  "  I  began, 
and  stopped  short,  for  he  sat  up  straight 
and  looked  at  me  with  such  a  stern,  re- 
proachful look  that  I  could  not  say 
another  word. 

"My  darling,"  said  he,  "  I  beg  of  you, 
for  my  sake  and  for  our  child's  sake,  as 
well  as  for  your  own,  that  you  will  never 
for  one  instant  let  that  idea  enter  your 
mind  !  There  is  nothing  so  dangerous, 
so  fascinating,  to  a  temperament  like 
yours.  It  is  a  false  and  foolish  fancy. 
Can  you  not  trust  me  as  a  physician  when 
I  tell  you  so?  " 


THE   YELLOW  WALL-PAPER. 


653 


So  of  course  I  said  no  more  on  that 
score,  and  we  went  to  sleep  before  long. 
He  thought  I  was  asleep  first,  but  I 
wasn't,  and  lay  there  for  hours  trying  to 
decide  whether  that  front  pattern  and  the 
back  pattern  really  did  move  together  or 

separately. 

****** 

On  a  pattern  like  this,  by  daylight, 
there  is  a  lack  of  sequence,  a  defiance  of 
law,  that  is  a  constant  irritant  to  a  nor- 
mal mind. 

The  color  is  hideous  enough,  and  un- 
reliable enough,  and  infuriating  enough, 
but  the  pattern  is  torturing. 

You  think  you  have  mastered  it,  but 
just  as  you  get  well  underway  in  following, 
it  turns  a  back-somersault  and  there  you 
are.  It  slaps  you  in  the  face,  knocks 
you  down,  and  tramples  upon  you.  It  is 
like  a  bad  dream. 

The  outside  pattern  is  a  florid  ara- 
besque, reminding  one  of  a  fungus.  If 
you  can  imagine  a  toadstool  in  joints,  an 
interminable  string  of  toadstools,  budding 
and  sprouting  in  endless  convolutions  — 
why,  that  is  something  like  it. 

That  is,  sometimes  ! 

There  is  one  marked  peculiarity  about 
this  paper,  a  thing  nobody  seems  to 
notice  but  myself,  and  that  is  that  it 
changes  as  the  light  changes. 

When  the  sun  shoots  in  through  the 
east  window  —  I  always  watch  for  that 
first  long,  straight  ray  —  it  changes  so 
quickly  that  I  never  can  quite  believe  it. 

That  is  why  I  watch  it  always. 

By  moonlight  —  the  moon  shines  in  all 
night  when  there  is  a  moon — I  wouldn't 
know  it  was  the  same  paper. 

At  night  in  any  kind  of  light,  in  twi- 
light, candlelight,  lamplight,  and  worst  of 
all  by  moonlight,  it  becomes  bars  !  The 
outside  pattern  I  mean,  and  the  woman 
behind  it  is  as  plain  as  can  be. 

I  didn't  realize  for  a  long  time  what 
the  thing  was  that  showed  behind,  that 
dim  sub-pattern,  but  now  I  am  quite  sure 
it  is  a  woman. 

By  daylight  she  is  subdued,  quiet.  I 
fancy  it  is  the  pattern  that  keeps  her  so 
still.  It  is  so  puzzling.  It  keeps  me 
quiet  by  the  hour. 

I  lie  down  ever  so  much  now.  John  says 
it  is  good  for  me,  and  to  sleep  all  I  can. 


Indeed  he  started  the  habit  by  making 
me  lie  down  for  an  hour  after  each  meal. 

It  is  a  very  bad  habit  I  am  convinced, 
for  you  see  I  don't  sleep. 

And  that  cultivates  deceit,  for  I  don't 
tell  them  I'm  awake  —  O  no  ! 

The  fact  is  I  am  getting  a  little  afraid 
of  John. 

He  seems  very  queer  sometimes,  and 
even  Jennie  has  an  inexplicable  look. 

It  strikes  me  occasionally,  just  as  a 
scientific  hypothesis, —  that  perhaps  it  is 
the  paper ! 

I  have  watched  John  when  he  did  not 
know  I  was  looking,  and  come  into  the 
room  suddenly  on  the  most  innocent  ex- 
cuses, and  I've  caught  him  several  times 
looking  at  the  paper!  And  Jennie  too.  I 
caught  Jennie  with  her  hand  on  it  once. 

She  didn't  know  I  was  in  the  room, 
and  when  I  asked  her  in  a  quiet,  a  very 
quiet  voice,  with  the  most  restrained  man- 
ner possible,  what  she  was  doing  with  the 
paper  —  she  turned  around  as  if  she  had 
been  caught  stealing,  and  looked  quite 
angry  —  asked  me  why  I  should  frighten 
her  so  ! 

Then  she  said  that  the  paper  stained 
everything  it  touched,  that  she  had  found 
yellow  smooches  on  all  my  clothes  and 
John's,  and  she  wished  we  would  be  more 
careful  ! 

Did  not  that  sound  innocent?  But  I 
know  she  was  studying  that  pattern,  and 
I  am  determined  that  nobody  shall  find 
it  out  but  myself ! 

■^  ifc  yfc  t£  ■?£  t^- 

Life  is  very  much  more  exciting  now 
than  it  used  to  be.  You  see  I  have  some- 
thing more  to  expect,  to  look  forward  to, 
to  watch.  I  really  do  eat  better,  and  am 
more  quiet  than  I  was. 

John  is  so  pleased  to  see  me  improve  ! 
He.  laughed  a  little  the  other  day,  and 
said  I  seemed  to  be  flourishing  in  spite 
of  my  wall-paper. 

I  turned  it  off  with  a  laugh.  I  had  no 
intention  of  telling  him  it  was  because  of 
the  wall-paper  —  he  would  make  fun  of 
me.   He  might  even  want  to  take  me  away. 

I  don't  want  to  leave  now  until  I  have 
found  it  out.  There  is  a  week  more,  and 
I  think  that  will  be  enough. 

ifc  ^f  ■$£■  yfc  vfc  $fc 

I'm   feeling  ever    so  much  better  !     I 


654 


THE   YELLOW  WALL-PAPER. 


don't  sleep  much  at  night,  for  it  is  so  in- 
teresting to  watch  developments ;  but  I 
sleep  a  good  deal  in  the  daytime. 

In  the  daytime  it  is  tiresome  and  per- 
plexing. 

There  are  always  new  shoots  on  the 
fungus,  and  new  shades  of  yellow  all  over 
it.  I  cannot  keep  count  of  them,  though 
I  have  tried  conscientiously. 

It  is  the  strangest  yellow,  that  wall- 
paper !  It  makes  me  think  of  all  the 
yellow  things  I  ever  saw  —  not  beautiful 
ones  like  buttercups,  but  old  foul,  bad  yel- 
low things. 

But  there  is  something  else  about  that 
paper  —  the  smell  !  I  noticed  it  the  mo- 
ment we  came  into  the  room,  but  with  so 
much  air  and  sun  it  was  not  bad.  Now 
we  hive  had  a  week  of  fog  and  rain,  and 
whether  the  windows  are  open  or  not,  the 
smell  is  here. 

It  creeps  all  over  the  house. 

I  find  it  hovering  in  the  dining-room, 
skulking  in  the  parlor,  hiding  in  the  hall, 
lying  in  wait  for  me  on  the  stairs. 

It  gets  into  my  hair. 

Even  when  I  go  to  ride,  if  I  turn  my 
head  suddenly  and  surprise  it  —  there  is 
that  smell  ! 

Such  a  peculiar  odor,  too  !  I  have 
spent  hours  in  trying  to  analyze  it,  to  find 
what  it  smelled  like. 

It  is  not  bad  —  at  first,  and  very 
gentle,  but  quite  the  subtlest,  most  endur- 
ing odor  I  ever  met. 

In  this  damp  weather  it  is  awful,  I 
wake  up  in  the  night  and  find  it  hanging 
over  me. 

It  used  to  disturb  me  at  first.  I 
thought  seriously  of  burning  the  house  — 
to  reach  the  smell. 

But  now  I  am  used  to  it.  The  only 
thing  I  can  think  of  that  it  is  like  is  the 
color  of  the  paper  !     A  yellow  smell. 

There  is  a  very  funny  mark  on  this 
wall,  low  down,  near  the  mopboard.  A 
streak  that  runs  round  the  room.  It  goes 
behind  every  piece  of  furniture,  except 
the  bed,  a  long,  straight,  even  smooch,  as 
if  it  had  been  rubbed  over  and  over. 

I  wonder  how  it  was  done  and  who  did 
it,  and  what  they  did  it  for.  Round  and 
round  and  round  —  round  and  round  and 
round  —  it  makes  me  dizzy  ! 


I  really  have  discovered  something  at 
last. 

Through  watching  so  much  at  night, 
when  it  changes  so,  I  have  finally  found  out. 

The  front  pattern  does  move  —  and  no 
wonder  !     The  woman  behind  shakes  it ! 

Sometimes  I  think  there  are  a  great 
many  women  behind,  and  sometimes  czily 
one,  and  she  crawls  around  fast,  and  her 
crawling  shakes  it  all  over. 

Then  in  the  very  bright  spots  she 
keeps  still,  and  in  the  very  shady  spots 
she  just  takes  hold  of  the  bars  and  shakes 
them  hard. 

And  she  is  all  the  time  trying  to  climb 
through.  But  nobody  could  climb  through 
that  pattern  —  it  strangles  so  ;  I  think 
that  is  why  it  has  so  many  heads. 

They  get  through,  and  then  the  pat- 
tern strangles  them  off  and  turns  them 
upside  down,  and  makes  their  eyes  white  ! 

If  those  heads  were  covered  or  taken 

off  it  would  not  be  half  so  bad. 

****** 

I  think  that  woman  gets  out  in  the 
daytime  ! 

And  I'll  tell  you  why  —  privately  — 
I've  seen  her  ! 

I  can  see  her  out  of  every  one  of  my 
windows  ! 

It  is  the  same  woman,  I  know,  for  she 
is  always  creeping,  and  most  women  do 
not  creep  by  daylight. 

I  see  her  in  that  long  shaded  lane, 
creeping  up  and  down.  I  see  her  in 
those  dark  grape  arbors,  creeping  all 
around  the  garden. 

I  see  her  on  that  long  road  under  the 
trees,  creeping  along,  and  when  a  car- 
riage comes  she  hides  under  the  black- 
berry vines. 

I  don't  blame  her  a  bit.  It  must  be 
very  humiliating  to  be  caught  creeping  by 
daylight  ! 

I  always  lock  the  door  when  I  creep 
by  daylight.  I  can't  do  it  at  night,  for  I 
know  John  would  suspect  something  at 
once. 

And  John  is  so  queer  now,  that  I  don't 
want  to  irritate  him.  I  wish  he  would 
take  another  room  !  Besides,  I  don't 
want  anybody  to  get  that  woman  out  at 
night  but  myself. 

I  often  wonder  if  I  could  see  her  out 
of  all  the  windows  at  once. 


THE   YELLOW  WALL-PAPER 


655 


But,  turn  as  fast  as  I  can,  I  can  only 
see  out  of  one  at  one  time. 

And  though  I  always  see  her,  she  may 
be  able  to  creep  faster  than  I  can  turn  ! 

I  have  watched  her  sometimes  away 
off  in  the  open  country,  creeping  as  fast 
as  a  cloud  shadow  in  a  high  wind. 

■jfc  %  %  %  7^  ■&" 

If  only  that  top  pattern  could  be  got- 
ten off  from  the  under  one  !  I  mean  to 
try  it,  little  by  little. 

I  have  found  out  another  funny  thing, 
but  I  shan't  tell  it  this  time  !  It  does 
not  do  to  trust  people  too  much. 

There  are  only  two  more  days  to  get 
this  paper  off,  and  I  believe  John  is 
beginning  to  notice.  I  don't  like  the 
look  in  his  eyes. 

And  I  heard  him  ask  Jennie  a  lot  of 
professional  questions  about  me.  She 
had  a  very  good  report  to  give. 

She  said  I  slept  a  good  deal  in  the 
daytime. 

John  knows  I  don't  sleep  very  well  at 
night,  for  all  I'm  so  quiet  ! 

He  asked  me  all  sorts  of  questions,  too, 
and  pretended  to  be  very  loving  and 
kind. 

As  if  I  couldn't  see  through  him  ! 

Still,  I  don't  wonder  he  acts  so,  sleep- 
ing under  this  paper  for  three  months. 

It   only   interests   me,  but   I    feel  sure 

John  and  Jennie  are  secretly  affected  by  it. 

****** 

Hurrah  !  This  is  the  last  day,  but  it 
is  enough.  John  to  stay  in  town  over 
night,  and  won't  be  out  until  this  evening. 

Jennie  wanted  to  sleep  with  me  —  the 
sly  thing  !  but  I  told  her  I  should  un- 
doubtedly rest  better  for  a  night  all 
alone. 

That  was  clever,  for  really  I  wasn't 
alone  a  bit  !  As  soon  as  it  was  moon- 
light and  that  poor  thing  began  to  crawl 
and  shake  the  pattern,  I  got  up  and  ran 
to  help  her. 

I  pulled  and  she  shook,  I  shook  and 
she  pulled,  and  before  morning  we  had 
peeled  off  yards  of  that  paper. 

A  strip  about  as  high  as  my  head  and 
half  around  the  room. 

And  then  when  the  sun  came  and  that 
awful  pattern  began  to  laugh  at  me,  I  de- 
clared I  would  finish  it  to-day  ! 

We  go  away  to-morrow,  and  they  are 


moving  all  my  furniture  down  again  to 
leave  things  as  they  were  before. 

Jennie  looked  at  the  wall  in  amaze- 
ment, but  I  told  her  merrily  that  I  did  it 
out  of  pure  spite  at  the  vicious  thing. 

She  laughed  and  said  she  wouldn't 
mind  doing  it  herself,  but  I  must  not  get 
tired. 

How  she  betrayed  herself  that  time  ! 

But  I  am  here,  and  no  person  touches 
this  paper  but  me, —  not  alive! 

She  tried  to  get  me  out  of  the  room  — 
it  was  too  patent  !  But  I  said  it  was  so 
quiet  and  empty  and  clean  now  that  I  be- 
lieved I  would  lie  down  again  and  sleep 
all  I  could  ;  and  not  to  wake  me  even  for 
dinner —  I  would  call  when  I  woke. 

So  now  she  is  gone,  and  the  servants 
are  gone,  and  the  things  are  gone,  and 
there  is  nothing  left  but  that  great  bed- 
stead nailed  down,  with  the  canvas  mat- 
tress we  found  on  it. 

We  shall  sleep  downstairs  to-night,  and 
take  the  boat  home  to-morrow. 

I  quite  enjoy  the  room,  now  it  is  bare 
again. 

How  those  children  did  tear  about 
here  ! 

This  bedstead  is  fairly  gnawed  ! 

But  I  must  get  to  work. 

I  have  locked  the  door  and  thrown  the 
key  down  into  the  front  path. 

I  don't  want  to  go  out,  and  I  don't 
want  to  have  anybody  come  in,  till  John 
comes. 

I  want  to  astonish  him. 

I've  got  a  rope  up  here  that  even  Jen- 
nie did  not  find.  If  that  woman  does 
get  out,  and  tries  to  get  away,  I  can  tie 
her! 

But  I  forgot  I  could  not  reach  far  with- 
out anything  to  stand  on  ! 

This  bed  will  not  move  ! 

I  tried  to  lift  and  push  it  until  I  was 
lame,  and  then  I  got  so  angry  I  bit  off  a 
little  piece  at  one  corner  —  but  it  hurt 
my  teeth. 

Then  I  peeled  off  all  the  paper  I  could 
reach  standing  on  the  floor.  It  sticks 
horribly  and  the  pattern  just  enjoys  it  ! 
All  those  strangled  heads  and  bulbous 
eyes  and  waddling  fungus  growths  just 
shriek  with  derision  i 

I  am  getting  angry  enough  to  do  some- 
thing   desperate.      To  jump   out  of   the 


65Q 


THE   YELLOW  WALL-PAPER. 


window  would  be  admirable  exercise,  but 
the  bars  are  too  strong  even  to  try. 

Besides  I  wouldn't  do  it.  Of  course 
not.  I  know  well  enough  that  a  step  like 
that  is  improper  and  might  be  miscon- 
strued. 

I  don't  like  to  look  out  of  the  windows 
even  —  there  are  so  many  of  those  creep- 
ing women,  and  they  creep  so  fast. 

I  wonder  if  they  all  come  out  of  that 
wall-paper  as  I  did? 

Bat  I  am  securely  fastened  now  by  my 
well-hidden  rope  —  you  don't  get  me  out 
in  the  road  there  ! 

I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  get  back  be- 
hind the  pattern  when  it  comes  night, 
and  that  is  hard  ! 

It  is  so  pleasant  to  be  out  in  this  great 
room  and  creep  around  as  I  please  ! 

I  don't  want  to  go  outside.  I  won't, 
even  if  Jennie  asks  me  to. 

For  outside  you  have  to  creep  on  the 
ground,  and  everything  is  green  instead 
of  yellow. 

But  here  I  can  creep  smoothly  on  the 
floor,  and  my  shoulder  just  fits  in  that 
long  smooch  around  the  wall,  so  I  cannot 
lose  my  way. 

Why  there's  John  at  the  door  ! 


It  is  no  use,  young  man, you  can't  open  it  ! 

How  he  does  call  and  pound  ! 

Now  he's  crying  for  an  axe. 

It  would  be  a  shame  to  break  down 
that  beautiful  door  ! 

"■  John  dear  !  "  said  I  in  the  gentlest 
voice,  "  the  key  is  down  by  the  front 
steps,  under  a  plaintain  leaf!  " 

That  silenced  him  for  a  few   moments. 

Then  he  said  —  very  quietly  indeed, 
"  Open  the  door,  my  darling  !  " 

"I  can't,"  said  I.  "The  key  is  down 
by  the  front  door  under  a  plantain  leaf!  " 

And  then  I  said  it  again,  several  times, 
very  gently  and  slowly,  and  said  it  so 
often  that  he  had  to  go  and  see,  and  he 
got  it  of  course,  and  came  in.  He  stop- 
ped short  by  the  door. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  he  cried.  "  For 
God's  sake,  what  are  you  doing  !  " 

I  kept  on  creeping  just  the  same,  but  I 
looked  at  him  over  my  shoulder. 

"  I've  got  out  at  last,"  said  I,  "  in  spite 
of  you  and  Jane  ?  And  I've  pulled  off  most 
of  the  paper,  so  you  can't  put  me  back  !  " 

Now  why  should  that  man  have  fainted  ? 
But  he  did,  and  right  across  my  path  by 
the  wall,  so  that  I  had  to  creep  over  him 
every  time  ! 


•A 


5$y 


•j> 


$*? 


(17 


Mo1 


'ow  deal®  to  tj?is  j?e&rtar^lfo  scenes  oj  my  cj/ildfjood^ 
Wl?en  jond  pecoOe^^^^esents  tljem  to  view ! . 
e  orchard 5 t|?^^^^^tl?e  deep  tangled  wild  wood; 
T^nd  every  I ove^g^^ic^my  injancy  t(new; 
|me  wide-spreadinojoond,dr^  stood  by  it  , 

jme  brida^|||^ 
jme  cot  op«^fatj?ef°,t(;edQipy^ouse  nidi?  it, 
^Ind  e'en^leij^bu^e^       j?ung  in  tl?e  well ! 
^pe  old  oaRen  bucl(ct,t^eir5^Bo^^)wRet^ 
|[j?e  moss-covered  bucket  wj^icj;  f^ung  in  tl?e  well . 


pii^'  — 


.'■-;•■ : 


The   Meadow 


f?cit  moss-covered  vessel  Ijjail  as  q 
jpor  o)ten,at  noon5wj?en  returned  jrom  \\^ 
Mound  ittjie  source  o^  an  exquisite  pleasu 
^e  purest  and  sweetest  tj?cit  nature 
ow  ardent  I  siezed  it  witj?  j?ctnds  tl?at 
$|nd  cjuicK 
4|]?en  soon, 
y|nd  drippi 

^|^e  moss-coverccTfeucketv~af>ose  kromtf? 


rr/fJ'd treasure; 


■:SS' 


The  Widespreading  Pond. 


at  dpi 

^nd  nov 
"fete 
#^s  Wncy  reverts 


ow  sweet  jromtye  green 
mossy  br°im  to  recieve  it , 
#|s  poised  on  tj?e  cur°be  it 
y^ffMz^    inclined  to  my  lips ! 

neto  leave  it/j 
Jupitep  si 
situation 

/  swells  £ 
itation/#"^ 
tl?e  well: 
ucket, 
covered  buckefwl?icl?  j?anqs  in  tj?ewell. 


"The   Deep-tangled  Wood." 


THE  AUTHOR  OF  -THE  OLD  OAKEN  BUCKET." 

By  George  M.  Young. 


WHO  is  there  that  has  not  sung  or 
read  or  heard  "  The  Old  Oaken 
Bucket?  "  Many  musical  com- 
positions have  been  set  to  its  lines,  and  it 
has  been  translated  into  many  languages ; 
it  has  gone  the  rounds  of  the  civilized 
world  for  more  than  two  generations. 
Had  Woodworth  never  written  another 
line,  this  poem  alone  would  have  im- 
mortalized his  name.  In  connection 
with  the  celebrated  poem,  as  published 
here,  a  short  sketch  of  the  author  and  the 
circumstances  under  which  the  poem  was 
written  is  in  place. 

Samuel  Woodworth  was  born  in  Sci1 
tuate,  Plymouth  County,  Massachusetts, 
January  13,  1785.  He  came  of  good 
old  Puritan  stock,  one  of  his  early  an- 
cestors, Walter  Woodworth,  having  been 
one  of  the  founders  of  Scituate  in  1633. 
Samuel's  father  was  a  soldier  of  the  Rev- 
olution. Samuel  was  the  youngest  of 
four  children.  He  was  a  bright,  sturdy 
youth,  with  a  fondness  for  books  and 
study,  and  often  wrote  poetry,  taking  his 
themes  from  the  simple  surroundings  of 
his  life.  He  was  encouraged  by  his 
teacher  and  friends,  and  the  minister  of 
the  parish,  who  discovered  in  these  early 
efforts  suggestions  of  genius  of  a  high 
order,  worthy  of  cultivation.  The  op- 
portunities for  education  at  that  day  were 
meagre,  and  all  that  the  boy  received 
aside  from  what  the  common  country 
school  then  offered  was  given  him  by  the 
Rev.  Nehemiah  Thomas,  under  whose 
care  he  was  placed  at  the  age  of  fourteen. 
In  the  family  of  this  excellent  gentleman 
he  remained  one  year.  He  was  naturally 
a  bright  scholar  and  made  more  than 
ordinary  progress  in  the  study  of  the 
classics.  The  financial  circumstances  of 
his  family  were  such  that  he  was  com- 
pelled early  in  life  to  seek  some  occupa- 
tion and  make  his  way  in  the  world.  He 
came  to  Boston  and  chose  the  profession 
of  a  printer,  binding  himself  to  Ben- 
jamin Russell,  then  editor  of  the  Colum- 
bian  Sentinel,  with   whom    he    remained 


until  1 806 ;  and  while  serving  his  ap- 
prenticeship he  contributed  poetry  to  the 
different  periodicals  then  published  in 
Boston,  under  the  signature  of  "  Serine." 
He  used  this  nom  deplume  for  most  of  his 
writings  in  after-life,  and  among  his  inti- 
mate friends  was  commonly  addressed  by 
this  name,  which  he  gave  to  his  oldest  son. 

In  1807,  Woodworth  published  in  New 
Haven,  a  weekly  sheet,  called  the  Belles 
Lettres  Repository.  The  following  year 
he  spent  in  Baltimore,  and  during  the 
year  he  contributed  many  of  his  best 
poems  to  the  papers  of  that  city.  In  the 
spring  of  1809  he  went  to  New  York, 
where  in  18 10  he  was  married.  In 
181 2-14,  during  the  war  with  Great 
Britain,  he  conducted  a  weekly  paper  in 
New  York,  entitled  The  War,  in  which 
our  victories  by  land  and  sea  were 
graphically  chronicled.  At  the  same 
time  he  conducted  a  periodical  called 
The  New  Jerusalem  Missionary  and  In- 
tellectual Repository,  devoted  to  the  pro- 
mulgation of  the  doctrines  of  Sweden- 
borg,  of  whom  he  was  a  devoted  follower. 
During  this  period  many  of  his  political 
tributes  to  American  valor  and  patriotism 
were  written.  In  181 6,  he  wrote  the 
"  Champions  of  Freedom,"  a  novel  in  two 
volumes,  and  at  a  later  date  the  "  Con- 
fessions ot  a  Sensitive  man,"  a  series  of 
papers  in  prose.  About  this  time  also  he 
conducted  successively  The  Casket,  The 
Parthenon,  and  The  Literary  Gazette. 
He  was  associated  with  the  late  George  P. 
Morris  in  the  establishment  of  the  New 
York  Mirror  in  1823.  He  wrote  many 
plays  at  this  period  of  life ;  his  domestic 
opera,  "Forest  Rose,"  retained  its  pop- 
ularity many  years. 

The  English  poet  Wordsworth  has 
been  credited  with  several  of  Wood- 
worth's  poems,  and  as  such  they  were 
very  popular  in  England.  In  1835,  he 
writes  to  a  relative  from  Charlestown,  say- 
ing he  is  an  old  man  of  fifty  with  a  family 
of  ten  children ;  but  he  longs  again  to  see 
the  scenes  of  his  childhood.     He  visited 


662 


THE  AUTHOR   OF  "  THE   OLD   OAKEN  BUCKET." 


the  old  home  but  twice,  however,  after 
writing  "The  Old  Oaken  Bucket." 

About  six  years  before  his  death  he 
had  an  attack  of  paralysis,  from  which  he 
never  fully  recovered.  He  died  on  the 
ninth  of  December,  1842.  There  are 
decendants  of  the  poet  living  in  Detroit 
and  in  San  Francisco. 

There  have  been  several  versions  of 
the  origin  of  "The  Old  Oaken  Bucket." 
The  most  widely  circulated  and  popularly 
believed  is  as  follows  :  When  Woodworth 
was  a  journeyman  printer  in  an  office  on 
the  corner  of  Chatham  and  Chambers 
Streets,  in  New  York,  near-by  in  Frank- 
fort Street  was  a  saloon  kept  by  a 
man  named  Mallory,  where  Woodworth 
and  several  particular  friends  used  to  re- 
sort. One  afternoon  the  liquor  was  un- 
usually excellent,  and  Woodworth  seemed 
inspired  by  it.  After  taking  a  draught, 
he  set  his  glass  on  the  table  and,  smack- 
ing his  lips,  declared  that  Mallory's  eau 
de  vie  was  superior  to  anything  he  had 
ever  tasted.  "No,"  said  Mallory,  "You 
are  mistaken  ;  there  was  one  thing  which 
in  both  our  estimations  surpassed  this  in 
the  way  of  drinking."  "  What  was  that  ?  " 
asked  Woodworth  dubiously.  "The 
draught  of  pure  spring  water  that  we 
used  to  drink  from  the  old  oaken  bucket 
that  hung  in  the  well,  after  our  return 
from  the  field  on  a  hot  day  in  summer." 
A  teardrop  glistened  for  a  moment  in 
Woodworth's  eye.  "  True,  true  ! "  he 
replied,  and  shortly  after  quitted  the 
place.  He  immediately  returned  to  the 
office,  took  a  pen,  and  in  half  an  hour 
"The  Old  Oaken  Bucket"  was  ready  in 
manuscript  to  be  embalmed  in  the  mem- 
ories of  succeeding  generations. 

Now  all  this  is  interesting  ;  but  such  was 
not  the  origin  of  this  beautiful  poem.  I 
have  it  upon  the  authority  of  a  member 
of  the  family,  as  also  given  in  the  in- 
troduction  to    his   poems  edited   by   his 


son  Frederick,  which  is  considered  un- 
questionable authority. 

The  poem  was  written  in  the  summer 
of  1 8 1 7 .  The  family  were  living  at  the 
time  in  Duane  Street,  New  York.  The 
poet  came  home  to  dinner  one  very 
warm  day,  having  walked  from  his  office 
near  the  foot  of  Wall  Street.  Being 
much  heated  with  the  exercise,  he  drank 
a  glass  of  water  from  the  pump,  exclaim- 
ing as  he  placed  the  tumbler  on  the 
table,  "That  is  refreshing;  but  how  much 
more  refreshing  would  it  be  to  take  a 
good  draught  this  day  from  the  old  oaken 
bucket  I  left  hanging  in  my  father's  well 
at  home  !  "  Hearing  this,  the  poet's 
wife,  who  was  always  a  suggestive  body, 
said,  "  Seline,  why  would  not  that  be  a 
pretty  subject  for  a  poem?"  The  poet 
took  the  hint,  and  under  the  inspiration 
of  the  moment  sat  down  and  poured  out 
from  his  heart  the  beautiful  lines  of  the 
poem. 

The  orchard,  the  meadow,  the  deep- 
tangled  wildwood,  and  the  widespreading 
pond  are  the  same  to-day  as  when  the 
poet  immortalized  them  in  song  in  181 7. 
The  old  rock  has  been  removed,  and  the 
cataract  somewhat  changed,  by  the  widen- 
ing of  the  road.  The  cot  has  long  since 
been  removed,  and  a  modern  cottage 
stands  just  beyond  the  site.  The  old 
oaken  bucket  long  ago  succumbed  to  the 
ravages  of  time,  as  also  the  old  sweep 
that  lifted  it  from  the  well ;  but  a  new 
sweep  of  the  same  pattern  is  in  its  place. 
The  old  well  remains  intact,  and  the 
water  is  as  pure  and  sweet  as  when  the 
poet  sang  its  praises.  The  old  mill  was 
built  about  1636.  and  was  at  one  time 
partially  destroyed  by  King  Philip,  but  it 
has  been  altered  little  since.  The  place 
remains  in  the  family  —  it  is  in  the  vil- 
lage of  Greenbush,  in  Scituate  —  and  many 
admirers  of  the  beautiful  poem  visit  it 
every  year. 


CHRISTMAS  EVE. 

By  Agnes  Maule  Machar. 

A  newspaper  item  recorded  that  just  before  Christmas,  1888,  a  young  mother,  reduced  to  destitution  by  a  succession 
of  misfortunes,  had  been  turned  out  of  her  poor  home  on  the  day  before  Christmas,  because  she  could  not  pay  her  rent. 
On  Christmas  Eve  she  walked  the  streets  with  her  baby  in  her  arms,  unable  to  find  shelter,  until,  overcome  by  fatigue, 
she  sat  down  in  an  entry  to  rest.  Just  at  midnight  the  little  one  died,  as  the  church  bells  chimed  in  the  Christmas  morn- 
ing. 

IN  the  city,  from  churches  and  chapels, 
From  belfry  and  spire  and  tower, 
In  musical  tones  of  gladness, 

The  bells  chimed  the  midnight  hour. 

In  their  sweet  and  silvery  cadence, 

They  chimed  in  the  Christmas  morn, 
The  wonderful,  mystical  season, 

When  Jesus  Christ  was  born. 

All  thought  of  the  babe  in  the  manger, 

The  child  that  knew  no  sin,  — 
That  lay  on  the  breast  of  the  mother, 

Who  "  found  no  room  in  the  inn  !  " 

All  thought  of  the  shining  angels, 

Who  came  through  the  darkness  then, 
To  sing  the  glad  new  evangel 

Of  peace  and  love  to  men  ! 


In  the  city,  —  near  churches  and  chapels, 
A  mother  crouched,  hungry  and  cold, 

In  a  dark  and  cheerless  entry, 

With  a  babe  in  her  nerveless  hold. 

Hungry  and  cold  and  weary, 

She  had  paced  the  streets  all  night :  — 
No  room  for  them  in  the  city,  — 

No  food,  no  warmth,  no  light  ! 

And,  just  as  the  bells  of  the  churches 

Pealed  in  the  Christmas  day, 
The  angels  came  down  through  the  darkness, 

And  carried  the  babe  away. 

No  room  for  one  tiny  baby 

Amid  churches  and  dwellings  fair ; 
But  the  Father  hath  "  many  mansions," 

And  the  babe  was  welcomed  there  ! 


Cf\AFT 


By   Winfield  S.  Nevins. 
II.      Continued. 

SARAH  OSBURN  was  about  sixty 
years  of  age  in  1692.  Her  husband 
was  Alexander  Osburn.  Thirty 
years  before,  she  had  been  married  to 
Robert  Prince,  and  still  earlier  to  Thomas 
Small,  both  of  whom  were  dead.  Osburn 
came  over  from  Ireland  a  few  years  pre- 
vious to  1692,  bound  to  service  for  a  term 
of  years  to  one  of  the  settlers  in  the  village, 
in  consideration  of  a  sum  of  money  ad- 
vanced to  pay  his  expenses  to  this  coun- 
try. The  widow  Prince,  needing  some 
one  to  manage  her  farm,  bought  out  his 
unexpired  time  for  fifteen  pounds.  He 
carried  on  the  farm  for  a  short  time,  and 
then  married  the  widow.  Their  earlier 
life  together  and  subsequent  marriage 
naturally  gave  rise  to  some  gossip  of  an 
uncomplimentary  nature.  This,  undoubt- 
edly, was  one  of  the  inducements  for  the 
accusing  girls  to  "cry  out"  against  her 
among  the  first.  The  Osburns  appear  to 
have  been  in  comfortable  circumstances. 
Their  greatest  cross  was  the  illness  which 
confined  the  wife  to  her  bed  much  of  the 
time.  Both  were  members  of  the  church, 
and  so  far  as  we  know,  they  were  devout 
Christians  and  sober  and  industrious  citi- 
zens. 

Sarah  Osburn  was  examined  before  the 
local  magistrates  on  the  first,  second,  and 
third  of  March.     No  particularly  new  or 


interesting  facts  were  developed.  H 
examination  was  very  nearly  a  repetition 
of  the  proceedings  in  the  case  of  Sarah 
Good.  She  denied  having  familiarity 
with  any  evil  spirit,  or  having  made  any 
contract  with  the  devil,  and  said  she  did 
not  hurt  the  children  or  employ  any  one 
to  hurt  them.  "Mr.  Hathorne,"  says 
Cheever's  report,  "  desired  all  the  chil- 
dren to  stand  up  and  look  upon  her,  and 
see  if  they  did  not  know  her,  which  they 
all  did,  and  every  one  of  them  said  that 
this  was  one  of  the  women  that  did  afflict 
them,  and  that  they  had  constantly  seen 
her  in  the  very  habit  she  was  now  in. 
Three  evidences  declared  that  she  said 
this  morning  that  she  was  more  like  to 
be  bewitched  than  that  she  was  a  witch. 
Mr.  Hathorne  asked  what  made  her  say  so. 
She  answered  that  she  was  frightened  one 
time  in  her  sleep,  and  either  saw,  or 
dreamed  she  saw,  a  thing  like  an  Indian, 
all  black,  which  did  pinch  her  in  the 
neck,  and  pulled  her  by  the  back  part  of 
her  head  to  the  door  of  the  house.  The 
woman  was  sent  to  jail  in  Boston.  There 
she  died.  The  excitement  and  mental 
strain  of  the  arrest  and  examination,  the 
exposure  in  going  to  and  from  Ipswich 
jail,  and  the  hardships  of  jail  life  in 
Boston,  together  with  the  ill-treatment 
and    brutality  to  which    all    the    accused 


STORIES  OF  SALEM  WITCHCRAFT. 


665 


were  subjected,  proved  fatal  to  this  feeble 
old  woman.  The  last  record  in  her  case 
is  this  bill   of  the    Boston   jailer : 

"  To  chains  for  Sarah  Good  and  Sarah  Osburn, 
fourteen  shillings.  To  the  keeping  of  Sarah 
Osburn,  from  the  7th  of  March  to  the  10th  of 
May,  when  she  died,  being  nine  weeks  and  two 
days,  one  pound,  three  shillings,  five  pence."  l 

In  the  fullest  sense  of  the  word,  Sarah 
Osburn  was  one  of  the  "victims  "  of  the 
witchcraft  delusion  of  1692. 

Tituba,  in  the  course  of  her  examina- 
tion, told  a  rambling  and  somewhat  dis- 
jointed story,  evidently  due  partly 
to  her  want  of  comprehension  of 
the  English  language,  and  the 
broken  English  in  which  she  was 
obliged  to  reply.  Asked  if  she  ever 
went  on  a  witch  expedition  with 
Good  and  Osburn,  she  replied : 
"They  are  very  strong  and  pull 
me,  and  make  me  go  with  them." 
"Where  did  you  go?"  asked  the 
magistrate.  "  Up  to  Mr.  Putnam's 
and  make  me  hurt  the  child." 
"Who  did  make  you  go?"  "A 
man  that  is  very  strong,  and  these 
two  women,  Good  and  Osburn; 
but  I  am  sorry."  "  How  did  you 
go?  What  do  you  ride  upon?" 
"  I  ride  upon  a  stick  or  pole,  and 
Good  and  Osburn  behind  me ;  we 
ride  taking  hold  of  one  another ;  I 
don't  know  how  we  go,  for  I  saw 
no  trees  or  path,  but  was  presently 
there  when  we  were  up."  She 
declared  that  she  never  practised 
witchcraft  in  her  own  country. 
Asked  what  sights  she  saw  when 
she  went  abroad,  she  replied :  "  I 
see  a  man,  a  dog,  a  hog,  and  two  cats,  a 
black  and  red,  and  the  strange  monster 
was  Osburn's  that  I  mentioned  before, 
this  was  the  hairy  imp.  The  man  would 
give  it  to  me  but  I  would  not  have  it." 
To  the  jail  in  Boston  went  Tituba  also. 
Calef  says  she  was  "  afterwards  committed 
to  prison  and  lay  there  until  sold  for  her 
fees."  She  declared  that  her  master  beat 
her  and  otherwise  abused  her  to  make 
her  confess  and  accuse  others  of  witch- 
craft :  that  whatever  she  said  by  way  of 
accusing  others  was  because  of  such  treat- 
ment, and  that  her  master  refused  to  pay 

1  Essex  Court  Records. 


her  fees  unless  she  would  stand  to 
confession.  2      Drake  savs  Tituba  v 


her 


IO       31J.V^        WUU1U       OLCll-LVJ.        LW       liv^l 

confession.  y  Drake  says  Tituba  was  sold 
to  pay  her  prison  fees  after  lying  there 
thirteen  months. 3  She  was  never  tried 
bfeore  any  court. 

III.     The  Court  and  Places  of  Trial. 

When  Governor  Phips  arrived  in  Bos- 
ton on  May  14,  1692,  he  found  the  jails 
filled  with  persons  accused  of  witchcraft. 
No  courts  existed ;  they  had  fallen  with 
the  provisional  government  which  suc- 
ceeded the  Andros  administration.     The 


Samuel  Sewall. 

charter  that  Phips  brought  over  em- 
powered the  General  Court  to  erect  and 
constitute  judicatories  and  courts  of 
record  or  other  courts,  of  which  the 
governor  was  to  appoint  the  judges. 
No  meeting  of  the  General  Court  could 
be  held  until  after  an  election  of  mem- 
bers, which  must  be  two  or  three  weeks 
later.  Immediate  trial  of  the  accused 
was  demanded  as  their  right,  and  also  to 
relieve  the  overcrowded  condition  of  the 
jails.  It  had  long  been  the  custom  in 
England,  in  cases  of  emergency,  for  the 

2  Fowler's  ed.     227. 

3  Annals  of  N.  E.  190. 


STORIES  OF  SALEM  WITCHCRAFT. 


S* 


What  a  sad  thing  it  is  to  see   Eight  Firebrands  of  Hell   hanging  there.' 


king  to  appoint  Commissioners  of  Oyer 
and  Terminer  to  hear  and  decide  the 
causes.  In  the  absence  of  courts,  and  as 
the  personal  representative  of  the  king, 
no  doubt,  Governor  Phips  issued  a  com- 
mission for  a  court  of  Oyer  and  Ter- 
miner. He  appointed  the  commissioners 
on  May  27.     William  Stoughton,  the  dep- 


uty-governor, was  named  first, 
and  always  presided  as  chief- 
justice.  His  previous  political 
affiliations  had  made  him  some- 
what unpopular  with  the  people. 
As  a  candidate  for  a  judicial 
position  under  the  preceding 
administration  he  received  not 
a  single  vote. 

Stoughton  was  educated  for 
the  ministry  and  not  the  law, 
but  all  accounts  agree  that  he 
was  a  very  able  man.  He  was 
not  without  judicial  experi- 
ence, for  he  sat  with  Dudley 
and  others  at  the  trial  of  Mary 
Glover  in  1688.  Stoughton 
was  a  great  friend  of  the 
Mathers.  To  this 
friendship  and  to  his 
acknowledged  ability 
he  undoubtedly  owed 
his  appointment  in 
1692.  His  associates 
on  the  commission 
were  Nathaniel  Salton- 
stall  of  Haverhill, 
M  a  j  o  r  Bartholomew 
Gedney,  John  Hathorne,  and  Jonathan 
Corwin  of  Salem,  Major  John  Richards, 
Wait  Winthrop,  Peter  Sargent,  and 
Captain  Samuel  Sewall  of  Boston. 
Saltonstall  withdrew  soon  after  his  ap- 
pointment, probably  immediately  after 
the  first  sitting  of  the  court,  at  which 
Bridget   Bishop    was    tried,  because   he 


STORIES  OF  SALEM  WITCHCRAFT. 


667 


was    "  very    much    dissatisfied    with    the 
proceedings  of  it." 

The  men  who  constituted  this  court 
were  among  the  ablest  of  the  colony. 
None  stood  higher  in  the  social  scale ; 
none  in  the  colony  were  better  qualified 
for  the  work  of  the  bench.  On  the  great 
question  of  the  hour,  they  entertained 
substantially  the  same  views  as  the  jurists 
of  England,  and  in  their  subsequent  acts 
were  governed  by  the  rules  laid  down  by 
the  English  courts  in  numerous  cases, 
although  possibly  they  did  not  always 
protect  the  rights  of  accused  persons  as 
carefully  as  the  English  judges  did. 
Thomas  Newton,  a  trained 
lawyer,  was  appointed  special 
king's  attorney  for  the  trial 
of  the  witchcraft  cases,  and 
prepared  the  earlier  ones 
for  the  court,  after  which  he 
resigned,  and  the  attorney- 
general,  Anthony  Checkley, 
took  charge  of  the  prosecu- 
tion. Checkley  had  been 
attorney-general  since  1689, 
having  been  first  chosen  by 
"  the  governor,  council,  and 
assembly,"  in  that  year,  and 
recommissioned  by  Phips  on 
July  27,  1692.  The  office 
of  sheriff  was  substituted  for 
that  of  marshal,  and  George 
Corwin,  a  relative  of  Jona- 
than Corwin,  appointed  to 
the  new  office.  Marshal 
Herrick  was  appointed  a  deputy  sheriff. 
Persons  accused  of  witchcraft  were  com- 
mitted to  the  jails  in  Salem,  Boston, 
Ipswich,  and  Cambridge.  Most  of  those 
first  committed  by  the  magistrates  to 
await  the  action  of  the  higher  court  were 
sent  to  Boston,  as  up  to  this  time  all 
capital  trials  had  taken  place  there.  After 
the  trials  were  begun  in  Salem,  prisoners 
were  committed  to  the  jail  in  that  town.1 

The  preliminary  trials  or  examinations 
of  the  accused  were  held  in  Nathaniel 
Ingersoll's  tavern  and  in  the  meeting- 
house in  Salem  Village,  now  Danvers ;  in 
the  meeting-house  in  the  town  of  Salem 
on  the  site  of  the  present  First  Church, 

1  The  Salem  jail  was  located  on  Prison  Lane  —  now  5>t. 
Peter  Street  —  on  the  corner  of  the  present  Federal  Street, 
and  some  of  the  timbers  of  the  old  building  are  contained  in 
the  frame  of  Mr.  A.  C.  Goodell's  house,  near  this  corner, 
on  Federal  Street. 


or  in  Thomas  Beadle's  house  or  tavern, 
on  Essex  Street.  Nearly  all  the  ac- 
cused were  finally  tried  in  the  court 
house  that  stood  in  what  was  then  Town- 
house Lane  —  now  Washington  Street  — 
about  opposite  the  end  of  Lynde  Street, 
Salem.  Some,  perhaps,  were  tried  in  the 
Salem  meeting-house.  There  is  a  tradi- 
tion that  trials  or  examinations  of  some 
kind  were  held  in  the  Rcger  Williams 
house  on  the  corner  of  Essex  and  North 
Streets.  No  direct  evidence  of  this  ex- 
ists. The  court  of  Oyer  and  Terminer 
never  sat  there.  The  house  was  oc- 
cupied at  the  time  by  Jonathan  Corwin, 


Site  of  Old  Jail    House,  Salem. 

and  no  doubt  complaints  were  there 
made  to  him  against  suspected  persons, 
and  warrants  for  their  arrest  issued. 
Possibly  grand  jury  deliberations  were 
held  in  the  house  while  trials  were  being 
held  in  the  court  house.  In  all  prob- 
ability it  had  some  connection  with  the 
witchcraft  prosecution.  The  tradition 
has  been  handed  down  with  too  much 
directness  to  admit  of  serious  doubt. 

Where  were  the  witchcraft  victims 
hanged?  No  one  knows  as  matter  of 
absolute  certainty.  The  tradition  has 
always  been  that  Gallows  Hill,  between 
Salem  and  Peabody,  was  the  scene  of  the 
execution.  No  other  place  has  ever  been 
seriously  suggested.  The  records  do  not 
throw  light  upon  this  question,  but  the 
tradition  is  hardly  open  to  doubt.     The 


668 


STORIES  OF  SALEM  WITCHCRAFT. 


earliest  writings  in  which  I  find  mention 
of  this  hill  as  the  place  of  execution  bear 
date  about  one  hundred  years  after  the 
event.  Two  lives  might  well  have  span- 
ned that  period  —  certainly  three  did  in 
innumerable  instances ;  so  that  the  story 
could  hardly  have 
been  misunder- 
stood or  misstated 
in  those  transmis- 
sions. A  letter 
written  in  Salem, 
November  25, 
1  7  9  1,  by  the 
Rev.  Dr.  Holy- 
oke,  furnishes  the 
following  infor- 
mation : 

"  In  the  last  month 
there  died  a  man  in 
this  town,  by  the 
name  of  John  Sy- 
monds,  aged  a  hun- 
dred years  lacking 
about  six  months, 
having  been  born  in 
the  famous  '92.  He 
has  told  me  that  his 
nurse  had  often  told 
him,  that  while  she 
was  attending  his 
mother  at  the  time 
she  lay  in  with  him, 
she  saw  from  the 
chamber  windows 
those  unhappy  peo- 
ple hanging  on  Gal- 
lows Hill  who  were 
executed  for  witches  by  the  delusion  of  the  times." 

A  family  of  the  name  of  Symonds 
lived,  many  years  ago,  on  Bridge  Street, 
Salem,  near  the  bridge  leading  to  Beverly. 
From  that  spot  Gallows  Hill  was  plainly 
visible.  Symonds  families  also  lived  in 
North  Salem  then,  and  the  hill  could  be 
easily  seen  from  there. 

A  writer  in  the  Salem  Register,  about 
1880,  stated  that  an  elderly  citizen  had 
told  her  that  he  had  traced  the  ancient 
path  to  the  summit  of  the  hill.  It  did 
not  lead  from  Boston  Street,  as  now,  but 
from  the  old  pasture  entrance  at  the 
head  of  Broad  Street.  This  same  elderly 
citizen  remembered  the  oak  tree  that 
stood  on  the  hill  and  had  been  used  as  a 
gallows,  and  pointed  out  the  place  where 
it  stood  in  his  younger  days. 

The  new  court  of  Oyer  and  Terminer 
sat  for  the  first  time  in  Salem  in  June,  for 


Cotton 


the  purpose  of  trying  Bridget  Bishop. 
There  are  no  complete  records  of  this 
court  now  extant.  Our  information  of 
its  proceedings  is  obtained  mainly  from 
the  loose  papers  on  file  in  the  court  house 
in  Salem  and  the  State  House  in  Boston. 
Quite  a  number 
of  valuable  and 
interesting  pa- 
pers have,  from 
time  to  time, 
been  deposited 
with  the  Essex 
Institute  in  Sa- 
lem and  the  his- 
torical societies 
of  Boston.  The 
dates  of  the  ses- 
sions of  the  court 
•are  found  in  the 
History  of  Mas- 
sachusetts, writ- 
ten by  Governor 
Hutchinson. 
Hutchinson  is 
supposed  to  have 
had  access  to  the 
court  record,  but 
the  dates  which 
he  mentions  are 
unquestionably 
misleading.  For 
Mather,  instance,  when  he 

says  that  six  per- 
sons, whom  he  names,  were  tried  and 
convicted  on  August  5,  we  know  that  this 
was  not  possible.  It  would  take  more  than 
a  day  to  hear  the  testimony  we  now  have 
in  the  cases.  How  much  more  there  was 
then  it  is  not  possible  to  say ;  doubtless, 
considerable.  Some  time  must  have  been 
consumed  in  impanelling  juries,  and  re- 
turning and  recording  verdicts.  Still 
more,  we  know  that  much  time  was 
wasted  by  reason  of  "  fits  "  and  "  afflic- 
tions "  of  the  witnesses  and  the  accusers. 
During  the  trial  of  one  of  these  very 
cases  that  Hutchinson  alleges  was  tried 
on  August  5,  the  report  says: 

"  It  cost  the  court  a  wonderful  deal  of  trouble 
to  hear  the  testimonies  of  the  sufferers,  for  when 
they  were  going  to  give  in  their  depositions  they 
would  for  a  long  while  be  taken  with  fits,  etc." 

Thomas  Newton,  the  attorney-general, 
wrote  to  the  clerk  : 


STORIES  OF  SALEM  WITCHCRAFT. 


669 


"  I  fear  we  shall  not  this  week  try  all  we  have 
sent  for,  by  reason  the  trials  will  be  tedious,  and 
the  afflicted  persons  cannot  readily  give  their 
testimony,  being  struck  dumb  and  senseless  for  a 
season." 

The  probability  is  that  the  dates  men- 
tioned by  Hutchinson  and  others  as  days 
of  trial  were  the  days  on  which  sentence 
was  pronounced. 
August  5  was  Satur- 
day, September  9  was 
Friday,  and  Septem- 
ber 17  was  Saturday. 
These  would  very 
naturally  be  sentence 
days,  but  certainly 
not  days  on  which  the 
court  would  come  in 
to  begin  the  trial  of  a 
half-dozen  important 
cases.  Furthermore, 
the  papers  on  file  show 
that  Burroughs,  who, 
Hutchinson  and  Up- 
ham  say,  was  tried  on 
August  5,  was  on  trial 
on  the  2d  and  3d  of 
that  month. l  His 
trial,  probably,  was 
begun  on  the  2d,  and 
was  finished  on  or 
before  the  5  th.  Most 
testimony  in  those 
days  was  written  down 
when  first  given,  and 
at  subsequent  trials 
read  to  the  court  and 
sworn  to  by  the  wit- 
ness. Sometimes  it 
was  called  testimony, 
and  at  others,  deposi- 
tion. 

The  trial  of  Bridget 
Bishop  was  held  the 
first  week  in  June. 
Most  of  the  depositions  and  testimony 
against  her  are  dated  June  2.  This  may 
have  been  the  date  on  which  they  were 
taken  before  the  grand  jury,  or  that  of 
the  day  they  were  given  before  the  jury 
of  trials.  She  was  convicted  and  hanged 
on  June  10,  Friday.     The  court  then  ad- 

1  When  I  speak  of  "  trials,"  I  include  the  examinations 
before  the  grand  jury,  for  most  of  the  time  was  occupied  in 
taking  testimony  there.  Before  the  jury  of  trials,  when  this 
testimony  was  read,  the  afflicted  often  created  scenes  of 
confusion  and  had  fits,  and  otherwise  interrupted  the  pro- 
ceedings. 


journed  to  the  last  of  June  ;  some  say 
the  28th,  others,  the  29th,  and  still 
others  the   30th. 

The  newly  elected  General  Court  con- 
vened in  Boston,  in  the  meantime,  June  8. 
The  judges,  before  they  resumed  busi- 
ness, in  accordance  with  a  time-honored 


Sheriff  Corwin's  Grave,  Salem. 

custom,  united  with  the  governor  and 
council  in  requesting  the  opinion  of  the 
ministers  of  the  churches  in  and  around 
Boston  on  the  momentous  question  then 
pending.  The  answer,  written  by  Cotton 
Mather,  was  a  calm,  judicious  paper.  After 
acknowledging  the  success  which  God  had 
given  to  "  the  sedulous  and  assiduous  en- 
deavors of  the  rulers  to  defeat  the  ab- 
ominable witchcrafts,"  they  prayed  that 
"  the  discovery  of  those  mysterious  and 


670 


STORIES  OF  SALEM  WITCHCRAFT. 


The  Giles  Corey  Mill,  West  Peabody. 


mischievieous  wickednesses  might  be  per- 
fected."    They  continue  : 

"  We  judge  that,  in  the  prosecution  of  these 
and  all  such  witchcrafts  there  is  need  of  a  very 
critical  and  exquisite  caution,  lest  by  too  much 
credulity  for  things  received  only  upon  the  Devil's 
authority,  there  be  a  door  opened  for  a  long  train 
of  miserable  consequences,  and  Satan  get  an  ad- 
vantage over  us;  for  we  should  not  be  ignorant 
of  his  devices. 

"  As  in  complaints  upon  witchcraft  there  may 
be  matters  of  inquiry  which  do  not  amount  unto 
matters  of  presumption,  and  there  may  be  matters 
of  presumption  which  yet  may  not  be  matters  of 
conviction,  so  it  is  necessary  that  all  proceedings 
thereabout  be  managed  with  an  exceeding  tender- 
ness toward  those  that  may  be  complained  of, 
especially  if  they  have  been  persons  formerly  of 
an  unblemished  reputation. 

"  When  the  first  inquiry  is  made  into  the  cir- 
cumstances of  such  as  may  lie  under  the  just  sus- 
picion of  witchcrafts,  we  could  wish  that  there 
may  be  admitted  as  little  as  possible  of  such 
noise,  company,  and  openness  as  may  too  hastily 
expose  them  that  are  examined,  and  that  there 
may  be  nothing  used  as  a  test  for  the  trial  of  the 
suspected,  the  lawfulness  whereof  may  be  doubted 
by  the  people  of  God,  but  that  the  directions 
given  by  such  judicious  writers  as  Perkins  and 
Bernard  may  be  observed. 

"  Presumptions  whereupon  persons  may  be  com- 
mitted, and,  much  more,  convictions  whereupon 
persons  may  be  condemned  as  guilty  of  witch- 
crafts, ought  certainly  to  be  considerable  more  than 
barely  the  accused  person's  being  represented  by 
a  spectre  into  the  afflicted,  inasmuch  as  it  is  an 
undoubted  and  a  notorious  thing,  that  a  demon 
may  by  God's  permission  appear,  even  to  ill-pur- 
poses, in  the  shape  of  an  innocent,  yea,  and  a 
virtuous    man.     Nor    can   we    esteem    alterations 


made  in  the  sufferers,  by  a  look  or  touch  of  the 
accused,  to  be  an  infallible  evidence  of  guilt,  but 
frequently  liable  to  be  abused  by  the  Devil's 
legerdemain. 

"  We  know  not  whether  some  remarkable 
affronts  given  the  devils,  by  our  disbelieving  these 
testimonies  whose  whole  force  and  strength  is 
from  them  alone,  may  not  put  a  period  unto  the 
progress  of  the  dreadful  calamity  begun  upon  us, 
in  the  accusation  of  so  many  persons,  whereof 
some,  we  hope,  are  yet  clear  from  the  great  trans- 
gression laid  to  their  charge. 

"  Nevertheless,  we  cannot  but  humbly  recom- 
mend unto  the  government  the  speedy  and  vigor- 
ous prosecutions  of  such  as  have  rendered  them- 
selves obnoxious,  according  to  the  directions 
given  in  the  laws  of  God,  and  the  wholesome 
statutes  of  the  English  nation  for  the  detection  of 
witchcrafts." 

Many  writers,  in  commenting  on  this 
letter  of  advice,  lay  particular  stress  on 
the  last  clause,  often  ignoring  the  others. 
Many  have  quoted  that  alone  as  indicating 
the  views  of  the  ministers.  Could  any- 
thing be  more  unjust?  The  whole  his- 
tory of  the  witchcraft  era,  and  especially 
the  part  the  ministers  took  in  it,  has  been 
warped  by  such  perversion  of  this  letter. 
Read  without  prejudice,  is  it  not  more 
like  the  charge  of  a  judge  to  a  jury  than  a 
savage  demand  for  the  shedding  of  in- 
nocent blood,  as  many  historians  would 
have  us  believe?  Five  of  the  six  para- 
graphs in  the  letter  devoted  to  advice  are 
cautionary,  while  only  one  urges  that 
those  who  have  violated  the  laws  of  God 


STORIES  OF  SALEM  WITCHCRAFT. 


671 


Howard  Street  Cemetery,  Salem,  where  Giles  Corey  was  Pressed  to  Death. 


and  man,  as  understood  by  every  one,  be 
vigorously  prosecuted.  Unfortunately, 
the  judges  did  not  heed  the  caution. 
They  were  more  blinded  than  the  minis- 
ters. 

The  court  re-convened  the  last  of  June, 
and  tried  Sarah  Good,  Sarah  Wildes, 
Elizabeth  Howe,  Susanna  Martin,  and 
Rebecca  Nurse.  All  were  convicted  and 
sentenced  to  be  hanged  on  Tuesday,  July 
19.  The  third  sitting  was  about  August 
2,  Tuesday,  when  Rev.  George  Bur- 
roughs, John  Procter,  Elizabeth  Procter, 
George  Jacobs,  sen.,  John  Willard,  and 
Martha  Carrier  were  tried  and  convicted. 
With  the  exception  of  Elizabeth  Procter 
they  were  executed  on  Friday,  August 
19.  Another  session  was  held  early  in 
September,  probably  beginning  on  Tues- 
day the  6th,  and  terminating  on  Satur- 
day the  10th.  Martha  Corey,  Mary 
Easty,  Alice  Parker,  Ann  Pudeator,  Dor- 
cas Hoar,  and  Mary  Bradbury  were 
tried,  found  guilty,  and  sentenced.  All 
save  the  two  last-named  were  hanged  on 
the  2 2d.  During  the  following  week 
nine  more  accused  persons  were  con- 
victed and  sentenced,  namely  :  Margaret 
Scott,  Wilmot  Reed,  Samuel  Wardwell, 
Mary  Parker,  Abigail  Faulkner,  Rebecca 
Eames,  Mary  Lacey,  Ann  Foster,  and 
Abigail  Hobbs.  Scott,  Reed,  Wardwell, 
and  Parker  were  executed  on  Thursday, 


the  2 2d.  These,  with  four  convicted  the 
preceding  week,  were  the  last  persons 
hanged  for  witchcraft  in  1692  or,  for  that 
matter,  ever  in  Massachusetts.  It  was 
on  this  occasion  that  Rev.  Mr.  Noyes, 
minister  of  the  First  Church  in  Salem, 
turned  toward  the  bodies  of  the  victims 
and  said  :  "  What  a  sad  thing  it  is  to  see 
eight  firebrands  of  hell  hanging  there."1 
Hutchinson  says,  "  Those  who  were  con- 
demned and  were  not  executed,  I  sup- 
pose, all  confessed  their  guilt.  I  have 
seen  the  confessions  of  several  of  them."2 
After  these  convictions,  the  court  ad- 
journed the  witchcraft  trials  until  Novem- 
ber 2.  But  it  never  sat  again  to  try 
witchcraft  cases.  It  did  sit  in  Boston 
on  October  10  to  "  trie  a  French  malatto 
for  shooting  dead  an  English  youth."3 
On  the  28th  of  the  preceding  June,  the 
General  Court  passed  an  act  establishing 
courts  of  general  sessions  of  the  peace  on 
and  after  the  last  Tuesday  in  July,  which 
was  the  26th;  also  establishing  inferior 
courts  of  common  pleas  to  hold  sessions 
at  the  same  time,  and  in  places  where 
they  were  formerly  held.  This  act  was 
disallowed  by  the  home  government  on 
August  22,  1695.  These  courts  were 
established   only   until   others   should   be 

1  Calef,  Fowler's  ed.,  256. 

2  Hist.  Mass.,  II.,  59. 
3Sewall's  Papers,  I.,  366. 


672 


STORIES  OF  SALEM  WITCHCRAFT. 


H-mP1'"*" 


Site  of  Giles  Corey's   House. 


provided.  At  the  session  of  the  General 
Court  in  the  fall  an  act  was  passed  on 
November  25  creating  various  courts, 
among  them  courts  of  quarter  sessions 
and  common  pleas,  and  a  superior  court 
of  judicature.  On  the  16th  of  December 
a  further  act  was  passed  which  provided 
that,  "  considering  the  many  persons  in 
Essex  County  charged  as  capital  offenders, 
and  that  the  time  had  passed  for  the  sit- 
ting of  the  court,  a  special  court  of  assize 
and  jail  delivery  was  ordered  in  the 
county.1  The  first  term  of  this  court  was 
to  be  held  in  Salem  in  January.  These 
acts  establishing  regular  courts  certainly 
terminated  the  special  court  of  Oyer  and 
Terminer.     Tribunals    created    in    emer- 


Jonathan    Putnam's   Hous?,  Danvers. 

gencies  always  ceased  to  exist  when  the 
emergency  was  passed.2  It  was  now 
passed,  because  regular  courts  had  been 
established,   competent   to   do   the   work 

1  Province  Laws,  I.,  ioo. 

2  Hale,  P.  C.,II.,4. 


previously  done  by  the  commissioners  of 
Oyer  and  Terminer.  Stoughton  was  made 
chief  justice  of  the  new  court,  with 
Richards,  Winthrop,  Sewall,  and  Dan- 
forth,  associates.  At  its  session  held  in 
Salem  in  January,  the  grand  jury  found 
about  fifty  indictments  for  witchcraft,  and 
twenty-one  persons  were  tried.  Three 
of  them  were  convicted  and  sentenced  to 
be  hanged,  viz.,  Mary  Post  of  Rowley, 
Elizabeth  Johnson,  junior,  and  Sarah 
Wardwell,  widow  of  Samuel  Wardwell  of 
Andover.  They  were  never  executed. 
Four  were  tried  in  Charlestown,  one  in 
Boston,  and  five  in  Ipswich  in  May  (the 
last  trials),  but  no  more  convictions  could 
be  secured.  Finally,  in  May,  Governor 
Phips  issued  a  proclamation  releasing  all 
persons  held  in  custody  on  charge  of 
witchcraft  —  about  one  hundred  and  fifty 
in  number.3  No  prosecutions  for  witch- 
craft ever  after  occurred  in  Essex  County 
nor  in  the  colony,  for  all  time.  Nine- 
teen persons  had  been  hanged  in  Salem 
during  the  four  months  ;  Giles  Corey  had 
been  pressed  to  death  for  refusing  to 
plead  ;  and  Sarah  Osburn  and  Ann  Fos- 
ter had  died  in  prison  from  ill-treatment 
and  exposure.  Add  to  these  the  number 
of  those  who  had  been  released  because 
they  confessed  ;  those  who  had  escaped, 
or  been  bailed,  or  otherwise  gone  free, 
and  the  total  number  accused  and  ar- 
rested must  have  been  more  than  two 
hundred  and  fifty. 

3  Phips  to  Nottingham,  Essex  Inst.  Hist.  Coll.,  IX.,  pt. 


STORIES  OF  SALEM  WITCHCRAFT. 


673 


What  led  the  governor  to  issue  this 
proclamation?  What  caused  him  to  put 
an  end  to  the  witchcraft  prosecutions? 
It  has  been  often  asserted  in  substance, 
that  "  the  eyes  of  the  governor"  and 
"the  eyes  of  the  people"  were  opened 
to  the  error  of  their  way  when  Mrs. 
Hale,  wife  of  the  minister  at  Beverly, 
was  accused.  One  writer  says  this  was 
what  finally  broke  the  spell.1  Let  us 
see.  Mrs.  Hale's  name  was  mentioned, 
or  "whispered  about,"  in  October,  1692. 
Yet  when,  a  few  weeks  later,  the  court 
was  re-constructed,  —  for  that  was  all  it 
amounted  to,  —  it  was  composed  of  men, 
all  but  one  of  whom  had  been  members 
of  the  court  of  Oyer  and  Terminer.  All 
save  Danforth  were  known  to  be  in  full 
sympathy  with  witchcraft  prosecutions. 
That  there  might  be  no  question  about 
the  right  of  this  tribunal  to  hang  witches, 
the  General  Court  in  October  re-enacted 
the  colonial  statute  against  witchcraft, 
and  in  December  re-inforced  it  with  the 
English  statute.  The  new  court  resumed 
the  business  in  Salem,  as  already  stated, 
in  the  most  vigorous  manner,  with  a  zeal 
not  exceeded  by  the  tribunal  which  pre- 
ceded it.  Every  effort  was  made  by 
the  authorities  for  three  months  longer 
to  secure  convictions.  Does  this  look 
as  if  the  spell  had  been  broken  in 
October  ?  Does  this  look  as  if  the 
prosecutions  had  been  brought  to  a  close 
because  Mrs.  Hale  had  been  "  named," 
and  other  persons  of  high  connec- 
tions "suspected?"  The  officials,  who 
would,  under  these  circumstances,  have 
been  the  first  to  abate  in  zeal,  never 
relaxed  their  efforts  until  the  juries,  com- 
posed of  the  common  people,  had  re- 
fused repeatedly  to  convict.  The  juries 
that  tried  the  accused  in  1692  were  com- 
posed of  freemen  only,  while  those  of 
1693  were  chosen  from  among  all  those 
inhabitants  who  possessed  the  requisite 
amount  of  property  to  qualify  them  as 
electors  under  the  new  charter.2  Free- 
men were  necessarily  church  members 
and  not  as  likely  to  act  independently  as 
the  jurors  selected  from  substantially  the 
whole  body  of  the  people.  It  is  evident 
that  during  the  period  between  Septem- 

1  Salem  Witchcraft,  II,  3-45. 

2  Further  Notes  on  the  Hist,  of  Witchcraft,  etc.,  Good- 
ell,  1884,  p.  33.     Also,  Province  Laws,    1692-3,  Chap.  33. 


ber  22,  when  the  court  of  Oyer  and  Ter- 
miner sat  for  the  last  time,  and  the  open- 
ing of  the  session  of  the  superior  court 
the  following  January,  the  people  gener- 
ally began  to  emerge  from  the  long  night- 
mare, the  panic,  into  which  they  had 
been  thrown.  The  inhabitants  of  An- 
dover  were  among  the  first  to  protest, 
uniting  in  a  remonstrance  to  the  General 
Court  against  the  witchcraft  proceedings, 
and  even  bringing  suits  against  some  of 
their  accusers.  Spectral  evidence  lost  its 
force,  and  finally  was  entirely  rejected, 
leaving  nothing  to  substantiate  the  charges. 
All  other  convictions  had  been  secured 
largely  on  this  species  of  evidence. 3 
One  thing  is  impressed  on  our  minds  as 
we  study  the  history  of  these  trials  :  and 
that  is,  that  such  proceedings  would  not 
be  allowed  in  any  court  in  this  country 
in  our  day.  Granting  that  all  that  is  said 
in  criticism  of  the  "red  tape"  require- 
ments of  our  modern  courts  is  true,  yet, 
as  Hon.  W.  D.  Northend  has  said  : 

"  Under  the  rules  of  law  as  now  fully  estab- 
lished, none  of  the  evidence  upon  which  convic- 
tions were  found  would  be  admitted.  Spectral 
and  kindred  evidence  could  not  be  allowed,  and 
without  it  not  one  of  the  accused  could  have 
been  convicted."  4 

There  is  evidence  that  Governor  Phips 
was  never  in  full  sympathy  with  the  modes 
of  procedure  in  the  witchcraft  prosecu- 
tions. Being  unlearned  in  law  and  the- 
ology, he  seems  to  have  followed  the  ad- 
vice of  the  judges  and  the  more  bigoted 
of  the  ministers.  In  his  letter  to  the 
home  government,  under  date  of  Octo- 
ber 14,  1692,  the  governor  says  he  was 
prevailed  upon  by  the  clamors  of  the 
friends  of  the  afflicted  and  the  advice  of 
the  deputy  governor  (Stoughton)  to  give 
a  commission  of  Oyer  and  Terminer; 
that  he  was  absent  in  the  eastern  part  of 
the  country  almost  the  whole  time,  and 
depended  upon  the  judgment  of  the 
court  as  to  a  method  of  proceeding  in 
cases  of  witchcraft.  5     He  returned  from 

3  "  When  the  chief  judge  gave  the  first  jury  their  charge, 
he  told  them  that  they  were  not  to  mind  whether  the  bodies 
of  the  said  afflicted  were  really  pined  and  consumed  as  was 
expressed  in  the  indictment,  but  whether  the  said  afflicted 
did  not  suffer  from  the  accused  such  affliction  as  naturally 
tended  to  their  being  pined  and  consumed,  wasted, etc. 
This,  said  he,  is  a  pining  and  consuming  in  the  sense  of 
the  law."    Brattle's  letter,  Mass.  Hist.  Coll.  1st  series,  V.  77. 

4  Hist.  Coll.,  Essex  inst.,  XX.,  270. 

5  Phips  to  Nottingham,  Essex  Inst.  Hist.  Coll,  IX.,  pt» 


STORIES  OF  SALEM  WITCHCRAFT. 


the  East  about  October  12.  It  seems  al- 
ways to  have  been  a  question  whether 
the  governor  "  decided  to  abolish  the 
court "  for  the  purpose  of  putting  an  end 
to  the  witchcraft  prosecutions.  It  is  evi- 
dent that  he  was  dissatisfied  with  its 
method  of  procedure.  He  may  have 
thought  the  work  could  be  done  by  the 
regular  courts.  But  if  he  dissolved  the 
court  to  put  an  end  to  those  prosecutions, 
would  he  have  reappointed  the  same  men 
to  the  new  court  and  allowed  them  to 
continue  the    trials  with  unabated  zeal? 


v» 


mm 


Beadle's  Tavern. 


If  Phips  really  abolished  this  court,  if  it 
did  not  fall  solely  because  of  the  consti- 
tuting of  a  new  tribunal  with  jurisdictions 
over  the  same  class  of  cases  with  which  it 
had  dealt,  then  is  it  not  more  probable  that 
he  dissoved  it  because  the  people  were 
complaining  bitterly  of  the  arbitrary  man- 
ner in  which  it  had  been  constituted,  and 
the  arbitrary  manner  in  which  it  had  pro- 
ceeded with  its  work?  This  view  is 
strengthened  by  Phip's  letter  to  the  home 
government  in  which  he  says  that  when 
he  came  home  from  the  war  in  the  east 
he  found  many  persons  in  a  strange  fer- 
ment of  dissatisfaction. l  The  governor 
himself  says  he  issued  his  freedom  proc- 
lamation because  he  had  been  informed 
by  the  king's  attorney-general  that  "  some 
of  ye   cleared   and  ye   condemned  were 

1  Ibid. 


under    ye    same    circumstances    or    that 
there  was  ye  same    reason    to    clear    ye 
three  condemned  as  ye  rest  according  to 
his  judgment."2     He  further  states  that 
the  judges,  when  he  appointed  them  to 
the  new  court,  promised  to  proceed  after 
another  method,  by  which  he  meant  that 
convictions  were   not   to  be   secured  on 
spectral  evidence.  3     He  does  not  at  any 
time   question  the  validity  of  the   com- 
mission   of  Oyer   and    Terminer,  nor  of 
the    Superior   Court,  nor    the    reality  of 
witchcraft.     All  complaints    are  directed 
against  modes  of  pro- 
cedure.    That  the  ac- 
cusations made  against 
so  many  people  of  high 
character  and  irrepro- 
achable life  led  to  grave 
doubts   whether   the 
devil  did  not  take  the 
shapes  of  persons  with- 
out their  knowledge  or 
consent,    to    afflict   his 
victims,  there    can   be 
no  question.    But  there 
is  no  evidence  that  at 
this      time     any      one 
doubted  that  there  was 
such  a  thing  as  witch- 
craft.    Even  Calef,  the 
great  critic  of  Mather 
and  the  judges,  wrote 
as  late   as    November, 
1693  :      "  That     there 
are  witches  is  not  the  doubt.     The  scrip- 
tures else  were  vain  which  assigns  their 
punishment  to  be  by  death,  but  what  this 
witchcraft  is  and  wherein  it  does  consist, 
seems  to  be  the  whole  difficulty.  4 

On  October  11,  1692,  Henry  Selpins 
and  Peter  Pietrus,  ministers  of  New  York, 
Godfrey  Dellius,  minister  of  the  Dutch 
church  at  New  Albany,  Rudolph  Varich, 
minister  at  Flatbush,  answered  certain 
questions  propounded  to  them  by  Gov- 
ernor Dudley,  of  New  York,  on  behalf 
of  the  Massachusetts  authorities,  "for 
guidance  in  future  trials  there."  They 
said,  that  there  was  no  such  a  thing  as 
witchcraft ;  that, 

"  the  formal   essence  of  witchcraft   consists  in  an 
alliance  with  the   Devil;  "  that   "the  spectre  or 

-  Phips  to  Nottingham,  Feb.  21,  i6oq. 

3  Ibid 

4  Fowler's  ed.,  p.  62. 


STORIES  OF  SALEM  WITCHCRAFT. 


675 


apparition  of  one  who  immediately  works  violence 
and  injury  upon  the  afflicted  is  by  no  means  suf- 
ficient to  convict  a  witch  or  wizard,  although  pre- 
ceded by  enmity  or  threats.  The  reason  is  be- 
cause the  Devil  can  assume  the  shape  of  a  good 
man.  An  honest  and  charitable  life  and  conduct 
.  .  .  probably  removes  the  suspicion  of  criminal 
intent  from  those  who  are  accused  of  witchcraft 
by  the  testimony  of  the  afflicted.  Still,  this  is 
not  an  indubitable  evidence  of  false  accusation 
because  a  cunning  man  might  conceal  his  devilish 
practices  under  the  semblance  of  a  good  life  in 
order  to  escape  suspicion  and  righteous  condem- 
nation. It  is  possible  for  those  who  are  really 
tortured,  convulsed  and  afflicted  by  the  Devil  with 
many  miseries,  during  several  months,  to  suffer 
no  wasting  of  body  and  no  weakening  of  their 
spirits.  The  reason  is  that  nutrition  is  perfect  — 
the  stomach  suffers  no  injury." 

This  information  may  have  been  asked 
for  by  the  lieutenant-governor  or  by  the 
governor  himself  during  one  of  his  brief 
visits  to  Boston  that  summer.  Whether 
the  letter  influenced  the  governor  in  his 
subsequent  action,  it  is  not  possible  to 
say  with  certainty.  Quite  likely  it  did  to 
some  extent.  On  the  whole,  notwith- 
standing the  letters  of  Governor  Phips  to 
the  home  government,  it  is  not  entirely 
clear  just  what  motives  prompted  his  acts 
during  the  fall  and  winter  of  1692-3. 
In  some  respects  they  were  inconsistent 
with  one  another,  and  far  from  being  in 
accord  with  his  written  statements. 

IV.     Martha  and  Giles  Corey. 

Twelve  days  after  Good,  Osburn,  and 
Tituba  were  sent  to  jail,  warrants  were 
issued  for  Martha  Corey,  wife  of  Giles 
Corey.  She  was  immediately  taken  into 
custody,  and  on  March  21  examined 
before  Hathorne  and  Corwin.  Martha 
Corey  was,  upon  all  the  evidence  that  has 
come  down  to  us,  a  woman  of  more  than 
average  judgment  and  discretion.  Prom 
the  beginning  she  resolutely  and  per- 
sistently denounced  the  whole  witchcraft 
business.  While  her  husband  was,  at 
first,  completely  carried  away  with  the 
storm  which  swept  over  the  rural  com- 
munity she  had  no  faith  in  it.  She  sought 
to  persuade  him  not  to  attend  the  hear- 
ings nor  to  countenance  the  prosecutions 
in  any  manner.  It  was  charged  against 
her  that  she  took  the  saddle  off  his  horse 
on  one  occasion  when  he  was  preparing 
to  go  to  the  examinations.  Giles  Corey 
was    eighty  years   of  age,  and    although 


Martha  was  his  third  wife,  and  no  doubt 
somewhat  his  junior,  she  was  probably 
more  than  sixty  years  of  age  at  this  time. 
She  joined  the  Village  church  in  1690  ;  he 
in  1 69 1.1  It  has  always  seemed  a  little 
singular  that  a  woman  of  her  character 


William   Stoughton. 

FROM   THE   PORTRAIT   IN    MEMORIAL   HALL.    HARVARD. 

should  be  among  the  first  to  be  accused. 
Whether  her  early  and  earnest  protest  led 
to  the  use  of  her  name  among  the  sus- 
pected has  ever  been  an  open  question. 

When  the  name  of  Martha  Corey  was 
first  whispered  around  by  the  girls  of  the 
accusing  circle,  Edward  Putnam  and  Eze- 
kiel  Cheever  started  out  on  a  detective 
expedition.  They  sought  to  entrap  this 
old  woman  into  some  sort  of  confession. 
They  visited  her  on  March  12.  On  the 
way,  they  called  at  Ann  Putnam's,  to  see 
what  assistance  she  could  render.  Asked 
about  the  clothes  Corey  wore  when  she 
appeared  on  her  spectral  visits,  Ann  re- 
plied that  she  had  just  made  one  of  those 
calls,  but  had  so  blinded  her  that  she 
could  not  see  what  clothes  she  wore. 
These  "  detectives "  then  rode  on  to 
Corey's.  On  their  arrival,  Martha  said 
to  them,  "  I  know  what  you  have  come 
for.  You  are  come  to  talk  with  me  about 
being  a  witch,  but  I  am  none.  I  cannot 
help  people's  talking  about  me."  She 
inquired  whether  the  afflicted  had  at- 
tempted to  describe   her  clothes.     That 

1  See  Church  Record;   also  Mass.  Hist.  Coll.,  3d  series, 
III.,  169. 


676 


STORIES  OF  SALEM  WITCHCRAFT. 


she  should  so  accurately  divine  the  object 
of  their  call  was  by  them,  and  the  court 
subsequently,  deemed  conclusive  evidence 
of  her  being  a  witch.  Undoubtedly,  she 
had  heard  that  her  name  was  being 
"taken"  by  the  afflicted.  So,  too,  she 
may  have  known  that  the  children  com- 
monly told  what  sort  of  clothes  their 
spectral  visitors  wore  when  making  their 
visits.  The  conversation  was  protracted, 
the  visitors,  from  their  own  account,  en- 
deavoring by  every  means  in  their  power 
to  get  some  statement  from  Martha 
Corey  which  could  be  used  against  her. 
On  the  way  home,  Putnam  and  Cheever 
made  another  call  on  Ann.  She  told 
them  that  Goodwife  Corey  had  not  ap- 
peared to  her  during  their  absence.  Did 
she  shrewdly  volunteer  this  statement, 
that  they  might  not  again  ask  her  about 
the  clothes  Corey  wore  at  any  particular 
time?  It  is,  however,  pretty  dangerous 
to  attempt  to  read  the  minds  of  those 
who  lived  centuries  before  us  by  the 
knowledge  we  have  of  their  acts,  and  that 
knowledge  but  partial  and  imperfect. 
And  yet,  the  tenor  of  Ann  Putnam's  acts 
all  through  these  trials  was  such  as  to 
justify  very  strong  suspicions  as  to  her 
honesty.  The  examination  of  Martha 
Corey  was  a  sample  of  cross-examination 
and  brow-beating  on  the  part  of  the 
magistrates,  which  finds  parallel  only  in 
the  conduct  of  some  ungentlemanly  shyster 
lawyer  of  a  type  happily  now  very  rare. 
It  was  quite  extended,  but  confined  mainly 
to  an  effort  to  make  the  prisoner  confess. 
She  persisted  in  denying.  Here  are  some 
samples  : 

Mr.  Hathorne.  You  are  now  in  the  hands  of 
authority.  Tell  me.  now,  why  you  hurt  these 
persons.  —  I  do  not. 

Hathorne.  Who  doth?  —  Pray  give  me  leave 
to  go  to  prayer.  This  request  was  made  sundry 
times. 

Hathorne.  We  do  not  send  for  you  to  go  to 
prayer,  but  tell  me  why  you  hurt  these.  —  I  am  an 
innocent  person.  I  never  had  to  do  with  witch- 
craft since  I  was  born.     I  am  a  gospel  woman. 

Hathorne.  How  could  you  tell,  then,  that  the 
child  was  bid  to  observe  what  clothes  you  wore 
when  some  one  came  to  speak  with  you.  —  Chee- 
ver interrupted  her  and  bid  her  not  begin  with  a 
lie,  and  so  Edward  Putnam  declared  the  matter. 

Hathorne  Who  told  you  that?  —  He  said  the 
chilrl  said. 

Cheever.  You  speak  falsely.  —  Then  Edward 
Putnam  read  again. 


Hathorne.  Why  did  you  ask  if  the  child  asked 
what  clothes  you  wore?  —  My  husband  told  me 
the  others  told. 

Hathorne.  Goodman  Corey,  did  you  tell  her? 
—  The  old  man  denied  that  he  told  her  so. 

Hathorne.  Did  you  not  say  your  husband  told 
you  so  ?  —  No  answer.  .   .  . 

Hathorne.  You  dare  thus  to  lie  in  all  this 
assembly.  You  are  now  before  authority.  I  ex- 
pect the  truth.  You  promised  it.  Speak  now 
and  tell  who  told  you  what  clothes.  —  Nobody. 

At  one  time  the  children  cried  out  that 
a  man  was  whispering  in  her  ear.  Ha- 
thorne asked :  "  What  did  he  say  to 
you?"  She  replied  :  "We  must  not  be- 
lieve all  that  these  distracted  children 
say."  When  she  denied  any  charge 
made  against  her  there  was  "  extreme 
agony  of  all  the  afflicted." 

Parris,  who  reported  this  trial,  says, 
"  It  was  noted  when  she  bit  her  lip  several 
of  the  afflicted  were  bitten."  Also,  "  when 
her  hands  were  at  liberty  the  afflicted 
were  pinched."  Hathorne  asked,  "Do 
you  not  see  these  children  and  women 
are  rational  and  sober  when  your  hands 
are  fastened  ?  "  "  Immediately  they  were 
seized  with  fits,  and  the  standers-by  said 
she  was  squeezing  her  fingers,  her  hands 
being  eased  by  them  that  held  them  on 
purpose,  for  trial.  Quickly  after,  the 
marshal  said,  'She  hath  bit  her  lip,'  and 
immediately  the  afflicted  were  in  an  up- 
roar." Throughout  her  examination  she 
was  badgered  by  Hathorne,  badgered  by 
Corwin,  badgered  by  Rev.  Mr.  Noyes, 
badgered  by  the  marshal,  and  by  the 
audience. 

The  following  document  is  on  file  in 
the  court  house  in  Salem  : 

Giles  Chorey  testifieth  and  saith  that  in  the 
evening,  sitting  by  the  fire,  my  wife  asked  me  to 
go  to  bed.  I  told  (her)  I  would  go  to  prayer, 
&  when  I  went  to  prayer  I  could  nott  utter  my 
desires  with  any  sense,  not  open  my  mouth  to 
speak.  My  wife  did  perceive  itt  &  came  to- 
wards me  &  said  she  was  coming  to  me.  After 
this  in  a  little  space  I  did  according  to  my  measure 
attend  the  duty.  Some  time  last  week  I  fetched 
an  ox  well  out  of  the  woods  about  noon,  &  he 
laying  down  in  the  yard  I  went  to  raise  him  to 
yoke  him,  but  he  could  not  rise,  butt  draged  his 
hinder  parts  as  if  he  had  been  hip  shott,  but  after 
did  rise.  I  had  a  catt  sometimes  last  week 
strangely  taken  on  the  suddam,  &  did  make  me 
think  she  would  have  died;  presently  my  wife  bid 
me  knock  her  in  her  head,  butt  I  did  not,  & 
since  she  is  well.  Another  time  going  to  duties  I 
was  interrupted  for  a  space,  butt  afterwards  I  was 
helpt  according  to  my  poor  measure.  My  wife 
hath  been  wont  to  sitt  up  after  I  went  to  bed,  £ 


STORIES  OF  SALEM  WITCHCRAFT. 


677 


1  have  perceived  her  to  kneel  down  on  the  hearth 
as  if  she  were  at  prayer,  but  heard  nothing.  At 
the  examination  of  Sarah  Good  and  others  my 
wife  was  willing 

Here    the    statement    ceases.      Some 
writers  attempt  to  discredit  it  as  not  given 


examination  of  Martha  Corey,  it  is  true ; 
but  may  it  not  have  been  given  in  then? 
Evidence  would  not  be  admitted  in  such 
an  irregular  manner  to-day,  but  the  prac- 
tices of  the  courts  were  much  different  in 
1692.  During  the  examination,  Mrs. 
Pope  threw  her  muff  at  the  prisoner,  but 
did  not  hit  her.  Then  she  pulled  off  her 
shoe  and,  throwing  it,  struck  Mrs.  Corey 
in  the  head.  This  Mrs.  Pope  was  an 
important  witness  in  many  cases,  but  sub- 
sequently acknowledged  her  error  and 
.  deplored  the  whole  business.  Martha 
Corey  was  committed  for  trial.  She  was 
tried  by  the  court  at  its  September  sit- 
ting, convicted,  sentenced,  and  executed 
on  September  22.  Calef  says,  "Martha 
Corey,  wife  of  Giles  Corey,  protesting  her 
innocency,  concluded  her  life  with  an 
eminent  prayer  upon  the  ladder." 


A  Corner  of  the   House 
as   it  is  to-day. 

in  the  usual  and 
regular  way.  Be- 
cause a  line  is  drawn 
through  the  words 
italicized  above, 
they  think  some 
suspicion  attaches 
to  it,  and  that  the 
parties  who  tried  to 
get  the  old  man  to 
testify  against  his 
wife  discovered  that 
they  could  not  draw 
anything  deroga- 
tory from  him,  and 
there  was  danger 
that  his  evidence 
would  be  favorable 
to  her.  Is  it  not 
more    probable 

that  the  recorder  was  interrupted  at  this 
point  and  did  not  then  complete  the 
statement ;  that  afterwards  he  started  to 
erase  the  completed  line,  or,  perhaps, 
meant  the  mark  he  made  to  be  an  erasure  ? 
There  appears  to  be  no  evidence  in  con- 
nection with  this  paper  to  prove  that  it 
was  not  testimony  taken  in  court  in  the 
wsual  way.     Its  date  is  four  days  after  the 


The   Roger  Williams   House,  1635. 

After  her  sentence,  and  while  awaiting 
execution,  Parris,  accompanied  by  Lieu- 
tenant Nathaniel  Putnam  and  two  deacons 
of  his  church,  and  one  other  member, 
visited  her  in  jail  and  pronounced  the 
sentence  of '  excommunication  upon  her.1 

1 "  Accordingly,  this  14  September,  1692,  the  three 
aforesaid  brethren  went  with  the  pastor  to  her  in  Salem 
Prison;  whom  we  found  very  obdurate,  justifying  herself, 
and  condemning  all  that  had  done  anything  tojher  just  dis- 


678 


STORIES  OF  SALEM  WITCHCRAFT. 


The  case  of  Giles  Corey  is,  in  some  re- 
spects, the  most  interesting  and  the  most 
tragic  in  all  this  wonderful  drama  of 
witchcraft.  As  previously  stated,  he  was 
carried  away  with  the  delusion  from  the 
outset,  and,  against  the  wishes  of  his 
wife,  attended   the   earlier   examinations. 


Site  of  Court  House  where  Witch  Trials  took  place. 


He  was  arrested  on  a  warrant  issued 
April  1 8,  and  examined  on  the-  19th,  in 
the  Village  meeting-house.  The  accus- 
ing girls  conducted  themselves  in  the 
usual  manner,  and  were  so  badly  affected 
"  with  fits  and  troubled  with  pinches " 
that  the  court  ordered  Corey's  hands  to 
be  tied.  When  the  magistrates  asked 
him  if  it  was  not  enough  to  "  act  witch- 
craft at  other  times,  but  must  you  do  it 
now  in  face  of  authority  ?  "  he  replied, 
"  I  am  a  poor  creature  and  cannot  help 
it."  Later,  the  magistrate  exclaimed : 
"  Why  do  you  tell  such  wicked  lies  against 
witnesses?"  "  One  of  his  hands  was  let 
go,"  continues  the  record,  "and  several 
were  afflicted.  He  held  his  head  on  one 
side,  and  then  the  heads  of  several  of  the 
afflicted  were  held  on  one  side.  He 
drew  in  his  cheeks,  and  the  cheeks  of 
some  of  the  afflicted  were  sucked  in." 

covery  or  condemnation.  Whereupon,  after  a  little  dis- 
course (for  her  imperiousness  would  not  suffer  much),  and 
after  prayer — which  she  was  willing  to  decline — the 
dreadful  sentence  of  excommunication  was  pronounced 
against  her."  Extract  from  Parris's  record  in  the  church 
book.     Mass.  Hist.  Coll.,  3d  series,  III.,  169. 


Elizabeth  Woodwell  deposed  that  she 
saw  him  on  a  lecture  day  come  in  and  sit 
in  the  middlemost  seat  of  the  men's  seats 
by  the  post.  Mary  Warren  said  he  was 
hostile  to  her  and  afflicted  her  because  he 
thought  she  caused  John  Procter  to  ask 
more  for  a  piece  of  meadow  than  he  was 
willing  to  give.  There 
is  very  little  evi- 
dence  in  Giles 
Corey's  case.  That 
given  here  comprises 
all  of  special  inter- 
est. The  magistrates 
committed  him  to  jail. 
This  was  on  or  about 
April  18.  He  was 
brought  before  the 
court  in  September, 
to  plead  to  an  indict- 
ment for  witchcraft. 
The  old  man  refused 
to  plead,  "  stood 
mute,"  as  the  law 
terms  it.  The  re- 
cords of  the  Salem 
Church  under  date  of 
September  18,  Sun- 
day, state  that,  "G. 
Corey  was  excom- 
cause  of  it  was,  that 
and  indicted  for  the 
he  refused  to  plead, 
sentence  and  pen- 
durei     being     un- 


municated.  The 
he  being  accused 
sin  of  witchcraft 
and  so  incurred  the 
alty  of  pain  forte 
doubtedly  guilty  of  the  sin  of  witchcraft, 
or  of  throwing  himself  upon  sudden  and 
certain  death,  if  he  were  otherwise  in- 
nocent." This  does  not  say  the  penalty 
was  enforced,  only  that  it  was  incurred. 

The  English  law  of  those  days,  for 
"standing  mute"  was  that  the  prisoner 
"be  remanded  to  the  prison  from  whence 
he  came  and  put  into  a  low  dark  chamber, 
and  there  be  laid  on  his  back  on  the  bare 
floor,  naked,  unless  where  decency  for- 
bids ;  that  there  be  placed  upon  his  body 
as  great  a  weight  of  iron  as  he  could  bear, 
and  more,  that  he  have  no  sustenance, 
save  only  on  the  first  day,  three  morsels 
of  the  worst  bread,  and  on  the  second 
day,  three  draughts  of  standing  water, 
that  should  be  nearest  to  the  prison  door, 
and  in  this  situation  this  should  be  alter- 
nately his  daily  diet  till  he  died,  or  —  as 


STORIES  OF  SALEM  WITCHCRAFT. 


G79 


anciently  the  judgment  ran  —  till  he 
answered."1 

No  other  instance  of  the  enforcement 
of  this  penalty  is  known  in  New  England 
history.  Blackstone  says  it  was  adopted 
in  England  about  the  beginning  of  the 
reign  of  Henry  IV.  He  adds  that  the 
uncertainty  of  its  origin,  the  doubts  of  its 
legality,  and  the  repugnance  of  its  theory 
to  the  humanity  of  the  laws  of  England 
all  concurred  to  require  the  abolition  of 
the  cruel  punishment,  so  that  standing 
mute  should  amount  only  to  a  confession 
of  guilt. 

There  is  some  uncertainty  as  to  the 
place  where  the  last  act  of  this  terrible 
tragedy  took  place.  Upham  thinks  it 
was  between  the  Howard  Street  burial- 
ground  and  Brown  Street,  in  an  open 
field,  and  says  that  Corey  urged  the  offi- 
cers to  add  more  weight,  that  his  misery 
might  the  sooner  be  ended,  —  a  request 
perfectly  natural  for  a  man  who  had  made 
up  his  mind  to  die  that  way.  Calef  is 
authority  for  this  story  of  monstrous  bru- 
tality on  the  part  of  the  officers  :  "  In 
pressing,  his  tongue  being  pressed  out  of 
his  mouth,  the  sheriff  with  his  cane  forced 
it  in  again  when  he  was  dying."  Sewall 
left  this   record  : 

"Monday,  September  19,  1692.  About  noon, 
at  Salem,  Giles  Corey  was  pressed  to  death  for 
standing  Mute;  much  pains  was  used  with  him 
two  days,  one  after  another,  by  the  court  and 
Captain  Gardner,  of  Nantucket,  who  had  been  of 
his  acquaintance,  but  all  in  vain." 

This  horrible  tragedy  was  enacted  three 
days  previous  to  the  hanging  of  Martha 
Corey  and  her  nine  companions.  No 
one  knows  just  why  Corey  refused  to 
plead  and  suffered  such  a  death.  It  may 
have  been  because  of  his  stubborn  nature 
and  firm  will ;  but  more  probably  it  was 
to  save  the  attaint  of  his  family  and  the 
forfeiture  of  his  property,  which  would 
follow  conviction  if  he  pleaded.  From 
what  he  had  seen  of  previous  trials,  he 
probably  concluded  that  conviction  was 
certain  in  his  case,  especially  if  he  had 
made  up  his  mind  not  to  confess.  While 
lying  in  jail,  he  drew  up  and  executed  a 
paper  which  he  intended  should  operate 
as  a  will,  but  which  was  in  reality  a  deed 
of  conveyance.     By    it  he   conveyed  all 

1Chitty's  Blackstone,  IV.,  265. 


his  property  to  William  Cleeves  and  John 
Moulton,  his  sons-in-law.  The  day  after 
Corey's  death,  Thomas  Putnam  sent  to 
Judge  Sewall  the  following  communica- 
tion : 

"  Last  night  my  daughter  Ann  was  grieviously 
tormented  by  witches,  threatening  that  she  should 
be  pressed  to  death  before  Giles  Corey;  but, 
through  the  goodness  of  a  gracious  God,  she  had 
at  last  a  little  respite.  Whereupon  there  appeared 
unto  her  (she  said)  a  man  in  a  winding  sheet, 
who  told  her  that  Giles  Corey  had  murdered  him 
by  pressing  him  to  death  with  his  feet;  but  that 
the  devil  then  appeared  unto  him  and  covenanted 
with  him,  and  promised  that  he  should  not  be 
hanged.  The  apparition  said  God  hardened  his 
heart  that  he  should  not  harken  to  the  advice  of 
the  court  and  so  die  an  easy  death ;  because,  as 
it  said,  it  must  be  done  to  him  as  he  had  done  to 
me.  The  apparition  also  said  that  Giles  Corey 
was  carried  to  the  court  for  this,  and  that  the  jury 
had  found  the  murderer;  and  that  her  father 
knew  the  man,  and  the  thing  was  done  before 
she  was  born." 

This  letter  needs  a  little  explanation. 
Corey  appears  to  have  been  a  man  who, 
in  early  life,  if  not  in  later,  did  about  as 
he  pleased  in  the  community,  and  had 
little  consideration  for  the  rights  of 
others  or  their  feelings.  He  became  in- 
volved in  lawsuits,  and  even  got  into  the 
criminal  courts.2  Jacob  Goodell,  who 
worked  for  him,  was  carried  home  sick  by 
Martha  Corey,  and  soon  after  died.  The 
gossips  said  his  death  was  caused  by  a 
beating  which  Corey  gave  him.  The 
coroner's  jury  said  the  man  had  been 
bruised  to  death,  "  having  dodders  of 
blood  about  the  heart."  This  was  about 
1676.  To  this  case  Thomas  Putnam  re- 
fers in  the  above-quoted  statement.  The 
affair  did  happen  before  Ann  Putnam  was 
born;  but  the  arrest  of  Corey,  and  his 
subsequent  horrible  death,  must  have  re- 
vived all  the  old  stories  about  him.  No 
doubt,  Ann  heard  them  at  this  time,  and 
they  were  sure,  under  the  circumstances, 
to  lose  nothing  in  the  re-telling.  Corey 
was  also  before  the  court  in  1678  on 
suspicion  of  having  set  fire  to  John 
Procter's  house.  His  innocence  was 
clearly  proved,  and  he  turned  on  Procter 
and  other  of  his  defamers,  and  sued 
them,  recovering  from  all  of  them.  He 
had  had  a  lawsuit  with  Procter  previous 

2  "  Giles  Coree  being  presented  upon  suspicion  of  abusing 
the  body  of  Jacob  Goodell,  is  fined."  Essex  County  Court 
Records,  Salem,  1676. 


680 


'TIS  BETTER  TO  HAVE  IOVED  AND  LOST 


to  this.1  In  other  ways  he  was  mixed  up 
unpleasantly  in  neighborhood  affairs. 
Whether  these  controversies  had  any- 
thing to  do  with  his  prosecution  for 
witchcraft  in  1692,  or  the  severity  with 
which  he  was  dealt,  I  am  unable  to  say. 
Their    revival    would    not    aid    him,  cer- 


1  "  John  Prokter  against  Giles  Corye,  defendant  in  an 
action  of  appeal  from  a  judgment  of  Maj.  Hathorne  in 
August  last,  the  jury  found  for  the  defendant,  the  confirma- 
tion of  the  former  judgment."  Essex  County  Records, 
Salem. 


tainly.  Sewall  says  of  the  charge  that 
Corey  stamped  and  pressed  a  man  to 
death ;  that  "  'twas  not  remembered  till 
Ann  Putnam  was  told  of  it  by  said 
Corey's  spectre  the  Sabbath  night  before 
the  execution."  It  is  hardly  possible  that 
a  man  could  be  arrested  and  dealt  with 
in  the  manner  Corey  was,  and  no  one 
remember  and  recall  that  fourteen  and 
sixteen  years  before  he  had  been  charged 
with  murder  and  arson. 


'TIS  BETTER  TO  HAVE  LOVED  AND  LOST. 

By  Philip  Bourke  Marston. 

1    FRONT  the  Present  with  the  Past  and  say : 
Which  reckons  more,  the  anguish  or  the  bliss, 
The  joy  that  was,  or  agony  that  is, 
The  path  I  trod  when  all  my  life  seemed  May, 
Or  this  gray  sky,  this  bleak,  autumnal  way, 
The  deep  delight  of  many  a  love-warm  kiss, 
The  pressure  of  embracing  arms,  or  this 
Fierce  fire  of  thirst  that  wastes  me,  night  and  day? 

Then  I  recall  thee,  Love  !   and  testify 

The  present  pain  cheap  price  for  that  dear  past ; 

Though  Fate  through  life  all  comfort  should  deny, 
And  even  in  death  my  loneliness  should  last, 
'Tis  better  to  have  held  thee  once  so  fast 

Than  die  without  thy  love,  as  others  die. 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.1 

By  Phillips  Brooks. 


**HE  CHOSE  DAVID  ALSO  HIS  SERVANT,  AND  TOOK  HIM 
AWAY  FROM  THE  SHEEPFOLDS;  THAT  HE  MIGHT  FEED 
JACOB  HIS  PEOPLE,  AND  ISRAEL  HIS  INHERITANCE.  SO 
HE  FED  THEM  WITH  A  FAITHFUL  AND  TRUE  HEART, 
AND   RULED   THEM    PRUDENTLY   WITH   ALL   HIS   POWER."  — 

Psalm  lxxviii.,  71.  72,  73. 


Ws 


HILE  I  speak  to  you  to-day,  the  body  of 
le  President  who  ruled  this  people,  is 
lying,  honored  and  loved,  in  our  city. 
It  is  impossible  with  that  sacred  presence  in  our 
midst  for  me  to  stand  and  speak  of  ordinary  top- 
ics which  occupy  the  pulpit.  I  must  speak  of 
him  to-day;  and  I  therefore  undertake  to  do 
what  I  had  intended  to  do  at  some  future  time, 
to  invite  you  to  study  with  me  the  character  of 
Abraham  Lincoln,  the  impulses  of  his  life  and 
the  causes  of  his  death.  I  know  how  hard  it  is 
to  do  it  rightly,  how  impossible  it  is  to  do  it  wor- 
thily. But  I  shall  speak  with  confidence,  because 
I  speak  to  those  who  love  him  and  whose  ready 
love  will  fill  out  the  deficiencies  in  a  picture  which 
my  words  will  weakly  try  to  draw. 

We  take  it  for  granted,  first  of  all,  that  there  is 
an  essential  connection  between  Mr.  Lincoln's 
character  and  his  violent  and  bloody  death.  It 
is  no  accident,  no  arbitrary  decree  of  Providence. 
He  lived  as  he  did,  and  he  died  as  he  did,  because 
he  was  what  he  was.  The  more  we  see  of  events, 
the  less  we  come  to  believe  in  any  fate  or  destiny 
except  the  destiny  of  character.  It  will  be  our 
duty,  then,  to  see  what  there  was  in  the  character 
of  our  great  President  that  created  the  history  of 
his  life,  and  at  last  produced  the  catastrophe  of 
his  cruel  death.  After  the  first  trembling  horror, 
the  first  outburst  of  indignant  sorrow,  has  grown 
calm,  these  are  the  questions  which  we  are  bound 
to  ask  and  answer. 

It  is  not  necessary  for  me  even  to  sketch  the 
biography  of  Mr.  Lincoln.  He  was  born  in  Ken- 
tucky, fifty-six  years  ago,  when  Kentucky  was  a 
pioneer  state.  He  lived,  as  boy  and  man,  the 
hard  and  needy  life  of  a  backwoodsman,  a  farmer, 
a  river  boatman,  and  finally,  by  his  own  efforts  at 
self-education,  of  an  active,  respected,  influential 
citizen,  in  the  half-organized  and  manifold  inter- 
ests of  a  new  and  energetic  community.  From 
his  boyhood  up  he  lived  in  direct  and  vigorous 
contact  with  men  and  things,  not  as  in'  older 
states  and  easier  conditions  with  words  and  theo- 
ries; and  both  his  moral  convictions  and  his  in- 
tellectual opinions  gathered  from  that  contact  a 
supreme  degree  of  that  character  by  which  men 
knew  him,  that  character  which  is  the  most  dis- 
tinctive possession  of  the  best  American  nature, 
that  almost  indescribable  quality  which  we  call  in 
general  clearness  or  truth,  and  which  appears  in 
the  physical  structure  as  health,  in  the  moral  con- 
stitution as  honesty,  in  the  mental  structure  as 
sagacity,  and  in  the  region  of  active  life  as  prac- 
ticalness.    This  one  character,  with  many  sides, 

1  A  sermon  preached  in  Philadelphia,  April  23,  1865, 
while  the  body  of  the  President  was  lying  in  the  city. 


all  shaped  by  the  same  essential  force  and  testify- 
ing to  the  same  inner  influences,  was  what  was 
powerful  in  him  and  decreed  for  him  the  life  he 
was  to  live  and  the  death  he  was  to  die.  We 
must  take  no  smaller  view  than  this  of  what  he 
was.  Even  his  physical  conditions  are  not  to  be 
forgotten  in  making  up  his  character.  We  make 
too  little  always  of  the  physical;  certainly  we 
make  too  little  of  it  here  if  we  lose  out  of  sight 
the  strength  and  muscular  activity,  the  power  of 
doing  and  enduring,  which  the  backwoods-boy 
inherited  from  generations  of  hard-living  ances- 
tors, and  appropriated  for  his  own  by  a  longsdis- 
cipline  of  bodily  toil.  He  brought  to  the  solu- 
tion of  the  question  of  labor  in  this  country  not 
merely  a  mind,  but  a  body  thoroughly  in  sympathy 
with  labor,  full  of  the  culture  of  labor,  bearing 
witness  to  the  dignity  and  excellence  of  work  in 
every  muscle  that  work  had  toughened  and  every 
sense  that  work  had  made  clear  and  true.  He 
could  not  have  brought  the  mind  for  his  task  so 
perfectly,  unless  he  had  first  brought  the  body 
whose  rugged  and  stubborn  health  was  always 
contradicting  to  him  the  false  theories  of  labor, 
and  always  asserting  the  true. 

As  to  the  moral  and  mental  powers  which  dis- 
tinguished him,  all  embraceable  under  this  gen- 
eral description  of  clearness  or  truth,  the  most 
remarkable  thing  is  the  way  in  which  they  blend 
with  one  another,  so  that  it  is  next  to  impossible 
to  examine  them  in  separation.  A  great  many 
people  have  discussed  very  crudely  whether  Abra- 
ham Lincoln  was  an  intellectual  man  or  not;  as 
if  intellect  were  a  thing  always  of  the  same  sort, 
which  you  could  precipitate  from  the  other  con- 
stituents of  a  man's  nature  and  weigh  by  itself, 
and  compare  by  pounds  and  ounces  in  this  man 
with  another.  The  fact  is,  that  in  all  the  simplest 
characters  the  line  between  the  mental  and  moral 
natures  is  always  vague  and  indistinct.  They 
run  together,  and  in  their  best  combinations  you 
are  unable  to  discriminate,  in  the  wisdom  which 
is  their  result,  how  much  is  moral  and  how  much 
is  intellectual.  You  are  unable  to  tell  whether 
in  the  wise  acts  and  words  which  issue  from  such 
a  life  there  is  more  of  the  righteousness  that 
comes  of  a  clear  conscience,  or  of  the  sagacity 
that  comes  of  a  clear  brain.  In  more  complex 
characters  and  under  more  complex  conditions, 
the  moral  and  the  mental  lives  come  to  be  less 
healthily  combined.  They  co-operate,  they  help 
each  other  less.  They  come  even  to  stand  over 
against  each  other  as  antagonists;  till  we  have 
that  vague  but  most  melancholy  notion  which  per- 
vades the  life  of  all  elaborate  civilization,  that 
goodness  and  greatness,  as  we  call  them,  are  not 
to  be  looked  for  together,  till  we  expect  to  see 
and  so  do  see  a  feeble  and  narrow  conscientious- 
ness on  the  one  hand,  and  a  bad,  unprincipled 
intelligence  on  the  other,  dividing  the  suffrages  of 
men. 


682 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN. 


It  is  the  great  boon  of  such  characters  as  Mr. 
Lincoln's,  that  they  reunite  what  God  has  joined 
together  and  man  has  put  asunder.  In  him  was 
vindicated  the  greatness  of  real  goodness  and  the 
goodness  of  real  greatness.  The  twain  were  one 
flesh.  Not  one  of  all  the  multitudes  who  stood 
and  looked  up  to  him  for  direction  with  such  a 
loving  and  implicit  trust  can  tell  you  to-day 
whether  the  wise  judgments  that  he  gave  came 
most  from  a  strong  head  or  a  sound  heart.  If 
you  ask  them,  they  are  puzzled.  There  are  men 
as  good  as  he,  but  they  do  bad  things.  There 
are  men  as  intelligent  as  he,  but  they  do  foolish 
things.  In  him  goodness  and  intelligence  com- 
bined and  made  their  best  result  of  wisdom.  For 
perfect  truth  consists  not  merely  in  the  right  con- 
stituents of  character,  but  in  their  right  and  in- 
timate conjunction.  This  union  of  the  mental 
and  moral  into  a  life  of  admirable  simplicity  is 
what  we  most  admire  in  children,  but  in  them  it 
is  unsettled  and  unpractical.  But  when  it  is  pre- 
served into  manhood,  deepened  into  reliability 
and  maturity,  it  is  that  glorified  childlikeness,  that 
high  and  reverend  simplicity,  which  shames  and 
baffles  the  most  accomplished  astuteness,  and  is 
chosen  by  God  to  fill  his  purposes  when  he  needs 
a  ruler  for  his  people,  of  faithful  and  true  heart, 
such  as  he  had  who  was  our  President. 

Another  evident  quality  of  such  a  character  as 
this  will  be  its  freshness  or  newness;  if  we  may  so 
speak.  Its  freshness  or  readiness — call  it  what 
you  will  —  its  ability  to  take  up  new  duties  and 
do  them  in  a  new  way  will  result  of  necessity 
from  its  truth  and  clearness.  The  simple  natures 
and  forces  will  always  be  the  most  pliant  ones. 
Water  bends  and  shapes  itself  to  any  channel. 
Air  folds  and  adapts  itself  to  each  new  figure. 
They  are  the  simplest  and  the  most  infinitely 
active  things  in  nature.  So  this  nature,  in  very 
virtue  of  its  simplicity,  must  be  also  free,  always 
fitting  itself  to  each  new  need.  It  will  always 
start  from  the  most  fundamental  and  eternal  con- 
ditions, and  work  in  the  straightest  even  although 
they  be  the  newest  ways,  to  the  present  pre- 
scribed purpose.  In  one  word,  it  must  be  broad 
and  independent  and  radical.  So  that  freedom 
and  radicalness  in  the  character  of  Abraham  Lin- 
coln were  not  separate  qualities,  but  the  necessary 
results  of  his  simplicity  and  childlikeness  and 
truth. 

Here  then  we  have  some  conception  of  the 
man.  Out  of  this  character  came  the  life  which 
we  admire  and  the  death  which  we  lament  to-day. 
He  was  called  in  that  character  to  that  life  and 
death.  It  was  just  the  nature,  as  you  see,  which 
a  new  nation  such  as  ours  ought  to  produce.  All 
the  conditions  of  his  birth,  his  youth,  his  man- 
hood, which  made  him  what  he  was,  were  not 
irregular  and  exceptional,  but  were  the  normal 
conditions  of  a  new  and  simple  country.  His 
pioneer  home  in  Indiana  was  a  type  of  the 
pioneer  land  in  which  he  lived.  If  ever  there 
was  a  man  who  was  a  part  of  the  time  and  coun- 
try he  lived  in,  this  was  he.  The  same  simple  re- 
spect for  labor  won  in  the  school  of  work  and  in- 
corporated into  blood  and  muscle;  the  same 
unassuming  loyalty  to  the  simple  virtues  of  tem- 
perance and  industry  and  integrity;  the  same 
sagacious  judgment   which   had    learned    to    be 


quick-eyed  and  quick-brained  in  the  constant 
presence  of  emergency;  the  same  direct  and 
clear  thought  about  things,  social,  political,  and 
religious,  that  was  in  him  supremely,  was  in  the 
people  he  was  sent  to  rule.  Surely,  with  such  a 
type-man  for  ruler,  there  would  seem  to  be  but  a 
smooth  and  even  road  over  which  he  might  lead 
the  people  whose  character  he  represented  into 
the  new  region  of  national  happiness  and  com- 
fort and  usefulness,  for  which  that  character  had 
been  designed. 

But  then  we  come  to  the  beginning  of  all 
trouble.  Abraham  Lincoln  was  the  type-man  of 
the  country,  but  not  of  the  whole  country.  This 
character  which  we  have  been  trying  to  describe 
was  the  character  of  an  American  under  the  dis- 
cipline of  freedom.  There  was  another  American 
character  which  had  been  developed  under  the 
influence  of  slavery.  There  was  no  one  Ameri- 
can character  embracing  the  land.  There  were 
two  characters,  with  impulses  of  irrepressible  and 
deadly  conflict.  This  citizen  whom  we  have  been 
honoring  and  praising  represented  one.  The 
whole  great  scheme  with  which  he  was  ultimately 
brought  in  conflict,  and  which  has  finally  killed 
him,  represented  the  other.  Beside  this  nature, 
true  and  fresh  and  new,  there  was  another  nature, 
false  and  effete  and  old.  The  one  nature  found 
itself  in  a  new  world,  and  set  itself  to  discover  the 
new  ways  for  the  new  duties  that  were  given  it. 
The  other  nature,  full  of  the  false  pride  of  blood, 
set  itself  to  reproduce  in  a  new  world  the  institu- 
tions and  the  spirit  of  the  old,  to  build  anew  the 
structure  of  the  feudalism  which  had  been  corrupt 
in  its  own  day,  and  which  had  been  left  far  behind 
by  the  advancing  conscience  and  needs  of  the 
progressing  race.  The  one  nature  magnified 
labor,  the  other  nature  depreciated  and  despised 
it.  The  one  honored  the  laborer,  and  the  other 
scorned  him.  The  one  was  simple  and  direct; 
the  other,  complex,  full  of  sophistries  and  self- 
excuses.  The  one  was  free  to  look  all  that 
claimed  to  be  truth  in  the  face,  and  separate  the 
error  from  the  truth  that  might  be  in  it;  the 
other  did  not  dare  to  investigate,  because  its  own 
established  prides  and  systems  were  dearer  to  it 
than  the  truth  itself,  and  so  even  truth  went  about 
in  it  doing  the  work  of  error.  The  one  was 
ready  to  state  broad  principles,  of  the  brother- 
hood of  man,  the  universal  fatherhood  and  justice 
of  God,  however  imperfectly  it  might  realize  them 
in  practice;  the  other  denied  even  the  prin- 
ciples, and  so  dug  deep  and  laid  below  its  special 
sins  the  broad  foundation  of  a  consistent,  acknowl- 
edged sinfulness.  In  a  word,  one  nature  was 
full  of  the  influences  of  Freedom,  the  other  nature 
was  full  of  the  influences  of  Slavery. 

In  general,  these  two  regions  of  our  national 
life  were  separated  by  a  geographical  boundary. 
One  was  the  spirit  of  the  North,  the  other  was  the 
spirit  of  the  South.  But  the  southern  nature  was 
by  no  means  all  a  southern  thing.  There  it  had 
an  organized,  established  form,  a  certain  definite, 
established  institution  about  which  it  clustered. 
Here,  lacking  advantage,  it  lived  in  less  expres- 
sive ways  and  so  lived  more  weakly.  There, 
there  was  the  horrible  sacrament  of  slavery,  the 
outward  and  visible  sign  round  which  the  inward 
and  spiritual   temper   gathered   and   kept    itself 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN. 


683 


alive.  But  who  doubts  that  among  us  the  spirit 
of  slavery  lived  and  thrived  ?  Its  formal  existence 
had  been  swept  away  from  one  state  after  another, 
partly  on  conscientious,  partly  on  economical 
grounds,  but  its  spirit  was  here,  in  every  sympathy 
that  northern  winds  carried  to  the  listening  ear  of 
the  southern  slaveholder,  and  in  every  oppression 
of  the  weak  by  the  strong,  every  proud  assumption 
of  idleness  over  labor  which  echoed  the  music  of 
southern  life  back  to  us.  Here  in  our  midst 
lived  that  worse  and  falser  nature,  side  by  side 
with  the  true  and  better  nature  which  God  meant 
should  be  the  nature  of  Americans,  and  of  which 
he  was  shaping  out  the  type  and  champion  in  his 
-chosen  David  of  the  sheepfolds. 

Here  then  we  have  the  two.  The  history  of 
our  country  for  many  years  is  the  history  of  how 
these  two  elements  of  American  life  approached 
collision.  They  wrought  their  separate  reactions 
on  each  other.  Men  debate  and  quarrel  even 
now  about  the  rise  of  northern  Abolitionism, 
about  whether  the  northern  Abolitionists  were 
right  or  wrong,  whether  they  did  harm  or  good. 
How  vain  the  quarrel  is  !  It  was  inevitable.  It 
was  inevitable  in  the  nature  of  things  that  two 
■such  natures  living  here  together  should  be  set 
-violently  against  each  other.  It  is  inevitable,  till 
man  be  far  more  unfeeling  and  untrue  to  his  con- 
victions than  he  has  always  been,  that  a  great 
wrong  asserting  itself  vehemently  should  arouse  to 
no  less  vehement  assertion  the  opposing  right. 
The  only  wonder  is  that  there  was  not  more  of  it. 
The  only  wonder  is  that  so  few  were  swept  away 
to  take  by  an  impulse  they  could  not  resist  their 
stand  of  hatred  to  the  wicked  institution.  The 
only  wonder  is,  that  only  one  brave,  reckless  man 
came  forth  to  cast  himself,  almost  single-handed, 
with  a  hopeless  hope,  against  the  proud  power 
that  he  hated,  and  trust  to  the  influence  of  a  soul 
marching  on  into  the  history  of  his  countrymen  to 
stir  them  to  a  vindication  of  the  truth  he  loved. 
At  any  rate,  whether  the  Abolitionists  were 
wrong  or  right,  there  grew  up  about  their  violence, 
as  there  always  will  about  the  extremism  of  ex- 
treme reformers,  a  great  mass  of  feeling,  catching 
their  spirit  and  asserting  it  firmly,  though  in  more 
moderate  degrees  and  methods.  About  the 
nucleus  of  Abolitionism  grew  up  a  great  Ameri- 
can Anti-Slavery  determination,  which  at  last 
gathered  strength  enough  to  take  its  stand,  to  in- 
sist upon  the  checking  and  limiting  the  extension 
of  the  power  of  slavery,  and  to  put  the  type-man, 
whom  God  had  been  preparing  for  the  task, 
before  the  world,  to  do  the  work  on  which  it  had 
resolved.  Then  came  discontent,  secession,  trea- 
son. The  two  American  natures,  long  advancing 
to  encounter,  met  at  last,  and  a  whole  country, 
yet  trembling  with  the  shock,  bears  witness  how 
terrible  the  meeting  was. 

Thus  I  have  tried  briefly  to  trace  out  the  • 
gradual  course  by  which  God  brought  the  char- 
acter which  he  designed  to  be  the  controlling 
character  of  this  new  world  into  distinct  collision 
with  the  hostile  character  which  it  was  to  destroy 
and  absorb,  and  set  it  in  the  person  of  its  type- 
man  in  the  seat  of  highest  power.  The  character 
formed  under  the  discipline  of  Freedom  and  the 
character  formed  under  the  discipline  of  Slavery 
developed  all  their  difference  and  met  in  hostile 


conflict  when  this  war  began.  Notice,  it  was  not 
only  in  what  he  did  and  was  towards  the  slave,  it 
was  in  all  he  did  and  was  everywhere  that  we 
accept  Mr.  Lincoln's  character  as  the  true  result 
of  our  free  life  and  institutions.  Nowhere  else 
could  have  come  forth  that  genuine  love  of  the 
people,  which  in  him  no  one  could  suspect  of 
being  either  the  cheap  flattery  of  the  demagogue 
or  the  abstract  philanthropy  of  tbe  philosopher, 
which  made  our  President,  while  he  lived,  the 
centre  of  a  great  household  land,  and  when  he 
died  so  cruelly,  made  every  humblest  household 
thrill  with  a  sense  of  personal  bereavement  which 
the  death  of  rulers  is  not  apt  to  bring.  Nowhere 
else  than  out  of  the  life  of  freedom  could  have 
come  that  personal  unselfishness  and  generosity 
which  made  so  gracious  a  part  of  this  good  man's 
character.  How  many  soldiers  feel  yet  the  pres- 
sure of  a  strong  hand  that  clasped  theirs  once  as 
they  lay  sick  and  weak  in  the  dreary  hospital ! 
How  many  ears  will  never  lose  the  thrill  of  some 
kind  word  he  spoke  —  he  who  could  speak  so 
kindly  to  promise  a  kindness  that  always  matched 
his  word !  How  often  he  surprised  the  land  with 
a  clemency  which  made  even  those  who  ques- 
tioned his  policy  love  him  the  more  for  what  they 
called  his  weakness,  —  seeing  how  the  man  in 
whom  God  had  most  embodied  the  discipline  of 
Freedom  not  only  could  not  be  a  slave,  but  could 
not  be  a  tyrant !  In  the  heartiness  of  his  mirth 
and  his  enjoyment  of  simple  joys;  in  the  direct- 
ness and  shrewdness  of  perceptioa  which  con- 
stituted his  wit;  in  the  untired,  undiscouraged 
faith  in  human  nature  which  he  always  kept;  and 
perhaps  above  all  in  the  plainness  and  quiet,  un- 
ostentatious earnestness  and  independence  of  his 
religious  life,  in  his  humble  love  and  trust  of  God 
—  in  all,  it  was  a  character  such  as  only  Freedom 
knows  how  to  make. 

Now  it  was  in  this  character,  rather  than  in  any 
mere  political  position,  that  the  fitness  of  Mr. 
Lincoln  to  stand  forth  in  the  struggle  of  the  two 
American  natures  really  lay.  We  are  told  that  he 
did  not  come  to  the  Presidential  chair  pledged  to 
the  abolition  of  Slavery.  When  will  we  learn 
that  with  all  true  men  it  is  not  what  they  intend 
to  do,  but  it  is  what  the  qualities  of  their  natures 
bind  them  to  do,  that  determines  their  career? 
The  President  came  to  his  power  full  of  the  blood, 
strong  in  the  strength  of  Freedom.  He  came 
there  free,  and  hating  slavery.  He  came  there, 
leaving  on  record  words  like  these  spoken  three 
years  before  and  never  contradicted.  He  had 
said,  "  A  house  divided  against  itself  cannot  stand. 
I  believe  this  Government  cannot  endure  perma- 
nently, half  slave  and  half  free.  I  do  not  expect 
the  Union  to  be  dissolved;  I  do  not  expect  the 
house  to  fall;  but  I  expect  it  will  cease  to  be 
divided.  It  will  become  all  one  thing  or  all  the 
other."  When  the  question  came,  he  knew  which 
thing  he  meant  that  it  should  be.  His  whole  na- 
ture settled  that  question  for  him.  Such  a  man 
must  always  live  as  he  used  to  say  he  lived  (and 
was  blamed  for  saying  it)  "  controlled  by  events, 
not  controlling  them."  And  with  a  reverent  and 
clear  mind,  to  be  controlled  by  events  means  to 
be  controlled  by  God.  For  such  a  man  there  was 
no  hesitation  when  God  brought  him  up  face  to 
face  with  Slavery  and  put  the  sword  into  his  hand 


684 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN. 


and  said,  "  Strike  it  down  dead."  He  was  a  wil- 
ling servant  then.  If  ever  the  face  of  a  man 
writing  solemn  words  glowed  with  a  solemn  joy, 
it  must  have  been  the  face  of  Abraham  Lincoln, 
as  he  bent  over  the  page  where  the  Emancipation 
Proclamation  of  1863  was  growing  into  shape, 
and  giving  manhood  and  freedom  as  he  wrote  it 
to  hundreds  of  thousands  of  his  fellowmen. 
Here  was  a  work  in  which  his  whole  nature  could 
rejoice.  Here  was  an  act  that  crowned  the  whole 
culture  of  his  life.  All  the  past,  the  free  boy- 
hood in  the  woods,  the  free  youth  upon  the  farm, 
the  free  manhood  in  the  honorable  citizen's  em- 
ployments—  all  his  freedom  gathered  and  com- 
pleted itself  in  this.  And  as  the  swarthy  multi- 
tudes came  in,  ragged,  and  tired,  and  hungry,  and 
ignorant,  but  free  forever  from  anything  but  the 
memorial  scars  of  the  fetters  and  the  whip,  sing- 
ing rude  songs  in  which  the  new  triumph  of  free- 
dom struggled  and  heaved  below  the  sad  melody 
that  had  been  shaped  for  bondage;  as  in  their 
camps  and  hovels  there  grew  up  to  their  half- 
superstitious  eyes  the  image  of  a  great  Father 
almost  more  than  man,  to  whom  they  owed  their 
freedom,  —  were  they  not  half  right?  For  it  was 
not  to  one  man,  driven  by  stress  of  policy,  or 
swept  off  by  a  whim  of  pity,  that  the  noble  act 
was  due.  It  was  to  the  American  nature,  long 
kept  by  God  in  his  own  intentions  till  his  time 
should  come,  at  last  emerging  into  sight  and 
power,  and  bound  up  and  embodied  in  this  best 
and  most  American  of  all  Americans,  to  whom 
we  and  those  poor  frightened  slaves  at  last  might 
look  up  together  and  love  to  call  him,  with  one 
voice,  our  Father. 

Thus,  we  have  seen  something  of  what  the 
character  of  Mr.  Lincoln  was,  and  how  it  issued 
in  the  life  he  lived.  It  remains  for  us  to  see  how 
it  resulted  also  in  the  terrible  death  which  has 
laid  his  murdered  body  here  in  our  town  among 
lamenting  multitudes  to-day.  It  is  not  a  hard 
question,  though  it  is  sad  to  answer.  We  saw 
the  two  natures,  the  nature  of  Slavery  and  the 
nature  of  Freedom,  at  last  set  against  each  other, 
come  at  last  to  open  war.  Both  fought,  fought 
long,  fought  bravely;  but  each,  as  was  perfectly 
natural,  fought  with  the  tools  and  in  the  ways 
which  its  own  character  had  made  familiar  to  it. 
The  character  of  Slavery  was  brutal,  barbarous, 
and  treacherous;  and  so  the  whole  history  of  the 
slave  power  during  the  war  has  been  full  of  ways 
of  warfare  brutal,  barbarous,  and  treacherous,  be- 
yond anything  that  men  bred  in  freedom  could 
have  been  driven  to  by  the  most  hateful  passions. 
It  is  not  to  be  marvelled  at.  It  is  not  to  be  set 
down  as  the  special  sin  of  the  war.  It  goes  back 
beyond  that.  It  is  the  sin  of  the  system.  It  is 
the  barbarism  of  Slavery.  When  Slavery  went  to 
war  to  save  its  life,  what  wonder  if  its  barbarism 
grew  barbarous  a  hundredfold  ! 

One  would  be  attempting  a  task  which  once 
was  almost  hopeless,  but  which  now  is  only  need- 
less, if  he  set  himself  to  convince  a  northern  con- 
gregation that  Slavery  was  a  barbarian  institution. 
It  would  be  hardly  more  necessary  to  try  to  prove 
how  its  barbarism  has  shown  itself  during  this 
war.  The  same  spirit  which  was  blind  to  the 
wickedness  of  breaking  sacred  ties,  of  separating 
man  and  wife,  of  beating  women  till  they  dropped 


down  dead,  of  organizing  licentiousness  and  sin 
into  commercial  systems,  of  forbidding  knowledge 
and  protecting  itself  with  ignorance,  of  putting 
on  its  arms  and  riding  out  to  steal  a  state  at  the 
beleagured  ballot-box  away  from  freedom  —  in 
one  word  (for  its  simplest  definition  is  its  worst 
dishonor),  the  spirit  that  gave  man  the  ownership 
in  man  in  time  of  peace,  has  found  out  yet  more 
terrible  barbarisms  for  the  time  of  war.  It  has 
hewed  and  burned  the  bodies  of  the  dead.  It 
has  starved  and  mutilated  its  helpless  prisoners. 
It  has  dealt  by  truth,  not  as  men  will  in  a  time 
of  excitement,  lightly  and  with  frequent  violations, 
but  with  a  cool,  and  deliberate,  and  systematic 
contempt.  It  has  sent  its  agents  into  northern 
towns  to  fire  peaceful  hotels  where  hundreds  of 
peaceful  men  and  women  slept.  It  has  under- 
mined the  prisons  where  its  victims  starved,  and 
made  all  ready  to  blow  with  one  blast  their 
wretched  life  away.  It  has  delighted  in  the  low- 
est and  basest  scurrility  even  on  the  highest  and 
most  honorable  lips.  It  has  corrupted  the  gra- 
ciousness  of  women  and  killed  out  the  truth  of 
men. 

I  do  not  count  up  the  terrible  catalogue  because 
I  like  to,  nor  because  I  wish  to  stir  your  hearts  to 
passion.  Even  now,  you  and  I  have  no  right  to 
indulge  in  personal  hatred  to  the  men  who  did 
these  things.  But  we  are  not  doing  right  by  our- 
selves, by  the  President  that  we  have  lost,  or  by 
God  who  had  a  purpose  in  our  losing  him,  unless. 
we  know  thoroughly  that  it  was  this  same  spirit 
which  we  have  seen  to  be  a  tyrant  in  peace  and  a 
savage  in  war,  that  has  crowned  itself  with  the 
working  of  this  final  woe.  It  was  the  conflict  of 
the  two  American  natures,  the  false  and  the  true. 
It  was  Slavery  and  Freedom  that  met  in  their  two 
representatives,  the  assassin  and  the  President; 
and  the  victim  of  the  last  desperate  struggle  of 
the  dying  Slavery  lies  dead  to-day  in  Indepen- 
dence Hall. 

Solemnly,  in  the  sight  of  God,  I  charge  this 
murder  where  it  belongs,  on  Slavery.  I  dare  not 
stand  here  in  His  sight,  and  before  Him  or  you 
speak  doubtful  and  double-meaning  words  of 
vague  repentance,  as  if  we  had  killed  our  Presi- 
dent. We  have  sins  enough,  but  we  have  not 
done  this  sin,  save  as  by  weak  concessions  and 
timid  compromises  we  have  let  the  spirit  of 
Slavery  grow  strong  and  ripe  for  such  a  deed.  In. 
the  barbarism  of  Slavery  the  foul  act  and  its  foul 
method  had  their  birth.  By  all  the  goodness  that 
there  was  in  him ;  by  all  the  love  we  had  for  him 
(and  who  shall  tell  how  great  it  was) ;  by  all  the 
sorrow  that  has  burdened  down  this  desolate  and 
dreadful  week,  —  I  charge  this  murder  where  it 
belongs,  on  Slavery.  I  bid  you  to  remember 
where  the  charge  belongs,  to  write  it  on  the  door- 
posts of  your  mourning  houses,  to  teach  it  to  your 
wondering  children,  to  give  it  to  the  history  of 
these  times,  that  all  times  to  come  may  hate  and 
dread  the  sin  that  killed  our  noblest  President. 

If  ever  anything  were  clear,  this  is  the  clearest. 
Is  there  the  man  alive  who  thinks  that  Abraham 
Lincoln  was  shot  just  for  himself;  that  it  was  that 
one  man  for  whom  the  plot,  was  laid?  The 
gentlest,  kindest,  most  indulgent  man  that  ever 
ruled  a  state !  The  man  who  knew  not  how  to 
speak  a  word  of  harshness  or  how  to  make  a  foe  1 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN. 


685 


Was  it  he  for  whom  the  murderer  lurked  with  a 
mere  private  hate?  It  was  not  he,  but  what  he 
stood  for.  It  was  Law  and  Liberty,  it  was  Gov- 
ernment and  Freedom,  against  which  the  hate 
gathered  and  the  treacherous  shot  was  fired.  And 
I  know  not  how  the  crime  of  him  who  shoots  at 
Law  and  Liberty  in  the  crowded  glare  of  a  great 
theatre  differs  from  theirs  who  have  levelled  their 
aim  at  the  same  great  beings  from  behind  a  thou- 
sand ambuscades  and  on  a  hundred  battle-fields 
of  this  long  war.  Every  general  in  the  field,  and 
every  false  citizen  in  our  midst  at  home,  who  has 
plotted  and  labored  to  destroy  the  lives  of  the 
soldiers  of  the  Republic,  is  brother  to  him  who 
did  this  deed.  Tho  American  nature,  the  Ameri- 
can truths,  of  which  our  President  was  the 
anointed  and  supreme  embodiment,  have  been 
embodied  in  multitudes  of  heroes  who  marched 
unknown  and  fell  unnoticed  in  our  ranks.  For 
them,  just  as  for  him,  character  decreed  a  life  and 
a  death.  The  blood  of  all  of  them  I  charge  on 
the  same  head.  Slavery  armed  with  Treason  was 
their  murderer. 

Men  point  out  to  us  the  absurdity  and  folly  of 
this  awful  crime.  Again  and  again  we  hear  men 
say,  •'  It  was  the  worst  thing  for  themselves  they 
could  have  done.  They  have  shot  a  representa- 
tive man,  and  the  cause  he  represented  grows 
stronger  and  sterner  by  his  death.  Can  it  be  that 
so  wise  a  devil  was  so  foolish  here  ?  Must  it  not 
have  been  the  act  of  one  poor  madman,  born  and 
nursed  in  his  one  reckless  brain  ?  "  My  friends, 
let  us  understand  this  matter.  It  was  a  foolish 
act.  Its  folly  was  only  equalled  by  its  wicked- 
ness. It  was  a  foolish  act.  But  when  did  sin 
begin  to  be  wise?  When  did  wickedness  learn 
wisdom?  When  did  the  fool  stop  saying  in  his 
heart,  "There  is  no  God,"  and  acting  godlessly  in 
the  absurdity  of  his  impiety?  The  cause  that 
Abraham  Lincoln  died  for  shall  grow  stronger  by 
his  death, — stronger  and  sterner.  Stronger  to  set 
its  pillars  deep  into  the  structure  of  our  nation's 
life;  sterner  to  execute  the  justice  of  the  Lord 
upon  his  enemies.  Stronger  to  spread  its  arms 
and  grasp  our  whole  land  into  freedom;  sterner 
to  sweep  the  last  poor  ghost  of  slavery  out  of  our 
haunted  homes.  But  while  we  feel  the  folly  of 
this  act,  let  not  its  folly  hide  its  wickedness.  It 
was  the  wickedness  of  Slavery  putting  on  a  fool- 
ishness for  which  its  wickedness  and  that  alone  is 
responsible,  that  robbed  the  nation  of  a  President 
and  the  people  of  a  father.  And  remember  this, 
that  the  folly  of  the  Slave  power  in  striking  the 
representative  of  Freedom,  and  thinking  that 
thereby  it  killed  Freedom  itself,  is  only  a  folly 
that  we  shall  echo  if  we  dare  to  think  that  in 
punishing  the  representatives  of  Slavery  who  did 
this  deed,  we  are  putting  Slavery  to  death.  Dis- 
persing armies  and  hanging  traitors,  imperatively 
as  justice  and  necessity  may  demand  them  both, 
are  not  killing  the  spirit  out  of  which  they  sprang. 
The  traitor  must  die  because  he  has  committed 
treason.  The  murderer  must  die  because  he  has 
committed  murder.  Slavery  must  die,  because  out 
of  it,  and  it  alone,  came  forth  the  treason  of  the 
traitor  and  the  murder  of  the  murderer.  Do  not 
say  that  it  is  dead.  It  is  not,  while  its  essential 
spirit  lives.  While  one  man  counts  another  man 
his  born  inferior  for  the  color  of  his  skin,  while 


both  in  North  and  South  prejudices  and  practices, 
which  the  law  cannot  touch,  but  which  God  hates, 
keep  alive  in  our  people's  hearts  the  spirit  of  the 
old  iniquity,  it  is  not  dead.  The  new  American 
nature  must  supplant  the  old.  We  must  grow  like 
our  President,  in  his  truth,  his  independence,  his 
religion,  and  his  wide  humanity.  Then  the  char- 
acter by  which  he  died  shall  be  in  us,  and  by  it 
we  shall  live.  Then  peace  shall  come  that  knows 
no  war,  and  law  that  knows  no  treason;  and  full 
of  his  spirit  a  grateful  land  shall  gather  round  his 
grave,  and  in  the  daily  psalm  of  prosperous  and 
righteous  living,  thank  God  forever  for  his  life  and 
death. 

So  let  him  lie  here  in  our  midst  to-day,  and  let 
our  people  go  and  bend  with  solemn  thoughtful- 
.  ness  and  look  upon  his  face  and  read  the  lessons 
of  his  burial.  As  he  paused  here  on  his  journey 
from  the  western  home  and  told  us  what  by  the 
help  of  God  he  meant  to  do,  so  let  him  pause 
upon  his  way  back  to  his  western  grave  and  tell  us 
with  a  silence  more  eloquent  than  words  how 
bravely,  how  truly,  by  the  strength  of  God,  he  did 
it.  God  brought  him  up  as  he  brought  David 
up  from  the  sheepfolds  to  feed  Jacob,  his  people, 
and  Israel,  his  inheritance.  He  came  up  in 
earnestness  and  faith,  and  he  goes  back  in  triumph. 
As  he  pauses  here  to-day,  and  from  his  cold  lips 
bids  us  bear  witness  how  he  has  met  the  duty  that 
was  laid  on  him,  what  can  we  say  out  of  our  full 
hearts  but  this  —  "He  fed  them  with  a  faithful 
and  true  heart,  and  ruled  them  prudently  with  all 
his  power."  The  Shepherd  of  the  People!  that  old 
name  that  the  best  rulers  ever  craved.  What 
ruler  ever  won  it  like  this  dead  President  of  ours? 
He  fed  us  faithfully  and  truly.  He  fed  us  with 
counsel  when  we  were  in  doubt,  with  inspiration 
when  we  sometimes  faltered,  with  caution  when 
we  would  be  rash,  with  calm,  clear,  trustful  cheer- 
fulness through  many  an  hour  when  our  hearts  were 
dark.  He  fed  hungry  souls  all  over  the  country 
with  sympathy  and  consolation.  He  spread  before 
the  whole  land  feasts  of  great  duty  and  devotion 
and  patriotism,  on  which  the  land  grew  strong. 
He  fed  us  with  solemn,  solid  truths.  He  taught 
us  the  sacredness  of  government,  the  wickedness 
of  treason.  He  made  our  souls  glad  and  vigorous 
with  the  love  of  liberty  that  was  in  his.  He  showed 
us  how  to  love  truth  and  yet  be  charitable  —  how 
to  hate  wrong  and  all  oppression,  and  yet  not 
treasure  one  personal  injury  or  insult.  He  fed 
all  his  people,  from  the  highest  to  the  lowest, 
from  the  most  privileged  down  to  the  most  en- 
slaved. Best  of  all,  he  fed  us  with  a  reverent  and 
genuine  religion.  He  spread  before  us  the  love 
and  fear  of  God  just  in  that  shape  in  which  we 
need  them  most,  and  out  of  his  faithful  service  of 
a  higher  Master  who  of  us  has  not  taken  and  eaten 
and  grown  strong?  "  He  fed  them  with  a  faithful 
and  true  heart."  Yes,  till  the  last.  For  at  the 
last,  behold  him  standing  with  hand  reached  out 
to  feed  the  South  with  mercy  and  the  North  with 
charity,  and  the  whole  land  with  peace,  when  the 
Lord  who  had  sent  him  called  him  and  his  work 
was  done ! 

He  stood  once  on  the  battlefield  of  our  own 
state,  and  said  of  the  brave  men  who  had  saved  it 
words  as  noble  as  any  countryman  of  ours  ever 
spoke.     Let  us  stand  in  the  country  he  has  saved, 


686 


THE  EDITORS'  TABLE. 


and  which  is  to  be  his  grave  and  monument,  and 
say  of  Abraham  Lincoln  what  he  said  of  the 
soldiers  who  had  died  at  Gettysburg.  He  stood 
there  with  their  graves  before  him,  and  these  are 
the  words  he  said : 

"  We  cannot  dedicate,  we  cannot  consecrate,  we  cannot 
hallow  this  ground.  The  brave  men  who  struggled  here 
have  consecrated  it  far  beyond  our  power  to  add  or  detract. 
The  world  will  little  note  nor  long  remember  what  we  say 
here,  but  it  can  never  forget  what  they  did  here.  It  is  for 
us  the  living  rather  to  be  dedicated  to  the  unfinished  work 


which  they  who  fought  here  have  thus  far  so  nobly  ad- 
vanced. It  is  rather  for  us  to  be  here  dedicated  to  the 
great  task  remaining  before  us,  that  from  these  honored 
dead  we  take  increased  devotion  to  that  cause  for  which 
they  gave  the  last  full  measure  of  devotion ;  that  we  here 
highly  resolve  that  these  dead  shall  not  have  died  in  vain; 
and  this  nation,  under  God,  shall  have  a  new  birth  of 
freedom,  and  that  government  of  the  people,  by  the  people, 
and  for  the  people  shall  not  perish  from  the  earth." 

May  God  make  us  worthy  of  the  memory  of 
Abraham  Lincoln. 


THE  EDITORS'  TABLE. 


The  sermon  on  Abraham  Lincoln  by  Phillips 
Brooks,  given  in  his  church  in  Philadelphia  while 
the  body  of  the  martyred  President  lay  in  Inde- 
pendence Hall,  on  the  sad  journey  from  Wash- 
ington to  Springfield,  is  re-published  in  the  pre- 
ceding pages  as  one  of  the  conspicuous  and  im- 
pressive illustrations  of  the  great  preacher's  atten- 
tion in  his  pulpit  to  national  affairs  from  the  ear- 
liest days  of  his  ministry.  It  is  only  an  illustra- 
tion, only  one  conspicuous  instance.  Entering 
upon  his  life  as  a  preacher  at  the  very  juncture 
when  the  forces  of  Freedom  and  Slavery  were 
pitting  themselves  against  each  other  for  their 
death  struggle  in  the  republic,  his  pulpit  from  the 
beginning  rang  with  sermons  which  witnessed  to 
his  conviction  that  religion  is  here  in  the  world 
for  nothing  at  all  if  it  is  not  here,  as  the  old 
Hebrew  prophets  conceived  it,  and  as  our  own 
old  Puritan  divines  conceived  it,  "to  bring  itself 
directly  to  bear  upon  the  whole  life  of  the  com- 
munity, to  work  for  the  kingdom  of  God  here 
and  now,  boldly  rebuking  the  sins  of  politicians 
as  well  as  the  sins  of  priests,  and  holding  up  the 
standard  of  righteousness  for  the  State  as  well  as 
for  the  Church.  This  sermon  upon  Lincoln  is 
surely  not,  —  so  at  least  we  think  most  will  feel 
who  have  been  used  to  hearing  Mr.  Brooks  or  to 
reading  his  volumes  in  these  later  years — one  of 
his  great  sermons,  although  a  true  and  noble  ser- 
mon it  certainly  is,  one  of  the  noblest  pulpit  trib- 
utes to  Lincoln  —  and  one  cannot  help  remarking 
the  fact  that  here,  several  months  before  the 
"  Commemoration  Ode,"  Lincoln  is  spoken  of  as 
"  this  best  and  most  American  of  all  Americans." 
The  sermon  lacks  the  breadth  and  firmness  and 
fulness  of  .his  later  sermons  —  which  is  simply 
saying  perhaps  that  it  is  a  young  man's  sermon, 
and  that  the  other  sermons  which  we  read  are  the 
mature  man's  sermons.  But  it  is  good  fortune 
that  this  early  sermon,  on  a  subject  so  solemn  and 
significant,  was  preserved,  to  illustrate  the  political 
element  which  has  ever  remained  so  prominent  an 
element  in  Mr.  Brooks's  preaching.  This,  we  be- 
lieve, is  one  great  element  of  his  power.  Lowell 
said  of  Parker,  in  the  Fable  for  Critics,  "  You're 
thankful  to  meet  with  a  preacher  who  smacks  of 
the  field  and  the  street."  Phillips  Brooks's  ser- 
mons, most  spiritual  sermons  of  our  time,  have 
always  been  most  real  sermons,  never  dealing 
with    ghostland,    but   always  closely  and  directly 


touching  human  life  —  the  life  of  the  school,  the 
business  life,  the  scientific  life,  the  political  life. 
Every  hearer  has  known  and  felt  that  the  preacher 
was  his  brother,  a  man  among  men,  a  sharer  in 
all  the  great  struggles,  anxieties,  aspirations,  and 
enthusiasms  of  society  and  the  State.  One  of 
the  leading  English  writers  has  recently  published 
a  searching  and  impressive  essay  entitled  "  The 
Citizen  Christ."  The  very  word  enforces  the 
truth  necessary  for  this  time;  and  the  whole  ca- 
reer of  Phillips  Brooks  has  enforced  it.  He  is 
not  simply  the  divine,  he  is  also  the  citizen  —  and 
so  he  is  strong. 


Reference  is  made  in  the  article  in  the  pre- 
ceding pages  to  Mr.  Brooks's  oration  at  the  cele- 
bration of  the  two  hundred  and  fiftieth  anni- 
versary of  the  founding  of  the  Boston  Latin 
School.  This,  too,  reveals,  and  in  quite  as  notable 
a  way  as  the  sermon  on  Abraham  Lincoln  and 
the  various  stirring  sermons  of  the  war  time,  the 
intensity  and  the  sweep  of  his  feelings  as  a  citizen. 
It  reveals  as  well  his  fine  historical  imagination 
and  his  power  of  attention  to  details  in  re-creating 
the  past.  It  has  been  said  that  Mr.  Brooks 
seriously  considered,  in  the  early  period  of  his 
ministry  in  Philadelphia,  the  acceptance  of  a 
chair  in  ecclesiastical  history.  Had  he  become  a 
teacher  of  general  history,  he  would  have  been  an 
inspiring  and  an  eminent  teacher.  He  has  the  his- 
torical consciousness  and  the  historical  talent,  as 
Arnold  of  Rugby  had  them,  and  Dean  Stanley; 
and  these  are  shown  most  strikingly  perhaps 
when  he  steps  outside  of  the  distinctly  religious 
field  and  handles  political,  social,  and  literary 
themes.  He  has,  indeed,  done  this  but  little. 
He  has  not  been  a  writer  of  essays  to  the  extent 
that  Dean  Stanley  and  others  of  the  English 
Broad  Churchmen  have  been.  No  other  great 
preacher  of  our  time,  no  preacher  of  equal  prom- 
inence, has  been  so  exclusively  a  preacher.  The 
scope  of  his  preaching,  indeed,  has  been  as  broad 
as  the  interests  of  men,  a  thousand  sermons 
touching  politics  and  business  and  literature  and 
science  and  society,  as  well  as  the  immediate  re- 
ligious life.  But  it  has  been  chiefly  in  sermons, 
as  a  preacher,  that  he  has  touched  these  things; 
he  has  seldom  appeared  on  the  platform  or  in  the 
magazine.     When  he  has  done  so,  it  has  almost 


THE  EDITORS'    TABLE. 


687 


always  been  to  touch  history  or  biography  —  to 
speak  of  Dean  Stanley  or  of  Milton,  of  the  heroes 
of  thought,  like  Taylor  and  Lessing  and  Roger 
Williams,  who  play  their  part  in  his  little  volume 
on  "Tolerance,"  or,  as  in  the  case  before  us,  to 
paint  the  characters  and  work  of  the  long  line  of 
schoolmasters,  from  Philemon  Pormont  to  Francis 
Gardner,  who  have  made  illustrious  the  history 
of  "the  oldest  school  in  America."  We  have 
never  read  —  we  may  say  never  heard,  for  we 
were  of  those  privileged  ones  who  heard  it  —  a 
nobler  school  oration  than  this  Latin  School 
oration  of  Phillips  Brooks.  Full  of  wisdom,  full 
of  kindly  humor,  full  of  interesting  facts,  full  of 
fine  judgments  of  periods  and  of  men,  it  is  a  rare 
picture  of  the  past ;  but  it  is  not  less  remarkable 
for  the  prophecy  and  the  vital  public  spirit  which 
are  in  it.  "  No  man  ever  deals  truly  with  the 
past,"  said  Mr.  Brooks,  "  when  he  turns  his  face 
that  way,  who  does  not  feel  the  future  coming 
into  life  behind  his  back."  "  When  an  institution 
has  covered  so  long  a  period  of  time  with  its  con- 
tinuous life,"  he  said  again,  "  it  becomes  a  bond 
to  hold  the  centuries  together.  It  makes  most 
picturesquely  evident  the  unity  of  human  life 
which  underlies  all  the  variety  of  human  living." 
It  is  with  a  mind  open  and  alert  for  this  unity  of 
life  that  Phillips  Brooks  approaches  every  his- 
torical or  biographical  subject.  History,  with 
him,  is  for  use.  There  is  in  him  no  shadow  of 
the  merely  tabulating  antiquarian.  His  thought 
is  always  on  the  lesson  taught  by  the  institution 
or  the  man,  or  the  bearing  of  events  on  character 
and  life. 

In  this  Latin  School  oration  there  is  no  more 
stirring  passage  than  that  upon  the  Civil  War,  its 
effect  upon  the  school,  and  the  part  which  the 
school  played  in  it.  "  Mr.  Gardner's  great  years 
were  the  years  of  the  war.  It  would  have  been  a 
sad  thing  if  the  mighty  struggle  of  the  nation  for 
its  life  had  found  in  the  chief  teacher  of  the  boys 
of  Boston  a  soul  either  hostile  or  indifferent. 
The  soul  which  it  did  find  was  all  alive  for  free- 
dom and  for  union.  The  last  news  from  the 
battle-field  came  hot  into  the  schoolroom,  and 
made  the  close  air  tingle  with  inspiration.  He 
told  the  boys  about  Gettysburg  as  Cheever  must 
have  told  his  boys  about  Marston  Moor,  and 
Lovell  must  have  told  his  about  Ticonderoga. 
He  formed  his  pupils  into  companies  and  regi- 
ments, and  drilled  with  them  himself.  It  was  a 
war  which  a  great  master  might  well  praise,  and 
into  which  a  school  full  of  generous  pupils  might 
well  throw  their  whole  souls,  for  it  was  no  war  of 
mere  military  prowess.  It  was  a  war  of  principles. 
It  was  a  war  whose  soldiers  were  citizens.  It 
was  a  war  which  hated  war-making,  and  whose 
methods  were  kept  transparent  always  with  their 
sacred  purposes  shining  clearly  through.  Such  a 
war  mothers  might  pray  for  as  their  sons  went 
forth;  masters  might  bid  their  scholars  pause 
from  their  books  and  listen  to  the  throbbing  of  the 
distant  cannon.  The  statue  of  the  school  honor- 
ing her  heroic  dead,  under  whose  shadow  the 
boys  will  go  and  come  about  their  studies  every 
day  for  generations,  will  fire  no  young  heart  with 
the  passion  for  military  glory,  but  it  will  speak 
patriotism  and  self-devotion  from  its  silent  lips  as 
long   as   the   schoolboys    come    and   go.      Two 


hundred  and  eighty-seven  graduates  of  the  school 
served  in  the  war  with  the  rebellion,  and  fifty-one 
laid  down  their  lives.  Who  of  us  is  there  that 
does  not  believe  that  the  school  where  they  were 
trained  had  something  to  do  with  the  simple 
courage  with  which  each  of  these  heroic  men 
went  forth  to  do  the  duty  of  the  hour !  " 

Phillips  Brooks  feels  in  a  great  way  the  in- 
spiration of  having  been  a  public  schoolboy,  of 
having  been  trained  in  no  little  exclusive  coterie 
of  rich  men's  children  in  some  expanded  parlor, 
but  where  every  class  is  represented,  where  only 
merit  counts,  and  the  sturdy  son  of  poverty  is 
often  first  among  his  fellows,  as  he  may  presently 
be  first  in  that  larger  democracy  which  we  call 
the  city,  the  state,  or  the  nation.  A  great  public 
school  like  the  Boston  Latin  School  has  not  only 
its  own  great  traditions,  with  all  their  rousing, 
educating  power,  but  every  public  schoolboy  feels 
as  the  boy  in  the  private  school  can  never  feel, 
that  in  his  education  itself  he  is  the  child  of  the 
State,  heir  of  all  the  State's  great  history  and 
glory,  and  charged  with  the  State's  high  duties. 
The  eloquent  words  in  which  Phillips  Brooks  en- 
forces this  lesson  are  words  so  necessary  for  these 
times  that,  as  we  have  said  more  than  once 
before,  they  deserve  to  be  printed  in  letters  of 
gold  and  hung  up  in  every  home  where  parents 
are  thinking  of  sending  their  children  into  private 
schools,  thereby  condemning  them  to  a  narrower 
and  less  sturdy  education  than  that  given  by  the 
State,  while  also  thus  withdrawing  their  own  per- 
sonal interest  from  the  public  schools,  which  need 
the  personal  interest  and  love  of  every  earnest  citi- 
zen to-day  as  they  have  never  needed  them  before. 

"  In  the  twentieth  century,  as  in  those  which 
have  gone  before,"  are  Mr.  Brooks's  words,  "  our 
school  will  be  a  city  school.  Its  students  will 
find  that  enlargement  of  thought  and  life  which 
comes  from  close  personal  connection  in  the  most 
sensitive  years  with  the  public  life.  Here,  let  me 
say  again,  is  a  blessing  which  no  private  school 
can  give.  The  German  statesman,  if  you  talk  with 
him,  will  tell  you  that,  with  every  evil  of  his  great 
military  system,  which  makes  every  citizen  a. 
soldier  for  some  portion  of  his  life,  it  yet  has  one 
redeeming  good.  It  brings  each  young  man  of 
the  land  once  in  his  life  directly  into  the  country's 
service,  lets  him  directly  feel  its  touch  of  dignity 
and  power,  makes  him  proud  of  it  as  his  personal 
commander,  and  so  insures  a  more  definite  and 
vivid  loyalty  through  all  his  life.  More  gra- 
ciously, more  healthily,  more  Christianly,  the 
American  public  school  does  what  the  barracks 
and  the  drill-room  try  to  do.  Would  that  its 
blessing  might  be  absolutely  universal!  Would 
that  it  might  be  so  arranged  that  once  in  the  life 
of  every  Boston  boy,  if  only  for  three  months,  he 
might  be  a  pupil  of  a  public  school,  might  see  his 
city  sitting  in  the  teacher's  chair,  might  find  him- 
self, along  with  boys  of  all  degrees  and  classes, 
simply  recognized  by  his  community  as  one  of  her 
children !  It  would  put  an  element  into  his  char- 
acter and  life  which  he  would  never  lose.  It 
would  insure  the  unity  and  public  spirit  of  our 
citizens.  It  would  add  tenderness  and  pride  and 
gratitude  to  the  more  base  and  sordid  feelings 
with  which  her  sons  rejoice  in  their  mother's 
wealth  and  strength  and  fame." 


THE  OMNIBUS. 


TRENTON  SNOWS. 

Ha  !  there's  work  for  Glover 

And  the  men  of  Marblehead, l 
To  get  the  army  over 

Before  the  chance  is  sped. 
The  wind  is  up  the  river; 

How  the  water  frets ! 
Sleet  is  in  our  faces, 

Sharp  as  bayonets. 


(In  Trenton.) —  The  Christmas  co7neth  cheery 
No  matter  how  it  blows! 
Roll,  roll,  ye  drums,  her  wel- 
come 
To  beating  of  the  snows. 

No  patrol  is  riding 

On  the  Jersey  bound, 
Set  the  prows  to  nor'ard; 

Brace  the  tillers  round; 
Down  the  sheering  quarters 

Fend  the  charging  floes,  — 
Washington  is  marching 
Over  Trenton  snows. 

(In  Trenton.}  — Fate  biddeth  not  to  battle; 

let  Pleasure 's  troop  deploy! 
Unbelt,  unbelt  for  Christmas, — 
Sweet  ministers  of  joy. 

Trenton's  full  of  Hessians 

Drinking  Christmas  rum,  — 
Their  and  Britain's  honor, 

Had  they  never  come  ! 
In  the  people's  houses 

Quartered  light  and  warm, 
Guessing  naught  of  Yankees 

Hiding  in  the  storm  ! 

(In  Trenton.}  —  She  bringeth  Rhineland 's greet- 
ing, 

And  Fortune  lights  her  brow; 
Pour  out,  pour  out  to  Hesse, 
And  give  her  honor  now. 

Snow  is  falling  faster, 

Cumbering  all  the  dawn; 
But  'tis  warm  in  battle, 

And  'twill  soon  be  on. 
Stark  is  at  the  river; 

Greene  is  circling  down;  — 
Ha !  their  roll  is  beating,  — 

Our  guns  sweep  the  town ! 

Bravely  turns  the  German 

From  his  wine  and  lyre ; 
Sets  the  Hessian  guidons 

'Gainst  the  Rebels'  fire; 
Recks  not  him  who  sold  him, 

And  the  blood  that  glows, 
While  our  lines  infold  him, 

Reddens  Trenton  snows ! 

1  As  at  Long  Island,  so  again  at  Trenton,  the  passage  of 
the  main  body  of  troops  was  effected  by  the  skill  of  Col- 
onel Glover's  regiment  of  fishermen. 


From  the  blinding  nor'east 

Sweeps  our  left  around. 
Render  up  the  colors,  — 

Lay  the  arms  to  ground ! 
Why  the  sudden  splendor 

From  their  polished  rows?  .... 
Ha !  the  sun  is  shining 

Bright  on  Trenton  snows ! 

—  J.  E.  Cutter, 
* 

*  * 

A  Christmas  Toast. 

A  health  to  Christmas  !  let  it  be 

Responded  to  right  heartily, 
With  that  full  spirit  that  doth  show 

That  naught  but  generous  feelings  flow, 
Together  with  that  spirit  blend 

The  precious  gift  that  Christ  did  send  — 
Forgiveness  to  our  every  foe  — 

And  let  the  harbored  vengeance  go ! 

A  toast,  —  nor  let  it  be  the  least,  — 

To  this,  our  jovial  Christmas  feast! 
Drink  to  the  turkey  —  triple  toast 

Unto  that  winged,  ample  roast ! 
A  toast  unto  the  pudding  round, 

Whose  equal  never  yet  was  found ! 
To  these,  and  unto  all  good  things 

This  yearly  Godlike  season  brings ! 

And  yet  a  pledge  —  and  best  of  all  — 

A  toast  unto  the  man  whose  hall 
Knows  not  of  stint  of  cheer,  nor  dearth; 

Who  thinks  upon  the  poor  on  earth, 
And  unto  these,  in  humble  mood, 

Divides  his  raiment  and  his  food. 
A  health  to  him  throughout  the  land ! 

For  God  and  man  shall  bless  his  hand. 
—  Charles  Gordon  Rogers. 

* 

*  * 

The  Fitting  Finis. 

After  the  "  Yes  "  has  been  timidly  said, 
And  she  is  won,  forever  and  aye, 
Then  comes  the  fugitive  doubt  and  the  dread; 
Fears  that  the  goddess  may  prove  but  clay, 
After  the  "  Yes.  " 

After  the  glory  of  triumph  is  past, 
One  must  look  where  his  footsteps  tend. 
Ah,  if  that  moment  could  be  the  last; 
If  Life,  like  novels,  would  always  end, 

After  the  "  Yes !  " 

—  Harry  Romaine. 

*  * 
* 

The  Fire  of  Love. 

There  is  no  fireplace  so  grand, 

So  richly  tiled,  so  wide  and  splendid, 

That  it  can  spare  the  glowing  brand, 

In  which  its  warmth  and  cheer  are  blended. 

There  is  no  life  so  proud  and  stern, 
So  far  removed  from  human  weakness, 
But  holds  some  nook  where  love  must  burn, 
To  save  it  from  a  chilling  bleakness. 

—  Harry  Romaine. 


COROT    AT   WORK    IN    HIS   STUDIO. 


FROM    A    SKETCH    MADE    IN    l868    BY    M.    PIERRE    THURWANGER. 


THE 


New  England  Magazine. 


New  Series. 


FEBRUARY,   1892. 


Vol.  V.     No.  6 


COROT. 


His  Life  and  Character  by  His  Godson, 
Ca?nille  Thurw anger. 


[Illustrated  chiefly  from  Paintings  owned  in  Boston.] 


MUCH  has  been  said  and  written 
concerning  Corot  (le  bon  Corot 
or  le  pere  Corot  as  he  has  most 
justly  been  called).  Interesting  articles 
have  been  published,  treating  of  his  works, 
and  analyzing  his  talent  and  the  influence 
which  he  exercised  on  modern  landscape 
painting ;  but  still  there  remains  much  to 
relate,  so  great  and  important  is  the 
place  which  this  remarkable  man  filled  in 
the  history  of  contemporaneous  art.  To- 
day, a  great  many  are  more  or  less  familiar 
with  his  works  and  have  formed  some 
opinion  with  regard  to  their  value  ;  but 
very  few  know  the  character  and  the 
private  life  of  this  good  and  noble  man 
and  artist-poet,  which  equal  in  interest 
his  life  as  an  artist.  It  seems  to  me  that 
the  works  of  Corot  can  only  be  fully 
understood  (I  do  not  say  "  loved,"  because 


that  is  another  question)  after  a  study  of 
the  character  and  life  of  him  who  pro- 
duced them. 

Contrary  to  the  case  with  a  great  many 
works  by  other  artists,  the  painting  of 
Corot  was  not  the  expression  of  a  science 
learned  by  him  and  which  might  have 
been  expressed  as  well  by  another  artist, 
but  rather  the  manifestation  of  his  own 
character  and  individual  feelings  in  their 
relation  to  nature.  Without  wishing  to 
diminish  in  the  least  the  immense  talent 
of  Meissonnier,  I  take  the  liberty  to  draw 
this  comparison  :  Meissonnier  who  painted 
so  many  masterpieces  full  of  delicacy,  of 
refinement,  and  of  grand  thought,  in  very 
small  dimensions,  has  never  in  this  man- 
ner expressed  the  aspirations  of  his  soul; 
for  his  ambition,  especially  in  the  earlier 
years  of  his  life,  was  to  express  his  senti- 


692 


COROT. 


ments  on  large  canvases,  and  with  a 
broad  and  bold  touch.  The  chances  and 
necessities  of  life  decided  otherwise,  and 
forced  him  to  repress  in  his  heart  his  own 
impulse  to  the  development  of  a  talent 
for  which  he  had  such  a  grand  founda- 
tion. It  is  thus  with  many  artists.  Such 
and  such  an  artist  paints  in  such  and  such 
a  manner,  and  it  seems  natural  to  us ; 
but  if  the  same  artist  should  paint  in  a 
different  style  we  should  not  be  aston- 
ished, and  it  would  seem  just  as  natural 
to  us.  With  Corot  it  is  quite  otherwise. 
For  those  who  knew  him  personally  and 
intimately,  it  is  impossible  to  conceive 
that  he  could  have  painted  differently ; 
for  his  painting  is  only  a  mirror  in  which 
you  see  the  reflection  of  his  heart  and  soul. 


to  our  family  by  close  friendship,  did  not 
know  Corot  personally,  and  had  not  a  too 
great  appreciation  of  his  artistic  endow- 
ments. My  mother,  who  had  been  for 
several  years  a  pupil  of  Delacroix,  often 
discussed  with  him  the  talent  of  my  dear 
godfather.  Once,  about  the  year  1855, 
she  persuaded  Delacroix  to  visit  Corot  at 
his  studio.  Delacroix,  who  did  not  make 
himself  known  to  Corot,  admitted  after- 
wards that  his  opinion  had  been  con- 
siderably modified,  that  he  then  under- 
stood Corot  much  better,  and  that  certain 
artists  could  not  be  well  estimated  except 
at  their  homes,  or  after  their  character 
was  fully  understood. 

Strongly  impressed  by  this  belief,  and, 
as  the  godson  of  Corot,   sustaining  dear 


Fontainebleau. 

MUSEUM    OF   FINE   ARTS,    BOSTON. 


Learn  to  know  this  man,  and  you  will 
comprehend  his  works ;  you  will  read  in 
them  as  in  an  open  book,  and  see  that 
the  man  and  his  works  are  one.  The 
following  relation  will  demonstrate  the 
correctness  of  this  remark :  The  great 
artist  Eugene  Delacroix,  who  was  allied 


and  close  relations  with  him,  I  think  I 
may  be  especially  qualified  to  relate  vari- 
ous reminiscences  and  interesting  anec- 
dotes touching  his  life  —  many  things 
which  I  witnessed  myself.  Besides,  I  feel 
that  I  am  but  discharging,  in  a  trifling 
degree,  a  debt  of  love  to  the  memory  of 


COROT. 


693 


my  fatherly  friend  by  offering  to  the 
public  this  brief  article,  in  the  hope  that 
it  may  not  only  interest  the  reader,  but 
render  deserved  homage  to  the  best,  the 
kindest,  and  the  most  generous  heart 
that  ever  lived  ! 

I  will  now  ask  indulgence  for  repeat- 
ing some  facts  concerning  Corot's  life, 
which  have  been  already  given  by  other 
writers,  and  which  some  of  my  readers 
may   know,  but   which    will    be   new   for 


When  about  ten  years  old,  young 
Camille  Corot  entered  the  Lyceum  of 
Rouen,  where  he  completed  his  studies 
at  the  age  of  seventeen.  In  obedience 
to  his  father,  for  whom  he  always  had 
a  great  respect,  he  entered  commercial 
life  in  a  cloth-dealer's  house.  About 
this  time  his  love  for  nature  and  the 
desire  to  express  his  poetic  sentiments 
in  drawing  began  to  grow  in  his  heart ; 
but    the    aspirations    of  the   young    man 


Danse  Antique. 
ONE  OF   COROT'S   LAST  THREE   PICTURES,    EXHIBITED   IN   THE   SALON   OF   1875. 


many,  and  necessary  for  the  completeness 
and  general  comprehension  of  my  nar- 
rative. 

Jean-Baptiste-Camille  Corot  was  born 
in  Paris  on  the  26th  of  July,  1796.  His 
grandfather  and  his  father  were  likewise 
born  in  Paris,  and  the  family  originated 
not  in  Rouen  (Normandy)  but  in  Bur- 
gundy. Nor  was  his  father  a  wigmaker 
as  has  been  stated  by  some  writers  —  his 
grandfather  being  the  one  who  was  in 
that  business.  His  father  was  a  dry 
goods  dealer  in  Paris,  and  kept  his  family 
in  comfortable,  even  well-to-do  circum- 
stances. 


were  still  but  dreams,  with  the  night  as 
his  confidant  and  witness,  while  the  real 
and  practical  life  repressed  them  with 
the  rising  of  the  sun. 

He  used  to  go  during  the  summer 
months  to  Ville  d'Avray,  where  his  father 
had  a  country  house  situated  near  a  pond, 
which  has  since  dried  up ;  and  we  are 
told  that  even  at  that  early  age,  when  all 
were  asleep,  our  embryo-artist  used  to  sit 
up  in  his  room  till  late  at  night,  contem- 
plating from  the  open  window  the  nature 
which  he  so  loved,  in  the  grandeur  of  its 
complete  solitude.  No  noise  arose  to 
trouble    the    dreamer;    a   profound    but 


COROT. 


695 


living  silence  surrounded  him ;  and  he 
passed  long  hours  thus,  while  his  thoughts, 
borne  on  the  wings  of  his  imagination, 
dwelt  upon  the  sky,  the  water,  and  the 
trees;  all  objects  were  enveloped  ;~  an 
atmosphere  charged  with  a  visible  numi- 
dity,  caused  by  the  light,  transparent 
vapors  which  may  so  often  be  seen  rising 
from  the  water. 

There  is  no  doubt  that  these  poetic 
meditations  of  the  young  Corot  were  the 
source  of  the  living  idyls  which  his  brush 
bequeathed  us  at  the  end  of  his  long 
career.  In  fact,  soon  after,  he  began  to 
paint  the  first  vague  and  floating  visions 
of  the  graceful  nymphs  (daughters  of  his 
mind)  which  animated  and  gave  so  much 
charm  to  many  of  his  landscapes  as  they 
began  to  appear  in  them.  He  himself  was 
conscious  of  it,  and  I  often  heard  him 
say  that  his  manner  of  seeing  and  feeling 
nature  was  due  to  the  recollections  of  his 
youthful  sensations,  and  that  their  in- 
fluence was  strong  enough  to  have 
moulded  his  whole  destiny  as  an  artist. 
This  influence  made  easy  for  him  the 
hard  beginning  of  his  studies,  and  soon 
after  using  the  brush  he  reproduced  with 
very  little  trouble  the  proper  tones  of 
those  things  which  had  impressed  his 
imagination,  —  that  gray  light  and  that 
ambient  mist  with  which  the  air  is  satu- 
rated, and  which  half  veils  the  horizon  and 
sky  of  most  of  his  pictures. 

He  remained  a  clerk  for  eight  years, 
and  during  that  time  contracted  the  habits 
of  order  and  regularity  which  he  retained 
through  the  rest  of  his  life.  He  always 
rose  early,  even  in  winter,  arriving  at  his 
studio  at  three  minutes  before  eight  (he 
always  referred  in  this  joking  way  to  his 
habit  of  being  exactly  on  time).  Like 
many  of  us,  he  liked  to  enjoy  the  in- 
dolent waking-dreams  of  early  morning, 
but  he  never  indulged  himself  in  them, 
for  life  was  only  too  short  for  him.  He 
had  only  to  fix  his  mind  on  the  unfinished 
canvas  in  his  studio,  and  then !  the 
thought  of  the  sky,  the  trees,  and  the 
figures  of  his  work  acted  like  magic,  and 
he  was  soon  seen  trotting  to  his  easel  at 
the  accustomed  hour. 

During  the  last  months  of  his  clerkship 
he  commenced  to  make  designs,  and 
whenever  he  had  a  moment  to  spare,  he 


hid  himself  under  his  desk  to  work  upon 
them.  His  employer,  full  of  indulgence, 
aided  him  by  telling  his  father  that  he 
would  never  be  successful  in  a  commer- 
cial life,  and  that  he  should  allow  him  to 
follow  his  inclination  to  become  a  painter. 
To  illustrate  the  incapacity  of  Corot  for 
mercantile  transactions,  let  me  relate  the 
following  little  episode  :  Corot  was  one 
day  sent  out  by  his  employer  to  sell  cloth 
from  samples,  among  which  was  a  beauti- 
ful green  cloth  of  a  new  manufacture  and 
of  unusually  fine  quality.  He  succeeded 
in  selling  quite  a  quantity  of  this  green 
cloth,  and  returned  to  his  employer  filled 
with  pride  at  his  success.  What  was  his 
disappointment  when  he  noticed  no  en- 
thusiasm in  the  face  of  the  latter,  who 
answered  him,  when  Corot  gave  expres- 
sion to  his  astonishment,  that  he  had 
proved  himself  a  very  poor  salesman; 
that  new  and  particular  cloth  would  sell 
itself,  he  said,  and  a  good  salesman 
should  be  able  to  sell  the  old  goods  first. 
Corot  then  realized  that  even  if  he  should 
exert  himself  he  would  never  make  a  good 
merchant. 

His  longing  to  be  an  artist,  which  he 
had  never  kept  from  his  family,  was  aug- 
mented by  the  friendship  which  he  formed 
in  that  time  with  Michallon,1  then  an 
artist  of  repute,  but  now  very  much 
forgotten.  Finally,  one  day,  having 
fortified  his  courage,  he  besought  his 
father  to  allow  him  to  give  up  com- 
merce and  take  up  the  brush,  for  that 
was  the  one  desire  of  his  whole 
life.  His  father,  being  the  true  type  of 
a  business  man,  believed  only  in  trade 
and  commerce,  for  he  thought  they  were 
the  best  source  of  money-making ;  there- 
fore, he  was  naturally  very  far  from  favor- 
ing the  request  of  his  son.  Still,  after 
employing  all  his  persuasive  powers,  re- 
minding him  of  the  poverty  and  misery 
which  would  be  almost  sure  to  follow, 
and  using  all  the  well-meaning  counsels 
which  he  could  think  of  to  turn  his  son 
from  a  "  beggarly "  existence,  he  con- 
sented, but  under  the  following  condi- 
tions :  "  As  you  refuse,  for  the  sake  of 
making  pictures,  to  continue  in  an  honest 
and    respectable    existence,  I    warn   you 

1  Michallon  was  the  first  to  receive  the  grand  prix^  de 
Rome  which  had  just  been  established  for  landscape  paint- 
ing. 


696 


COROT. 


1 


Le  Soir. 

OWNED   BY    MRS.    DAVID    P.    KIMBALL. 


that  during  my  lifetime  you  will  have  no 
capital  at  your  disposal.  I  shall  give  you 
a  yearly  allowance  of  one  thousand  two 
hundred  francs ;  never  expect  to  receive 
any  more,  —  now  see  if  you  can  get  along 
with  that  !  "J  The  father  hoped  that  the 
prospect  of  a  calling  so  poor  would 
frighten  his  son  and  cause  him  to  re- 
nounce a  project  which  he  himself  con- 
sidered as  insane.  But  the  young  man, 
highly  elated,  embraced  his  father  and 
answered  :  "  I  thank  you  !  this  is  all  I 
need,  and  you  have  made  me  very  happy." 
He  spoke  the  truth,  for  he  lived  happily 
for  over  twenty-five  years  on  this  modest 
allowance.  Satisfied  with  his  own  inde- 
pendence, he  never  desired  money ;  and 
in  love  with  his  art,  he  pursued  his  task 
without  fail  until  success  and  renown 
came  to  recompense  his  faith  and  honest 
toil. 

Corot  was  now  about  twenty-five  years 
old ;  and  it  is  on  the  banks  of  the  Seine, 
in  Paris,  that  he  began  his  first  study. 

Of  all   the   studies  which  he  made  at 

1  One  must  remember  that  during  the  first  half  of  this 
century  the  fine  arts  were  not  encouraged  as  they  are  now. 


that  time,  many  became  celebrated,  but 
the  fortunes  of  some  of  them  were  differ- 
ent. Some  were  the  beginning  of  his 
reputation,  while  others  were  sold  for 
fifteen  cents  !  For  instance,  one  which 
was  found  by  an  amateur  on  the  quay2 
where  Corot  then  dwelt,  was  shown  to 
the  latter  to  learn  whether  it  was  really 
the  work  of  his  brush. 

"The  merchant  told  me  that  it  was 
your  work,"  said  the  amateur,  "but  I  did 
not  dare  believe  it  on  account  of  the 
moderate  price." 

"Well !  "  replied  Corot,  "  if  it  was  not 
my  work,  at  what  price  should  it  have 
been  sold?  "  3 

He  himself  never  sold  one  of  his 
studies  ;  but  he  gave  some  away,  and  out 
of  those  a  few  went  into  the  market.  He 
also  loaned  a  large  number,  of  which 
many  were  lost,  at  least  to  him,   for  he 

2  When  in  French  we  speak  of  the  quays,  we  refer  to 
those  in  the  central  part  of  Paris,  where  on  the  sidewalk 
and  in  the  open  air,  merchants  sell  second-hand  books, 
medals,  and  a  few  cheap  pictures. 

3  I  have  heard  the  anecdote  from  M.  Hanoteau,  who  was 
present  at  the  time  of  the  conversation  in  Corot's  studio  in 
1848.  Corot  was  already  a  Knight  in  the  order  of  the  Le- 
gz'on  d'honneur. 


COROT. 


697 


often  forgot  to  whom  he  had  loaned 
them.  Several  times  some  of  them  were 
returned  to  him  after  he  had  entirely 
forgotten  them.  A  few  years  before  his 
death  he  mentioned  one  to  me,  which 
had  come  home  to  him  after  an  absence 
of  more  than  thirty-five  years.  It  some- 
times occurred,  however,  that  he  discov- 
ered them  in  bric-a-brac  shops,  and 
bought  them  back,  without  even  a  disa- 


and  the  time  passes  so  quickly  !  There 
are  such  a  great  many  years  flown,  and  it 
seems  to  me  they  were  as  hurried  as  the 
voyages  accomplished  in  dreams.  I  must 
not  waste  the  rest,  which  will  pass  away 
only  too  rapidly  !  " 

"  In  the  spring,"  he  said  at  another 
time,  "  I  have  a  rendezvous  with  nature, 
—  with  the  buds  which  begin  to  burst, 
with   the  new  foliage,  and  with  my  little 


greeable   word    against  the  unprincipled 
borrowers  who  had  sold  them. 

Every  spring  during  his  whole  life, 
Corot  fled  to  the  country,  to  observe  the 
new  buds.  April  always  found  him  at 
Ville  d'Avray.  Bad  weather  did  not  pre- 
vent him  from  being  there  ;  and  he  would 
say :  "  No  matter,  I  go  there  to  rest  — 
in  working.  Think  of  it,"  (he  was  then 
seventy-four  years  old),  "I  have  only 
thirty  years  more  to  live,  —  counting 
my  allowance  of   four  to  the  hundred, 1 


birds  perching  curiously  on  the  end  of  a 
branch  to  look  at  my  work." 

Even  in  the  last  years  of  his  life  you 
could  see  him,  when  night  came,  leaning 
out  of  his  little  window  at  Ville  d'Avray, 
as  in  the  time  of  his  youth,  his  poetic 
soul  absorbed  in  contemplation  and  gath- 
ering from  the  tranquil  purity  of  the  stars 
treasures  for  the  morrow.     Corot  dreamed 

1  This  remark  refers  to  a  business  custom  in  France,  t© 
allow  an  extra  number  in  the  sale  of  a  certain  quantity,  — 
say  a  dozen  or  a  hundred,  — just  as  we  speak  of  a  baker's 
dozen. 


m 


2      a 

CD         r- 


COROT. 


699 


by  night,  —  and  by  day,  in  the  sight  of 
nature,  wrote  his  dreams  on  his  canvas. 
It  was  thus  by  the  observation  of  beauti- 
ful things  that  his  heart  became  golden 
and  his  palette  silver  ! 

To  return  to  the  beginning  of  his  ca- 
reer—  Michallon,  Corot's  friend,  was  for 
a  while  his  first  teacher;  unfortunately 
he  could  not  long  witness  the  works  of 
his  pupil,  for  death  removed  him  when 
twenty-six  years  old.  Corot,  deprived 
of  his  friend,  took  lessons  from  Victor 
Bertin,  a  pure  classicist  of  the  most  exact 
order,  whose  pictures  reflected,  as  an' 
eminent  critic  said,  the  coldness  of  the 
accessories  of  tragedy.  He  could  not 
have  learned  under  such  guidance  the 
subtlety  of  rendering  masses,  the  trans- 
parency of  atmosphere,  the  scintillation 
of  foliage,  the  entire  general  effect,  — 
the  delicate  and  tender  touches  of  na- 
ture. All  these  qualities  were  fortunately 
in  himself. 

He  visited  Italy  for  the  first  time  in 
1825,  and  made,  in  Rome,  some  of  his 
most  interesting  studies,  which  however 
required  so  long  a  time  to  be  appreciated. 
He  met  there  a  company  of  French 
artists  (Leopold  Robert  among  them), 
who  received  him  cordially,  on  account 
of  his  joyous  and  frank  disposition,  and 
not  for  his  merit  as  a  painter,  which  was 
out  of  the  question  ;  they  loved  his  happy 
nature,  but  paid  no  attention  to  his  work, 
and  even  treated  it  with  a  certain  irony. 
He  remained  timidly  at  his  work  in  con- 
sequence of  his  peculiar  temperament, 
and  his  place  was  modest  in  the  assem- 
blage with  the  others.  They  did  not  sur- 
mise that  he,  whose  talent  they  were 
ready  to  ridicule,  would  one  day  be  the 
master  of  them  all. 

In  mentioning  the  name  of  Leopold 
Robert,  I  will  relate  the  opinion  which 
Corot  expressed  regarding  the  end  of 
this  eminent  artist ;  for  his  tragic  death 
left  a  deep  impression  on  Corot  who  wit- 
nessed it  in  1835,  during  one  of  his  so- 
journs in  Italy.  Leopold  Robert  com- 
mitted suicide  at  the  end  of  an  artist's 
dinner.  The  guests  had  left  the  dining- 
room,  and  were  talking  and  smoking  in 
an  adjoining  apartment,  when  a  shot  was 
heard  in  the  just  deserted  room.  All 
rushed  in,  and  Corot  was  the  first  to  enter 


and  see  Leopold  Robert  fallen  on  the 
table,  his  head  swimming  in  blood.  The 
general  opinion  was  that  Robert  con- 
ceived a  hopeless  passion  for  his  pupil, 
the  Princess  Charlotte,  which  drove  him 
to  suicide.  Corot  claimed  that  he  had 
proofs  that  the  cause  was  really  heredi- 
tary insanity,  and  that  if  love  was  in  the 
case,  it  only  caused  the  rapid  develop- 
ment of  the  disease. 

In  1827,  Corot  exhibited  for  the  first 
time  in  the  Salon.  Thence  commenced 
his  trials,  and  it  can  truly  be  said  that 
they  lasted  a  long  time.  From  that  pe- 
riod until  his  death  he  did  not  miss  a 
single  annual  Salon ;  but  he  exhibited  for 
twenty  years  without  being  noticed,  and 
ten  years  more  passed  away  before  he 
was  comprehended.  He  stood  alone, 
and  ranged  himself  under  no  banner, 
desiring  to  be  true,  but  at  the  same  time 
feeling  the  flame  of  poetry  which  was 
constantly  struggling  for  expression.  He 
could  not  be  pleased  by  the  simple  mate- 
rial representation  of  things ;  hence  the 
inattention  and  the  disdain  with  which 
his  works  were  received. 

The  poor  man  suffered  from  this  want 
of  recognition,  but  was  not  discouraged. 
Without  being  swayed  from  his  own  path, 
he  applauded  the  triumphs  of  his  com- 
rades, Rousseau,  Troyon,  Jules  Dupre — 
who  began  with  him, — just  as  he  did 
later  the  success  of  Diaz  and  of  his  pu- 
pils, Daubigny  and  Francais,  who  were 
all  recognized  sooner  than  he  by  the 
public. 

The  difference  between  the  talent  of 
Corot  and  that  of  Daubigny  is  very  great, 
and  still  the  two  artists  had  a  profound 
admiration  for  each  other.  Corot  con- 
sidered Daubigny  one  of  the  greatest 
landscape  painters  of  his  time,  while  the 
latter  lauded  Corot's  genius  to  the  skies. 
In  speaking  of  Rousseau,  during  a  con- 
versation on  art,  Corot  said  one  day  to 
my  mother  :  "He?  He  is  an  eagle.  I, 
however,  am  only  a  lark  pouring  out  little 
songs  in  my  gray  clouds  !  " 

His  language  was  full  of  imagery. 
While  making  studies  in  the  country 
(before  he  had  a  name) ,  and  when  he  had 
finished  one  to  his  entire  satisfaction,  he 
would  say  to  his  mother  on  his  return  :  "  A 
little  fairy  came  and,  by  touching  me  with 


» 


COROT. 


701 


her  wand,  has  given  me  success."  When 
at  another  time  he  would  return  in  a  sad 
mood,  his  mother  would  ask  him  with 
kindness  and  interest :  "  Has  not  the 
little  fairy  been  to  see  you  to-day?  " 

He  had  a  great  respect  for  his  father, 
but  a  real  veneration  for  his  mother, 
whom  he  considered  the  most  beautiful 
of  women.  Unless  he  was  away  on  a 
journey,  he  never  failed,  until  his  mother's 
death,  to  accompany  her  to  church  every 
Sunday  morning ;  nothing  could  prevent 
him,  and  he  regarded  this  as  a  sacred 
duty.  He  was  proud  to  walk  with  her 
arm  in  arm,  and  whenever  he  spoke  of 
her  he  always  called  her  la  belle  femme. 

For  a  number  of  years  his  pictures 
were,  one  might  say,  only  tolerated  at  the 
Salon,  and  hung  in  such  obscure  corners 
that  they  could  hardly  be  discovered. 
"Alas!"  said  Corot,  "I  am  this  year 
again  in  the  catacombs."  But  he  went 
at  his  work  again,  nothing  daunted.  He 
would  return  home,  and  with  tears  in  his 
eyes  look  at  the  pictures  hung  on  the 
walls  of  his  studio,  saying  :  "  At  least  they 
cannot  take  my  talent  away  by  their  in- 
trigues." For  he  was  conscious  of  his 
capacity,  and  when  he  felt  he  had  well 
expressed  the  simple  and  poetic  senti- 
ment by  which  nature  inspired  him,  he 
congratulated  and  consoled  himself  with 
the  thought  that  perhaps  some  day  he 
would  be  understood.  Sometimes,  how- 
ever, when  he  had  finished  a  canvas,  he 
was  a  little  depressed,  and  felt  the  need 
of  having  his  sentiment  shared  by  some- 
body else.  It  often  occurred,  therefore, 
that  he  consulted  the  first  comer ;  for  he 
argued  sincere  reproduction  of  nature 
could  be  understood  by  anybody,  even  if 
he  reserved  the  right  of  judgment  for 
himself,  saying  partly  in  joke,  in  case  the 
man  should  not  comprehend  the  work : 
"  One  of  us  is  a  crank,  and  I  think  it  is 
he."  At  other  times  the  ardor  of  his 
conviction  dissipated  all  his  fears,  and  he 
said  :  Decidementmon  tableau  estfameux, 
tres  fameux! 

After  twenty-five  years  of  indifference 
toward  his  efforts,  his  father  began  to 
say :  "  I  believe  I  must  give  a  little 
money  to  Camille  "  (Camille  having  gray 
hair  by  this  time).  Mr.  Sagnier,  my 
great-uncle,  who  was  Corot's  friend  from 


1830,  was  the  first  to  compliment  him  on 
his  pictures,  the  first  one  who  was 
touched  and  strongly  impressed  by  the 
painting  of  Corot ;  for  he  was  himself  a 
poet  and  understood  the  voices  of  na- 
ture. He  said  to  Corot :  "  Courage, 
friend,  courage  !  The  public  is  accus- 
tomed to  things  which  flatter  its  views, 
while  you  touch  the  heart.  It  is  impos- 
sible that  this  public,  which  is  indifferent 
to-day,  will  not  to-morrow  be  moved  by 
your  subtile  conceptions,  and  after  realiz- 
ing the  spirit  that  pervades  them,  render 
you  honor  and  fortune,  just  rewards  for 
these  weary  years  of  constancy  to  your 
ideal."  Corot,  with  tears  in  his  eyes, 
embraced  Mr.  Sagnier,  and  then  returned 
to  his  work  singing  gayly. 

He  rarely  received  encouragement ; 
from  his  family,  never ;  on  the  contrary, 
they  spoke  of  his  "daubs,"  and  even 
after  success  began  to  come  refused  to 
believe  in  his  talent.  His  sister,  looking 
one  day  at  several  of  his  pictures,  said  : 
"  It  is  curious,  —  I  have  looked  at  them 
well,  and  I  cannot  see  what  good  can  be 
found  in  them ;  for  me  they  are  hor- 
rible." His  mother  alone  was  more  in- 
dulgent and  took  a  little  interest  in  his 
labors ;  not  that  she  understood  him  any 
better,  but  being  his  mother  she  read 
more  easily  in  her  son's  heart  and  saw 
the  love  he  put  into  his  work. 

The  artistic  world  began,  however,  to 
get  accustomed  to  Corot's  painting, 
although  some  of  his  comrades,  Celestin 
Nauteuil  among  them,  allowed  themselves 
certain  little  pleasantries  at  his  expense  ; 
but  this  did  not  last  long,  for  one  day 
Corot  said,  quite  seriously :  "I  do  not 
like  to  hear  jokes  about  painting." 
The  protest  was  effective,  and  there- 
*after  the  satirical  merriment  ceased. 
Does  it  not  seem  to-day  strange,  indeed, 
that  such  a  protest  could  have  ever  been 
needed?  Those  who  have  seen  him  on 
similar  occasions  know  the  firmness  of 
his  character  and  the  dignity  which  he 
assumed  quite  naturally  when  agitated  by 
respect  for  his  art ;  his  pleasant  features 
took  on  an  almost  severe  gravity,  and  his 
perfect  conviction  seemed  almost  to  throw 
a  halo  over  his  countenance. 

Corot  occupies  a  prominent  place  in 
the  art  of  our  time  by  his  genius  and  by 


'02 


COROT. 


The  Dance  of  the  Nymphs. 


the  influence  which  he  has  exercised  on 
the  school  of  landscape  painting ;  he  be- 
longs even,  in  a  certain  measure,  to  the 
general  history  of  painting,  because  he  is 
one  of  the  small  number  who  have  put 
something  interesting  and  something  of 
their  own  strong  personal  nature  into 
their  works.  French  art  has  lost  in  him 
one  of  its  most  original  and  distinctive 
representatives.  The  painter's  place  will 
be  filled  with  difficulty  ;  but  more  difficult 
will  it  be  to  replace  the  man.  His  was  a 
simple,  loyal,  generous,  and  noble  nature. 
Envy  never  marred  his  beautiful  soul; 
always  joyous  and  always  laughing  ;  his 
charity  was  continuous  and  unceasing, 
and  his  long  life  was  happy  in  its 
serenity. 

To  gain  an  idea  of  his  appearance  in 
his  later  years,  imagine  a  robust  farmer, 
whose  gesture  and  language  are  full  of 
youth  and  strength ;  place  on  his  thick, 
white  hair  one  of  those  velvet  caps,  with 
a  soft  visor,  which  we  see  in  Hans  Hol- 
bein's portraits  ;  throw  a  workman's  blouse 


over  the  solid  shoulders ;  illumine  with  a 
frank  smile  his  honest  open  face  ;  hang 
in  his  full  good-natured  lips  a  wooden  pipe, 
and  you  have  Corot. 

Never  was  anybody's  existence  better 
utilized.  He  toiled  incessantly.  Awake 
early,  like  all  who  seek  balmy  sleep  in 
good  season,  he  seized  the  brush  at  sun- 
rise, and  did  not  lay  it  down  before  "  twi- 
light gray  had  with  her  sober  livery  all 
things  clad."  He  always  noticed  the 
approach  of  nightfall  with  dissatisfaction, 
but  at  the  same  time  he  accepted  it  with 
a  cheerful  resignation  :  "  Well,  I  have  to 
stop,"  he  would  say;  "my  Heavenly 
Father  has  put  out  my  lamp  !  " 

He  was  in  the  habit  of  singing  while  he 
worked  ;  the  song  which  accompanied  his 
brush  was  usually  borrowed  from  some 
old  composition,  or  it  was  one  of  those 
country  melodies  which  we  hear  evenings 
in  the  villages  when  the  reapers  return 
from  the  fields. 

In  1840,  the  most  eminent  critic  of 
the   times,  Gustave  Planche,  wrote   some 


COROT. 


703 


eulogistic  remarks  about  a  landscape  by 
Corot  which  was  exhibited  in  the  Salon, 
under  the  title,  "  The  Setting  Sun."  From 
that  moment  Corot's  talent  seems  to  have 
been  recognized  by  the  critics  and  artists  ; 
but  the  general  public  did  not  appreciate 
him  until  1863,  when  he  was  firmly  estab- 
lished. "  Now,"  he  exclaimed  gayly,  "  I 
have  it !     I  am  glad  I   did  not  die  ten 


keep  the  matter  secret  and  turn  it  into  a 
surprise  for  her  husband.  For  that  pur- 
pose she  placed  the  cross  in  his  napkin. 
She  expected  great  astonishment  and  a 
demand  for  an  explanation ;  but  it  re- 
sulted differently.  When  the  elder  Corot, 
on  opening  his  napkin,  discovered  the 
cross,  his  face  expressed  at  first  astonish- 
ment, but  immediately  after  he  said:   "I 


Apple  Blossoms. 

OWNED   BY    MR.    AUGUSTUS   HEMENWAY. 


years  ago ;  for,  at  that  time,  I  did  not 
have  it!" 

In  1847,  ne  received  the  cross  of  the 
Legion  a VHonneur,  and  in  1867  he  was 
created  an  officer  of  the  same  order. 
The  father's  unbelief  in  his  son's  talent  is 
aptly  illustrated  by  an  anecdote  told  me 
by  Corot  in  regard  to  this  same  decora- 
tion. When  he  received  the  cross  for  the 
first  time,  he  carried  it  at  once  to  his 
mother,  who  resolved  to  have  a  family 
dinner  to  celebrate  the  occasion,  but  to 


don't  know  for  what  /can  be  decorated. 
It  is  probably  for  my  services  in  the  Na- 
tional Guard  !  "  He  did  not  for  a  mo- 
ment think  it  possible  it  was  intended  for 
his  son,  and  he  appropriated  it  to  himself 
without  further  ado.  When  his  wife  ex- 
plained his  error  to  him,  he  simply  re- 
turned the  cross  and  began  to  converse 
on  other  subjects  with  a  disconcerted  ex- 
pression, and  the  dinner  dragged.  He 
would  not  even  believe  the  affair  was 
serious,    and    asked    his    son    next    day 


704 


COROT. 


Jean-Baptiste-Camille  Corot. 


whether  it  was  pleasantry  on  his  part,  or 
whether  he  was  the  victim  of  a  joke. 
When  Camille  drew  from  his  pocket  the 
Jom-nal  Officiel  containing  the  announce- 
ment of  his  decoration,  his  father  read  and 
re-read  it,  and  finally,  with  tears  in  his 
eyes,  embraced  his  son,  saying :  "  You 
must,  after  all,  have  some  little  talent  to 
be  thus  decorated  for  it."  Even  with 
that  proof,  it  was  so  difficult  for  him  to 
eradicate  his  preconceived  conviction, 
that  soon  after  he  asked  Francais  (his 
son's  pupil)  whether  "  Camille  really  had 
some  merit.  Tell  me,"  he  said,  "you 
who  know  something  of  painting."  Fran- 
cais assured  me  later  that  he  had  great 
trouble  to  persuade  him  that  his  son  was 
"a  greater  artist  than  all  the  others." 
About  1863,  Corot  often  said:  "How  I 
wish  my  good  father  could  now  see  my 
successes,  he  who  found  it  so  hard  to  be- 
lieve in  me  !  "  This  was  in  fact  the 
beginning  of  his  triumphs,  which  have 
since  only  increased  as  a  recompense  for 
the  constancy  of  his  faith.  He  had  been 
misunderstood  so  long  a  time,  that  he 
was  not  spoiled  by  praise,  and  whenever 
such  was  accorded  him  he  exclaimed,  like 
a  child  who  asks  to  drink  :  "  More,  more, 
I  have  been  without  it  so  long  !  " 


Corot  gave  his  counsel  and  lessons 
willingly  to  everybody  who  sought  them, 
never  taking  a  cent  from  the  numerous 
artists  who  eagerly  received  them.  He 
recommended  his  pupils  to  choose  only 
subjects  which  responded  to  particular 
impressions,  believing  that  the  mind  of 
each  person  is  a  mirror  in  which  nature 
is  reflected  in  an  individual  manner.  He 
often  said  to  them  :  "  Do  not  imitate,  do 
not  follow  others,  or  you  will  remain  be- 
hind." To  one  of  his  pupils,  who  had 
servilely  imitated  him,  he  said :  "  Ever 
bring  me  again  a  similar  study,  and  I 
shall  close  my  studio  door  to  you  for- 
ever." 

One  of  the  first  among  artists  to  ap- 
preciate Corot  and  to  buy  his  pictures 
was  Diaz.  The  canvas  which  attracted 
him  was  originally  designed  for  an  ama- 
teur, but  declined  by  him.  It  was  con- 
ceived by  Corot  during  his  return  on 
foot  at  nightfall  from  Versailles  to  Ville 
d'Avray,  as  has  been  narrated  by  a  friend 
of  his  in  an  interesting  pamphlet.  "  On 
entering  the  house,  Corot  thought  of  it 
until  late  in  the  evening,  sitting  in  the 
open  window,  as  was  his  habit,  to  more 
intimately  penetrate  into  nature.  When 
morning    came    the    whole     scheme    was 


COROT. 


705 


ready  in  his  mind ;  he  went  to  Paris  to 
work  on  a  picture,  for  his  father  had 
never  thought  of  providing  him  with  a 
studio  at  Ville  d'Avray.  The  work  pro- 
ceeded so  rapidly  that  the  picture  was 
finished  by  the  close  of  day.  '  What  ! ' 
he  said  to  himself,  '  finished  already,  and 
I  have  earned  so  much  money  in  so  short 
a  time  !  No,  this  cannot  be,  I  must  work 
at  it  again ;  hm  !  still,  to  retouch  it  may 
spoil  it ;  I  will  leave  it  and  look  at  the 
sky  while  smoking  a  pipe.'  Some  time 
afterwards  the  amateur,  for  whom  the 
picture  was  intended,  came ;  he  ex- 
amined it  closely,  became  pensive,  and  said 
at  last :  e  It  is  not  very  gay  ;  I  must  con- 
sult my  wife  who  does  not  like  anything 
melancholy.  I  will  let  you  know  her 
opinion,  and  till  then  I  shall  reserve  my 
refusal.'  A  few  days  later  he  wrote  that 
he  relinquished  the  picture,  saying  :  '  My 
wife  finds  it  decidedly  too  sober,  after 
what  I  have  told  her  about  it.'  In  spite 
of  this  sad  result,  Corot  was  not  dis- 
satisfied with  his  picture,  and  told  his 
friends  that  he  had  the  conviction  it  was 
good,  and  that  it  would  not  be  every  day 
that  he  could  make  such  a  one.  He 
consoled  himself  by  saying :  '  Another 
person  will  take  it,  that's  all  !  '  The 
other  person  happened  to  be  Diaz,  who 
admired  the  excellent  work  at  first  sight, 
and  kept  it  preciously  all  his  life." 

It  must  not,  however,  be  understood 
that  Corot  was  so  well  satisfied  with  his 
work  as  not  to  accept  any  criticism,  nor 
be  willing  to  alter  anything  which  he  had 
painted ;  this  would  be  a  grave  error. 
His  simplicity  was  so  great,  that  when  a 
remark  was  made  about  his  pictures  by 
one  in  whose  judgment  he  had  confi- 
dence, and  the  remark  was  not  very  clear 
to  him,  he  would  in  good  faith  offer  him 
his  palette,  saying  :  "I  do  not  know,  do 
it  yourself!"  And  when  his  request 
was  accepted  in  order  to  show  him  what 
was  meant,  he  would  follow  eagerly,  and 
say  with  animation  :  "  That  is  so,  I  see  ! 
A  little  more,  please.  Oh  !  that  is  all 
right  now !  "  Then  after  having  the 
palette  returned  to  him,  he  would  not 
relinquish  it  until  the  part  in  question 
was  finished.  I  witnessed  several  such 
cases  as  this ;  among  which  one  was  at 
the  time  Corot  was  finishing  his  picture 


known  as  "The  Burning  of  Sodom," 
when  an  uncle  of  mine  who  was  present 
had  to  explain  his  criticism  with  brush  in 
hand,  for  which  he  was  thanked  heartily. 

Corot  liked  to  relate  the  history  of 
his  pictures,  some  of  which  had  very 
strange  and  different  fortunes,  —  like  the 
one  exhibited  in  the  Salon  of  1851. 
This  was  badly  hung  in  a  room  near  the 
stairs  ;  everybody  passed  it  without  stop- 
ping. One  day  Corot,  seeing  that  no- 
body paid  attention  to  his  landscape,  had 
the  fancy  of  standing  and  looking  at  it, 
thinking  to  himself  that  "  people  are  like 
flies,  and  as  soon  as  one  lights  on  a  dish, 
the  others  will  follow  at  once  ;  my  pres- 
ence will  perhaps  attract  the  passers-by." 
Indeed,  a  young  couple  approached,  and 
the  gentleman  said ;  "  That  is  not  bad, 
it  seems  to  me  that  there  is  something 
in  it."  But  the  lady,  who  had  a  sweet 
expression,  pulled  him  away,  saying : 
"  It  is  frightful,  come  along  !  "  "And  I 
said  to  myself,"  added  Corot,  "are  you 
satisfied  that  you  now  know  the  opinion 
of  the  public?  So  much  the  worse  for 
you  !  "  That  very  picture,  after  waiting 
several  years  in  his  studio  without  tempt- 
ing a  buyer,  found  an  audacious  one  — 
as  Corot  called  him  —  at  last,  who  took 
it  for  700  francs,  and  the  purchaser  was 
so  happy  to  have  it  that  he  gave  a  fete 
to  celebrate  its  acquisition.  "  I  was 
kindly  invited  there,"  said  Corot,  "and 
received  abundance  of  compliments ; 
still,  the  painting  was  the  same  as  before, 
when  nobody  wanted  it ;  at  present  I 
paint  just  the  same  way,  only  people  un- 
derstand it,  and  it  has  needed  only  forty 
years  of  work  and  patience  to  bring  it 
about.  It  is  not  that  /  have  changed, 
but  that  the  constancy  of  my  principles 
has  triumphed,  —  and  I  am  overwhelmed 
with  happiness  !  " 

He  always  preached  this  constancy  to 
his  pupils,  especially  to  the  younger  ones. 
To  these,  whenever  they  came  to  him 
for  his  advice  and  to  learn  whether  they 
should  take  up  painting,  he  put  this  ques- 
tion :  "Have  you  1500  francs  income, 
so  that  your  living  is  assured?  See  if 
you  can  dine  on  a  big  piece  of  bread 
alone.  Such  a  frugal  meal  has  more  than 
once  been  mine,  and  on  the  days  follow- 
ing such  a  repast  I  have  looked  at  myself 


706 


COROT. 


in  the  mirror  and  patted  my  cheeks ; 
they  were  as  the  day  before,  —  the  diet 
was  not  so  dangerous  after  all,  and  I 
recommend  it  to  you  whenever  neces- 
sary !  "  Sometimes  this  advice  was  given 
to  young  men  of  wealth,  who  responded  : 
"  My  coupe  is  below."  "  Well,  so  much 
the  better,"  answered  the  master,  "  then 
you  can  paint  as  a  sweet  luxury." 

Speaking  of  his  admiration  for  nature, 
he  often  said  :  "  I  pray  to  God  every  day 
to  let  me  be  a  child  again,  that  I  may  see 
nature  as  it  is,  and  may  reproduce  it  like 
a  child,  without  prejudice."  Is  not  this 
prayer  alone  a  praise  of  his  whole  life  ? 
Kindness,  mildness,  charity,  confidence, 
and  conscience,  —  this  was  his  motto. 
It  was  while  smiling  and  singing  that 
Corot  made  all  his  pictures,  so  justly 
appreciated  to-day  :  each  stroke  of  the 
brush  has  its  history,  its  word,  its  parti- 
cular note,  and  his  works  are  like  pro- 
longed echoes  of  his  heart. 

With  the  lark  he  saluted  the  rising  sun, 
then  ran  out  in  his  great  blue  blouse,  an 
immense  hat  on  his  head,  and  his  large 
umbrella  under  his  arm,  laughing,  sing- 
ing, conversing  with  the  birds,  the  but- 
terflies, the  trees,  with  his  eyes  and  heart 
open  to  all.  He  would  say  :  "  Is  it  for 
me  you  are  singing,  little  bird?  Well, 
this  is  fine  !  "  This  loud  monologue, 
given  with  an  enthusiasm  coming  from 
his  very  soul,  and  mingling  with  the 
thousand  voices  of  birds  and  insects,  was 
a  delicious  greeting  to  the  rising  Phoebus. 
Nothing  escaped  him  while  going  along, 
and  when  arrived  at  his  work  his  brush 
was  so  rapidly  impelled  by  his  overflow- 
ing imagination  that  all  sense  of  labor 
was  lost.  His  eye  brightened  and  his 
face  was  illuminated  with  a  tender  joy. 

Corot  generally  enhanced  his  language 
with  an  exaggeration  that  was  quite 
charming.  One  day,  wishing  to  explain 
how  a  slight  noise  will  be  increased  in 
the  stillness  of  the  fields,  he  said  :  "  I 
was  painting  a  study  of  willows  near  a 
brook,  when  all  of  a  sudden  I  heard  the 
rolling  of  thunder.  Astonished,  I  looked 
up ;  it  was  a  swarm  of  bees  which  was 
settling  on  one  of  the  branches." 

He  invested  the  figures  in  his  pictures 
with  an  individual  interest,  and  in  his 
mind   they  were    living,  breathing    crea- 


tures. "You  see,"  he  once  said  to  a 
friend,  "  the  shepherdess  leaning  against 
the  tree  trunk  ?  She  turns  around  quickly 
because  she  hears  a  field  mouse  rustling 
in  the  grass."  And  another  time : 
"  After  our  rambling  excursions  together 
I  invite  nature  to  visit  me  for  several 
days,  and  then  my  folly  commences. 
With  brush  in  hand,  I  search  for  nuts  in 
the  woods  of  my  studio.  I  hear  there 
the  song  of  the  birds,  the  shivering  of  the 
trees  in  the  wind  ;  I  see,  then,  the  running 
of  the  brooks,  and  the  rivers  filled  with  a 
thousand  reflections  of  the  sky,  and  all 
that  lives  on  their  banks.  The  sun  rises 
and  sets  in  my  studio." 

For  a  long  time  painting  was  consid- 
ered by  "positive"  people,  as  folly  and 
futility  ;  but  Corot  used  to  answer  them  : 
"It  may  be  so,  but  I  defy  anybody  to 
find  on  my  face  the  traces  of  sorrow,  of 
ambition  or  remorse,  which  mar  the  faces 
of  so  many  poor  people.  This  is  why 
we  should  not  only  pardon  that  folly, 
but  seek  it.  We  should  love  art,  which 
gives  calm,  moral  contentment,  and 
even  health,  to  one  who  can  bring 
his  life  into  harmony  with  it."  By  his 
own  kindness  and  simplicity,  this  excel- 
lent man  had  given  himself  the  greatest 
happiness  which  can  be  expected  in  this 
world.  He  felt  so  happy  that  life  seemed 
to  him  to  pass  only  too  quickly ;  he 
would  have  loved  to  live  as  long  as  he 
could  have  woods  and  rivers  and  sky  to 
paint,  and  as  long  as  he  could  be  useful 
to  others.  Yes,  in  his  own  heart  the  sun 
rose  and  set. 

It  must  not  be  imagined  that  his  liber- 
ality came  only  with  his  fortune;  no  — 
his  nature  was  generous  in  the  extreme. 
Until  1855,  when  he  was  fifty-nine  years 
old,  he  lived  on  the  modest  allowance 
which  his  father  gave  him,  and  on  the 
sale  of  his  pictures,  which  brought  him 
very  moderate  prices.  Still,  his  kind 
heart  and  his  generosity  were  constantly 
brought  to  the  test,  and  they  never  failed 
him.  Naturally,  possessing  but  little 
himself,  he  could  not  give  much,  but 
what  he  had  he  divided  with  his  unfor- 
tunate friends,  who  never  knocked  at  his 
door  in  vain.  Money,  advice,  lessons, 
all  were  given  without  price,  in  a  simple 
manner    and    without    ostentation,    nay, 


COROT. 


707 


even  in  secret,  for  the  majority  of  his 
benefactions  were  not  known  until  after 
his  death.  When  he  retired  at  night,  he 
would  thank  the  Lord  for  having  given 
him  an  opportunity  to  help  his  fellow- 
men. 

In  1855,  he  inherited  from  his  father  a 
yearly  income  of  about  twenty- five  thou- 
sand francs ;  but  having  acquired  by  his 
brush  more  than  independence  of  fortune, 
he  took  extreme  care  to  put  his  inheri- 
tance entirely  beyond  his  reach.  He 
placed  it  at  interest,  and  at  his  death  it 
returned  intact  and  nearly  tripled  in 
amount  to  his  nephews  and  nieces,  as  he 
died  a  bachelor. 

From  the  time  just  mentioned,  Corot 
began  to  earn  enormous  sums  of  money. 
Like  every  true  genius,  he  was  indefati- 
gable. No  one  could  have  been  more 
diligent  or  more  prolific  in  his  work ; 
besides,  he  had  accumulated  a  consider- 
able number  of  pictures  during  the 
twenty-five  or  thirty  years  of  indifference 
from  the  public  as  to  their  existence. 
With  his  increasing  fortune  his  charities 
multiplied  in  number  and  amount,  and 
we  find  in  the  accounts  of  this  generous 
man  many  annual  allowances,  of  which 
several  were  six  thousand  francs  each. 

The  following  anecdotes  characterize 
the  man, — 

Daumier,  an  artist  once  well  known  for 
his  spiritual  and  humoristic  talent,  had 
become  almost  totally  blind,  and,  not 
having  been  enriched  by  his  talent,  was 
obliged  to  retire  to  very  modest  quarters 
in  the  country.  His  friends  and  fellow 
students,  Corot,  Daubigny,  Dupre,  Fran- 
cais,  and  others,  were  in  the  habit  of 
assembling  in  the  room  of  the  poor  blind 
artist  to  spend  the  evenings,  trying  to 
make  him  forget  his  misfortune  by  their 
well-meaning  gayety  and  friendship.  In 
spite  of  their  efforts  the  unhappy  Daumier 
still  suffered  with  a  melancholy  strange  to 
his  character.  Corot  noticed  it  and  tried 
to  discover  its  cause.  Through  the 
neighbors  he  found  out  that  Daumier 
possessed  only  very  small  resources  and 
that  he  found  himself  unable  to  pay  for 
his  lodgings.  His  landlord,  to  whom  he 
owed  nine  months'  rent,  had  threatened 
to  turn  him  out  if  he  did  not  pay  him 
soon.      A  few  days    afterwards    Daumier 


received  a  package  of  .papers,  which 
proved  to  be  the  deed,  in  his  own  name, 
of  the  house  and  grounds  ;  a  slip  of  paper 
enclosed  bore  these  words :  "  My  dear, 
friend,  I  now  defy  your  landlord  to  put 
you  out  of  doors.  Corot."  Daumier, 
who  was  very  proud,  would  have  refused 
the  gift  from  any  other  person,  but  when 
he  met  his  benefactor  he  embraced  him 
and  murmured,  while  weeping :  "  Ah, 
Corot,  you  are  the  only  one  from  whom 
I  could  accept  such  a  present  without 
feeling  humiliated." 

A  few  months  before  Corot's  death,  his 
friend  F.  Millet  died,  leaving  a  widow 
and  eleven  children  almost  penniless. 
The  art  world  was  moved,  and  the  State 
was  induced  to  give  a  pension  to  Millet's 
wife.  Corot,  finding  the  sum  insufficient, 
added  to  it  an  annual  allowance  of  one 
thousand  francs.  Almost  immediately 
after  this,  feeling  his  own  health  decline 
rapidly,  he  desired  to  secure  the  widow 
of  his  friend  against  the  loss  of  this  assist- 
ance consequent  upon  his  own  death ; 
therefore,  he  turned  over  to  her  the 
capital  necessary  to  give  her  this  annual 
income  for  the  rest  of  her  life,  and  sent 
it  to  her  with  these  words  :  "  In  this  way, 
I  am  sure  that  in  no  case  of  misfortune 
may  you  have  to  suffer  inconvenience." 
His  death,  which  occurred  soon  after, 
shows  this  to  have  been  a  wise  considera- 
tion. 

When  fortune  came  to  him,  even  in 
abundance  he  did  not  change  his  tastes 
and  habits.  His  simple  and  rustic  life 
remained  the  same,  just  as  his  heart 
always  remained  young  and  pure.  He 
kept  a  single  servant,  who  had  been  in 
his  employ  for  nearly  thirty  years  —  old 
Adele,  as  we  used  to  call  her.  His 
studio,  large  and  of  austere  simplicity, 
was  in  perfect  harmony  with  his  char- 
acter. Although  possessing  a  strong  con- 
stitution and  a  very  good  appetite,  he  ate 
very  frugally :  it  might  be  said  that, 
really,  he  took  only  one  meal  a  day,  and 
that  one  in  the  evening.  At  noon  he 
was  content  with  a  bowl  of  vegetable 
soup,  which  his  faithful  Adele  brought 
into  his  studio.  He  very  rarely  took  his 
evening  meal  alone,  on  account  of  the 
many  invitations  for  dinner  which  he 
received ;  he  noted  these  in  a  book,  and 


708 


COROT. 


when  any  one  desired  his  company  he 
almost  always  had  to  look  for  a  month  or 
more  to  find  an  open  date. 

We  had  very  often  the  good  fortune  of 
his  presence  at  our  table,  and  it  was  there 
that  he  entertained  us  with  the  details  of 
his  life.  He  manifested  great  friendship 
for  my  family  and  myself  as  his  godchild. 
I  think  I  can  say  modestly  that  in  these 
social  meetings  the  time  passed  as  rapidly 
for  him  as  for  us.  He  did  something  for 
Us  which  he  never  did  for  any  one  else, 
and  which  shows  his  confidence  in  my 
family  :  he  gave  us  the  key  of  his  studio 
during  a  whole  summer  while  he  was  ab- 
sent, with  the  privilege  of  going  there 
when  we  liked. 

Those  were  happy  evenings  which  we 
passed  in  his  company,  and  the  remem- 
brance of  them  has  been  so  strongly  im- 
pressed upon  my  mind  that  in  spite  of  the 
many  years  which  have  since  rolled  away, 
it  seems  to  me  to  have  happened  but  yes- 
terday. My  parents,  being  artists  them- 
selves, naturally  loved  the  society  of 
artists,  and  we  often  had  at  our  table, 
together  or  separately,  Corot,  Daubigny, 
Francais,  Courbet,  Mouilleron  (who  made 
such  beautiful  lithographs),  and  others. 
Neither  were  musicians  lacking  in  the 
gathering,  adding  to  the  amusement  and 
pleasure  of  the  occasion.  Corot,  from 
his  brillancy  and  ineffable  goodness,  was 
the  centre  of  all  eyes,  and  his  animated 
conversation  increased  the  joy  in  all 
hearts.  It  is  an  error  to  say,  as  many 
do,  that  he  was  not  well-read  and  that  his 
literary  knowledge  was  limited.  I  can 
affirm,  on  the  contrary,  that  few  men, 
especially  among  artists,  read  so  much, 
and  had  such  an  extended  knowledge 
of  literature  as  he  had.  He  was  a 
"living  encyclopaedia,"  and  it  was  this 
which  made  his  conversation  so  interest- 
ing. However,  he  was  simple  and  un- 
obtrusive in  this  as  in  all  things,  and  not 
one  of  those  who  boast  of  a  knowledge 
often  very  superficial.  I  cannot  dwell  on 
this  point  too  much,  for  the  error  men- 
tioned is  a  general  one.  It  has  been 
stated  that  he  bought  many  books,  but 
only  for  the  color  of  their  binding ;  that 
he  had  read  only  one,  "  Polyeucte,"  and 
that  even  this  he  never  finished.  Those 
who  say  this  should  know  full  well  that  he 


was  seven  years  in  the  Lyceum  at  Rouen, 
and  a  moment's  reflection  would  show 
them  that  no  one  remains  in  a  lyceum 
for  seven  years  without  studying  thor- 
oughly the  entire  classic  literature. 

Corot  had  a  splendid  voice  and  con- 
siderable musical  taste,  and  although  he 
had  never  cultivated  his  voice,  he  knew 
by  heart  a  great  deal  of  the  modern 
music,  for  he  frequently  went  to  the 
opera.  Often,  in  the  evenings  at  our 
house,  when  one  of  the  musicians  played 
some  selection  on  the  piano  —  especially 
if  it  were  Italian  opera,  which  Corot 
.knew  best  —  he  would  become  inspired, 
and  soon  begin  to  sing  the  grand  airs  and 
recitatives  in  a  subdued  voice,  emphasiz- 
ing the  acting  with  much  spirit  and  taste, 
and  without  losing  the  true  character.  It 
was  charming,  and  the  time  flew  so 
quickly  that  it  was  sometimes  two  o'clock 
in  the  morning  before  any  one  thought 
of  inquiring  the  hour.  Some  one  would 
quickly  go  and  order  a  carrosse  (as  Corot 
used  to  call  a  common  hack  in  his  sport- 
ing vein,)  and  he  left  us,  promising  to 
pay  another  visit  soon.  Sometimes,  when 
it  was  very  late,  he  stayed  with  us  over 
night ;  but  he  always  preferred  to  go 
home,  as  his  work  for  the  next  morning 
would  be  somewhat  deranged  in  conse- 
quence of  his  absence. 

His  increasing  success  never  made  him 
vain,  and  to  the  last  day  of  his  life  he 
never  ceased  to  be  astonished  at  the  high 
prices  his  pictures  brought.  He  pre- 
ferred to  accept  any  price  that  was 
offered  him  rather  than  to  fix  one  him- 
self; and  when  his  friends  insisted  that 
he  advance  his  prices,  he  refused,  and 
answered :  "  Go  and  mark  them  your- 
selves." Once  only  was  he  willing  to 
ask  a  considerable  sum  for  one  of  his 
most  important  landscapes,  and  this 
was  more  for  curiosity  than  anything 
else.  It  was  on  the  opening  day  of  the 
Salon  in  1856  or  1857,  when  he  re- 
ceived a  telegram  asking  him  whether 
a  certain  one  of  his  pictures  was  for  sale, 
and  if  so,  what  was  the  price.  He  did 
not  know  the  sender  of  the   message,  a 

Mme.  X ,  and  "I  don't  know,"  said 

he  afterward,  "  what  idea  passed  through 
my  mind  with  regard  to  this  sudden  offer 
at  the   beginning   of  the   exhibition,  but 


COROT. 


709 


the  manner  of  this  amateur  made  me  be- 
lieve in  my  success  and  gave  me  a  certain 
audacity.  I  responded  —  also  by  tele- 
gram :  '  Picture  unsold,  price  ten  thousand 
francs.'  Just  imagine,  my  friend,  what  a 
bold  and  haughty  answer  !  such  a  thing 
had  never  occurred  to  me  !  An  hour 
afterwards  another  despatch  announced 
that  the  affair  was  settled  and  that  my 
demand  was  accepted  with  thanks.  I 
was  stunned,  and  I  thought  surely  I  had 
forgotten  a  cipher  in  my  figure.  To  make 
this  matter  clear,  I  wrote  by  mail,  this. 
time  writing  the  price  in  full.  It  proved 
to  be  all  right." 

The  following  gives  some  idea  of  how 
his  generosity  was  imposed  upon.  I 
called  on  him  one  day  in  his  studio ;  it 
was   not  his  regular   reception  day,  and 

there  was  besides  myself  a  Mr.  D , 

his  friend  and  pupil,  who  used  to  work 
beside  him.  I  remained  about  an  hour, 
during  which  time  five  different  people 
came  to  ask  help  from  him.  To  all  he 
gave.  One  of  them,  an  artist,  but  with- 
out talent,  sent  up  to  him  by  the  con- 
cierge a  bad  copy  of  a  painting  of  his, 
with  a  letter  in  which  he  requested  him  to 
buy  it.  "  Is  it  possible,"  said  Corot  to  us, 
"  that  any  kind  of  resemblance  to  my 
picture  can  be  found  in  this?  Take  his 
picture  back  to  him,"  he  added,  turning 
to  the  concierge,  "  and  tell  him  I  have  no 
need  of  it."  Then  quickly  taking  from  a 
drawer  in  his  table  three  twenty  franc 
gold  pieces,  he  handed  them  to  the  con- 
cierge, saying  in  a  low  voice  :  "  Give  him 
this  also."  In  a  few  moments  an  old 
woman  appeared,  who,  it  seems,  had 
once  sat  for  one  of  his  pictures.  She 
came  to  "  inquire  after  the  health  of  Mr. 
Corot,"  and  when  she  left  ten  minutes 
later,  Corot,  in  saying  good-by,  slid  a 
piece  of  gold  of  the  same  value  into  her 
hand.  She  had  visited  him  regularly 
once  a  month  for  eight  or  nine  years. 
This  visit  was  followed  by  that  of  a  young 
fellow  of  eighteen  or  twenty  years,  who 
reminded  Corot  that  he  had  once  before 
been  very  kind  to  him,  and  as  he  was 
then  without  employment  he  came  again 
to  recommend  himself  to  his  generosity. 
Corot  gave  him  all  the  loose  silver  he  had 
in  his  pocket,  probably  seven  or  eight 
francs.     This    fellow    certainly    expected 


more,  for  a  new  caller,  who  met  him  on 
the  stairs  and  related  it  to  us,  overheard 
him  say  :  "  Isn't  the  ' pere  Corot '  stingy 
to-day  !  " 

But  it  would  take  a  volume  to  re- 
capitulate all  his  charities.     Mr.  D , 

his  constant  companion  for  months, 
assured  me  that  the  same  story  repeated 
itself  every  twenty-four  hours,  —  that  he 
had  himself  counted  more  than  twenty- 
five  beggars  in  one  day ;  and  when 
Corot's  friends  reproved  him  for  giving 
so  carelessly  and  lavishly,  trying  to  prove 
to  him  that  the  majority  of  those  people 
took  advantage  of  his  generosity  and  sent 
each  other  to  him,  he  answered  simply  : 
"  I  believe  that  in  reality  most  of  them 
are  professional  beggars,  but  it  is  more 
than  my  sympathies  can  endure,  and  I 
cannot  refuse.  Then  think,  my  friends, 
I  feel  and  I  know  in  spite  of  all  that  I 
shall  always  have  enough  to  eat.  I  could 
never  forgive  myself  if  I  had  not  given  to 
an  unfortunate  one  who  really  needed  it, 
and,  as  I  cannot  distinguish  between 
them,  I  would  rather  give  to  ten  who  do 
not  merit  it,  than  deny  a  single  one  who 
is  in  want."  Personifying  true  Christian 
charity,  this  admirable  man  did  not  wait 
to  be  asked  to  give,  as  has  been  shown 
in  the  cases  of  Daumier  and  the  widow 
of  Millet,  and  as  is  shown  further  by  the 
following  instances. 

A  committee  of  three  persons  came  to 
him  to  ask  his  subscription  for  the  build- 
ing of  a  boys'  school  in  a  town  of  France 
where  no  institution  of  the  kind  existed. 
Corot  subscribed  one  thousand  francs 
and  the  committee  departed ;  but  they 
had  hardly  gone  when  Corot  ran  after 
them,  saying :  "  Your  scheme  to  build  a 
boys'  school  is  excellent,  but  it  will  be  an 
injustice  if  you  do  not  also  build  one  for 
girls.  I  shall  not  give  my  one  thousand 
francs  unless  you  open  another  subscrip- 
tion for  a  girls'  school,  on  which  I  will 
sign  another  one  thousand  francs  in  ad- 
vance."    Both  schools  were  established. 

Corot  was  an  equal  proprietor  with  his 
sister  of  a  house  in  Paris.  A  man  came 
to  him  one  day,  saying :  "  I  am  one  of 
your  tenants.  I  owe  you  nine  months 
rent,  and  you  have  threatened  to  put  me 
out  if  I  do  not  pay  you  within  three  days. 
I  have  come  to   ask  you   to  believe  me 


710 


CO  ROT. 


upon  my  word  of  honor,  that  it  will  be 
impossible  for  me  to  pay  you  before  a 
month,  when  I  shall  receive  a  consider- 
able amount  due  me.  If  you  will  have 
confidence  in  me,  I  will  see  that  you  are 
paid  promptly  at  that  time."  Corot  de- 
clared that  he  did  not  know  anything 
about  the  affair,  and  did  not  understand 
why  he  came  to  him,  for  he  never  troubled 
himself  about  his  property,  leaving  this 
care  entirely  to  his  sister,  "  who  compre- 
hended business  matters  better  than  he." 
The  man  then  begged  him  to  intercede 
in  his  behalf,  but  Corot  would  not  hear 
of  it,  protesting  that  he  would  not  dare  to 
do  so  ;  and  when  his  visitor  renewed  his 
promises,  Corot  said  :  "  Hear  me,  —  as 
you  give  me  your  word  of  honor  that  you 
will  be  able  to  pay  in  a  month,  we  will  do 
something  even  better.  I  will  give  you 
the  necessary  money  to  pay  my  sister 
what  you  owe  us,  and  in  a  few  weeks  you 
can  repay  me  ;  but  do  not  say  a  word  of 
this  to  my  sister,  for  she  would  scold 
me  !  "  The  tenant  kept  his  word,  re- 
turned the  money,  and  guarded  the  secret 
till  the  day  of  Corot's  death. 

Another  time,  —  it  was  on  New  Year's 
Day,  1874,  —  I  had  called  on  him,  and 
we  left  his  house  together,  when,  on 
turning  a  corner  where  an  old  man  stood 
begging  for  charity,  Corot  stopped  to 
give  him  a  franc  piece.  After  we  had 
gone  about  a  hundred  yards,  he  paused 
and  proposed  to  turn  back.  Arriving 
where  the  old  man  was,  he  drew  from  his 
pocket  two  five  franc  pieces  which  he 
gave  to  him  saying :  "  To-day  all  the 
world  receives  presents,  so  you  must  also 
have  yours.1  " 

And  how  readily  he  always  acknowl- 
edged his  error,  if  by  any  chance  his 
charities  proved  to  have  been  misplaced  ! 
"  One  day,"  said  he,  before  our  family, 
"  I  was  just  leaving  my  studio  after  a  day 
of  hard  work  which  had  completed  one 
of  my  paintings  exhibited  the  month 
after  at  the  Salon.  I  was  feeling  very 
well  satisfied  with  myself,  for,  having  put 
all  my  love  into  my  work,  I  had  suc- 
ceeded in  painting  something  very  good  ; 
and  I  was  wishing  I  could  see  reflected 
on  the  face  of  every  passer-by  a  look  of 

1  The  French  give  presents  on  New  Year's  Day,  as  the 
Americans  do  on  Christmas. 


happiness  such  as  I  knew  mine  must 
wear.  It  was  at  twilight,  and  objects 
were  already  becoming  indistinct  in  the 
approaching  darkness.  Suddenly  I  re- 
marked some  people  on  the  other  side  of 
the  street  searching  for  something  on  the 
ground,  and  urged  by  curiosity  I  crossed 
to  ascertain  the  object  of  the  search. 
An  old  and  shabbily  dressed  woman  had 
dropped  a  ten  cent  coin,  and  was  looking 
for  it  with  a  great  deal  of  anxiety  —  her 
whole  manner  and  appearance  showed 
plainly  that  it  was  an  important  sum  for 
her.  Poor  woman,  thought  I  to  myself, 
that  little  coin  probably  represents  a  good 
deal  of  labor  for  her,  and  now  she  is 
having  more  trouble  than  it  is  worth  to 
recover  it.  I  addressed  her,  and  at  the 
same  time  offered  her  another  silver 
piece.  The  humble  creature  raised  her 
face  and  answered  me  with  a  look  of 
noble  pride  :  '  Thank  you  for  the  inten- 
tion, sir,  but  although  I  am  poor,  I  am 
not  a  beggar ;  I  prefer  to  work  hard  to 
earn  that  ten  cents  rather  than  to  receive 
it  from  charity,  and  that  is  why  I  take  so 
much  trouble  to  recover  the  piece  I  have 
lost.'  Oh,  my  friends,"  exclaimed  Corot, 
"  what  a  lesson  that  was  to  me  !  I  had 
no  right  to  humiliate  that  woman  as  I  did, 
and,  feeling  ashamed  of  myself,  I  knelt 
on  the  ground  to  help  her  find  the  lost 
money.  My  good  angel  must  have 
directed  me,  for  after  ten  or  fifteen 
minutes  I  was  happy  enough  to  find  the 
treasure  and  return  it  to  its  owner." 

I  remember  having  read  somewhere, 
that  once  a  needy  artist  whom  Corot 
hardly  knew  came  to  him  to  borrow  one 
thousand  francs ;  but  Corot,  having  been 
annoyed  by  being  interrupted  on  the 
work  of  a  study,  and  therefore  being  in  a 
bad  humor,  refused,  pretending  not  to 
have  the  amount  asked  for.  The  artist 
left,  but  Corot  soon  felt  a  remorse  to 
which  he  was  not  accustomed,  and  in  less 
than  an  hour  he  was  seen,  out  of  breath, 
climbing  the  stairs  of  the  house  where 
the  poor  artist  lived.  The  latter  opened 
the  door  to  Corot,  who  spoke  thus  :  "  An 
hour  ago  I  said  that  I  did  not  have  the 
one  thousand  francs  which  you  asked 
me ;  I  lied  !  here  they  are  ;  I  have 
brought  them  to  you.  Am  I  still  in 
time?"     When  he  received   an  affirma- 


COROT. 


711 


tive  answer,  he  went  away  happy  and 
with  an  easy  conscience.  If  it  is  true 
that  those  who  give  to  the  poor  lend  to 
the  Lord,  it  is  certain  that  the  accounts 
of  Corot  will  be  very  large  ! 

He  was  never  so  happy  as  on  the  day 
when  he  had  given  pleasure  to  a  friend. 
He  loved  music  and  was  a  subscriber  for 
the  popular  concerts  of  Pasdeloup.  "  One 
day,"  he  told  us,  "  my  friend  Daubigny 
expressed  the  desire  to  hear  Beethoven's 
symphony  in  C  minor,  which  was  to  be 
performed  at  the  Conservatory.  As  I 
had  a  ticket,  I  offered  it  to  him,  and  he 
went.  I  was  left  all  alone  in  my  studio, 
and,  as  I  had  heard  this  symphony,  I 
pictured  Daubigny  to  myself  as  he  entered 
the  hall  and  heard  the  first  chords,  and  1 
thought  to  myself :  How  grand  they  must 
sound  !  how  delighted  Daubigny  must  be  ! 
how  thankful  he  must  be  to  me  !  I  have 
made  a  friend  happy ;  this  is  more  than 
the  sacrifice  is  worth." 

The  large  sums  of  money  which  his 
pictures  brought  him  were  used  for  gifts, 
for  pensions,  and  for  charity ;  and,  what 
was  still  nobler,  he  did  not  claim  that 
these  acts  were  praiseworthy.  "  It  always 
comes  back  to  me  in  one  way  or  another," 
he  said.  "  One  day,  for  instance,  I  gave 
fifteen  hundred  francs  to  a  poor  artist 
from  Lyons,  whom  I  hardly  knew.  On 
the  same  day  a  would-be  purchaser 
offered  me  three  thousand  francs  for 
one  of  my  pictures,  for  which  I  asked  four 
thousand.  At  that  moment  two  other 
gentlemen  entered  to  select  pictures ;  at 
once  the  first  caller  said  to  me  in  a 
whisper  :  '  I  will  take  this  picture  at  your 
price.'  The  two  others  each  bought  a 
picture  for  one  thousand  francs,  and, 
therefore,  I  had  made  six  thousand 
francs  that  day.  You  see  that  my  fifteen 
hundred  francs  were  fully  returned  to 
me,  and  it  is  always  thus." 

At  different  times  he  offered  a  large 
number  of  his  pictures  to  provincial 
museums  and  to  churches.  The  way  in 
which  the  city  of  Lille  acquired  the  one 
which  it  possesses  is  worth  mentioning. 
He  had  exhibited  a  magnificent  landscape 
in  Lille,  "La  Fete  Antique";  the  ques- 
tion of  buying  it  for  the  city  was  broached 
and  the  first  steps  had  been  taken,  but 
when  they  hesitated  at  the  price,  Corot 


revenged  himself  nobly  :  he  offered  his 
picture  to  the  museum  as  a  gift,  and  re- 
ceived the  most  hearty  thanks  from  the 
authorities.  When  he  took  his  revenge, 
it  was  always  in  a  similar  way.  He  gave 
numerous  pictures  to  his  friends,  and,  for 
my  part,  as  his  friend  and  godson,  I  was 
quite  favored. 

During  the  Franco-German  War, 
Corot,  foreseeing  the  siege  of  Paris,  en- 
tered the  city  on  the  29th  of  August, 
1870,  to  remain  there  during  the  entire 
blockade.  "  I  took  refuge  in  painting," 
he  said  afterward,  "  and  I  worked  very 
hard ;  without  that  I  would  have  gone 
mad."  He  spoke  very  forcibly  against 
the  people  who  cause  wars,  "who  make 
the  nations  cut  each  other's  throats." 
His  delicate  and  sensitive  nature  was  not 
only  horrified  at  this  remnant  of  bar- 
barism, but  he  expressed  his  disgust  for 
it,  calling  it  unreasonable  and  bete;  for, 
said  he,  "  it  only  ravages  and  destroys  the 
works  of  nature  and  the  labor  of  man." 
The  thought  of  war  always  excited  him, 
and  I  remember  one  occasion  when  he 
gave  way  to  his  indignation  before  his 
friend  Mr.  Dumesnil  and  myself.  It  was 
in  his  studio,  on  the  5  th  of  January,  1871. 
The  bombardment  of  the  city  had  just 
commenced,  and  the  conversation  was 
more  than  ever  on  the  subject  in  ques- 
tion. Corot  spoke  vehemently,  and  ended 
thus  :  "  Isn't  it  unheard  of,  to  think  that 
there  are  people  who  are  eager  to  destroy 
the  Louvre,  and  place  in  its  stead  can- 
nons, petroleum,  and  dead  bodies  ! 
Compare  this  savage  hatred  with  art, 
which  is  love  itself!  " 

Although  working  hard,  he  did  not  for- 
get to  give  to  the  wounded,  and  for  the 
other  needs  which  manifested  themselves 
in  this  lamentable  time.  He  visited  the 
wounded,  the  sick,  and  comforted  them 
by  his  presence  and  friendship,  and 
always  assured  himself  that  their  wants 
were  well  supplied.  Without  counting 
the  many  pictures  which  he  gave  for 
works  of  benevolence,  he  turned  over 
more  than  twenty-five  thousand  francs  to 
the  national  defence. 

In  the  last  years  of  his  life,  Corot's 
studio  was  literally  invaded  by  visitors, 
until  he  was  obliged  to  appoint  a  day  for 
them,  closing  his  doors  to  the  public  for 


12 


COROT. 


the  rest  of  the  week,  some  few  intimate 
friends  only  being  received.  His  love 
for  work  was  so  powerful,  that  even  on  re- 
ception days  he  continued  to  paint,  no  mat- 
ter whether  twenty-five  or  thirty  visitors 
pressed  around  his  easel.  This  did  not 
hinder  him  from  talking,  and  he  always 
had  pleasant  words  for  everybody.  He 
rarely  rose  to  greet  a  new  comer,  but 
simply  bidding  him  good  day  with  a  wave 
of  his  hand,  asked  him  to  enter.  On 
such  an  occasion  as  this  I  met  F.  Millet 
for  the  first  time.  The  room  was  full  of 
fashionable  people ;  some  one  knocked 
and  Corot  called  with  a  vigorous  voice, 
"  Come  in."  I  observed  a  man,  already 
old,  appear  in  the  doorway  and  remain 
there  timidly,  evidently  abashed  at  the 
number  and  elegance  of  the  persons  pres- 
ent. Corot,  rising  immediately,  went 
and  greeted  him,  and  then  turning  to  his 
visitors  said  :  "  How  is  this  !  this  is  my 
good  old  friend  Millet,  my  excellent 
comrade.  I  am  very  happy  to  see  him," 
and  he  made  him  sit  down  near  him. 
Millet  was  then  known  by  the  artists  and 
some  of  the  amateurs,  but  was  not  at  all 
popular  with  the  public,  and  being  poor 
he  was  very  diffident.  He  soon  retired 
into  a  corner  of  the  studio,  where  I  had 
the  pleasure  and  honor  for  more  than  an 
hour  of  conversing  with  him  about  my 
godfather,  the  intruders  who  besieged 
him,  and  art  in  general. 

Public  honors  had  no  charm  for  Corot, 
and  when  M.  Barye  spoke  to  him  on  the 
possibility  of  his  becoming  a  member  of 
the  Institute,  he  said;  pointing  to  his 
easel :  "  No,  all  my  happiness  is  there. 
I  have  gone  my  way  without  faltering, 
without  a  change,  and  for  a  long  time 
without  success ;  it  has  come,  though 
late  ;  this  is  compensation  for  my  youth 
which  is  flown,  and  I  am  the  happiest 
being  in  the  world  !  " 

Here  I  may  be  permitted  to  relate 
another  anecdote,  which  I  have  from 
Jean  Gigoux,  who  plays  a  prominent  part 
in  it,  and  which  will  also  show  that  Corot 
was  not  always  repaid  as  he  deserved  for 
the  important  services  rendered.  For- 
tunately, he  found  his  recompense  in  the 
satisfaction  of  his  own  conscience.  The 
Baron  Bossio,  an  amateur  artist,  had 
painted    a    certain    picture    representing 


Venus  asleep  on  clouds.  Venus  and  the 
clouds  were  all  in  white,  and  the  picture 
had  a  pale  effect,  which  repelled  the 
would-be  purchasers.  One  day,  the 
daughter  of  the  baron,  the  Marquise  de 
la  Carte,  confided  to  Jean  Gigoux  that 
she  was  obliged  to  sell  this  picture. 
Gigoux  explained  to  her  the  difficulty  of 
selling  such  a  canvas,  and  the  necessity 
of  having  it  retouched,  but  he  did  not 
wish  to  undertake  the  alteration  for  fear 
of  the  baron's  anger.  He  declared  to 
the  Marquise  that  Corot  (whose  brow  was 
not  yet  encircled  by  the  laurel)  was  the 
only  one  capable  of  so  thankless  a  task, 
and  that  with  his  extreme  kindness  and 
his  desire  to  render  aid  he  would  know 
better  than  anybody  else  how  to  accom- 
plish it.  Gigoux  had  not  been  mistaken  ; 
Corot  did  not  refuse,  but  wished  to  see 
the  picture  first.  The  impression  which 
it  made  on  him  was  not  very  favorable, 
but,  having  examined  it  for  a  while,  he 
accepted  the  very  disagreeable  task  of 
retouching  it,  and  set  to  work  on  it  the 
next  morning.  A  few  days  after,  Gigoux 
called  to  see  how  the  work  was  getting 
on.  The  Marquise  accosted  him  with  an 
air  of  resentment.  "Who  is  this  man 
whom  you  have  brought  me  ?  He  wears 
a  blouse  like  a  laborer  and  smokes  a  hor- 
rible pipe  in  the  parlor,  and  he  daubs 
color  all  around  my  father's  pretty 
nymph  !  "  Gigoux  urged  that  the  wisest 
course  was  not  to  interfere,  but  allow  him 
perfect  freedom.  Corot  had  conceived 
the  idea  of  surrounding  the  sleeping 
nymph  with  a  bower.  The  pale  tones 
had  disappeared,  a  part  of  the  foliage  was 
illuminated  by  sunshine,  and  the  disagree- 
able picture  had  been  transformed  into  a 
delicious  dream.  The  Marquise  hardly 
looked  twice  at  the  work,  and  never  even 
thanked  Corot  for  it.  The  picture  was 
sold  for  a  good  price  at  a  public  auction. 
One  of  Corot's  greatest  desires  (which 
he  could  rarely  satisfy)  was  to  employ 
his  talent  in  grand  decorations,  as  the 
painters  of  the  Renaissance  had  done. 
But  with  the  exception  of  the  two 
pictures  which  he  made  for  the  Prince 
DemidofT,  for  a  salon,  and  which,  though 
they  partook  of  that  nature,  still  are 
pictures  rather  than  decorations,  he  never 
found  an  opportunity  to   execute   orders 


COROT. 


713 


of  that  kind.  When  he  heard  of  the  pro- 
ject of  decorating  the  Pantheon,  he  ex- 
claimed in  the  exuberance  of  his  spirits  : 
"And  I  wish  that  I  could  cover  the  en- 
tire walls  of  a  prison;  I  would  show  to 
those  erring  poor,  the  country,  as  I  see  it, 
and  I  believe  that  I  should  convert  them 
by  bringing  them  close  to  the  pure  blue 
sky."  Meanwhile,  during  a  short  visit 
which  he  made  Daubigny  at  his  country 
house,  he  painted  some  decorations  for 
the  dining-room  "  to  while  away  the  idle 
moments,"  while  M.  Viollet-le-Duc,  who. 
was  also  there,  painted  a  panel  in  the 
same  room. 

His  sincerity  in  his  work  was  so  great, 
and  he  felt  so  vividly  what  he  painted, 
that  he  was  led  to  say  :  "  When  a  pur- 
chaser desires  a  copy  of  one  of  my  land- 
scapes, it  is  easy  for  me  to  give  it  to  him 
without  again  seeing  the  original,  for  I 
hold  in  my  heart  and  mind's  eye  the 
copy  of  all  my  works." 

He  thought,  —  and  he  had  seen  many 
countries  (having  visited  Italy,  all  of 
France,  Switzerland,  Spain,  and  Eng- 
land), that  God  was  as  eloquent  in  a 
little  corner  of  a  meadow  as  in  the  im- 
mensity of  space,  and  he  could  not  under- 
stand how  a  landscape  painter  needed  to 
go  far  to  find  subjects  and  effects  for  his 
pictures.  He  passed  his  whole  life  in 
the  neighborhood  of  Paris,  and  no  painter 
was  so  productive  as  he.  He  found 
nature  beautiful  everywhere,  and  he 
claimed  that  a  landscape  painter  should 
be  able  to  create  chefs  d'eeuvre  without 
leaving  the  Buttes  Montmarti'e  (a  hilly 
district  in  Paris).  He  did  not  know, 
when  speaking  thus,  that  Michel,  who 
died  poor  and  almost  unknown,  had  there 
made  almost  all  his  masterpieces,  so 
much  sought  after  to-day.  Corot  had  a 
predilection  for  the  sky  of  that  part  of 
France,  and  he  frankly  admitted :  "  I 
allow  myself  to  be  enveloped  by  the 
fleecy  skies  of  Paris." 

If  Corot  did  not  have  a  finished  execu- 
tion, in  the  ordinary  sense  of  the  word, 
if  even  he  only  gave  an  intimation  of 
things,  is  it  not  just  to  add  that  he 
ordinarily  made  you  see  beyond  what  he 
put  on  the  canvas,  —  that  he  controlled 
your  imagination  and  carried  your 
thoughts  with  him?     This  is  the  supreme 


object  of  all  art,  and  no  one  else  has 
approached  the  perfection  which  he 
acquired  in  this  way.  His  painting  is 
soft,  without  glaring  effects  or  contrasts. 
His  pictures  do  not  strike  the  eye  vividly  ; 
a  kind  of  gray  smoke,  vapor,  or  dust 
settles  on  the  ground,  passes  slowly  over 
the  water,  envelops  the  trees,  and  softens 
the  rays  of  light.  If  we  pierce  this  light 
veil,  immense  depths  of  transparent 
shadow  and  a  warm  clearness  are  re- 
vealed to  our  enchanted  eyes.  He  him- 
self explained  it  thus  :  "  To  thoroughly 
enter  into  my  painting,  it  is  necessary,  at 
least,  to  have  the  patience  to  let  the 
mist  float  away;  one  can  penetrate  but 
slowly." 

This  vagueness  and  half  indecision, 
which  angers  the  superficial  observer,  and 
which  he  calls  negligence  in  execution, 
served  Corot  marvellously  in  rendering 
that  very  indecision  of  nature  which 
causes  the  smallest  object  to  be  con- 
stantly changing  its  aspect.  The  foliage 
moves,  the  wind  sighs,  the  sun's  rays 
lengthen  and  shorten,  the  clouds  drift 
across  the  sky,  the  same  view  assumes 
fifty  different  aspects  in  one  day.  With 
these  changes  in  mind,  it  seems  as  if  we 
see  them  in  operation  in  the  pictures  of 
Corot.  His  floating  forms  seem  always 
in  motion.  He  often  said :  "  Do  we 
know  how  to  represent  the  sky,  a  tree,  or 
water  ?  No  ;  we  give  only  the  appear- 
ance of  these  things,  the  remembrance, 
as  it  were.  Of  this  almost  imperceptible 
movement,  we  ought  to  give  the  idea ; 
and  if  I  paint  a  wheel,  the  spokes  of 
which  appear  to  me  to  be  in  a  way  indis- 
tinguishable, I  ought  to  show  that  it 
turns.  As  for  the  sky,  that  is  another 
thing;  it  is  still  or  it  is  moving.  Our 
work  should  not  hold  the  mind  and  eyes 
on  the  canvas,  but  ought  to  carry  away 
eyes,  mind,  and  soul;  and  this  effect  is  far 
from  being  easy  of  attainment." 

He  once  remarked  with  reference  to  a 
splendid  picture  which  he  had  just  fin- 
ished, and  in  the  centre  of  which  was  a 
brilliant  rose-colored  cloud,  spreading  a 
luminous  harmony  over  all :  "  I  believe 
that  this  is  as  good  an  impression  of 
nature  as  fiction  is  of  reality.  Nature  is 
never  the  same  for  two  minutes,"  he 
added,  "  but  it  always  changes  according 


714 


CORU*. 


to  seasons,  weather,  hour  of  the  day, 
amount  of  sunshine,  heat  or  cold  \  all  this 
constitutes  its  physiognomy,  and  all  this 
has  to  be  well  reproduced ;  one  day  it  is 
this,  the  next  day  it  is  that,  and  once 
having  caught  these  various  phases,  a 
harmonious  whole  must  be  evolved  from 
them  before  it  will  resemble  nature.  In 
fact,  it  is  the  same  as  with  a  head  for  a 
portrait ;  the  artist  has  to  investigate  the 
character  of  his  model  to  see  his  joy,  his 
sorrow,  his  anger,  or  any  other  sentiment 
which  may  animate  him  ;  his  touch  must 
indicate  these  distinctive  qualities,  at 
least  in  a  degree,  to  the  end  that  it  be 
not  only  the  sad  or  the  gay  man,  but  the 
entire  mobile  being.  Then  those  who 
have  seen  him  in  different  moods  will 
recognize  him,  and  it  will  be  not  the 
portrait  of  a  moment,  of  a  certain  day 
(such  as  a  photograph  gives),  but  rather 
a  portrait  of  the  man  at  all  times." 

Corot  loved  the  cold  freshness  of  day- 
break, the  morning  mists,  and  the  vague 
stillness  of  the  evening,  with  the  stars 
infinite  ;  and  to  explain  how  he  valued 
the  delicate  shades  of  twilight,  he  said  : 
"When  the  sun  sets  the  sun  of  art  rises." 
Shrugging  his  shoulders,  he  continued  : 
"  I  am  reproached  for  the  vagueness  of 
my  pictures;  but  why?  Nature  floats! 
we  all  float  !  Vagueness  is  the  peculiar- 
ity of  life."  I  may  mention  here  that 
Corot,  as  well  as  Daubigny,  had  a  great 
dislike  for  bright  sunlight.  The  former 
called  the  sun  a  faiseur  d'embarras,  and 
the  latter,  the  grand  charlatan. 

Corot's  formula  being  to  take  nature  in 
its  moving  life,  to  catch  it  on  the  instant, 
he  limited  himself  to  its  decisive  accents, 
insisting  on  these  and  sacrificing  the  rest ; 
this  was  his  whole  esthetique.  This 
resume  execution  was  the  cause  of  the 
strong  objection  brought  against  him  ■ 
but  one  has  to  acknowledge  that  we  see 
completeness  in  this  same  resume.  His 
pictures  tell  us  much  more  than  those  of 
artists  who  minutely  reproduce  every 
detail.  To  those  who  see  only  with  their 
eyes  (and  they  are  the  great  majority), 
the  details  are  the  principal  thing ;  an 
eye  of  a  fly  painted  in  oil,  and  susceptible 
of  being  analyzed  with  a  magnifying  glass, 
is  their  idea. 

These  resumes  of  Corot   are   like   cer- 


tain sketches  of  figures,  which  effectively 
reveal  the  types  and  characteristics  in  a 
few  well-chosen  strokes ;  by  the  elimina- 
tion of  a  multiplicity  of  details  the  true 
aspect  has  been  enhanced,  and  we  have 
not  an  inane  copy  as  a  photograph,  but 
something  of  more  value  —  a  reproduc- 
tion which  is  an  explanation.  Most  as- 
suredly, Corot  was  not  a  man  to  search 
after  details ;  he  knew  well  that  a  land- 
scape painter  is  not  a  naturalist,  and  that 
beauty  in  art  lies  principally  in  harmony 
and  general  impression ;  he  was  more 
preoccupied  with  the  rays  of  the  sun  than 
with  the  spears  of  grass.  Ah  !  how  well 
he  knew  the  secret  of  imparting  to  the 
grasses  and  foliage  those  subdued  and 
voluptuous  tremblings,  caused  by  the 
amorous  breath  of  the  breeze. 

Who  does  not  recollect  the  rambles  of 
this  master  into  the  realms  of  fantasy, 
those  dances  of  the  nymphs,  under  large 
trees,  in  the  Elysian  fields  ?  What  poeti- 
cal conception,  what  grace,  what  happy 
and  charming  peculiarity !  Are  these 
Arcadian  fairies,  or  dryads?  To  which 
mythology,  to  which  world,  belong  these 
vaporous  creatures  with  slender  forms, 
whose  light  movements  hardly  touch  the 
ground?  We  do  not  know,  but  they 
possess  such  a  singular  sentiment,  are 
bathed  in  such  a  liquid  atmosphere,  and 
sing  to  us  in  such  a  sweet  and  seductive 
manner,  that  we  yield  to  them  as  to  a 
dream,  and  enjoy  them  without  at  first 
fully  comprehending  the  underlying  prin- 
ciple of  the  new  conceptions. 

Corot's  exhibition  in  the  Salon  of  1874 
was  the  most  remarkable  and  beautiful 
one  of  his  life.  Three  pictures  were 
shown  :  " Souvenir  d 'Arleux,"  " Le  Soir," 
and  "  Le  Clair  de  Lune."  These  three 
works,  —  justly  called  by  one  of  his 
biographers  "  the  three  parts  of  a  sym- 
phony, the  whole  of  which  might  be  said 
to  represent  the  hours  of  the  day,"  — 
give  us  the  true  effect  of  sunshine,  twi- 
light, and  darkness.  The  artistic  circles 
expected  that  he  would  receive  the  grand 
medal  of  honor  for  this  exhibition,  but  he 
did  not;  we  think,  with  many  others,  that 
real  artistic  merit  went  for  nothing  in 
these  decisions.  His  friends,  a  notable 
party  of  artists  and  many  lovers  of  art, 
came  together  and  decided  to  requite  the 


COROT. 


L^>^y/  i  o^JL 


715 


<-**-~^^l> 


^un^tt  <jvd/^ 


Fac-simile  of  a  Note  of  Corot  sent  to   M    Thurwanger's   Father. 

[My  Dear  Sir, 

I    intend    to    go    to   your   house    and    dine    with    the    family, 
Tuesday,  22d  inst. 

If  I  do  not  receive  a  counter  order,  I  will  be  there  at  3  minutes  of  6. 

Yours  truly, 

C.  Corot. 
Friendly  remembrances  to  the  whole  family,  and  to  Camille  in  particular.] 


injustice  of  the  jury  by  offering  him  a 
gold  medal,  of  the  same  style  and  value 
as  the  official  one,  as  a  token  of  esteem 
and  friendship.  On  the  evening  of  the 
29th  of  December,  1874,  four  or  five 
hundred  people  assembled  at  the  Grand 
Hotel,  and  presented  Corot  with  this 
medal.  But  alas  !  Corot  had  to  make  a 
great  effort  to  be  present  at  the  festivity. 
The  health  of  this  thus  far  indomitable 
man  was  rapidly  declining.  We  did  not 
know  we  gave  this  recompense  to  a  dying 
man;  but  in  reality  it  was  like  pinning 
the  cross  of  honor  to  the  pillow  of  a 
departing  hero. 

His  sickness  made  rapid  progress,  and 
developed  into  dropsy.  He  did  not  have 
any  hopes  of  his  own  recovery,  and  he 
spoke  calmly  of  his  approaching  end  to 
Francais,  who  visited  him  a  few  days 
before    he    submitted    to    an    operation 


which  the  physicians  thought  might  bene- 
fit him.  I  met  Francais  when  he  emerged 
from  Corot's  chamber;  the  tears  which 
he  had  restrained  while  near  the  dying 
man  flowed  from  his  eyes,  and  he  repeated 
the  following  words  of  Corot,  which  have 
more  than  once  been  published : 

"  I  have  reached  the  end,  and  I  have  become 
resigned,  but  it  was  not  easy,  and  I  have  striven  for 
it  a  long  time.  Still,  I  cannot  complain;  I  have 
enjoyed  good  health  for  seventy-eight  years,  have 
had  my  love  of  nature,  painting,  and  work;  my 
family  have  been  honest  people,  I  have  had  many 
friends,  and  I  hope  I  have  done  harm  to  no  one; 
my  lot  in  life  has  been  an  excellent  one;  and  with- 
out any  reproach  to  Destiny  I  can  only  be  thank- 
ful !  I  must  go,  I  know,  but  I  am  loath  to  believe 
it,  and  in  spite  of  myself  I  have  still  some  hope." 

These  words  are  the  last  I  can  give  of 
my  lamented  godfather ;  but  are  they  not 
the  expression  of  a  true  and  profoundly 
human  sentiment? 

At  the  moment  of  entering  eternity,  the 


716 


TO-MORROW. 


peace  of  his  soul  was  complete,  and  he 
was  attacked  by  no  phantom  of  regret  or 
remorse.  Faithful  to  the  nature  he  loved 
so  dearly,  he  turned  his  last  thoughts  to 
her.  The  look  of  ecstacy  which  trans- 
formed his  features  partly  revealed  to  our 
mortal  comprehension  the  transcendent 
views  his  inspired  vision  beheld,  while  his 
fingers  with  their  last  movements  seemed 
to  guide  his  brush. 

Corot's  was  eminently  the  painting  of 
nature  in  a  happy  mood.  His  labor  is  a 
long  dream  of  happiness ;  and  he  died  on 
the  2 2d  of  February,  1875,  nearly  eighty 


years  old,  as  young  and  as  bright  as  at 
twenty.  Such  minds  have  no  age,  for 
they  have  received  from  the  grace  of 
God  the  gift  of  eternal  spring. 

He  is  no  more  !  but  his  work,  however, 
is  here,  living,  triumphant,  and  immortal ! 
His  whole  soul  dwells  in  it,  speaking  to 
our  souls,  and  continuing  through  time 
the  task  which  his  noble  heart  desired  to 
accomplish  —  that  was,  to  show  us  the 
charms  of  nature  by  teaching  us  its  love, 
and  to  make  us  better  by  awakening  in 
our  hearts  the  sweet  emotions  which  he 
felt  himself. 


TO-MORROW- 


I 


By  F.  W.  Clarke. 

S  it  a  cloud  or  mountain  peak 

That  looms  against  the  western  sky? 

A  wreath  of  vapor,  frail  and  weak  ? 
Or  rocky  summit  firm  and  high  ? 

I  cannot  tell ;  mine  eyes  deceive, 
And  cloud  or  mountain  are  as  one ; 

A  clearer  vision,  I  believe, 

Will  greet  me  with  the  morning  sun. 

I  follow  in  the  solar  lead, 

And  ever  westward  take  my  way  : 
To-morrow  I  may  grasp  indeed 

The  truth  I  cannot  reach  to-day. 

But  whether  on  the  mountain  slope 
My  steady  footsteps  climb  the  sky ; 

Or  in  the  clinging  cloud  I  grope. 
Uncertain  where  the  pathways  lie. 

Some  other  morrow  must  there  be, 

When  all  the  prospect,  fair  and  bright, 

From  every  mist  or  vapor  free, 
Shall  dawn  upon  my  waking  sight. 


Cf\AFT 


By   Winfield  S.  Nevins. 
V.     The  Story  of  Rebecca  Nurse. 


REBECCA  NURSE  was  born  in  Yar- 
mouth, England,  and  baptized  there 
on  February  21,  1 6  2 1 .  This  would 
make  her  seventy-one  years  of  age  at  the 
time  of  the  witchcraft  troubles.  She  was 
the  daughter  of  William  Towne,  and  wife  of 
Francis  Nurse  of  Salem  Village.  Nurse 
lived  from  about  1638  to  1678  near  what 
is  now  Skerry  Street  in  the  city  of  Salem. 
His  occupation  was  that  of  tray-maker. 
In  1678,  he  purchased  the  farm  in  Salem 
Village  then  known  as  the  Townsend 
Bishop  farm,  now  better  known  as  the 
Nurse  farm.  The  history  of  the  place  is 
this:  Townsend  Bishop,  on  January  16, 
1636,  received  a  grant  of  three  hundred 
acres  of  land  in  the  Village.  On  this  he 
built  a  substantial  house.  That  house  is 
standing  to-day,  and  is  the  widely-known 
Rebecca  Nurse  house.  Its  identity  is 
proved  beyond  question  by  documentary 
evidence.  Bishop  sold  the  estate,  in 
1 64 1,  to  Henry  Chickering,  who  in  turn 
sold  it  to  Governor  Endicott  in  1648  for 
one  hundred  and  sixty  pounds.  Endicott 
gave  the  farm  to  his  son  John  in  1653, 
but  did  not  execute  the  deed  until  1662. 
The  governor  died  in  1665,  and  a  law- 
suit followed  over  the  will.  It  was  finally 
settled  by  the  General  Court  in  favor  of 
young  John  and  his  wife.  John  died  in 
1668,  and  his  widow  married,  in  August 


of  that  year,  Rev.  Samuel  Allen,  a  minister 
of  the  First  Church  in  Boston.  She  died 
in  1673,  and  thus  the  Bishop  farm 
became  the  property  of  Allen,  who  sold 
it  to  Nurse  in  1678  for  four  hundred 
pounds.  Nurse  was  to  have  twenty-one 
years  in  which  to  pay  for  the  property, 
paying  in  the  mean  time  an  annual  rental 
of  seven  pounds  a  year  during  the  first 
twelve  years  and  ten  pounds  for  each  re- 
maining year. 

The  Nurses  were  blessed  with  eight 
children,  —  Samuel,  John,  Francis,  and 
James,  Rebecca,  wife  of  Thomas  Pres- 
ton ;  Mary,  wife  of  John  Tarbell ;  Eliza- 
beth, wife  of  William  Russell ;  and  Sarah, 
then  unmarried.  They  dwelt  on  the 
farm  or  near  it,  and  in  a  short  time  Nurse 
divided  the  larger  part  among  them.1 
From  all  the  information  that  has  come 
down  to  us,  Salem  Village  contained  no 
more  prosperous,  happy,  and  contented 
family  than  this.  There  were  others  of 
much  greater  wealth,  but  none  that 
promised  more  enjoyment  in  old  age 
than  that  reared  and  established  at  Salem 
Village  by  Francis  Nurse  and  his  wife 
Rebecca.  He  had  been  prominent  and 
honored  in  the  communities  where  he 
dwelt.     She  was  an  intelligent,  pious,  de- 

1 1  am  indebted  to  the  diligent  researches  of  Mr.  Upham 
for  the  information  about  the  Bishop-Nurse  farm,  also  for 
an  account  of  the  lawsuit  which  followed  the  purchase. 


718 


STORIES    OF  SALEM   WITCHCRAFT. 


vout  woman,  a  veritable  "  mother  in 
Israel."  Against  her  good  name  and 
fair  fame  no  breath  of  suspicion  had  yet 
been  uttered.  The  first  trouble  appears 
to  have  come  to  this  family  soon  after  the 
purchase  of  the  Bishop  farm.  Allen  had 
guaranteed  the  title.  He  was  soon  called 
upon  to  defend  it  against  the  claims  of 
Zerubabel  Endicott,  who  claimed  a 
boundary  line  to  the  Endicott  posses- 
sions that  pushed  back  the  eastern  bounds 
of  the  Bishop  farm.  The  controversy 
was  a  long  one,  going  finally  to  the  Gen- 
eral Court  for  settlement.  It  was  de- 
cided against  Endicott.  Nurse,  to  be 
sure,  was  only  indirectly  interested  in  the 
suit.  Allen  was  the  principal,  and  he 
kept  his  promise  to  defend  the  title. 
Thomas  Putnam  became  involved  in  the 
suit.  Some  writers  allege  that  Nurse 
thus  incurred  his  hostility,  and  that  this 
was  one  of  the  incentives  to  the  sub- 
sequent prosecution  of  Rebecca  Nurse. 
It  would  seem  that  Putnam,  if  anything, 
was  united  with  Allen  and  Nurse  in  fight- 
ing Endicott.  It  is  far  more  likely  that 
the  Topsfield  controversy  engendered  ill- 
feeling  between  the  Village  people  and 
the  Nurse  family.  This  affair  may  as 
well  be  narrated  at  this  point. 

In  1636,  the  General  Court  defined  the 
bounds  of  Salem,  Ipswich,  and  Newbury 
as  extending  six  miles  into  the  country, 
measuring  from  their  respective  meeting- 
houses. Three  years  later,  the  same 
power,  in  consideration  that  the  in- 
habitants of  Salem  had  agreed  to  plant  a 
village  near  the  river  that  runs  to  Ips- 
wich, ordered  that  all  lands  near  their 
bounds  between  Salem  and  the  river,  not 
belonging  to  any  person  or  town  by  former 
grant,  should  belong  to  said  Village.  The 
farmers  of  Salem  Village  thereupon  began 
to  push  settlements  beyond  the  six-mile 
limit.  They  cleared  the  forests  and  built 
houses.  In  1643,  the  General  Court,  un- 
mindful of  its  grant  to  the  Salem  Village 
people,  authorized  the  inhabitants  of 
Ipswich  to  locate  on  the  same  territory 
and  establish  a  village.  The  town  of  Ips- 
wich was  incorporated  October  18,  1650, 
and  in  1658,  a  portion  of  the  disputed 
land  was  made  a  part  of  the  town.  This 
brought  into  direct  conflict  the  Village 
men,  who  had  taken  up  lands  under  the 


vote  of  the  General  Court  in  1639,  and 
those  who  settled  under  the  act  of  1643. 
John  Putnam  of  the  Village  and  others 
of  his  great  family  and  of  the  settlement 
met  the  Easteys  and  Townes  of  Tops- 
field  on  the  disputed  ground  and  had 
angry  words  with  them.  Not  until  1728, 
when  the  town  of  Middleton  was  incor- 
porated, to  include  most  of  the  disputed 
territory  from  the  Village  and  Topsfield, 
was  the  dispute  settled. 

Isaac  Eastey's  wife  was  sister  of  Re- 
becca Nurse.  The  Townes,  John,  and 
Joseph,  Jr.,  were  nearly  related  to  her. 
While  most  of  the  inhabitants  of  the 
Village  took  sides  against  the  Topsfield 
men,  the  Nurse  family  supported  them. 
When  the  Village  meeting  passed  a  pro- 
test against  the  Topsfield  claim,  Samuel 
Nurse,  Rebecca's  oldest  son,  and  Thomas 
Preston,  her  son-in-law,  entered  their 
written  dissent.  WThether  this  long  and 
bitter  controversy  had  anything  to  do 
with  the  prosecution  of  Rebecca  Nurse 
and  Mary  Eastey  is  left  to  conjecture.  It 
is  certain  that  Thomas  Preston  joined 
with  Thomas  and  Edward  Putnam  in 
signing  the  complaint  against  Sarah  Good 
in  1692.  Does  not  this  indicate  that 
whatever  ill-feelings  arose  from  the  Tops- 
field  feud,  thirty  years  before,  had  been 
entirely  forgotten,  or  at  least  forgiven  ? 

The  complaint  against  Rebecca  Nurse 
was  made  by  these  same  Putnams,  Thomas 
and  Edward.  They  complained  against 
her  for  "vehement  suspicion  of  having 
committed  sundry  acts  of  witchcraft " 
upon  Mrs.  Ann  Putnam,  Ann  Putnam, 
Jr.,  and  Abigail  Williams.  The  justices 
issued  their  warrant  on  March  23.  On 
the  following  day,  Marshal  Herrick  made 
return  that  he  had  "  apprehended  the 
within  named  Rebecca  Nurse  and  lodged 
her  at  Nathaniel  Ingersoll's."  The  ex- 
amination took  place  on  the  24th.  The 
record  of  that  examination,  as  made  by 
Rev.  Samuel  Parris  at  the  request  of  the 
magistrates,  was  as  follows  : 

What  do  you  say  (speaking  to  one  of  the 
afflicted)  — have  you  seen  this  woman  hurt  you? 

—  Yes,  she  beat  me  this  morning. 

Abigail,  have  you  been   hurt   by  this  woman? 

—  Yes. 

Ann  Putnam  in  a  grievious  fit  cried  out,  that 
she  hurt  her. 
Goody  Nurse,  here   are  two,  Ann   Putnam  the 


STORIES    OF  SALEM    WITCHCRAFT. 


719 


child  and  Abigail  Williams,  complain  of  your 
hurting  them.  What  do  you  say  to  it?  —  I  can 
say  before  my  Eternal  Father  I  am  innocent  and 
God  will  clear  my  innocency. 

Here  is  never  a  one  in  the  assembly  but  desires 
it.     But  if  you  be  guilty,  pray  God  discover  you. 

Then  Hen.  Kenny  rose  up  to  speak.  Goodm. 
Kenny,  what  do  you  say?  Then  he  entered  his 
complaint  and  farther  said  that  since  this  Nurse 
came  into  the  house  he  was  seized  twice  with 
amas'd  condition.  Here  are  not  only  these  but 
here  is  ye  wife  of  Mr.  Thomas  Putnam  who 
accuseth  you  by  credible  information  &  that  both 
of  tempting  her  to  iniquity  and  of  greatly  hurting 
her.  —  I  am  innocent  &  clear  &  have  not  been  able 
to  get  out  of  doors  these  8  or  9  days  . 

Mr.  Putnam,  give  in  what  you  have  to  say. 
Then  Mr.  Edward  Putnam  gave  in  his  relate. 

Is  this  true,  Goody  Nurse?  —  I  never  afflicted 
no  child,  never  in  my  life.  —  You  see  these  accuse 
you.     Is  it  true?  —  No. 

Are  you   an  innocent  person  relating   to  this 
witchcraft?  —  Here  Thomas  Putnam's  wife  cried 
out,  Did  you  not  bring  the  black  man  with  you? 
Did  you  not  bid  me  tempt  God  and 
dye?     How  oft  have  you  eat  and 
drunk  your  own  damnation. 

What  do  you  say  to  them?  —  O 
Lord,  help  me,  —  &  spread  out  her 
hands  &  the  afflicted  were  grievi- 
ously  vexed. 

***** 

Do  not  you  see  these  afflicted 
persons  &  hear  them  accuse  you. 
—  The  Lord  knows  I  have  not  hurt 
them.     I  am  an  innocent  person. 

It  is  very  awful  for  all  to  see 
these  agonies  and  you  an  old  pro- 
fessor, thus  charged  with  contract- 
ing with  the  devil  by  the  effects  of 
it,  and  yet  to  see  you  stand  with 
dry  eyes  when  there  are  so  many 
wet.  —  You  do  not  know  my  heart. 

You  would  do  well  if  you  are 
guilty  to  confess  and  give  glory  to 
God.  —  I  am  as  clear  as  the  child  unborn. 

What  uncertainty  there  may  be  in  apparitions 
I  know  not,  yet  this  with  me  strikes  hard  upon 
you,  that  you  are  at  this  very  present  charged 
with  familiar  spirits,  this  is  your  bodily  person 
they  speak  to.  They  say  now  they  see  these 
familiar  spirits  come  to  your  bodily  person,  now 
what  do  you  say  to  that?  —  I  have  none,  sir. 

Possibly  you  may  apprehend  you  are  no  witch, 
but  have  you  not  been  led  aside  by  temptations 
that  way?  —  I  have  not. 

Tell  us,  have  you  not  had  vissible  appearances 
more  than  what  is  common  in  nature?  —  I  have 
none  nor  never  had  in  my  life. 

Do  you  think  these  suffer  voluntary  or  in- 
voluntary?—  I  cannot  tell. 

That  is  strange,  every  one  can  judge.  —  I  must 
be  silent. 

They  accuse  you  of  hurting  them,  &  if  you 
think  it  is  not  unwillingly  but  by  design,  you  must 
look  upon  them  as  murderers.  —  I  cannot  tell 
what  to  think  of  it. 

Afterwards  when   this  was  somewhat   insisted 


on  she  said,  I  do  not  think  so.  She  did  not 
understand  aright  what  was  said. 

Well,  then,  give  an  answer  now,  do  you  think 
these  suffer  against  their  wills  or  not?  —  I  do  not 
think  these  suffer  against  their  wills. 

Why  did  you  never  visit  these  afflicted 
persons?  —  Because  I  was  afraid  I  should  have 
fits,  too. 

Upon  motion  of  her  body  fits  followed  upon  the 
complainants  abundantly  and  very  frequently. 

Is  it  not  an  unaccountable  case  that  when  you 
are  examined  these  persons  are  afflicted?  —  I 
have  got  nobody  to  look  to  but  God. 

Again  upon  stirring  her  hands  the  afflicted 
persons  were  seized  with  violent  fits  of  torture. 

Do  you  believe  these  afflicted  persons  are  be- 
witched?—  I  do  think  they  are. 

When  this  witchcraft  came  upon  the  stage 
there  was  no  suspicion  of  Tituba  (Mr.  Parris's  In- 
dian woman),  she  professed  much  love  to  that 
child,  Betty  Parris,  but  it  was  her  apparition  did 
the  mischief,  and  why  should  not  you  also,  be 
guilty,  for  your  apparition  doth  hurt  also?  — 
Would  you  have  me  belie  myself? 


Nathaniel   Felton,  Sr.,   House, 

She  held  her  neck  on  one  side  and  accordingly 
so  were  the  afflicted  taken. 

Then  authority  requiring  it,  Sam.  Parris  read 
what  he  had  in  characters  taken  from  Mr.  Thomas 
Putnam's  wife  in  her  fits. 

What  do  you  think  of  this?  —  I  cannot  help  it, 
the  devil  may  appear  in  my  shape. 

This  is  a  true  account  of  the  sum  of  her  ex- 
amination, but  by  reason  of  great  noises  by  the 
afflicted  and  many  speakers,  many  things  are  pre- 
termitted memorandum. 

Nurse  held  her  head  on  one  side  and  Elizabeth 
Hubbard  (one  of  the  sufferers)  had  her  neck  set 
in  that  posture,  whereupon  another  patient, 
Abagail  Williams,  cried  out,  set  up  Goody  Nurse's 
head,  the  maid's  neck  will  be  broke,  and 
when  some  set  up  Nurse's  head,  Aaron  May  ob- 
served that  Betty  Hubbard's  was  immediately 
righted. 

Salem  Village,  March  24th,  16^.  The  Rev. 
Samuel  Parris  being  desired  to  take  in  writing  the 
examination  of  Rebecca  Nurse  hath  returned  it  as 
aforesaid,  and  seeing  what  we  then  did  see  to- 


720 


STORIES    OF  SALEM    WITCHCRAFT. 


gether  with  the  charge  of  the  persons  then  present 
we  committed  Rebecca  Nurse,  the  wife  of  Francis 
Nurse  of  Salern  Village  unto  their  majesties'  goal 
in  Salem  as  per  a  mittimus  then  given  out  in 
order  to  further  examination. 

John  Hathorne,     \ 
Jonathan  Corwin,  j  ass  s' 

Goody  Nurse  remained  in  jail  until  the 
first  of  June,  when  she  was  brought  be- 
fore the  grand  jury.  On  June  2,  the  jury 
returned  four  indictments  against  her. 
The  first  was  for  afflicting  Ann  Putnam 
on  March  24  ;  the  second  and  third  for 
afflicting  Mary  Walcott  and  Elizabeth 
Hubbard  on  the  same  day,  and  the  fourth 
charged  her  with  afflicting  Abigail  Wil- 
liams. It  will  be  noticed  that  the  date 
of  the  offences  alleged  in  these  several 
indictments  is  that  of  the  day  of  the  pre- 
liminary examination.  The  same  is  no- 
ticeable in  most  of  these  witchcraft  cases. 
In  few  of  the  indictments  is  the  same 
date  of  offence  alleged  as  in  the  original 
complaint  before  the  justices.  At  the 
trial  which  followed,  Ann  Putnam  deposed 
that  on  the  13th  of  March  she 

"  Saw  the  apparition  of  Goody  Nurse,  and  she 
did  immediately  afflict  me,  but  I  did  not  know 
what  her  name  was  then,  though  I  knew  where 
she  used  to  sit  in  our  meeting  house,  but  since 
that  she  hath  grievously  afflicted  by  biting,  pinch- 
ing, and  pricking  me,  and  urging  me  to  write  in 
her  book  and  also  on  the  4th  day  of  March,  being 
the  day  of  her  examination,  I  was  grievously  tor- 
tured by  her  during  the  time  of  her  examination, 
and  also  several  times  since,  and  also  during  the 
time  of  her  examination  I  saw  the  apparition  of 
Rebecca  Nurse  go  and  hurt  the  bodies  of  Mercy 
Lewis,  Mary  Walcott,  Elizabeth  Hubbard,  and 
Abigail  Williams." 

The  deposition  of  Mary  Walcott  was  in 
about  the  same  language  as  the  above, 
save  that  the  apparition  of  Rebecca 
Nurse  would  kill  her  if  she  did  not  write 
in  the  book,  and  that  Nurse  "  told  her 
she  had  a  hand  in  the  death  of  Benjamin 
Houlton,  John  Harvvood,  Rebecca  Shep- 
ard,  and  several  others."  She  saw  the 
apparition  of  Goody  Nurse  during  her 
examination  go  and  hurt  the  bodies  of 
Ann  Putnam,  Mercy  Lewis,  Elizabeth 
Hubbard  and  Abigail  Williams.  The  de- 
positions of  Elizabeth  Hubbard  and  Abi- 
gail Williams  differed  but  little  in  tenor 
or  in  language  from  the  above.  Williams 
claimed  to  have  been  afflicted  by  Nurse 
on  March  15,  16,  20,  21,  23,  31,  and 
also  on  several   days  in  May.     Nurse  had 


tempted  her  to  leap  into  the  fire,  and 
she  had  "  seen  the  apparition  of  a  sacra- 
ment sitting  next  to  [the  man]  with  an 
high  crowned  hat."  It  had  also  confessed 
to  her  "  its  guilt  in  committing  several 
murders  together  with  her  sister  Cloys." 
The  testimony  of  Sarah  Vibber  appears  to 
have  been  given  later  in  the  month,  for 
she  deposed  to  being  pinched  and  choked 
by  the  apparition  of  Rebecca  Nurse  on 
June  27.  Among  the  other  depositions 
in  the  case  are  the  following  : 

"  The  deposition  of  Johannah  Childin  [Shel- 
don] testifieth  and  saith  that  upon  the  2d  of  June, 
1692,  that  the  aperition  of  Goody  Nuss  and 
Goodman  Harvvood  did  apeare  to  her  and  the 
said  Harvvood  did  look  Goody  Nuss  in  the  face 
and  said  to  her  that  she  did  murder  him  by  push- 
ing him  off  the  cart  and  strock  the  breath  out  of 
his  body." 

Edward  Putnam  deposed  that  "  on  March  26 
Ann  Putnam,  sen.,  was  bitten  by  Rebecca  Nurs 
as  she  said  did,  about  2  of  the  clock  the  same 
day  she  was  strock  with  a  chane  the  mark  being 
in  a  band  of  a  round  ring  and  three  stroaks  across 
the  ring  she  had  six  bios  with  a  chane  in  the 
space  of  half  an  ower,  and  she  had  one  remark- 
able one  with  six  stroakes  across  her  arme.  I  saw 
the  mark  both  of  bite  and  chane." 

Sarah  Holten's  deposition  is  the  only 
paper  among  all  those  on  file  that  gives 
any  information  that  Rebecca  Nurse  ever 
had  trouble  with  her  neighbors,  or  ever 
was  called  a  railer  and  brawler.  Perhaps 
in  this  case,  allowance  should  be  made 
for  the  possible  exaggeration  of  an  angry 
and  excited  neighbor.  The  Widow  Houl- 
ton deposed  as  follows  : 

"  About  this  time  three  years  ago,  my  dear  & 
loving  husband,  Benjamin  Houlten,  deceased,  was 
as  well  as  ever  I  knew  him  in  my  life,  till  one 
Saturday  morning  that  Rebecca  Nurse  who  now 
stands  charged  for  witchcraft  came  to  our  house 
and  fell  railing  at  him  because  our  pigs  got  into 
her  field,  though  our  pigs  were  sufficiently  yoked 
and  their  fence  was  down  in  several  places,  yet  all 
we  could  say  to  her  could  no  ways  pacify  her 
but  she  continued  railing  and  scolding  for  a  great 
while,  calling  to  her  son  Benjamin  Nurse  to  go 
and  get  a  gun  and  kill  our  pigs  and  let  none  of 
them  go  out  of  the  field,  though  my  poor  husband 
gave  her  never  a  misbeholding  word,  and  within 
a  short  time  after  this  my  poor  husband,  going 
out  very  early  in  the  morning,  as  he  was  coming 
in  again  he  was  taken  with  a  strange  fit  in  the 
entry  being  struck  blind  and'  struck  down  two  or 
three  times  so  that  when  he  came  to  himself  he 
told  me  he  thought  he  should  never  have  come 
into  the  house  any  more,  and  all  summer  after  he 
continued  in  a  languishing  condition  being  much 
pained  at  his  stomach  and  often  struck  blind  but 
about   a  fortnight  before  he   died  he  was  taken 


STORIES    OF  SALEM    WITCHCRAFT. 


721 


with  strange  and  violent  fits  acting  much  like  to 
our  poor  beloved  parsons  [persons]  when  we 
thought  they  would  have  died  and  the  doctor  that 
was  with  him  could  not  find  what  his  distemper 
was,  and  the  day  before  he  died  he  was  chearly, 
but  about  midnight  he  was  again  most  violently 
seized  upon  with  violent  fits  till  the  next  night 
about  midnight  he  departed  this  life  by  a  cruel 
death." 

The  following  depositions  found  on  the 
court  files  indicate  that  there  were  those 
who  dared  to  testify  in  behalf  of  the 
accused.  I  quote  both  exactly  as  they 
appear  in  the  originals  : 

"  John  Tarbell  being  at  the  house  of  Thomas 
Putnam  upon  the  28th  day  of  this  instant  March, 
being  the  year  1692,  upon  discourse  of  many 
things  I  asked  them  some  questions  and  among 
others  I  asked  this  question  whether  the  garle 
that  was  afflicted  did  first  speak  of  Goody  Nurse 
before  others  mentioned  her,  they  said  she  told 
them  she  saw  the  apparishtion  of  a  pale-fast  woman 
that  sat  in  her  gran-mother's  seat  but  did  not  know 
her  name,  then  I  replied  and  said,  but  who  was  it 
that  told  her  that  it  was  Good  Nurs;  Mercy  Lewis 
said  it  was  Goody  Putnam  that  said  it  was  Goody 
Nurs,  Goody  Putnam  said  it  was  Mercy  Lewes 
that  told  her;  thus  they  turned  it  upon  one 
another,  saying  it  was  you  and  it  was  you  that 
told  her,  this  was  before  any  was  afflicted  at 
Thomas  Putnam's  beside  his  daughter,  that  they 
told  his  daughter  it  was  Goody  Nurs.  Samuel 
Nurs  doth  testifie  too  all  above  written. 


"  We  whos  names  are  underwritten  cane  testifie 
if  cald  to  it  that  Goodde  Nurs  have  beene  troubled 
with  an  infirmity  of  body  for  many  years  which 
the  juries  of  women  seem  to  be  afraid  of  som- 
thing  else.      Rbcah  Preson,  Mary  Tarbel." 

This  last  statement  refers  to  the  witch 
mark  alleged  to  have  been  found  on  the 
body  of  Rebecca  Nurse.  One  of  the 
theories  of  the  age  was  that  the  devil  set 
his  mark  upon  each  of  his  servants  ;  that 
witches  were  all  marked.  A  jury  of  the 
sex  of  the  accused  was  appointed  to  ex- 
amine the  body  for  such  marks.  It  often 
happened  that  some  excresence  of  flesh 
common  to  old  people,  or  one  explain- 
able by  natural  causes,  was  found.  One 
such  was  found  on  the  body  of  Goody 
Nurse,  and  reported  to  the  court,  all  but 
one  of  the  jury  agreeing  to  the  report. 
Rebecca  Preston  and  Mary  Tarbell  knew 
that  the  mark  was  from  natural  causes. 
The  prisoner  stated  to  the  court  that  the 
dissenting  woman  of  the  jury  of  examin- 
ation was  one  of  the  most  ancient,  skilful 
and  prudent,  and  further  declared,  "I 
there  rendered  a  sufficient  known  reason 
of  the  moving  cause  thereof."  She  asked 
for  the  appointment  of  another  jury  to 
inquire    into   the  case  and   examine   the 


'22 


STORIES    OF  SALEM    WITCHCRAFT. 


marks  found  on  her  person.  No  docu-  sultation.1  Even  then  they  could  not 
ments  have  been  found  to  indicate  whether  agree  upon  a  verdict  of  guilty.  They 
her  request  was  granted.  Probably  it  was  returned  to  the  court  room  and  desired 
not.  that    the    accused     explain    the    remark. 

The  jury  of  trials  returned  a  verdict  of     She   made   no   response,  and  the  jury  re- 
not  guilty.     Thereupon  all   the   accusers     turned   a   verdict    of    guilty.     On    being 
in  court  "cried  out"  with  renewed  vigor     informed  that  her  silence  had  been  con- 
and  were   taken  in  the  most  violent  fits,     strued  as  a  confession  of  guilt,  the  pris- 
oner   made    this 
statment  : 

"  These  presence  do 
humbly  show  to  the 
honored  court  and  jury, 
that  I  being  informed 
that  the  jury  brought  me 
in  guilty  upon  my  saying 
that  Goodwife  Hobbs 
and  her  daughter  were 
of  our  company;  but  I 
intended  no  otherwise 
than  as  they  were  pris- 
oners with  us,  and  there- 
fore did  then,  and  yet 
do  judge  them  not  legal 
evidence  against  their 
fellow  prisoners,  and  I 
being  something  hard  of 
hearing,  and  full  of  grief, 
none  informing  me  how 
the  court  took  up  my 
words,  and  therefore  had 
not  an  opportunity  to 
declare  what  I  intended 
when  I  said  they  were  of 
our  company." 

Grave  charges  have 
been    made    against 
the   chief  justice   in 
this     case    by    some 
writers,  to  the  effect 
that  he  fairly  forced 
the  jury   to    go    out 
after  the  verdict  of 
not  guilty,  and  that 
he     practically    told 
them  to  reverse  the 
verdict.       Thomas 
Fisk,     one     of     the 
jury  m  e  n,    made    a 
statement    a     few- 
days    after    the    trial,   in   which  he   says, 
the    court     '-objected     to     the    verdict," 
and     "manifested     dissatisfaction,"     and 
"  several  of  the  jury  declared  themselves 
desirous  to  go  out  again  and  thereupon  the 
court     gave    leave."      He    further    stated 
that  he  "could  not  tell  how  to  take  the 
words  in  question  till  she  had  further  op- 

1   Neal's  New  England,  ii,  143:  Calef,  Fowler's  Ed..  251 


The   Nurse   Monument 

rolling  and  tumbling  about,  creating  a 
scene  of  the  wildest  confusion.  The 
judges  told  the  jurymen  that  they  had 
not  carefully  considered  one  expression 
of  the  prisoner,  namely  that  when  one 
Hobbs,  a  confessing  witch,  was  brought 
in  as  evidence  against  her  she  said : 
"What,  do  you  bring  her?  She  is  one 
of  us."     The  jury  retired  for  further  con- 


STORIES    OF  SALEM    WITCHCRAFT. 


'23 


portunity  to  put  her  sense  upon  them"; 
that  going  into  court  and  mentioning  the 
words  and  she  making  no  reply  or  inter- 
pretation   of    them,    "whereupon    these 


What  then  must  have  been  the  feelings  of 
this  woman  as  she  stood  in  the  presence 
of  her  almost  life-long  church,  a  church 
which  she  loved,  and  to  which  she  had 
been  true  and  loyal  for  more 
than  half  a  century,  with  the 
chains  of  a  condemned  witch 
clanking  about  her  withered 
and  tottering  limbs,  and  heard 
the  awful  doom  of  her  soul 
pronounced  ? 

Immediately  on  the  reprieve 
being  granted,  the  afflicted 
renewed  their  clamors.  They 
claimed  to  be  again  grievously 


Jonathan    Putnam   House,    Danvers. 

words  were   to  me  a  principal  evi- 
dence against  her."1 

It  is  plain  from  all  the  evidence 
upon  this  point,  that  had  the  court 
as  counsel  for  the  accused,  which  it 
was  then  in  the  theory  of  the  law, 
guarded  her  interests,  Rebecca 
Nurse  would  not  have  been  con- 
victed. The  question  propounded 
to  her  by  the  jury  would  have  been  so 
explained  that  she  could  understand  and 
answer  it.  After  conviction  she  was  sen- 
tenced to  be  hanged.  The  governor 
granted  a  reprieve.  Thereupon,  she  was 
excommunicated  from  the  church,  as  the 
following  from  the  records  of  the  First 
Church  in  Salem  will  show  : 

1692.  July  3.  After  sacrament,  the  elders 
propounded  to  the  church,  and  it  was  by  unani- 
mous vote  consented  to,  that  our  sister  Nurse, 
being  a  convicted  witch  by  the  court,  and  con- 
demned to  die,  should  be  excommunicated;  which 
was  accordingly  done  in  the  afternoon,  she  being 
present. 

Upham  says  this  was  meant  to  be  un- 
derstood as  an  eternal  doom.2  People  in 
those  days  looked  upon  excommunication 
from  the  church  as  expulsion  from  heaven. 

1  Fisk  quoted  the  exclamation  thus:  "What,  do  these 
persons  give  in  evidence  against  me  now?  They  used  to 
come  among  us."  This  differs  very  materially  from  the 
words  quoted  above  from  Neal  and  Calef. 

2  Salem  Witchcraft,  ii,  391. 


Sarah   Houlten    House,    Peabody. 

afflicted.  Their  renewed  complaints,  the 
action  of  the  church  at  Salem,  and  the 
clamors  of  "some  Salem  gentlemen" 
influenced  the  governor  to  recall  the 
reprieve  and  approve  the  sentence.  Re- 
becca Nurse  was,  therefore,  on  July  19, 
carted  to  the  summit  of  Gallows  Hill  and 
hanged. 

"  They  hanged  this  weary  woman  there, 
Like  any  felon  stout : 
Her  white  hairs  on  the  cruel  rope 
Were  scattered  all  about."  3 

Chapter  VII.     Rev.  George  Burroughs. 

In  speaking  of  Rev.  George  Bur- 
roughs, it  seems  proper  to  allude  briefly 
to  the  early  history  of  Salem  Village 
church.  The  witchcraft  prosecutions 
have  sometimes  been  attributed  to  the 
feelings  engendered  by  the  disagreements 
over  the  settlement  of  a   pastor  of  the 

3  "  The  Death  of  Goody  Nurse,"  by  Rose  Terry  Cooke. 


24 


STORIES    OF  SALEM    WITCHCRAFT. 


parish.  Up  to  167 1,  the  people  of  Salem 
Village  worshipped  with  the  mother 
church  in  Salem.  On  March  22,  of  that 
year,  the  town  of  Salem  voted  that  the 
farmers  at  the  Village  should  "  have  lib- 
erty to  have  a  minister  by  themselves,  and 
when  they  should  provide  and  pay  him 
in  a  maintenance  they  should  be  dis- 
charged from    their    part    of    the  Salem 


Burroughs  put  his  finger  in  the  bung  of  a  barrel  of  cider  and  lifted  it  up 


minister's  maintenance."  l  A  meeting 
house  was  erected,  and  in  October  Rev. 
James  Bayley  became  minister  of  the 
parish.  Some  dissatisfaction  was  mani- 
fested with  the  manner  of  his  call.  The 
feeling  increasing  in  intensity,  an  appeal 
was  made  to  the  parent  church  in  Salem. 
Among  Bayley's  opponents  were  Nathaniel 
Putnam  and  Bray  Wilkins,  men  of  wealth 
and  influence  in  the  community.  The 
dispute  finally  reached  the  General 
Court.  That  body  decided  in  favor  of 
the  minister,  and  ordered  that  he  be  con- 
tinued and  settled,  and  be  allowed  ^£6o 
per  annum,  one   third  in  money  and  two 

1  Salem  Town  Records;  Hanson's  Hist.  Danvers,  223. 


thirds  in  provisions  and  fuel  for  his  fam- 
ily. 2  The  people  of  the  parish  paid  no 
attention  to  this  order,  and  in  1679,  ^r- 
Bayley  resigned.  Bayley  came  to  the 
Village  from  Newbury,  where  he  had 
married  Mary  Carr.  His  wife's  sister, 
Ann  Carr,  accompanied  them  to  Salem 
Village,  where,  in  1678,  she  married 
Sergeant  Thomas  Putnam, :i  of  whom  we 
shall  hear  much  before  we 
have  finished  this  story.  This 
united  the  minister's  family 
with  the  wealthiest  and  most 
powerful  family  in  the  place. 

George  Burroughs  was  en- 
gaged as  preacher  in  place  of 
Mr.  Bayley  in  1680.  Gradu- 
ating from  Harvard  in  1670, 
he  early  went  into  the  district 
of  Maine  to  preach,  and  dwelt 
for  some  time  at  Casco,  now 
Portland,  where  he  received  a 
grant  of  150  acres  of  land  in 
a  section  now  the  very  heart 
of  the  city.  This  land  he 
generously  gave  to  the  town  in 
later  years.  Mr.  Burroughs 
early  encountered  hostility  in 
his  new  parish  in  Danvers  as 
was  quite  natural,  from  the 
partisans  of  his  predecessor. 
His  salary  was  not  promptly 
paid,  and  when,  in  1681,  his 
wife  died,  he  had  no  money  to 
pay  the  funeral  expenses.  A 
violent  dispute  raged  in  the 
parish  between  the  Bayley  and 
anti-Bayley  factions,  and  Bur- 
roughs gave  up  the  pastorate 
in  1682.  Even  this  did  not  end  his 
troubles.  He  came  back  from  Maine, 
whither  he  had  moved,  to  "  get  a 
reckoning "  or  settlement,  and  was 
arrested  for  a  debt  due  to  John  Putnam. 
Yet  on  the  very  day  of  his  arrest,  he  had 
signed  an  order  for  the  payment  to 
Thomas  Putnam  of  the  amount  due  to 
himself  from  the  parish.  It  appears  by  a 
bill  on  file  on  the  records  that  when  Bur- 
roughs's  wife  died,  John  Putnam  allowed 
him  to  buy  two  gallons  of  Canary  rum, 
some  cloth  and  other  articles  on  his  ac- 
count.    The  debt  was  for  less  than  £,\\y 

2  Salem  Witchcraft,  i.,  247. 

3  Savage's   Genealogical  Dictionary. 


STORIES    OF  SALEM   WITCHCRAFT. 


725 


and  the  parish  owed  Burroughs  ^33  6  s 
8d.,  so  that  Putnam  was  amply  secured.  l 
We  can  look  upon  his  arrest  of  Bur- 
roughs, in  no  other  light  than  as  a  case 
of  personal  spite  and  malicious  prosecu- 
tion. 

Rev.  Deodat  Lawson  succeeded  Mr. 
Burroughs,  coming  to  the  village  in  1684. 
He  found  much  discord  prevailing,  not 
only  over  the  settlements  of  Bayley  and 
Burroughs  but  also  over  the  parish 
records,  which  it  was  alleged  had  not 
been  correctly  kept  during  their  minis- 
tries. Both  disputes  were  referred  to 
members  of  the  church  in  Salem  for  ad- 
vice. The  advice  given  was  that  certain 
changes  be  made  in  the  records.  Har- 
mony could  not  be  secured,  however,  and 
Mr.  Lawson  withdrew  in  1688.  Follow- 
ing him  came  Rev.  Samuel  Parris,  who 
was  ordained  on  Monday,  Nov.  18,  1689. 
It  is  evident,  therefore,  that  from  the 
calling  of  Mr.  Bayley  in  1671  to  the 
ordination  of  Mr.  Parris  in  1689,  there 
was  wanting  in  the  parish  that  harmony 
so  essential  to  church  prosperity.  That 
the  disagreements  about  the  settlements 
of  the  different  pastors  and  over  the  par- 
ish records  affected  the  minds  of  the 
people  after  the  witchcraft  delusions  ap- 
peared among  them  there  is  little  doubt. 
That  it  was  the  cause  of  the  first  charges 
being  made  seems  hardly  probable. 

George  Burroughs,  on  leaving  Salem 
Village,  returned  to  Casco,  Maine.  He 
remained  there  a  long  time,  for  he  and 
others  were  there  in  1690  when  the  set- 
tlement was  raided  by  Indians.  Bur- 
roughs then  went  to  Wells,  Maine,  and 
preached  a  year  or  more.  There  he  was 
living  in  peace  and  quietness  when  the 
messenger  from  Portsmouth  came  to  ar- 
rest him,  at  the  demand  of  the  Salem 
magistrates,  in  1692.  After  leaving 
Salem  Village  he  had  married  a  third 
wife,  a  woman  who  had  been  previously 
married  and  had  children  of  her  own, 
for  after  Burrough's  death,  when  the 
Massachusetts  colony  granted  compensa- 
tion to  his  family,  his  children  complained 
that  the  third  Mrs.  Burroughs  took  the 
entire  amount  for  herself  and  her  chil- 
dren. 2      Mr.    Burroughs   was    a    small, 

1  Salem  Witchcraft,  n,  262. 

2  Essex  Court  Record  . 


black-haired,  dark-complexioned  man,  of 
quick  passions,  and  possessing  great 
strength. 3  We  shall  see,  by  the  testi- 
mony to  be  quoted  further  on,  that  most 
of  the  evidence  against  him  consisted  of 
marvellous  tales  of  his  great  feats  of 
strength.  We  are  told  that,  "  his  power 
of  muscle  discovered  itself  early  when 
Burroughs  was  a  member  of  Cambridge 
college,  which  fact  convinces  us,  that  he 
lifted  the  gun  and  the  barrel  of  molasses 
by  the  power  of  his  own  well-strung 
muscle  and  not  by  any  help  of  the 
devil."4  Sullivan  in  his  history  of 
Maine,  says  that  Burroughs  was  a  man  of 
bad  character  and  cruel  disposition. 
Fowler  declares  that  his  researches  lead 
him  to  a  different  conclusion. 4  Increase 
Mather  wrote  that  the  testimony  "  proved 
him  a  very  ill  man,"  and  confirmed  the 
belief  of  the  character  which  had  been 
already  fastened  on  him.  Cotton  Mather 
says  in  his  account  that  "  his  tergiversa- 
tions, contradictions,  and  falsehoods  were 
very  sensible  at  his  examination  and  on 
his  trial."  Hutchinson  says  of  Bur- 
roughs' trial,  that  "  he  was  confounded 
and  used  many  twistings  and  turnings, 
which  I  think  we  cannot  wonder  at."  5 
I  am  of  opinion  that  all  these  state- 
ments were  based,  more  or  less,  on  Cot- 
ton Mather's  "  Wonders  of  the  Invisible 
World."  Unfortunately  we  have  none  of 
the  testimony  offered  for  the  defence,  if 
any  there  was.  Possibly  there  was  none. 
Mr.  Burroughs  was  nearly  a  hundred  miles 
distant  from  the  place  where  he  had 
lived  much  of  his  time,  and  far  from  his 
friends.  He  was  among  a  people  largely 
hostile,  and  perhaps  was  denied  all  op- 
portunity to  obtain  friendly  witnesses. 
Whatever  we  may  say  about  the  trials  be- 
ing conducted  according  to  the  English 
law,  which  did  not  then  allow  counsel  to 
the  accused,  but  in  theory  considered  the 
judges  his  counsel,  it  is  undeniable  that 
in  this  case,  as  in  many  other  of  these 
witchcraft  trials,  the  interests  of  the  ac- 
cused were  not  properly  guarded.  The 
whole  conduct  of  the  judges,  from  begin- 
ning to  end,  was  that  of  prosecuting 
attorneys.  Preconceived  belief  in  the 
guilt  of  the  accused  is  evidenced  through- 

3  Putnam's  Salem  Witchcraft  Explained,  278. 
4Calef's  "  More  Wonders  etc."  Fowler's  ed.,  278-290. 
&  History  Mass. ,  II,  39. 


726 


STORIES    OF  SALEM    WITCHCRAFT. 


out  by  their  acts  and  by  their  words. 
The  only  ground  of  explanation,  and  that 
by  no  means  satisfactory,  and  certainly 
not  a  justification,  is  that  the  court  was 
following  the  advice  given  to  Major  Rich- 
ards by  Cotton  Mather,  that  "  whatever 
hath  a  tendency  to  put  the  witches  into 
confusion  is  likely  to  bring  them  unto 
confession  too.  Here  crosse  &  swift 
questions  have  their  use."  ....  "A 
credible  confession  of  the  guilty  wretches 
is  one  of  the  most  hopeful  ways,"  he  says, 
"  of  coming  at  them,  &  I  say  a  credible 
confession,  because  even  confession,  it- 
selfe  sometimes  is  not  credible  ....  I 
am  far  from  urging  the  un-English  method 
of  torture  "  to  obtain  confessions.  l 

The  warrant  for  the  arrest  of  George 
Burroughs  was  issued  in  Portsmouth,  N. 
H.,  on  April  30,  1692,  by  "  Elisha 
Hutchinson,  major,"  directed  to  Jno.  Par- 
tridge, "  field  marshall,  of  the  provinces 
of  Maine  and  New  Hampshire,"  requiring 
him  to  "  apprehend  the  body  of  Mr. 
George  Burroughs  at  present  preacher  at 
Wells  in  the  province  of  Maine  and  con- 
vey him  with  all  speed  to  Salem  .... 
he  being  suspected  for  a  confederacy  with 
the  devil  in  oppressing  of  sundry  about 
Salem,  as  they  relate,"  he  (Hutchinson) 
having  received  "  particular  order  from 
the  governor  and  council  of  their  majes- 
ties colony  of  the  Massachusetts  for  the 
same."  Partridge  returned  that  by 
virtue  of  the  warrant  he  "  had  appre- 
hended said  George  Burroughs  and  have 
brought  him  to  Salem  and  delivered  him 
to  the  authority  there  this  fourth  day  of 
May,  1692."  2 

Some  question  has  been  raised  about 
the  haste  with  which  the  arrest  was  made. 
The  warrant  was  issued  on  the  last  day  of 
April.  On  May  2,  Hutchinson  addressed 
a  letter  to  Hathorne  and  Corwin  saying 
he  had  "  caused  Burroughs  to  be  appre- 
hended and  sent  to  Salem."  This  letter 
Partridge  probably  took  to  Salem  with 
him  on  that  day.  This  would  give  him 
two  days  to  go  to  Wells  and  return  to 
Portsmouth,  and  the  third  and  fourth  in 
which  to  reach  Salem.  The  time  was 
ample,  even  in  those  days  of  slow  travel. 
Depositions  charging  Burroughs  with  being 

1  Mass.  Hist.  Coll.,  VIII.  391. 
-Mass.  Hist.  Coll.,  V.  32. 


concerned  in  the  witchcraft  business  had 
been  made  as  early  as  April  22.  After 
formal  complaint  had  been  made  and  the 
warrant  issued,  it  was  natural  that  matters 
connected  with  the  arrest  should  be  ex- 
pedited. Burroughs  remained  in  jail  until 
the  9th  of  May,  when  he  was  examined. 
Stoughton  and  Sewall  came  down  to  assist 
Hathorne  and  Corwin  in  the  work.  A 
private  inquiry  was  instituted  by  the 
judges  and  the  ministers  of  the  neigh- 
boring churches.  The  record  of  that 
portion  of  the  examination  is  as  follows  : 

"  Being  asked  when  he  partook  of  the  Lord's 
supper,  he  being  (as  he  saidj  in  full  communion 
at  Roxbury,  he  answered  it  was  so  long  since  he 
could  not  tell,  yet  he  owned  he  was  at  meeting 
one  Sabbath  at  Boston,  part  of  the  day,  and  the 
other  at  Charlestown  part  of  a  Sabbath  when  the 
sacrament  happened  to  be  at  both  yet  did  not 
partake  of  either.  He  denied  that  his  house  at 
Casco  was  haunted  yet  he  owned  there  were  toads. 
The  above  was  in  private  none  of  the  bewitched 
being  present." 

Then  followed  the  examination  in  open 
court : 

"  At  his  entry  into  the  court  room  many  (if  not 
all  of  the  bewitched)  were  grievously  tortured. 
Sarah  Sheldon  testified  that  Burroughs'  two  wives 
appeared  in  their  winding  sheets  and  said  that  man 
killed  her. 

He  was  bid  to  look  upon  Sheldon.  He  looked 
back  and  knocked  down  all  (or  most  of  the 
afflicted  who  stood  behind  him). 

Mary  Lewis'  deposition  going  to  be  read  and  he 
looked  at  her  and  she  fell  into  a  dreadful  and  tedi- 
ous fit. 

Mary  WalcOtt  Testimony  going  to  be 

Elizabeth  Hubbard         Read  and  they  fell 

Susan  Shildon  Into  fits. 

Being  asked  what  he  thought  of  these  things 
he  answered  it  was  an  amazing  and  humiliating 
providence  but  he  understood  nothing  of  it,  and 
he  said  (some  of  you  may  observe  that)  when 
they  begin  to  name  any  name  they  cannot  name  it. 


The  bewitched  were  so  tortured  that  authority 
ordered  them  to  be  taken  away  some  of  them. 


Capt.  Putnam  testified  about  the  gun.  Capt. 
Wormwood  testified  about  the  gun  and  about  the 
molasses. 

He  (Burroughs)  denied  that  about  the  mo- 
lasses. About  the  gun  he  said  he  took  it  before 
the  lock  and  rested  it  upon  his  breast. 

John  Brown  testified  about  a  barrel  of  cider. 
He  denied  that  his  family  was  affrighted  by  a 
white  calf  in  his  house." 

I  have  quoted  thus  much  of  the  ex- 
amination, not  because  the  testimony  is 


STORIES    OF  SALEM    WITCHCRAFT. 


727 


important,  but  that  the  reader  may  under- 
stand the  nature  of  the  evidence  intro- 
duced in  these  witchcraft  trials.  Bur- 
roughs was  committed  to  prison  by  the 
magistrates,  and  remained  there  until 
August,  when  he  was  indicted  and  tried. 
Four  indictments  were  found  against  him. 
One  charged  him  with  afflicting  Mary 
Walcott,  a  second  with  afflicting  Eliza- 
beth Hubbard,  the  third  with  afflicting 
Mercy  Lewis,  and  the  fourth,  Ann  Put- 
nam. Neal,  who  wrote  about  1747,  says 
Burroughs  was  brought  upon  his  trial  on 
August  5.1 

Among  the  more  interesting  depositions 
made  during  the  trial  of  Burroughs  were 
those  of  Ann  Putnam  and  Mercy  Lewis, 
two  of  the  afflicted.  Ann  testified  that 
Burroughs  appeared  to  her  one  night  and 
told  her  he  had  had  three  wives  and  had 
bewitched  the  two  first  of  them  to  death. 
Subsequently,  she  testified  that  Burroughs' 
first  two  wives  appeared  to  her  when 
Mr.  Burroughs  was  present ;  that  they 
turned  their  faces  towards  Burroughs  and 
"looked  very  red  and  angry,"  and  told 
him  that  he  had  been  a  very  cruel  man  to 
them  ;  that  they  should  "  be  clothed  with 
white  robes  in  heaven  when  he  should  be 
cast  into  hell."  As  soon  as  Burroughs  dis- 
appeared, the  two  turned  their  faces  to- 
ward Ann,  "and  looked  as  pail  as  a  white 
wall,"  and  told  her  that  they  were  his  first 
two  wives  and  that  he  had  murdered 
them.  "  One  told  me,"  she  continues, 
"  she  was  his  first  wife  and  he  stabbed  her 
under  the  left  arm  and  put  a  piece  of 
sealing  wax  on  the  wound,  and  she  pulled 
aside  the  winding  sheet  and  showed  me 
the  place."  The  second  wife  told  Ann 
"  that  wife  which  he  hath  now,  killed  her 
in  the  vessel  as  she  was  coming  to  see  his 
friends."  In  reading  this  remarkable 
piece  of  evidence,  which  is  given  here 
substantially  in  the  language  of  the  orig- 
inal, it  is  important  not  to  lose  sight  of 
the  fact  that  Ann  Putnam,  the  reputed 
author  of  it,  was  only  twelve  years  of  age. 
Are  we  not  forced  to  one  of  two  conclu- 
sions :  either  that  the  girl's  story  is  liter- 
ally true,  or  that  it  was  manufactured  for 
her  by  her  father  or  some  other  of  the 
older  people  interested  in  the  prose- 
cution?    Would    a    girl    of    that    age  be 

1  New  England,  ii,  131. 


capable  of  "  manufacturing "  such  a 
story?  To  whom  shall  we  attribute  the 
authorship?  To  Thomas  Putnam?  If 
he  manufactured  this,  how  much  more  of 
the  witchcraft  testimony  owes  its  origin 
to  the  same  source?  I  am  not  disposed 
to  sit  in  judgment  in  this  matter  ;  but 
certainly  even  the  casual  reader  should 
not  be  allowed  to  fill  his  mind  with  these 
remarkable  statements  without  having  his 
attention  called  to  important  controlling 
facts. 

The  statement  of  Mercy  Lewis  is  equally 
remarkable.  She  deposed  that  on  the 
night  of  May  9,  Burroughs  carried  her  up 
on  to  a  high  mountain  and  showed  her 
"  all  the  kingdoms  of  the  earth  and  told 
me  that  he  would  give  them  all  to  me  if 
I  would  write  in  his  book,  and  if  I  would 
not  he  would  throw  me  down  and  break 
my  neck."  She  told  him  she  would  not 
write  in  his  book  if  he  threw  her  down 
on  "  100  pitchforks." 

A  great  portion  of  the  testimony  against 
Burroughs,  as  I  have  said,  consisted  of 
statements  regarding  his  phenomenal 
strength.  Samuel  Webber,  for  instance, 
told  how  Mr.  Burroughs  put  his  finger 
into  the  bung  of  a  barrel  of  molasses, 
lifted  it  up  and  carried  it  around  him  and 
set  it  down.  This  is  the  only  direct  testi- 
mony of  great  feats  of  strength  which  does 
not  discredit  itself.  No  doubt  this  is  an 
exaggeration  of  the  facts  or  a  misappre- 
hension of  the  circumstances.  Thomas 
Greenslit's  testimony,  which  is  given  be- 
low, is  the  only  other  direct  evidence  of 
phenomenal  strength.  Everything  else  is 
hearsay  evidence.  As  for  Greenslit,  he 
appears  to  have  been  a  man  utterly  de- 
void of  character,  and  not  to  be  believed. 
His  deposition  bears  date  September  15, 
which  would  be  nearly  a  month  after  the 
execution  of  Burroughs.  May  it  not  have 
been  procured  after  the  execution,  to  off- 
set the  indignation  of  some  of  Burroughs's 
friends  ? 

We  may  as  well  dispose  of  Greenslit  at 
this  point,  by  giving  the  substance  of  his 
deposition,  although  not  in  chronological 
order.  He  deposed  that  he  saw  Mr.  Bur- 
roughs, who  was  lately  executed, 

"  Lift  a  gun  of  six-foot  barrel  or  thereabouts 
putting  the  forefinger  of  his  right  hand  into  the 
muzzle  of  said  gun  and  that  he  held   it   out  at 


'28 


STORIES    OF  SALEM    WITCHCRAFT. 


arms  end  only  with  that  finger,  and  further  this 
deponent  testifieth  that  at  the  same  time  he  saw 
the  said  Burroughs  take  a  full  barrel  of  molasses 
with  but  two  of  fingers  of  one  of  his  hands,  and 
carry  it  from  the  stage  head  to  the  end  of  the 
stage." 

Simon  Willard  testified  to  being  in  Fal- 
mouth, Me.,  in  September,  1689,  when 
some  one  was 

"  Commending  Mr.  Burroughs,  his  strength, 
saying  that  he  could  hold  out  his  gun  with  one 
hand.  Mr.  Burroughs  being  there  said,  I  held 
my  hand  here  behind  the  lock  and  took  it  up  and 
held  it  out.  I,  said  deponent,  saw  Mr.  Burroughs 
put  his  hand  on  the  gun,  to  show  us  how  he  held 


to  have  strained  his  leg."  Benjamin 
Hutchinson  testified  that  he  met  Abigail 
Williams  one  day  about  eleven  o'clock  in 
the  forenoon,  in  Salem  Village.  Bur- 
roughs was  then  in  Maine,  a  hundred 
miles  away.  She  told  him  she  then  saw 
Burroughs.  Hutchinson  asked  where. 
She  answered,  "There,"  and  pointed  to  a 
rut  in  the  road.  Hutchinson  threw  an 
iron  fork  towards  the  place  where  she 
said  she  saw  Burroughs.  Williams  fell 
into  a  fit. 

"  Coming  out  she  said,  '  You  have  torn  his  coat 
for  I  heard  it  tear.'  '  Whereabouts?  ' 
said  I.  On  one  side,'  said  she.  Then 
we  went  to  the  house  of  Lieutenant 
Ingersoll,  and  I  went  into  a  great 
room  and  Abagail  came  in  and  said, 
'there  he  stands.'  I  said,  'where? 
where?  '  and  presently  drew  my 
rapier.  Then  Abigail  said  '  he  is 
gone,  but  there  is  a  gray  cat.'  Then 
I  said  '  whereabouts?  '  '  There,'  said 
she,  '  there.'  Then  I  struck  with 
my  rapier  and  she  fell  into  a  fit; 
and  when  it  was  over  she  said,  '  you 
killed  her.' " 


She  pulled  aside  -the  winding-sheet  and  showed  me  the  place 


it  and  where  he  held  his  hand,  and  saying  there 
he  held  his  hand  when  he  held  his  gun  out;  but 
I  saw  him  not  hold  it  out  then.  Said  gun  was 
about  seven-foot  barrel  and  very  heavy.  I  then 
tried  to  hold  out  said  gun  with  both  hands,  but 
could  not  do  it  long  enough  to  take  sight." 

Willard  also  deposed  that  when  he  was 
in  garrison  at  Saco  some  one  in  speaking 
of  Burroughs's  great  strength  said  he  could 
take  a  barrel  out  of  a  canoe  and  carry  it 
and  set  on  the  shore,  and  Burroughs  said 
he  had  "  carried  a  barrel  of  molasses  or 
cider  and  that  it  had  like  to  have  done 
him  a  displeasure,  so  he  intimated  that 
he  did  not  want  strength  to  do  it,  but  the 
disadvantage  of  the  shore  was  such  that 
his  foot  slipping  in  the  sand  he  had  liked 


Hutchinson  said  he  could 
not  see  the  cat,  whereupon 
Williams  informed  his  credu- 
lous soul  that  the  spectre  of 
Sarah  Good  had  come  in  and 
carried  away  the  dead  animal. 
These  affairs,  be  it  remem- 
bered, occurred  in  broad  day- 
light. Deliverance  Hobbs, 
called  as  a  witness  in  the  case, 
protested  her  innocence.  Sub- 
sequently she  was  examined  in 
prison  and  confessed  that  she 
was  a  witch.    She  had  attended 

a  meeting   of  witches   where    Burroughs 

was  preacher,  and 

"  Pressed  them  to  bewitch  all  in  the  Village. 
He  administered  the  sacrament  to  them  with  red 
bread  and  red  wine  like  blood.  .  .  .  Her 
daughter,  Abagail  Hobbs,  being  brought  in  at  the 
same  time,  while  her  mother  was  present,  was  im- 
mediately taken  with  a  dreadful  fit;  and  her 
mother  being  asked  who  it  was  that  hurt  her 
daughter,  answered  it  was  Goodman  Corey,  and 
she  saw  him  and  the  gentlewoman  of  Boston 
striving  to  break  her  daughter's  neck." 

I  quote  at  this  point  a  deposition  ex- 
actly as  I  find  it  on  the  files,  without  the 
change  of  a  letter  or  a  punctuation  mark. 
Besides  being  a  good  illustration  of  the 
evidence  relied  upon  to  convict  persons 


STORIES    OF  SALEM    WITCHCRAFT. 


729 


of  witchcraft,  it  gives  an  insight  into  the 
intellectual  condition  of  a  portion  of  the 
people  of  the  day  : 

"  The  complaint  of  Samuel  Sheldon  against  Mr. 
Burroughs  which  brought  a  book  to  mee  and  told 
mee  if  i  would  not  set  my  hand  too  it  hee  would 
tear  me  to  peesses  i  told  him  i  would  not  then  he 
told  mee  hee  would  Starve  me  to  death  then  the 
next  morning  hee  tould  me  hee  could  not  starve 
mee  to  death  but  hee  would  choake  mee  so 
that  my  vittals  should  doe  me  but  litl  good  then 
he  tould  mee  his  name  was  borros  which  had 
preached  at  the  vilage  the  last  night  hee  came  to 
mee  and  asked  mee  whither  i  would  goe  to  the 
village  to-morrow  to  witness  against  him  i  asked 
him  if  he  was  examined  then  he  told  mee  hee  was' 
then  i  told  him  i  would  goe  then  hee  told  mee 
hee  would  kil  mee  before  morning  then  hee 
apeared  to  mee  at  the  hous  of  nathanniel  in- 
golson  and  told  mee  hee  had  been  the  death  of 
three  children  at  the  eastward  and  had  Idled  two 
of  his  vvifes  the  first  he  smothered  and  the  second  he 
choaked  and  killed  two  of  his  own  children." 

Ann  Putnam,  it  will  be  remembered, 
told  an  entirely  different  story  about  the 
way  in  which  Burroughs  "  killed  his  two 
first  wives,"  and  she,  too,  claimed  to  have 
the  story  directly  from  the  apparitions  of 
those  wives. 

A  jury  of  seven  appointed  to  search 
the  body  of  Mr.  Burroughs  for  witch 
marks  reported  that  they  found  nothing 
but  what  was  natural.  He  was  convicted, 
however,  and  on  the  19th  of  August 
hanged  on  Gallows  Hill,  Salem.  Calef 
says  he  was 

"  Carried  in  a  cart  with  others  through  the 
streets  of  Salem  to  execution.  When  he  was  upon 
the  ladder  he  made  a  speech  for  the  clearing  of 
his  innocency  with  such  solemn  and  serious  ex- 
pressions as  were  to  the  admiration  of  all  present : 
his  prayer  which  he  concluded  by  repeating  the 
Lord's  prayer  so  well  worded  and  uttered  with 
such  composedness  and  such  (at  least  seeming) 
fervency  of  spirit,  as  was  very  affecting,  and  drew 
tears  from  many,  so  that  it  seemed  to  some  that 
the  spectators  would  hinder  the  execution.  The 
accusers  said  the  black  mand  stood  and  dictated 
to   him.1      As    soon    as    he    was    turned    off,    Mr. 

1  A  person  guilty  of  witchcraft  was  supposed  to  be  incap- 
able of  repeating  the  Lord's  prayer  correctly,  although  this 


Cotton  Mather,  being  mounted  upon  a  horse, 
addressed  himself  to  the  people,  partly  to  declare 
that  he  (Burroughs)  was  no  ordained  minister, 
and  partly  to  possess  the  people  of  his  guilt,  say- 
ing that  the  devil  has  often  been  transformed  into 
an  angel  of  light;  and  this  somewhat  appeased 
the  people  and  the  execution  went  on.  When  he 
was  cut  down,  he  was  dragged  by  the  halter  to  a 
hole  or  grave,  between  the  rocks,  about  two  feet 
deep,  his  shirt  and  breeches  being  pulled  off,  and 
an  old  pair  of  trowsers  of  one  executed  put  on  his 
lower  parts.  He  was  so  put  in  together  with 
Willard  and  Carrier  that  one  of  his  hands  and  his 
chin,  and  a  foot  of  one  of  them,  were  left  un- 
covered."2 

Judge  Sewall  wrote  under  date  of 
August  19  : 

"This  day  George  Burroughs,  John  Willard, 
John  Proctor,  Martha  Carrier,  and  George  Jacobs 
were  executed  at  Salem,  a  very  great  number  of 
spectators  being  present.  Mr.  Cotton  Mather 
was  there,  Mr.  Sims,  Hale,  Noyes,  Cheever,  etc. 
All  of  them  said  they  were  innocent,  Carrier  and 
all.  Mr.  Mather  says  they  all  died  by  a  Righteous 
Sentence.  Mr.  Burrough  by  his  Speech,  Prayer, 
presentation  of  his  Innocence  did  much  move  un- 
thinking persons,  which  occasions  their  speaking 
hardly  concerning  his  being  executed."3 

Thus  ended  the  life  of  the  most  im- 
portant personage  executed  during  this 
period,  and  one  of  the  most  noted  of 
witchcraft  victims  in  the  history  of  the 
world.  Whatever  opinions  we  may  en- 
tertain with  regard  to  the  general  subject 
of  witchcraft,  or  of  the  mistakes  of  the 
courts  in  these  cases,  only  one  opinion 
seems  possible  concerning  the  treatment 
of  the  accused  before  and  after  trial. 
They  were  treated  with  the  grossest 
brutality,  from  the  beginning  to  the  end, 
from  the  most  aged  and  infirm  to  the 
youngest  and  most  innocent. 

was  only  incidental  and  .corroborative  testimony,  and  was 
never  considered  as  in  any  sense  conclusive.  It  is  not  cer- 
tain that  the  repetition  was  always  demanded  by  the 
magistrates  or  judges.  It  does  appear,  however,  that  the 
accused  often  voluntarily  repeated  the  prayer,  as  Burroughs 
did  on  this  occasion. 

2 Fowler's  Ed.,  254. 

3  Sewall  Papers,  369.. 


LETTERS   OF  WENDELL    PHILLIPS 

CHILD. 


TO    LYDIA   MARIA 


HE  letters  that  appear 
below  were  written  by 
Wendell  Phillips  to 
Mrs.  Lydia  Maria  Child, 
his  friend  of  so  many 
years'  standing.  After 
Mrs.  Child's  death  in 
1880,  her  correspondence  with  her 
brother,  Dr.  Francis,  was  sent  to  the 
latter' s  daughter,  who,  on  examining  it, 
found  a  large  packet  of  Mr.  Phillips's 
letters  to  her  aunt  sandwiched  between 
those  of  her  father.  She  took  them  to 
the  writer,  asking  permission  to  reserve 
one  or  two  for  autographs.  "  Keep  them 
all,"  was  his  answer,  "  and  do  what  you 
like  with  them.  I  don't  want  to  see  them 
again.  I  should  only  put  them  in  the 
fire  if  they  were  left."  She,  therefore, 
kept  them,  and  eventually,  out  of  the 
twenty-five  to  thirty  in  the  packet,  gave 
me  twelve.  The  majority  are  undated, 
and  each  is  indorsed,  in  Mrs.  Child's 
round,  legible  handwriting,  with  the  name 
of  the  writer,  and  a  brief  note  as  to  its 
contents.  I  cannot  now  remember  defi- 
nitely the  contents  of  those  of  the  letters 
which  did  not  come  to  me,  except  that 
one  contained  an  exquisite  tribute  to  Mrs. 
Child's  character  and  aims,  and  to  her 
friendship  for  him  and  his  wife.  It  was 
indorsed  :  "  Most  kind  ;  a  precious  let- 
ter." 

Eleanor  Lewis. 
I. 

[Indorsed:  "  About  my  editing  the  Standard."] 

Boston,  February  21,  1842. 

My  dear  Mrs.  Child:  —  "I  feel  to  say" 
(that's  the  last  touch  of  cant,),  that  I  must  dis- 
approve the  Standard.  It  don't  satisfy  me.  It's 
too  tame!  Where's  all  your  spirit?  Why  rec- 
ognize the  existence  of  that  wickedly  absurd 
body,  the  U.  S.  Congress?  Are  you  aware  that 
Anti  Sl'y  never  can  without  guilt  even  believe  in 
the  actual  being  of  a  ballot  box?  Where  is  the 
ferocity  of  Foster?  —  the  holy  indignation  taper- 
ing off  into  pitiless  sternness  of  Pillsbury? —  where 
are  Rogers's  soap  bubbles?  Why,  yours  is  but  a 
holiday  banner  compared  with  real  black  pirate 
flag  of  Abby  Kelley.  O  Lyd  —  Fydi  —  verily 
thou  art  "  resiling  "  (see  Waverley  when  he  offered 
marriage  to  Rose,)and  little  better  than  recreant 


Garrison  who  is  not  willing  to  call  the  clergy  "  a 
brotherhood  of  thieves." 

Out  upon  thee,  L.  M.  C.  !  Why  dost  thou 
write  such  heart-tcmching  letters  to  Louisa  Lor- 
ing?  Dost  thou  get  time  to  be  idle,  —  for  only 
such  says  Burton  can  be  melancholy.  Read 
over  your  subscription  list  —  does  it  not  increase 
fast  enough  even  for  thy  all-devouring  ambition? 
Does  not  Abby  Kelley  wear  out  her  shoes  in 
getting  thee  those  names?  Is  she  not  even  now 
ashamed  of  her  favorite  buccaneers  and  pet 
"pirates"?  Do  you  want  to  know  how  to  com- 
pose your  next  paper?  Enter,  but  not  at  a  com- 
mon pace,  but  spasmodically,  some  cold  Novem- 
ber-looking orthodox  country  church.  Do  you 
see  that  man  with  •'  sot "  eyes,  rising  like  the 
ghost  of  Mary  Dyer,  as  if  his  limbs  were  jointless, 
to  rebuke  the  hireling?  take  Foster  ....  his 
spectacles  —  take  Pillsbury  just  when  with  straight 
collar  and  coat  buttoned  to  his  neck  he's  calling 
Andover  "a  den  of  thieves,  a  hill  of  Hell,  and 
Moses  Stuart  their  High  Priest"  —  clutch  that 
resolution  from  his  hand;  it  will  read  doubtless 
"  that  colonization  had  its  source  entirely  in  a  de- 
sire to  increase  the  profits  of  slave  breeding  "  — 
if  a  balloon  is  ascending,  ask  Lauriat  to  get 
within  seeing  distance  of  N.  P.  R.  with  his  gar- 
land and  singing  .robes  about  him,  and  ask  him 
for  a  new  gush  of  what  has  one  nearness  to 
genius  —  "divided  from  it  you  know  only  by  a 
slender  partition  "  —  take  ail  these  warm,  put  in 
two  Algerine  pirates  and  one  buccaneer  —  I  was 
going  to  say  Garrison  if  to  your  taste  —  but  he's 
too  conservative,  he  won't  mix — let  your  motto 
be  from  Collins :  "  Every  clergyman  must  be 
from  the  very  nature  of  his  office  a  knave"  — 
these  will  do  for  the  Miscellany- — the  quarrelling 
which  ought  to  fill  twelve  columns  should  be  done 
by  contract  by  Bowles  of  Conn.  Oh,  Child, 
Child  —  pray  night  and  morning, 

"  Oh,  wad  some  power  the  giftie  gie  us 
To  see  oursels  as  ithers  see  us !  " 

Let  Hopper  learn  to  dance;  inscribe  over  your 
door,  "  Care  killed  a  cat."  Ttll  your  devil  to 
sing,  "  Begone  dull  care,  I  pray  thee  begone  from 
me." 

Can't  Gibbons  spare  time  to  play  before  this 
....  Saul,  who  stands  clearly  head  and  shoul- 
ders above  the  other  editor  kings  —  I  maintain 
thee  such,  L.  M.  C.  —  the  best  one  of  the  whole  to 
clip  a  sentence  from  a  correspondent's  private 
letter  and  tack  it  on  to  his  public  confession. 
Shall  sturdy  Francis  and  I  bow  lower  to  thee, 
proud  dame?  What  shall  be  done  to  prove  that 
Mass.,  who  gives  all  the  money,  and  does  all 
the  work  and  quarrels  enough  to  suit  anybody 
but  a  Connecticut  pedlar,  idolizes  thee?  Thou 
wert  made  for  the  Standard,  and  the  Standard 
was  made  for  thee.  You've  exhausted  your  stock 
of  rare  stories  and  want  to  creep  out  without 
acknowledging  it  —  want  to  keep  up  old  Saml 
—  ...  at  Goldy,  "  You've  not  travelled  over  my 


LETTERS    OF    WENDELL   PHILLIPS. 


731 


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Fac-Simife  of  Letter  of  Wendell   Phillips  to  Mrs.  Child. 


732 


LETTERS    OF    WENDELL    PH ILL  LPS. 


mind,  sir."  Confess  now,  and  we'll  send  on  help 
to  thee.  Ah  me !  I  shan't  then  go  about  the 
state  hearing  people  say,  "  Well,  I  always  thought 
Mrs.  C ;"  but  no  I  can't  even  on  paper  com- 
pliment you  any  more  than  I  could  M.  W.  C. 
Why,  do  let  us  have  one  sane  editor  were  it  only 
to  stand  by  the  Liberator.  Why,  one  great 
reason  for  loving  the  Standard  is  that  it  makes 
the  stars  fade  out  in  its  noon  daylight,  and  so 
people  don't  notice  how  wanting  they  are. 

Between  you  and  I,  Rogers  is  strangely  unbal- 
lasted, and  some  of  our  agents  are  losing  all  sort 
of  philosophy.  What  with  Alcott  and  Emerson 
engrafted  on  Orthodoxy  and  N.  H.  trying  to 
avoid  contact  with  Abby  Folsom  while  they  carry 
out  her  principles  —  and  property  questions  and 
Parkerism,  Garrison  writing  sonnets  to  the  Bible, 
and  his  old  friends  sneering  at  it  as  too  conserva- 
tive —  why  with  all  this  and  Thompsonianism  and 
Homeopathy  —  all  Abolitionists  are  one  or  the 
other,  and  most  of  the  ultra  are  agreeing  with 
Chas.  Fitch  to  believe  that  1843  is  the  end  of  the 
world — why  with  all  this  we've  got  so  near  the 
millenium  as  to  run  to  and  fro  —  by  and  by, 
doubtless,  knowledge  will  be  increased;  mean- 
time, edit  the  Standard  as  one  method  to  that 
end. 

Dear  Mrs.  Child,  pardon  all  this  scrawl,  and 
before  you  throw  it  into  the  fire,  in  sober  earnest 
believe  that  we  all  do  appreciate  the  self-denial 
and  effort  which  the  Standard  costs  you,  and 
sympathize  with  the  discouragements;  but  if  to 
know  that  all  classes  here,  the  ultra,  the  moderate, 
the  half  converted,  the  zealous,  the  indifferent,  the 
active,  all  welcome  the  Standard,  and  that  it  is 
fast  changing  them  all  into  its  own  likeness  of 
sound,  liberal,  generous,  active,  devoted  men 
and  women,  without  partiality  and  without 
hypocrisy  —  without  sham  —  sifting  out  and  build- 
ing up —  making  a  way  for  itself  where  no  path 
was  open  before  —  that  Frederic  Douglass  among 
agents  and  the  L  —  among  papers  are  now  .... 
"  all  the  go  "  that  it  seems  as  if  the  keystone  were 
gone  when  we  think  of  you  leaving  —  why  do 
cheer  up  and  stay,  were  it  only,  woman,  that 
those  who  think  like  you  may  have,  in  you,  their 
due  influence  in  the  cause.  Have  not  you  and 
we  souls  and  right  to  be  heard?  Let  Rogers 
madden  (good  Rogers,  kind  Rogers,  Rogers 
whom  I  love  and  admire,  and  his  wife  and  seven 
children  also) ;  and  sweet,  devoted,  eloquent, 
heart-on-fire  Abby  Kelley  tread  a  pirate  deck  as 
she  will.  Because  New  Hampshire  is  crazy  shall 
there  be  no  more  letters  from  N.  Y.,  no  more 
articles  "rightly  dividing  the  word  of  truth,"  on 
the  whole  reasons  of  division  in  our  ranks?  Faith 
but  there  shall,  and  D.  L.  C.  shall  pour  out 
chapter  after  chapter  of  his  lore  gladding  the 
hearts  of  lecturers  who  want  ideas  —  arguers  who 
want  facts;  Congress  shall  be  watched  (though  by 
a  woman  none  would  guess  it),  and  J.  Q.  A.'s 
eloquence,  like  Sir  Toby's  ginger,  shall  be  hot  in 
the  opposer's  mouth. 

There,  I've  talked  folly  enough  —  to  you,  too, 
to  whom  I  would  always  wish  to  talk  my  best 
(ain't  I  frank?)  But  let  folly  drive  away  the  foul 
fiend  distrust  —  who  has  no  right  in  your  bosom. 
Ask  Annie  Weston  to  send  you  Macaulay's  last 
piece  of  poetry  for  the  Standard,  and  take  loads 


of  love   from  my  Annie   and  me  —  and   now  to 
business. 

A  merchant  here  who  has  not  yet  travelled  far 
enough  to  dare  the  shame  of  being  thought  an 
Abolitionist  still  feels  indignant  that  colored  sea- 
men should  be  molested  at  the  South.  He  says 
lately  the  merchants  of  N.  Y.  sent  a  petition 
to  Congress  on  this  topic.  Afraid  to  trust  us  to 
write  one  he  wants  a  copy  of  their  form  to  circu- 
late here.  Could  you  get  it?  Could  Hopper  hop 
so  far  as  this?  If  not  will  write  to  your  repre- 
sentative, whose  name,  of  course,  ends  with  velt 
or  some  such  abomination,  and  get  him  to  send 
us  a  copy  from  Washington.  There,  God  bless 
thee,  Standard  bearer;  may  thine  arm  not  faint 
while  with  such  right  hearty  good -will  Massa- 
chusetts holds  it  up. 

Yours  affectionately, 

Wendell  Phillips. 

Now,  if  your  paper  telltales  any  of  this,  I'll 
answer  it  all.  You  see  what  a  poor  practitioner 
I  am  of  all  my  preaching.  I  hold  anywhere  the 
sentiment,  but,  hang  it,  a  man  wants  to  make  his 
stops  and  cross  his  t's  before  he  jumps  into  print. 

II. 

[Undated.     Indorsed  by  Mrs.  Child.] 

Nov.,  1864.     Sunset  Book. 

Dear  Mrs.  Child  :  —  Thank  you  for  your 
pleasant  book.  A.  and  I  have  read  it,  and  if  you 
saw  the  tears  and  smiles,  you'd  rejoice  you  had 
given  even  one.  couple  so  much  delight.  The 
new  things  and  the  old  well  known  ones  come 
equally  welcome.  I  only  crave  to  add  one  line  to 
the  next  edition,  and  save  for  the  next  generation 
sweet  Elizabeth  Howell's  name  linked  with  her 
grand  Milton's  '  Prayer  of  Patience,'  —  one  of 
my  pets.  Faithfully, 

Wendell  Phillips. 

III. 

[From  another  letter,  undated,  indorsed,  "  very  kind."] 

My  dear  Friend  :  —  I  sympathize  most 
truly  in  all  your  anxieties  and  cares.  Sorrows  do 
you  ever  have?  So  truthful  and  sunny,  and 
reconciled  to  everything,  self-poised,  you  seem,  — 
that  I  cannot  make  you  sad,  only  touched  gently 
with  your  fellow-men's  griefs.  But  don't  say 
that  you've  been  doing  nothing.   .  .   .      W.  P. 

IV. 

March  4,  '71. 

Dear  Mrs.  Child:  —  Forgive  delay;  busy, 
busy,  busy  must  be  my  excuse,  — ■  not  justification. 

Thank  you  for  all  your  late  articles  in  Stan- 
dard, so  true  and  timely.  And  besides  this,  what 
would  the  paper  have  done  without  your  gener- 
ous support?     We  can  never  thank  you  enough. 

I  spent  two  days  with  Sumner.  His  illness  is 
some  heart  disease,  probably  the  remote  eftect  01 
his  old  blow.  The  doctors  say  the  only  policy  is 
rest;  the  more  he  '11  take,  the  better  health,  and 
the  better  chance  of  life  prolonged.  I  argued 
and  prayed  —  so  did  we  all.  How  would  it  do 
for  you  to  drop  him  one  line  beseeching  the  same 


LETTERS    OF    WENDELL   PHILLIPS.  733 


Wendell    Phillips. 


course?  I  told  him  any  harm  to  him  would  be 
greater  evil  than  the  stealing  of  all  the  west 
shores. 

"  Some  time  I'll  tell  you  lots  of  good  things; 
the  Russian  minister  said  to  me,  '  Make  him 
rest,  —  he  must.  No  man  in  Washington  can  fill 
his  place,  —  no  man,  NO  MAN.  We  foreigners 
all  know  he  is  honest.  We  do  not  think  that  of 
many.'     Regards  to  D.  L.  C. 


W.  P. 


V. 


(  Undated.     Postmarked  Boston.  Jan.  18.     Indorsed, 
\  "  Funny  Letter." 

Friend  Lydia  :  —  Thy  rantipole  note  came 
duly  to  hand,  and  I  enclose  the  draft;  thy  rural 
friend  need  not  wend  her  way  to  the  shire  town. 
For    do    not    grocers    and    tradesmen   abound  in 


West  Boylston?  Did  I  not  myself  ten  days  ago 
alight  at  the  door  of  one?  Such  men  value  fitly 
Lyceum  lecturers  and  fanatics,  and  the  checks  of 
such  will  be  cashed  to  accommodate  neighbors. 
So  let  thy  David's  kinswoman  avail  herself  of 
this. 


Hurra  for  Tennessee  !  At  last  I  have  had  an 
offer  of  the  State  Department.  That's  more,  I 
am  sure,  than  C.  S.  can  say. 

I'd  like  to  know  what  D.  L.  C.  guesses  of  the 
Cabinet.  I  guess  thus  much :  Scofield  will  be 
Secretary  of  War,  Porter,  of  the  Navy,  and  if 
anybody  from  New  England  enters  the  Cabin et? 
it  will  be  C.  F.  Adams. 

******* 

Scandal    against    Queen  Elizabeth  !       Avaunt  I 


734 


LETTERS    OF    WENDELL   PHILLIPS. 


"  My  handwriting,"  —  Why  it  stares  at  one  in  its 
excessive  legibility  !  modelled  on  the  square  rec- 
ord-hand of   1740  ! 

How  are  your  glasses?  Somewhat  worn,  I 
fancy;  Thaxter,  opposite  my  brother  Blagden's 
church,  is  a  trustworthy  optician  ! 


Good-by,  Yours  cordially, 

Wendell  Phillips, 
Master  of  Penmanship. 
References, 
Levitt  Smith, 
Horace  Greeley. 

I  grow  old.  How  know  I  it?  thus:  I  who 
once  weighed  145,  now,  alas!  alas!  own  172! 
Jiow  fat  clear  consciences  make  men  ! 

VI. 

{This  .etter  is  indorsed,  "  Wendell  Phillips  with  Charles 
Sumner's  Breakfast-Cup."  The  first  page  is  further  In- 
dorsed, I"  On  the  occasion  of  seeing  me  at  the  oration  of 
George  W.  Curtis,  on  Charles  Sumner,  June  4th,  1874,"] 

11  June,  '74. 

Dear  Mrs.  Chill  :  —  I  shall  not  dally  now 
with  them  Muses  —  nut  I  —  to-day. 

Indignatio  not  facit  versus. 

(Ask  D.  L.  C.  if  that's  correct.  If  nut,  he'll 
remember  Juvenal,  and  make  it  all  right  before 
this  is  printed  by  your  executor  twenty  vears  after 
I'm  off.) 

No  ma'am, 
The  angry 
Don't  versify. 

Where  did  I  see  you,  you  and  D.  L.  C,  day 
before  yesterday?  You  whom  I  never  cuuld 
persuade  to  come  to  town,  and  never  shuuld  have 
dared  to  worry  by  sending  you  tickets?  Didn't 
I  tell  E.  L.  Pierce  that  he  had  done  the  right 
thing  in  sending  you  tickets,  but  he  might  as 
well  expect  to  see  Monadnock  at  a  public  meet- 
ing? and  then  you've  gone  and  falsified  my 
prophecy!  That  is  where  I  feel  it:  — my  re- 
puted knowledge  of  you  is  shown  to  be  a  sham  ! 

"  Well,  I've  taken  my  revenge,  hut,  savage,  and 
Roman.  I  went  yesterday  and  got  you  a  cup 
and  saucer  once  owned  and  used  by  Sumner,  and 
look  forward  with  delight  to  seeing  it  —  as  I  look 
back  into  the  world  —  ticketed  at  your  auction 
sale  : 


"  Cup  and  saucer  once  used  and  owned  by 
C.  S.;  chipped  in  one  place,  and  its  crimson 
band  slightly  cracked  by  L.  M.  C.  in  twenty  years 
daily  and  constant  use." 

Shall    I    risk   it   by  vulgar,  earthly  express,  or  is 
there  any  safer  way  to  send  it  to  you? 
Kindest  regards  to  D.  L.  C. 

Y'rs,  not  angry,  but  sad  and  forgiving, 

Wendell  Phillips. 

VII. 

[The  two  following  letters  are  without  date,  but  the 
period  to  which  they  belong  is  evident  from  their  contents.] 

"Dear  Mrs.  Child:  — Was  it  Johnson,  old 
Sam'l,  or  a  friend  of  his,  whu  said,  "  I  always 
thought  frenchmen  were  fools?  "  Seems  so,  even 
in  their  kith  skin  at  Detroit.  If  your  visitors 
were  Saxon  they  got  foolish,  breathing  the  old 
French  air. 

How  one  aches  some  time  to  launch  out  all 
the  epithets  that  rise  !  I've  had  tipsy  tailor  and 
drunken  demagogue  at  my  tongue's  end  hundred 
of  times.  Bear  ever  witness  before  the  Daily 
Advertiser  tribunal  that  even  /have  self-restraint. 

"  Good-bye.  How  superbly  Sumner  does  !  How 
foolish  Wilson,  with  such  a  leader  at  hand,  to  go 
so  absurdly  astray.  * 

Regards  to  Mr.  Child, 

Very  faithfully, 

Wendell  Phillips. 
Check  enclosed.     Please  send  receipt. 

VIII. 

We  get  one  good  thing  out  of  this  insult  to 
Sumner—  Grant,  Dawes,  etc.,  were  willing  to  ad- 
journ without  doing  anything  against  the  Ku  Klux. 
Evidently  the  indignation  which  has  flooded 
Washington  in  consequence  of  this  insult  to 
Sumner  has  enabled  Morton  and  Butler  (who 
were  in  earnest  on  the  Ku  Klux),  to  show  Grant 
that  it  is  not  safe  for  him  to  let  Congress  adjourn 
without  doing  something  brilliant  and  striking  to 
regain  his  lost  prestige;  so  he  consents  to  send 
message  to  Congress  and  to  issue  a  proclamation, 
all  due  to  his  fear  of  the  consequences  of  his 
blunder  in  the  Sumner  matter.  Fish's  pretence 
that  Motley  was  removed  because  he  was  too 
subservient  to  Sumner's  views  on  the  Alabama 
question,  is  shown  to  be  sham  by  the  fact  that 
Fish  urged  Sunnier  to  go  in  Motley's  place  last 
summer  !  !   ! 

*  Concerning  the  admission  of  Colorado.  —  E.  L. 


A   Prospective   Fortune   in   Sheep. 


THE    PRAIRIES   AND    COTEAUS   OF   DAKOTA. 


By  Sam    T.    Clover. 


THE  Dakotian,  be  he  to  the  prairies 
born  or  only  a  citizen  by  adoption, 
is  more  loyal  to  his  native  heath 
than  the  denizen  of  almost  any  other 
locality  within  our  borders.  If  you  meet 
him  abroad  and  ask  him  where  he  hails 
from,  he  never  slurs  the  name  of  his 
state  in  answering  the  query.  You  find 
that  he  is  proud  of  his  breezy  western 
home,  and  after  chatting  with  him  for  a 
few  minutes  you  are  very  apt  to  catch 
his  infectious  mood.  The  Dakotian  is 
as  broad  and  liberal  in  his  views  as  the 
prairies  in  which  he  has  been  nurtured, 
and  if  his  speech  be  slightly  bombastic 
you  can  easily  forgive  it ;  in  fact,  perhaps, 
this  is  part  of  its  charm. 

He  loves  to  talk  of  the  big  farms,  the 
big  vegetables,  and  the  big  area  of  his 
vigorous  young  state,  and  he  never  tires 
of  iterating  its  advantages.  He  is  a  born 
"boomer,"  with  an  airy  humor  that  is  as 
fresh  as  the  Dakota  breezes  that  play  over 
the  tall  grasses  he  tells  about.  His  fa- 
vorite subject  is  the  climate,  and  here  in 
truth  he  does  not  go  astray.  A  more 
glorious  climate  than  that  enjoyed  by  the 


people  of  South  Dakota  is  not  to  be  found 
in  the  country.  The  crisp,  exhilarating 
air  imparts  an  ecstatic  vigor.  How  I  re- 
call those  mad  morning  rides  across  the 
prairie  on  my  spirited  little  broncho,  when 

In  long,  delicious  breaths  I  drank  the  air, 
And  thought  that  life  was  never  half  so  fair. 

After  the  newcomer  has  worn  off  the 
sense  of  loneliness  and  homesickness,  this 
exhilarating  air  guarantees  him  happiness. 
It  is  hard  to  imagine  any  one  signing  for 
the  "freeze,  thaw,  and  sneeze"  of  eastern 
winters  after  a  season  spent  in  Dakota's 
glorious  atmosphere,  where  even  at  forty 
below  zero  man  is  far  more  comfortable 
in  his  shack  than  he  would  be  in  a  stone 
mansion  on  Commonwealth  Avenue. 
Storms  come,  it  is  true,  and  lively  ones. 
When  the  wind  blows  from  the  northwest, 
bringing  with  it  the  fine  particles  of 
snow,  the  Dakotian  experiences  a  taste  of 
what  the  Easterner  designates  a  "  bliz- 
zard "  ;  but  really  these  are  almost  as 
rare  as  cyclones  in  the  East,  and  just  as 
short-lived,  while  the  succeeding  days  are 
always  brighter  and  filled  with  more  sun- 
shine than  ever  before,  as  if  Dame  Nature 


'36 


THE   PRAIRIES  AND    COTE  A  US    OE  DAKOTA. 


were  trying  to  make  amends  for  her  tem- 
porary display  of  temper. 

A  mistaken  idea  prevails  in  the  East 
regarding  the  length  of  the  Dakota  win- 
ters. During  a  five-years'  residence  in 
South  Dakota,  I  cannot  remember  any 
bad  weather,  —  weather,  I  mean,  of  an 
extremely  cold,  stormy  nature, —  occurring 
much  before  the  first  of  January.  From 
the  close  of  the  Indian  summer  until  Christ- 
mas, the  days  were  usually  clear,  bracing, 
and  sunshiny,  days  that  invited  long  walks 
and  plenty  of  active  exercise,  and  which 
sent  one  home  at  night  with  a  glorious 
appetite  unalloyed  by  the  ghost  of  a  dys- 
peptic thought.  There  is  no  rain,  no 
mud,  no  slush,  and  consequently,  no  colds 
in  the  head,  no  malaria,  and  few  cases  of 
pneumonia.  In  Chicago  I  have  suffered 
more  discomfort  from  the  cold  when  the 
thermometer  marked  twelve  degrees  be- 
low zero,  than  I  have  ever  experienced  in 


r 


\i  Ml 

;: 

V. >, 

s     ;? 

,/V' 

>':'*"    > 

♦*•. 

Artesian   Glen   at  Springfield. 


Dakota  when  the  mercury  stood  at  twenty 
below.  The  pure,  dry  air,  even  at  a  very 
low  temperature,  can  be  easily  borne  :  it 
is  the  humid,  penetrating  atmosphere  that 
chills  the  marrow  in  one's  bones. 

Toward  the  latter  end  of  March,  or  ist 
of  April,  the   farmers  are  to  be  seen  en- 
gaged   in   outdoor    work,  and    after   this 
time   they  are   rarely  interrupted  by  the 
return  of  frost  or   snow.     The  universal 
cultivation   of   the    soil,   the   planting   of 
trees,  and  other  civilizing  influences  have 
worked  a  wonderful  change  in  the  dura- 
tion of  the   seasons  in  the  prairie  region, 
and    old    settlers    assert    that   seeding   is 
now  begun  a  month  earlier  than  in  former 
years,  when    the    country   was    new  and 
farmers  were  scarce.     The  snow  is  usually 
all  gone  by  the   ist  of  April,  and  I  have 
often  picked  the  furry-coated  crocus  two 
weeks    prior    to    that    date.       On    sunny 
slopes  the  violet  appears  before  the  frost 
is  out  of  the  ground,  and  by 
-^^      the  ist  of  May,  vegetation  is 
<v      so  well  advanced  that  the  cat- 
tle  find  excellent    grazing  on 
the  ranges. 
Ky'S-  Summer  in  Dakota  is  not  to 

be  dreaded  as  it  is  in  the 
East  and  South  during  the 
heated  term.  The  day  may 
be  warm,  for  it  is  a  generous 
sun  that  perfects  the  grain 
crops  and  gives  Dakota  her 
reputation  for  growing  the 
best  wheat,  the  heaviest  oats, 
the  brightest  barley,  the  oiliest 
and  richest  flax,  and  the 
choicest  vegetables  produced 
in  the  Union  ;  but  the  nights 
are  always  cool. 


The  boisterous  wind 

Is  stilled  at  last,  as  though  worn  out 

By  its  own  turbulence.  The  nagging 
heart  revives. 

The  tensioned  nerves  relax  their 
vigorous  strain, 

Easing  the  fevered  brow  and  throb- 
bing pulse. 

The  air  is  fresh  and  fragrant.  The 
thirsty  trees 

Exhausted  by  the  long  unbroken 
pressure, 

Uplift  their  drooping  leaves  and 
drink  the  dew. 

That  gives  them  nourishment  and 
sustenance. 


THE   PRAIRIES  AND    COTE  A  US    OE  DAKOTA. 


'37 


;--:ll!||l||J 


'■■■" 


aggf.-     **£„«*■#• 


A  typical    Dakota   Barnyard. 


The  placid  stars 
In  far-off  azure  heights  peep  shyly  out, 
And  to  the  tired  eyes  bring  soothing  sleep. 
A  sense  of  rest  pervades  the  atmosphere  — 
Nature  seems  hushed  in  quiet  thankfulness. 

Two-thirds  of  the  people  of  South 
Dakota  are  engaged  in  agriculture.  In 
the  products  of  the  field,  the  garden,  and 
the  pasture,  the  prolific  soil  excels. 
Dakota's  wheat  is  famous  on  both  sides 
of  the  Atlantic.  Experiments  have  de- 
monstrated that  bread  made  from  her 
hard  No.  i  spring  wheat  flour  contains 
more  nourishing  materials  than  in  any 
other  flour  manufactured.  In  an  average 
season  the  yield  per  acre  of  hard  spring 
wheat  is  from  fifteen  to  twenty-five 
bushels  ;  the  total  yield  of  the  wheat  crop 
in  1 89 1  was  thirty-two  million  bushels. 

There  was  a  time  when  people  in  the 
East  laughed  at  the  idea  of  attempting  to 
raise  corn  in  Dakota.  They  insisted  that, 
owing  to  the  high  latitude  and  the  com- 
paratively short  growing  season,  successful 
corn-growing  was  impossible.  The  fact 
that  South  Dakota  raised  over  twenty-five 
million  bushels  of  this  cereal  the  past 
year  is  the  answer  to  this,  and  demon- 
strates the  wealth  of  the  soil.  Not  Iowa 
nor  Illinois  can  show  better  corn  or  finer 
vegetables  than  the  South  Dakota  products. 

The  oat  crop  is  always  to  be  relied 
upon.     The  yield  is  very  large,  averaging 


from  thirty  to  fifty  bushels  to  the  acre.  In 
1 89 1,  over  27,000,000  bushels  were  raised 
in  South  Dakota,  as  against  17,000,000 
bushels  the  year  previous.  Barley  does 
well,  a  crop  of  5,200,000  bushels  being 
produced  last  year,  while  3,500,000 
bushels  of  flax  and  700,000  bushels  of 
rye  show  the  capabilities  of  the  soil  in 
this  direction  during  the  same  period. 
The  prairie  hay  crop  is  another  source  of 
wealth  to  the  farmer  and  stockraiser  that 
rarely  fails ;  and  the  native  grasses  are 
still  so  abundant  and  nutritious  that 
Dakotians  have  made  no  very  extended 
attempts  to  raise  the  cultivated  varieties. 
Timothy,  blue-grass,  clover,  millet,  Hun- 
garian, and  even  alfalfa  have  been  tried, 
however,  and  by  many  farmers  are  suc- 
cessfully grown. 

Potatoes  have  no  cause  to  blush  in 
these  prairies.  Some  writer  has  told 
about  one  family  living  for  six  weeks  on 
a  single  tuber  grown  in  Dakota  soil. 
This  pleasing  extravagance  was  intended, 
I  suppose,  to  convey  in  a  striking  man- 
ner some  idea  of  their  colossal  size. 
They  are  just  as  mealy  and  toothsome, 
too,  as  the  smaller-grown  article,  and  are 
conceded  to  be  equal  to  any  of  the 
potatoes  raised  in  the  western  states.  A 
trifle  over  four  million  bushels  were  grown 
in  South  Dakota  last  year. 

Vegetables    of    all    kinds    are     easily 


7o8 


THE   PRAIRIES   AND    COTE  A  US    OF  DAKOTA. 


A   Dakota   Farm. 


raised,  the  yield  of  the  entire  list  of  root 
crops  being  extraordinarily  large.  Ap- 
ples, pears,  cherries,  plums,  and  small 
fruits  can  be  successfully  grown  if  proper 
care  be  shown  in  the  selection  for  plant- 
ing and  of  varieties  adapted  to  the  climate. 
The  Farmers'  Alliance  in  the  state  has 
given  the  fruit  question  close  attention, 
and  many  of  the  members  who  have 
tested  the  different  varieties  have  made 
known  the  result  of  their  experiments  in 
the  indefatigable  press  for  the  benefit  of 
new-comers.      It  is  surely  a  country 

Where  the  grasses  are   kissed    by  the  wandering 
breeze, 

And  the  fields  are  rich  with  the  golden  grain; 
Where  the  sehooner  ploughs  through  the  prairie 
seas, 

To  its  destined  port  on  the  western  plain ; 

Where  homes  may  never  be  sought  in  vain, 
And  hope  is  the  thriftiest  plant  that  grows; 

Where  man  may  ever  his  rights  maintain, 
And  land  is  as  free  as  the  wind  that  blows. 

In  South  Dakota  especially,  stock  raising 
has  long  been  a  very  profitable  industry. 
Hogs  and  cattle  are  raised  in  large  num- 
bers in  the  Big  Sioux  Valley  and  along 
the  Jim  River  bottoms.  In  nearly  every 
county,  syndicates  have  been  formed  for 
the  purchase  of  imported  blooded  stock 
for  the  improvement  of  the  ordinary  farm 
horses,  and  the  result  of  this  enterprise  is 
seen  in  the  many  handsome  teams  behind 


which  the  farmer  drives  into  town  with  his 
produce. 

On  the  native  grasses  which  when  cut 
will  cure  to  hay  upon  the  ground,  the 
cattle  will  fatten  almost  as  rapidly  as  the 
stable-fed  stock  in  the  East.  The  grass 
retains  its  nutrition  throughout  the  year, 
even  when  uncut,  and  can  be  mowed  at 
any  time,  making  quite  as  good  hay  in 
the  fall  as  in  the  summer  months.  With 
the  growth  of  the  corn  crop,  the  swine 
industry  has  materially  developed,  for 
with  handy  markets  made  possible  by  the 
far-reaching  tentacles  of  the  Chicago, 
Milwaukee,  and  St.  Paul  railway  system, 
the  farmer  has  no  trouble  to  dispose  of 
his  stock. 

Sheep  raising  is  one  of  the  latest  and 
most  promising  ventures,  the  country 
being  admirably  adapted  to  their  in- 
crease, owing  to  its  exemption  from  those 
scourges  that  usually  attack  sheep  in  the 
East.  Nor  do  they  have  to  sharpen  their 
noses  on  old  boulders  in  order  to  get  a 
square  meal.  In  the  abundance  of  cheap 
pasturage  and  the  slight  cost  of  their  care, 
the  profits  from  a  single  flock  are  allur- 
ing many  farmers  into  the  sheep  indus- 
try. Dakota-raised  sheep  produce  heavy 
fleeces,  and  their  wool  commands  good 
prices.  Henry  B.  Blackwell,  of  Boston, 
has  said  that  he  thinks  there  is  no  bette; 


THE   PRAIRIES  AND    COTE  A  US    OE  DAKOTA. 


739 


country  in  the  world  than  South  I  )akota 
for  sheep  and  horses.  The  hills  and 
coteaus  make  the  very  best  sheep  ranges, 
and  it  is  not  an  extravagant  claim  to  say, 
that  after  all  expenses  are  paid  a  farmer 
can,  with  proper  care,  realize  30  per  cent 
011  his  sheep  investment. 

Only  a  bare  mention  is  here  possible  of 
the  resources  of  the  famous  Black  Hills 
region.  It  is  a  country  as  yet  only  im- 
perfectly developed,  but  that  it  contains 
valuable  minerals  of  great  variety  and  in 
inexhaustible  quantities  is  certain.  Gold, 
silver,  and  lead  have  been  mined  for  some 
years.  The  Harney's  Peak  and  Nigger 
Hill  districts  are   known  to  contain  valu- 


buildings  attest   the  utility  of  the  native 
products. 

The  forests  of  South  Dakota  are  all 
artificial,  unless  one  except  the  timber 
growing  in  the  neighborhood  of  the 
larger  streams.  But  the  timber  culture 
act  has  been  productive  of  good  results, 
many  thousands  of  acres  of  box-elders, 
ash,  hard  and  soft  maple,  basswood,  elm, 
butternut,  hickory,  walnut,  and  cotton- 
wood,  having  been  planted  and  success- 
fully grown.  Wisconsin  farmers  have 
been  known  to  get  homesick  after  going 
to  Dakota,  because  there  were  no  stumps 
to  clear  away  ;  but  the  average  Dakotian 
is  not  losing  any  sleep  over  this  fancied 


The  successor  of  the   Log  Shack. 


able  deposits  of  metallic  tin  ;  while  cop- 
per, gypsum,  mica,  coal,  petroleum,  and 
salt  have  been  found  indifferent  localities 
in  the  Hills. 

In  many  of  the  counties  in  South  Da- 
kota, indications  of  lignite  coal  have  been 
traced,  and  in  the  newly  opened  Sioux 
Reservation  lands  many  rich  coal  fields 
are  known  to  exist,  that  will  undoubtedly 
be  developed  soon.  In  materials  for 
building  purposes,  the  state  nobly  makes 
amends  for  its  lack  of  timber.  Its  beau- 
tiful Jasper  granite  quarries  at  Sioux  Falls 
and  Dell  Rapids,  cement  works  at  Yank- 
ton, and  excellent  clays  for  the  manufac- 
ture of  brick  that  everywhere  abound,  are 
famous  all  over  the  state,  and  its  public 


drawback.  A  good  " wind-break"  and  a 
grove  of  box-elders  or  ash  are  to  be  found 
in  the  vicinity  of  every  well-improved 
farm  in  the  state.  It  is  officially  stated 
that  over  50,000,000  trees  have  been 
planted  in  Dakota  under  the  provisions 
of  the  timber-culture  act,  and  a  recent 
writer  thinks  it  is  safe  to  say  that  nearly 
as  many  more  have  been  planted  on 
homesteads  and  preemptions. 

The  wonderful  success  of  the  artesian- 
well  experiments  has  solved  in  a  great 
measure  the  problem  of  farming  in  a 
country  where  the  rainfall  is  somewhat 
uncertain.  The  rich  black  soil  of  South 
Dakota  contains  all  the  elements  neces- 
sary for  the  growth  of   all  the   farmers' 


"40 


THE   PRAIRIES  AND    COTE  A  US    OF  DAKOTA. 


products,  the  one  drawback  to  making  of 
Dakota  one  of  the  richest  and  best  agri- 
cultural states  in  the  Union  being  the 
tendency  to  drought  in  some  seasons. 
Irrigation  by  means  of  artesian  wells  is 
rapidly  overcoming  this  lack,  however, 
and    renewed    confidence    is    felt    in    all 


Woonsocket's  famous  Artesian   Well. 

sections  where  the  wells  have  been  sunk. 
At  Yankton,  Springfield,  Tyndall,  Mit- 
chell, Huron,  Redfield,  Aberdeen,  Woon- 
socket,  and  a  score  of  other  places,  the 
artesian  well  is  prominent.  Underlying 
the  Jim  River  valley  there  appears  to  be 
a  vast  subterranean  reservoir  from  its 
source  to  its  mouth,  extending  forty  or 
fifty    miles    on    either    side,   yielding    an 


inexhaustible  supply  of  water.  So  far, 
the  increase  in  the  number  of  wells  has 
in  nowise  diminished  the  flow  or  pressure 
from  the  underground  source. 

It  is  entirely  practicable  to  irrigate 
millions  of  acres  of  land  by  the  plan  of 
making  flowing  artesian  wells,  and  as  the 
value  of  such  land  is  enhanced  threefold 
by  such  application,  the  result  certainly 
warrants  the  expenditure.  A  well  costing, 
say,  $1,000,  will  irrigate  640  acres;  at  an 
additional  outlay  of  $200,  it  is  possible  to 
attach  water  motors  of  sufficient  power  to 
run  threshing  machines  and  feed  mills  ad 
libitum.  Some  opposition  has  been  mani- 
fested to  the  proposition  of  a  system  of 
irrigation  by  certain  alarmists  who  labor 
under  the  impression  that  such  a  course 
will  frighten  would-be  settlers  into  the 
belief  that  Dakota  is  a  perennially  dry 
country,  but  this  fear  is  as  groundless  as 
it  is  absurd.  To  paraphrase  an  old  adage, 
"  a  flowing  well  on  the  land  is  worth  a 
dozen  rainfalls  on  the  bush";  and  in  a 
short  time  if  the  proposed  system  is 
effectually  carried  out,  the  farmers  of 
Dakota  may  plant  with  entire  confidence 
and  be  certain  of  full  returns  for  their 
labor,  let  the  season  be  never  so  droughty. 

An  idea  of  the  great  pressure  and  vol 
ume  of  water  flowing  from  these  artesian 
wells  may  be  obtained  from  a  brief  de- 
scription of  the  one  tapped  at  Woonsocket 
a  year  ago.  In  1890,  the  city  sunk  a  six- 
inch  well  725  feet  deep,  for  fire  and  do- 
mestic purposes.  At  that  depth  the  water 
burst  forth  with  a  power  and  volume  un- 
equalled by  any  well  in  the  world.  Under 
a  pressure  of  153  pounds  to  the  square 
inch  it  discharged  4,000  gallons  per  min- 
ute, threw  a  4-inch  stream  70  feet  high 
and  a  2 -inch  stream  200  feet  high. 

The  prairies  and  coteaus  of  Dakota 
have  been  subjected  to  innumerable 
sneers  by  those  who  knew  nothing  of 
their  wonderful  resources,  but  there  is 
now  no  further  excuse  for  such  ignorance. 
With  a  population  of  nearly  350,000, 
three-fourths  American  born,  a  majority 
of  whom  are  composed  of  the  sons  of 
the  farmers  and  mechanics  of  Illinois, 
Iowa,  Wisconsin,  and  Michigan,  with  a 
fair  sprinkling  of  settlers  from  New  York, 
Ohio,  Pennsylvania,  and  the  New  England 
states,  it  is  almost  superfluous  to  add  that 


THE    TRIBUTE    OF  SILENCE. 


741 


the  average  Dakotian  is  possessed  of  more 
than  ordinary  intelligence,  is  liberal  to  a 
fault,  with  a  strong  leaning  toward  good 
government,  good  schools,  and  plenty  of 
them,  and  an  inherent  reverence  for 
things  religious.  There  is  room  for 
many  more  of  this  class  in  these  hospi- 
table prairies.  In  the  newly  opened 
Sioux  Reservation  is  a  large  area  of  good 
arable  land,  subject  to  entry  by  legitimate 
home-seekers ;  while  those  who  are  able 
and  prefer  to  invest  in  deeded  lands  in 
the  older  and  better  settled  portions  of. 
South  Dakota  can  get  homes  at  very  rea- 
sonable prices.  It  is  a  good  country  for 
an  eastern  farmer  with  a  large  family,  to 
visit.     The  New  Englander  is  very  apt  to 


think  his  native  hills  the  best  spot  on 
the  habitable  globe ;  but  if  the  migra- 
ting impulse  ever  comes  upon  him, 
there  are  few  western  quarters  whither 
he  can  turn  his  steps  with  surer  pros- 
pect of  a  prosperous  and  happy  home 
than  to  the  prairies  and  coteaus  of 
Dakota. 

One  seeks  in  vain 
A  fairer  country  than  this  broad  domain  : 
Where  freedom  dwells  on  coteau,  hill,  and  plain; 
And  fertile  prairies,  rich  with  growing  grain, 
Invite  the  man  of  courage,  brawn,  and  brain. 

Hither  on  breezy  wing, 
Far  from  the  pampered  east  a-wandering, 
All  gilded  customs  to  the  winds  I  fling; 
Why  should  my  heart  to  city  pleasures  cling? 
My  shack's  a  castle,  and  I  reign  its  king ! 


THE   TRIBUTE    OF   SILENCE. 

By  James  Buckham. 


A  POET  read  his  verses,  and  of  two 
Who  listened,  one  spake  naught  but  open  praise  ; 
The  other  held  his  peace,  but  all  his  face 
Was  brightened  by  the  inner  joy  he  knew. 

Two  friends,  long  absent,  met ;  and  one  had  borne 
The  awful  stroke  and  scathe  of  blinding  loss. 
Hand  fell  in  hand ;   so  knit  they,  like  a  cross  : 

With  no  word  uttered,  heart  to  heart  was  sworn. 

A  mother  looked  into  her  baby's  eyes, 

As  blue  as  heav'n  and  deep  as  nether  sea. 
By  what  dim  prescience,  spirit-wise,  knew  she 

Such  soul's  exchanges  never  more  would  rise  ? 

O  deep  is  silence  —  deep  as  human  souls, 

Aye,  deep  as  life,  beyond  all  lead  and  line  ; 
And  words  are  but  the  broken  shells  that  shine 

Along  the  shore  by  which  the  ocean  rolls. 


THE    GRANITE    INDUSTRY   IN  NEW   ENGLAND, 

By   George  Rich. 


THE  hills  and  shores  of  New  Eng- 
land have  been  made  to  pay  a  dou- 
ble tribute  to  their  owners.  Their 
rugged  beauty  and  picturesque  slopes 
have  attracted  thither  countless  visitors, 
while    their   constituent   elements   in   the 


Biotite  Granite. 


form  of  slate,  marble,  and  granite,  have 
been  quarried  and  sent  throughout  the 
whole  country.  The  geological  changes 
of  New  England  have  been  peculiarly 
favorable  to  these  latter  enterprises.     No- 


where else  on  this  continent,  in  equal 
area,  can  such  a  variety  of  surface  rocks 
be  found.  The  most  of  these,  through 
heat  and  pressure,  have  lost  their  original 
character,  becoming  thereby  more  dense 
and  crystalline,  while  at  the  same  time 
they  are  marked  by  frequent  joints  and 
cleavage  surfaces.  The  result  of  this  is 
that  they  yield  readily  to  the  hand  of  the 
workman  and  the  design  of  the  artisan. 
Granite  undoubtedly  stands  first  in  im- 
portance among  these  rocks.  This  is 
due  very  largely  to  its  general  distribution 
and  its  wide  application  to  building  pur- 
poses and  to  street  and  monumental  work. 


Hornblende   Granite. 


Muscovite  Granite. 

There  is  scarcely  a  part  of  New  England 
in  which  granite  does  not  appear,  and  not 
one  of  the  states  in  which  the  obtaining 
and  dressing  of  it  do  not  form  an  impor- 
tant item  among  the  industries. 

Granite,  in  its  essential  form,  is  a  com- 
bination of  quartz  and  potash  feldspar. 
Both  of  these  elements  contribute  to  the 
strength  and  hardness  of  the  rock,  while 
the  former  in  addition  acts  as  a  kind  of 
cement  for  the  other  ingredients.  The 
feldspar,  also,  largely  determines  the  color 
of  the  rock.  The  quartz  occurs  in  the 
form  of  rough  crystals.  These  are  sub- 
ject to  some  considerable  variation  in  the 


THE    GRANITE   INDUSTRY  IN  NEW  ENGLAND. 


'43 


way  of  shape  and  general  appearance, 
but  their  composition  is  always  the  same. 
The  feldspathic  element,  on  the  other 
hand,  varies  in  both  these  particulars. 
One  seldom  finds  a  granite  which  con- 
tains only  a  single  species  of  feldspar. 
The  importance  of  this  lies  in  the  fact 
that  the  structure  of  the  feldspar  plays  a 
leading  part  in  the  resistability  of  the 
granite  to  discoloration  and  decay,  and 
effects  its  readiness  to  receive  a  polish. 
As  usually  found,  however,  granite  is 
rendered  still  more 
complex  by  the 
presence  of  other 
components  which 
further  modify  its 
appearance.  These 
accessories  include 
nearly  two-thirds  of 
all  the  known 
minerals.  The  most 
common  is  mica. 
This,  when  present, 
becomes  a  factor  in 
both  the  color  and 
commercial  value  of 
the  rock.  If  the 
mica  be  a  white 
variety  of  musco  vite, 
the     color     of    the 


granite  in  that  case  will  be  very  light, 
as  for  example  in  that  obtained  at  Hal- 
lowell,  Me. ;  if  the  black  biotite  prevails, 
then  the  color  will  be  dark,  possibly  ap- 
proaching the  black  ;  while  if  the  two  are 
mixed,  the  rock  will  assume  a  speckled 
appearance,  an  excellent  type  of  which  is 
the  granite  found  at  Concord,  N.  H.  Mica 
does  not  polish  as  quartz  or  feldspar,  nor 
does  it  retain  its  lustre  as  long,  and  for  that 
reason  the  amount  of  it  present  in  a  par- 
ticular granite  becomes,  from  an  econom- 
ical point  of  view,  an  important  matter. 
Besides  mica,  hornblende,  pyroxene,  and 
epidote  are  other  common  accessories. 
In  commerce,  the  term  granite  is  given  a 
broader  meaning  than  attaches  to  its  use 
in  science,  and  as  such  are  included  un- 
der it  the  syenites,  —  rocks  very  similar 
in  appearance  to  granite,  but  lacking 
among  their  constituents,  quartz,  or  if 
present,  then  only  in  such  small  parts  as 
to  make  it  merely  an  accessory,  —  and 
the  gneisses,  which  are  really  stratified 
granites. 

The  principal  sources  of  granite  in 
New  England  are  in  the  eastern  sections. 
The  leading  quarries,  where  the  stone  is 
found  in  its  best  form,  seem  to  follow  the 
indentations  of  the  coast.     This  fact  has 


U.  S.   Post-Office,    Brooklyn,   N    Y.,  in  Course  of  Construction.  —  Built  of  Fox  Island  Granite. 

M.  E.  BELL,  ARCHITECT. 


'44 


THE    GRANITE   INDUSTRY  IN  NEW  ENGLAND. 


proved  a  strong  element  in  the  develop- 
ment of  the  industry.  Transportation  is 
a  vital  factor  in  the  progress  of  most  en- 
terprises, but  especially  so  in  one  where 
the  product  is  heavy  to  handle  and  of 
small  value  as  compared  with  its  bulk. 
This  proximity  to  the  coast  has  done  two 
things  for  the  quarry-owners  of  eastern 
New  England.     It    has    made    granite    a 


The   late  Governor  Jos.    R.    Bodwell   of  Maine 


possibility  as  a  building  stone.  This  it 
has  done  by  affording  cheap  transporta- 
tion to  the  leading  building  centres. 
Then,  having  made  a  market  for  the 
stone,  it  has  given  these  owners  the  per- 
manent advantage  over  many  of  their 
rivals  of  water  shipping  rates. 

The  quarries  are  the  centres  or  cores 
of  old  mountain  ranges  which  have  been 
worn  down  to   their  bases  by  the  action 


of  the  sea  and  the  glaciers  of  the  ice 
age,  They  may  be  divided  into  three 
general  systems.  The  first,  under  such 
an  arrangement,  would  include  those 
quarries  which  follow  the  coast  line  from 
Eastport  to  Boston,  the  converging  points 
of  which  are  the  Penobscot  Bay,  Cape 
Ann  and  the  Quincy  district.  To  the 
second    would    be    assigned    the    Rhode 

_ — — Island    and    Long 

Island  Sound  quar- 
ries ;  while  the  third 
would  embrace  cer- 
tain excellent  beds 
to  be  found  in  cen- 
tral Maine,  New 
Hampshire,  Ver- 
mont, and  western 
Connecticut. 

Lovers  of  the 
picturesque  find 
much  to  delight  them 
in  the  rugged  sur- 
roundings of  these 
great  quarries.  Many 
of  them  are  simply 
immense  masses  of 
rock  which  some 
Titanic  power  has 
wrenched  from  the 
neighboring  land. 
The  pitiless  teeth  of 
the  sea  have  gnawed 
through  them  and 
the  storms  of  winter 
scarred  their  ponder- 
ous faces.  Others 
form  really  signifi- 
cant islands  with  safe 
harbors  and  seques- 
tered  valleys. 
Others,  again,  stand 
apart,  rising  high 
above  the  surround- 
ing country  and  from 
their  rugged  summits  affording  views  of 
fields  and  woods,  vales  and  winding 
rivers.  The  prevailing  type,  however,  is 
a  series  of  low,  rounded  hills,  broken  by 
occasional  cuts  and  marked  by  out-crop- 
pings  of  granite  rock. 

Historically,  the  quarries  of  the  Quincy 
group  stand  first,  as  it  was  there  that  the 
granite  industry  had  its  beginning  in  New 
England.     That  was  not  so  many  decades 


THE    GRANITE   INDUSTRY  IN  NEW  ENGLAND. 


"45 


ago,  either.  It  was  about  1820  when 
these  quarries  first  began  to  be  worked, 
and  the  success  of  the  original  venture 
caused  a  rapid  development  of  the  busi- 
ness.    Two  interesting  events  are  linked 


lature  to  build  a  road  from  the  granite 
ledges  in  Quincy  to  tide-water.  This 
original  charter  was  for  forty  years,  but  in 
1 83 1  it  was  made  perpetual.  The  pur- 
pose   of    the    company    was    to    form    a 


Sands  Quarry,   Vinal   Haven,   Me. 


with  that  undertaking,  one  the  Bunker 
Hill  Monument,  and  the  other  the  first 
railroad  in  America.  This  latter  had  its 
origin  with  a  number  of  Boston  and 
Quincy  men,  who  in  1826  formed  the 
Granite  Railway  Company.  A  charter 
was  secured  from  the  Massachusetts  legis- 


means  of  communication  between  the 
quarries  and  the  wharves,  and  the  only 
revenue  expected  was  from  the  tolls  re- 
ceived for  transportation.  The  railroad 
as  built  was  about  two  miles  long,  and  had 
granite  sleepers  and  iron  rails  resting 
upon   granite  beds.     The  cost  was  some 


Shipping  Granite  at  Vinal    Haven,    Me, 


'46  THE    GRANITE   INDUSTRY  IN  NEW  ENGIAND. 


•       -       -  ■      ■  J  T?~l 


Methodist  Book  Concern,    New  York,  —  Built  of  Red  Jonesborough   Granite. 

E.    H.    KENDALL,    ARCHITECT. 


$60,000  per  mile.  This  was  the  first 
railroad,  with  a  possible  exception  in 
South  Carolina,  built  in  this  country. 
The  new  company  obtained  its  first  con- 
tract in  1827,  and  it  was  for  the  delivery 
of  the  granite  for  the  Bunker  Hill  Mon- 
ument. The  company  was  paid  fifty 
cents  per  ton  weight  for  carrying  the 
stone  from  the  quarry  to  the  wharf  at 
Milton,  and  forty  cents  for  taking  it  from 
there  to  Charlestown.  To  complete  the 
latter  part  of  the  contract,  the  company 
bought  the  little  steamer  Robin  Hood  for 


$6,500,  and  two  tow  boats  for  Si, 000 
each.  This  led  the  proprietors  to  branch 
out,  and  in  the  same  year  they  purchased 
one  of  the  granite  ledges.  This  was  ex- 
tended until  the  railway  enterprise  be- 
came altogether  subordinate  to  the  quar- 
rying interests  of  the  company. 

The  granite  business  at  Quincy  is 
peculiar  in  some  respects.  There  are 
probably  more  separate  quarries  there 
than  in  any  other  district  of  equal  area  in 
the  country.  Instead  of  three  or  four 
large  companies  excavating,  finishing,  and 


THE    GRANITE   INDUSTRY  IN  NEW  ENGLAND. 


747 


shipping  the  stone,  there  is  a  vast  number 
of  small  firms.  These  are  centred  at 
Quincy,  Quincy  Adams,  West  Quincy,  Mil- 
ford  and  the  adjoining  places.  Some  of 
these  do  nothing  but  take  the  stone  from 
the  quarry,  some  cut  it,  some  polish  it, 
while  others  make  the  boxes  in  which  the 
finished  product  is  packed  for  shipping. 


There  is  a  considerable  range  in  tints, 
however,  —  in  one  quarry  the  stone  being  a 
pale  green ;  in  another,  a  purplish  blue  : 
and  in  a  third,  a  delicate  pink.  This 
makes  possible  a  variety  of  combinations. 
The  texture  of  the  stone,  too,  is  firm  and 
uniform,  and  the  trials  that  have  been 
given  it  are  evidences  of  its  durability. 


Residence  of  Isaac  V.    Brokaw,    New  York.  —  Built  of  Hallowell   Granite. 

ROSE    &    STONE,    ARCHITECTS. 


These  small  plants  are  seen  everywhere, 
and  the  whole  district,  as  a  result,  appears 
like  an  immense  workshop,  where  the 
ring  of  the  hammer  and  the  click  of  the 
chisel  are  always  heard.  There  are  fully 
three  thousand  men  employed  in  the 
various  operations,  and  the  granite  has  a 
wide  use  in  general  building  and  monu- 
mental work.  The  Quincy  granite  on 
the    whole    is    rather    sombre    in    tone. 


The  quarries  of  the  Penobscot  Bay 
form  one  of  the  most  interesting  groups 
in  this  country.  Nature  has  dealt  out 
the  granite  with  such  lavish  hand,  that  it 
is  not  necessary  to  delve  deeply  for  it. 
The  operations  are,  therefore,  on  a 
broader  scale,  and  more  open  to  the  eye 
of  the  visitor.  Prof.  N.  S.  Shaler,  of  Har- 
vard University,  who  made  a  special  ex- 
amination of  the  building  stones  of  New 


■48 


THE    GRANITE   INDUSTRY  IN  NEW  ENGLAND. 


England  for  the  census  of  i 
his  report : 


says  in 


"These  granite  quarries  afford  very  excellent 
conditions  for  working.  The  stone  opens  easily, 
having  the  peculiar  inchoate  joints  that  are  such 
striking  features  in  the  syenite  or  granite  of  New 
England.  There  are  generally  at  least  two  of 
these  rift-lines.  Then  there  is  a  more  or  less  com- 
plete division  of  what  appears  to  be  line  beds,  as 
well  as  joints,  so  that  the  division  of  the  rock  is 
as  complete  as  could  be  desired.  At  the  same 
time,  the  lines  of  weakness  in  the  rock  are  not  so 
numerous  as  often  to  make  the  quarried  masses 
too  small  for  use,  as  is  sometimes  the  case  in 
other  districts.  The  impurities  in  the  way  of 
spots  and  veins,  which  often  seem  to  mar  the 
appearance  of  granite  rocks,  are  not  found  in 
any  great  abundance,  save  at  a  few  points." 

The     largest    of'   these     quarries    are 
located    on     Dix,    Hurricane,    and     Fox 
Islands.       Operations    have    been    aban- 
doned at  the  former  place,  but 
not  until  nearly  the  whole  of 
the  island  had  been  quarried 
over.     Great  bluffs  have  been 
entirely  removed,  and  excava- 
tions still  remain  which  con- 
tain  more   than    fifty   feet    ol 
water,    the    marks    of    former 
activity.       It    was    from    this 
island   that   the  stone  for  the 
New  York  Custom  House  and 
the  New  York  and  Philadel- 


ing  of  it,  in  the  near  presence  of  other 
stone,  unprofitable. 

Hurricane  Island,  as  its  name  suggests, 
is  scarcely  more  than  a  centre  for  the 
storms  which  sweep  the  Penobscot  Bay. 
It  is  very  rich,  however,  in  a  heavy,  dark 
gray  granite  sometimes  tinged  with  pink. 
The  structure  of  the  stone  differs  in 
different  parts  of  the  quarries.  In  one 
portion  it  lies  in  comparatively  thin 
sheets,  while  in  others  occur  immense 
masses,  of  solid  rock  extending  downward 
for  fifty  feet  without  any  perceptible  joint- 
ing. Natural  blocks  five  hundred  feet  long, 
twenty  feet  wide,  and  twice  as  deep  are 
frequent,  while  single  blocks  weighing 
eighty  tons  have  been  moved.  The  island 
is  owned  by  Mr.  David  Tillson,  and  was 
operated  by  him  until  about  two  years 
ago,  when  the  business  was 
consolidated  with  that  of  the 
Booth  Brothers  of  New  York, 
who  also  own  large  quarries 
in  Connecticut  and  at  South 
Thomaston,  Maine.  The 
firm  was  incorporated  under 
the  style  of  Booth  Brothers 
and  Hurricane  Island  Granite 
Company.  The  corporation 
employs  in  its  Maine  quar- 
ries about  three  hundred  and 


Carnegie   Free   Library,    Alleghany  City,    Pa.  —  Built  of  Fox   Island   Granite. 

SMITHMEYER    &    PELTZ,    ARCHITECTS. 


phia  Post-Office  buildings  was  obtained. 
It  is  a  dark  gray  stone,  well  suited  to 
building  purposes,  but  it  has  no  certain 
cleavage.  This  caused  a  waste  of  both 
effort   and  material,  and  made  the  work- 


twenty-five  men,  and  the  annual  output 
approaches  in  value  $300,000.  The  most 
notable  contract  filled  by  Mr.  Tillson  is 
the  St.  Louis  Post-Office  which  is  built 
almost  entirely  of  Hurricane  Island  stone. 


THE    GRANITE   INDUSTRY  IN  NEW  ENGLAND. 


74i> 


John   Peirce,    President  of  the   New  York  &   Maine  Granite   Paving  Block  Company. 


Fox  Island  is  a  near  neighbor  to  Hur- 
ricane. The  South  Island  is  long  and 
narrow,  and  much  resembles  a  series  of 
hills  whose  bases  have  become  submerged 
by  the  ocean.  Its  geological  structure 
suggests  two  epochs.  The  island  seems 
to  be  divided  by  a  line  cutting  it  east  and 
west.  On  the  south  side  of  this,  granite 
is  found  almost  to  the  exclusion  of  other 
stones,  while  north  of  it  there  is  scarcely 
a  trace  of  granitic  rock.  There  are  two 
good  harbors  at  the  southern  end  of  the 
island,  Vinal  Haven  and  Carver's  Har- 
bor, and  these  are  supplied  with  docks, 
derricks,  and  engines  for  loading  and 
shipping  the  stone. 

The  plant  at  Vinal  Haven  is  owned  by 
the    Bodwell    Granite     Company,    whose 


president  is  Mr.  George  M.  Brainerd  of 
Rockland.  It  is  not  known  at  just  what 
time  the  quarrying  of  granite  was  begun 
at  Vinal  Haven,  but  local  historians  place 
it  at  about  1829.  Then  a  New  Hamp- 
shire man  named  Tuck  quarried  a  cargo 
of  stone  for  a  Massachusetts  prison,  and 
shipped  it  to  Boston  in  the  schooner 
Plymouth  Rock.  Two  years  later,  Captain 
Nelson  Spear  of  Rockland  obtained  a 
small  cargo  at  Dyer's  Island.  This,  with 
occasional  small  jobs  for  local  use,  was 
probably  the  extent  of  the  business  until 
1846.  What  is  known  as  East  Boston 
quarry  was  opened  in  1849  by  Joseph 
Kittredge  and  Enoch  Carlton.  The 
work  was  continued  the  next  year  by 
Joseph    and    his    brother   William,    and 


750 


THE    GRANITE   INDUSTRY  IN  NEW  ENGLAND. 


later  these  two  were  joined  by  Moses 
Webster  of  New  Hampshire.  The  prop- 
erty in  1852  fell  into  the  hands  of  Mr. 
Webster  and  the  late  Governor  Bodwell 
of  Maine,  who  formed  the  firm  of  Bod- 
well, Webster  &  Company.  Vinal  Haven 
was  fortunate  when  these  two  men  took 
an  interest  in  its  well-being.  Both  were 
shrewd  and  enterprising,  and  indefatigable 
in  their  labors.     Both,  too,  were   men  of 


from  time  to  time  until  now  it  is  $500,000. 
The  company,  beside  its  work  at  Vinal 
Haven,  also  owns  valuable  quarries  at 
Spruce  Head  and  St.  George,  near  Rock- 
land, and  at  Jonesborough  in  the  eastern 
portion  of  the  state.  The  product  of  the 
latter  quarry  is  a  beautiful  feldspathic 
rock  of  fine  texture  and  rich  red  tint,  and 
is  held  in  high  regard  for  monumental 
and    ornamental  purposes.     The   Spruce 


,i 


Residence  of  H.   O.    Havemayer,    New  York.  —  Built  of  Jonesborough   Granite. 

C.    C.    HAIGHT,    ARCHITECT. 


strict  integrity  and  high  moral  purpose. 
Mr.  Bodwell  took  the  more  active  part  in 
the  development  of  the  resources  of  his 
state,  and  hence  has  left  the  deeper  im- 
press on  its  commercial  and  political  his- 
tory. Under  their  hands,  operations  at 
Vinal  Haven  developed  so  largely  that  it 
was  deemed  best  to  form  a  corporation. 
The  result  was  the  organization  of  the 
Bodwell  Granite  Company,  starting  first 
with  a  capital  of  $200,000,  and  increasing 


Head  stone  is  a  mottled  white  and  black 
syenite  with  constituents  firmly  united. 
There  is  an  unusually  striking  contrast 
between  the  hornblende  and  feldspar, 
which  gives  a  peculiarly  lively  tint  to  the 
stone,  making  it  one  of  the  handsomest 
of  the  gray  granites.  The  annual  output 
of  the  company  is  valued  at  about 
$800,000.  The  number  of  men  em- 
ployed varies,  of  course,  from  time  to  time, 
but  there  have  averaged  at  Vinal  Haven 


THE    GRANITE   INDUSTRY  IN  NEW  ENGLAND. 


751 


Metropolitan   Art   Museum,    New  York.  —  Built  of  Hallowell   Granite, 

WESTON    &    TUCKERMAN,    ARCHITECTS. 


during  the  past  season  between  800  and 
900  men.  The  introduction  of  machinery 
has  done  considerable  to  reduce  the  num- 
bers necessary  to  the  work.  Before  these 
innovations,  the  Bodwell  Company  used  to 


The  product  of  the  Bodwell  Company 
quarries  has  been  widely  distributed. 
Among  the  buildings  constructed  wholly 
or  in  part  by  it  are  the  State,  War,  and 
Navy    Departments    at    Washington,   the 


Washington   Bridge  over  the  Harlem  River.  —  Built  of  Mount  Waldo  Granite. 

W.    R.    HUTTON,    ENGINEER. 


employ  between  1,200  and  1,500  men, 
and  its  monthly  pay-roll  often  reached 
$60,000.  The  company  owns  a  fleet  of 
schooners,  which  it  uses  in  the  shipping 
of  its  granite  and  the  carrying  of  supplies. 


great  Auditorium,  the  Pullman  offices' 
and  the  Home  Insurance  Company  Build- 
ing in  Chicago,  the  Custom  House  and 
Post-Office  at  Cincinnati,  the  polished 
granite  in  the   State   House  at  Indiana- 


752 


THE    GRANITE   INDUSTRY  IN  NEW  ENGLAND. 


polis,  the  Federal  Building  at  Brooklyn, 
the  new  Methodist  Book  Concern  Build- 
ing, and  the  Havemeyer  residence  in 
New  York.  Both  the  artistic  and  the 
sturdy  qualities  of  the  granite  are  ap- 
parent in  the  Brooklyn  Federal  Building. 
There  is  no  exaggeration  in  saying  that 
this  is  one  of  the  handsomest  structures 


the  frequent  arches,  gives  easy  division  to 
the  wings  into  which  it  is  broken.  The 
crown  of  the  building,  however,  is  its 
tower.  This  is  all  hammered  work,  shaped 
about  the  base  much  like  a  basket,  with 
graceful  curves  and  delicate  carvings  that 
give  it  a  beautiful  tracery  effect.  The 
plans  for  the  building  were  drawn  by  Mr. 


James  G.    Batterson,    P 

of  the  kind  in  this  country,  and  its  suc- 
cess is,  in  a  large  measure,  due  to  the 
readiness  with  which  the  granite  has  lent 
itself  to  architectural  treatment.  Rock- 
face  finish  is  used  very  largely  in  the  lower 
stories  of  the  building,  while  above,  the 
stone  is  nearly  all  hammered,  giving  it  the 
appearance  of  unpolished  marble.  There 
is  considerable  pointed  work,  too,  about 
the  windows    and    doors,  and  this,  with 


it  New   England   Granite   Works. 

M.  E.  Bell,  and  the  stone  was  from  the  Fox 
Island  quarry.  The  residence  of  Mr. 
H.  O.  Havemeyer,  the  wealthy  New 
York  sugar  refiner,  on  the  corner  of  Fifth 
Avenue  and  Sixty-sixth  Street,  is  proof 
that  granite  makes  one  of  the  most  satis- 
factory stones  for  such  purposes.  The 
stone  used  in  that  is  of  the  pink  Jones- 
borough  variety.  One  is  impressed  at 
once  by  the  sturdy  strength  of  this  resi- 


THE    GRANITE   INDUSTRY  IN  NEW  ENGLAND. 


753 


dence,  but  the   lively   color  and  warmth 
of  the  stone  remove  any  suggestion  of  the 
public    building    order,    the     type     with 
which    granite     has    largely    been    asso- 
ciated.      The    stone    is    used    rock-face, 
dressed  only  about  the  windows  and  en- 
trance,    with     handsome    carvings     and 
ornamentations    at    those    points.       Mr. 
C.    C.    Haight    was    the    architect,    and 
his    handling    of    the     stone     has    been 
markedly      successful.       This     residence 
presents  an   interesting   contrast   to   that 
of    Mr.     Isaac    V.    Brokaw,    farther    up 
on    Fifth   Avenue    which     is    also     built 
of  granite,  but  of  the  fine  Hallowell  variety.    The 
stone  in  this  is  all  hammered,  and  the  result  is 
that  it  has  the  same  soft  appearance  as  marble. 
The  cornices,  windows,  and  entrance,  too,  are  all 
elaborately  carved,  and  though  the   cutting   was 
done  years  ago,  the  lines  are  as  sharp  and  clear 
as  if  the  chisel  had  done  its  work  but  yesterday. 
The    stone,   also,    retains   its    color  without   any 
traces  of  age   or  dinginess.       But  in  the   same 
line    with     Mr.    Havemeyer's    residence    is    the 
Methodist  Book  Concern  on  the  corner  of  Fifth 
Avenue  and  Twentieth  Street,  which  is  built  of 
the  pink  Jonesborough  stone.     The  lively  colors 
of  the  granite  in  that  case  prove  very  effective. 
A    very    handsome   job    in    the    use    of  granite 
for  ornamental  building  is  the  new  free  library 
which     Mr.     Andrew    Carnegie,    the    Pittsburgh 
millionnaire,  gave  the  citizens  of  Alleghany  City, 
Pa.,  and  which   was  thrown  open  to  the  public 
some  months  ago.      This  is  constructed  wholly 
from  the  Fox  Island  stone,  and  Messrs.  Smith- 
meyer    &    Peltz,    the    architects, 
have'  shown   the   artistic  possibi- 
lities    of     it     in     an     admirable 
manner. 

Rather  interesting  to  note  is 
the  fact  that  the  largest  shaft  of 
granite  quarried  in  modern 
times  was  obtained  at  Vinal 
Haven.  The  stone  was  de- 
signed for  the  monument 
to  General  Wool  at  Troy, 
N.  Y.,  and  in  dimensions 
compares  favorably  with  the 
monoliths  of  the  ancient 
Egyptians.  The  shaft  was 
60  feet  long  by  5  by  5}^ 
feet,  and  in  the  rough 
weighed  185  tons.  Four 
long  blocks  had  to  be  quar- 
ried before  a  satisfactory  one 


was  obtained.     As  completed,  the  monu- 
ment contained  7   stones,  the  bottom  of 
the  base  measuring  17.6  feet  by  17.6  feet 
by  2  feet,  and  weighed  on  shipboard  650 
tons.     In  order  to  set  the  shaft  on  board 
of  the  vessel,  it  was  necessary  to  cut  a 
hole  in  the  bow  and  lay  the  column  on  a 
bed  of  cross  timbers  in  line  with  the  keel. 
The   works    at    Vinal   Haven   are  very 
complete.     Unlike  Quincy,  all  the  opera- 
tions, from  the  exploiting  of  the  stone  to 
the   carving   of  it,   are   carried   on   by  a 
single  company.     In   quarrying,  the  pri- 
mary object,  of  course,  is  the  removal  of 
the   largest   rec- 
tangular    blocks 
possible  with  the 
least     waste    of 
material  and  out- 
lay of  time.  Care 
has  to  be  taken, 
at  the  same  time, 
to     keep     the 
quarry  in  a  free 
condition.    A 
careless  superin- 
tendent  may   so 
lay  out  his  work 
that     the     rocks 
will  split  in  such 
a    way    that    no 
one  of  the  blocks 


Soldiers'  and   Sailors'   Monument,    Boston.  —  Built  of   Hallowell   Granite. 


754 


THE    GRANITE   INDUSTRY  IN  NEW  ENGLAND. 


can  be  removed,  each  securely  wedging 
in  another.  The  quarry  is  then  said  to 
be  "  bound  up."  New  England  granite 
shows  very  little  decay  on  top  so  that 
scarcely  any  preliminary  work  is  neces- 
sary in  removing  useless  stone.  This 
is  especially  true  in  the  case  of  the 
island  quarries  like  those  at  Vinal 
Haven.  Blasting  is  usually  the  first 
operation  in  getting  out  the  stone.  The 
chief  care  in  that  is  to  so  direct  the 
force  of  the  powder  that  it  will  split  the 
rock  in  the  direction  desired  without 
shattering    the     piece     removed    or    the 


feet  long  have  been  made  by  a  single 
lewis  hole,  and  at  Mount  Waldo  in  this 
way  a  block  125  feet  long,  20  feet  wide, 
and  14  feet  deep,  containing  some  30,000 
cubic  feet  of  solid  granite,  was  loosened. 
Le wising  can  be  done  successfully,  how- 
ever, only  when  the  rocks  are  detached 
at  the  ends  and  bottom,  and  have  a  free 
chance  to  move  out  in  front. 

In  some  parts  of  the  quarries  at  Vinal 
Haven  the  sheets  are  thin  and  marked 
by  numerous  vertical  joints.  A  little 
different  method  of  splitting  the  rock  is 
adopted   in   that   case.     Small  holes   are 


New   Erie   County  Savings   Bank,    Buffalo,    H.   Y.  —  Built  of  Stony  Creek  Granite. 

GEO.  B.  POST,  ARCHITECT. 


standing  ledge.  One  of  the  methods  re- 
sorted to  is  termed  "lewising."  Two 
holes,  each  about  one  inch  and  a  half  in 
diameter,  are  drilled,  and  the  core  be- 
tween them  then  cut  out.  The  diamond- 
shaped  hole  which  results  from  this  is 
filled  with  powder  and  tamped  in  with 
sand.  On  explosion  the  longer  axis  of 
the  diamond  determines  the  direction  in 
which  the  rock  will  split.  In  case  the 
fracture  is  to  be  a  long  one  a  series  of 
these  lewis  holes  are  prepared  and  then 
fired  simultaneously  by  means  of  an  elec- 
tric battery.     Free  fractures  125  and  130 


drilled  a  few  inches  apart  along  a  pre- 
scribed line.  Two  slips  of  iron  or  half- 
rounds  are  then  inserted  in  each  hole  and 
small  steel  wedges  placed  between  them. 
Every  few  feet  a  deeper  hole  of  larger 
dimensions  is  drilled  to  guide  the  frac- 
ture. This  done,  a  man  then  passes  down 
the  line  of  wedges  and  hits  each  a  sharp 
blow  with  a  sledge,  the  result  being  that 
the  entire  mass  cleaves  from  the  bed- 
rock. Still  another  method  is  first  to 
drill  a  rounded  hole  of  the  required  depth 
and  afterwards  drive  a  reamer  into  the 
opening,  producing   in   that   way   at   op- 


THE    GRANITE   INDUSTRY  IN  NEW  ENGLAND. 


755 


Stony  Creek  Granite  Quarry. 


posite  sides  V-shaped  apertures.  The 
charge  is  then  inserted  and  the  tamping 
done  in  the  usual  manner,  except  that 
instead  of  driving  the  tamping  down  upon 
the  top  of  the  charge,  an  open  space  is 
reserved  between  them.  The  explosive 
thus  has  the  greatest  possible  chance  for 
expansion  before  actually  breaking  the 
rock.  As  a  result  the  force  of  the  ex- 
plosion follows  the  grooves,  and  if  the 
rock  be  solid  no  shattering  of  it  occurs. 
When  the  cleavage  is  especially  straight, 
the  well-known  Ingersoll  steam-drill  is 
used.  This  will  carry  holes  to  the  depth 
of  twelve  or  fifteen  feet,  and  when  a  num- 
ber of  them  have  been  drilled  a  few  feet 
apart  and  charged  with  powder,  they  can 
be  exploded  with  tremendous  results. 

The  operations  of  quarrying  are  seen 
also  in  a  telling  form  at  Mount  Waldo. 
Mount  Waldo  forms  a  part  of  the  town 
of  Frankfort,  Maine.  It  stands  about 
one  thousand  feet  above  the  sea,  and 
contains  nearly  the  same  number  of  acres 
of  solid  granitic  rock.  The  view  from 
the  top  of  the  mountain  is  most  pleasing. 
The  whole  panorama    of  the   Penobscot 


Valley,  with  its  rolling  fields  and  thrifty 
upland,  is  spread  out  for  miles  before  the 
eye.  The  waters  of  the  South  Branch 
flash  at  its  base  as  they  sweep  toward  the 
greater  Penobscot ;  on  either  side  rise 
the  rival  peaks  of  Mosquito  and  Hegan, 
while  far  beyond  are  the  blue  hills  of 
Holden.  The  rock  itself  is  a  massive 
biotite  of  rather  coarse  texture.  Con- 
tained within  it,  however,  is  a  rock  of 
finer  grain,  so  that  the  local  impression  is 
that  a  belt  of  fine  granite  runs  through 
the  mountain.  The  granite  occurs  in 
immense  sheets,  which  dip  off  from  the 
mountain  and  vary  in  thickness  from  i 
to  20  feet.  Probably  the  average  is 
about  5  feet.  The  rift  or  direction  of 
easiest  cleavage  is  parallel  to  the  sheets, 
and  this  makes  possible  the  moving  of 
great  blocks.  Blocks  80  feet  long,  40 
feet  wide,  and  20  feet  deep  have  been 
moved,  and  it  is  believed  that  others, 
150  feet  by  50  by  12  feet,  could  be 
taken  from  the  quarry.  This  fact, 
combined  with  the  altitude  of  the  quarry, 
makes  the  removal  of  the  blocks  a 
particularly  interesting  operation.     Three 


THE    GRANITE   INDUSTRY  IN  NEW  ENGLAND. 


Shipping  Place,   Stony  Creek,  Conn. 


forms  of  power  are  brought  into  service- 
oxen,  steam,  and  the  force  of  gravity. 
The  oxen  are  used  to  drag  the  great 
blocks  from  where  the  blast  leaves  them 


National   Monument  to  the    Forefathers,    Plymouth. 


into  a  free  space  where  they  can  be  more 
readily  handled.  The  company  operating 
the  quarry  has  as  large  sleek  oxen  as  one 
will  find  in  many  days'  travel,  and  the  way 
in  which  the  refractory  rocks  are  drag- 
ged from  the  beds  where  some  ancient 
glacier  left  them  is  marvellous.  The 
sheds  where  the  stone  is  cut  and  dressed 
are  at  the  lower  part  of  the  quarry, 
sharp  down  the  mountain-side.  The 
stone  is  taken  thither  by  what  is  termed 
a  Blondin  cable  railway.  This  has  its 
termini  in  two  towers,  one  fixed  at  the 
top  of  the  quarry  and  the  other  at  the 
bottom.  The  cable  is  about  eight  hundred 
feet  in  length,  of  steel  and  copper  wires 
closely  woven,  and  the  inclination  of  the 
line  is  between  twelve  and  fifteen  degrees. 
The  cable  is  operated  from  the  engine- 
house  which  stands  just  beyond  and 
above  the  higher  of  the  two  towers. 
The  car,  which  consists  of  a  pair  of  long 
steel  arms  regulated  by  an  under  line 
parallel  to  the  cable,  is  strongly  clamped 
to  a  block  of  granite  which  the  oxen 
have  previously  dragged  from  its  first 
resting-place.  The  power  is  then  turned 
on  and  the  coil  of  steel  around  the  great 
cylinder  in  the  engine-house  begins 
slowly  to  unwind,  the  block  of  granite 
beginning  at  the  same  time  to  descend 
its  balustrade  path.  When  the  block  has 
reached  the  lower  tower  the  engine  is 
stopped,  the  car  lowered,  and  the  block 
released.  The  machinery  is  then  re- 
versed and  the  car  returns  for  another 
load. 

At  the   sheds  the  blocks   are   cut  and 


THE    GRANITE   INDUSTRY  IN  NEW  ENGLAND. 


757 


shaped  as  desired,  and  then  boxed  for 
shipping.  This  is  done  by  vessels,  but 
the  company's  wharf  is  a  half  mile  away 
on  the  South  Branch.  This  space  is 
covered,  however,  by  means  of  a  narrow- 
gauge  gravity  railway.  The  blocks  are 
placed  on  the  cars  at  the  sheds,  and  these, 
by  the  incline  of  the  mountain  and  the 
weight  of  the  load,  are  made  to  shoot 
downward  to  the  river.  The  speed  is 
regulated  by  stout  brakes,  and  very  sel- 
dom does  an  accident  of  any  kind  hap- 
pen. The  packing  of  the  stone  is  no 
minor  matter.  The  Mount  Waldo  quarry  is  ' 
operated  by  the  Mount  Waldo  Granite 
Works,  whose  president  is  Mr.  John  T. 
Rowe  of  Frankfort,  who,  though  seventy 
years  old  is  yet  as  sprightly  in  climbing 
over  the  rocks  as  the  youngest  man  in  his 
employ.  The  quarry  was  opened  in  1853 
by  Mr.  Rowe  and  the  late  George  A. 
Peirce.  On  the  death  of  Mr.  Peirce  in 
1873,  his  sons,  John  and  George  Peirce, 
became  identified  with  the  business,  and 
this  was  continued  until  1880,  when  the 
present  corporation  was  formed.  The 
stone,  however,  is  especially  suited  to 
heavy  masonry,  bridges,  and  similar  struc- 
tures. For  such  purposes  it  has  been 
sent  as  far  south  as  Mobile  and  New 
Orleans.  Mount  Waldo  stone  entered 
largely  into  the  construction  of  the 
Brooklyn  Bridge. 

Mount  Waldo  stone,  also,  is  used  on 
the  St.  Louis  bridge  across  the  Missis- 
sippi River,  and  others  less  known.  The 
stone  has  been  used  in  the  basement  of 
the  State  war  and  navy  building  at 
Washington,  the  municipal  building  at 
Philadelphia,  the  art  museum  at  Central 
Park,  New  York,  and  the  new  court 
house  at  Boston.  The  pedestal  of  the 
Admiral  Farragut  monument  at  Wash- 
ington is  of  this  same  stone.  Work  is 
being  done  now  for  the  congressional 
library  building  at  the  national  capital. 
Large  contracts  also  have  been  filled  for 
sidewalks,  flagging,  and  street  materials 
for  Boston,  New  York,  and   other  cities. 

The  quarries  about  Hallowell  form 
another  interesting  group.  These  are 
operated  by  the  Hallowell  Granite  Works 
which  has  an  invested  capital  of  three 
hundred  thousand  dollars.  The  late 
Governor  Bodwell  was  very  active  in  this 


enterprise  also.  His  son,  Mr.  J.  F.  Bod- 
well, is  the  president  of  the  corporation ; 
Gen.  G.  W.  Tilden,  the  treasurer,  and 
Mr.  J.  P.  Hunt,  superintendent  of  the 
quarries.  The  office  and  main  cutting 
sheds  of  the  company  are  in  the  city  of 
Hallowell,  adjacent  to  the  station  of  the 
Maine  Central  Railway,  and  also  near 
the  wharves  on  the  Kennebec  River. 
The  quarries  are  about  two  miles  beyond 
the  city.  It  is  necessary,  of  course, 
to  haul  the  granite  thither,  but  the 
difficulty  has  been  reduced  to  a  mini- 
mum. The  road,  which  is  a  steady 
descent  from  the  granite  beds  to  the 
river's  edge,  has  all  been  underlaid  with 
broken  stone.  The  granite  is  a  light, 
fine-grained  one,  consisting  chiefly  of 
white  orthoclase  feldspar  with  small 
crystals  of  quartz,  specks  of  black  horn- 
blende, and  scales  of  silvery  mica. 
Dressed  surfaces  are  almost  as  white  as 
white  marble,  while  polished  ones  possess 
a  peculiar  glitter,  the  spangles  of  mica 
sparkling  like  diamonds.  The  stone, 
owing  to  the  preponderance  of  the  feld- 
spar, works  easily  both  in  the  quarry  and 
under  the  chisel.  For  these  reasons  it  is 
used  very  extensively  for  carvings,  col- 
umns, and  monuments.  The  granite  in 
the  quarry  is  arranged  in  sheets  which 
dip  slightly  to  the  north.  These  increase 
in  thickness  as  one  goes  downward,  being 
about  a  foot  on  the  surface  and  ten  feet 
at  a  distance  of  fifty  feet  below.  Two 
large  excavations  have  been  made  in  the 
sides  of  the  hill,  each  possibly  sixty  to 
seventy-five  feet  in  depth.  The  blocks 
of  granite  are  raised  from  these  by  means 
of  steam  and  stout  derricks.  Some  of 
the  stone  is  cut  in  sheds  near  the 
quarry,  but  the  most  of  it  is  hauled  to 
the  city. 

The  finishing  and  cutting  sheds  are 
scenes  of  unusual  activity.  Granite  as  it 
leaves  the  quarry  is  seldom  available  for 
use.  The  dressing  of  it  varies  all  the 
way  from  the  simple  splitting  of  a  block 
or  rude  spalling  of  an  ashlar  face  to  the 
delicate  carving  of  a  statue.  Great  skill 
is  required  by  the  stone-cutter  in  the 
manipulation  of  his  tools  to  produce  good 
results,  owing  to  the  obduracy  of  the 
stone  and  the  fact  that  the  minerals  com- 
Dosing  it  vary  widely  in   hardness.     The 


758 


THE    GRANITE   INDUSTRY  IN  NEW  ENGLAND. 


chief  work  in  shaping  it  is  still  performed 
by  hand.  In  blocks  for  building  pur- 
poses, the  size,  shape,  and  finish  of  them 
depends  on  the  places  they  are  to 
occupy.  Fronts  or  walls  are  laid  up  in 
various  kinds  of  ranges,  which  are  usually 
designated  as  coursed  range,  broken 
range,  broken  ashlar,  and  random  range. 
The  various  finishes  given  the  face  are 
known  as  brush- hammered,  pean- ham- 
mered, pointed  work,  or  rock  face.  The 
blocks  are  brought  to  a  plane  surface  on 
one  side  by  knocking  off  the  rough  points 
by  means  of  a  spallmg  hammer.  This  is 
simply  a  heavy,  three-cornered  sledge. 
The  surface  is  then  worked  down  to  a 
smooth  plane  by  means  of  the  pean  and 
brush  hammers.  The  former  is  shaped 
like  a  double -edge 
wedge  and  removes 
irregularities  by 
striking  squarely  upon 
a  surface  and  bruising 
off  small  chips.  The 
latter  is  made  of  rec- 
tangular steel  plates 
brought  to  an  edge, 
bolted  together,  and 
then  attached  to  a 
long  handle.  The 
degree  of  smoothness 
produced  depends 
upon  the  number  of 
plates  in  the  ham- 
mer. Tracery  or  let- 
tering is  usually  first 
drawn  upon  paper 
which  has  been 
firmly     pasted    upon 


Prospect  Heights  Water  Tower,  Brooklyn,  N.  Y.  —  Built  of  Stony  Creek  Granite. 

THAYER  &  WALLACE,  ARCHITECTS. 


the  block  and  the  design  then  chiseled 
through  to  the  requisite  depth.  Statues 
and  highly  ornamental  designs  are  ail 
worked  out  by  chisel  from  detailed  draw- 
ings or  plaster  casts. 

Mechanical  inventions,  however,  have 
done  much  to  expedite  the  simpler  opera- 
tions, such  as  turning  and  polishing. 
The  turning  lathe  is  similar  to  that  used 
in  marble  quarries.  The  granite  in  this 
is  ground  away  by  the  wedge-like  action 
of  a  number  of  thick  steel  disks.  These 
disks  are  set  at  an  angle  to  the  stone,  and 
move  with  an  automatic  carriage  along 
the  lathe  bed.  Some  of  the  large  lathes 
will  reduce  a  granite  column  two  inches 
in  diameter  the  whole  length  of  it  by  a 
single  lateral  movement  of  the  carriage. 
Columns,  round  posts,  balusters,  and  urns 
are  thus  turned  out. 

Grinding  is  another  common  process. 
The  block  of  granite  in  that  case  is  fixed 
securely  with  the  face  to  be  smoothened 
upwards ;  a  horizontal  revolving  iron  or 
steel  disk,  perforated  with  holes  or  made 
of  concentric  rings,  then  passes  over  it, 
cutting  it  down  with  sand  or  chilled-iron 
dust.  These  disks  are  about  a  foot  in 
diameter.  They  are  operated  by  a  lever 
and  so  joined  to  the  main  shaft  that  the 
workman  operating  them  can  move  them 
over  a  surface  of  stone  many  times  larger 
than  the  disks  themselves.  Polishing  is 
done  in  much  the  same  way,  except  that 
a  felt-covered  disk  is  used  and  putty- 
powder,  mixed  with  water,  takes  the  place 
of  the  coarser  grinding  material. 

Statues   and   monuments   of  Hallowell 

granite  are  to  be  found   in  nearly   every 

State  in  the  Union.     The  possibilities  of 

granite   for  outdoor   statuary 

cannot  be  better  shown  than 

j  -A 

in  the  national  monument  to 
the  Pilgrim  Fathers  at  Ply- 
mouth, Massachusetts,  —  this 
monument,  consisting  of  a 
massive  base  45  feet  in 
height,  surmounted  by  a 
statue  36  feet  in  height.  The 
shape  of  the  principal  pedes- 
tal is  octagonal,  with  four 
small  and  four  large  faces. 
From  the  former  of  these 
faces,  also,  project  four  but- 
tresses   or     wing    pedestals. 


THE    GRANITE   INDUSTRY  IN  NEW  ENGLAND. 


759 


On  the  central  or  main  pedestal  stands  a 
majestic  figure  of  Faith.  One  foot  is  firmly 
planted  on  Plymouth  Rock.  In  the  left 
hand  is  a  Bible,  while  the  right  points  to- 
wards heaven.  The  face,  which  is  marked 
by  an  expression  of  sublime  trust,  is  turned 
downward  as  if  with  the  intent  of  raising 
those  below  from  the  material  things 
which  surround  them  to  the  contempla- 
tion of  the  great  power  which  upheld  the 
heart  and  nerved  the  arm  of  the  fore- 
fathers during  the  perilous  and  discourag- 
ing days  of  their  w^rk  in  founding  new 
homes  and  a  new  commonwealth.  The 
figure  is  one  of  the  largest  and  finest 
examples  of  granite  statuary  in  the  world. 
The  total  length  of  the  outstretched  arm 
is  19  feet,  10*4  inches,  while  the  meas- 
urement from  the  shoulder  to  the  elbow 
is  10  feet,  1)4,  inches.  The  head  at  the 
forehead  measures  13  feet,  7  inches, 
while  the  arm  just  below  the  short 
sleeve  measures  6  feet,  10  inches,  in 
circumference.  The  other  measurements 
are  in  like  proportion,  the  figure  being 
about  216  times  life  size.  On  each 
of  the  four  smaller  pedestals  are 
seated  figures  emblematic  of  the  prin- 
ciples upon  which  the  Pilgrims  sought  to 
found  their  commonwealth.  The  figures 
are  Morality,  holding  the  decalogue  in 
one  hand  and  the  scroll  of  Revelation  in 
the  other ;  Law,  with  justice  and  Mercy 
in  attendance ;  Education,  with  ripe 
Wisdom  on  one  side  and  Youth  led  by 
Experience  on  the  other ;  and  Freedom 
with  Peace  resting  under  its  protection 
and  Tyranny  hurled  down  by  its  power. 
Upon  the  faces  of  the  projecting  pedestals 
are  alto-reliefs  representing  scenes  from 
the  history  of  the  Pilgrims,  the  departure 
from  Delft-Haven,  the  signing  of  the 
Compact,  the  landing  at  Plymouth, 
ind  the  first  treaty  with  the  Indians. 
The  base  of  the  monument  was  furnished 
by  the  P>odwell  Granite  Company,  but  all 
of  the  figures,  with  a  single  exception, 
were  made  by  the  Hallowell  Granite 
Works.  The  work  was  all  done  at 
Hallowell  and  the  larger  figures  were 
shipped  to  Plymouth  in  pieces  and  there 
set  up. 

Another  notable  piece  of  Hallowell 
work  is  the  Yorktown  monument.  This 
stands  about   100  feet  in  height  and  cost 


roundly  $80,000.  It  includes  thirteen 
large  figures  representing  the  thirteen 
original  colonies.  These  are  grouped 
about  the  column  in  a  graceful  manner 
and  each  is  beautifully  carved,  the  faces 
in  artistic  finish  and  strength  equalling 
work  in  marble.  The  monument  for  the 
late  John  Wentworth  of  Chicago,  cut 
also  at  Hallowell,  is  remarkable  in  some 
ways.  It  had  a  height  of  663^  feet. 
The  first  base  of  it  was  18  feet  square 
and  2  feet  thick  and  weighed  5  5  tons ; 
while  the  shaft  was  4^  feet  square  and 
50  feet  long,  weighing  65  tons.  Some 
difficulty  was  experienced  in  shipping  this 
to  Chicago.  The  shaft  was  loaded  on  two 
flat  cars  and  sent  through  direct  by  rail. 
The  base  was  placed  in  a  vessel  and  sent 
by  the  lakes  and  canals  to  the  West.  In 
taking  it  through  one  of  the  canals,  the 
edge  of  the  shaft  was  chipped  so  that 
the  latter  had  to  be  cut  down  after  all. 
Superintendent  Hunt  regards  the  Ander- 
son Monument  at  Brooklyn  as  the  most 
artistic  piece  of  carving  ever  done  at 
Hallowell  and  as  a  good  illustration  of 
the  delicate  purposes  to  which  the  stone 
can  be  put.  The  shaft  is  a  single  stone 
with  a  Grecian  wreath  about  its  top. 
Upon  the  drum  are  the  figures  of  the 
apostles,  with  the  finest  tracery  work 
above  and  below.  The  base  is  12  feet 
square  and  2  feet  thick  and  weighs 
about  25  tons. 

Other  monuments  are  the  Soldiers'  and 
Sailors'  monument  at  Boston,  the  Soldiers' 
monuments  at  Marblehead,  Mass.,  Ports- 
mouth, O.,  and  Augusta,  Boothbay  and 
Gardiner,  Me.,  to  General  Stedman  at 
Hartford,  Conn.,  Stephen  A.  Douglass  at 
Chicago,  the  Washington  Artillery  Mon- 
ument, and  the  Hernandez  Tomb  at  New 
Orleans.  The  New  York  State  Monu- 
ment at  Gettysburg  and  all  the  Maine 
State  monuments,  with  a  single  exception 
are  from  the  same  shops.  The  Hallowell 
company  also  has  the  contract  for  the 
Trenton,  N.  J.,  monument.  This  is  to 
be  100  feet  in  height  with  a  base  30  feet 
square.  It  is  at  work,  too,  on  a  vault  for 
Mr.  H.  H.  Rogers  of  Fairhaven,  Mass., 
which  is  to  consist  of  three  great  stones 
15  feet  by  8.4  feet  by  4  feet  in  dimen- 
sions. 

Hallowell  stone  is  also  used  largely  for 


760 


THE    GRANITE   INDUSTRY  IN  NEW  ENGLAND. 


general  building.  The  largest  single  con- 
tract filled  by  the  company  in  that  line 
is  the  state  capitol  at  Albany,  N.  Y. 
Other  buildings  are  the  Equitable,  Mutual 
Life,  Manhattan,  and  Union  Trust  Build- 
ings and  the  Brokaw  residence  in  New 
York.  All  these  buildings  are  in  styles 
which  require  elaborate  finish  and  carv- 
ing. The  Union  Trust  Building  is  es- 
pecially valuable  in  its  ornamentation  of 
the  stones  composing  the  window  casings 
and  the  entrances.  The  building  stands 
91^  storeys  high,  with  broad,  arching 
windows  which  give  it  a  Gothic  appear- 
ance. This  impression  is  deepened  by 
the  massive  character  of  the  ornamental 
work  and  the  heavy  balustrades  which 
mark  the  front  of  the  building.  The 
granite  is  rock  face  and  the  fine  carving 
put  into  the  finish  about  the  entrance 
would  be  notable  were  the  stone  even 
some  rare  marble.  Mr.  Barr  Feree  of 
Philadelphia,  in  a  late  article  on  "  Ten- 
dencies in  Recent  Architecture,"  says  : 

"  One  of  the  most  successful  handlings  of  tht 
window  problem  is  in  the  new  building  of  the 
Union  Trust  Company.  The  three  great  recesses 
which  form  the  feature  of  its  facade  are  admirably 
managed  and  exceedingly  effective,  though  per- 
haps some  exceptions  might  be  taken  to  the  man- 
ner in  which  the  windows  rill  them." 

The  contract  for  this  amounted  to 
$150,000,  while  the  granite  put  into  the 
Brokaw  residence  aggregated  in  value 
$75,000.  This  residence  has  already 
been  described  in  connection  with  the 
Havemeyer  house.  The  Metropolitan 
Museum  of  Art  in  Central  Park,  also,  is 
being  extended,  the  stone  used  coming 
from  these  quarries,  Used  in  connec- 
tion with  brick,  the  stone,  with  its  fine 
grain  and  soft  finish,  produces  a  beau- 
tiful effect.  Work  upon  this  is  now 
in  progress,  under  the  direction  of  Mr. 
John  Peirce. 

The  principal  New  Hampshire  quarries 
are  found  in  the  vicinity  of  Concord. 
Many  of  them  are  situated  on  what  is 
known  as  Rattlesnake  Hill.  There  is  an 
elevation  of  about  six  hundred  feet  above 
the  Merrimack  River  which  is  almost 
wholly  granite  in  formation.  There  is  a 
peculiarity  about  the  arrangement  of  the 
stone  ;  that  on  the  south  side  of  the  bill 
being  very  light  in  color,  and  that  on  the 
north  side,  dark.     Glacial  action  is  very 


marked,  the  surface  of  the  rock  showing 
it  in  an  unusual  polish.  Oak  Hill  is 
another  elevation  of  similar  character,  but 
the  granite  from  it  is  coarser  and  more 
broken.  Extensive  quarries  are  in  opera- 
tion, also,  at  Fitzwilliam,  in  Cheshire 
County.  These  are  especially  fortunate 
in  their  location.  They  form  the  broad 
north  slope  of  a  hill,  thus  draining  them- 
selves, and  possess  a  very  large  surface 
exposure.  The  market  for  these  granites 
is  largely  a  New  England  one. 

Vermont  granites  are  usually  of  the 
gray  biotite  variety.  The  expense  of 
transportation  rather  limits  the  market 
for  the  product,  and  prevents  an  exten- 
sive development  of  the  resources  of  the 
state  in  that  mineral. 

In  Massachusetts  there  are,  besides 
those  already  named,  valuable  quarries  at 
Cape  Ann,  in  the  vicinity  of  Fitchburg 
and  about  Fall  River.  The  Cape  Ann 
quarries  form  a  continuous  line  from 
Rockport  to  Bay  View  and  they  are 
worked  by  at  least  a  dozen  different  com- 
panies. The  stone  is  a  heavy,  coars< 
gray  one,  and  is  used  largely  for  foun 
dation  pieces  and  street  work.  Some  c 
them  produce  a  stone,  however,  well 
suited  to  general  building  —  and  man] 
Boston  business  blocks  are  constructed 
from  it.  The  stone  is  shipped  in  sloopi 
and  schooners  to  Boston,  New  York,  anu 
Philadelphia.  Some  of  the  craft  ar^ 
rather  crazy  old  affairs,  and  this  fact 
coupled  with  the  absence  of  good  hais 
bors,  makes  the  carrying  of  the  stone  r 
more  or  less  hazardous  enterprise. 

The  best  known  quarries  in  Rhoa 
Island  are  in  the  vicinity  of  Westerly 
The  stone  obtained  there  is  remarkably 
fine  grained  and  homogeneous  in  tex 
ture.  The  tints  take  a  wide  range,  ruiv 
ning  from  a  pinkish  white  through  tK« 
shades  of  brown,  red,  and  pale  blu? 
As  a  result,  the  stone  has  been  exten- 
sively used  in  monuments  and  cemettr 
work. 

The  principal  points  at  which  lai*  > 
beds  of  granite  are  to  be  found  in  Co; « 
necticut  are  near  Thomaston  and  Rc^ 
bury  in  Richfield  county,  on  Long  Isbui  / 
Sound  in  Fairfield  County,  near  L\'ii\e 
Niantic  and  Groton  in  New  LoiiO^  1 
County,  and  near  Ansonia,  Branford  a*  J 


THE    GRANITE   INDUSTRY  IN  NEW  ENGLAND. 


'57 


shaped  as  desired,  and  then  boxed  for 
shipping.  This  is  done  by  vessels,  but 
the  company's  wharf  is  a  half  mile  away 
on  the  South  Branch.  This  space  is 
covered,  however,  by  means  of  a  narrow- 
gauge  gravity  railway.  The  blocks  are 
placed  on  the  cars  at  the  sheds,  and  these, 
by  the  incline  of  the  mountain  and  the 
weight  of  the  load,  are  made  to  shoot 
downward  to  the  river.  The  speed  is 
regulated  by  stout  brakes,  and  very  sel- 
dom does  an  accident  of  any  kind  hap- 
pen. The  packing  of  the  stone  is  no 
minor  matter.  The  Mount  Waldo  quarry  is- 
operated  by  the  Mount  Waldo  Granite 
Works,  whose  president  is  Mr.  John  T. 
Rowe  of  Frankfort,  who,  though  seventy 
years  old  is  yet  as  sprightly  in  climbing 
over  the  rocks  as  the  youngest  man  in  his 
employ.  The  quarry  was  opened  in  1853 
by  Mr.  Rowe  and  the  late  George  A. 
Peirce.  On  the  death  of  Mr.  Peirce  in 
1873,  his  sons,  John  and  George  Peirce, 
became  identified  with  the  business,  and 
this  was  continued  until  1880,  when  the 
present  corporation  was  formed.  The 
stone,  however,  is  especially  suited  to 
heavy  masonry,  bridges,  and  similar  struc- 
tures. For  such  purposes  it  has  been 
sent  as  far  south  as  Mobile  and  New 
Orleans.  Mount  Waldo  stone  entered 
largely  into  the  construction  of  the 
Brooklyn  Bridge. 

Mount  Waldo  stone,  also,  is  used  on 
the  St.  Louis  bridge  across  the  Missis- 
sippi River,  and  others  less  known.  The 
stone  has  been  used  in  the  basement  of 
the  State  war  and  navy  building  at 
Washington,  the  municipal  building  at 
Philadelphia,  the  art  museum  at  Central 
Park,  New  York,  and  the  new  court 
house  at  Boston.  The  pedestal  of  the 
Admiral  Farragut  monument  at  Wash- 
ington is  of  this  same  stone.  Work  is 
being  done  now  for  the  congressional 
library  building  at  the  national  capital. 
Large  contracts  also  have  been  filled  for 
sidewalks,  nagging,  and  street  materials 
for  Boston,  New  York,  and   other  cities. 

The  quarries  about  Hallowell  form 
another  interesting  group.  These  are 
operated  by  the  Hallowell  Granite  Works 
which  has  an  invested  capital  of  three 
hundred  thousand  dollars.  The  late 
Governor  Bodwell  was  very  active  in  this 


enterprise  also.  His  son,  Mr.  J.  F.  Bod- 
well, is  the  president  of  the  corporation ; 
Gen.  G.  W.  Tilden,  the  treasurer,  and 
Mr.  J.  P.  Hunt,  superintendent  of  the 
quarries.  The  office  and  main  cutting 
sheds  of  the  company  are  in  the  city  of 
Hallowell,  adjacent  to  the  station  of  the 
Maine  Central  Railway,  and  also  near 
the  wharves  on  the  Kennebec  River. 
The  quarries  are  about  two  miles  beyond 
the  city.  It  is  necessary,  of  course, 
to  haul  the  granite  thither,  but  the 
difficulty  has  been  reduced  to  a  mini- 
mum. The  road,  which  is  a  steady 
descent  from  the  granite  beds  to  the 
river's  edge,  has  all  been  underlaid  with 
broken  stone.  The  granite  is  a  light, 
fine-grained  one,  consisting  chiefly  of 
white  orthoclase  feldspar  with  small 
crystals  of  quartz,  specks  of  black  horn- 
blende, and  scales  of  silvery  mica. 
Dressed  surfaces  are  almost  as  white  as 
white  marble,  while  polished  ones  possess 
a  peculiar  glitter,  the  spangles  of  mica 
sparkling  like  diamonds.  The  stone, 
owing  to  the  preponderance  of  the  feld- 
spar, works  easily  both  in  the  quarry  and 
under  the  chisel.  For  these  reasons  it  is 
used  very  extensively  for  carvings,  col- 
umns, and  monuments.  The  granite  in 
the  quarry  is  arranged  in  sheets  which 
dip  slightly  to  the  north.  These  increase 
in  thickness  as  one  goes  downward,  being 
about  a  foot  on  the  surface  and  ten  feet 
at  a  distance  of  fifty  feet  below.  Two 
large  excavations  have  been  made  in  the 
sides  of  the  hill,  each  possibly  sixty  to 
seventy-five  feet  in  depth.  The  blocks 
of  granite  are  raised  from  these  by  means 
of  steam  and  stout  derricks.  Some  of 
the  stone  is  cut  in  sheds  near  the 
quarry,  but  the  most  of  it  is  hauled  to 
the  city. 

The  finishing  and  cutting  sheds  are 
scenes  of  unusual  activity.  Granite  as  it 
leaves  the  quarry  is  seldom  available  for 
use.  The  dressing  of  it  varies  all  the 
way  from  the  simple  splitting  of  a  block 
or  rude  spalling  of  an  ashlar  face  to  the 
delicate  carving  of  a  statue.  Great  skill 
is  required  by  the  stone-cutter  in  the 
manipulation  of  his  tools  to  produce  good 
results,  owing  to  the  obduracy  of  the 
stone  and  the  fact  that  the  minerals  com- 
nosing  it  vary  widely  in   hardness.     The 


762 


THE    GRANITE   INDUSTRY  IN  NEW  ENGLAND. 


skill  required  in  the  making  of  the  blocks 
is  an  ability  to  see  quickly  and  to  take 
advantage  of  the  direction  of  cleavage. 
The  tools  used  are  principally  hammers 
of  various  kinds  for  opening  and  break- 
ing the  stone.  There  are  no  uniform 
standards  of  size,  the  blocks  varying  from 
31^  to  4*4  inches  in  width,  6  to  7  inches 
in  depth  and  8  to  12  inches  in  length. 
In  general  the  eastern  cities  prefer  the 
larger  sized  blocks,  while  the  western  and 
southern  cities  like  the  smaller.  New 
Orleans  is  an  exception  to  this  last,  how- 
ever, using,  on  account  of  the  peculiar 
nature  of  its  streets,  the  largest  size. 
The  cutters  are  usually  paid  by  the  piece 
for  making  the  blocks,  receiving  from 
twenty  to  thirty  dollars  a  thousand  for 
them.  The  variation  is  due  largely  to 
whether  the  workmen  furnish  their  own 
tools  and  quarry  their  own  granite  or 
receive  the  rough  stone  from  their  em- 
ployers. The  finished  blocks  sell  in  the 
large  centres  for  from  forty  to  seventy 
and  sometimes  ninety  dollars  a  thousand. 
Assuming  that  sixty  dollars  is  a  fair  aver- 
age price  the  value  of  the  output  for 
granite  paving  blocks  in  1889  would 
reach  $3,7  20,000.  These  blocks  are  very 
largely  handled  by  the  New  York  and 
Maine  Granite  Paving  Block  Company, 
whose  offices  are  at  Temple  Court,  New 
York  city.  The  company  was  organized  in 
1882, with  Mr. John  Peirce  as  President.  It 
started  with  an  annual  output  of  about 
2,000,000  blocks,  but  this  has  now  more 
than  quadrupled  ;  while  some  $500,000 
a  year  is  paid  out  by  the  company,  the 
most  of  which  goes  to  the  people  of 
Maine.  This  company  has  furnished 
blocks,  not  only  for  the  streets  of  New 
York  and  Brooklyn,  but  for  those  of  St. 
Louis,  Cincinnati,  Washington,  Balti- 
more, Philadelphia,  and  Albany.  This 
shows  the  wide  extent  of  the  industry, 
granite  blocks  being  available  wherever 
reasonable  shipping  rates  can  be  ob- 
tained. The  New  York  and  Maine  Gran- 
ite Paving  Block  Company  also  furnished 
the  blocks  for  the  repairing  of  Fifth 
Avenue,  from  Eighth  to  Ninetieth  Streets, 
New  York  City,  a  distance  of  five  miles, 
and  it  now  has  the  contract  for  the  same 
work  on  Broadway  from  Bowling  Green 
to  Fifty- ninth  Street,  some  four  miles. 


New  England  leads  the  country  in  the 
granite  industry.  The  total  value  of  the 
output  in  the  United  States  for  1889,  as 
given  in  the  returns  for  the  eleventh 
census,  was  $14,464,095,  and  of  this 
amount  the  New  England  states  produce 
$8,031,161  worth  or  55.52  per  cent.  In 
1880  these  same  states,  however,  pro- 
duced 75.11  per  cent  of  the  total.  This 
apparent  decline  is  explained  by  remark- 
able activity  in  certain  of  the  western 
and  southern  states.  Georgia  jumps  in 
the  list  from  twelfth  to  sixth  place,  on 
account  of  extensive  operations  at  Stone 
Mountain,  near  Atlanta,  which  were  be- 
gun only  a  few  years  ago.  The  output 
in  California  has  been  greatly  increased 
through  the  work  at  the  Folsom  Granite 
Quarries.  This  stone  is  used  largely  for 
constructing  a  dam  for  the  Folsom  Water 
Power  Company  and  for  the  buildings  of 
the  power  house  of  the  State  Prison, 
which  is  located  near  the  spot.  Re- 
markable activity  is  evident,  also,  in 
Colorado,  South  Dakota,  and  Minnesota. 
But  despite  this  loss  in  relative  percen- 
tage, New  England  has  made  tremendous 
strides  during  the  decade.  The  value  of 
the  output  for  1879  was  #3*897,567, 
showing  the  increase  to  have  exceeded 
$4,000,000.  Massachusetts  stands  first 
with  a  product  valued  at  $2,503,503  and 
Maine  a  close  rival  with  82,225,839. 
Connecticut's  output  had  a  value  of 
$1,061,202;  Rhode  Island,  $931,216; 
New  Hampshire,  $727,531  ;  Vermont, 
$581,870.  In  these  six  states  there  are 
488  firms  operating  525  quarries  and 
giving  employment  to  12,139  persons. 
The  product  aggregates  26,899,248  cubic 
feet  of  stone. 

In  detail  this  is  shown  by  the  following 
table  : 


State. 

No.  of 
Firms. 

No.  of 
Quarries. 

Cub.  ft.  of 
Granite. 

No.  of 
Employes. 

Maine 

133 

153 

6.701,346 

=■73; 

New  Hampshire 

77 

78 

2,822,026 

1,253 

Vermont 

46 

53 

1,073,936 

961 

Mass. 

148 

I5I 

9,587,996 

3,33 

Rhode  Island 

35 

37 

2,S78,237 

i,i95 

Connecticut 

49 

53 

3,835,707 

1 ,630 

THE    GRANITE   INDUSTRY  IN  NEW  ENGLAND. 


703 


The  business  aspect  of  the  industry  is     Company,  he  has  controlled  a  large  part 
most  concisely  shown  by  this  table  :  of  the  granite  output   of  New  England. 


Value    of 
Product. 

Total 
Wages. 

Total 
Expenses. 

Total 
Capital. 

Percentage  of  profit  or  loss 

States. 

On  Capital. 

On  Value  of 
Products. 

Maine 

$2,225,839 
727,531 
581,870 

2,503.503 
931,216 

1,061,202 

.  $1,517,026 
529,945 
408,916 
1,630,128 
618,013 
697,080 

$1,823,976 

■      597,491 

477,"4 

1,973,729 

789,219 

813,200 

$3,i92,3i7 

761,362 

967,750 

2,235,759 

646,392 

891,889 

ifin_ 

New  Hampshire 

17.08 
10.82 
23.70 
21.97 
27.81 

17.87 

18 

Massachusetts 

Rhode  Island 

Connecticut 

21.16 
15-25 
23'37 

That  New  England  holds  the  lead  in 
this  industry  is  due  very  largely  to  the 
energy  and  zealous  efforts  of  three  men. 
Those  are  the  late  Governor  Bodwell  of 
Maine,  Hon.  J.  G.  Batterson  of  Hartford, 
Conn.,  and  Mr.  John  Peirce  of  New 
York.  Governor  Bodwell  was  among  the 
first  to  recognize  the  value  of  the  ledges 
which  marked  so  large  a  part  of  his  state. 
Recognizing  their  value,  he  possessed 
the  business  sagacity  and  the  executive 
ability  necessary  to  their  development. 
Therein  lies  the  important  part  which  he 
performed  in  the  establishment  of  the  in- 
dustry. Mr.  Batterson  has  done  the 
same  thing  for  the  quarries  of  Rhode 
Island,  Connecticut,  and  New  Hampshire, 
and  through  his  labors  Westerly  granite 
has  come  to  be  known  throughout  the 
country.  But  it  is  not  only  necessary  to 
develop  the  quarries.  If  the  industry  is 
to  progress,  new  markets  for  the  stone 
must  be  created.  That  has  been  the  im- 
portant function  which  Mr.  John  Peirce 
has  performed  for  the  granite  industry  of 
New  England,  pushing  the  stone  into 
new  fields,  widening  old  markets,  and 
demonstrating  its  superiority  in  point  of 
beauty  and  durability  to  the  most  of  the 
material  currently  used  in  building.  Born 
in  Maine,  the  son  of  one  of  the  original 
proprietors  of  the  Mount  Waldo  quarries, 
he  has  grown  up  with  the  industry. 
Thus,  familiar  with  every  feature  of  it,  he 
has  been  well  equipped  for  this  work. 
As  the  representative  of  the  Bodwell, 
Hallowell,  Mount  Waldo,  and  Stony  Creek 
Red  Granite  Companies,  and  of  the  New 
York   and  Maine  Granite    Paving    Block 


It  is  through  his  efforts  that  New  England 
granite  has  been  put  into  such  buildings 
as  the  Havemeyer  mansion,  the  Brook- 
lyn Federal  Building,  the  Union  Trust 
Building,  the  Metropolitan  Museum 
of  x\rt,  the  Erie  County  Savings  Bank 
Building,  and  the  Carnegie  Library.  It  is 
largely  through  his  efforts,  also,  that 
granite  has  come  to  be  recognized  as 
second  to  none  as  an  all-round  building 
stone.  Chance  and  the  dictates  of 
fashion  often  play  important  parts  in  the 
architecture  of  a  city.  It  was  a  current 
saying  in  New  York  a  dozen  years  ago 
that  "  the  architects  found  that  city 
marble,  and  that  they  were  likely  to  leave 
it  brick."  Public  buildings,  from  the 
first  use  of  stone  in  this  country,  have 
been  largely  constructed  of  granite.  Com- 
mercial buildings  in  the  larger  cities,  too, 
were  constructed  of  this  material  after  the 
use  of  wood  was  abandoned.  Later,  fashion 
dictated  the  use  of  marble,  and  this  in 
turn  was  succeeded  by  brick,  and  now 
the  tendency  is  towards  a  return  to 
granite.  The  stone  is  used,  however,  in 
a  form  different  from  that  in  the  old 
buildings.  The  style  in  large  blocks  now 
is  heavy  frames  of  iron  enclosed  by  cas- 
ings of  stone,  and  architects  and  builders 
regard  granite  rock  as  especially  suited  to 
such  a  purpose,  both  on  account  of  its 
strength  and  its  durability.  The  advance 
made  in  the  ornamental  and  artistic 
application  of  granite  has  resulted  in  a 
wider  use  of  the  stone  in  residences  and 
smaller  public  structures,  while  it  has 
become  almost  a  supplanter  of  marble 
for  outdoor  statuary. 


THE   WITCH    OF   SHAWSHINE. 


A    TRUE    STORY. 


By  A.  E.  Brown. 


!HE  Pilgrim's 
century  was  about 
to  close  when  the 
humble  farmhouse 
of  Solomon  Gray 
received  a  new  ten- 
ant ;  and  the  new 
century  had  but  just 
opened  when  Rev. 
Thomas  Barnard  dipped  his  quill  and 
entered  in  the  church  records  of  Cochi- 
chawick,  "  Baptized  Miriam,  daughter 
of  Solomon  Gray."  "A  precarious  time 
to  be  ushered  into  the  world."  mut- 
tered the  parson  when  making  the 
sixth  entry  of  baptism  on  the  first 
Sabbath  of  the  opening  year.  The  six 
had  all  been  born  within  a  week,  and 
through  this  ordinance,  the  devoted 
parents  had  tried  to  secure  for  their  babes 
a  safe  passport  to  the  realm  of  bliss,  in 
case  death  claimed  them  before  their  lips 
could  speak  their  Maker's  praise.  No 
one  can  wonder  that  the  parson  shook 
his  head  in  foreboding  as  he  entered  the 
name  of  the  new-born  child.  The  un- 
settled state  of  society  in  this  town  and 
the  others  round  about  cast  a  gloom  over 
the  present  and  future.  The  scenes  on 
Gallows  Hill  in  Salem,  where  the  con- 
demned witches  had  been  hung,  were 
still  fresh  in  the  minds  of  the  people. 
It  was  well  known  that  the  mother  of 
Miriam  gave  testimony  against  Martha 
Carrier  in  the  trial  of  August,  1692. 
Born  beneath  the  shadow  of  such  a 
scourge  as  Salem  Witchcraft,  and  of  a 
mother  who  had  fallen  a  prey  to  the  de- 
luding influence,  it  would  not  be  strange 
if  this  babe  should  suffer  from  unfortu- 
nate birth  marks. 

There  was  a  rustle  in  the  congregation 
in  the  primitive  meeting  house  when 
Parson  Barnard  dipped  water  from  the 
pewter  basin,  laid  his  reverent  hand  upon 
the  little  brow,  and,  in  measured  tones, 
uttered  the  prescribed  words  :   "  Miriam, 


I  baptize  thee  in  the  name  of  the  Father 
and  of  the  Son,  and  of  the  Holy  Ghost, 
Amen."  When  leaving  the  house  of  wor- 
ship, some  were  heard  to  say,  "This  one 
is  to  be  a  prophetess.  Like  Miriam,  the 
sister  of  Moses  and  Aaron,  '  may  she  sing 
to  the  Lord,  for  he  hath  triumphed  glori- 
ously ;  the  horse  and  his  rider  hath  he 
thrown  into  the  sea.'  "  Miriam  was  the 
acknowledged  queen  of  the  cradle,  and 
entitled  to  the  service  of  the  older  chil- 
dren, until  in  turn,  after  two  years,  she 
was  tumbled  out  to  make  way  for  a  burly 
successor. 

Not  one  of  the  ten  children  of  Solo- 
mon Gray  was  more  constant  at  church 
or  more  faithful  at  school  than  Miriam, 
who  was  the  ninth  child  and  a  leading 
member  of  the  family.  At  the  age  of 
twelve  she  could  turn  off  a  good  skein 
of  flax  and  almost  match  her  mother  in 
the  knots  of  yarn  from  the  great  wheel 
as  they  counted  up  a  busy  day's  work. 
She  learned  many  of  the  out-door  myste- 
ries of  the  farm  before  reaching  her 
teens,  and  often  put  her  brothers  to 
shame  by  taking  less  time  to  get  a  brim- 
ming pail  of  milk  than  they  took.  The 
boys  declared  that  Old  Chestnut  and 
High  Horn  knew  when  Miriam  pressed 
her  soft  hands  to  their  flesh,  and  rewarded 
her  gentle  touch  with  but  little  effort  on 
her  part. 

In  the  church  records  of  a  town  twenty 
miles  up  the  river  there  was  recorded,  on 
the  second  Sabbath  of  the  eighteenth 
century,  the  baptism  of  Benjamin,  son  of 
Samuel  Fay.  He  was  one  of  a  large 
family  in  the  town,  which  for  a  while  bore 
the  name  of  the  stream  that  winds 
through  its  eastern  acres.  After  attaining 
his  majority,  Benjamin  bought  of  Michael 
Bacon  the  corn  mill  on  the  Shawshine 
and  began  business  for  himself.  The 
legacy  from  his  father's  estate  was  suffi- 
cient to  purchase  this  place  of  business 
and    the    rude    dwelling    near    the    mill- 


THE    WITCH   OF  SHAWSHINE. 


765 


house.  His  need  of  a  helpmeet  was  gen- 
erally conceded  by  the  people  of  the 
town.  But  he  seldom  went  away  from 
his  business  except  on  the  Sabbath,  and 
it  was  thought  for  a  while  that  he  was 
not  fully  aware  of  his  greatest  need. 
His  absence  from  his  place  of  business 
one  day,  however,  caused  a  customer  to 
inquire  for  him  of  his  assistant  at  the 
mill.  "  He's  gone  down  stream ;  goes 
often  these  days,"  was  the  reply. 

The  reason  of  the  miller's  repeated 
absence  from  meeting  on  the  Sabbath, 
and  from  his  business  on  the  following 
morning,  could  not  be  conjectured  for 
several  months ;  but  at  last  it  became 
apparent.  At  a  Sabbath  morning  service 
in  the  month  of  May,  the  clerk  of  Shaw- 
shine  arose  in  his  seat  and  read  with 
measured  words  :  "  Marriage  intended 
between  Benjamin  Fay  of  Shawshine  and 
Miriam  Gray  of  Cochichawick." 

The  announcement  was  made  accord- 
ing to  custom  on  three  successive  Sab- 
baths, and  so  the  people  knew  the  bridal 
day  was  near. 

The  months  of  extra  spinning  and 
weaving  at  the  farmhouse  of  Solomon 
Gray  now  began  to  have  a  meaning  to 
the  people  of  the  neighborhood.  The 
matronly  neighbors  gathered  about  the 
quilting  frames  and  plied  their  deft  fin- 
gers until  "  herring-bones  and  tortoise- 
shells  "  were  seen  on  each  patchwork 
square.  There  were  the  venerable  mothers, 
in  cap  and  spectacles,  who  had  heard 
Mrs.  Gray  give  that  memorable  testimony 
against  the  witch ;  and  who  had  shook 
their  knowing  heads  when  Priest  Barnard 
—  so  they  called  him  —  laid  his  hand  in 
baptism  upon  the  infant  brow,  and  one 
did  not  fail  to  whisper  what  many  thought ; 
"Does  the  miller  know  that  she  may  turn 
out  a  witch?  " 

When  the  legal  time  for  publishing 
passed,  the  miller's  boat  was  not  seen  at 
its  usual  mooring  and  his  assistant  was  in 
charge  of  the  mill.  "Will  soon  arrive," 
was  whispered  from  home  to  home. 
Curiosity,  seasoned  with  a  little  fear,  filled 
the  minds  of  many  of  the  good  people  ; 
coming  events  had  cast  their  shadows 
before,  and  the  people  of  Shawshine  were 
not  insensitive  to  the  superstitions  of 
Chochichawick. 


While  the  villagers  south  of  the  "  Dam  " 
were  busy  in  speculation,  the  inhabitants 
down  the  river  were  making  merry  at  the 
home  of  Solomon  Gray.  In  the  pale 
moonlight  of  a  June  evening,  a  happy 
group  was  seen  to  weigh  anchors  and 
paddle  away  from  the  farmer's  landing. 
Such  a  fleet  had  never  before  glided  over 
the  surface  of  this  Indian  stream.  The 
chatter  in  the  "bridal  park  "  was  like  the 
chatter  of  the  robins  already  mated  for 
their  summer,  while  the  friendly  canoes 
which  led  and  followed  carried  those 
whose  mating  was  not  yet  perfected. 
On  the  marshy  edges  of  the  sluggish  river 
could  be  seen  now  and  then  the  purple 
petals  of  a  tardy  rhodora,  and  the  over- 
hanging maples  dropped  their  brilliant 
keys  on  the  bridal  party  as  it  neared 
the  winding  banks. 

Solomon  Gray  had  a  tithing  of  the  in- 
come from  an  "  English  Right,"  an  estate 
in  the  mother  country.  His  annual  re- 
mittance this  spring  had  been  taken  in 
broadcloth,  with  plumes  to  match.  The 
brightest  tints  of  the  early  flowers  could 
not  be  compared  with  the  folds  of  the 
scarlet  drapery  that  shrouded  the  grace- 
ful form  of  Miriam  Fay.  Her  full  black 
eyes  and  raven  locks  were  in  striking 
contrast  to  the  mantle  that  enfolded  her, 
while  the  brilliant  plumes  that  decked 
her  jaunty  hat  rose  far  above  the  less  pre- 
tentious costumes  of  the  escorting  friends. 

The  party  disembarked  so  quietly  at 
the  miller's  landing  that  they  were  undis- 
covered, and  the  flickering  lights  of  the 
numerous  candles  in  the  miller's  home 
were  not  seen  by  any  one  at  Shawshine. 
Not  even  the  merry  voices  of  the  depart- 
ing escorts  were  noticed  as  the  company 
weighed  anchors  in  the  early  twilight  and 
left  the  miller  alone  with  his  bride. 

Benjamin  Fay  was  ignorant  of  the 
gossip  of  the  town,  —  for  no  busybody 
had  warned  him  of  impending  evil ;  no 
traveller  had  asked  a  seat  with  him  when 
on  his  pleasant  trips  up  or  down  the 
river,  and  so  his  cup  of  happiness  was 
full.  The  notes  of  the  old  bell  never 
sounded  sweeter  to  the  miller  than  on  the 
morning  of  that  June  Sabbath  when  he 
placed  the  noon  lunch  for  two  in  the 
saddle-bag,  helped  his  bride  to  the  pil- 
lion, placed  his  feet  in  the  stirrups,  and 


'66 


THE    WITCH    OF  SHAWSHINE. 


galloped  off  to  the  village  meeting-house. 
There  were  those  who  lingered  about  the 
door  as  the  bridal  couple  approached  the 
house  of  worship,  but  all  were  too  busy  in 
their  talk  to  offer  assistance  at  the  horse 
block.  Benjamin  managed  his  nettling 
steed  with  one  hand,  and  with  the  other 
aided  his  bride  in  alighting.  It  required 
urgent  circumstances  to  detain  any  one 
from  the  morning  service,  and  the  pews 
were  well  filled  before  the  miller  arrived. 
All  eyes  were  on  the  family  seat  of  the 
elder  Fay,  the  people  not  knowing  that 
the  young  man  had  purchased  all  but  the 
widow's  thirds  in  the  Fassett  pew ;  so 
Benjamin  and  his  bride  were  well  seated 
before  many  were  aware  that  they  had 
entered  the  house.  The  scarlet  plumes 
were  soon  detected  by  the  observing,  but 
some  of  the  more  devout  had  not  grasped 
the  situation  until  the  congregation  rose 
for  the  "  long  prayer,"  when  all  had 
plenty  of  time  to  "  see  the  bride."  The 
prayer  was  never  so  long  as  on  this  morn- 
ing, thought  Benjamin  and  Miriam.  It 
was  not  altogether  in  their  feelings,  for  it 
was  of  unusual  length,  as  many  had  asked 
a  share  in  its  interest.  Madam  Jones 
had  buried  her  husband  since  the  last 
Sabbath,  so  she  had  presented  a  petition 
to  the  Throne  of  Grace  that  the  bereave- 
ment "  might  be  sanctified  to  her  and  her 
family  for  their  spiritual  good,"  and 
others  had  made  similar  requests. 

Miriam  Fay  could  not  have  selected  a 
more  unfortunate  color  for  her  costume, 
although  it  contrasted  finely  with  her 
eyes  and  hair.  A  people,  who  already 
believed  that  the  new  comer  was  doomed 
from  birth,  saw  enough  in  the  brilliant 
clothes  to  convince  them  that  there  was 
truth  in  the  rumors  which  had  gone  out 
from  the  last  quilting  of  the  winter.  ';  I 
told  you  so,"  were  the  whispered  words 
from  one  to  another  as  the  congregation 
broke  up  after  the  service,  and  but  few 
offered  greetings  to  the  newly  married 
couple  during  the  noon  "intermission." 

Time  passed  on.  The  miller  pursued 
his  business,  and  his  faithful  companion 
performed  her  part  in  the  rude  dwelling. 
The  Rev.  Nicholas  Bond  and  his  wife 
made  their  accustomed  call  at  the  miller's 
house,  —  but  no  liquor  was  served  with 
the    wedding    cake.       This     breach    of 


etiquette  was  not  reported  by  the  first 
callers,  but  the  few  parishioners  who 
afterward  discharged  the  claims  of  so- 
ciety did  not  hesitate  to  lay  this  omission 
to  the  bride.  They  were  ready  to  charge 
any  unwelcome  change  of  affairs  to  her. 
The  slightest  unusual  phenomenon  was 
attributed  to  a  mystical  power  which  they 
had  been  led  to  believe  was  the  birth- 
mark of  Miriam  Fay.  Many  of  the  peo- 
ple of  Shawshine  never  called  upon  the 
new  resident  until  the  scarlet  garments 
were  temporarily  exchanged  for  those  of 
a  more  sombre  hue,  and'  some  not  then. 

Years  rolled  on,  and  new  subjects  for 
conversation  came  and  went.  Some 
parents  did  not  fail  to  whisper  to  their 
children  that  there  was  a  mystery  about 
the  miller's  wife,  and  they  were  taught  to 
believe  that  the  scarlet  cloak  and  plumes 
would  yet  appear  to  cast  some  unfriendly 
shadow. 

Benjamin  Fay  and  his  wife  were  regular 
in  their  accustomed  pew  at  church. 
They  brought  one  after  another  of  their 
infants  and  dedicated  them  to  the  Lord, 
after  the  custom  of  the  age,  but  all  this 
did  not  change  the  sentiment  of  many  of 
the  people  of  Shawshine.  Even  the 
schoolmaster's  report  of  the  kindness  of 
Mrs.  Fay  during  his  "boarding  round" 
had  but  little  effect  in  allaying  the  pre- 
judices of  the  people  of  the  district.  The 
black- eyed  children  of  the  miller  found 
but  few  associates  at  the  school,  and  they 
were  the  first  to  reveal  to  the  faithful  wife 
and  mother  the  mystery  of  her  life  at 
Shawshine. 

Age  began  to  make  its  furrows  on  the 
once  rosy  face  of  Miriam,  and  to  silver 
with  gray  her  raven  locks  ;  but  her  earnest 
expression  of  countenance  plainly  in- 
dicated that  she  was  bent  on  breaking 
down  the  superstitions  of  years  and  re- 
moving the  jealousies  of  blinded  igno- 
rance. The  alarming  scourge  of  throat 
distemper  visited  the  colony,  and  the 
village  of  Shawshine  did  not  escape. 
Child  after  child  died  of  the  dreadful  dis- 
ease, but  it  did  not  enter  the  home  of  the 
miller.  "  Few  people  ever  call  on  the 
Fays  "  was  the  reason  assigned  by  one, 
when  the  third  little  coffin  was  carried 
out  from  the  home  of  John  Whitmore, 
and    the    group    of    mourners     marched 


THE    WITCH    OF  SHAWSHINE. 


767 


with  measured  step  to  add  one  more  to 
the  long  line  of  new  made  graves.  The 
heart  of  Miriam  Fay  was  filled  with 
sympathy  for  her  stricken  neighbors,  and 
so,  after  using  all  known  precautions  in 
her  own  family,  she  started  out  to  the  re- 
lief of  others.  The  first  thing  that  met 
the  eyes  of  the  afflicted  Whitmores  on 
their  sad  return  to  the  surviving  members 
of  the  family  was  the  scarlet  cloak  of  the 
miller's  wife.  She  was  packing  the 
children's  throats  with  a  compress  of 
tansy. 

The  disease  was  arrested  in  the  Whit- 
more  family,  and  the  simple  means  of 
prevention  was  effectually  applied  in 
other  homes,  and  by  people  who  reluc- 
tantly concluded  that  it  might  be  pos- 
sible for  a  witch  to  do  one  good  deed 
with  many  evil  ones. 

Love  of  freedom  was  a  lesson  faithfully 
taught  by  example  and  precept  in  the 
home  of  Solomon  Gray,  and  Miriam  had 
imbibed  the  spirit.  The  loss  of  two 
brothers  in  the  Indian  wars  had  caused 
her  to  lay  aside  the  scarlet  cloak  and 
plumes  for  a  while.  This,  however,  did 
not  deter  her  from  action  when  the  days 
of  the  Revolution  drew  near.  She  dis- 
carded tea  and  everything  of  foreign 
flavor  long  before  the  people  of  Shaw- 
shine  adopted  the  Bill  of  Non-Intercourse, 
and  she  was  seldom  seen  in  her  scarlet 
cloak,  for  there  was  a  tinge  of  royalty 
abDut  those  threadbare  folds.  The  wits 
of  m;n  and  women  alike  were  exercised 
to  thwart  the  encroachments  of  the 
"Redcoats."  People  of  this  town,  like 
others  of  the  colony,  hardly  knew  whether 
they  were  looking  into  the  face  of  friend 
or  foe.  It  required  but  the  slightest  in- 
dication to  brand  one  with  the  stigma  of 
"Tory."  While  this  excitement  was 
raging  at  Shawshine,  Miriam  Fay,  then 
past  threescore  years  and  ten,  was  seen 
at  early  dawn,  dressed  in  her  scarlet  cloak, 
dashing  home  on  the  miller's  horse,  and 
hence  she  was  classed   among  the  Tories. 

As  the  British  generals  were  eager  to 
know  the  movements  of  the  colonists,  they 
welcomed  any  one  who  offered  assistance. 
They  had  no  doubt  that  the  woman  in 
scarlet  was  their  friend,  and  gave  diligent 


heed  to  her  story  and  plans.  They 
agreed  to  meet  her  at  a  time  and  place 
appointed,  and  gratefully  bade  her  good 
night  as  she  dashed  out  from  their  quar- 
ters in  haste  to  reach  home  before  light. 

It  was  past  the  following  midnight 
when  John  Whitmore  was  called  from  his 
bed  by  a  man  in  military  costume  and, 
being  mistaken  for  a  Tory,  was  intrusted 
with  the  story  of  the  distressed  man  and 
his  companions.  A  woman  in  scarlet 
had  visited  their  headquarters  on  the 
previous  night  and  agreed  to  reveal  a 
secret  if  they  would  come  on  the  follow- 
ing midnight  and  bring  a  reward.  Be- 
lieving that  she  had  the  key  to  a  colonial 
storehouse  they  made  sure  to  meet  her. 
The  supposed  Tory  in  scarlet  had  led 
them  by  the  flickering  light  of  a  candle 
through  a  subterranean  passage  and  over 
a  swollen  stream,  by  means  of  a  narrow 
plank,  to  a  cavern  beyond,  where  she  had 
extinguished  the  light ;  she  had  retraced 
her  steps,  pulled  the  bridge  after  her, 
emptied  their  saddle  bags  of  the  golden 
crowns,  and  disappeared. 

In  the  darkness  and  mystery  of  the 
hour,  foiled  by  the  shrewdness  of  a  woman, 
the  proud  generals  were  directed  to  the 
highway  by  one  who  was  as  great  an 
enemy  to  their  cause  as  the  woman  in 
scarlet  had  proved  to  be. 

During  the  long  and  trying  years  of  the 
war  for  Independence,  a  more  loyal 
woman  or  more  faithful  spinner  and  weaver 
could  not  be  found  than  Miriam  Fay. 
No  one  sent  more  helpful  packages  to 
the  sufferers  in  camp  and  hospital,  and 
all  of  the  service  was  given  without  draw- 
ing on  the  depleted  treasury  of  the  town. 
The  helpful  words  of  this  patriot  gave 
cheer  to  the  people  of  Shawshine  in  their 
struggles  to  meet  the  demands  for  men 
and  money,  and  when,  after  the  sur- 
render of  Cornwaliis,  they  assembled  at 
the  meeting-house  to  engage  in  a  service 
of  thanksgiving,  the  cracked  voice  of 
Miriam  Fay,  "  the  witch  of  Shawshine," 
could  be  plainly  heard  through  the  con- 
gregation as  she  joined  in  the  words  of 
Miriam  of  old  :  "  Sing  to  the  Lord,  for 
He  hath  triumphed  gloriously ;  the  horse 
and  his  rider  hath  he  thrown  into  the  sea." 


THE    CHURCHES    OF   WORCESTER. 


By  Rev.  Charles  M.  Lams  on,  D.  D. 


OME  years  ago,  when 
"  the  dominant  de- 
nomination"  of 
Worcester  was  dis- 
turbed at  the  appa- 
rent giddiness  of  the 
multitude  in  its 
devotion  to  the  new 
things,  Dr.  Sweetser,  a  man  of  guiding 
and  spotless  fame,  said :  "  Friends,  be 
calm,  wait  in  silence,  all  will  discover 
by  and  by  that  this  is  a  New  England 
city."  The  issue  of  the  ecclesiastical 
disturbance  justified  his  prescient  wis- 
dom. When  the  breeze  was  over  and 
the  waves  subsided,  it  was  found  that  the 
old  currents  maintained  their  constancy 
and   power.     Cities,   like   men,   have   an 


Old  South  Church, 

FROM    AN   OLD   PRINT. 


individual  and  representative  character. 
They  have  certain  constitutional  realities 
that  absorb  and  modify  all  elements  that 
come  from  without.  WThile  it  is  doubt- 
less true  that  the  history  of  the  world,  as 
Carlyle  tells  us,  is  the  history  of  its  rep- 
resentative men,  it  is  also  true  that  it  is 
the  history  of  its  representative  cities. 
A  good  town  or  city  history  is  more  than 
the  annals  from  which  the  historian  takes 
his  facts ;  it  is  a  philosophic  contribution 
to  the  meaning  and  quality  of  the  life  of 
the  state.  Dr.  Sweetser  gave  a  general 
but  very  suggestive  description  of  Worces- 
ter, in  calling  it  a  "New  England  city." 
A  western  city  of  equal  importance  would 
not  so  easily  bear  a  corresponding  de- 
scription. While  the  term,  "  New  Eng- 
land "  is  geographical  and  somewhat 
vague,  it  can  be  expressed  in  terms  of 
moral  life,  intellectual  qualities,  energy, 
conservative  spiritual  forces.  If  any  one 
has  lived  into  Worcester  life  and  wishes 
to  tell  about  it,  he  will  find  that  if  he  be- 
gins with  "  Worcester  is,"  he  will  finish 
it  by  the  use  of  some  attribute  that  will 
make  it  a  part  of  the  description,  "  It  is 
New  England  city."  It  is  a  city  of 
homes  ;  it  has  long  stretches  of  residences 
occupied  by  their  owners.  Practically 
all  the  property  of  Worcester  is  owned 
by  the  inhabitants.  It  has  a  variety  of 
manufacturing  interests  requiring  thought 
and  skill  in  the  workmen,  —  a 
larger  variety  of  such  interests 
than  in  any  other  city  of  its 
population  in  the  country. 
Amasa  Walker  pronounced  it  in 
this  respect  a  "  model  city." 
The  place  has  no  aid  from 
nature,  no  harbor,  no  stream 
with  power.  It  is  in  a  valley, 
and  the  railroads  entering  it 
must  toil  over  steep  grades.  It 
is  far  from  mines  of  coal  or  iron. 
To  many  its  rapid  and  solid 
progress  is  an  unreasonable  fact. 
But  there  is  one  ample  and 
distinctive      cause,  —  men     oi 


THE   CHURCHES  OF  WORCESTER. 


769 


energy  and  skill  rooted  in  the  place 
and  determined  that  the  tree  shall  bear 
fruit  where  it  is  planted.  Worcester 
is  a  city  of  "middle-class"  men,  self- 
made,  glad  and  proud  of  the  place  which 
they  have  aided  in  making  while  making 
themselves.  The  city  has  been  and  is  a 
city  of  families  of  fine  and  noble  strength, 
which  would  furnish  President  Eliot  with 
many  illustrations  of  the  old  New  Eng- 
land stock.  Some  of  the  old  names  are 
disappearing  from  the  places  of  power, 
but  the  old  quality  survives  in  the  public 
spirit,  in  societies  in  the  interests  of  cul- 
ture, in  libraries  and  educational  institu- 
tions. The  old  Worcester  lives  in  the  new. 
In  the  church  history  of  Worcester  is 
seen  perhaps  the  clearest  record  of  the 
fact  that  it  is  a  New  England  city,  clearer 
even  than  in  the  history  of  the  in- 
ventive and  manufacturing  spirit.  For 
this  reason  a  serviceable  and  patriotic 
work  has  been  done  by  Charles  E. 
Stevens,  in  his  book  on  "Worcester 
Churches."  l  He  has  the  honor  of  having 
written  the  first  city  church  history.     As 

1  Worcester  Churches.     1719-1789.     By   Charles  Emery- 
Stevens.     Lucius  Paulinus  Goddard,  MDCCCXC. 


First  Unitarian   Church. 

the  edition  of  this  work  was  limited  to 
one   hundred   copies,   few  can   have   the 


The   New  Old   South   Church. 


770 


THE   CHURCHES  OE  WORCESTER. 


Interior  of  New  Old  South. 


opportunity  of  reading  it.  The  book  is 
a  careful  and  systematic  epitome  of  the 
ecclesiastical    history   of   the    city.     The 


beginning  and  growth  of  each 
church  is  given  with  historic 
sympathy.  The  author  has 
done  his  work  for  the  joy 
and  use  of  it,  with  no  other 
reward  than  one  which  all 
annalists  value,  the  sense  of 
having  preserved  the  data 
of  history,  which  if  lost  can 
never  be  recovered.  The 
book  compels  the  thought 
that  the  record  of  the  church 
life  is  an  essential  record, 
and  that  without  it  the  his- 
tory of  the  city  would  be  in- 
complete. Mr.  Stevens  has 
patiently  examined  ancient 
records  and  the  memories 
of  old  citizens,  and  has 
edited  them  into  a  simple 
and  interesting  account  of 
the  religious  force  in  the 
development  of  the  planta- 
tion, village,  town,  and  city. 
While  he  has  definite  reli- 
gious opinions  and  convic- 
tions of  his  own,  no  one 
would  learn  them  from  what 
he  has  written.  His  interest 
in  the  general  church  life  has  been  so 
great,  that  he  has  been  able  to  give  to 
each  church  its  place  in  the  ecclesiastical 


Bancroft  House. 


THE   CHURCHES  OF  WORCESTER. 


771 


growth  of  the  city,  with  appreciative  dis- 
crimination. 

When  one  reads  the  census  of  these 
churches,  he  may  naturally  first  think  of 
them  as  illustrating  the  condition  in  Omar 
Khayyam's  day,  when  there  were  "  two 
and  seventy  jarring  sects."  Worcester 
has    seventeen    denominations.      But    all 


now  over  sixty  churches  in  the  city,  with 
its  population  of  nearly  ninety  thousand. 
In  their  varieties  is  found  ample  illustra- 
tion of  Spencer's  definition  of  progress, 
as  advanced  from  the  simple  to  the  hetero- 
geneous. All,  however,  are  of  one  phase 
of  the  threefold  type  or  some  combina- 
tion of  those  phases. 


Rev.  Aaron   Bancroft,    D.D. 


these  are  readily  grouped  under  three 
names  —  the  Evangelical,  Liberal  and 
Catholic.  There  are  but  three  religious 
types  of  church  character  —  "  all  good 
things  must  be  three "  as  the  Germans 
say,  —  the  catholic  type,  revering  author- 
ity, the  liberal,  asserting  the  supremacy 
of  reason,  and  the  evangelical,  the  fol- 
lowers of  the  "via  media."     There  are 


Worcester  began  with  a  church,  not 
like  some  modern  cities  with  a  railroad 
station  or  hotel.  In  the  earliest  planta- 
tion the  church  idea  was  dominant.  The 
settlers  engaged  in  building  a  town  for 
attaining  six  ends  ;  the  first  was  "  security 
from  the  enemies,"  and  the  second  was 
"for  the  better  convenity  of  attending 
God's  worship."     It  is  said  that  the  early 


THE   CHURCHES  OF  WORCESTER. 


planters  made  a  fortified  house  near  what 
is  now  Main  Street,  and  surrounded  it 
with  a  palisade.  It  was  enjoined  that 
they  should  "  provide  a  minister  with  all 
convenient  speed,  and  a  schoolmaster  in 
due  season."  In  these  perilous  and  he- 
roic days,  the  name  of  the  plantation  was 


Rev.   Edward   H.   Hall. 

changed,  from  Quansigamond  to  Worces- 
ter.    Probably  some  of  the  earlier  settlers, 
as   Lincoln   says,  came   from   Worcester, 
England  ;  but  there  is  a  significance  in 
the  name    Worcester,    war-castle  —  that 
suggests  another  reason  for  its  adoption. 
The  final  settlement  of  the  town  was  not 
accomplished    till    17 13.     Since    then   it 
has  had  a  continuous  history.     The  set- 
tlers who  conquered  a  place  in  the  great 
natural     hollow    where    Worcester    now 
stands  had  hardly  finished  their  log  houses 
before   they  began  a  church.     For 
four  years  a  log  house,  the  home  of 
one  of  the  settlers,  Gershom  Rice, 
was  used  on  Sunday  for  a  "  meeting- 
house."    The    first    citizens    had    a 
sense  of  what  was  necessary  for  true 
prosperity  when  they  practically  de-         4- 
clared  "that  they  were  too  poor  not         L 
to  have  worship  and  a  good  minister     h«|I 
of  God's  Word."     In   1717  a  small     f . .... 
meeting-house    of    logs    was    built     *  „v 
southeast  of  the  present  Common, 
uear  where  the  Boston  and  Albany 


railroad  passes  through  the  city.  A 
church  was  organized  in  17 16,  accord- 
ing to  the  declaration  of  a  tablet  in 
the  New  Old  South ;  for  Worcester, 
like  Boston,  has  a  New  "Old  South" 
—  but,  oh,  cruel  fate  !  no  old  "  Old  South." 
Mr.  Stevens  after  careful  research,  has 
proved  that  the  6  in  this  tablet  is  wrong 
side  up,  and  that  the  true  date  should  be 
1 7 19.  In  this  year  a  larger  house  of 
worship  was  erected  on  the  west  side  of 
the  training  ground  or  present  Common, 
which  remained  the  site  of  the  church 
for  168  years.  The  house  erected  in 
1763,  with  its  little  delicate  spire  sur- 
mounted by  the  rooster  whose  crowing 
should  bring  "all  sinners  to  repentance," 
remained  till  1889.  Changing  fashions 
fixed  and  fixed  again  and  again  the  pews 
and  windows,  but  the  spire  remained  to 
tell  a  modern  generation  that  the  church 
was  the  Old  South.  The  new  church,  at 
the  corner  of  Wellington  and  Main 
streets,  is  of  brown  stone,  solidly  built 
as  befits  a  church  with  a  long  history,  and 
with  many  touches  of  beauty,  with  a  par- 
ish house  and  rooms  for  various  uses  and 
for  society,  seeking  to  meet  in  many 
ways  the  necessities  of  modern  religious 
life,  as  is  fitting  for  a  church  with  a  long 
hope. 

The  Old   South  Church   has   had   six- 
teen pastors.     Many  of  them  have  been 


Central   Church. 


THE   CHURCHES  OF  WORCESTER. 


773 


men  of  saintly  fame.  But  the  list  reveals 
the  fact  that  few  churches  have  had  so 
many  servants  so  individual,  with  such 
distinct  personal  qualities.  The  first 
pastor,  Rev.  Mr.  Gardiner,  preached  in 
the  church  on  Sundays,  and  hunted  deer 
in  the  neighboring  woods  and  played 
practical  jokes  on  his  parishioners  on 
other  days.  Once,  it  is  said,  he  was  in- 
vited by  a  parishioner  to  dinner,  and 
there  succeeded  in  changing  the  venison 
in  the  pot  for  a  stone,  all  for  the  delight 
of  witnessing  the  discomfiture  of  his  host 
when  he  discover- 
ed that  only  boiled  ^ 
rock  was  provided 
for  his  minister's 
dinner.  Such  con- 
duct did  not  seem 
to  his  people  be- 
coming a  "  good 
minister  of  God's 
Word,"  and  they 
revenged  them- 
selves by  refusing 
to  pay  his  salary 
of  two  hundred 
dollars.  He  was 
dismissed  "be- 
cause he  was  un- 
worthy." Cotton 
Mather  wrote  from 
Boston  to  advise 
the  church  as  to  its 


Rev.   Seth   Sweetser,    D,D. 


action,  but  we  feel  we  should  like  to 
know  more  of  this  "unworthy,"  this  jok- 
ing, warm-hearted  parson,  after  reading 
this  instance  of  his  generosity  : 

"A   poor  parishioner,  having  solicited  aid    in 
circumstances  of  distress,  Mr.  Gardiner  gave  away 
his  only  pair  of  shoes  for  his  relief;    and  as  this 
was  done  on  Saturday, 
appeared  the  next  day 
■HB^  in  his  stockings  at  the 

~--^jgi  desk    to    perform  the 

^IJBlg^  morning   service,  and 

in  the  evening  ap- 
peared in  borrowed 
slippers  a  world  too 
wide  for  his  slender 
members." 

The  minister  of 
the  Old  South  who 
most  nearly  repre- 
sented th.3  early 
New  England  type 
was  Dr.  Samuel 
Austin  of  New 
Haven,  who  was 
pastor  from  1790 
to  1  8  1  5.  His 
theology  was  solid 
Calvinistic,  and  it 
was  preached  with 


74 


THE   CHURCHES  OF  WORCESTER. 


.n   intense    and   con- 

istent  devotion.      By 

ds  intellectual  earnest- 

less,  by  his  influence 

n    councils,    by    pre- 

>aring    for    the    press 

he     "  first     complete 

vorks    of    the     elder 

onathan      Edwards," 

>y  founding  the  Gene- 

al  Association  of  Mas- 

lachusetts,    by    his 

houghtfulness       and 

fearlessness     he      did 

nuch  to  secure  a  place 

)f  influence  for  what 

las  been  known  as  the 

^ew   England  School 

)f  Theology.     He 

nade  a  deep  impres- 

ion    on  his    time    by 

lis     scholarship     and 

:loquence.     He  could 

>e  gentle,  he  could  smile  like  a  child,  and 

et  in  the  time  of  trial  he  seemed  to  have 


Rev.   David  Peabody,    DD 


Union   Church. 


the  appearance  of  the 
old  reformers  and 
martyrs.  He  had  also 
a  feeling  for  humor,  as 
is  evident  from  a  ser- 
mon preached  during 
the  war  of  1 8 1 2 ,  which 
caused  much  agitation 
and  was  published  by 
him  with  this  on  the 
titlepage  : 

"  Published  by  the  desire 
of  some  who  heard  it  and 
liked  it;  by  the  desire  of 
some  who  heard  it  and  did 
not  like  it;  and  by  the 
desire  of  others  who  did 
not  hear  it,  but  imagine 
they  should  not  have  liked 
it  if  they  had.'; 

Dr.  Austin,  after  his 
Worcester     pastorate, 
became   president  of 
the   University    of 
Vermont.     One  incident  will  for  a  long 
time  be  held  in  memory,  to  keep  sacred 
...m      the  west  end  of  the  Common,  where 
the    Old    South    stood.       Early    on 
Sunday  morning,  July  14,  1776,  the 
people  of  the  village  gathered  about 
the  church.     To  many  of  them  the 
war  was  an  awful  fact.     In  all  hearts 
was  the   strain  of   anxiety  and  the 
y      question,    Are     we    to     become    a 
Jj      nation?        On     that     morning    the 
.J      messenger   bearing  the  Declaration 
|JI      of    Independence    to    Boston    had 
J      been  intercepted,  a  copy  obtained, 
and  now  for  the  first  time  in  Mas- 
sachusetts Bay  that  Declaration  was 
"M      publicly  read.      The   reader,   Isaiah 
M      Thomas,  stood   on  the   west    porch 
|tfj      of  the  church.     Though  but  twenty- 
seven    years    old,    he    had    for    six 
years    published    the    Massachusetts 
Spy,  which,   established    in    Boston, 
he  had  recently  moved  for  safety's 
sake  to  Worcester.     He  was  full  of 
power    and    prudent    courage.      He 
and  the   sons  of  liberty  about  him 
felt  the  future   years   like  prophets. 
It  is  somewhat  difficult,  standing  on 
the    green,  close  to  the    noise    and 
movement   of  the    modern    city,  to 
imagine    the    scene    on    that   quiet 
Sunday  morning.     No  modern  wor- 


THE  CHURCHES  OF  WORCESTER. 


115 


ship  was  more  serious  or  intense.  There 
was  nothing  simulated  nor  formal  in  that 
congregation,  as  it  listened  to  the  strong 
words  pronounced  from  the  entrance  of 
the  church  :  "  All  men  are  created  equal." 
It  would  be  a  good  scene  for  a  historic 
painting,  and  a  good  illustration  of  the 
essential  unity  of  Church  and  State. 

The  Old  South  has  sometimes  been 
called  "  the  mother  of  churches."  Church 
after  church  has  gone  forth  from  the  old 
home.  She  may  legitimately  regard  the 
sixty  churches  of  the  city  as  her  children 
and  grandchildren.  Some  of  them,  like 
daughters  in  marriage,  have  changed 
their  names ;  but  all,  because  they  are 
part  of  Worcester,  feel  the  interest  of 
children  in  the  parent. 

The  growth  of  the  "  Liberal  "  churches 
of  Worcester  dates  from  the  organization 
of  the  Second  Congregational  or,  as  it  is 
usually  called,  the  First  Unitarian.  Its 
corporate  name  is  still  "  the  second 
parish  in  the  town  of  Worcester."  This 
is  the  first  "poll"  parish  in  any  inland 
town  of  the  Commonwealth,  with  the 
possible  exception  of  the  church  in 
Leominster.     It  was   formed  of  men  of 


similar  opinions,  without  regard  to  local 
residence.  As  the  organization  of  the 
church  was  in  1785,  these  opinions  took 
their  rise  in  that  intense  intellectual  and 
religious  movement  that  marked  the 
period  immediately  following  the  Revolu- 
tion. The  formation  of  this  church  is  a 
matter  of  unusual  interest  in  the  history 


Trinity  Church. 


Rev.    Daniel    Dorchester,    D.D.,    LL.D. 

of  ecclesiastical  life  in  New  England. 
By  the  law  of  1692,  the  church  was  first 
to  make  choice  of  a  minister;  then  the 
parish,  that  is  the  town,  were  to  take 
action.  In  the  state  constitution,  adopted 
in  1780,  the  town  or  parish  was  given  the 
exclusive  right  of  appointing  the  public 
teacher.  The  method  allowed  by  the 
constitution  was  not  commonly  followed 
by  the  churches  of  the  period ;  they  fol- 
lowed the  ancient  precedent.  In  this 
case,  as  the  First  Church  was  unwilling  to 
countenance  the  establishment  of  the  new 
church,  an  appeal  was  made  to  the  town. 
The  sixty-seven  associates  seemed  to  have 
assumed  the  right  given  under  the  con- 
stitution. The  petitioners  urged  the 
town  to  establish  another  parish  and  to 
meet  the  expense  in  the  support  of  the 
two  churches.  This  petition  was  de- 
bated and,  as  the  record  says,  "  passed  in 
the  negative."  The  association  then 
formed  a  voluntary  organization,  adopted 


776 


THE  CHURCHES  OF  WORCESTER. 


a  covenant  marked  by  its  simplicity, 
beauty,  and  charity,  and  constituted  them- 
selves the  "  second  parish."  At  first  the 
expenses  were  met  by  voluntary  contribu- 
tions of  the  members,  a  burden  made  the 
more  onerous  from  the  fact  that  they  must 
also  aid  through  public  taxation  in   the 


Church   of  the   Unity. 

support  of  the  first  parish.  If  we  ask, 
When  did  the  liberal  movement  of  Wor- 
cester begin?  the  answer  must  be,  that 
the  beginning  of  religious  changes  are 
usually  vague  and  slow,  and  that  this  was 
the  case  here  is  evident  from  the  fact 
that  but  two  men  and  four  women  of  the 
sixty-seven  associates  were  members  of 
the  first  church  at  the  time  of  the  begin- 


ning of  the  second.  The  liberal  reaction 
must  have  commenced  some  years  before 
1785.  The  beginnings  of  religious  changes 
in  Worcester  antedated  the  time  when 
they  came  to  the  surface. 

While  the  town  refused  to  grant  au- 
thority for  forming  a  new  religious  so- 
ciety, the  society  was 
yet  allowed  a  quasi 
legal  status  when 
formed.  Citizens 
could  join  at  will 
either  parish.  If 
the  individuals  at- 
tended its  services, 
it  was  regarded  as 
obedience  to  the  law 
that  all  must  attend 
worship.  In  Wor- 
cester the  fine  for 
three  months'  ab- 
sence from  church 
was  ten  shillings.  For 
some  reason  the 
town  made  it  less  ex- 
pensive to  stay  at 
home,  for  the  tax  on 
polls  or  estates  as- 
sessed by  the  par- 
ish for  the  support 
of  the  minister 
was  far  beyond  that 
sum. 

When  the  second 
parish  was  organized, 
it  was  not  Unitarian. 
It  was  rather  an 
unconscious  liberal 
movement.  Among 
those  who  formed 
the  church  the  ques- 
tion of  the  divine 
unity  was  not  agi- 
tated. Probably 
most  of  the  mem- 
bers were  Arminian 
rather  than  Calvinistic,  but  they  were 
certainly  not  Unitarian.  If  the  church 
to-day  were  to  answer  the  question,  How 
did  we  become  Unitarian?  The  answer 
would  be  :  It  was  the  result  of  a  religious 
movement  stimulated  and  guided  by 
the  first  pastor,  Dr.  Aaron  Bancroft. 
Dr.  Bancroft  was  the  minister  of  this 
parish    for    fifty-four   years,   and  was    for 


THE  CHURCHES  OF  WORCESTER. 


Ill 


Edward   Everett  Hale. 

FROM   A   PORTRAIT   TAKEN   WHILE   PASTOR   OF   THE   CHURCH   OF   THE    UNITY. 


this  period  so  intimately  associated  with 
its  growth  that  the  same  record  would 
give  the  life  of  the  man  and  the  history 
of  the  church.  When  he  came  to 
Worcester,  Mr.  Maccarty  had  been 
thirty -seven  years  pastor  of  the  Old 
South.  The  young  man  —  Bancroft  was 
then  thirty  years  old  —  charmed  people 
by  his  open  mind  and  readiness  to  meet 


the  new  times.  At  this  period  he  had 
convictions  which  he  had  never  uttered, 
and  there  was  in  him  a  movement  of 
thought  of  which  he  himself  seemed 
hardly  conscious.  What  his  church  was 
is  seen  in  a  remark  made  to  him  three 
years  after  his  settlement,  when  a  rumor 
had  declared  that  "  he  denied  the  unde- 
rived  divinity  of  the  Saviour."     "This," 


778 


THE   CHURCHES  OF  WORCESTER. 


1  llll     ,)      Ml 

First  Universalist  Church. 

said  a  distinguished  member, 
true,  shake  our  society  to  its  centre."  He 
was  a  prudent 
genius,  and  would 
not  declare  as 
convictions  what 
were  but  half- 
grown  conclu- 
sions. He  could 
keep  silent  as  to 
his  opinions  till 
h  i  s  convictions 
became  irrevo- 
cable, and  his 
hearers  were  pre- 
pared for  them  by 
their  indirect  in- 
fluence. A  century 
later  we  hear  of 
clergymen  culti- 
vating the  assent 
of    their    congre- 


gations by  the  power  of  unexpressed 
convictions.  Librarian  Green  tells  us 
that  in  182 1,  thirty-six  years  after  he  be- 
gan to  preach  to  the  new  organization, 
Dr.  Bancroft  delivered  a  course  of  dis- 
tinctly Unitarian  sermons,  "  which  were 
almost  universally  approved  by  his  hear- 
ers and  by  their  desire  published." 

In  this  genial,  candid,  brave,  scholarly 
minister,  Unitarianism  had  its  origin  in 
Worcester.  In  him  also  may  be  found 
the  beginning  of  the  liberal  movement  in 
New  England,  as  an  active,  declared 
power.  Dr.  Alonzo  Hill,  Dr.  Bancroft's 
successor,  is  authority  for  the  statement 
that  while  Dr.  Free- 
man,  the  first 
minister  of  Kings 
Chapel,  Boston,  who 
became  a  Unitarian 
1787,  is  con- 
sidered the  earliest 
advocate  of  Unita- 
rianism, Dr.  Ban- 
croft had  already 
taken  his  position 
and  was  in  friendly 
consultation  with 
him.  His  Unita- 
rianism was  of  the 
conservative  type. 
His  son,  George 
Bancroft,  the  his- 
torian, declared  that 
"  he  had  no  sym- 
pathy with  the 
English  Unitarian- 
ism of  Bentham  and 


All   Saints'   Church. 


THE   CHURCHES  OF  WORCESTER. 


779 


Priestly."  Dr.  Bancroft  was  the  father 
of  thirteen  children,  of  whom  the  his- 
torian was  the  eighth.  He  was,  as  all 
records  and  memories  agree,  a  most  con- 
scientious, wise,  and  saintly  man. 

From  1785  to  1885  the  Second  Church 
had  but  three  ministers  : 
Dr.  Aaron  Bancroft  from 
1775  to  1827,  when  Dr. 
Alonzo  Hill  was  ordained 
as  his  colleague ;  Dr. 
Hill  from  1827  to  1869, 
when  Rev.  Edward  H. 
Hall,  now  of  Cambridge, 
was  installed  as  col- 
league ;  and  Dr.  Hall 
from  1869  to  1882. 
These  pastors,  both  by 
their  strength  of  thought 
and  capacity  of  clear 
statement,  and  by  their 
elevating  social  sym- 
pathies, have  in  their 
long  pastorates  deserved 
and  received  the  united 
respect  and  affection  of 
the  church. 

There  is  an  old  say- 
ing in  Worcester  that 
when  the  minister  of  the 
second  parish  went  up 
the  centre  aisle  on  his 
way  to  the  pulpit,  he 
passed  between  more 
brains  than  the  minister 
of  any  other  church  in 
Massachusetts.  To 
verify  this  remark  would 
be  an  indelicate,  per- 
haps an  impossible  task ; 
but  the  reason  for  the 
saying  is  found  in  the 
fact  that  at  one  time  in 
the  history  of  the  church, 
pews  on  the  broad  aisle 
were  occupied  by  Levi  Lincoln,  judge 
of  the  Supreme  Judicial  Court,  for 
several  years  Governor  of  Massachusetts, 
John  Davis,  governor  of  Massachusetts 
and  United  States  senator,  Benjamin  F. 
Thomas,  member  of  Congress  and  judge 
of  the  Supreme  Judicial  Court,  Pliny 
Merrick,  judge  of  the  Supreme  Judicial 
court,  Charles  Allen,  chief  justice  of  the 
Supreme  Court,  member  of  Congress  and 


one  of  the  founders  of  the  free  soil  party, 
Thomas  Kinnicut,  judge  of  probate  for 
Worcester  county,  Stephen  Salisbury, 
president  of  the  American  Antiquarian  So- 
ciety, Dr.  John  Green,  founder  of  the  Free 
Public  Library  in  Worcester,  and  others. 


Rev.  William  R.  Huntington. 

The  first  building  occupied  by  this 
church  for  worship  is  now  used  as  a 
schoolhouse,  at  the  northern  extremity 
of  Summer  Street.  The  second  was 
burned.  The  third,  now  occupied,  was 
erected  in  1851.  Its  marked  features  are 
the  Corinthian  front  and  high  spire  with 
beautiful  decoration  and  proportion.  This 
front  and  spire,  a  copy  of  St.  Martin's  in 
the   Fields,    London,    are    the   best   and 


780 


THE   CHURCHES  OF  WORCESTER. 


almost  the  only  example  of  the  older  style 
of  architecture  of  the  Worcester  churches. 

Of  the  three  divisions  of  the  Church, 
which  we  have  made — the  Evangelical, 
Liberal,  and  Catholic, —  the  Catholic  came 
latest,  and  has  had  the  most  rapid  growth. 
The  Boston  and  Albany  railroad  and  the 
Blackstone  Canal  were  the  pioneers  of  the 
Catholic  church  in  Worcester.  The  work- 
men were  Catholics,  and  as  such  desired 
the  ministrations  of  a  Catholic  priest. 
Mr.  Stevens  discovered  the  following 
records  in  a  manuscript  diary  of  Mr. 
Baldwin,  former  librarian  of  the  Ameri- 
can Antiquarian  Society,  which  explains 
not  only  the  beginnings,  but  also  the 
later  substantial  growth. 

"  April  4,  1834.  I  had  a  call  to-day  from  Rev. 
James  Fitton,  a  Catholic  priest  from  Hartford,  Ct., 
who  says  he  is  the  first  native  of  Boston  who  ever 
preached  the  Catholic  faith  in  New  England. 

"  April  7.  Mr.  Fitton  yesterday  assembled  the 
Catholics  in  this  town  and  with  those  who  came 
from  the  factories  of  Clappville  and  Millbury  he 
had  about  sixty,  beside  women  and  children.  He 
was  subjected  to  some  difficulty  in  finding  a  con- 
venient place  to  hold   a  meeting,  but  at  length 


Pulpit  of  All  Saints'  Church. 


Rev.   Merrill   Richardson,  D.D. 

obtained  consent  to  hold  it  in  the  new  store  oc- 
cupied by  Mr.  Bailey,  which  is  constructed  of 
stone  and  stands  on  the  north  side  of 
Front  Street  on  the  west  bank  of  the 
Blackstone  Canal.  I  believe  this  to  be 
the  first  Catholic  sermon  ever  preached 
in  town.  After  service  was  over,  a  sub- 
scription was  taken  with  the  view  of  rais- 
ing money  to  erect  a  chapel  or  church 
and,  what  is  very  surprising,  five  hundred 
dollars  were  soon  subscribed.  And  in 
addition  to  this,  another  hundred  dollars 
was  procured  to  defray  Mr.  Fitton's  ex- 
penses from  Hartford  here,  and  to  enable 
him  to  visit  the  Catholics  in  different 
places  in  Massachusetts  and  Connecticut." 

The  stone  building  here  referred 
to  still  stands  on  Front  Street,  near 
the  line  of  the  old  Blackstone 
canal.  The  first  church  was 
erected  near  the  place  where  the 
Old  South  Church  built  its  log 
meeting-house.  It  was  dedicated 
as  Christ  Church  in  1841-.  In 
1845  it  was  removed,  and  became 
the  "Catholic  Institute,"  and  St. 
John's  Church  was  built  in  its  place. 
The  growth  of  the  Catholic 
Church  in  Worcester  from  1S41 
to  1S91  has  been  phenomenal. 
Father  Fitton  may  take  the  name 
of  founder,  but  probably  his  wise 
prescience  could  not  imagine  that 
the  one  St.  John's  Church  would 


THE  CHURCHES  OF  WORCESTER. 


781 


become  eight  large  churches  in 
fifty  years.  One  reason  for  this 
growth  has  been  the  rapid  in- 
crease in  the  Catholic  popula- 
tion ;  but  another  and  an 
important  one  has  been  the 
broad  and  wise  administration 
that  considered  the  religious 
interests  of  the  whole  commu- 
nity, and  valued  the  growth  of 
the  Church  more  than  the 
convenience  or  growth  of 
individual      churches.  The 

Protestant  churches  have  not 
been  erected  after  a  consistent 
plan  for  the  advantage  and  use 
of  the  whole ;  in  some  parts 
of  the  city  there  has  been  a 
congestion  of  great  churches, 
while  other  portions  have  been 
practically  destitute.  The 
Catholic  churches  are  in  local 
parishes,  and  in  each  of  the 
seven  divisions  there  is  a 
church  that  has  the  immediate 
care  of  the  vicinage.  The 
Protestant  churches  are  now 
compelled  to  build  chapels  to 
complete  the  work  that  can  be 
better  accomplished  by  the 
wise  distribution  of  great 
churches.  In  all  Protestant 
churches   "poll"  parishes  are 


Swedish  Congregational  Church. 


Carved  Stones  from  Worcester  Cathedral,  Eng.,  preserved  in  All  Saints'  Church. 


an  apparent  necessity,  but  they  do  not 
promote  economy  of  ecclesiastical  ad- 
ministration. 

St.  John's  Church  was  completed  in 
1845,  and  has,  according  to  the  authority  of 
Monsignore  Griffin,  ten  thousand  persons 
connected  with  it.  St.  Anne's  was  com- 
pleted in  1856,  and  now  has  a  parish  of 
three  thousand,  eight  hundred.  It  is  not 
far  from  the  railway  station,  and  its  twin 
towers  form  a  conspicuous  object  as  one 
approaches  the  city  from  Boston.  St. 
Paul's  Church,  at  the  corner  of  High  and 
Chatham  Streets,  is  the  most  imposing 
architecturally  of  any  church  edifice  in  the 
city.  It  is  Gothic,  constructed  of  granite, 
and  has  over  its  facade  a  statue  of  St. 
Paul   by  Rogers,  which   was  the  gift  of 


782 


THE   CHURCHES  OF  WORCESTER. 


Rev.  H.  S.  Wayland,  D.D. 

Mrs.  George  Crompton.  The  parish 
of  St.  Paul's  consists  of  three  thou- 
sand persons,  and  it  has  for  its  pastor 
Rev.  John  J.  Power,  D.  D.,  vicar- 
general  of  the  diocese.  The  Church 
of  the  Immaculate  Conception,  at 
the  North  End, .  was  organized  in 
1873,  and   now  consists   of   sixteen 


hundred  persons.  St.  Peter's,  at  the 
South  End,  was  organized  in  1884,  and 
has  now  a  parish  of  fourteen  hundred. 
The  Church  of  the  Sacred  Heart,  on 
Cambridge  Street,  was  organized  in  1880, 
and  has  a  parish  of  three  thousand,  two 
hundred.  St.  Stephen's  on  Grafton  Street, 
was  organized  in  1887,  and  is  now  said  to 
have  one  thousand  four  hundred  within  its 
parish.  The  French  Church,  Notre  Dame, 
with  its  two  chapels,  is  not  territorial,  but 
national.  It  vies  numerically  with-  St. 
John's,  and  claims  to  have  a  connection  of 
ten  thousand  persons.  These  numbers  are 
given  from  the  statements  of  the  pastors 
of  the  various  churches.  Upon  this  enu- 
meration they  base  the  claim  that  Wor- 


First  Baptist  Church. 


"«^T»- -. 


Main  Street  Baptist  Church. 

cester  is  nearly  one-third 
Catholic,  numerically.  The 
term  Catholic  as  they  em- 
ploy it  may  be  somewhat 
elastic,  but  the  estimate  is 
sufficiently  accurate  to  re- 
veal the  remarkable  growth 
of  half  a  century.  Dr. 
Huntington  well  says  that 
in  estimating  the  religious 
movements  of  the  times  we 
must  take  account  of  what 


THE  CHURCHES  OF  WORCESTER. 


783 


is  going  on  in  the  Catholic  Church.     This 
New  England  city  must  take  account  of  it. 

The  Second  Evangelical  Church  of 
Worcester  was  the  First  Baptist.  Here  as 
elsewhere,  this  church's  life  was  begun  in 
an  independent  spirit  of  fidelity  to  con- 
science and  "  the  Word."  For  some  years 
it  was  a  church  of  one,  "one,  but  a  lion," 
James  Wilson,  from  Newcastle-on-Tyne, 
England.  He  came  in  1795,  and  for  many 
years  this  church  of  one  was  very  efficient ; 
it  held  the  ground,  had  no  internal  dissen- 
sions, and  "kept  the  truth  alive."  In 
181 2,  the  First  Baptist  Church  was  organ- 
ized and  pastor  called.  As  the  society 
had  no  meeting-house,  the  assessors  of 
the  town  granted  them  the  use  of  the  Old 
South  for  the  constitution  of  the  church 
and  the  installation  of  the  pastor.  But 
Dr.  Austin,  minister  of  the  Old  South,  re- 
fused to  be  present,  and  declared  with 
solid  emphasis  his  opinion  of  the  new  en- 
terprise. Dr.  Bancroft,  with  a  cordial 
spirit,  offered  them  the  use  of  the  Unita- 
rian Church,  which  was  accepted.  The 
creed  of  the  church  was  read  at  that  time, 
and  it  is  probable  that  from  that  time  to 
this  the  doctrines  of  election,  imputed 
righteousness,  total  depravity,  and  bap- 
tism by  immersion,  have  never  had  in 
that  place  such  clear  and  emphatic 
declaration.  The 
church  at  its  begin- 
ning learned  the  force 
of  Burke's  saying, 
"  Our  antagonist  is 
our  helper."  The 
opposition  of  those 
who  could  not  under- 
stand them  increased 
and  developed  their 
power.  It  was  soon 
seen  that  the  church 
had  staying  qualities, 
resolute  convictions, 
and  a  religious 
loyalty  ;  and  these 
soon  gained  for  it  a 
place  of  respect  and 
influence. 

As  the  business 
prophecy  of  the  time 
declared  that  the  city 
must  grow  toward  the 
southeast     from    the 


»     it    w&  ■  1 


Noire  Dame  Church. 


Rev.  Jonathan  Going,    D.D 


Common,  the  meeting-house  was  erected 

on  Salem  Square,  on  the  site  now  occupied 

by  the  First  Baptist  Church. 

In  1813,  Dr.  Jonathan  Going  accepted 

a  call  to  its  ministry.  The  punning  peo- 
ple have  often  de- 
clared that  he  was 
the  one  who  more 
than  any  other  made 
the  church  "  go." 
He  remained  for  six- 
teen years,  and  led 
the  church  into  great- 
ness and  usefulness. 
He  was  a  man  of 
personal  power,  fine 
culture,  and  large 
views  of  the  necessary 
work  of  a  church. 
There  was  universal 
sorrow  at  his  resigna- 
tion. "  I  am  depart- 
ing," he  said,  "  not 
because  I  love  this 
church  or  Worcester 
less,  but  the  whole 
country  and  the  whole 
church  more."  When 
we     remember     that 


84 


THE   CHURCHES  OF  WORCESTER. 


Plymouth  Church. 

his  was  in  1832,  we  see  that  his  devotion 
lad  a  kind  of  prophetic  genius.  He  felt 
he  claims  of  that  "  New  West  "  that  then 
lad  no  existence.  The  church  must  go, 
le  felt,  with  that  new  civilization  that  was 
'bursting  into  states  "  as  it  went  westward. 
In  all  good  causes,  notably  that  of  ed- 
ication,  he  was  "bishop."  There  are 
nany  memories  of  his  tenderness  and 
gracious  sacrifices,  but  we  like  him  all 
he  more  because  he  is  said  to  have  once 
)een"mad."  Like  "Father"  Allen  of 
/Worcester,  he  was  an  advocate  of  Tem- 
)erance  when  most  even  of  the  clergy 
lsed  ardent  spirits.  A  church  is  reported 
o  have  asked  him  for  assistance.  "Can 
rou  not,"  he  inquired,  "by  economy  in 
he  use  of  liquor  save  enough  for  self- 
iupport?  "  "  I  think  not,  sir,"  replied  the 
nan  presenting  the  cause,  "  I  now  buy 
nine  by  the  barrel,  at  the  lowest  whole- 
;ale  rates."      At  this  Dr.  Going  is  said  to 


have  been  "  severe."  He  was  a  trustee 
of  Brown  University  and  an  original 
trustee  of  Amherst  College.  He  was 
founder  of  the  American  Baptist  Mis- 
sionary Union  and  president  of  Evan- 
ville  University,  Ohio.  Dr.  Jonah  G. 
Warren  says  of  him  :  "  He  was  a  vast 
walking  magnetic  machine,  at  every 
step  giving  off  sparks  through  every 
pore  of  the  skin,  through  every  hair 
and  muscle.  Another  man,  carrying 
so  extensive,  so  diversified,  so  com- 
plete an  armory,  with  such  consum- 
mate skill  in  the  selection  and  use  of 
each  weapon  as  the  emergency  arose, 
never  walked  our  streets.  This  I  say 
remembering  that  the  Waldos,  Davises, 
Lincolns,  Bancrofts,  Thomases  and 
many  more  of  a  unique  character  and 
national  reputation  have  resided  here." 
At  the  close  of  the  first  century  of 
its  existence,  Worcester  had  a  popula- 
tion of  twenty-six  hundred  and  three 
churches.  The  last  three-fourths  of 
a  century  has  been  crowded  with  new 
religious  movements.  In  this  time 
nearly  sixty  churches,  some  imported, 
some  outgrowths  and  some  outcomes, 
have  been  formed.  In  tracing  their 
growth  and  influence,  their  intimate 
association  with  the  civil  life  of  the 
town,  an  association  less  formal  but  no 
less  essential  than  at  the  beginning,  it 


St.  John's  Episcopal  Church. 


THE  CHURCHES  OF  WORCESTER. 


785 


Window  in  St.  John's  Church. 

it  seen  that  the  history  of  the  city  is  one, 
and  the  terms  sacred  and  profane,  in 
reference  to  the  growth  of  the  city,  as 
indeed  in  all  history,  make  often  an  im- 
pertinent distinction. 

The  First  Baptist  Church 
has  become  seven  churches. 
It  has  lived  down  all  opposi- 
tion and  lived  into  a  deserved 
spirit  of  sympathy  and  respect 
for  its  vigorous  and  aggressive 
life.  The  Second  Baptist 
Church  was  formed  in  1841, 
and  has  just  entered  into  joy- 
ful possession  of  its  new 
church  on  Pleasant  Street. 
The  Main  Street  Baptist 
church  was  established  upon 
petition  of  Eli  Thayer  and 
others  in  1852.  Then  fol- 
lowed the  Dewey  Street  church 
in  1867,  the  Lincoln  Square 
church 
Baptist 


Every  one  knows  what  a  Baptist  is.  The 
church  is  in  touch  with  modern  religious 
movements,  but  not  their  slave ;  and 
though  it  has  had  but  a  short  history  in 
the  city  of  Worcester,  it  points  with 
honorable  pride  to  its  seven  churches 
there. 

The  Methodist  Episcopal  Church  be- 
gan its  organized  life  in  Worcester  in 
1834.  It  came  and  saw  many  times  be- 
fore it  could  say  it  conquered.  A  "  class 
leader,"  Garrettson,  appeared  in  1790, 
took  tea  with  Dr.  Bancroft,  and  was 
shocked  at  discovering  that  the  Doctor 
did  not  say  formal  grace  over  his  evening 
meal.  The  famous  Bishop  Asbury  also 
came  several  times.  In  1830,  Rev.  Dex- 
ter S.  King  visited  the  city,  and  formed  a 
class.  When  the  first  Methodists  declared 
that  class-meetings  were  essential  to 
Methodism,  he  revealed  a  religious  ge- 
nius. The  formation  of  Methodist  churches 


Adams 


in  1 88 1,  the  South 
in  1886,  and  the 
Square     church     in 


The  Baptist  Church  in 
Worcester  has  always  been  a 
church  of  administrative 
liberty,  "  Congregational  In- 
dependent, and.  a  little  more," 
as  Dr.  Dexter  says.  It  has 
kept  alive  the  spirit  imparted 
by  Dr.  Going.  It  believes  in 
church  extension  as  a  mis- 
sionary duty.  It  makes  clear 
appeals    to    the    conscience. 


Pleasant  Street   Baptist  Church. 


*6 


THE   CHURCHES  OE  WORCESTER. 


Worcester  and  other  places  was  usually 
eceded  by  the  formation  of  a  "  class." 
l  1834,  the  First  Methodist  or  Trinity 
lurch  was  formed.  Though  at  the  be- 
nning  we  are  told  that  large  congrega- 
ms  were  filled  with  true  "  Methodist 
•wer,"  it  is  evident  that  the  cradle  in 
lich  Methodism  was  first  rocked  in 
orcester  was  very  rudely  shaken.  It 
is  not  a  church  of  honor.  An  incident 
nnected  with  its  beginning  seems  al- 
Dst  like  ancient  history  to  the  new  gen- 
ition.  "In  1835,"  Stevens  tells  us. 
vhen  the  presiding  elder  undertook  to 
liver    an    anti-slaverv    address    in    the 


st. 


's  Church. 


thodist  place  of  worship,  Levi  Lincoln, 
son  of  Governor  Lincoln,  entered 
h  an  Irishman,  himself  seized  the 
:aker's  manuscript,  and  tore  it  in 
ces,  while  the  Irishman  laid  violent 
ids  on  the  speaker  elder.  Directly 
it,  the   selectmen,    one   of  whom   was 


Rev.    Father   Fitton. 

the  late  Judge  Merrick,  notified  the 
society  that  if  the  Town  Hall  was  ever 
opened  again  for  an  Anti-Slavery  meeting, 
their  use  of  it  for  preaching  would  be  for- 
feited." 

The  first  lowly  church  was  erected  on 
Union  Street,  in  the 
midst  of  "  puddles  and 
ooze."  This  church 
was  burned  in  1843, 
and  a  new  and  larger 
church  was  builded 
near  the  Common, 
which  was  dedicated 
in  1845.  When  this 
was  outgrown,  the  new 
Trinity  came,  in  1871, 
this  church  now  having 
a  membership  of  over 
eight  hundred. 

At  the  semi-centen- 
nial anniversary  of 
Methodism  in  Wor- 
cester, in  1884,  these 
humble  beginnings 
were  dwelt  upon  with  the  joy  natural  to  a 
church  which  has  long  outgrown  them. 
It  was  then  proved  and  published  that  no 
other  evangelical  church  in  Worcester  had 
grown  so  rapidly  in  numbers  or  wealth  or 
spiritual  power  as  the  Methodist  church. 
At    that    time    it    pointed    to    the    Grace 


THE   CHURCHES  OF  WORCESTER. 


787 


V- 


Church  with  its  new  building,  a  church 
"whose  beginning  was  achieved  "  by  Dr. 
Dorchester,  the  statistician,  then  presiding 
elder,  to  the  smaller  but  vigorous  churches 
on  Laurel  Street,  Webster  Square  and 
Coral  Street,  as  well 
£^  as  to  the  African  and 

Swedish  churches. 
T  h  e  Methodist 
Church  illustrates 
the  truth  that  the 
thoughts  of  intellec- 
tual religion  gradu- 
ally work  down  from 
the  cultured  to  the 
common  people,  and 
that  the  feelings  of 
emotional  religion 
work  up  and  give 
warmth  to  refined 
life.  Other  churches 
are  gratefully  receiv- 
i  ng  "Methodist 
fervor,"  and  the  Me- 
thodists are  accept- 
ing the  soberness  of 
culture  and  the  re- 
finements of  written 
sermon  s,  classical 
music,  and  impres- 
sive architecture. 
Methodism  in  Wor- 
cester, by  the  influ- 
ence of  its  ministry, 
its  clear  position  in 
all  moral  reforms,  its 
spirit  of  church  ex- 
tension, its  organized 
zeal,  has  made  large 
and  useful  contribu- 
tions to  the  moral 
wealth  of  the  city. 
As  Worcester  is  a  New  England  city,  it 
is  natural  that  the  church  which  began 
with  the  New  England  life  should  to-day 
have  an  important  place  of  influence. 
One  of  another  denomination  says  that, 
"  the  Congregational  church  has  been 
the  dominant  church  from  the  beginning 
to  the  present  in  Worcester  as  in  no 
other  city  of  its  population  and  influence." 
The  answer  made  to  this  statement  was  : 
"  It  is  fortunate  that  the  church  does  not 
know  it,  but  thinks  of  itself  as  the  first 
among  equals." 


V 


Figure  of  St.    Paul,   St. 
Paul's  Church. 


The  Old  South  had  existed  more  than 
a  hundred  years  before  another  church  of 
the  same  order  was  formed.  The  Cal- 
vinist  church,  now  the  Central,  was  or- 
ganized in  1822,  and  entered  the  church 
erected  for  it  by  Daniel  Waldo  in  the 
next  year.  The  name  "Central"  illus- 
trates the  difficulty  of  giving  the  geo- 
graphical name  that  in  a  growing  city 
shall  be  long  consistent.  The  centre  of 
the  city  is  now  a  mile  to  the  south  of  the 
church.  The  first  church  edifice  was  a 
plain  rectangular  structure,  a  meeting- 
house, not  a  church.  The  new  building 
recently  erected  at  the  North  End  is  both 
a  church  and  a  meeting-house.  It  is  it- 
self an  act  of  worship,  restful  and  inspir- 
ing, while  it  is  at  the  same  time  a  build- 
ing suited  for  all  the  purposes  of  practical 


1 


':'-;-:  "•  :*.«» 


Piedmont  Church. 

religion.  The  architect,  Stephen  C- 
Earle,  has,  by  the  arrangement  of  the  in- 
terior, answered  the  question,  What  is  the 
idea  or  the  harmony  of  ideas  that  should 
mark  a  Congregational  church  ?  He  has 
diminished  the  usually  exaggerated  prom- 
inence of  the  organ,  and  has  presented 
architecturally    the   ideas  of   praise,    the 


88 


THE   CHURCHES  OE  WORCESTER. 


acraments,  the  Scriptures,  and  preachi- 
ng, in  their  union  and  their  relative 
>rder.  St.  Paul's  (Catholic)  and  All 
Jaints  (Episcopal)  more  readily  lend 
hemselves  to  an  architectural  answer  of 
he  question,  For  what  is  this  church? 
nan  the  non-ritualistic  churches.  It  is  a 
ign  of  advance    in   church   architecture 


.....  v,,-,:7,,^ 


'■■■ 


■■    :■      ' 


m 


Pilgrim  Church. 

;hat  the  builders  are  now  asking  the  ques- 
;ion,  What  is  the  idea  of  this  church,  and 
iow  shall  it  be  presented  plainly  and  im- 
pressively to  the  eye  of  the  worshipper? 
Vlr.  Earle  believes  that  the  non-ritualistic 
;hurches  have  ideas  which  architecture 
;an  express,  and  express  consistently  and 
vorshipfully. 

The  first  pastors  of  the  Central  church 
vere  Rev.  L.  I.  Hoadly,  Dr.  John  S.  C. 
\bbott,  the  popular  author,  and  Professor 
David  Peabody.  These  men  had  a  reputa- 
;ion  for  literary  capacity  and  could  utter  the 
'*  best  thoughts  in  the  best  way."       The 


next  pastor,  Dr.  Seth  Sweetser,  whose 
pastorate  continued  from  1838  to  1878, 
was  a  genuine  instance  and  type  of  the 
New  England  minister.  He  was  not  a 
politician,  but  he  made  the  city  his  parish. 
His  thoughtful,  saintly  face  was  a  constant 
proclamation  of  the  gospel  of  a  pure 
character.  He  was  a  student  and  an 
educator.  He  "  saw  truth 
steadily  and  saw  it  whole." 
The  Worcester  Polytechnic 
Institute  is  said  to  have  had 
its  origin  and  plan  in  his  mind. 
As  overseer  at  Harvard  and 
trustee  of  Andover  Theologi- 
cal Seminary,  he  had  a  wide 
field  for  educational  influence. 
He  was  a  man  of  wise  reserve, 
who  never  advertised  his  power 
or  his  weakness.  Though  not 
magnetic  nor  a  popular  orator, 
he  commonly  met  truth  and 
men  at  the  level  of  their  worth 
and  gained  a  safe,  pure,  and 
permanent  influence. 

Ichabod  Washburn,  the 
founder  of  the  Washburn  and 
Moen  wire  works,  was  one  of 
the  prominent  members  of  the 
Union  Church  which  was  or- 
ganized in  1835.  The  first 
minister,  Rev.  Air.  Woodbridge, 
resigned  because  the  church 
admitted  anti- slavery  agitators 
as  speakers  in  the  house  of 
worship.  After  him  came  Dr. 
Elam  Smalley,  author  of  the 
Worcester  Pulpit,  father  of  Air. 
G.  W.  Smalley,  the  well-known 
London  newspaper  correspon- 
dent. His  successor  was  Dr. 
E.  Cutler,  who  was  pastor  from  1S55  to 
1880.  For  this  quarter  of  a  century  he 
preached  sermons  of  luminous,  consistent 
thought.  He  resembled  Dr.  Sweetser  in 
his  habit  of  carrying  his  character,  not 
his  ehiotions,  in  his  face.  To  those  who 
half  knew  him  he  appeared  wholly  intel- 
lectual, but  to  those  who  wholly  knew 
him  he  was  a  man  of  deep  and  warm  sym- 
pathies, with  the  confidences  and  loyalties 
of  a  true  friend. 

In  the  days  when  the  Providence  rail- 
road station  was  on  Green  Street,  a 
stranger  of  somewhat  dubious  appearance 


THE  CHURCHES  OE  WORCESTER. 


789 


Gymnasium  in   Pilgrim  Church. 

passed  the  Salem  Street  Church, —  which 
then  had  no  spire  and  gave  little  hint  of 
its  ecclesiastical  uses, —  on  his  way  to  the 
train.  Dr.  George  Bushnell,  the  pastor 
stood  near  it,  and  as  the  stranger,  in 
doubt,  asked,  u  Is  this  the  Providence 
station?"  the  Doctor,  who  had  something 
of  the  quality  of  his  famous 
brother,  Dr.  Horace  Bushnell, 
answered,  "  This  is  the  Pro- 
vidence station,  but  I  fear  not 
the  one  you  are  seeking."  The 
members  of  the  Congrega- 
tional churches,  in  1847,  im- 
pressed with  the  rapid  growth 
of  the  city,  agreed  to  organize 
a  new  Providence  station.  The 
three  churches  erected  the 
building  and  gave  the  new 
organization  a  communion 
service.  The  church  at  once 
took  its  place  as  one  of  the 
large  and  influential  churches 
of  the  city.  In  187 1  the 
church  was  rebuilt,  and  the 
present  spire,  "  the  highest 
in  the  city,"  was  added. 
The  pastor  of  this  church  from  1858 
to  1870  was  Dr.  Merrill  Richardson, 
who  united  in  himself  the  warrior  and  the 
child.  He  was  a  man  who  rose  by  the 
power  of  the  breeze  that  opposed  him. 
He  took  active  interest  in  all  questions 
of  public  reforms  and  morals  and,  as 
Judge  Chapin  said,  was  always  on  the 
right  side.     He   united  the  church  both 


by  his  repellant  and  his  at- 
tractive energies  and  fought 
his  way  without  bitterness  to 
a  permanent  peace.  The 
Worcester  of  the  last  genera- 
tion remembers  him  as  a 
figure  of  intense  and  impres- 
sive personality. 

It  is  an  interesting  fact, 
which  should  be  stated  in 
passing,  that  the  Summer 
Street  Church,  established  and  maintained 
by  the  generosity  of  Ichabod  Washburn, 
has  had,  since  1873,  the  same  pastor  who 
came  as  the  first  minister  in  1855,  Rev. 
W.  T.  Sleeper. 

The  two  largest  Congregational  churches 
in  Worcester  are  of  recent  origin,  —  Ply- 
mouth Church  and  the  Piedmont.  The 
first  has  a  solid  structure  of  granite  in  the 
centre  of  the  city,  with  rich  and  substan- 
tial appointments,  and  with  a  chime  of 
bells  in  its  tower.  It  had  its  beginning 
in  the  energies  of  the  young  men  from  a 
number  of  churches,  and  in  the  twenty- 
one  years  of  its  life  has  reached  a  mem 


Sunday  School  Rooms  in   Pilgrim  Church. 

bership  of  over  seven  hundred.  The 
second  of  these  churches  was  organized 
in  1872,  at  the  South  End,  and  has  had 
since  its  beginning  a  steady  and  great  in- 
crease. The  society  occupies  a  graceful 
and  well-appointed  church,  and  has  a 
membership  of  seven  hundred.  It  was 
a  surprise  to  the  older  churches  that 
these  twins,  the  Plymouth  and  Piedmont, 


790 


THE  CHURCHES  OF  WORCESTER. 


should  so  soon  become  the  largest  in 
the  family. 

The  Pilgrim  Church,  on  the  corner  of 
Main  and  Gardner  Streets,  at  the  South 
End,  by  its  large  and  attractive  edifice 
and  the  annex,  Pilgrim  Hall,  seeks  to 
meet  both  the  religious  and  secular  needs 
of  social  life.  It  has  a  room  specially 
adapted  for  the  Sunday  School,  a  gymna- 
sium, carpenter's  shop,  printing-office, 
reading-rooms  and  arrangements  to  meet 
the  various  social  necessities  of  the  com- 
munity, and  is  a  notable  illustration  of 
the  modern  church  with  modern  methods. 

The  problem  of  church  extension  in 
most  New  England  cities  is  the  same. 
Shall  large  churches  be  erected  at  the  cen- 
tre, or  shall  smaller  chapels  or  churches 
be  established  to  meet  the  local  necessi- 
ties of  the  circumference?  This  is  the 
question  among  the  churches  of  Hartford, 
Springfield  and  New  Haven.  The  larger 
churches  can  have  better  appointments 
for  worship,  the  smaller  can  be  nearer  the 
homes.  Build  near  the  centre,  said  the 
Worcester  of  forty  years  ago  ;  build  in  the 
circumference,  says  the  Worcester  of  to- 
day. Congregationalism  has  recently  es- 
tablished many  churches  on  the  rim,  at 
Lake  View,  South  Worcester,  Grafton 
Street,  the  Park  Church  on  West  Elm 
Street,  the  Belmont  Church  and,  within  a 
few  weeks,  the  Bethany  at  New  Worces- 
ter. The  Swedes  have  their  own  church 
on  Providence  Street.  The  Congrega- 
tional family  has  fifteen  children  in  the 
city,  the  oldest  one  hundred  and  seventy- 
five  years  of  age,  the  youngest  an  infant 
of  a  few  months. 

The  Episcopal  Church  is  now  so  well 
established  and  so  much  at  home,  that 
one  can  with  difficulty  think  of  it  as  a 
youth  among  the  Evangelical  churches. 
The  church  had  a  small  and  difficult  be- 
ginning in  Worcester.  The  late  Judge 
Ira  M.  Barton  said  in  1835,  "there  are 
so  few  to  bear  the  burden."  The  late 
Bishop  Vaill,  after  six  months'  service, 
went  away  "  thoroughly  discouraged." 
The  city  kept  its  New  England  traditions 
of  the  Revolution,  when  many  of  the 
Episcopalians  were  Tories.  The  Episco- 
pal church  was  not  examined,  and  there- 
fore not  understood.  This  trial  period, 
when  the  plant  was  being  rooted,  contin- 


ued till  1862.  At  this  time,  Rev.  William 
R.  Huntington,  now  rector  of  Grace 
Church,  New  York,  became  the  rector  of 
All  Saints,  the  name  given  to  the  parish 
in  1843.  When  this  name  was  given,  a 
stranger  to  the  church  asked,  "  Does  it 
mean  that  all  the  saints  are  in  this  church, 
or  that  all  in  the  church  are  saints?" 
Dr.  Huntington  gradually  made  the  peo- 
ple feel  that  Episcopacy  had  a  place  in  a 
New  England  city.  For  twenty-one  years 
he  gave  progress  and  solidity  to  the 
church  by  his  refined  and  constructive 
Christian  character,  by  his  "genius  for 
hard  work,"  by  plans  long  and  well  con- 
sidered, by  the  downright  honesty  and 
fervor  of  his  preaching,  and  more  by  his 
vital  touch  with  every  religious  and  civic 
interest  within  and  without  his  parish. 
The  first  church  on  Pearl  Street  was  de- 
stroyed by  fire  in  1874,  and  the  new  one 
on  the  corner  of  Pleasant  and  Irving  con- 
secrated in  1877.  This  church  is  a  beau- 
tiful and  spacious  structure  of  red  sand- 
stone. It  also  answers  in  its  architecture 
the  question,  What  is  the  idea  of  this 
church  ?  In  the  chapel  and  parish  build- 
ings it  meets  consistently  the  various  de- 
mands that  modern  life  makes  on  the 
modern  church.  "The  pulpit  of  the 
Pearl  Street  Church,  a  gift  from  Emanuel 
Church  in  Boston,  rescued  from  the  flames 
and  erected  for  use  in  the  new  church,  is 
a  memorial  of  continuity  ;  while  encrusted 
in  the  interior  wall  of  the  tower  porch 
are  stone  relics  of  mediaeval  architectural 
ornament,  given  by  the  dean  and  chapter  of 
Worcester  Cathedral  in  England,  as  a  token 
of  'brotherly  regard  and  church  unity.' 

The  people  of  All  Saints  Church  have 
for  a  long  time  had  the  opinion  that  for 
wise  and  wide  influence  they  must  not 
only  have  the  church  of  the  centre,  but 
the  churches  of  the  circumference.  Dr. 
Huntington  felt  that  churches  should  not 
come  up  by  chance  or  from  any  spurt  of 
missionary  enthusiasm,  but  should  be 
erected  to  meet  the  necessities  of  the 
whole  field.  Under  this  broad  and  wise 
conviction,  four  churches  were  planned, 
which  should  bear  the  name  of  the  four 
Evangelists.  Three  of  these  have  already 
been  established,  St.  Matthew's  at  New 
Worcester,  St.  John's  on  Lincoln  Street, 
and  St.  Mark's  at  the  South  End. 


THE   CHURCHES  OF  WORCESTER. 


791 


The  advance  of  the  Episcopal  Church 
in  Worcester  has  been  quiet,  healthy,  and 
substantial.  The  church  won  a  place  of 
affection  and  respect,  as  a  church  having 
a  useful  and  necessary  work  in  the  reali- 
zation of  the  "  church  idea,"  as  well  as 
in  the  duties  and  hopes  of  American 
Christianity. 

The  Society  of  Friends  has  had  an 
honorable  history  in  the  growth  of  the 
city.  Through  "  the  inner  light  "  of  the 
Chase,  Colton,  Earle,  Arnold  and  Hadwen 
families,  the  fame  and  the  character  of 
the  community  have  been  made  brighter.' 
A  pastor  of  another  church,  who  only 
knew  this  body  through  its  members,  said, 
"  If  I  were  not  what  I  am,  I  should  be  a 
Quaker." 

The  Presbyterian  and  Free  Baptist 
churches  have  organizations  of  promise ; 
while  the  Second  Advent  Church,  the 
Church  of  Christ, —  the  Christadelphian, 
the  Church  of  the  New  Jerusalem,  reli- 
gious societies  among  the  Germans,  Jews 
French,  and  Swedes,  and  the  Spiritualist 
organizations  make  it  evident  that  no  one 
need  remain  away  from  the  city  for  lack 
of  religious  sympathy. 

Liberalism  in  Worcester  claims  two 
kinds  of  growth,  the  formal  and  the  es- 
sential. The  first  is  seen  in  the  churches 
which  it  has  established  ;  the  second  ex- 
ists, as  it  is  claimed,  in  all  the  churches. 
The  one  is  the  named,  the  other  is  the 
unnamed  liberal  spirit.  The  first  only  is 
that  which  may  be  seen  and  proved. 

Sixty  years  after  the  First  Unitarian 
Church  was  founded,  steps  were  taken 
toward  the  organization  of  another.  The 
movement  resulted  in  the  formation  of 
the  "  Church  of  the  Unity."  In  June, 
1844,  the  first  conference  was  held,  and 
in  February,  1846,  the  church  was  dedi- 
cated, and  its  first  minister,  Rev.  Edward 
Everett  Hale,  installed.  In  this  society 
no  formal  church  was  ever  organized,  no 
creed  or  covenant  adopted.  It  afterward 
declared  that  it  was  a  union  for  all  means 
of  Christian  fellowship,  and  that  at  the 
communion  an  invitation  be  given  to  all 
persons  present  to  partake  with  us  of  the 
Lord's  Supper."  For  ten  years,  Dr.  Hale 
was  the  minister.  From  him  and  around 
him  the  society  grew  in  unity  and  strength. 
All  felt  his  personal  charm,  his  catholic 


sympathies,  the  observing  faculty  that 
saw  and  appropriated  facts  from  every 
phase  of  life  and  thought,  and  by  a  subtle 
redaction  made  them  part  of  his  power. 
All  felt  the  present  attraction  of  a  charac- 
ter full  of  promise.  He  resigned  in  1856, 
but  the  older  members  still  speak  of  him 
as  "  their  minister,"  perhaps  under  the 
authority  of  the  general  fact  that  he  is  the 
minister  of  everything  that  is  good  and 
human,  the  minister  of  all  men  who  love 
truth  enough  to  trust  it  and  do  it. 

In  1858,  Dr.  Rush  R.  Shippen  was  in- 
stalled. The  church  grew  under  his  wise 
administrative  ability,  an  ability  that  ex- 
plains his  appointment  as  secretary  of  the 
American  Unitarian  Association,  at  his 
resignation,  in  1871. 

The  Universalist  Church  in  its  origin 
and  growth  may  be  classed  as  part  of  the 
liberal  movement.  The  society  was  or- 
ganized in  1 84 1,  and  two  years  later  the 
house  now  standing  on  the  corner  of  Main 
and  Foster  Streets  was  dedicated  and  the 
church  officially  recognized,  Dr.  Miner  of 
Boston  preaching  the  sermon  of  dedica- 
tion. In  1 88 1,  during  the  pastorship  of 
Rev.  T.  E.  St.  John,  the  church  dedicated 
its  new  edifice  on  Pleasant  Street.  Under 
the  care  of  Mr.  St.  John  and  his  succes- 
sor, Rev.  M.  H.  Harris,  the  church  occu- 
pied a  unique  and  influential  position 
among  the  churches  of  Worcester.  The 
Second  Universalist,  All  Souls  church,  re- 
cently dedicated  at  the  South  End,  has 
one  of  the  most  attractive  church  homes 
in  the  city.  The  chapel  erected  at  the 
organization  in  1885  has  given  place  to 
a  wooden  church  of  quaint  and  inter- 
esting architecture.  Like  other  modern 
churches  it  joins  in  one  the  useful  and 
the  worshipful.  This  adds  one  to  the  re- 
markable church  extension  at  the  South 
End.  In  1873,  there  was  but  one  church 
edifice  in  the  southern  half  of  the  city; 
now  Main  Street  is  marked  by  a  large 
number  of  solid  and  satisfying  churches. 

Universalism  in  Worcester  has  just  com- 
pleted its  first  half  century.  Its  semi- 
centennial last  June  was  full  of  grateful 
jubilation.  By  true  success  it  has  gained 
a  right  to  make  its  appeal  to  the  test  of 
all  church  life,  "  By  their  fruits  ye  shall 
know  them." 

Thomas  Wentworth  Higginson  became 


'92 


JOHN  PARMENTERS  PROTEGE. 


minister  of  the  "  Worcester  Free  Church  " 
in  1852.  This  organization  was  like  a 
grain  of  salt ;  it  held  its  form  for  six  years, 
and  then  melted  into  the  general  life,  and 
is  now  invisible.  Mr.  Higginson  was  the 
soul  and  power  of  the  body ;  and  when  he 
was  called  into  the  war,  the  Free  Church 
gave  up  its  formal  existence.  During  his 
absence  in  Fayal,  in  1855,  David  A. 
Wasson  supplied  his  "  platform."  The 
society  was  composed  of  thoughtful  and 
earnest  spirits  who  gave  appreciation  to 
their  minister  in  his  zeal  for  reforms  as 
well  as  sympathy  for  his  literary  qualities. 
In  1854,  the  minister  preached  a  sermon 
entitled,  "  Massachusetts  in  mourning," 
on  the  occasion  of  the  rendition  of  An- 
thony Burns.  Its  vigor  and  rigor  are  ex- 
plained by  the  fact  that  Higginson  was 
one  of  the  leaders  of  the  attempted  res- 
cue. One  of  the  older  members  of  this 
society  says  that  they  once  declared  war 
against  the  United  States.  Mr.  Higgin- 
son preached  at  his  own  "  installation." 
"  After  the  manner  of  my  ancestors, 
Francis  and  John  Higginson,  at  Salem,  in 
1629  and  1660,  I  preach,"  he  said,  "my 
own  sermon."    In  this  discourse  he  claims 


that  the  society  as  formed  for  a  religious 
purpose  should  be  called  a  church,  "  the 
Free  Church."  Its  meetings  were  held 
in  the  old  theatre  on  Front  Street. 

The  churches  of  Worcester  illustrate 
harmony  of  spirit.  There  are  no  church 
wars.  The  churches  do  not  know  each 
other  well  enough  to  promote  the  best 
unity ;  but  the  criticism  made  a  hundred 
years  ago  on  a  Worcester  church,  that 
there  was  not  enough  religion  to  make 
the  people  hate  each  other,  would  not 
now  be  true.  Of  course,  so  long  as  indi- 
dividual  churches  struggle  for  visible  suc- 
cess and  power,  the  fact  that  if  two  ride 
the  same  horse  one  must  ride  behind 
must  operate  somewhat  divisively.  But 
the  centrifugal  forces  are  not  dangerously 
strong.  There  is  each  year  an  increase 
of  mutual  respect,  and  the  dominant  idea 
of  church  unity  gains  an  increasing  au- 
thority. There  is  a  deep  conviction  that 
Worcester,  for  its  growth  and  fame,  must 
remain  a  New  England  city,  and  for  this 
the  currents  of  its  church  life  must  be 
strong  and  wholesome.  '  If  Worcester 
remains,    the    Worcester    churches    must 


JOHN    PARMENTER'S    PROTEGE. 

By   Walter  Blackburn  Harte. 


THE  editor  of  the  Shawmui  Monthly, 
puffed  a  great  cloud  of  smoke, 
which  almost  filled  his  dark  little 
den,  as  he  threw  up  the  roller  top  of  his 
desk,  and  tilted  his  silk  hat  to  the  back 
of  his  head.  "Deuce  take  those  stairs  !  " 
he  muttered ;  "  they  take  it  all  out  of  a 
fellow  before  he  settles  down  to  work." 
The  editorial  rooms  of  the  Shawmut  were 
at  the  very  top  of  an  old-fashioned 
building  in  Bromfield  Street,  and  its  five 
flights  of  rickety  stairs,  on  which  reigned 
a  perpetual  twilight,  all  the  windows  look- 
ing out  upon  bricks  and  mortar,  were 
something  to  be  remembered. 

The  editor  put   his  umbrella   into   the 
corner,   and   glancing   at   the   little  heap 


of  letters  and  manuscripts  on  the  elbow 
shelf  of  his  desk,  he  gave  a  little  grunt 
of  disapproval. 

"  Quite  a  batch  this  morning  !  Well 
there's  two  art  forms  to  go  to  foundry 
this  afternoon,  and  I  won't  have  any  time 
to  answer  inquiries  about  poems."  He 
fingered  the  envelopes  with  the  hand  he 
had  just  drawn  through  the  sleeve  of  his 
coat  in  taking  it  off,  and  grunted  again  : 
"nearly  all  poems  !     Oh  these  women  !  " 

He  hung  up  his  coat  and  lighting  the 
gas  jet  over  his  desk,  sat  down  and  ran 
hastily  through  the  morning's  mail,  drop- 
ping the  envelopes  one  by  one  into  a 
drawer,  after  a  perfunctory  glance  at  their 
contents,  or  marking  an  "R  "  across  their 


JOHN  PARMENTERS  PROTEGE. 


793 


face  and  throwing  them  on  to  a  small  table 
immediately  behind  him.  These  letters 
were  rejected  with  this  cursory  examina- 
tion as  useless.  Suddenly  the  slaughter 
was  arrested.  One  letter  was  addressed, 
"John  Parmenter,"  and  marked  "Per- 
sonal." 

The  editor  threw  himself  back  in  his 
chair  and  regarded  the  handwriting  with 
a  pleased  smile.  "  Ah,"  he  said,  "  I  be- 
gan to  fear  there  was  nothing  for  me  this 
morning,  and  here  is  this  big  letter  from 
Sue."  He  rolled  his  cigar  into  the  cor- 
ner of  his  mouth  and  blew  ruminative 
circles  of  smoke  as  he  read  the  letter. 

"  God  bless  her  dear  heart,"  murmured 
Mr.  Parmenter,  as  he  put  one  of  the 
sheets — there  were  nearly  a  dozen  of 
them  —  tenderly  down  on  his  desk. 
"  She  thinks  that  poem  of  mine  was  just 
lovely.  Strange  —  the  paucity  of  adjec- 
tives which  afflicts  all  the  women.  Well, 
it  wasn't  a  bad  poem,  I  think  myself, 
though  I  only  got  three  dollars  for  it  — 
two  lunches  at  Young's." 

The  door  opened  quietly  behind  him, 
and  a  thin,  hesitating  voice  said,  "  Excuse 
me  —  er, —  excuse  me  —  sir,  but  —  er," 
and  then  as  Mr.  Parmenter  seemed  to  be 
absorbed  in  his  letter,  it  stopped. 

"Well,  what  is  it?"  said  Mr.  Parmen- 
ter quickly,  throwing  up  his  head,  without 
looking  around.  "  What  is  it  ?  —  suspen- 
ders ?  —  cuff  buttons  ?  —  pencils  ?  —  in- 
surance? " 

He  ran  through  the  list,  rapidly,  with 
his  eyes  again  on  his  letter;  and  the 
figure  at  the  door  shrank  back  a  little 
into  the  passage,  as  the  tone  became 
more  impatient  and  crescendo.  The 
visitor  returned  at  last :  "  No,  sir,  I'm  not 
trying  to  sell  any  suspenders." 

"  Well,  I've  got  all  I  want  of  the  rest, 
replied  the  young  man  testily,  as  a  young 
man  interrupted  in  the  reading  of  a  love 
letter  may  be  expected  to.  But  his  tone 
was  not  altogether  ill-natured  or  peremp- 
tory ;  there  was  a  ring  of  kindliness  in 
his  bluff  reception,  which  many  of  the 
peddlers  who  infested  Bromfield  Street 
had  come  to  recognize,  and  often  im- 
posed upon. 

"  If  you  please,  sir,  —  I  don't  want  to 
take  up  your  valuable  time  —  I  only  wish 
to  say  a  few  words  —  to  show  you  a  little 


poem  —  a  little  poem  from  my  pen.  I 
want  to  sell  it." 

"  Ah,  there  are  a  great  many  of  us  in  a 
similar  predicament." 

Mr.  Parmenter  looked  up  smilingly  at 
the  man  who  had  shuffled  to  his  side,  and 
was  now  extending  toward  him  an  en- 
velope torn  open  lengthwise,  upon  which 
in  a  microscopic  handwriting  were  pen- 
cilled some  verses.  He  took  it  with  a 
look  of  something  like  surprise ;  and 
then  with  a  glance  from  the  man's  face 
down  his  ragged  clothes  to  his  torn  and 
almost  soleless  boots,  he  rose  and,  sweep- 
ing a  dusty  heap  of  papers  and  books  off 
a  rocker  —  the  only  other  chair  in  the 
room  —  said  in  a  cheery  way,  "  Sit  down, 
sir,  and  I'll  read  the  poem." 

Mr.  Parmenter  noticed  the  slow  and 
almost  painful  manner  in  which  his  guest 
took  the  chair,  and  thought,  "  He's  weak 
and  ill,  poor  devil."  Then  he  peered 
through  the  dirt-begrimed  window,  and 
saw  that  the  rain  had  begun  to  fall  since 
he  reached  his  office.  It  had  been  dark 
and  cloudy  overhead  since  early  morning, 
with  an  occasional  sprinkle  of  rain,  and 
it  had  now  evidently  settled  into  a  per- 
sistent drizzle  for  the  rest  of  the  day. 

The  poet  followed  the  editor's  eyes,  and 
he  drew  his  tattered  threadbare  spring 
overcoat  carefully  as  far  over  his  knees  as 
it  would  go,  and  rubbed  his  hands  to- 
gether in  a  weak  way,  like  one  too  chilled 
to  make  an  effort  to  get  warm.  A  slight 
shiver  passed  over  him,  and  he  put  his 
hands  into  his  pockets  and  then  hastily 
withdrew  them. 

"  A  little  warmer  in  here  than  outside, 
eh?"  said  Mr.  Parmenter,  sinking  into 
his  cushioned  chair  and  tilting  it  peril- 
ously backwards.  "  I  think  there  is  too 
much  steam  on  —  but  perhaps  you  like 
it.  You  look  cold.  This  kind  o'  weather 
goes  right  through  one.  I  guess  now  you 
feel  it  pretty  badly." 

"  Sometimes.  Yes,  I'm  not  so  young 
or  so  hardy  as  I  used  to  be,"  said  the 
man,  leaning  forward  deferentially,  and 
fidgeting  his  feet  to  keep  his  toes  out  of 
sight.  "  But  we  must  expect  rain  in 
November.  Hard  time  of  year  for 
poets?  "  with  a  wan  smile.  "  But  I  don't 
grumble.  I  don't  grumble  at  anything 
now." 


'-4 


JOHN  PARMENTER  S  PROTEGE. 


The  editor  looked  up  at  him  with  a 
lile  —  a  smile  that  had  more  of  pity  in 
than  of  amusement.  "  But  you  must 
it  sit  down  and  be  content  with  every- 
ing,"  he  said  with  a  true  penetration  of 
e  other's  content.  "  As  long  as  a  man 
umbles,  he  hopes,  and  you  can't  afford 
live  without  hope." 
"No?"  said  the  old   man,  in  a  tone 

once  acquiescent  and  interrogative, 
rhat's  true,  a  man  must  hope  if  he 
mts  to  be  happy.  But  you  see  I 
ve  outlived  all  that.  I'm  an  old  man 
w,  and  all  is  over  with  me.  Once  I 
ts  different.  I  had  plenty  of  hope  and 
urage  and  energy.  Now  I  have  not. 
>u've  seen  men  like  me  before,  I  guess, 
s  whiskey  that  has  made  me  what  I 
i." 

He  was  about  fifty  years  of  age,  but  he 
)ked  much  older.  His  hair  and  beard 
:re  gray  and  matted.  His  heavy  mous- 
:he  was  stained  with  liquor.  His  eyes 
:re  sunken,  and  his  nose  and  cheeks 
imed  with  blotches' of  color.  His  form 
ls  bent,  and  his  hands  were  shrunken 
d  shaky.  The  coat  he  wore  was  pin- 
d  across  his  breast,  there  was  little 
ggestion  of  the  braid  which  had  once 
en  on  the  edges,  the  seams  had  started 

several  places,  and  the  pockets  were 
rn  and  fluffy.  The  collar  was  pinned 
;ht  around  his  throat,  in  elaborate  con- 
alment  of  the  missing  linen  and  neck- 
)th.  Altogether  his  appearance  would 
t  impress  most  people  in  his  favor,  and 
v  men  of  business  would  have  allowed 
m  to  remain  in  their  offices.  But  Mr. 
hn  Parmenter  was  not  a  man  of  busi- 
ss,  and  he  often  had  some  very  strange 
iitors.  Wretchedness,  viciousness,  even, 
is  no  bar  to  his  acquaintance  or  his 
mpathy.  It  was  his  intimate  knowl- 
ge  of  poverty  and  misery  that  made  his 
rses,  dealing  with  everyday  types  and 
mmonplace  homes,  so  popular.  He 
d  come  to  the  city  from  the  western 
untry,  and  he  had  not  lost  its  strong 
irit  of  democracy. 

"  Hump  !  "  said  Mr.  Parmenter,  look- 
y  keenly  at  the  man.  "  You're  older 
I  am,  and  you've  had  a  good  educa- 
>n,  and  you're  intelligent.  But  I'm 
ing  to  give  you  some  good  advice, 
le   man  who    throws   away  his   life  for 


whiskey  is  a  fool.  There's  no  excuse  for 
him.  You  can  give  it  up  if  you'll  only 
make  a  real  fight." 

"  That's  what  every  man  says  who  can't 
drink  whiskey.  But  whiskey  is  not  like 
other  habits ;  you  can't  give  it  up.  I 
can't — I  should  die  without  it.  I'm  a 
wreck  until  I  get  the  stuff  warming  my 
stomach  and  stealing  through  me.  I  can't 
eat." 

"Can't  eat !  " 

"  No.  My  hopes,  my  ambitions,  my 
passions,  and  now  my  hunger,  are  all 
gone.  A  man  as  far  gone  as  I  am  must 
go  on  drinking — or  die." 

"I  don't  believe  it !  " 

"  Well,  I  didn't.  I've  fought,  and  I've 
made  the  most  solemn  pledges  to  my- 
self and  to  others.  But  it's  no  use.  It's  a 
fever  in  my  blood.  My  father  had  it,  and 
died  of  it ;  but  he  was  a  judge  of  the  Su- 
preme Court  and  rich,  —  it  never  dragged 
him  down.  I  was  cut  out  of  his  will  be- 
cause I  was  a  good-for-nothing.  Father 
wanted  me  to  drink  in  a  gentlemanly 
fashion,  and  I  couldn't.  So  I  took  to 
journalism  and  to  drinking,  and  I  always 
managed  to  drink  as  much  as  I  could 
earn." 

"  Yes,  unfortunately,  writing  and  drink- 
ing often  go  together.  I  suppose  you  are 
pretty  far  gone  ;  but  I  would  like  to  see 
you  brace  up.  You've  got  something  in 
you.  This  poem  of  yours  is  really  good.  I 
like  it  very  much  —  it  is  really  excellent." 

"  Do  you  think  so,  sir?  "  said  the  man, 
half-rising,  and  then  reseating  himself 
nervously.  His  breath  came  shorter,  and 
his  fingers  twitched  with  the  eagerness  of 
his  half-repressed  anxiety.  He  had  heard 
this  kind  of  verdict  before,  and  it  might 
only  preface  a  declination  of  the  poem, 
on  account  of  "  the  pressure  of  matter 
already  accepted." 

"  Yes,  it  is  decidedly  above  the  average. 
I  like  it  very  much,  and  I  shall  use  it  as 
soon  as  I  can.  Our  November  number 
is  all  made  up,  and  half  of  it  is  on  the 
press ;  but  I  think  I  can  get  it  into 
December,  and  —  and — "  he  was  fidget- 
ing with  his  paper-knife,  as  if  half 
ashamed  of  what  he  was  about  to  say  — 
"  as  we  don't  pay  until  after  publication, 
I'll  give  you  a  dollar  on  account  now. 
I  guess  you  need  it,  eh?" 


JOHN  PARMENTER'S  PROTEGE. 


795 


"  God  bless  you,  sir,"  said  the  old  man 
huskily,  getting  to  his  feet  and  leaning 
upon  the  desk. 

"  That's    all    right,    Mr. ."       Par- 

menter  hesitated  and  looked  over  his 
pince-nez  at  the  signature  on  the  poem 
— "  Mr.  Melius.  And  now  take  my 
advice,  and  call  a  halt.  Get  some  work 
—  nothing  like  work,  regular  work,  to 
cure  diseases  of  the  imagination.  Come 
and  see  me  again,  and  bring  some  good 
news  of  yourself.  I'll  be  glad  to  read 
anything  you  bring  in.  Now,  don't  take 
any  more  whiskey.  Try  beef-broth  as  a 
stimulant,"  with  a  smile. 

"  111  try  to  leave  the  whiskey  alone,  sir. 
I  will,  so  help  me  God  !  "  answered  the 
old  man,  with  tears  streaming  down  his 
cheeks.  He  crumpled  the  dollar  bill  up 
in  his  bony  fingers,  and  with  another 
"God  bless  you,"  and  a  low  bow/care- 
fully closed  the  door  after  him. 

Mr.  Parmenter  listened  to  his  fearful, 
deliberate  footsteps  descending  the  re- 
sounding stairway  until  he  knew  he  had 
turned  the  angle  in  the  wall,  as  the  sound 
died  in  the  throbbing  of  the  presses  and 
the  roar  of  the  street  below. 

"  Poor  devil  !  "  he  muttered,  knocking 
the  ashes  from  his  cigar  and  relighting  it 
with  the  care  of  a  young  man  who  is 
particular  about  the  trim  of  his  mustache. 
"I  can't  write  as  well  as  that"  —  he  had 
picked  up  the  poem  again,  and  was  scan- 
ning the  lines  critically — "and  there  he 
is  in  rags  and  misery  —  doomed  !  I  sup- 
pose it's  his  own  fault,  but  it  is  too  bad, 
just  the  same." 

He  rose  and  looked  down  into  the 
street.  Suddenly  he  stooped,  and,  pick- 
ing up  some  paper,  rubbed  the  misty 
window,  in  order  to  see  more  clearly. 
"  That  looks  like  him  going  into  Snider's 
saloon  —  I'm  blessed  if  it  doesn't.  Yes, 
I  guess  it's  he  —  it's  his  shuffle  !  "  He 
laughed  quietly,  and  put  his  hands  deep 
down  in  his  pockets,  as  his  face  became 
grave  again.  "  Well,  I  guess  the  old 
man's  right.  It  is  a  fever.  I  believe  he 
was  in  earnest  when  he  promised  to  make 
a  fight  for  it.  Poor  devil  !  The  rain  has 
drowned  his  resolution." 

For  some  weeks  after  this,  Robert 
Melius  was  a  constant  visitor  at  the 
Shawmut    office  :     and    Mr.     Parmenter 


became  more  and  more  interested  in  his 
dissolute  contributor.  He  accepted  and 
paid  instalments  on  a  great  many  of  the 
man's  poems ;  and  he  urged  reformation 
unceasingly.  One  day,  however,  the  man 
said  that  if  he  left  off  drinking  he  would 
leave  off  writing,  for  he  wrote  in  the 
exaltation  of  mind  that  preceded  actual 
intoxication ;  and  after  this  his  morals 
were  not  alluded  to  so  frequently.  Mr. 
Parmenter  determined  to  put  his  contri- 
butor into  a  story  some  day.  All  Mellus's 
work  was  suggestive  and  invariably  artis- 
tic ;  occasionally  it  contained  an  imagina- 
tion and  a  profundity  of  thought  that  one 
would  never  have  suspected  from  an 
acquaintance  with  the  man.  But  Parmen- 
ter knew  that  a  man  is  often  emancipated 
from  himself  when  at  his  work,  and 
Mellus's  explanation  of  his  perilous  in- 
spiration was  quite  satisfactory.  The 
fact  that  the  man  and  the  poet  did 
not  harmonize  did  not  surprise  Par- 
menter at  all.  He  knew  that  the  world 
seldom  allows  a  man's  convictions  and 
ideals  to  agree  with  his  life  and  prac- 
tice. The  market  for  convictions  is  a 
small  one.  Parmenter's  dearest  friend, 
Washington  Trafford,  was  the  editor  of  the 
Boston  Sentinel,  the  recognized  organ  of 
commercial  monopoly  and  high  tariff,  and 
for  years  his  had  been  the  most  authori- 
tative voice  in  the  land  on  the  subject. 
Poor  Trafford  was  in  private  life  an  ardent 
advocate  of  free  trade  and  common 
ownership  of  the  land.  But  he  had  a 
wife  and  ten  children,  and  a  man  with  so 
much  happiness  cannot  afford  to  air  his 
convictions. 

One  afternoon  in  January,  Mr.  Par- 
menter received  a  letter  from  Melius, 
saying  that  he  was  too  sick  to  call,  but 
he  enclosed  a  little  poem,  which  he 
hoped  would  be  suitable  for  the  Shawmut 
Monthly.  There  was  a  little  postscript 
which  touched  Parmenter's  heart.  It 
was  to  the  effect  that  the  writer  was 
really  ill  —  desperately  so,  —  and  not 
suffering  from  the  effects  of  dissipation 
only.  Then  another  line  —  a  little  par- 
donable attempt  to  influence  the  editorial 
judgment.  '"I  have  read  your  last  poem 
with  wonder  and  admiration.  Will  you 
permit  me  to  acknowledge  the  good  it 
has  done  me?  " 


96 


JOHN  PARMENTER' S  PROTEGE. 


Parmenter  was  not  a  vain  man,  and 
ough  he  smiled  at  the  postscript,  his 
.oughts  were  with  the  main  burden  of 
.e  letter. 

"Sick?"  he  queried  to  himself.  "I 
Lought  it  would  soon  come  to  this.  A 
meral  break  up,  I  suppose.  In  an  Al- 
my  Street  boarding-house,  too,  —  hor- 
ble  !  Poor  old  man  !  I'll  go  and  see 
m.  It  would  do  him  good  to  see  one 
ce  looking  kindly  into  his.  Yes ;  I'll 
)  immediately.  No,  I'll  read  the  poem 
•st.      He  will  want  to  hear  about  that  — 

is  the  ruling  passion  with  most  of  us, 
muises  or  mediocrities." 

He  took  up  the  poem,  and  read  the 
:st  verse,  repeating  it  over  to  himself 
oud,  to  note  the  music  of  each  syllable 
id  sentence.  Suddenly  it  struck  him 
Lat    the    lines    were    somehow    familiar. 

seemed  to  him  that  he  had  repeated 
Leni  to  himself  before  under  different 
rcumstances.  He  put  down  the  poem, 
id  repeated  the  first  verse  again  from 
lemory.  The  words  seemed  to  ring  in 
is  ears.  To  his  surprise  he  found  him- 
;lf  almost  unconsciously  reciting  another 
srse,  and  with  a  note  of  passionate  in- 
msity  in  his  voice  that  escaped  him  until 
e  paused  and  reflected.  He  picked  up 
le  poem  again  and  found  that  he  had 
sed  the  actual  words  —  there  had  not 
een  the  least  wrong  intonation.     Then 

all  came  back  to  him,  and  he  flushed 
ot,  as  if  he  had  been  caught  in  a  dis- 
onorable  act.     He  pulled  an  old   scrap 


book  from  out  of  a  pile  of  books,  and 
feverishly  turned  back  the  leaves  to  the 
beginning.  Yes ;  there  was  the  poem. 
It  was  his  own  —  written  twelve  years 
ago.  He  remembered  it  all  now.  He 
had  written  it  late  one  night  to  fill  a 
corner  in  the  Weekly  Banner,  the  leading 
and  only  paper  of  Doxborough.  He  had 
been  editor  of  the  paper  for  two  years, 
having  gladly  accepted  the  position  after 
nearly  starving  in  Boston  in  an  at- 
tempt to  live  by  literary  work.  There  it 
was,  the  old  forgotten  poem,  staring  him 
in  the  face,  faded  and  half  torn,  under 
the  heading  of  "  Poetic  Pencillings." 

Mr.  John  Parmenter  simply  said, 
"Well,  I'll  be  hanged!"  and  sat  and 
looked  into  space  for  fully  five  minutes. 
Then  he  rose  slowly  and  carefully  bit  off 
the  end  of  a  cigar  and  lit  it.  After  a  few 
silent  puffs,  during  which  he  looked  out 
upon  the  walls  and  chimney  pots,  with  an 
occasional  descent  to  the  hurrying  crowds 
below,  he  put  on  his  hat  and  coat  me- 
chanically, and  stood  looking  at  the 
empty  rocker. 

"  Poor  Melius,"  he  muttered,  turning 
the  cigar  between  his  lips.  "  I  suppose 
when  a  man  has  turned  fifty  and  drinks, 
he  has  no  conscience.  I'm  sorry,  —  I 
would  have  given  a  good  deal  not  to  have 
found  this  out.  What  an  excellent  judge 
of  good  verse  he  was,  to  be  sure.  Poor 
devil "  —  and  he  turned  the  key  in  his 
door  and  went  slowly  down  the  dim  stair- 
way. 


SIXTY    YEARS    AGO. 


Recollections  of  New  England  Country  Life. 


By  Lucy  E.  A.  Kebler. 


O  most,  the  peculiarities 
of  New  England  country 
life  of  sixty  or  more 
years  since  are  ancient 
history.  In  speaking  of 
them,  the  customs  con- 
nected with  the  reli- 
gious life  of  the  people 
come  most  prominently  to  the  front; 
for  really  these  were  the  great  inter- 
ests, the  absorbing  features.  Until  the 
latter  part  of  the  first  quarter  of  the  cen- 
tury, the  one  barn-like  structure  was  the 
only  meeting-house  in  the  smaller  towns. 
What  a  comfortless  place  it  was  !  The 
large  square  pews  were  fenced  in  by  rail- 
ings, high  enough  for  the  arm  to  rest 
upon  when  one  stood,  which  supported 
the  head  of  the  devout  worshipper  through 
long  prayers.  The  seats  were  on  hinges, 
and  when  put  back  made  the  attitude  an 
easy  one.  It  would  not  have  occurred  to 
our  parents  to  sit,  while  the  good  clergy- 
man included  all  near  and  remote  in  his 
petitions.  In  the  deacon's  seat,  below 
the  pulpit,  sat  two  of  those  dignitaries 
whose  watchful  eyes  checked  any  ap- 
proach to  levity  in  the  younger  portion 
of  the  congregation,  or  wakened  a  sleep- 
ing member  with  a  gentle  touch  from  his 
not  too-quiet  nap.  This  was  not  often 
necessary,  however,  for  if  the  farmer, 
wearied  with  his  week's  labor,  found  him- 
self in  danger  of  receiving  this  admoni- 
tion, he  would  often  throw  off  his  coat 
and  stand  during  two  or  three  of  the 
many  heads  of  the  sermon. 

The  sounding  board,  which  seemed  to 
threaten  the  life  of  the  preacher  below, 
was  always  looked  up  to  with  a  certain 
awe.  The  galleries,  at  the  right  and  left 
of  the  high  pulpit  were  a  favorite  resort 
of  the  younger  part  of  the  congregation  as 
being  less  easily  overlooked  ;  and  a  bit  of 
paper  or  a  partridge  plum  was  sometimes 
sent  from  these  to  some  bald  head  which 
presented  a  tempting  target.     The  only 


luxury  was  the  foot-stove,  which  families 
near  the  meeting-house  brought  warm 
from  their  homes,  while  those  living  at  a 
distance  replenished  theirs  at  the  hos- 
pitable hearth  of  the  parsonage.  The 
floors  were  guiltless  of  carpets ;  and  the 
seats,  of  cushions. 

Enough  of  the  sermons  have  been 
handed  down  for  all  to  judge  of  their 
quality.  They  were  divided  into  heads, 
which  frequently,  before  the  welcome 
lastly  reached  the  ninthly  or  tenthly.  Two 
things  were  marked,  the  abundance  of 
Scriptural  quotations  and  the  familiarity 
exhibited  (always  with  reverence,  how- 
ever,) with  the  designs  of  the  Almighty. 
The  sermons  were  written,  usually  with 
exquisite  neatness,  on  small  paper,  with  a 
carefully-guarded  margin,  the  text  at  the 
head,  and  on  the  right-hand  corner,  the 
names  of  the  towns  where  they  had  been 
preached.  If  repeated  at  home,  the  ser- 
mon was  given  another  text  or,  in  the 
clergyman's  vernacular,  provided  with  a 
new  collar  and  wristbands.  This  device 
was  not  always  successful.  I  remember 
hearing  a  good  deacon  of  my  father's 
church  once  say,  "Well,  parson,  I  don't 
think  the  change  of  text  this  morning  an 
improvement." 

The  most  cheerful  part  of  the  service 
was  the  last  hymn,  when  the  congregation 
faced  the  choir,  which  was  composed  of 
the  bright  young  men  and  maidens  of  the 
town.  I  shall  never  forget  the  interest 
with  which  I  watched  those  carrying  the 
different  parts  of  the  favorite  fugue,  and 
my  wonder  that  after  galloping  along  on 
different  roads  they  could  at  last  bring  up 
at  the  same  point. 

When  the  tuning-fork  was  relegated  to 
the  things  of  the  past,  the  bass  viol  was 
introduced,  but  not  without  many  mis- 
givings as  to  its  propriety.  At  the  same 
time,  stoves  came  to  lessen  the  extreme 
cold  in  the  great  frame  building,  with  its 
two  rows  of  windows,  not  too  capable  of 


98 


SIXTY   YEARS  AGO. 


mtting  out  the  draughts  on  those  bleak 
lew  England  hills  on  which  the  old 
leeting-houses  were  built.  At  this  in- 
ovation  many  rebelled,  as  making  the 
orship  of  God  too  luxurious  ;  and  the 
;ory  is  not  a  myth  of  the  good  man  who 
irew  off  his  overcoat  and  then  his  coat, 
ot  being  able  to  endure  the  heat,  only 
)  learn  that,  matters  not  being  yet  fully 
djusted,  there  was  no  fire  in  the  stove, 
'he  anecdote  is  told  of  one  considerate 
lergyman  who,  on  a  cold  Sunday  in- 
ariably  stopped  in  the  middle  of  his  ser- 
ion,  to  allow  the  men  to  rise  and,  by 
eating  their  sides,  send  the  almost  con- 
ealed  blood  circulating  through  their  veins. 
Every  one  not  detained  by  illness,  or 
le  care  of  the  infants,  went  to  meeting. 
t  tax  was  levied  on  all  voters  for  the 
upport  of  the  minister,  and  certainly  the 
laborer  was  worthy  of  his  hire."  He 
'as  respected,  revered,  and  beloved,  the 
"iend  of  his  people,  their  adviser  on 
latters  secular  as  well  as  religious,  the 
uperintendent  of  the  schools,  the  pur- 
haser  of  books  for  the  town  library,  the 
ospitable  host.  His  house  often  took 
le  place  of  an  inn  (without  the  charge) 
)r  those  who  journeyed  from  town  to 
)wn.  On  Sundays,  there  were  always  seats 
t  the  fireside  for  the  deacons,  who  were 
sgaled  with  pie  or  doughnuts  and  cheese, 
nd  cider,  or  rum  not  too  much  weak- 
ned  with  hot  water.  It  was  somewhat 
lore  than  courtesy  that  led  the  congrega- 
on  to  remain  in  their  pews  while  the 
linister,  hat  in  hand,  bowing  on  either 
ide,  passed  down  the  centre  aisle.  Like 
maucer's  clergyman  : 

'  Christ's  love  and  His  Apostles  twelve 

He  taughte,  but  firste  he  folwede  it  himselve." 

His  figure  was  a  marked  one.  He 
ras  never,  even  on  week  days,  dressed 
ther  than  in  black,  with  a  white  neck- 
loth,  and  on  Sundays,  always  wore  in 
he  pulpit,  the  carefully  hemstitched 
ands,  whose  whiteness  contrasted  well 
dth  the  black  silk  gown,  which  was  given 
nd  kept  in  order  by  the  parishioners, 
nd  which  at  present  is  rarely  seen,  ex- 
epting  in  the  Episcopal  churches,  and 
t  the  graduation  exercises  of  the  older 
olleges,  cloaking  those  who  have  gained 
hie  honor  of  speaking. 

There  were  many  reasons  for  the  def- 


erence so  universally  paid  to  the  New 
England  country  minister.  In  those  days, 
in  many  of  the  smaller  towns,  he  was  al- 
most the  only  man  of  much  education 
derived  from  books.  If  one  looks  over 
the  early  college  catalogues,  he  will  find 
that  a  very  large  proportion  of  the  grad- 
uates chose  the  profession  of  the  minis- 
try. 

As  a  rule,  he  kept  up  with  the  current 
literature,  and  did  not  neglect  his  He- 
brew, Latin,  and  Greek.  It  was  the  cus- 
tom with  many  to  look  over  in  the  Greek 
Testament  while  the  family  read  the  Eng- 
lish version  at  morning  prayers,  he  noting 
any  differences  of  meaning  in  the  trans- 
lation. 

The  influence  of  the  clergyman,  and 
perhaps  not  less  that  of  his  wife,  was  not 
infrequently  exerted  on  young  men  out- 
side his  parish.  It  was  the  custom  then 
for  college  authorities  to  send  students 
who  had  made  themselves  amenable  to 
discipline,  and  who  did  not  deserve  ex- 
pulsion, to  continue  their  studies  with 
some  one  who  retained  enough  of  the 
learning  of  his  alma  mater  to  aid  the 
youth  to  keep  up  with  his  class,  which  he 
joined  when  the  period  for  which  he  was 
rusticated  had  elapsed.  Acquaintance 
formed  under  these  not  very  favorable 
circumstances  frequently  ripened  into  last- 
ing friendship.  My  father  wore  for  many 
years  a  Geneva  cloak  which  one  of  these 
young  men  had  had  made  to  throw  over 
himself  as  he  reclined  on  his  couch  in 
his  last  illness,  knowing  that  the  fact  that 
his  pupil  had  worn  it  would  make  it 
doubly  valuable  to  the  friend  to  whom  he 
bequeathed  it.  This  friend  ever  tenderly 
cherished  the  memory  of  the  giver,  and  a 
son  bears  his  name. 

Undoubtedly,  there  were  minor  trials 
connected  with  the  residence  of  these 
gay  young  men  in  the  orderly  minister's 
family.  My  mother,  on  one  occasion, 
finding  that  for  successive  evenings  the 
pantry  had  been  invaded,  prepared  a 
dainty  supper  to  whkh  the  young  men 
were  called  at  bedtime,  and  in  the  most 
courteous  manner  invited  to  be  seated. 
No  allusions  were  made  to  previous  dep- 
redations ;  but  there  were  no  further  in- 
cursions on  the  larder. 

The    salary    of    the    clergyman    was 


SIXTY   YEARS  AGO. 


799 


certainly  not  large.  He  was,  if  not 
"passing  rich  on  forty  pounds  a  year," 
considered  so  by  his  parishioners,  with  a 
parsonage,  some  acres  of  land,  $300,  and 
his  wood.  To  his  children,  the  day  when 
the  stalwart  men  came  to  wield  the  axes 
on  this  same  wood  was  a  gala  one.  The 
long  table  in  the  sanded  kitchen  was 
laden  for  the  dinner,  and  there  was  no 
better  fun  than  to  wait  on  the  men.  One 
of  my  sisters  has  a  reminder  of  these 
days  in  three  scarred  fingers,  which  were 
nearly  severed  as  she  was  holding  a  stick 
for  her  older  brother  to  cut,  while  the 
men  were  at  dinner.  When  this  brother 
was  ten  years  old,  the  parishioners  con- 
sidered their  help  no  longer  necessary  in 
preparing  the  wood  for  the  fire. 

The  meeting-house  had  other  uses  than 
for  religious  service.  The  town-meetings 
were  held  there  ;  and  on  Sunday  furtive 
glances  were  always  cast  at  the  glazed 
box  at  the  side  of  the  front  door,  to  as- 
certain if  any  of  the  young  people  were 
"published,"  as  it  was  called.  It  was  at 
the  option  of  those  most  interested,  to 
have  the  intention  of  marriage  announced 
in  this  way  for  three  successive  public 
meetings,  or  orally,  by  the  town-clerk,  at 
the  close  of  the  morning  service.  It  was 
customary  for  the  young  people  to  absent 
themselves  the  first  Sunday.  The  remain- 
ing two,  it  was  supposed  that  the  story 
would  be  so  old  that  their  blushes  would 
be  spared. 

After  a  bereavement,  notes  were  read 
by  the  pastor,  requesting  prayers  that  the 
death  might  be  sanctified  to  the  afflicted. 
As  in  the  town  in  which  much  of  my 
girlhood  was  spent  there  were  many  fam- 
ilies that  had  intermarried,  the  same 
death  was  the  occasion  of  several  of 
these  notes  ;  and  woe  betide  the  minister 
who  should  forget  to  mention  in  his  peti- 
tion any  of  those  who  had  risen  in  their 
pews,  as  one  after  another  of  these  notes 
were  read.  A  careful  clergyman  always 
put  these  reminders  in  his  pocket,  that 
no  mistake  might  arise  from  their  being 
re-read.  This  precaution  was  not  an  un- 
necessary one,  as  I  was  witness  on  one 
occasion.  A  wife  had  died,  and  the 
usual  prayer  had  been  offered.  Within 
the  year,  the  husband  brought  a  succes- 
sor to  his  pew,  which  was  at  the  side  of 


the  pulpit,  when  all  eyes  wandered  to  the 
stranger  in  her  bridal  array,  part  of  which 
was  the  indispensable  large  white  satin 
bonnet.  Imagine  their  consternation, 
when,  a  stranger  being  the  preacher,  a 
note  was  read  :  "  William  Scott  desires 
the  prayers  of  this  congregation  that  the 
death  of  his  wife  may  be  sanctified  to 
him  and  his  children."  There  he  was 
with  his  bride,  and  there  they  stood  when 
it  seemed  as  if  at  unusual  length,  peti- 
tions were  offered  for  him  in  his  great 
affliction. 

The  notices  given  at  the  close  of  the 
afternoon  service  were  always  of  interest 
in  those  little  towns  where  going  to  meet- 
ing was  almost  a  dissipation.  There 
would  be  at  a  schoolhouse,  "at  early 
candle-light,"  a  prayer-meeting,  en 
another  evening  a  lecture.  The  first 
Wednesday  of  the  month,  the  "  monthly 
concert."  Do  not  imagine  this  was  any- 
thing as  secular  as  what  would  be  meant 
now  by  such  an  announcement.  It  was 
the  day  selected  by  many  New-England 
churches  to  unite  in  praying  for  the 
abolition  of  slavery.  Who  dare  say  that 
this  seed,  sown  in  faith,  had  no  share  in 
germinating  that  fruit  garnered  by  the 
emancipation  proclamation  years  later? 

The  Sabbath  is  often  spoken  of  as  be- 
ing in  those  days  a  gloomy  one.  I  do 
not  remember  it  as  such,  and  I  doubt  if 
many  of  the  young  people  considered  its 
restrictions  irksome,  although  I  am  sure 
they  would  now.  Saturday  eve  every- 
thing was  in  order  for  the  next  day.  No 
sewing  was  permitted  unless  there  was 
reading  aloud.  There  were  no  games  of 
any  kind,  on  this  evening.  Sunday  morn- 
ing's breakfast  was  brown  bread  and 
baked  beans,  both  of  which  retained 
their  heat  in  the  large  brick  oven  by  the 
kitchen  fireplace.  All  who  could,  pre- 
pared to  go  to  meeting.  In  our  case,  we 
could  drive  three  miles  in  either  direc- 
tion to  the  church,  which  was  opposite 
us  on  the  other  side  of  a  large  pond,  — 
or  leaving  at  the  same  time,  walk  down 
a  beautiful  lane,  at  the  foot  of  which, 
was  our  boat ;  on  the  other  side,  a  short 
walk  through  charming  woods  to  the 
road,  and  soon  all  of  us,  those  who  had 
driven  and  those  who  had  walked,  met  at 
the  church  door.     After  morning  service 


800 


SIXTY    YEARS  AGO. 


there  was  Sunday  School,  in  which  nearly 
all  the  congregation  took  part,  either  as 
teachers  or  pupils  ;  then  a  half  hour  when 
the  young  people,  in  pleasant  weather, 
took  their  luncheon  to  the  woods  near, 
and  gathered  such  flowers  as  are  a  de- 
light to  remember.  The  ground  was  just 
damp  and  shady  enough  to  be  the  home 
of  the  trilium,  the  Indian  pipe,  Solomon's 
seal,  the  orchis  with  its  magnificent  pur- 
ple spike,  the  pink-lipped  arethusa,  the 
columbine,  the  wild  geranium  and  num- 
berless others,  and  later  the  cardinal 
flower,  that  glory  of  New  England  brook- 
sides.  Not  infrequently  a  bunch  of  check- 
erberries,  with  their  fragrant  leaves,  took 
the  place  of  the  caraway  and  coriander 
that  had  been  brought  from  the  home 
garden  for  quiet  consumption  in  the 
morning.  A  little  before  three,  the  dox- 
ology  was  sung,  and  the  benediction  pro- 
nounced, at  the  close  of  the  afternoon 
service.  The  horses  were  taken  from  the 
sheds  where  they  had  been  sheltered 
from  sun  and  storm  ;  the  brightly  painted 
wagons  and  the  few  aristocratic  chaises 
were  filled. 

Homes  reached,  the  meal  was  served, 
which  combined  the  more  solid  dinner 
with  the  lighter  tea.  Soon  after  that,  a 
sermon,  or  perhaps  an  article  from  the 
Christian  Disciple,  the  predecessor  of 
the  Christian  Examiner,  was  read  aloud. 
Then  each  child  repeated  a  hymn  or 
longer  poem,  which  remain  in  the  mem- 
ory of  the  old  women  of  to-day.  In  the 
evening  there  was  reading  interspersed 
with  sacred  music.  There  was  no  visit- 
ing except  in  the  case  of  those  soon  to 
be  married,  —  and  this  was  looked  upon 
as  not  quite  the  proper  thing.  I  well 
remember  my  surprise  at  seeing  my 
father  put  on  his  overcoat  to  go  out. 
This  was  so  unusual,  that  he  almost  apol- 
ogized to  us  by  saying  that  the  next 
Tuesday  was  town-meeting,  and  a  vote 
for  Presidential  Electors  was  so  impor- 
tant that  he  must  urge  his  neighbor  whose 
business,  that  of  a  carpenter,  called  him 
out  of  town,  to  return  to  cast  his  ballot 
in  opposition  to  Jackson  —  by  no  means 
a  saint  in  my  father's  eyes. 

Such  was  the  New  England  country 
Sabbath,  and  of  it  I  have  no  unpleasant 
memories.     It  must   be  understood,  too, 


that  there  was  little  access  to  books,  with 
which  to  fill  any  unoccupied  hours  of  the 
day.  Even  the  clergyman's  library  was 
small.  I  imagine  the  young  people  of 
this  generation  would  hardly  enjoy  Dod- 
dridge's "  Expositor,"  Macknight  on  the 
"  Epistles,"  or  volume  after  volume  of  ser- 
mons with  which  the  shelves  were  filled, 
relieved  though  they  were  by  Millot's 
History  and  "The  Pilgrim's  Progress," 
always  so  fascinating.  There  were  Rees's 
"  Encyclopaedia  "  in  quarto  volumes 
numerous  enough  to  fill  a  bookcase.  I 
did  not  accomplish  what  one  New  Year's 
day  I  resolved  to  do  —  read  all  from  A  to 
Z ;  but  I  had  many  hours  of  enjoyment 
sitting  on  the  floor  by  the  large  hall  win- 
dow, which  shed  its  light  on  the  precious 
collection.  Due  discrimination  as  to  sub- 
jects was  necessary  for  Sunday  reading. 

There  were  two  Sabbaths  in  the  year 
that  stand  out  very  prominently  in  my 
memory.  The  little  town  of  which  I 
have  spoken  was  settled  by  Scotch  Pres- 
byterians, and  they  retained  many  of  the 
customs  of  their  ancestors  in  the  old 
country.  The  communion  service  was 
administered  at  intervals  of  six  months. 
The  Thursday  previous  there  was  a  pre- 
paratory lecture,  and  a  quiet  demeanor 
was  observable  at  the  approach  of  the 
sacred  day.  If  there  were  applicants  for 
admission  to  the  church,  they  were  ex- 
amined as  to  their  character,  religious 
experience,  and  belief.  One  Sunday, 
standing  in  front  of  the  pulpit,  they 
signified  their  acceptance  of  the  creed, 
and  their  determination  to  lead  a  holy 
life.  The  scene  was  most  impressive,  and 
there  were  few  dry  eyes  as  they  were  taken 
by  the  hand  by  some  of  the  older  mem- 
bers and  led  to  the  communion  tables. 
These  were  placed  in  the  aisles,  with 
benches  on  either  side,  on  which  the 
communicants  sat.  I  have  never  seen 
this  custom  observed  elsewhere,  but  the 
picture  remains  to  me  as  a  very  beautiful 
one.  I  recall  no  more  thrilling  addresses 
than  those  of  the  minister,  both  to  those 
who  joined  in  the  service  and  to  the 
occupants  of  the  pews,  the  latter  of  whom 
often  passed  a  sleepless  night,  doubting 
whether  their  eternal  salvation  was  more 
endangered  by  not  becoming  communi- 
cants, or  by  doing  so,  in  the  liability  to 


SIXTY   YEARS  AGO. 


801 


"  eat  and  drink  unworthily."  This  feel- 
ing was  perhaps  intensified  by  the  not 
unusual  incident  of  receiving  back  to  the 
bosom  of  the  Church  one  who  had  pro- 
fited by  its  privileges,  and  who,  before  the 
service  with  bowed  head  and  streaming 
eyes,  asked  to  be  reinstated. 

The  clergyman's  wife  had  no  easy  task 
in  those  country  parishes.  I  have  heard 
my  mother,  a  young  Boston  girl,  speak  of 
her  first  calls  on  the  parishioners  with  my 
father,  when,  though  most  distasteful  to 
her,  she  did  not  dare  refuse  the  rum 
which  was  handed  with  the  cake,  lest  she 
should  be  thought  too  "  citified,"  which 
would  have  been  the  unpardonable  sin. 
But  her  gentle  unselfishness  soon  had  its 
effect,  and  she  was  looked  up  to  and  be- 
loved, not  less  than  the  pastor,  and  her 
example  followed  in  much  besides  her 
later  refusal  of  the  rum.  Her  duties  were 
as  varied  and  quite  as  onerous  as  her 
husband's.  Her  place  was  at  the  bed- 
side of  the  sick  and  in  the  house  of 
mourning.  Her  calls  on  the  parishioners 
and  her  presence  on  all  festive  occasions 
were  as  confidently  expected  as  if  her 
own  household  did  not  give  her  full 
occupation.  It  was  as  proper  to  criticise 
her  as  if  she  also  received  a  salary  for  her 
labor.  But  perhaps  this  is  not  entirely 
ancient  history. 

The  intercourse  between  the  neighbor- 
ing clergy  and  their  families  was  delight- 
ful. Surely  there  were  no  pleasanter 
gatherings  than  the  meetings  of  the  as- 
sociations. Wit  was  sparkling,  stories 
were  well  told.  Latin  quotations  so  fre- 
quent and  so  apt,  "  that  still  the  wonder 
grew,  that  one  small  head  could  carry  all 
he  knew."  The  dinners  were  something 
wonderful,  each  housewife  vying  with  the 
others  in  the  variety  and  daintiness  of  her 
dishes,  and  then,  no  more  than  now,  were 
the  husbands  appreciative  of  the  good 
things  set  before  them.  Extreme  cour- 
tesy and  kindliness  was  the  rule  to  each 
other  and  to  all,  —  nor  did  this  cease 
with  life.  When  the  work  of  one  of  their 
number  was  finished  on  earth,  each  of 
the  neighboring  clergymen,  paying  per- 
haps for  a  supply  for  his  own  pulpit,  gave 
what  was  called  a  "labor  of  love,"  the 
parish  giving  to  the  widow  the  usual  cost 
of    providing    a     preacher.       Exchanges 


were  frequent  and  pleasant,  not  only  to 
the  minister,  but  to  his  daughter  who 
shared  the  seat  in  his  chaise,  thus  enjoy- 
ing a  little  outing. 

But  a  change  came  in  the  relations  of 
clergymen  to  each  other  and  between 
them  and  their  flocks.  Discussions  on 
theological  subjects  became  the  everyday 
matter  of  conversation.  Rarely  did  two 
men  meet,  especially  if  one  were  a 
preacher,  that  the  listening  ear  did  not 
hear  of  predestination,  election,  total  de- 
pravity, and  the  varying  views  of  the 
Trinity  and  Atonement.  At  first,  when  it 
was  suspected  that  proper  seed  was  not- 
being  sown,  the  friendly  exchange  would 
take  occasion  to  impress  his  own  views. 
In  my  father's  pulpit  as  a  proof  of  innate 
depravity,  was  cited  the  proneness  of 
children  to  eat  green  apples.  This  drew 
a  smile  from  one  of  the  choir,  when  he 
was  sharply  reproved,  as  such  levity  ren- 
dered him  "  unfit  to  sing  the  praises  of 
the  Most  High."  Thereupon  he  retired 
to  the  seat  back  of  his  fellow-singers. 

But  soon  the  time  came  when  the  line 
was  drawn  between  the  Armenian  and 
the  Calvinist.  Exchanges  were  no  longer 
permitted.  Church  buildings  multiplied. 
That  of  the  "  hard-shell  "  Baptist,  then  as 
now  one  of  the  largest  denominations  in 
the  United  States,  looked  askance  at  the 
modest  edifice  of  the  more  liberal  "  free- 
will "  neighbor,  and  the  Presbyterian  joined 
with  them  in  frowning  on  the  old  church 
in  which  the  worshippers  once  dwelt  in 
unity,  —  agreeing  only  in  this,  that  their 
former  brethren  must  not  join  with  them 
in  obeying  the  command  of  the  Saviour, 
"  Do  this  in  remembrance  of  Me." 

It  was  in  consequence  of  these  divi- 
sions that  my  home  was  changed  from 
the  parsonage,  with  its  distant  glimpses 
of  the  sea,  to  a  little  town  where  the 
beautiful  ponds  bore  a  profusion  of  lilies 
on  their  bosom,  and  reflected  on  the 
placid  surface  the  tall  trees  and  flowering 
shrubs  on  their  shores. 

Church  quarrels  are  proverbially  bitter 
ones,  but  the  saddest  feature  of  all  was 
the  division  in  families.  Each  Sunday, 
the  father  and  those  who  agreed  with  him 
went  to  the  old  meeting-house  on  the 
hill,  leaving  the  mother  and  those  who 
sympathized  with  her  at  the  new  one  at 


802 


SIXTY   YEARS  AGO. 


the  foot,  —  she  saddened,  almost  heart- 
broken, at  the  fear  that  this  separation 
was  typical  of  a  never-ending  one  that 
awaited  them  in  the  eternal  future.  For 
we  must  not  forget  that  those  were  the 
days  of  stern  realities  and  not  of  flippant 
criticism.  Ecclesiastical  councils  were 
held  to  try  the  heretical  brother.  I 
remember  hearing  my  father  say  that,  as 
he  was  riding  to  attend  one  of  these  in 
Coventry,  Connecticut,  to  aid  his  brother 
who  was  to  be  tried  there,  a  fellow-travel- 
ler joined  him,  and  as  they  jogged  along, 
instead  of,  as  in  these  degenerate  days, 
talking  of  the  McKinley  bill  or  the  In- 
dian question,  their  minds  dwelt  on  other 
themes.  "I,"  said  the  stranger,  "  have  a 
different  opinion  from  most  on  the  origin 
of  total  depravity.  I  think  all  who  have 
ever  lived,  or  will  live,  were  present  and 
gave  their  consent  to  Adam  and  Eve  eat- 
ing the  forbidden  fruit."  "  And  do  you 
remember  anything  of  this?"  asked  my 
father.  "Why,  -yes,"  was  the  reply. 
"  I  think  I  have  a  slight  recollection  of 
it." 

Ecclesiastical  councils  were  held  for 
other  causes  than  doctrinal  ones.  A 
little  earlier  than  the  time  of  which  I 
am  writing,  a  connection  of  our  family 
was  tried  on  three  counts  : 

i .  That  he  was  a  Tory. 

2.  That  he  was  an  aristocrat,  as  shown 
by  the  fact  that  he  did  not  send  his  chil- 
dren to  the  common  schools. 

3.  That  he  was  proud,  as  it  was  in 
evidence  that  he  had  built  too  large  and 
expensive  a  barn.  He  was  acquitted  on 
the  first,  and  the  other  two,  though 
making  him  amenable  to  reproof,  were 
not  sufficiently  vital  to  deprive  him  of  his 
pulpit. 

We  may  smile  at  some  of  the  peculiari- 
ties of  our  ancestors,  but  beneath  and 
over  all  was  an  earnest  spirit  that  their 
children  would  do  well  to  imitate.  Their 
constant  dwelling  in  thought  on  things 
eternal  was  in  itself  an  education.  Even 
as  a  child  I  was  impressed  with  the  eleva- 
tion of  spirit  shown  by  the  unlettered 
farmer,  as  in  his  prayers  he  invoked  the 
blessing  of  his  Heavenly  Father.  The 
Being  to  whom  he  prayed  was  a  reality, 
and  he  had  faith  that  his  prayers  would 
be    answered.     He    was    in    the    Infinite 


Presence,  and  led  those  who  listened  to 
him  there.  It  was  said,  whether  satirically 
or  otherwise,  that  Edward  Everett  made 
the  "  best  prayer  ever  addressed  to  a 
Boston  audience,"  but  when  good  old 
Deacon  Dinsmour,  with  trembling  ac- 
cents, offered  his  petitions,  there  was  no 
thought  of  any  hearer  but  the  All  Wise 
and  All  Merciful,  and  those  who  joined, 
awed  and  hushed,  felt  that  Heaven  had 
been  opened  and  they  had  been  ad- 
mitted to  the  very  Holy  of  Holies. 

Besides  the  regular  Sunday  and  the  in- 
cidental week  day  services,  there  were 
two  great  religious  days  in  the  year.  One 
was  Fast  Day,  which  occurred  in  April. 
On  this,  the  minister  was  expected  to 
preach  on  secular  topics,  which  it  never 
occurred  to  him  to  do  on  Sunday.  The 
sins  of  the  people,  and  "corruption  in 
high  places  "  were  unsparingly  dealt  with, 
and  Sodom  and  Gomorrah  were  recalled 
to  those  who  evidently,  in  the  opinion 
of  the  speaker,  deserved  a  similar  fate. 
No  midday  meal  was  allowed,  and  the  day 
was  literally  observed  as  its  name  implied. 

Thanksgiving  was  the  day  of  all  the 
year  sacred  to  family  love  and  tenderest 
associations.  All  gathered  under  the  pa- 
ternal roof.  Young  men  and  maidens, 
however  scattered,  sons  with  their  wives 
and  children,  all  came  home.  Like  the 
day  of  Atonement  among  the  Jews,  if  any 
family  jar  had  occurred  during  the  year, 
a  close  pressure  of  the  hand  gave  assu- 
rance that  all  was  forgiven.  This  was  suf- 
ficient, for  we  were  not  effusive  in  our 
intercourse  in  those  days.  Memories  of 
happy  childhood  were  recalled  and  ten- 
der thought  given  to  those  no  longer  vis- 
ible to  mortal  eye.  A  vacant  chair  was 
sometimes  placed  for  one  who  had 
"passed  on,"  but  could  not  be  discon- 
nected from  the  others  on  this  family  an- 
niversary. 

The  dinner  was  like  no  other.  It  was 
the  result  of  the  preparation  of  many 
days,  nor  was  what  was  seen  all  that  had 
occupied  the  busy  housewife.  Those  less 
favored  in  this  world's  goods  had  not 
been  forgotten ;  the  evening  before,  active 
feet  had  carried  to  many  a  home,  cheer 
for  the  morrow.  The  distant  past  was 
recalled,  and  children  were  taught  the 
significance  of  the  five  grains  of  corn  at 


SIXTY   YEARS  AGO. 


803 


the  side  of  each  plate.  Dinner  over, 
with  what  vigor  was  left,  the  young  people 
joined  in  song  and  dance  ;  and  midnight 
was  reached  before  the  tired  head  touched 
the  pillow, —  the  last  thought  a  loving  one 
of  the  family  circle. 

The  day  appointed  was  not  then  the 
same  throughout  the  country.  The  Gov- 
ernors arranged  for  different  ones  in 
neighboring  states,  the  better  to  accom- 
modate the  clergy  and  others,  thus  en- 
abling them  to  gather  around  the  paternal 
table. 

Christmas  was  not  a  holiday  in  the 
country,  in  New  England.  Schools  and 
business  of  all  kinds  went  on  as  usual.  I 
only  recall  one  innovation, —  my  father  at 
morning  prayers,  reading  of  the  birth  of 
our  Saviour,  and  telling  us  why  he  did  so. 
Perhaps  now  the  looked-for  presents  oc- 
cupy the  children's  minds  to  the  exclusion 
of  the  meaning  of  the  day.  A  few  years 
ago,  a  young  friend-  who  had  twenty  or 
more  pupils  from  intelligent  families  asked 
them  the  origin  of  Christmas,  and  why  it 
was  kept.  Most  thought  it  Washington's 
Birthday,  but  none  knew,  as  she  playfully 
told  me,  except  the  daughter  of  a  Jew 
and  the  son  of  a  Unitarian.  We  had 
no  Christmas  dinner  and  no  Christmas 
presents,  but  we  did  not  mistake  the  day 
for  Washington's  Birthday. 

In  those  little  country  towns,  there  was 
much  opportunity  for  kindly  help,  which 
was  not  grudgingly  given.  When  sickness 
entered  the  house,  neighbors  went  in  to 
aid  in  the  additional  labor  of  the  family, 
and  took  turns  in  watching  by  the  sick 
bed  at  night.  The  pills  brought  in  the 
doctor's  saddle-bags  the  day  before  were 
duly  enveloped  in  jelly,  and  the  nauseous 
draught,  followed  by  the  more  pleasant 
lemonade,  were  administered  at  the  stated 
time,  albeit  the  patient  had  to  be  awak- 
ened from  refreshing  sleep.  Even  if  the 
medicine  were  not  necessary,  the  watcher 
was  required  on  those  cold  New  England 
nights,  to  replenish  the  fire  from  the  huge 
pile  of  wood  placed  on  the  hearth  at  bed- 
time. 

And  when  thoughtful  care  could  no 
longer  delay  the  final  hour,  friendly  hands 
performed  the  last  offices.  If  it  were  the 
thoughtful  housewife  who  had  said  her 
last  farewell,  there  would  almost  certainly 


be  found  in  the  lower  drawer  of  the 
"  spare  chamber "  bureau  the  necessary 
garments.  The  gentle  heart  and  willing 
hands  had  not  courage  to  make  these  prep- 
arations for  those  dear  to  her,  but  for 
herself  she  would,  as  always,  spare  others. 
The  carpenter  who  had  built  the.  house 
for  the  living,  prepared  the  narrow  one 
for  the  dead. 

I  have  often  wondered  that  the  brain 
of  the  bereaved  did  not  give  way  in  the 
confusion  that  followed  in  the  house  of 
mourning.  The  dressmaker  came  to  fit 
the  sombre  garments  for  each  of  the 
family ;  black  bonnets  even  had  to  be 
made  for  the  sisters  of  the  five  weeks  old 
baby,  to  whose  existence  they  had  hardly 
become  accustomed.  Nor  was  this  all. 
Busy  hands  were  set  to  work  to  prepare 
the  funeral  supper.  The  kitchen,  put  in 
command  of  the  most  capable  cook  in 
the  neighborhood,  was  fragrant  with 
spices ;  and  meats,  cakes  and  pies  filled 
the  pantry.  To  this  day  I  never  prepare 
a  custard  without  recalling  a  lesson  re- 
ceived on  one  of  these  occasions.  The 
rooms  had  to  be  divested  of  everything 
that  had  made  them  cheerful.  The  or- 
naments, few  at  any  time,  were  put  away  ; 
even  the  pompons  blown  from  the  dried 
thistle,  which  hung  from  the  mirror,  must 
be  taken  down,  and  the  glass  itself  cov- 
ered in  the  room  where  the  silent  form 
was  laid. 

At  the  hour  appointed,  the  pastor  read 
from  the  Book  of  books,  made  what  he 
considered  appropriate  remarks ;  tender 
petitions  were  offered  to  the  only  Com- 
forter ;  the  funeral  hymn  was  sung ;  and 
then  all  the  relatives  followed  their 
friend  to  the  cheerless  graveyard.  But 
this  must  be  done  in  proper  order.  Some 
one  familiar  with  the  degrees  of  relation- 
ship in  the  complicated  family  connec- 
tion made  the  necessary  list,  and  called 
the  names.  Great  care  was  necessary, 
as  precedence  must  be  strictly  observed. 
If,  for  instance,  a  child  of  a  family  had 
died,  the  relatives  of  the  mother  followed 
those  of  the  father.  Returning  to  the 
house,  all  these  were  soon  seated  at  the 
long  tables  in  the  kitchen  and  dining- 
room,  and  night  came  before  the  family 
were  left  to  the  luxury  of  unobserved 
grief.     This  was  the  arrangement  for  or- 


804 


SIXTY   YEARS  AGO. 


dinary  funerals.  If  a  person  of  note 
died,  there  were  others.  I  was  present 
at  that  of  a  Revolutionary  officer.  The 
house  was  filled,  and  numbers  stood  un- 
der the  beautiful  elms  in  front.  To 
these,  as  well  as  to  those  in  the  house, 
rum  was  offered  by  a  man  carrying  it  in 
a  tin  pail,  accompanied  by  a  boy  with  a 
glass.  It  was  customary  quite  in  the 
early  part  of  the  century  for  friends  to 
carry  the  coffin,  even  a  long  distance. 
A  family  in  my  father's  parish,  was  for  a 
time  disaffected  because,  in  his  capacity 
as  pastoral  adviser,  he  insisted  that  this 
should  not  be  done  in  the  case  of  an 
exceedingly  heavy  man.  Soon  after  this, 
it  was  voted  in  town-meeting,  that  a 
hearse  should  be  bought,  and  a  house 
built  to  shelter  it,  which  was  done,  —  and 
this,  painted  black,  stood  near  the  meet- 
ing-house. In  the  hearse  was  left  the 
mort  cloth,  which  previously  had  been 
cared  for  at  the  parsonage.  This  was  a 
black  pall  heavily  fringed,  and  for  which, 
as  the  town  records  of  1759  show,  one 
hundred  and  fifty  dollars,  old  tenor,  had 
been  paid.  It  was  in  use  as  late  as  1827. 
The  bier  on  which  the  coffin  was  placed, 
to  be  carried  from  the  gate  to  the  grave, 
was  left  upon  it,  until  the  next  to  pass 
away  should  claim  its  service. 

The  weddings  were  usually  quiet  ones, 
celebrated  at  the  bride's  home,  with  few 
but  near  relatives  present.  The  festiv- 
ities attending  them  were  on  the  next 
evening,  when  all  the  young  people  were 
invited  to  the  infair.  Here  song  and 
dance  made  the  time  till  the  small  hours, 
and  no  longer  very  small,  —  pass  merrily. 
The  music  was  sometimes  the  violin,  but 
quite  as  often  a  skilful  whistler  provided 
it.  The  double  exertion  of  whistling 
and  dancing  at  the  same  time  was  sup- 
posed to  have  sent  one  of  these  young 
men  to  an  untimely  grave.  Between  the 
dances,  the  merry  voices  joined  in  old 
Scotch  ballads,  of  which  there  were  many 
held  in  memory,  and  which  required  no 
accompaniment. 

"  Where  oh  !   where,  is  my  Highland  laddie  gone," 

was  always  a  favorite. 

The  interesting  thing  connected  with 
the  marriage  was  the  preparation  for  it. 

No  sooner  was  a  young  woman  "  prom- 


ised," which  was  the  synonym  of  "en- 
gaged," than  her  hands  were  busy  pre- 
paring the  plenishing  of  her  future  home. 
If  she  had  sufficient  means,  it  was  ex- 
pected she  would  furnish  the  house  en- 
tirely, if  not,  she  always  provided  largely 
the  house  linen,  and  the  indispensable 
feather  beds.  These  were  considered  so 
valuable  that  there  was  seldom  a  will 
drawn  in  which  they  were  not  mentioned 
among  the  bequests.  Not  only  was  the 
sewing  of  the  house  linen  to  be  done, 
but  it  was  in  most  cases  spun  and  woven 
from  the  flax  grown  on  her  father's  farm, 
and  her  blankets  were  made  from  the 
wool  of  the  sheep  in  his  pasture.  Patch- 
work quilts  of  silk,  woolen,  and  calico 
were  pieced,  and  neighbors  invited  to  the 
quilting,  the  more  experienced  quilters 
being  carefully  chosen  for  the  better 
work.  These  quiltings  were  a  favorite 
amusement  of  the  young  people,  and 
indeed  of  their  elders ;  and  when  these 
last  had  taken  the  stitches,  there  was  no 
occasion  the  next  day  to  follow  the  ex- 
ample of  Penelope,  as  there  frequently 
was  when  their  juniors  had  plied  their 
more  rapid  needles.  These  knew  that 
their  lovers  and  brothers  expected  to  find 
the  room  cleared  when  they  came  for  the 
evening  frolic ;  and  what  wonder  if  the 
hurried  stitches  were  longer  than  was 
seemly? 

The  trousseau  was  not  by  Worth.  If 
any  aid  was  required,  the  dressmaker 
came  to  the  house,  and  for  twenty-five 
cents  a  day,  helped  to  array  the  future 
bride.  The  old  adage  was,  that  no  young 
woman  should  be  married  without  a  pil- 
low case  full  of  knitted  stockings  ;  and 
she  would  be  thought  sadly  wanting  in 
self-respect  if,  within  the  first  two  or 
three  years  of  married  life,  she  needed 
her  husband's  purse  for  herself,  or  for 
house  linen.  If  the  means  for  this  sup- 
ply could  not  be  spared  by  her  father,  it 
was  the  simplest  thing  to  earn  the  where- 
withal to  purchase  the  outfit.  There 
were  various  ways  in  which  the  girls  of 
those  days  added  to  their  scanty  supply 
of  pocket  money.  There  was  the  sum- 
mer district  school  to  be  taught  :  or  per- 
haps the  preceptor  of  the  academy  in 
the  neighboring  village  needed  an  assis- 
tant.    A  very  favorite  way  of  earning,  was 


A    TALE    OF  NARRAGANSETT. 


805 


the  braiding  of  palm-leaf  hats.  The 
country  storekeeper  obtained  the  dried 
leaves  which,  taken  to  the  homes,  were 
split  evenly  of  the  desired  fineness, 
braided  into  hats,  pressed  carefully,  and 
taken  to  the  stores,  where  the  difference 
was  received  between  the  value  of  the 
material,  and  the  hats.  Others  braided 
the  wheat  straw  for  bonnets,  others,  still, 
bound  shoes ;  but  for  many  years  the 
utilizing  of  the  palm  leaf  was  the  almost 
universal  occupation  for  the  earners  of 
small  sums. 

When  the  manufactories  were  first  es- 
tablished in  Lowell,  Nashua,  Manchester, 
and  Lawrence,  the  farmers'  daughters  re- 
sorted to  them,  not  only  to  earn  money 


for  themselves,  but  for  their  families; 
and  many  a  New  England  farm  was 
cleared  in  this  way  of  the  incubus  of  the 
mortgage  that  had  weighed  down  the 
spirit  of  the  father  and  brother.  It  was 
the  American,  not  the  Irish  girls,  who 
first  worked  in  the  mills.  They  were 
bright,  intelligent  girls ;  and  for  years, 
a  very  respectable  weekly  magazine,  the 
Lowell  Offering,  was  sustained  by  their 
contributions.  It  is  not  surprising  that 
Dickens,  recollecting  the  squalid  home" 
and  appearance  of  the  operatives  in 
Manchester  and  Birmingham,  should 
write  in  his  American  Notes  with  wonder 
of  the  boarding-houses  in  Lowell  and  the 
respectability  of  their  inmates. 


(  To  be  continued.) 


A   TALE    OF   NARRAGANSETT. 


By    Caroline  Hazard. 


HAT  can  be  more 
beautiful  than  late 
September  in  Narra- 
gansett  ?  Then  the 
summer  sits  in 
silence  on  her  golden 
throne,  awaiting  the 
approach  of  autumn. 
An  early  frost  in  the  low  lands  sets  the 
maples  aflame,  and  launches  the  thistle- 
down on  the  balmy  air.  The  golden-rods 
are  in  their  glory,  made  more  gorgeous- 
by  the  tangle  of  crimsoning  blackberry 
vines  in  which  they  grow,  and  the  fringed 
gentian  opens  its  azure  eyes  to  gaze  at 
the  sun. 

It  was  on  a  day  of  this  season,  about 
the  middle  of  the  last  century,  that  a 
young  girl  was  walking  down  Tower  Hill. 
Her  plain  gray  dress  and  the  white  folded 
kerchief  marked  her  as  belonging  to  one 
of  the  Quaker  families  of  the  neighbor- 
hood. In  her  busy  hands  she  had  shining 
knitting-needles,  and  soft  blue  home-dyed 
wool,  and  the  stocking  was  growing 
as  she  walked  gazing  about  her.  At  her 
feet  lay  the  sea,  and  across  the  stretches 
of  shining  water  the  windows  of  Newport 


gleamed  in  the  afternoon  light.  There 
lay  Conanicut,  with  its  beaver  tail  spread 
out,  dividing  the  bay ;  and  close  at  hand 
the  slow- flowing  Pettaquamscut  with  its 
reedy  low  lands,  where  the  tide  ebbed 
and  flowed ;  and  beyond,  the  fertile  fields 
of  Boston  Neck.  It  was  all  bathed  in 
such  sunshine  and  teeming  with  such 
peaceful  life,  the  girl  gave  a  long  sigh  of 
delight  and  content  as  she  looked.  Then 
suddenly  her  eyes  contracted,  and  a 
quick  impatient  exclamation  escaped  her. 
Her  soft  brown  eyes  had  a  dangerous 
red  gleam  in  them,  and  the  little  head 
was  held  very  erect  as  she  came  to  a  sud- 
den halt.  She  stood  motionless  gazing 
apparently  at  the  water,  where  a  white- 
sailed  schooner  was  making  up  the  West 
Passage.  She  looked,  and  looked ;  then 
as  suddenly  the  brown  eyes  filled  with 
tears.  But  the  little  head  was  still  held 
high,  and  lightly  and  quickly  she  started 
on  a  full  run  down  the  hill.  Nothing 
clears  the  mind  so  well  as  a  good  scam- 
per, especially  if  it  is  on  a  rough  country 
road  with  plenty  of  stones  to  jump  over. 
She  reached  the  foot  of  the  hill  breathless 
and  panting,  but  with  no  trace   of  either 


806 


A    TALE    OF  NARRAGANSETJ 


anger  or  tears.  The  ruddy  color  mounted 
to  her  forehead ;  her  moist  hair  clung  in 
tighter  ringlets  about  her  brow,  and  the 
brown  eyes  were  soft  and  sweet  again. 

After  this  outbreak  she  went  on  se- 
dately enough,  turning  to  the  right,  and 
presently  over  a  barred  fence  and  into 
an  orchard.  Then  she  busied  herself 
soberly  gathering  a  few  late  peaches, 
which  she  carefully  laid  in  little  piles  under 
the  largest  tree.  As  she  was  stooping  at 
this  task  there  was  a  sudden  rustling  of 
the  leaves ;  and  almost  before  she  could 
move,  a  tall,  graceful  young  fellow  was 
bending  over  her,  and  had  seized  and 
kissed  her  hand. 

"  Dearest,"  he  said,  kissing  it  again. 

"John,  I  have  told  thee  thee  mustn't 
call  me  such  names,"  she  said  shyly,  and 
with  a  merry  twinkle  in  her  eyes  as  she 
drew  away  her  hand  ;  "  it  savors  of  ex- 
cess." 

"  Then  you  must  let  me  see  you  oftener, 
dear." 

"  But  thee  knows  I  can't,  John." 

They  sat  down  beside  the  peaches,  and 
she  let  him  hold  her  hand,  while  her 
maidenly  reserve  no  less  than  her  Quaker 
training  kept  him  at  a  respectful  distance. 

"  And  now  tell  me,  Patty,  how  they  are 
at  home." 

"  There  is  no  change  —  only  did  thee 
know  Roger  Arnold  has  come  home?  " 

"  Roger  Arnold  be "   cried  John, 

starting  up.     "  How  do  you  know?  " 

"  Thee  can  see  his  schooner  coming  up 
past  the  Bonnet." 

"Well?"  said  John  almost  sullenly, 
while  his  handsome  face  grew  dark. 

"  Thee  knows  what  his  coming  home 
means.  Last  night  father  told  me  he 
was  coming,  and  he  expected  an  answer 
this  time  ;  and  thee  knows  what  answer 
father  wishes  me  to  give."  She  looked 
at  him  appealingly,  and  her  voice  fell 
into  a  sighing  whisper. 

"  Patty,  you  must  let  me  go  to  your  fa- 
ther. Am  I  not  a  man  too, —  and  why 
can't  I  take  care  of  you?" 

"  Nay,  John,  nay.  Thee  knows  what 
he  would  say." 

"  He  would  say  my  father  was  a  French- 
man, and  that  he  cheated  him  about  the 
land,  and  that  I  was  an  idle,  good-for- 
nothing  fellow." 


"  He  would  say  all  that,"  said  Patty 
sadly,  "  and  he  would  say  too  that  I 
should  never  see  thee  again,  and  he  would 
make  me  marry  Roger  Arnold  before  he 
sails  again." 

"Make  you  !  I  thought  you  were  a  girl 
of  spirit  !  "  said  John  angrily. 

"  And  so  I  am,"  answered  Patty  with 
kindling  wrath  ;  then  more  gently  :  "  Thee 
don't  know,  father.  I  would  say  I  wouldn't, 
but  I  would.  No,  John,  thee  must  not 
be  angry,  and  thee  must  not  speak  to 
father." 

A  long  pause  followed.  John  looked 
at  her  intently,  his  eyes  softening  as  he 
looked.  Suddenly  he  took  from  his  game 
bag  a  sprig  of  blue  gentian.  He  kissed  it 
almost  reverently  and  gave  it  to  her.  She 
touched  it  to  her  face,  too,  and  fastened 
it  in  her  kerchief.  Their  eyes  met,  and 
then  their  lips  in  the  oblivion  of  their  first 
kiss. 

"And  what  will  thee  do,  then?  "  John 
said  presently. 

"  I  think  I  will  tell  Roger." 

"Tell  Roger?  tell  Roger  what?  Tell 
Roger  that  thee  loves  me?"  asked  John 
tenderly. 

"Thee  remembers  —  no,  that  was  be- 
fore thee  came,  we  used  to  play  together, 
and  Roger  was  always  a  good  boy.  I 
always  liked  Roger  till  he  took  this  no- 
tion. I  think  he  will  be  good.  I  would 
not  speak  to  him,  thee  knows,  the  last 
time  he  was  home  —  but  now —  I  will  see 
him,  and  he  will  manage  it  for  us." 

It  was  growing  late  ;  the  shadow  of  the 
hill  fell  upon  the*  orchard,  and  across  the 
salt  meadows,  to  the  blue  and  golden  sea. 
They  rose  and  slowly  climbed  the  hill,  not 
by  the  road,  but  through  the  fields  where 
the  gathered  cornstalks  were  standing. 
Up  and  up  they  climbed,  till  they  reached 
the  sunlight  once  more.  They  were 
nearing  the  house  now,  and  stood  to- 
gether looking  out  over  the  sea.  Unre- 
buked,  John  stooped  for  a  farewell  kiss, 
when  suddenly  an  unearthly  shriek  came 
from  behind  a  cornstack. 

"  Hi-hi,  Patience  Brown,  and  what  will 
thy  father  say?"  shouted  the  cracked 
voice  of  a  half-grown  man. 

"  Go  home,  Caesar  ;  I  shall  have  thee 
whipped,"  said  Patience,  looking  so 
angry,  so   really   terrible,  in   spite   of  her 


A    TALE    OF  NARRAGANSETT. 


807 


,mHm 

M 


Unrebuked,   John   stooped  to  take  a  fareweil   k 


small  stature,  that  the  boy,  for  he  was 
hardly  more,  slunk  off  abashed. 

Patience's  eyes  shone  as  John  had 
never  seen  them.  They  parted  immedi- 
diately,  he  rushing  down  the  hill  cursing 
his  imprudence  in  having  ventured  so  near 
the  house. 

Patience,  —  for  no  one  but  John  Targee 
called  her  Patty,  —  made  her  way  through 
one  more  field  and  into  the  barnyard 
where  she  stopped  to  give  her  order  to 
the  old  negro  slave  who  acted  as  overseer 
and  head  farmer.  He  shook  his  head 
and  grumbled  a  little,  but  finally  nodded, 
and  she  left  him. 

"  Lucky  for  her,  and  me,  too,  that  the 
master's  away  to-night,  for  he  don't  like 
whippin',"  he  grumbled  to  himself.  "  But 
Caesar  am  a  bad  boy, ;  a  whippin'  '11  do 
him  good,  anyways." 

Patience  entered  the  house  through 
the  great  kitchen,  and  to  her  surprise 
found  her  mother  there  in  close  consulta- 
tion with  Julia  Anne,  shortened  to  Juliann, 
"  de  bes'  cook  in  Narragansett,"  as  she 
triumphantly  proclaimed  herself. 

At  this  hour  good  Friend  Brown  was 


usually  seated  upon  her  doorstep,  her 
comely  person  the  picture  of  repose  ;  or 
if  the  weather  was  bad  she  sat  placidly  in 
"the  great  room,"  her  hands  busy  with 
knitting  needles,  with  a  Bible  on  a  stand 
beside  her.  But  to-night,  as  Patience  came 
in,  she  heard  her  mother  speak  anxiously. 

"  Does  thee  think  the  turkey  will  be 
tender  against  to-morrow?  If  only  we 
could  have  known  yesterday  !  " 

Four  great  hams  were  on  the  broad 
kitchen  table,  undergoing  careful  inspec- 
tion. One  was  finally  chosen  ;  the  caul- 
dron was  already  swung  for  its  boiling. 
Little  "  niggs "  came  running  in  with 
baskets  of  kindling,  and  old  Aunt  Sally  in 
the  corner,  the  ancient  and  decrepit 
family  nurse  who  harmlessly  crooned 
away  her  days  by  the  fire,  even  Aunt 
Sally  was  busy  with  a  bowl  of  suet,  care- 
fully sorting  and  cutting  it  in  pieces.  As 
Patience  came  in,  her  mother  turned. 

"  O  child  !  what  does  thee  think  ?  Ben- 
jamin Franklin  is  coming,  and  nothing 
would  suit  thy  father  but  he  must  ride  off 
to  meet  him,  and  ride  up  with  him  to- 
morrow, and  have  him  to  dinner,  and  the 


SOS 


A    TALE    OF  NARRAGANSETT. 


Robinsons,  and  the  Arnolds,  and  the  Pot- 
ters, and  half  the  countryside,  and  a  big 
dinner  to  be  got  and  half  a  day's 
notice  !  " 

"  Well,  mother,  who  can  get  it  so  well 
is  thee  and  Juliann?  And  shall  I  make 
thee  some  junket  or  some  tarts?  I  see 
thee  is  going  to  have  a  suet  pudding,  and 
a.  turkey  and  a  ham,  —  anything  else  ?  " 

"  A  saddle  of  mutton  with  turnips,  and 
some  ducks.  If  that  John  Targee  was 
worth  his  salt  he  would  have  brought  us 
quail,  but  then  he's  never  'round  when 
he's  wanted  !  "  This  last  with  a  kindly 
smile,  for  the  good  dame's  eye  had 
caught  sight  of  the  gentian,  and  she  knew 
well,  dear  lover  of  flowers  that  she  was,  who 
brought  her  pretty  daughter  all  the  earliest 
and  rarest  blossoms  —  the  whip-poor-will 
shoes  as  she  called  the  Arethusas,  in 
June,  the  marsh  daisies  —  Sabbatias,  in 
August,  and  the  first  and  latest  gentians. 
The  good  woman  had  a  fondness  for 
John's  handsome  face  and  courtly  man- 
ners, and  though  she  knew  she  ought  to 
prefer  steady,  sober-going  Roger  Arnold, 
—  "in  meeting,  and  the  best  farming 
land  on  the  neck,  beside  the  schooner," 
she  reflected,  —  she  still  thought  father  a 
little  hard  on  Patience. 

Later,  when  all  the  arrangements  for  the 
morning  were  completed,  Friend  Brown 
came  into  the  great  room  where  Patience 
was  sitting,  idly  enough  to  all  appearance. 

"  Patience,"  said  her  mother,  with  as 
much  severity  as  her  placid  voice  could 
express,  "why  did  thee  have  Caesar 
whipped?  " 

"  Because  he  is  an  impudent  fellow, 
mother." 

"  But  thee  knows  his  father  was  an 
Indian." 

"  I  can't  see  why  that  is  any  reason  for 
letting  him  behave  worse  than  any  one 
on  the  place." 

"  But  thee  knows  it  don't  do  to  whip 
him,"  said  Dame  Brown  almost  queru- 
lously. "Thee  knows  the  Indian  half- 
breeds  have  ugly  tempers.  Why,  child, 
he  may  burn  the  barn  down  !  and  what 
will  thy  father  say?  " 

"  Let  me  manage  him,  mother  dear. 
The  whipping  will  do  Caesar  good,  —  see 
if  it  does  not.  And  now  tell  me  all  thee 
wishes  me  to  do  to-morrow." 


The  good  woman  let  herself  be  coaxed 
out  of  any  anger  she  had,  which  was 
really  much  less  than  she  thought  right 
to  pretend,  and  eagerly  entered  into  the 
absorbing  topic  of  the  dinner  and  the 
day.  Mr.  Franklin  was  to  sleep  at 
Matunuck,  in  the  Willow  Dell  farmhouse. 
Farmer  Brown  had  ridden  down  the  road 
to  spend  the  night  there  too,  and  given 
notice  as  he  went  along  to  his  neighbors. 

This  journey  of  Franklin's,  coming  at 
intervals  through  Narragansett  on  his  way 
to  Boston,  was  a  great  event  to  many  of 
the  good  people.  The  next  day,  accord- 
ingly, there  was  a  sort  of  triumphant 
procession.  From  Little  Rest  Hill  the 
gentry  in  their  fox-hunting  coats  came 
riding  down.  From  Point  Judith,  and 
Little  Neck,  and  the  Bonnet  they  came 
up,  until  the  King's  highroad  presented 
a  festal  scene.  Some  rode  only  a  mile 
or  two,  just  long  enough  to  have  a  word 
with  the  great  man,  to  present  their  re- 
spects, in  the  courtly  phrase  of  the  time. 
Those  who  were  invited  to  dine  with  him 
at  Farmer  Brown's  were  the  favored  few. 
Dame  Brown  and  Patience,  arrayed  in 
their  simple  best,  thought  them  quite 
enough,  as  they  welcomed  them  at  the 
door,  twenty  hungry  men  to  sit  down  to 
dinner,  and  Dame  Brown  congratulated 
herself  that  she  had  added  an  enormous 
chicken-pie  to  the  already  bountiful  re- 
past. 

The  pudding  was  a  great  success.  Then 
bottles  of  rare  old  wine  were  produced. 
With  stories  and  jests  the  time  flew  by, 
till  it  was  almost  three  o'clock,  when  they 
rose  from  the  table.  "To  horse  !  "  was 
the  cry,  and  negro  boys  came  up  with 
the  horses  freshly  groomed  and  saddled. 
Off  they  started  again,  to  accompany  the 
great  man  upon  his  way,  till  darkness 
should  warn  them  to  return. 

After  the  house  was  again  in  order, 
Patience  felt  strangely  tired  and  excited. 
All  day,  in  the  bustle  and  commotion,  she 
had  dreaded  Roger  Arnold's  coming. 
He  had  landed  the  night  before ;  natu- 
rally he  would  oversee  the  unloading  of 
his  cargo  in  the  morning  ;  but  any  time 
now  he  might  come.  Her  father  would 
come  too,  irritable  from  the  excitement 
and  fatigue,  she  knew.  She  shrank  from 
the  ordeal  before  her. 


A    TALE    OF  NARRAGANSETT. 


809 


he  said   huskily 


"  Mother,"  she  said  suddenly,  ''may  I 
go  to  Elvira  Robinson's  to  spend  the 
night?" 

Dame  Brown  looked  up,  refusal  in  her 
glance  ;  but  she  dearly  loved  her  daugh- 
ter, and  half-divined  the  trouble  she  did 
not  speak.  In  her  kerchief  she  had  fas- 
tened the  bit  of  gentian  again  ;  fresh  and 
bright  it  was,  though  its  eyes  were  closed. 
Patience  looked  tired  and  worried. 

"Yes,  child,"  said  her  mother,  "it  will 
do  thee  good."  Without  waiting  a  sec- 
ond bidding,  Patience  hurried  up  to  her 
room,  and  then  out  into  the  sunset  air. 
She  walked  down  the  road  again,  think- 
ing of  John.  She  came  to  the  marshy 
landing  where  the  boat  lay ;  but  she  de- 
cided not  to  take  the  boat,  but  to  walk 
around  the  head  of  the  cove.  As  she 
came  under  the  shadow  of  the  hill  she 
regretted  her  decision,  and  hurried  on. 
There  was  Hannas  Hill?  behind  her  in 
the  marsh,  with  ghostly  stories  hovering 
about  it,  —  and  here  Dorothy's  Hollow, 
a  seam  in  the  side  of  the  hill,  with  more 


tragic  associations.  She  almost  screamed, 
for,  low  and  soft,  she  heard  a  cry,  a 
child's  cry.  She  shuddered  and  hurried 
on,  for  it  was  the  Crying  Bog  she  was 
passing,  and  woe  to  any  one  who  hears 
that  cry.  But  a  few  moments  more 
brought  her  into  the  sunlight,  and  around 
the  head  of  the  cove  ;  and  there,  its  hos- 
pitable doors  and  windows  still  open,  was 
her  friend's  house. 

The  next  morning,  as  Dame  Brown 
was  busy,  in  her  garden,  cutting  slips  for 
winter  growing,  and  potting  plants  to  be 
saved  till  spring,  Elvira  Robinson  came 
riding  up,  seated  on  a  pillion,  behind  old 
Pompey,  her  father's  favorite  slave. 

"  Good-morrow,"  she  said  brightly, 
jumping  down,  "where's  Patience?" 

"  Good -morrow,  child,  —  I  suppose 
she's  with  thee." 

"  Oh,  no,  —  she  reached  home  safely 
last  night,  didn't  she?  " 

"Of  course  not,  she  stayed  with  thee," 
answered  the  good  woman  placidly. 

"But    friend    Brown,"    began    Elvira 


10 


A   TALE    OF  NARRAGANSETT. 


nxiously,  "  didn't  thee  send  Caesar  after 
er  about  eight  o'clock,  to  say  that  her 
Lther  had  come  back,  and  that  he  had 
le  boat,  and  she  was  to  come  home  with 
im  immediately?  " 

"  No,  I  haven't  seen  Caesar,"  answered 
)ame  Brown,  now  thoroughly  aroused. 
Where  is  he, —  the  bad  boy?  " 

She  called  a  little  darkey, —  for  the 
ave  children  swarmed  about  the  doors  of 
le  big  house, —  and  telling  him  to  find 
ut  where  Caesar  was  and  send  him  to 
er,  went  in  to  tell  her  husband.  Elvira 
ould  not  conceal  her  alarm.  Patience 
ad  certainly  left  her  the  evening  before, 
nd  nothing  was  to  be  heard  of  her  or  of 
'aesar,  it  proved. 

"  Pooh-pooh,"  said  the  farmer,  "  this  is 
11  right.  Like  enough  John  Targee  could 
2II  where  she  is." 

"  Oh,  father,  does  thee  think  she  ran 
way?  "  gasped  his  wife. 

In  spite  of  his  making  light  of  it,  the 
inner  was  anxious  enough.  He  had  his 
orse  saddled  immediately,  and  started 
ut  for  friend  Robinson's,  while  the  fright- 
ned  girl  stayed  to  comfort  the  mother, 
rho,  once  alarmed,  was  a  prey  to  all  con- 
eivable  terrors. 

The  farmer  rode  along  with  head 
owed,  and  full  of  bitter  thoughts.  Had 
e  really  driven  his  little  girl  away  from 
ome?  He  thought  ruefully  of  good 
Loger  Arnold,  as  good  and  steady  a  fel- 
)w  as  a  girl  could  want,  and  the  land, 
nd  the  money,  and  in  meetin'  too,  he 
srlected  ;  and  then  of  wild  John  Targee, 
-  Jean  Tourje  was  his  father's  name  and 
ohn's  too,  but  with  the  indifference  for 
celling  of  the  time,  it  soon  came  to  be 
argee.  "Lazy  and  good-for-nothing," 
e  said  angrily,  "  shooting  and.  traipsing 
ver  the  country  ;  can't  even  spread  sea- 
led suent,  and  not  a  penny  to  bless 
imself  with."  Under  all  his  blustering 
loughts,  his  really  tender  heart  was  torn 
y  anxiety,  for  he  did  not  half  believe 
is  proud  little  girl  would  disgrace  her- 
*lf  by  running  away.  The  beat  of  a 
orse's  hoofs  roused  him  and  glancing  up. 
lere  he  saw  Roger  Arnold,  looking  almost 
andsome,  and  very  gay  and  bright, — 
Come  a-courtin',"  the  old  farmer  said 
idly  to  himself. 

"  Morrow,   friend,"   said  Roger,   draw- 


ing rein ;  then  with  a  quick  change  of 
tone,  "  any  bad  news?  " 

"  Patience  has  run  off  with  John  Tar- 
gee, I  s'pose,"  answered  the  farmer  testily. 

Roger  changed  color,  and  sat  very 
straight  in  his  saddle.  Then  he  said  de- 
liberately : 

"  I  do  not  think,  friend,  she  would  do 
that." 

"Bless  thee,  lad,"  answered  the  far- 
mer with  tears  in  his  eyes,  "  but  where  is 
she  then?  " —  and  he  told  the  whole  story. 

In  a  few  moments  they  parted,  the  far- 
mer keeping  the  road,  and  Roger  taking 
to  the  fields  to  reach  the  marsh.  He 
had  leaped  a  couple  of  walls,  when  in  the 
distance  he  saw  John  Targee's  horse,  and 
presently  John  himself,  gun  in  hand.  He 
rode  up  to  him  and  threw  himself  from 
the  saddle. 

"  What  hast  thou  done  with  Patience 
Brown?  "  he  asked  sternly. 

John  drew  himself  up  to  his  full  height, 
and  stared  haughtily  at  his  questioner. 
Roger  stood  as  proudly.  They  were  well 
matched  in  size  and  height,  and  Roger's 
little  blue  eyes  gleamed  with  as  danger- 
ous a  light  as  John's  brown  ones.  So 
they  stood  for  a  moment.  Then  Roger's 
whole  air  softened. 

"  Forgive  me,  John,  I  know  thou  hast 
not  harmed  her.  But  she  is  gone.  Let 
us  find  her." 

He  wrung  his  hand.  Silently  they  both 
mounted.  While  the  horses  were  picking 
their  way  over  the  stony  fields,  Roger  told 
all  he  knew. 

"It  was  Caesar  came  for  her?  "  asked 
John  with  a  groan.  Then  he  told  Roger 
how  Caesar  had  been  whipped,  and  it  was 
Roger's  turn  to  be  doubly  anxious,  for  he 
knew  the  evil  tempers  of  the  slaves  of 
Indian  blood.  They  picked  their  way 
down  the  hill  past  Dorothy's  Hollow,  and 
around  the  head  of  the  cove. 

"Ah,"  exclaimed  John,  "the  bog  is 
crying  in  broad  daylight  !  " 

They  rode  to  the  little  landing  on  the  east 
of  the  marsh,  rudely  made  of  boards  lying 
on  the  coarse  grass.  There  was  no  sign  of 
the  boat.  They  dismounted  and  turned 
their  horses  loose,  sure  each  would  come 
at  his  call.  John  took  the  left  of  the  path, 
and  Roger  the  right.  Slowly  they  walked 
over    the    oozy    ground,    searching    they 


FAIRIES.  811 

scarcely  knew  for  what.     Suddenly  some-  "  Roger,  Roger  !  "  he  shouted,  "  come  !'r 

thing  bright  and  shining  caught   the  sun-  Together    they  rolled  away   the   cruel 

shine.     John  stooped,  with   horror  at  his  stones  ;  together  they  lifted  their  precious 

heart,  and  picked   up   a  knitting  needle,  burden ;   together  they   laid  it  upon  the 

A   few   steps   further   he    stooped   again,  dried  rushes   on   the   shore.     John   knelt 

"She  was   knitting,"  he    said  calmly    to  down  and  reverently  kissed  the  little  wety 

himself,  as  he  saw  the  soft  blue  work.  As  he  stained  hand. 

lifted  it  from  the  ground   the   yarn  came  "  I  loved   her,"  he   moaned,  and   gave 

too, —  the   thread   was   unbroken  !      Me-  himself  up  to  grief. 

chanically  he  followed  it.     Through  the  Roger    stood    erect   beside    him.       "  I 

tall  rushes  it  led  him  down  to  the  water's  loved  her,"    he  said    huskily,   "  and    she 

edge.      Into  the   water   it   went.     It  was  loved  thee." 

now   easier   to   follow,  floating   upon  the  So  ends  the  tale. 

water.     On,    and    on, —  the    water     was  Tradition  is  very   distinct  as  to  the  in- 

ankle  deep, —  and  now  up   to  his  knees,  citement,  the  crime,  and  the   clue   to  its 

A  low  cry  escaped  him,  for  just  in  front  a  discovery.      It  also    adds  that    the  slave 

sprig  of  blue  gentian  was  floating,  its  blue  was    caught,     confessed,   and    was    hung 

eyes  open  looking  towards  the  sun.       He  upon    Tower  Hill,    the     hill    where     his 

clutched  it,  and  hid  it  in  his  riding  coat,  mistress  lived,  which  stands  to-day  look- 

A  few  steps  further,  and  the  yarn  went  ing  over  the  peaceful  countryside  toward 

down  into  the  water.  the  sea. 


FAIRIES. 

By    Claude  Napier. 

LISTEN,  yonder  the  fairies  sing, 
Round  they  go  in  the  fairie  ring, 
Keeping  time  with  their  noiseless  feet 
To  a  magic  melody  softly  sweet 
From  a  bower  hard  by  where  roses  blow 
Where  the  fairie  harpers  all  arow 
Sit  and  play  till  the  first  faint  streak 
Warns  of  the  morning  that  soon  will  break. 

Shall  I  go  to  them?     Shall  I  go 

Ask  them  to  tell  me  the  things  they  know, 

To  give  me  to  drink  of  their  wondrous  wine 

Drawn  in  the  mystical  May  moonshine 

From  flowers  which  mortals  may  never  see? 

Wine  which  even  the  soft  brown  bee, 

Wise  as  he  is,  can  never  find  ; 

He  is  far  too  busy,  and  has  a  mind 

Far  too  much  like  the  mind  of  a  man 

To  find  the  things  which  the  fairies  can. 

Shall  I  speak  to  them  ?     Nay,  I  fear 
They  would  not  stay  if  they  knew  me  here, 
Would  not  guess  that  I  mean  them  good, 
That  I  have  in  my  veins  of  their  fairie  blood ; 
So  I  stand  here  still  and  watch  unseen 
The  dancing  sprites  on  their  patch  of  green, 
And  dare  not  speak  ;   for  how  do  I  know 
But  they'd  go  forever  as  all  joys  go  ! 


A  COUNTRY  BOY'S  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  THE  WAR. 

By  Albert  D.  Smith. 


LADY  once 
remarked  in 
my  presence, 
"  I  have  often 
wondered 
how  the  War 
appeared  to 
children."  In 
all  the  War 
literature  that 
has  come  to 
my  notice,  I 
re  never  seen  an  attempt  to  answer 
t  question.  There  are  probably 
ny  who  feel  the  same  curious  in- 
est ;  and  to  those  who  were  children, 
I  was  a  child,  in  those  days,  cram- 
d  full  of  intense  excitement,  a  review 
their  own  thoughts  and  feelings  and 
aginings  is  a  survey  of  a  constantly 
fting  and  highly  colored  panorama  of 
failing  interest.  I  was  less  than  five 
irs  old  when  Fort  Sumter  surrendered, 
I  with  my  earliest  recollections  are 
Qgled  the  "war  news"  of  the  news- 
3ers,  the  letters  from  soldier  brothers, 
idy  red,  white,  and  blue  envelopes, 
*s  flying  from  many  roofs,  the  blazing 
bonfires,  and  the  discharge  of  cannon 
the  tidings  of  important  victories.  I 
l  trying  to  write  how  all  this  horror  of 
r,  with  its  incidents,  ludicrous,  gro- 
que,  terrible,  appeared  to  a  child. 
I  was  born  and  passed  my  early  years 
a  quiet  country  town  in  Maine,  ten 
les  from  a  railroad  and  five  miles  from 
telegraph.  I  supposed  that  the  mails 
iae  twice  in  the  week  primarily  for  the 
rpose  of  bringing  what  I  thought  were 
;  only  two  papers  published,  —  the 
aim  Farmer and  the  Christian  Mirror. 
tters,  I  thought,  were  kindly  taken 
>ng,  if  there  chanced  to  be  any.  The 
iat  world  could  go  on  exactly  as  it 
>ased  ;  all  its  wild  happenings  were  far 
ough  away  from  us,  and  by  the  time  the 
ekly  paper  had  brought  them  to  us, 
ae   had   dulled  them   to    an  agreeable 


mildness.  Thus  "  my  early  life  ran  quiet 
as  the  brook  by  which  I  sported." 

The  first  object  lesson  of  the  war  epoch 
came  to  me,  —  it  must  have  been  in 
i860,  —  from  a  colored  map  or  chart  in 
the  sitting-room  of  a  neighbor's  house. 
I  recall  nothing  more  than  the  portraits 
of  certain  men,  whom  I  now  know  were 
the  candidates  for  president  and  vice- 
president  in  that  memorable  canvass  of 
i860.  In  a  box  of  child's  treasures  is 
still  preserved  a  little  locket  containing 
the  pictures  of  Lincoln  and  Hamlin. 
That  a  child  should  have  been  given 
such  a  trinket  to  wear  will  indicate  my 
father's  political  opinions.  Another  cir- 
cumstance indicates  the  same.  A  boy  of 
sixteen  or  so,  unusually  keen  in  political 
discussions,  worked  for  a  neighbor.  My 
father  was  once  commenting  with  some 
bitterness  upon  certain  of  the  youth's 
declarations,  and  upon  the  deplorable 
fact  that  he  was  a  Democrat.  "  Is  he 
old  enough  to  understand  it?  "  asked  the 
listener.  I  did  not  comprehend  the  de- 
preciatory tone  of  my  father's  "  No."  I 
was  old  enough  to  understand  surely,  and 
this  boy  was  so  much  older  than  I.  But 
there  confronted  me  the  stubborn  fact 
that  he  was  a  Democrat.  No,  he  could 
not  understand  ;  proof  was  not  wanting. 

The  discussions  which  I  must  have 
heard  in  those  ante-bellum  days  failed  to 
impress  themselves  upon  my  memory ; 
but  the  names  "  Star  of  the  West"  and 
"  Fort  Sumter  "  are  distinct  in  my  recol- 
lection, and  somewhere  in  memory's  con- 
fused storehouse  are  the  photograph  of 
anxious  looks  and  the  echo  of  anxious 
tones.  "The  Star  of  the  West  has  been 
fired  upon,"  "  Fort  Sumter  has  sur- 
rendered."—  Oh,  the  excitement  of 
those  terrible  days  which  I  just  missed  ! 
I  was  born  a  few  years  too  late. 

But  an  event  soon  occurred  which 
brought  me  to  a  childish  realization  of  war. 
One  morning,  just.before  the  Bibles  were 
distributed    for    our    family   devotions,  I 


A    COUNTRY  BOY'S  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  THE    WAR. 


813 


observed  my  eldest  brother  wiping  away 
tears.  That  my  big  brother  should  cry 
struck  me  as  a  very  funny  thing,  —  a 
weak  thing  I  felt.  I  was  not  old  enough 
for  the  thought.  I  began  to  laugh  at 
him  for  crying,  but  received  such  a  check 
that  I  was  instantly  sobered ;  and  on 
looking  about  I  noticed  that  the  other 
members  of  the  family  wore  very  sober 
faces.  My  father's  voice  in  prayer  was 
choked  with  tears.  I  wish  I  could 
remember  that  prayer,  wherein  the  gray- 
haired  father  commended  his  first-born 
son,  going  forth  to  fight  for  his  country, 
to  the  God  of  battles.  From  how  many 
hearthstones  that  morning  did  similar 
petitions  ascend,  accompanied  with 
"groaning  that  could  not  be  uttered!" 
That  is  all  I  remember  until  my  brother 
was  gone,  and  I  knew  that  he  was  to 
stay  "  for  three  years,  or  until  the  end  of 
the  War."  He  was  one  of  the  three 
hundred  thousand  who,  at  the  President's 
call,  sprang  forward  to  defend  the  Union. 
I  soon  learned  that  others  from  our  neigh- 
borhood had  enlisted  too. 

Now  came  letters  from  the  field  with 
envelopes  gaudy  with  pictures  of  flags  or 
soldiers  in  gay  uniform,  of  cannon  and 
ball  and  other  death-dealing  implements. 
Half  the  envelope  was  often  covered 
with  verses.  Shall  I  ever  forget  this  that 
stamped  itself  on  my  memory? 

«  We're  coming,  Father  Abraham,  three  hundred 

thousand  more, 
From    Mississippi's   winding   stream    and    from 

New  England's  shore. 
We  leave  our  ploughs  and  workshops,  our  wives 

and  children  dear, 
With  hearts  too  full  for  utterance,  with  but  the 

silent  tear; 
We   will    not   look    behind    us,  but   steadfastly 

before ; 
We're  coming,  Father  Abraham,  three  hundred 

thousand  more." 

Even  a  child  could  be  thrilled  by  the 
picture  of  his  childish  imagination,  of 
three  hundred  thousand  men  going  out 
at  great  sacrifice  to  meet  death  perhaps 
for  their  country. 

In  1862,  another  shadow  fell  upon  our 
household.  At  the  call  for  volunteers 
that  year,  my  second  brother  enlisted.  I 
remember  the  day  when  he  called  me 
into  his  room  and  gave  me  the  treasures 
of  his  childhood,  telling  me  how  long  he 
had    kept    some   of  them,  and  implying 


(not  without  reason,  for  my  bump  of 
destructiveness  was  well  developed)  their 
early  demolition.  Under  ordinary  cir- 
cumstances, his  prophecy  would  doubt- 
less have  been  fulfilled ;  but  so  deep  was 
the  impression  which  his  words,  intensified 
by  passing  events,  made  upon  me,  that 
the  treasures  remain  to-day  intact  in  the 
identical  box  in  which  they  were  then 
stored ;  and  there  have  been  added  to 
them  bone  trinkets  made  in  southern 
camps,  a  bullet  from  the  battle-field  of 
Port  Hudson,  and  other  mementoes  of 
the  War. 

One  morning  my  brother  woke  me 
from  my  sound  sleep,  kissed  me  good-by, 
and  was  off,  —  for  Augusta,  as  I  learned 
on  waking  from  my  sleep,  into  which  I 
had  most  unromantically  fallen.  For 
some  weeks,  the  — th  Maine,  Co.  K 
which  was  composed  largely  of  men 
from  our  town,  was  quartered  in  the 
barracks  at  Augusta.  Occasional  visits 
to  them  were  made  by  the  older  members 
of  the  family.  I  remember  once  refusing 
to  be  comforted  for  the  loss  of  Edmund 
Kirk's  "  Life  Among  the  Pines,"  in  the 
reading  of  which  I  had  become  deeply 
interested,  and  which  had  been  lent  for 
the  reading  of  the  soldiers.  My  lamenta- 
tions were  silenced,  however,  if  my  dis- 
appointment was  not  entirely  assuaged,  by 
an  appeal  to  my  patriotism,  in  pointing 
out  the  difference  in  circumstances  be- 
tween the  "  poor  soldiers  "  in  their  bar- 
racks and  myself  in  my  comfortable  home. 

At  last  my  brother's  regiment  was 
ordered  to  the  front,  and  another  family 
began  to  realize  more  fully  the  meaning 
of  war.  I  retain  a  dim  picture  of  my 
father,  with  bowed  head  and  hands  clasped 
behind  his  back,  walking  to  and  fro  in  the 
yard.  I  remember  helping  him  put  the 
worthless,  home-made  "jumper,"  in  which 
my  brother  broke  the  colt,  carefully  away 
out  of  sight,  and  I  wondered  of  what  use 
it  could  ever  be,  that  it  was  so  carefully 
preserved.  I  did  not  know  then  that 
natural  temperament  and  force  of  circum- 
stances combined  to  make  my  father  look 
upon  the  dark  side  of  life,  and  that  he  felt 
certain  that  he  would  never  see  either  of 
his  boys  again.  When  the  news  reached 
us,  a  few  weeks  later,  that  my  second 
brother  was  in  New   York  lying  sick  of 


A    COUNTRY  BOY'S  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  THE    WAR. 


)hoid  fever,  it  did  not  tend  to  raise  the 
pressed  spirits  of  the  family.  But  a 
rciful  Providence  watched  over  the 
k  one,  and  he  was  soon  before  Port 
idson. 

[  remember  the  anxiety  with  which 
-  daily  mail  was  watched  for  a  letter 
m  the  boys,  and  what  concern  was  felt 
the    expected    message   was    delayed ; 

:  "  running  over  "  to  see  if  Mrs.  T 

I  heard  from   Ben,  or  if  Mrs.  F 

i  heard  from  Frank ;  the  eagerness 
h  which  we  waited  when  the  letter  at 
:  came,  to  learn  the  news,  where  and 
v  the  boys  were ;  and  I  recall  the 
usement  caused  by  one  which  was 
ed  "  Ten  miles  from  nowhere  in  the 
ihes."     When  father  would  return  from 

village,  some   one  would  meet  him  at 

door   with    the    unvarying   question, 

that's  the  news?" — and  what  a  dif- 

mce  in  tone  and  manner  whether  North 

South  had  gained  !  Once,  after  a 
iod  of  anxious  waiting,  the  joyful  re- 
t  was,   "  Longstreet's   army  has  been 

all  to  pieces."  How  these  names, 
ch  the  modern  schoolboy  has  to 
iggle  so  hard  to  remember,  indelibly 
)ressed  themselves  upon  my  memory  ! 
e  of  our  neighbors  had  a  number  of 
»ies  of  some   illustrated  paper  contain- 

portraits  and  sketches  of  many  of  the 
re  prominent  commanders  on  both 
ss.  I  borrowed  these  and  pored  over 
tures  and  sketches  till  name  and  por- 
t  were  stamped  upon  my  memory  be- 
id  erasure  ;  so  that  to-day  the  names 
)e,  McDowell,  Lyon,  ZollicorTer,  Beau- 
ard,  etc.,  calls  up  the  likenesses  of  the 
n.  Many  a  time,  while  mother  was 
ying  herself  about  the  dinner,  would 

father  sit  and  read  aloud  the  "  war 
rs  "  from  the  fresh  weekly  paper;  and 
seemed  to  me  that  never  was  the 
htest  noise  on  my  part  so  quickly 
eked,  for  not  a  word  was  to  be  lost, 
w  disappointed  I  once  was  when,  upon 
ing  my  mother  if  the  history  of  the 
•  would  be    just    like   the  war  news  in 

paper,  I  received  an  affirmative  an- 
:r  !     Dry  enough  was  the  latter  to  me, 

I  looked  forward  to  the  enjoyment  of 

history  of  the  war  when  it  should  be 
tten. 
fhe  names  of  Mason  and  Slidell  were 


among  the  earliest  to  fix  themselves  in 
my  memory.  What  the  excitement  was 
all  about,  of  course  I  had  no  rational 
idea ;  but  I  understood  that  they  were 
horrible  men  who  had  some  connection 
with  the  war,  and  who,  having  been  cap- 
tured from  England,  were  given  back. 
I  realized  that  my  father's  soul  was  stirred 
to  its  depths,  and,  like  so  many  true 
patriots  of  the  North  whose  loyalty  was 
superior  to  their  diplomacy,  he  would 
have  cut  the  Gordian  knot  by  "  hanging 
them  to  the  yard-arm  without  judge  or 
jury."  It  long  required  an  effort  for  me 
to  realize  that  those  two  rebels  were 
guilty  of  nothing  worse  than  a  host  of 
others  were. 

Certain  battle-cries  and  proper  names 
always  thrilled  me  as  perhaps  they  did 
few  older  ones,  who  were  too  deeply  en- 
gaged in  practical  warfare  to  look  for  the 
poetry  of  it,  be  it  never  so  tragical. 
"All  quiet  along  the  Potomac,"  was  one 
such,  and  I  never  read  it  in  history  or 
poetry  to-day  without  the  beating  of  the 
boy's  heart.  "John  Brown's  body  lies 
a-mouldering  in  the  grave,"  is  another, 
associated,  as  it  always  will  be  in  my 
mind,  with  my  dim  realization  of  the 
passage  of  the  Mass.  6th  through  Balti- 
more. The  names  Merrimac  and  Ala- 
bama have  such  a  spell  in  them, 
mingled  with  a  "  pleasing  fear  "  ;  though 
the  inglorious  end  of  the  former,  as 
it  seemed  to  me,  as  she  succumbed  to 
the  little  "Yankee  cheese-box  on  a  raft," 
will  always  detract  from  the  poetic  dig- 
nity of  the  name.  I  recollect  the  anxiety 
with  which  for  a  long  period  we  asked 
after  the  whereabouts  of  the  Alabama, 
and  the  joy  I  felt  on  learning  of  her  cap- 
ture, —  a  pleasure  enhanced  by  the  sup- 
position that  I  should  be  the  first  to  break 
the  news  to  my  father ;  but  alas  for  my 
expectations,  he  had  heard  it  before  I 
communicated  it.  It  was  no  easy  matter 
to  be  the  first  to  bring  news  in  those 
days. 

Some  time  during  the  early  part  of  the 
war,  my  eldest  brother  sent  home  a  few 
mementoes  of  the  struggle,  and  among 
them  a  few  popular  song-books  for  me. 
I  read  everything  that  came  in  my  way 
and  remembered  much,  especially  poetry. 
It  was  not  long,  therefore,  before  the  cat- 


A   COUNTRY  BOY'S  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  THE   WAR. 


815 


tie  on  all  the  hills  in  reach  of  my  voice, 
and  such  of  their  owners  as  chose  to 
listen,  were  treated  to  the  words  of  vari- 
ous patriotic  songs,  served  up  with  tunes 
to  suit  the  taste  of  the  shouter.  There 
was  one  that  seemed  particularly  adapted 
to  my  own  case.  It  was  about  a  small 
boy  singing  the  songs  of  the  Union,  while 
the  young  men  laughed  at  the  lack  of 
melody.  But  an  old  man  standing  near 
said  (poetically),  "  Let  the  boy  sing, 

'  For  his  heart  knows  the  tune 
Though  the  pipes  may  go  wrong." 

I  knew  it  meant  me ;  for  nothing  was 
more  certain  than  that  "  the  pipes  would 
go  wrong;  "  but  did  not  the  heart  of  a 
boy,  proud  of  having  two  soldier  brothers, 
"  know  the  tune?"  It  was  some  time 
after  this,  I  think,  that  my  brother  sent 
home  a  love-letter,  found  on  entering  a 
town  that  had  been  hastily  evacuated  on 
the  approach  of  the  Federal  Army.  It 
was  written  by  a  Southern  damsel  to  a 
brave  "soger  boy,"  whom  it  appeared 
she  had  never  seen.  I  have  since  had 
grave  doubts  whether  it  would  not  have 
been  the  charitable  thing  to  have  drawn 
the  veil  over  this  affaire  de  cceur  of  even 
a  rebel  girl ;  but  war  is  demoralizing. 
My  extreme  youth  prevented  me  from 
enjoying  much  that  the  elder  members  of 
the  family  thought  funny,  but  my  mind 
retained  the  assurance  that  her  poetical 
soul  poured  out  to  her  unknown  lover : 

"  If  you  love  me  like  I  love  you, 
No  knife  can  cut  our  love  in  two." 

My  second  brother's  term  of  service 
expired,  but  he  did  not  return.  Weary 
days  and  weeks  dragged  by,  and  the  im- 
personal "they"  was  assailed  for  keep- 
ing him,  but  the  government  was  not 
blamed.  The  fall  of  Vicksburg  and  Port 
Hudson  made  little  impression  upon  me, 
strange  as  it  seems ;  but  very  unexpect- 
edly one  day  came  the  tidings  that  J 

was  in  Augusta  and  would  be  at  home 
that  night.  But  the  stage  was  not  waited 
for,  —  not  at  all.  "Old  Fan"  never 
made  better  time  over  the  road,  until  our 
soldier  boy  was  in  his  father's  buggy.  It 
only  illustrates  the  impossibility  of  fore- 
telling what  impressions  will  stamp  them- 
selves upon  a  child's  mind,  that  I  cannot 
recall  my  meeting  with  my  brother  or  any- 
thing immediately  connected   therewith. 


I  suspect  that  it  was  enough  for  me  that, 
whereas  he  had  been  gone,  he  was  now 
at  home.  Almost  the  only  event  which  I 
do  remember  of  this  time  is  that  my 
brother  brought  home  a  red-covered 
pamphlet  of  Hardee's  "Tactics,"  from 
which  I  learned  many  drill  movements 
and  practised  them  under  J.'s  command, 
using  a  stick  for  a  musket.  In  the  fol- 
lowing winter  at  school  the  larger  boys 
formed  a  military  company,  manufactur- 
ing their  own  guns  from  pine  wood.  I 
was  small  and  had  no  gun,  so  the  pleasure 
of  marching  around  the  schoolhouse  in 
the  company  was  denied  me ;  I  could 
only  follow  the  army  as  a  straggler.  In- 
tensely democratic  are  schoolboys.  I 
was  learning  that  the  world  would  not 
ask,  "Who  are  your  brothers?"  but 
"What  can  you  do?"  Neither  was  my 
correction  heeded,  when  in  their  drill, 
the  arms  having  been  properly  "  ground- 
ed," the  order  was  given  "  Pick  up  mus- 
ket." But  my  turn  came  ;  for,  on  mak- 
ing known  the  case  to  my  brother,  he 
made  me  a  gun  adapted  to  my  size,  which 
by  general  consent  of  the  company  was 
the  best  in  the  armory ;  and  I  proudly 
took  my  place  in  the  troop,  at  the  rear, 
"of  course,  for  I  was  the  shortest."  I 
was  prouder  when,  upon  my  brother's 
attending  school  a  little  while,  he  was 
unanimously  selected  to  command  and 
drill  the  youthful  soldiery. 

The  company  of  which  my  brother 
was  a  member  did  not  return  intact. 
They  left  one  of  their  best  men,  a  victim 
of  disease  incident  to  the  soldier's  life. 
He  was,  I  think,  the  first  martyr  from  our 
town,  and  the  feeling  of  sadness  was  gen- 
eral, enhanced  possibly  by  the  fact  that 
the  most  worthless  man  of  the  company, 
who  had  served  notice  that  if  but  one 
man  of  them  returned,  he  should  be  the 
man,  had  been  as  good  as  his  word, — 
far  better  indeed  than  his  word  usually 
was. 

But  the  death  of  a  townsman  or  neigh- 
bor made  scarcely  a  deeper  impression 
upon  me  than  did  my  share  of  that  uni- 
versal sense  of  sorrow,  even  to  the  inten- 
sity of  a  personal  affliction  that  thrilled 
from  heart  to  heart  in  the  North  at 
the  sacrifice  of  the  early  martyrs  of  the 
war.     The  stunning  sense  of  loss  at  the 


A    COUNTRY  BOY'S  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  THE    WAR. 


edless  sacrifice  of  Colonel  Baker  and 
;  companions  at  Ball's  Bluff;  the  angry 
[1  for  revenge,  for  the  brutal  murder  of 
Isworth  ;  and  later  the  sorrow  at  the 
rred  names  of  Lyon  and  Sedgwick  and 
•ote,  —  these  feelings  were  shared  by 
i  child,  and  he  can  never  forget  them. 
One  of  the  strongest  impressions  made 
on  me  by  any  event  of  the  war  was 
used  by  the  news  of  the  massacre  at 
irt  Pillow.  I  imagine  many  an  older 
rson  can  say  the  same  thing.  I  cannot 
scribe  my  feelings.  Did  I  think  then, 
I  read  of  helpless  prisoners  bayoneted, 
ried  alive,  fastened  into  burning  build- 
rs,  of  the  barbarities  of  the  middle 
es,  or  is  that  an  afterthought?  At  any 
;e,  it  affected  me  as  did  very  few  events 
the  war. 

I  recollect  one  Sunday  evening,  when 
th  my  brothers  were  "  in  the  army," 
it  my  father  and  mother  and  myself 
:re  sitting  in  the  twilight  around  our 
>od  fire.  Mother  had  perhaps  been 
king  to  me  in  low  tones  of  the  boys  far 
'ay,  and  the  scene  and  subject  so 
ought  upon  my  emotional  nature  that 
Degan  to  cry.  I  felt  a  little  satisfaction 
the  goodness  that  would  weep  for  such 
cause,  when  after  a  sob  or  two  from  me, 
y  father  asked  rather  impatiently,  "  what 
at  boy  was  crying  about?"  Mother 
ftly  answered,  "  The  boys,"  and  the 
nversation  ceased.  I  felt  the  triumph, 
ither  at  least  could  not  say  that  "  if  I 
d  not  stop,  he  would  give  something  to 
y  for."  My  motive  was  one  that  must 
ve  commended  itself  to  all  thoughtful 
inds. 

It  was  probably  about  this  time  that  an 
nerant  horse-trainer  advertised  the 
mderful  feats  he  would  perform  in 
e  streets  of  our  village,  depending  upon 
e  character  of  the  crowd  at  the  hat- 
ssing  for  remuneration.  The  day  was 
[favorable,  however,  and  the  crowd  did 
it  gather ;  so  the  few  present  gathered 
the  store  with  nothing  to  do.  There 
is  but  one  subject  of  conversation  in 
ose  days,  and  the  horse-trainer  proved 
be  an  arrant  "  copper-head."  In  the 
svitable  debate  that  followed,  I  remem- 
r  thinking  that  my  father  was  hardly  as 
:ll-versed  in  history  as  his  antagonist, 
t  that  what  he  lacked  in  that,  he  made 


up  in  loyalty  and  forcible  expression  of  it. 
Just  as  he  had  read  the  death  warrant  of 
all  such  men  as  his  opponent,  and  con- 
signed   them    to    the    gallows,    the    door 

opened   and  old  Uncle  D came  in. 

He  was  a  shrewd,  eccentric  old  man,  whom 
the  boys  all  liked.  I  used  to  consider 
him  the  one  man  in  the  town  more 
ardent  in  his  devotion  to  the  Union 
than  my  father.  He  caught  the  last 
words  of  my  father's  as  he  entered,  and 
needed  no  more.  Walking  back  and 
forth  as  he  rubbed  his  hands  together,  he 
ejaculated  in  his  hoarse  voice,  "  No,  no, 
no,  —  hangin's  too  good  for  'em  ;  ought 
to  be  burnt,  ought  to  be  burnt  !  " 

As  the  war  progressed,  more  names  of 
battles  and  commanders  became  fixed  in 
my  memory,  carrying  with  them  some 
association  which  still  clings.  An  ill-de- 
fined feeling  of  horror  rises  at  the  men- 
tion of  the  names  of  the  bloodier  battles. 
Antietam  doubtless  impressed  me  more 
by  the  peculiarity  of  its  name ;  but  Fair 
Oaks,  Cold  Harbor,  Fredericksburg,  Chat- 
tanooga, Chancellorsville,  etc.,  bring  up 
associations  of  woe.  The  days  of  anxious 
waiting  as  "  Lee  marched  over  the  moun- 
tain wall"  into  Maryland  and  beyond, 
the  gloomy  forebodings  of  my  father  of  a 
possible  triumph  of  Lee's  army  swelled 
by  accessions  of  northern  "  copper- 
heads," the  picture  in  my  childish  im- 
agination of  bloody  war  at  our  own  doors, 
the  hurried  enlistment  of  "  one  hundred 
days'  men  "  to  stem  the  flood,  the  anxiety 
of  those  July  days  when  "  the  tide  of  war 
broke  in  the  great  billow  of  Gettysburg," 
the  fervent  rejoicing  of  that  Independence 
Day  when  the  rebel  leader 

"  Baffled  and  beaten,  backward  reeled 
From  a  stubborn  Meade  and  a  barren  field,"  — 

these  make  Gettysburg  stand  out  distinct 
from  other  battles.  The  battles  of  the 
Wilderness  are  also  heavily  marked,  but 
for  a  different  reason.  The  name  and 
the  weird  picture  of  the  locality  signified 
by  it  had  some  weight ;  but  it  is  remem- 
bered chiefly  because  one  evening  my 
mother  told  me  of  a  cousin  who  had 
there  given  up  his  life.  A  mere  boy 
scarce  eighteen,  already  made  sergeant 
for  gallant  conduct,  he  was  taken  dead 
from  the  ambulance  in  which  he  had 
been  placed  with  a  shattered  thigh.     It 


A   COUNTRY  BOY'S  RECOLLECTIONS  OP  THE    WAR. 


817 


was  a  fresh  reminder  of  what  might  any- 
day  come  closer  to  our  home  and  hearts  ; 
for  my  second  brother  had  again  enlisted 
from  New  York,  and  this  time  in  a  Zouave 
regiment,  —  a  fact  which  caused  his  pa- 
rents a  deeper  anxiety  still.  How  eagerly, 
yet  with  what  a  sickening  dread,  were 
those  lists  of  dead,  wounded,  and  missing 
watched  for  and  read  !  I  read  them  for 
the  curious  names ;  I  noted  those  who 
were  wounded  in  the  back,  and  wondered 
why  they  were  not  "  with  face  to  foe"; 
but  a  kind  Providence  kept  from  the  list 
the  name  of  almost  every  friend  of  our  home. 
Gloominess  yielded  to  the  "  pleasures 
of  hope  "  as  the  war  drew  near  its  close. 
The  dashing  exploits  of  Sheridan  in  the 
Shenandoah  Valley  made  his  name  most 
familiar.  After  the  battle  of  Fisher's 
Hill,  there  was  sent  from  one  of  the  boys 
a  song  written  by  some  soldier  to  the  air 
of  "  Old  Dan  Tucker,"  and  printed  on  a 
sheet  of  note  paper.  Some  rebel  press 
then,  as  often  before,  did  a  kind  of  work  of 
which  its  quondam  owner  never  dreamed. 
I  remember  but  a  few  words  of  the  pro- 
duction, which  I  suppose  had  the  or- 
dinary merit  of  improvised  war  poetry, 
but  I  think  its  metre  and  rhyme  were 
good.  It  was  a  graphic  recital  of  how 
•'little  Phil"  outwitted  and  defeated 
General  Early.  The  refrain  of  the  first 
verses  ran, 

"  '  Get  out  of  the  way,'  says  General  Early, 
'  I've  come  to  drive  you  out  of  the  valley  '  "; 

which  changed  in  the  latter  part  to 
"'Get  out  of  the  way,'  says  Phil  to 
Early,"  etc. 

Nothing  in  those  latter  days  was  spoken 
of  with  more  manifest  satisfaction  by  my 
father  and  his  neighbors  than  the  deeds 
of  General  Sherman  on  his  famous  "  March 
to  the  Sea."  If  a  delay  of  news  caused 
a  temporary  despondency,  such  intelli- 
gence soon  came  as  to  turn  the  tide  of 
feeling.  That  it  came  from  a  locality 
unexpected  to  the  northern  farmers,  and 
but  a  little  before  equally  unexpected  to 
the  rebels  of  Georgia,  added  to  the  in- 
terest. "The  hollow  shell  of  the  Con- 
federacy" I  knew  by  name  long  before 
history  told  me  its  meaning.  "  March- 
ing through  Georgia,"  is  my  favorite  war- 
song,  recalling  vividly  those  scenes  of  the 
early  months  of  1865. 


Now  came  the  joyous  news  of  the  sur- 
render of  Johnston's  entire  army.  But 
how  soon  the  clouds  obscured  the  sun  I 
I  went  one  morning  to  a  neighbor's  house 
upon  an  errand,  and,  surprised  at  the 
gloomy  faces,  I  jubilantly  introduced  for 
conversation  the  glad  news  of  the  sur- 
render. I  was  chilled  by  the  glum  reply, 
"  Yes,  paroled  them,  officers  and  men." 
The  very  words  and  tone  and  look  are 
distinct  as  though  spoken  yesterday. 
Here  was  a  new  word  to  me  —  parole  — 
pronounced  with  a  strong  accent  upon 
the  first  syllable.  I  was  too  sensitive  to 
confess  ignorance,  and  made  a  mental 
spelling  of  it,  "  pay-roll."  Could  it  mean 
that  the  rebels  were  to  be  paid  for  fight- 
ing against  us?  I  went  home  in  wonder 
and  produced  consternation  there  by  my 
story.  The  meaning  of  the  word  was 
told  me,  but  the  report  must  be  the  mis- 
take of  a  child.  Had  Sherman  proved 
recreant  at  the  last,  after  all  he  had  ac- 
complished? Those  loyal  sons  of  New 
England,  "  who  spared  not  land  nor  gold, 
nor  son  nor  wife  nor  limb  nor  life  "  for 
their  country,  knew  only  two  motives,  — 
love  of  country  and  hatred  of  those  who 
would  destroy  it.  "  Expediency  "  was 
not  in  their  vocabulary;  "justice"  was 
there  in  large  capitals.  Since  that  day, 
history  has  taught  my  maturer  mind  ofl 
Sherman's  patriotism,  and  the  men  of 
district  No.  8  in  that  little  town,  both  the 
living  and  the  dead,  have,  I  doubt  not, 
learned  a  broader  charity  and  a  truer 
justice. 

A  report  of  Lee's  surrender  roused  us 
to  a  high  pitch  of  enthusiasm,  but  only 
to  drop  us  back  again  upon  the  consola- 
tion that  it  was  only  a  question  of  time. 
It  was  Fitz  Hugh  Lee  who  had  surren- 
dered. But  the  hope  was  deferred  only 
long  enough  to  make  the  heart  impatient, 
not  sick,  and  ere  long  the  flashing  of 
bonfires  and  booming  of  cannon  told  us 
that  "the  real  Lee"  had  laid  down  his 
arms.  History  says  that  this  preceded 
Johnston's  surrender  :  but  I  am  not  wri- 
ting history. 

No  child  lived  through  the  Rebellion 
without  being  deeply  impressed  by  "  its 
sorrow's  crown  of  sorrows."  I  remem- 
ber the  sunless  April  afternoon,  when  I 
ran  to  meet  my  father  as  he  drove  up  to 


818 


A   COUNTRY  BOY'S  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  THE   WAR. 


the  door  from  the  village.  I  had  not 
time  to  ask  the  two  old  questions,  "  What's 
the  news?"  and  "Have  you  heard  from 
the  boys?  "  for  I  was  soberly  bidden  "  to 
tell  my  mother  to  come  to  the  door." 
The  news  was  in  one  short  sentence  : 
"  President  Lincoln  and  Secretary  Seward 
are  both  dead."  Seward  was  indeed  dan- 
gerously injured,  and  to  my  father's  pes- 
simistic view  he  was  already  dead.  I 
have  since  sometimes  told  my  pupils  that 
the  closest  illustration  of  the  feeling  of 
April,  1865,  which  they  could  know  was 
the  sensation  at  the  death  of  Garfield. 
But  that  is  but  a  faint  picture  of  the 
tumult  of  emotions  aroused  by  the  assas- 
sination of  Lincoln,  and  not  one  child  in 
a  hundred  experienced  in  1881  what  most 
thoughtful  children  felt  in  April,  1865. 
To  me,  this  death  meant  the  almost  in- 
evitable triumph  of  the  South.  What 
might  be  in  store  for  us  I  knew  not.  But 
the  feeling  was  far  from  selfish.  If  I  had 
never  felt  a  real  grief  before,  I  did  then. 
I  never  followed  the  cows  home  over  the 
pasture  knolls  with  a  heavier  heart  than  I 
carried  that  night.  If  ever  in  childhood 
I  offered  a  real  prayer,  it  was  then.  As 
my  father  sat  milking  the  cow  in  sober 
silence,  while  I  stood  by  silent  and  equally 
sober,  I  timidly  offered  from  my  own 
sadness  the  poor  crumb  of  comfort  that 
"  if  the  South  beat,  we  should  know  that 
they  were  right."  My  fatner's  quick,  de- 
cided, but  kindly  response,  "The  South 
won't  beat,"  startled  me.  I  had  to  wait 
for  maturer  thought  to  correct  my  false 
philosophy  of  "  whatever  is,  is  right,"  but 
a  weight  was  indeed  lifted  from  my 
heart. 

We  read  of  occasional  instances  where 
summary  vengeance  was  taken  upon  some 
poor  wretch  who  had  publicly  expressed 
delight  at  the  murder  of  a  man  so  good 
and  kind.  One  old  man  in  our  village 
dared  to  say  "  he  was  glad  of  it ;  "  where- 
upon a  young  man  rebuked  him,  telling 
him  that  "  if  it  were  not  for  his  gray 
hairs,  he  would  duck  him  in  the  mill- 
pond."  There  was  regret  that  the  rebuke 
was  only  a  threat,  the  feeling  being  ex- 
pressed that  "  gray  hairs  ought  not  to 
shield  him  at  such  a  time  as  this."  I 
fear  that  the  children  of  those  intense 
patriots  do  not  always  remember,  in  times 


of  less  excitement,  that  two  wrongs  do 
not  make  one  right. 

This  horrible  tragedy  was  quickly  fol- 
lowed by  a  comedy  which  was  grimly  ap- 
preciated by  the  stern  loyalists  of  the 
North.  I  fear  that  I  felt  too  much  sym- 
pathy for  the  poor  fugitive  in  the  long 
waterproof  to  fully  enjoy  the  fun,  my 
heart  naturally  beating,  like  Dave  Barker's, 
"  for  the  under  dog  in  the  fight."  What- 
ever sober  history  says  about  the  capture 
of  Jefferson  Davis,  it  is  certain  that  the 
scene  easily  became  the  subject  of  carica- 
ture through  the  North.  A  photograph 
representing  the  ex-president  of  the 
Southern  Confederacy,  clad  in  grotesque 
feminine  attire,  making  rapid  strides 
towards  "the  last  ditch,"  while  laughing 
boys  in  blue  followed  close  behind,  and 
the  words  which  they  were  speaking  con- 
veniently collected  and  floated  in  the  air 
like  toy  balloons  and  anchored  to  each 
respective  mouth,  —  this  picture  is  fixed 
in  my  memory,  though  the  photograph  is 
long  since  lost. 

I  have  called  the  capture  a  comedy. 
It  was  supposed  to  be  the  light  beginning 
of  another  dark  and  awful  tragedy.  These 
loyal  northern  farmers  had  suffered  much, 
and  most  of  all  in  the  sufferings  of  their 
country  and  in  the  insults  to  their  flag. 
Libby  and  Andersonville,  Bull  Run  and 
Fort  Pillow,  were  to  be  atoned  for  by 
blood.  Justice,  stern  and  awful,  was  the 
demand.  I  have  wondered  if  they  could 
have  carried  out  their  demands,  had  they 
been  compelled  to  be  executioners.  I 
have  heard  many  hard  epithets  bestowed 
upon  those  who  favored  a  more  lenient 
policy.  I  thought  what  my  father 
thought;  those  who  have  since  enjoyed 
"the  clearer  light  of  an  eternal  day" 
have  learned  the  wisdom  of  mercy,  the 
lesson  which  history  has  taught  their 
children. 

I  have  referred  to  the  rebel  prisons. 
Nothing  but  the  atrocities  of  Fort  Pillow 
stirred  me  so.  Books  and  newspapers 
spread  the  horrible  details  before  us. 

A  few  months  before  my  eldest  brothers' 
three  years'  term  of  enlistment  had  ex- 
pired, a  bounty  was  offered  for  re-enlist- 
ment, the  end  of  the  war  being  then  but 
a  question  of  a  short  time.  My  brother 
re-enlisted  and  came  home  on  a  furlough. 


DEPOSED. 


819 


A  neighbor,  whose  wife  for  nearly  three 
years  had  with  the  help  of  a  young  son 
carried  on  the  farm,  holding  plough  and 
pitching  hay  with  her  own  hands,  refused 
to  re-enlist ;  he  was  needed  at  home. 
In  a  few  weeks  word  came  that  he  had 
been  taken  prisoner.  There  was  a  new 
excitement  when  we  learned  that  one  of 
our  own  neighbors  might  be  doomed  to 
suffer  in  Libby  prison.  The  war  closed ; 
the  general  review  was  held  at  Washing- 
ton, and  the  soldier  boys  came  home  to 
stay  ;  and  still  no  word  from  the  prisoner. 
The  optimists  believed  he  would  yet  re- 
turn ;  the  pessimists  were  sure  he  would 
never  be  heard  from.  At  length  there 
came  a  rumor  of  tidings  from  the  pris- 
oner ;  then  a  long  silence ;  another  ru- 
mor, and  at  last  it  was  reported  that  a 
letter  had  come  to  his  wife.  Returning 
from  church  one  Sunday  afternoon,  we 
met  her,  and  my  father  stopped  his  horse 
to  ask  "  if  it  was  true  that  she  had  heard 
from  Frank."  With  startling  promptness 
the  answer  came  :   "  Yes,  and  your  bees 


have  swarmed."  Sentiment  could  not  be 
allowed  to  interfere  with  business,  and 
my  father  quickly  drove  on  "  to  hive  the 
bees."  In  a  few  days,  this  last  soldier 
returned.  With  what  curiosity  I  gazed 
upon  the  man  who  had  had  actual  expe- 
rience of  a  rebel  prison  !  His  beard  had 
grown  as  long  as  Rip  Van  Winkle's,  his 
teeth  mostly  gone,  his  thin  face  showing 
the  effects  of  prison  fare  and  treatment,  — 
all  made  him  as  great  an  object  of  inter- 
est as  Rip  himself  was  after  his  long 
sleep. 

And  with  all  the  soldiers  of  the  neigh- 
borhood safely  home  except  two  boys 
who  will  never  come  again  to  the  homes 
they  left,  having  been  "  mustered  out " 
of  the  warfare  of  life,  I  may  close  my 
childish  recollections  of  the  war.  May 
American  children  never  again  know  such 
experience.  Perhaps  some  who  were 
children  in  those  days  may  recognize 
here  thoughts  and  feelings  akin  to  their 
own  and  live  again  for  a  few  moments 
their  childhood  days  in  time  of  war. 


DEPOSED. 


By  Florence  E.  Pratt. 


SO  long  I  loved  thee,  that  my  thought  had  grown 
Round  thee  as  ivy  clings  about  a  wall. 
My  dreams,  my  hopes,  were  centred  in  thee,  all ; 
Thy  presence  was  the  dearest  I  had  known. 
Yet  lo  !  one  evening  as  I  sat  alone, 

And  mused,  and  watched  the  crafty  shadows  fall, 
I  heard  a  voice  like  a  clear  bugle-call, 
And  from  my  heart  there  rolled  away  a  stone. 
Forgive  me  that  I  thought  thee  King,  who  came 
To  hold  my  heart  for  its  predestined  guest. 

At  the  King's  word  the  heavy  gates  swing  in; 
On  the  high  altar  springs  the  welcoming  flame. 
He  comes  in  all  his  royal  splendor  drest, 
And  makes  the  palace  beautiful  within. 


NOTES  ON  THE  CHURCHES  OF  WORCESTER. 

By  Charles  E.  Stevens. 


THE  following  notes  to  Mr.  Lamson's  article 
on  "The  Churches  of  Worcester,"  in  the 
preceding  pages,  are  from  the  pen  of  Mr. 
Charles  E.  Stevens,  who  has  also  provided  most 
>f  the  illustrations  for  that  article.  Of  these  the 
greater  number  are  from  photographs  by  Frank 
^awrence  of  Worcester;  one,  the  interior  of  the 
lew  Old  South,  by  E.  B.  Luce  of  Worcester;  two, 
he  Pilgrim  Church  and  the  Second  Baptist 
"hurch,  by  Stephen  C.  Earle,  the  architect;  and 
he  portrait  of  Rev.  Prof.  David  Peabody,  by 
L  H.  H.  Langill  of  Hanover,  N.  H.  The  cut 
>f  the  Old  South  of  1763  was  loaned  by  Frank 
j.  Blanchard  of  Worcester.] 

Old  South  Porch.  The  picturesque  story  of 
saiah  Thomas  reading  the  Declaration  of  Inde- 
>endence  from  the  roof  of  the  Old  South  porch 
•n  Sunday,  July  14,  1776,  has  long  been  current 
n  Worcester.  After  careful  investigation,  I  am 
orry  to  be  obliged  to  say  that  the  story  is  at 
>resent  only  an  unverified  tradition.  So  far  as  I 
iave  discovered,  it  first  appeared  in  "  Lincoln's 
iistory  of  Worcester,"  sixty  years  after  the 
.lleged  occurrence.  Later  publications,  a  half 
lozen,  more  or  less,  repeat  the  story  without 
:ssential  variation.  But  neither  Lincoln  nor  any 
ither  writer  give  any  authority  for  the  story, 
iven  the  late  Judge  B.  F.  Thomas,  who  repeats 
t  in  his  "  Memoir  "  of  his  grandfather  Isaiah,  gives 
to  hint  of  its  source.  Benjamin  Russell,  who  at 
he  time  was  an  apprentice  in  the  Spy  office  at 
Worcester,  is  reported  by  Jos.  T.  Buckingham 
"  Reminiscences,"  v.  2,  p.  5)  as  having  told  him 
hat  "  when  the  Declaration  was  received  in  Wor- 
:ester,  it  was  read  by  Thomas  to  an  assembly  em- 
•racing  almost  the  whole  population  of  that  and 
he  adjacent  towns."  But  Russell,  who  bore  a 
omewhat  notable  part  in  what  went  on,  says 
LOthing  about  the  date  nor  the  porch  reading; 
aoreover,  his  statement  that  almost  the  whole 
>opulation  of  the  "  adjacent  "  towns  was  present, 
5  obviously  inconsistent  with  the  story. 

But  the  great,  if  not  decisive  fact  to  its  dis- 
redit  is  the  silence  of  contemporary  history.  In 
he  Massachusetts  Spy  published  in  Worcester, 
Wednesday,  July  17,  1776,  there  is  no  hint  of 
uch  an  occurrence,  nor  is  there  in  any  sub- 
enuent  number.     This  silence  is  the  more  notice- 


able, because  in  the  number  for  July  24  there  is  a 
detailed  and  graphic  account  of  the  celebration  of 
the  great  event  on  the  "  green  around  the  liberty 
pole,"  with  the  reading  of  the  Declaration  on 
Monday  the  22d.  If  the  reading  from  the  roof 
had  taken  place  eight  days  before,  it  is  incredible 
that  the  newspaper  of  the  town  should  not  have 
given  an  account  of  it. 

The  importance  of  the  story  lies  in  this,  that  in 
this  way  Worcester  is  supposed  to  be  entitled  to 
the  honor  of  having  first  promulgated  the  Declara- 
tion in  Massachusetts.  But  the  failure  of  the 
story  does  not  deprive  the  town  of  this  honor. 
For  the  Spy  of  July  17,  1776,  contained  the 
Declaration  in  full;  and  not  until  the  next  day, 
the  1 8th,  was  it  promulgated  in  Boston,  the  only 
other  possible  rival  for  the  honor.  This  was  the 
official  proclamation  from  the  balcony  of  the  Old 
State  House;  meanwhile,  the  citizens  of  Worcester 
and  vicinity  had  been  given  ample  time  to  "  read, 
mark,  and  inwardly  digest "  the  great  epoch- 
making  manifesto. 

Bancroft  House.  The  picture  is  from  a  recent 
photograph  by  Lawrence.  The  house,  more  than 
a  century  old,  was  occupied  as  a  residence  by  Dr. 
Bancroft  during  a  part  of  his  ministry,  and  in  it 
his  son  George  Bancroft,  the  historian,  was  born 
October  3,  1790. 

Portrait  of  Dr.  Bancroft.  From  a  photo- 
graph taken  for  present  use  from  the  original 
painting  now  on  the  walls  of  the  American  Anti- 
quarian Society  at  Worcester.  The  portrait  was 
painted  by  Alvan  Fisher  in  1832,  when  Dr.  Ban- 
croft was  seventy-seven  years  old. 

Church  of  the  Unity.  From  an  old  photo- 
graph by  Lawrence.  It  represents  the  church 
very  nearly  as  it  appeared  in  1846-56,  during  the 
ministry  of  its  first  minister,  Edward  Everett 
Hale.  The  two  constructions  on  each  side  of 
the  town,  added  soon  after  he  left,  constitute  the 
only  change.  The  beginning  of  Dr.  Hale's 
career  as  a  minister  was  in  the  church  of  the 
Unity. 

Interior  of  Central  Church.  From   a  fine 
photograph  by  Lawrence,  made  specially  for  this 
publication,  showing  the  large  painting  by  Mrs 
Sarah  W.  Whitman   of  Boston,  at    the    back    o 
the  chancel. 


THE  EDITOR'S  TABLE. 


There  is  much  interest  just  at  present,  in 
Boston  and  New  York  and  Chicago,  and  in  others 
of  our  cities,  in  "  college  settlements,"'  in  resi- 
dences for  companies  of  cultivated  people  estab- 
lished among  the  poor  and  wretched  people,  with 
a  view  both  to  helping  the  poor  and  wretched  and 
to  educating  the  cultivated  missionaries  them- 
selves in  the  problems  of  poverty  and  wretched- 
ness. This  "  college  settlement  "  idea  has  played 
an  important  part  in  London  for  some  years; 
Toynbee  Hall  and  Oxford  House  are  familiar,  by 
name,  to  all  philanthropists.  The  settlements  of 
which  we  hear  most  in  New  York  and  Chicago 
are  settlements  of  devoted  young  women.  In 
Boston  there  is  about  to  be  opened  a  more  con- 
siderable "  settlement,"  called  Andover  House, 
the  result  of  a  movement  instigated  chiefly  by 
Andover  professors  who  are  devoted  to  socio- 
logical studies  and  social  reform,  and  intended 
largely,  if  we  understand  rightly,  as  a  training 
school  for  young  men  who,  preparing  for  the 
ministry,  realize  the  importance  of  a  much  more 
serious  and  practical  dealing  with  social  and  in- 
dustrial questions  on  the  part  of  the  Church.  It 
is  high  time  that  theological  students  and  theo- 
logical professors  did  realize  this.  "Andover 
House  "  indeed  is  not  the  first  sign  that  they  are 
realizing  it.  The  course  of  studies  in  social  sci- 
ence conducted  at  Andover  itself  by  Professor 
Tucker,  the  admirable  outlines  of  which  have 
been  published  in  the  Andover  Reviezv  within 
the  last  year  or  two,  and  the  similar  work  under- 
taken at  the  Harvard  Divinity  School  by  Professor 
Peabody,  are  cheering  symptoms  of  reform  in  the 
general  character  of  theological  education,  war- 
ranting the  hope  that  the  clergyman  of  the  next 
decade  may  make  himself  as  familiar  with  the 
Merrimac  and  Charles  River  sewage  systems  as 
with  the  brook  Kedron,  and  learn  that  the  cure  of 
the  souls  as  well  as  bodies  of  his  flock  commands 
as  close  a  watch  upon  the  sessions  of  the  Com- 
mon Council  and  the  directors  of  the  Western 
Union  Telegraph  Company  as  upon  those  of  the 
Jerusalem  Sanhedrim  or  the  Synod  of  Dort. 
These  things  are  cheering;  and  so  are  the  ser- 
mons on  industrial  and  social  questions  by  Bishop 
Huntington  and  Heber  Newton  and  Washington 
Gladden  and  Philip  Moxom  and  Lyman  Abbott 
and  Edward  Everett  Hale,  giving  pledge,  we 
hope,  that  in  the  great  struggle  for  industrial  free- 
dom, which  is  now  impending,  the  church  will 
not  cut  the  sorry  figure  which  it  cut  in  the  anti- 
slavery  conflict. 

Everything  which  brings  young  ministers  or 
brings  anybody  into  closer  relations  with  the  pov- 
erty and  needs  in  our  great  cities  and  with  the 
problems  which  they  raise  is  cheering  and  good. 
We  are  glad  to  hear  of  every  one  of  these  "  set- 
tlements." We  should  be  glad  to  hear  of  one  in 
every  ward  of  every  city.  But  the  thought  which 
constantly  comes  to  us,  and  which  came  with  new 
force  in  a  company  of  our  most  intelligent  and 
excellent  people  gathered  recently  to  discuss  these 


"  college  settlements  "  of  the  Toynbee  Hall  and 
Andover  House  nature,  is  that  a  good  many  good 
people  are  looking  to  them  and  to  similar  efforts 
among  the  poor  to  accomplish  what  such  things 
can  never  effectually  accomplish,  and  that  they 
are  thus  diverted  from  laying  stress  where  the 
real  stress  belongs  - —  namely,  upon  public  spirit 
and  large  and  vigorous  public  action. 

In  Boston  the  great  target  of  philanthropy  is 
"  the  North  End,"  although  at  this  moment  no 
"settlement"  is  being  located  there.  Without 
the  consciousness  of  a  North  End  and  the  oppor- 
tunity of  "  doing  something  "  for  the  North  End, 
a  great  many  kind  folk,  and  others  who  enjoy 
thinking  themselves  kind,  would  feel  themselves 
spiritually  destitute,  entirely  without  a  gymnasium 
in  which  to  get  their  souls  muscular  enough  for 
heaven.  The  gymnastic  of  "  calling  upon  "  South 
Enders  has  not  yet,  as  the  sturdy  English  preach- 
ers whose  departure  Boston  now  deplores  has 
hinted,  become  so  attractive  to  our  saints  as 
"  doing  something  "  for  North  Enders.  It  is  easy 
to  play  God ;  it  is  a  little  tiresome  yet  for  some 
of  us  .  to  be  good  democratic  brothers.  The 
North  End,  as  matter  of  fact,  is  by  no  means  the 
neediest  part  of  Boston,  although  it  once  was, 
and  the  tradition  lingers.  It  certainly  is  needy 
enough,  however,  to  give  scope  and  invitation  for 
all  the  grace  that  is  likely  to  be  exercised  toward 
it  for  a  long  time  to  come.  Every  kindly  impulse 
and  every  thousand  dollars  directed  thither  are 
blessings  — -  to  them  that  take  and  to  them  that 
give.  Every  door  that  is  opened  by  any  philan- 
thropic hand  to  let  men  and  women  in  out  of  the 
cold  of  the  street  or  the  barrenness  of  empty 
homes,  to  read  books  or  hear  music  or  see  pic- 
tures or  join  classes  or  drink  coffee,  is  a  door  of 
blessing. 

But  what  we  say  is  that  one  public  act  would 
do  more  in  ten  years  to  regenerate  this  North 
End  of  Boston,  which  we  thus  make  representa- 
tive, than  all  the  philanthropic  dams  and  balms 
and  plasters  can  do  in  a  hundred  years.  In  this 
great  section  are  two  public  schools,  one  for  boys 
and  one  for  girls.  The  schoolhouses  are  not  worse 
than  other  schoolhouses,  but  there  is  nothing 
whatever  about  them  that  is  attractive.  In  both 
of  them  are  twice  as  many  pupils  as  such  build- 
ings can  properly  accommodate.  Each  teacher 
has  twice  as  many  pupils  in  her  room  as  she  can 
gain  that  close  personal  acquaintance  with  which 
is  necessary  for  real  influence,  or  as  she  can  man- 
age at  all  without  constantly  taxing  her  nervous 
endurance  to  the  utmost.  We  say  that  if  instead 
of  these  two  public  schools  there  were  six,  with 
good  buildings  and  good  surroundings,  with 
rooms  made  beautiful  with  the  best  pictures,  with 
so  many  teachers  that  in  no  class  need  there  be 
more  than  thirtv  boys  or  girls,  —  we  say  that  by 
this  reform  alone  more  would  be  done  in  ten 
years  to  redeem  the  North  End  of  Boston  than 
all  the  missions  have  done  or  can  do  in  a  hundred 
years. 


}22 


THE  EDITOR'S  TABLE. 


We  could  speak  in  this  connection  of  the  tene- 
nent-house  problem  and  the  two  methods  of 
lealing  with  it.  But  the  single  point  which  we  have 
ouched  serves  to  emphasize  well  enough  what  we 
)elieve  should  be  emphasized  —  that  the  true  and 
mportant  means  of  social  reformation  is  through 
he  vigorous  use  and  magnanimous  broadening  of 
mr  social  and  political  institutions.  If  devotion 
o  the  sundry  philanthropies  diverts  stress  from 
his,  then  we  believe  that  devotion  to  be  not  an 
mmixed  good.  If  the  closer  contact  with  the 
)roblem  of  poverty  which  the  college  settlements 
md  similar  enterprises  will  secure  for  many  of  our 
houghtful  young  men  and  women  results  in  con- 
'incing  them  that  the  problem  must  be  dealt  with 
n  very  large  and  radical  ways,  dealt  with  at  the 
ource,  that  will  be  the  greatest  good  which  can 
esult,  and  it  will  be  their  quite  sufficient  warrant. 


There  is,  to  our  thinking,  no  intellectual 
novement  now  to  be  witnessed  on  the  face  of  the 
;arth  more  significant  and  inspiring  than  the 
>resent  movement  among  the  younger  French 
hinkers,  described  by  Madame  Blaze  de  Bury  in 
i  recent  number  of  the  Contemporary  Review  as 
'The  Spiritualization  of  Thought  in  France/' 
ind  by  Vicomte  Eugene  Melchior  de  Vogiie  in 
he  last  number  of  Harper's  Magazine  as  "  The 
^eo-Christian  Movement  in  France."  To  most 
Vmerican  readers  these  articles  have  undoubtedly 
:ome  as  a  surprising  revelation.  Many  of  us  have 
i  very  poor  and  defective  acquaintance  altogether 
vith  the  intellectual,  social,  and  scientific  life  of 
France  as  compared  with  our  acquaintance  with 
Germany  and  with  England.  This  is  true  with 
•eference  to  education.  A  hundred  American 
students  go  to  carry  on  their  studies  in  the  Ger- 
nan  universities,  in  Leipzig  and  Gottingen  and 
Bonn  and  Berlin,  to  one  who  goes  to  study  in 
Paris.  There  is  no  university  or  college  in 
\merica  without  professors  who  can  speak  from 
Dersonal  experience  of  the  higher  education  in 
Germany,  and  to  whom  the  mails  bring  German 
nonographs  and  catalogues  and  programs.  There 
ire  many  scholarly  quarters  where  the  informa- 
:ion  concerning  the  public  school  system  and  the 
ligher  education  in  France,  so  carefully  digested 
}y  President  Hall  of  Clark  University  in  the  re- 
:ent  issues  of  his  invaluable  Pedagogical  Seminary, 
vas  undoubtedly  fresh  and  surprising  information. 
President  Hall  would  probably  say  that  in  respect 
)f  organization,  of  method  and  conception,  the 
educational  system  of  France  stands  to-day  ahead 
)f  that  of  Germany.  The  achievements  in  educa- 
ion  under  the  republic  during  these  twenty  years 
lave  been  almost  unexampled  in  history.  And  what 
President  Hall  and  others  have  been  showing  us 
vith  respect  to  French  education,  Madame  de 
Jury  and  M.  de  Vogiie  in  these  articles  show  us  with 
■espect  to  almost  every  field  of  French  intellectual 
ictivity  • — everywhere  new  life  and  better  life, 
leeper  life,  more  aspiration,  more  seriousness,  and 
pirituality.  The  materialism  and  the  Vol- 
airism,  the  worldliness  and  frivolity,  that  charac- 
erized  so  much  in  French  scientific  and  social  life 
mder  the  second  empire,  as  they  have  charac- 
erized  so  much  in  it  at  other  times,  that  they  are 
ipt  to  leap  first  to  mind  at  the  mere  word  French, 


are  yielding,  if  these  earnest  repc:ters  read  the 
signs  of  the  times  aright,  to  a  profoundly  ideal- 
istic and  religious  view  of  the  world,  and  of  men's 
offices  and  relations  in  the  world.  It  is  not 
claimed  that  the  bulk  of  the  French  nation  is 
affected  by  this  new  movement;  but  it  is  claimed 
that  "the  intellectual  elite  cf  the  young  genera- 
tions, the  nucleus  of  high  culture  wherein  the 
directing  ideas  of  the  future  are  being  elaborated  " 
is  affected  and  controlled  by  it.  "If  foreigners 
content  themselves,"  says  Vogiie,  "with  listening 
to  the  rumors  of  Paris  and  taking  a  superficial 
view  of  France,  if  they  derive  their  information 
from  the  artificial  literature  of  the  boulevard,  from 
the  noisy  rehashes  of  the  newspapers,  and  from 
the  antiquated  speeches  of  the  politicians,  they 
may  well  believe  that  nothing  has  changed.  But 
if  they  would  take  the  trouble  to  live  with  the 
professors  and  the  students,  to  read  serious  pub- 
lications, to  follow  the  lectures  of  the  Sorbonne, 
and  sit  on  the  benches  of  the  schools  of  law  and 
of  medicine,  they  would  at  once  discern  the  silent 
labor  that  is  going  on  within  the  brain  of  the  na- 
tion, in  the  intellectual  centre  whence  the  in- 
fluences of  the  future  will  start."  "  In  literature," 
says  M.  de  Vogiie,  "  these  new  comers  declare 
themselves  disgusted  with  naturalism  and  scan- 
dalized by  dilettanteism.  They  require  their 
writers  to  have  seriousness  and  moral  inspira- 
tion." Noting  the  deep  new  religious  feeling 
which  marks  the  movement,  he  says: 


"  It  is  the  antiquated  sarcasms  of  Voltairianism  that  are 
nowadays  received  with  smiles  and  shrugging  of  the 
shoulders;  disrespectful  attacks  upon  religion  irritate  the 
young  Frenchmen  of  the  present  day  as  something  old- 
fashioned,  and  as  an  evidence  of  bad  taste  and  weak-mi  nded- 


"  The  professors  who  are  most  eagerly  listened 
to  are  those  who,  like  MM.  Brunetiere  and  Faguet, 
battle  with  a  sort  of  irritation  against  the  spirit 
of  the  eighteenth  century."  In  politics,  these 
young  men,  he  tells  us,  "  are  almost  all  socialists, 
if  we  understand  by  that  word  a  sympathy,  more 
or  less  reasoned  and  more  or  less  active  for  the 
actual  efforts  of  the  working  classes.' 

All  that  we  read  of  the  character  ana  many- 
sidedness  of  this  remarkable  movement  fortifies 
our  conviction  of  the  truth  of  the  recent  prophecy 
of  Alexandre  Dumas,  that  France  is  "  assuredly  on 
the  eve  of  a  mental  and  moral  uprising  such  as 
has  never  yet  been  witnessed."  In  every  depart- 
ment of  French  intellectual  activity  we  find  the 
leaven  working.  M.  de  Vogiie  got  his  own  first 
inspiration  from  the  great  Exposition,  having  his 
eyes  opened  to  the  deep  spiritual  meaning  of  the 
new  industrial  era,  and  of  what  the  conquest  of 
the  forces  of  nature  will  accomplish  for  the 
human  mind  and  for  human  society.  Ernest 
Lavisse  is  the  prophet  of  the  new  movement  in 
education,  a  French  Arnold  of  Rugby,  interpret- 
ing history  and  the  past  to  the  young  men  of  the 
universities,  and  to  the  thousands  whom  he  is 
organizing  in  his  "  International  Association  of 
Students,"  with  a  philosophical  grasp  and  a 
kindling  power  which  command  them  to  their 
duties  in  politics  and  the  present  with  a  devotion 
and  enthusiasm  almost  unexampled  in  modern 
university  life.     Emile  Faguet  and  Charles  Richet 


THE  EDITOR'S  TABLE. 


823 


and  M.  de  Beaurepaire  and  Paul  Desjardins  and 
M.  Lasserre —  and  the  list  might  be  extended  — 
make  the  new  life  felt  in  poetry,  in  romance,  in 
jurisprudence,  in  journalism,  and  in  every  in- 
tellectual province.  "  The  tendency  towards  the 
spiritualization  of  thought  in  France,"  concludes 
Madame  de  Bury,  "  ir  manifest  and  strong,  and  is 
rapidly  becoming  universal;  her  men  of  actior 
in  common  with  her  men  of  thought,  are  hailing 
with  enthusiasm  the  union  of  Labor  with  Science, 
of  Science  with  Imagination,  and  of  all  with  each 
in  the  true  and  hearty  love  of  Humanity."  Surely 
here  is  painted  a  remarkable  contrast  to  the 
materialism  and  worldliness,  to  the  positivism  and 
skepticism,  the  social  frivolity  and  the  literary 
tilth  which  were  so  largely  in  the  ascendant  in  the 
France  of  Louis  Napoleon,  and  were  passed  on 
as  a  bad  inheritance  to  the  republic,  along  with 
the  national  humiliation  which  had  in  it  relish  of 
salvation;  for  surely  twenty-five  years  ago,  every- 
thing in  France  —  we  use  the  phrase  of  M.  de 
Vogue,  to  ward  off  suspicion  of  any  international 
invidiousness  —  seemed  "on  the  point  of  sinking 
into  gross  realism,  both  characters  and  minds, 
both  public  morality  and  the  intellectual  produc- 
tions." 

Is  there  no  American  publisher  who  feels  the 
impulse  to  give  to  our  public  a  series  of  transla- 
tions of  the  representative  works  of  this  new 
school  of  French  thinkers?  Such  a  series,  we 
believe,  would  find  warm  welcome  and  wide  read- 
ing at  this  time,  and  it  would  do  us  all  great  good. 
If  we  may  assume  the  role  of  this  good  publisher's 
literary  adviser,  we  would  tell  him  to  begin  with 
Lavisse,  to  give  us  a  volume  of  that  great  teacher's 
addresses  to  the  French  students,  then  to  give  us 
every  other  volume  which  Lavisse  has  published, 
and  then  to  turn  to  Desjardins  and  Vogiie.  We 
must  not  fail  in  this  connection  to  express  the 
satisfaction  which  we  feel  in  receiving  the  transla- 
tion of  Lavisse's  "  General  View  of  the  Political 
History  of  Furope,"  just  made  by  Dr.  Gross,  one 
of  the  instructors  in  history  in  Harvard  Univer- 
sity. We  commend  the  work  as  the  best  little 
hand-book  in  this  field  of  which  we  know,  and 
we  trust  that  its  reception  will  be  such  as  to  en- 
courage Dr.  Gross  and  his  friends  to  go  on  in 
their  work  of  translation. 
* 
*   * 

The  feeling  of  the  serious  American,  as  he 
drops  the  record  of  this  wonderful  spiritualization 
of  thought  in  France,  this  new  birth  of  a  nation, 
and  turns  his  thought  home,  is  chiefly  a  feeling  of 
sadness.  There  is  no  movement  akin  to  this  in 
our  intellectual  life.  This  is  not  a  heroic  age  in 
our  literature,  nor  in  our  politics,  nor  in  our  religion. 
More  heroic  in  our  religion,  we  sometimes  ven- 
ture to  hope,  than  in  our  politics.  Some  voice 
does  come  now  and  again  from  some  pulpit  or 
some  church  congress  to  show  that  one  and 
another  minister  of  religion  is  sick  of  lies  and  reso- 
lute for  realities.  If  this  revival  of  morality  in 
our  religion  could  become  a  great  contagion  and 
crusade  —  if  as  a  first  step  we  could  see  ecclesias- 
tical men  highly  resolving  to  drive  from  the  altar 
the  paltering  and  juggling  with  words,  the  ambi- 
guities and  accommodations,  which  would  drive 
from  Wall  Street  and  from  the  grocery  the  man 
contented  there  with  such  criterion  of  obligation 


—  this  one  thing  alone  would  work  miracles  for 
the  spiritualization  of  thought  in  America.  If 
our  priests  were  prophets,  if  our  churches  led  and 
nourished  and  kindled  the  religious  thought  of 
the  people,  instead  of  putting  on,  as  they  so  often 
do,  the  brakes  and  checks  and  water,  the  outlook 
would  be  much  brighter  than  it  is. 

But  if  there  is  little  heroism  in  our  churches 
with  respect  to  religious  thought,  little  piety  of 
the  intellect,  there  is  very  much  humaneness  with 
respect  to  social  life  and  a  marked  tendency  to 
preach  good  politics,  to  make  the  pulpit  a  tribune 
for  the  bold  rebuke  of  political  evils  and  the 
inculcation  of  good  political  ideals.  We  have 
spoken  above,  in  another  connection,  of  the 
noble  and  courageous  and  intelligent  sermons  on 
the  industrial  and  social  questions,  reported  from 
so  many  of  our  leading  preachers;  and  much  of 
the  politics  of  our  pulpits  and  religious  conven- 
tions is  particularly  cheering  at  a  time  when  the 
debates  of  Congress  and  the  legislatures  are  not 
stimulating  and  the  advent  of  David  Hill  to  the 
Senate  is  made  an  "  event  "  by  his  confreres  in  a 
great  party. 

Our  literary  society  and  literary  men  suffer  from 
the  lack  of  motive  and  such  commanding  com- 
mon cause  as  animated  Emerson  and  the  literary 
brotherhood  of  the  last  generation  and  as  ani- 
mates these  young  Frenchmen.  Our  literary  life 
is  trivial  for  the  most  part,  and  our  art  life  only 
just  now  begins  to  feel  great  impulses  after  a 
trivial  and  poor  period.  There  is  no  solidarity  in 
our  American  literary  society,  there  is  little  that 
can  be  called  serious  literary  society  at  all.  Is  it 
not  true  that  the  earnest  individual  literary  work- 
ers among  us,  in  whatever  realms,  find  their  most 
nourishing  and  respected  companionship  in  the 
merchant  and  the  shoemaker  and  the  printer,  of- 
tener  than  in  their  own  guild,  —  that  they  find 
those  "  nearer  the  deep  bases  of  our  lives  "  than 
these?  Aspiration,  faithfulness,  pure  vision  of 
beauty,  strenuous  and  fine  purpose,  and  love  are 
surely  not  lacking  in  American  literary  life;  but 
with  them  are  much  fragmentariness,  vain  cackle 
and  hysteric  haste,  much  unwillingness  to  grow  in 
quiet,  much  willingness  to  receive  and  to  seek 
large  notice  for  little  achievements,  a  pitiful  lack 
of  the  repose  and  steadiness  and  faith  which  are 
the  pledges  of  those  great  works  which  only  a 
lifetime  perfects,  and  only  here  and  there  that 
vision  of  noble  and  commanding  causes  and  that 
surrender  of  self  in  glad  abandon,  which  sancti- 
fies and  fertilizes  genius  and  makes  the  life  sub- 
lime. 

If  our  literary  life,  when  compared  with  the 
time  of  the  Transcendental  movement  in  New 
England  or  with  the  present  movement  in  France, 
does  not  seem  great  or  heroic,  if  our  political  life 
does  not  for  the  moment  seem  inspiring,  and  if 
the  love  of  money  and  the  regard  for  the  vulgar 
and  false  distinctions  which  wealth  confers  were 
never  so  controlling  with  us,  there  are,  we  say, 
signs  of  religion  in  our  churches;  and  there  is 
also  a  great  and  noble  new  life  among  our  teach- 
ers and  in  our  schools.  Never,  we  think,  was 
there  so  much  earnest  and  intelligent  thought 
about  education  in  America  as  there  is  at  present, 
never  so  much  inquiry  as  to  the  true  science  of 
education,  so  high  a  conception  of  the  teacher's 


24 


THE  EDITORS  TABLE. 


nee,  so  high  standards  of  scholarship  in  the 
niversities,  so  genuine  missionary  feeling  on  the 
irt  of  university  men,  so  impressive  a  conscious- 
ess  evident  everywhere  in  university  circles  that 
nowledge  is  a  sacred  trust  which  it  is  the  schol- 
•'s  duty  to  use  for  the  greatest  possible  good  of 
-ery  brother  man.  The  teacher — -the  teacher 
1  the  way  from  the  kindergarten  to  the  univer- 
ty  —  has  an  opportunity  and  a  call  and,  we  be- 
sve,  a  devotion  such  as  he  never  before  had  in 
merica.  The  teacher's  hour  has  struck.  It  is 
i  the  university  rather  than  to  the  legislature  and 
ie  caucus  that  we  look  to-day  for  the  reform  of 
lr  politics.  We  look  for  such  an  enthusiasm  for 
)od  citizenship  and  for  true  statesmanship  among 
ir  college  professors  and  our  college  students,  in 
is  closing  decade  of  the  century,  for  such  prom- 


inence given  to  real  political  science,  as  shall, 
when  the  fruitage  comes,  shame  the  ignoramus, 
the  empiricist  and  the  adventurer  out  of  all  high 
political  place.  The  time  has  come  when  igno- 
rance and  trifling  at  the  helm  in  the  republic  are 
no  longer  safe  and  can  no  longer  be  permitted. 
The  people  feel  this,  we  believe  that  the  student 
and  the  teacher  feel  it  deeply,  and  they  will  make 
the  politician  feel  it.  It  is  to  our  schools  that  we 
look  with  hope  and  with  enthusiasm.  If  virtue 
and  ideas  rule  the  schools,  then  virtue  and  ideas 
will  rule  the  nation.  Will  not  every  man  who 
to-day  occupies  a  professor's  chair  in  our  univer- 
sities catch  something  of  the  spirit  of  Ernest 
Lavisse.  and  realize  how  great  is  the  work  which 
he  may  do  for  the  spiritualization  of  thought  in 
America? 


THE    OMNIBUS. 


LET  US  KISS  AND  CALL  IT  EVEN. 


Let  us  kiss  and  call  it  even, 

End  this  dreariness  and  pain; 
Long  enough  we  both  have  striven, 

'Gainst  our  sentiments  —  in  vain. 
I  have  sought  the  past  to  smother 

And  its  memories  to  remove; 
You  have  trifled  with  another 

You  can  never,  never  love; 
And  my  life  is  sad  and  lonely, 

And  your  face  is  full  of  care; 
We  have  loved  each  other  only; 

Do  not  drive  me  to  despair. 


Let  us  kiss  and  call  it  even, 

And  renew  the  blessed  hours 
When  we  thought  the  earth  a  heaven, 

With  its  sunshine  and  its  flowers; 
As  'mid  the  apple  trees  we  played, 

Or  field  and  road  forsook, 
And  through  the  twining  alders  strayed, 

Along  the  neighboring  brook; 
Or  sat  beneath  the  lilies  rare, 

That  decked  the  garden  wall, 
And  fashioned  castles  in  the  air, 

That  never  were  to  fall. 

III. 

Let  us  kiss  and  call  it  even, 
Fling  deception  to  the  winds; 

Your  mistakes  are  all  forgiven, 
Overlook. my  many  sins; 

And  when  jealous  foes  are  sleeping, 
And  the  slanderer's  tongue  is  still, 


And  the  silver  moon  is  peeping 
Through  the  elm  trees  by  the  mill, 

Where  the  brook  adjoins  the  river, 
On  the  beauteous  pebbly  shore, 

Let  us  pledge  our  love  forever, 
Vow  to  quarrel  never  more. 

—  Fred  Devine. 


Parepa's  Song. 

That  night  we  heard  Parepa  sing  — 

Do  you  remember,  dear? 
What,  love,  so  long  ago?     To  me 

It  seems  but  scarce  a  year. 
But  oh,  that  night  our  hearts  were  light, 

And  joy  was  in  its  spring; 
For  we  had  learned  to  love,  that  night 

We  heard  Parepa  sing. 

Mute,  mute,  long  mute  that  glorious  voice ! 

But,  walking  home  to-night, 
I  passed  an  open  window.     All 

The  room  within  was  light. 
Deep  chords  were  softly  touched;    and  then 

,  I  heard  a  young  voice  ring, 
Clear,  passion-thrilled.     It  was  that  song 

We  heard  Parepa  sing. 

Rapt  on  the  crowded  walk  I  stood, 

I  could  not  tear  away. 
You  smile  :   A  love  song  —  what  to  me, 

A  man  whose  hair  is  gray? 
Ah  !  gray  indeed  !     But,  Dorothy, 

My  thoughts  had  taken  wing. 
Again,  a  boy,  I  held  your  hand, 

And  heard  Parepa  sing. 

—  William  T.  Smvth. 


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