UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA
GIFT OF
MRS. MARY WOLFSOHN
IN MEMORY OF
HENRY WOLFSOHN
PORTRAIT GALLERY
OF EMINENT
MEN AND WOMEN
OF
EUROPE AND AMERICA.
EMBRACING
HISTORY, STATESMANSHIP, NAVAL AND MILITARY LIFE, PHILOSOPHY,
THE DRAMA, SCIENCE, LITERATURE AND ART.
WITH
BIOG-KAPHIES.
BY
EVERT A. DUYCKINCK,
AUTHOR OP "PORTRAIT GALLERY O» EMINENT AMERICANS," "CYCLOPEDIA OP AMERICAN LITERATURE," "HISTORY OP THE WAH
FOR THE UNION," ETC., ETC.
ILLUSTRATED WITH HIGHLY FINISHED STEEL ENGRAVINGS
FROM
ORIGINAL PORTRAITS BY THE MOST CELEBRATED ARTISTS.
IN Two VOLUMES. — VOL. II.
NEW YORK:
HENRY J. JOHNSON, PUBLISHER,
122 AND 124 DUANE STREET.
ftnicrol according to Act of Coup-ess, in the year 1873, -Jy
JOHNSON, WILSON AND COMPANY,
t'-« Iho Offlco of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, r>
CONTENTS OF VOLUME II.
DANIEL O'CONNELL, 5
ANNA JAMESON, 12
JOHN FREDERICK WILLIAM HERSCHEL, . . . . . . 27
LORD PALMERSTON, "?',-. 37
CHARLOTTE BRONTE, . . . . . .... 44
CAMILLO BENSO DI CAVOUR, 54
RICHARD COBDEN, ... ^. .... 71
CATHARINE MARIA SEDGWICK, .... .' . . . 80
PRINCE ALBERT, . . ., . . ... . . .93
THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY, 104
MARY RUSSELL MITFORD, . . . . . . . . . ng
BENITO JUAREZ, . . . . . „ . . ... . 124
DANIEL WEBSTER, . . . . /; . . . . .129
FREDERIKA BREMER, . . . . . ** ' • • • 145
WASHINGTON IRVING, . .150
VICTOR EMANUEL, . . .161
SYDNEY, LADY MORGAN, 167
MICHAEL FARADAY, 173
WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY, . . . , " , . . .189
ALICE GARY, . > . '. . . . .. . . . » 199
JOHN CALDWELL CALHOUN, , . . .203
WILLIAM I., EMPEROR OF GERMANY, ....... 213
MARY SOMERVILLE, . .219
BARON JUSTUS VON LIEBIG, . „ . . . . » 222
HENRY CLAY, .... . . . . . . . 228
LETITIA ELIZABETH LANDON, . .._;. • . . . . .244
LORD LYTTON, . . . . . . . . . . . 259
OTTO VON BISMARCK, 266
MARGARET FULLER OSSOLI, . . . 27;}
GEORGE PEABODY, 201
NAPOLEON III., 3^
EMILY CHUBBUCK JUDSON, . . . 3J)
THOMAS CHALMERS, V 33?
FRANCOIS P. G. GUIZOT, , „ .346
ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING, . . . . . . . . 352
COUNT VON MOLTKE, . * . .360
SAMUEL F. B. MORSE, 363
ftii)
CONTENTS.
HARRIET MARTINEAU, - • • • • * • ^7C
CHARLES DICKENS, . . ... . •
ABRAHAM LINCOLN, . . ... • • •
FRANCES SARGENT OSGOOD, . . ....
WILLIAM EWART GLADSTONE, .
LOUIS ADOLPHE THIERS, .
HARRIET BEECHER STOWE,
WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT, . . • •
ROBERT EDWARD LEE, . 1
ELIZA COOK, .
WILLIAM HENRY SEWARD, ,. . • • •
ALEXANDER II. OF RUSSIA, • • * •
JENNY LIND GOLDSCHMIDT, .... •
JOHN BRIGHT, .
THOMAS JONATHAN JACKSON, . ^ . . . 486
ROSA BONHEUR, - . ... i
DAVID GLASCOE FAERAGUT, • 504
BENJAMIN DISRAELI,
BARONESS BURDETT-COUTTS, ... 515
HIRAM POWERS, . ....... .522
LOUIS AGASSIZ, . 528
FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE, ...... .532
ALFRED TENNYSON, .....".. . 537
ULYSSES S. GRANT, , . . . . . . . • • 5i2
CHARLOTTE SAUNDERS CUSHMAN, . . . ... . 554
PIUS THE NINTH, . .... .... 558
WILLIAM TECUMSEH SHERMAN, ...... 563
ALEXANDRINA VICTORIA, . ... . . -575
HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW, 585
EDWIN BOOTH, .591
EMPRESS EUGENIE, 595
HENRY WARD BEECHER, .601
DAVID LIVINGSTONE, 605
HARRIET HOSMER, .615
JOSEPH GARIBALDI, 624
FRANCES ANNE KEMBLE, '• . -633
DANIEL O'CONNELL.
r~nHE ancestiy of Daniel O'Connell
-A- is traced to an ancient lineage in
the early annals of Ireland, the sur-
name, according to the authority of
Irish writers, emanating from Conal
Gabhra, a prince of the royal line of
Heber, son of Milesius, from whom
the districts of Upper and Lower
Connelloe, county of Limerick, ac-
quired their denomination. From this
district the O'Connells removed to
Iveragh, in the western extremity of
Kerry, and remained there for a con-
siderable period, until the rebellion of
1641, transplanted them, with other
victims of that event, to the county of
Clare. Daniel O'Connell, of Aghgore,
in the barony of Iveragh, having tak-
en no part in the insurrection, preserv-
ed his estate. His eldest son, John,
was in the service of James II., and
distinguished himself at the siege of
Derry and at the battles of the Boyne
and Aughrim. Leading representa-
tives of the family were subsequently
engaged in the French service. Of
these, Daniel O'Connell greatly distin-
guished himself in military affairs,
holding at the time of his death, at his
chateau, near Blois, on the Loire, in
1833, at the age of ninety, the rank of
-1
General in the French, and the oldest
Colonelcy in the English service. The
O'Connells generally lived to a good
old age, Maurice O'Connell, the un-
cle of the "Agitator," attaining the
age of ninety.
Daniel O'Connell, the subject of this
sketch, the eldest son of Morgan O'Con-
nell, was born at his father's residence,
at Carhen, near Cahirciveen, in Kerry,
at the head of the harbor of Valentia,
August 6th, 1775. His childhood and
boyhood were passed at his birth-place,
with the exception of long visits to
Darrynane, the seat of his uncle Mau-
rice just mentioned, to whose estate
he long afterward succeeded, in 1825,
and who, in the early years of Daniel,
took, in a great measure, the charge of
his education. " A poor old hedge-
master," by name David Mahony, is
recorded in the biography by John
O'Connell, as having first taught his
father Daniel his letters. At the age
of thirteen, with his brother Maurice,
a year younger than himself, he was
sent to the school of the Rev. Mr.
Harrington, a Catholic clergyman, at
a place called Redington, in the Long
Island, near Cove, the first school
publicly opened and held by a Catho
JI.-
DANIEL O'CONNELL.
lie priest after the abolition of the
penal laws, forbidding so innocent a
proceeding. At the end of a year,
the brothers were removed from this
school by their uncle Maurice, in order
to be sent to the Continent to pursue
their studies to a better advantage.
For this purpose they sailed in a pack-
et for London, to be landed on the
way at Dover, where they might cross
at once to Ostend. The tide being
out when they reached Dover, they
were of necessity taken ashore in a
boat, which was upset in the surf; and
thus Daniel was first introduced to
England through a rough plunge in its
waters — a symbol of his subsequent
stormy career in the country. It was
the intention that the boys should
study at Liege, but, on their arrival
there, they were found to have passed
the age at which they could be admitted
as students ; so they retraced their steps
to Louvain, where they awaited orders
from their uncle. It was characteris-
tic of Daniel, that, in this period of
suspense, instead of employing him-
self solely with the novel amusements
of the country, he attended a class in
one of the halls of the town as a vol-
unteer ; and, before letters from home
had arrived, had risen to a high place
in the school. The uncle's orders were
that they should be entered at St.
Omer, whither they proceeded, and re
mained a year from the beginning of
1791. At its conclusion, they passed
Borne months at the English College
>f the Benedictines at Douay. On
being called upon by the uncle for an
opinion as to the capacities of the two
brothers under his charge, Dr. Stapyl-
ton, tie President of the College of
St. Omer, after a longer account of
Maurice, whom he commended, with
some qualifications, wrote " with re-
spect to the elder, Daniel, I have but
one sentence to write about him, and
that is, that I never was so much mis-
taken in my life as I shall be, unless
he be destined to make a remarkable
figure in society."
The residence of the young O'Con-
nell at Douay was cut short by the
progress of the French Revolution,
which was reaching its crisis at Paris,
and which brought in its train the
persecution of Englishmen who were
living in the country. The brothers
were consequently called home, and af-
ter some anxious delay, set out for Cal-
ais, in January, 1793, the very day the
king was beheaded, the news of which
startling event was first borne to
England in the packet in which they
crossed the channel. O'Connell and
his brother had been compelled for
safety to wear the tricolor cockade, but
they indignantly plucked it from their
caps and threw it into the sea before
they had left the French harbor. His
mind at this time and long after, was
vividly impressed with the horrors of
the Revolution ; and the folly and in-
sanity of pursuing schemes of political
reform by violence and bloodshed.
Constant advocate as he became of all
measures for the peaceful emancipa
tion of Ireland, he deprecated the in-
surrectionary proceedings, so unfortu-
nate for his country, in their means
and issue, of 1798.
The Revolutionary era, however,
brought great relief to his country in
the relaxation of the savage code of
penal laws inflicted upon it by the old
DANIEL O'COMELL.
Protestant ascendancy. Before 1793,
no Catholic could become a barrister.
O'Connell was one of the first to profit
by the new privilege. In January,
1794, he entered Lincoln's Inn as a
law student, was subsequently admit-
ted of the King's Inns, Dublin, and in
the Easter term of 1798, was called in
due course to the Irish bar. He brought
to the profession the most diligent
study and the extraordinary force of
his powerful mental and bodily con-
stitution. He was universal in his
application, " a good lawyer," as he is
described by one of his biographers,
"in every branch of the prof ession, and
in more than one without an equal.
He had all the qualities of a lawyer —
quick apprehension, clearness, the pow-
er of analysis and arrangement and, that
knowledge of men and things, which
to some minds seems to come intuitive-
ly, and enables them to penetrate mo-
tives by a glance. To these powers
and the learning which was their in-
strument, he possessed eloquence, hu-
mor, and inimitable tact. He was a
great l verdict winner,' and a first-rate
cross-examiner. The class of men on
which the government relied for its
evidence in a criminal prosecution, was
frequently the very worst ; and O'Con-
nell delighted in breaking down their
testimony by making them convict
themselves of all kinds of villanies ;
even Orange juries could not con-
vict in the face of such exposures.
In civil causes, particularly where in-
tricate questions of property were con-
cerned, he was equally successful."
A sketch originally contributed to
a London periodical by Mr. Shiel, the
eminent Irish barrister and politician,
furnishes an interesting picture of
O'Connell at this period. "If any
one," he writes, " being a stranger in
Dublin, should chance, as you return
upon a winter's morning, from one of
the ' small and early ' parties of that
raking metropolis — that is to say, be-
tween the hours of five and six o'clock
—to pass along the south side of Mor-
rion Square, you will not fail to ob-
serve that among those splendid man-
sions, there is one evidently tenanted
by a person whose habits differ mate-
rially from those of his fashionable
neighbors. The half-opened parlor-
shutter, and the light within, an-
nounce that some one dwells there
whose time is too precious to permit
him to regulate his rising with the
sun. Should your curiosity tempt you
to ascend the steps, and, under cover
of the dark, to reconnoitre the inte-
rior, you will see a tall, able-bodied
man standing at a desk, and immersed
in solitary occupations. Upon the wall
in front of him there hangs a crucifix.
From this, and from .the calm attitude
of the person within, and from a certain
monastic rotundity about his neck and
shoulders, your first impression will be
that he must be some pious dignitary
of the Church of Rome, absorbed in his
matin devotions. But this conjecture
will l)e rejected almost as soon as form
ed. No sooner can the eye take in the
other furniture of the apartment — the
book-cases clogged with tomes in plain
calf-skin binding, the blue-covered oc-
tavos that lie about on the table and
on the floor, the reams of manuscript
in oblong folds and begirt with crim-
son tape — than it becomes evident
that the party meditating amid such
•
DANIEL O'CONNELL.
subjects, must be thinking far more of
fche law than the prophets. He is, un-
equivocally, a barrister, but apparent-
ly of that homely, chamber-keeping,
plodding cast, who labor hard to make
up by assiduity what they want in
wit — who are up and stirring before
the bird of the morning has sounded
the retreat to the wandering spectre—
and are already brain-deep in the diz-
zying vortex of mortgages and cross-
remainders, and mergers and remitters ;
while his clients, still lapped in sweet
oblivion of the law's delay, are fondly
dreaming that their cause is peremp-
torily set down for a final hearing.
Having come to this conclusion, you
push on for home, blessing your stars
on the way that you are not a lawyer,
and sincerely compassionating the se-
dentary drudge whom you have just
detected in the performance of his
cheerless toil. But should you hap-
pen, in the course of the same day, to
stroll down to the Four Courts, you
will be not a little surprised to find
the object of your pity miraculously
transformed from the severe recluse of
the morning into one of the most bust-
ling, important, and joyous personages
in that busy scene. There you will
be sure to see him, his countenance
braced up and glistening with health
and spirits — with a huge plethoric
bag, which his robust arms can scarce-
ly sustain, clasped with paternal fond-
ness to his heart — and environed by a
living palisade of clients and attorneys,
with outstretched necks, and mouths
and ears agape, to catch up any chance
opinion that may be coaxed out of
him in a colloquial way, or listening to
what the client relishes still better (for
in no event can they be slided into a
bill of costs), the counsellor's bursts
of jovial and familiar humor; or, when
he touches on a sadder strain, his pro
phetic assurances that the hour oi
Ireland's redemption is at hand. You
perceive at once that you have lighted
upon a great popular advocate ; and,
if you take the trouble to follow his
movements for a couple of hours
through the several courts, you will
not fail to discover the qualities that
have made him so — his legal cornpe,-
tency — his business-like habits — his
sanguine temperament, which renders
him not merely the advocate, but the
partisan of his client — his acuteness —
his fluency of thought and language —
his unconquerable good humor — and,
above all, his versatility."
From the beginning of his career as
a lawyer, O'Connell wTas foremost in
the advocacy of the national cause of
his country. His first public speech
was against the proposed union of the
English and Irish parliaments. It was
delivered at a meeting of the Roman
Catholics of Dublin, assembled at the
Royal Exchange in that city, for the
purpose of petitioning against that
measure. In 1802, contrary to the
wishes of his uncle, he was married
privately to his cousin Mary, the
daughter of Dr. O'Connell, of Tralee, a
physician. He was then in possession
of a not very lucrative practice, and
the marriage brought him no fortune.
But he soon rose to a high degree of
popular favor and influence. For a
period of about forty years, compre-
hending the whole remainder of his
life, he was in one way or other bat-
tling with the English legislature, and
DANIEL O'COKNELL.
9
the public opinion of England, for
measures of reform in the administra-
tion of his country. As the organizer
and chief support of various political
organizations, as the * Catholic Board '
and ' Committee," and finally the
1 Catholic Association.' He kept con-
stantly before the world the claims of
his country to religious liberty in the
removal of disabilities and representa-
tion in the British parliament. " For
more than twenty years," he wrote to
Lord Shrewsbury, " before the passing
of the Emancipation Bill, the burden
of the cause was thrown upon me. I
had to arrange the meetings, to pre-
pare resolutions, to furnish replies to
the correspondence, to examine the
case of each person complaining of
practical grievances, to rouse the tor-
pid, to animate the lukewarm, to con-
trol the violent and inflammatory, to
avoid the shoals and breakers of the
law, to guard against multiplied
treachery, and at all times to oppose,
at every peril, the powerful and multi-
tudinous enemies of the cause."
In the course of his contest, in 1815,
with the corporation of Dublin, having
denounced the municipality with some
severity of expression, he was openly
insulted by one of its members, a Mr.
D'Esterre, with whom he fought a
duel at a place called Bishop's Court,
in the County of Kildare. At the
first fire his antagonist, who was
thought to have great advantage as a
practised shot, fell, mortally wounded.
Though the quarrel had been pertina-
ciously forced upon O'Connell, he
always deeply regretted the act ; and,
though he, on some other occasion,
arising from the boldness of his course,
appeared in the field again as a duel-
list, and was on the point of meeting
Sir Robert Peel, then Secretary for
Ireland, when the law interposed ; he
at length cut off all further violations
of his conscience in this respect by
making a solemn vow never to engage
in a duel again.
There is a pleasant account in the
Diary of Crabb Robinson, of that
amiable gentleman's acquaintance with
O'Connell, during a visit to Ireland in
1826. He is first attracted to him in
the court-room, at Cork, where "with
the judges as well as the Bar and peo-
ple, he seemed to be a sort of pet ; his
good humor probably atoning for his
political perversities, and, what must
have been to his colleagues more ob-
jectionable, his great success." A
coach journey follows to Killarney, in
which Robinson has "the glorious
counsellor" to himself all the way, and
is delighted with his frank, genial con-
versation, and is struck by the uni-
versal regard with which he is held by
the people along the way, who assem-
ble at various points to cheer him. An
invitation to Derrynane follows, which
is accepted, and affords the most charm-
ing proofs of the affections of the tenan-
try towards their illustrious chieftain,
who acted as their judge, and decided
their causes and differences, as he rode
along among them. At Derrynane, the
old home of the O'Connells, everything
seemed tempered by a certain patri-
archal dignity and simplicity. " I was
delighted," says Robinson, " by his de-
meanor towards those who welcomed
him on his arrival. I remarked (my-
self unnoticed) the eagerness with
which he sprang from his horse, and
10
DANIEL 0'COJSTIsT:LL.
kissed a toothless old woman, his
nurse." Anecdotes like these show
how his warm heart held the love of
his countrymen.
The question of Catholic Emancipa-
tion was finally, when the passage of
the act could not be much longer de-
layed, tested by O'Connell in a practi-
cal manner. In 1828, a vacancy hav-
ing occurred in the representation of
Clare County, he was proposed as a
candidate, and after a vigorous con-
test, returned, when he proceeded to
take his seat in the British Parliament.
As a Roman Catholic, he could not, of
course, take the rigid oaths intended
for the exclusion of that body. The
discussion of the question came at a
time when matters were reaching a
crisis. The agitation in Ireland
seriously threatened civil war. Under
these circumstances, the Catholic
Emancipation Bill was brought in and
conceded. O'Connell was re-elected,
and took his seat under the new con-
ditions, in May, 1829. In the follow-
ing year, at the general election, con-
sequent upon the death of George IV,
he exchanged the representation of
Clare for that of his native county of
Kerry. He represented Dublin from
1832 to June 1835, after which he was
returned for Kilkenny ; again, in 1837,
for Dublin, and subsequently, in 1841,
for the County of Cork. To carry on
more effectively the agitation in be-
half of the political interests of his
countrymen, he had relinquished his
professional practice, and as a compen-
sation for his loss of income, an annual
subscription was organized, which
came to be known as the " Rent."
"Nothing," says a writer in a news-
paper of the day, in a sketch of his
career, " showed the wonderful powers
of the man more than the facility with
which, at the age of fifty-five, he adapt-
ed himself to his new career in parlia-
ment. It is said that lawyers seldom
make effective speakers in the House ;
but O'Connell could harangue a mob,
address a jury, and speak in the House
of Commons with perfect command
over each of them. He was, in style
and manner, almost as distinct as
if he had been three different men.
He used his powers to procure a
series of measures for Ireland, that
were the necessary consequences of the
Emancipation Bill. He pointed out
the social evils of Ireland, her poverty,
her risks of famine ; he urged, he
wrote, he spoke, he implored the gov-
ernment to think of the necessities of
the land, and provide for them. And
as measure after measure was brought
forward for England, he supported it
with all his strength ; and to O'Con-
nell and Ireland are Englishmen main
ly indebted for the Reform Bill. But
all he proposed for Ireland was met by
determined opposition from Earl
Grey's Cabinet and the Tories. Lord
Stanley was his chief foe ; their ani-
mosity was most intense, and the con-
flicts in which they engaged were like
wars of the giants. His motion for a
Repeal of the Union, made on the
22d of April, 1834, tvas defeated by an
immense majority, his speech on the
occasion occupying six hours. Year
after year he waited, in hopes that
some real legislation would be com-
menced for Ireland. After the acces-
sion of Sir Robert Peel to power with
the Conservatives, in 1841, he organ
DANIEL O'COJSKELL.
11
ized the Repeal Association on a more
extensive scale, absented himself from
[)arliament,and devoted himself wholly
to the agitation. Repeal was debated
for a week in the corporation of Dub-
lin ; the agitation continued and in-
creased through 1842 ; in 1843 came
the ' monster meetings ; ' the Repeal
rent amounted to many hundreds a
week. Hundreds of thousands of men
gathered on the Hill of Tara, the
Curragh of Kildare, the Rath of Mul-
laghmart. A great meeting was an-
nounced at Clontarf, and this the gov-
ernment prohibited by proclamation,
and some snow of military force,
which the ready compliance with the
command of the authorities, at O'Con-
nell's express injunction, rendered un-
necessary. The intended meeting at
Clontarf was fixed for the 8th of Octo-
ber, 1843 ; on the 14th of that month,
O'Connell received notice to put in
bail, to appear to an indictment for
sedition. On the 2d of November,
proceedings commenced in the Court
of Queen's Bench ; the whole of Mi-
chaelmas Term was consumed by pre-
liminary proceedings, and the actual
trial did not begin until the 16th of
January, 1844, and lasted till the 12th
of February. At length O'Connell
was sentenced to pay a fine of £2,000
and be imprisoned for a year. He
immediately appealed to the House of
Lords, by writ of error ; but, pending
the proceedings on the question thus
raised, he was sent to the Richmond
Penitentiary/ near Dublin. On the
4th of September, the House of Lords
reversed the judgment against O'Con-
nell and his associates; O'Connell was
therefore immediately liberated, and a
vast procession attended him from
prison to his residence in Merrion
Square, and made his liberation a
triumph.*
With the return of the Whigs to
power, in 1846, O'Connell entered the
House of Commons again to assist
in abolishing the Corn Laws. His
health, however, was now failing;
wearied and disappointed, in the be-
ginning of 1847, he left England with
the intention of proceeding to Rome.
Journeying by Paris and Marseilles, he
reached Genoa in May, where he sank
rapidly. On the 15th he expired in
that city, consoled to the last by the
most devoted religious feeling. " He
never murmured," Avrote the corres-
pondent of the London " Times " from
Genoa, " though his internal suffer-
ings, at times at least, must have been
very great. Every one was struck
with his serenity, his recollection and
fervor in receiving the last rites of
religion. The adorable name of Jesus
and the prayer of St. Bernard, to our
Blessed Lady, mingled from time to
time with verses from the Psalms, and
the most earnest and contrite aspira-
tions were almost perpetually upon
his lips. Up to a few moments before
he expired, he continued to recognize
his confessor, and to respond to his
suggestions." In accordance with his
dying request, his heart was embalmed
and carried to Rome, and his body
was conveyed to Ireland for interment
* Illustrated London News, May 29, 1847.
ANNA JAMESON.
XN the absence of any detailed biog-
raphy — for absolutely nothing
worthy of the occasion has yet been
given to the world — the story of Mrs.
Jameson's career must be confined
mainly to the record of her published
works. This, indeed, is generally the
case with most voluminous authors,
whose researches afford them time for
jttle other adventure than is to be
found in the passage from one library
to another, in search of information ;
in the composition of the books which
they publish ; and their reception by the
critics and the world. Much, however,
may be held in reserve which does not
appear on the printed page, in the story
of difficulties of fortune overcome, of
private sorrows and griefs shrinking
from the eye of the public, till they
are revealed in the confessional of an
autobiography, or the diligent memoir
by personal friends. However desira-
ble a narrative drawn from such ac-
counts may be, we have as yet no op-
portunity to present it in the case of
Mrs. Jameson. The notices which we
have of her life, compared with those of
most of her literary contemporaries of
equal claim to distinction are mea-
gre and unsatisfactory. We have
(12)
been told scarcely anything of hei
family history or of her early ed-
ucation. She was born in Dub-
lin, May 19th, 1797, the daughter of
an artist named Murphy, who was of
some reputation in his profession, hav-
ing been appointed Painter in Ordi-
nary to the Princess Charlotte. At
the age of twenty-seven, Anna was
married to a barrister, Mr. E. Jameson,
who, some years after, received a high
government appointment in Canada,
whither his wife followed him, and,
not long after, was separated from
him — the marriage, we are told, being
practically if not legally dissolved.
After this, Mrs. Jameson appears in
the independent character of an au-
thor, and all we know of her history,
as we have stated, is to be derived
from her works. In the history of in-
tellectual exertion, among the produc-
tions by which the present century has
profited, and which are likely to be of
advantage to posterity, they will be
found to hold no inconsiderable place.
The first publication of Mrs. Jame-
son appeared anonymously in 1826.
It was entitled "The Diary of an
Ennuyee," a book of travel in France
and Italy, recording the result of ob
ANNA JAMESOK
13
servations in those countries, under
the protection of a slight veil of fiction,
which disguised the personality of the
writer. The device proved a highly
successful one, giving a certain piquan-
cy to details, which, if they had been
conveyed to the public in the ordina-
ry fashion of a lady tourist's journal,
might long since have been forgotten,
with other meritorious productions of
the class. A shade of melancholy,
with a certain languor of sentimental
O
reflection, appealing to the sympathy
of the reader, are not unattractive
qualities to many minds, to which in-
struction may be modestly conveyed
which might otherwise be resented.
To a young writer in particular, the
resource has many obvious advantages.
Truths may be expressed, and novel-
ties of opinion brought forward which
might else have an unpleasant air of
dogmatism and superiority. Sterne,
who had a keen insight into human
nature, knew well what he was about
in enveloping his travelling observa-
tions on the continent in the exquisite
philosophies of his " Sentimental Jour-
ney ;" and, though he has had no rivals
in the perfection of his art, many have
profited by a more or less distant imi-
tation of his style. His little book,
with its combination of wit, wisdom,
humor, and sentiment, enhanced by a
thousand graces of language peculiar-
ly his own, is indeed unapproachable,
the most compact, varied, felicitous
prose work of its size in the language.
Mrs. Jameson, of course, had no inten-
tion of coming into competition with
such a master-piece of literature. She
makes no pretensions to wit or humor,
though not insensible of any absurdities
ii. — 2
which she may meet with on her way ;
nor has she that trick of pathos, the only
adequate explanation of which, spite
of his many shortcomings, is to be
found in the genuine nature of the man.
The illness of the tourist and her ennui,
it is easy from the beginning to see are
but pretences ; for the thoughts and
observations in the book are those of
an eminently healthy person, of a vig-
orous intellect, and a constitution capa-
ble of no little exertion in that hard-
est of all toils, the labor of continual
sight-seeing. There is a great deal of
complaint, certainly, in the interstices
between the excitements of one great
capital and another, as we pass from
the enjoyment of nature to the beauties
of art ; from theatre to theatre ; opera
to opera ; and picture gallery to pic-
ture gallery; but we feel, all along,
that we are in company with a strong
and cultivated fellow-traveller, capable
of any required physical or mental ex-
ertion in the fatiguing rounds of the
grand tour ; we listen to the diseased
lamentations with a great deal of in-
difference, and are quite incredulous
when we read, in a note in fine print
at the close of the volume, that " f our
days after the date of the last para-
graph, the writer died at Autun, in
her 26th year, and was buried in the
garden of the Capuchin Monastery,
near that city." We know perfectly,
without the aid of a literary encyclo-
paedia, that the author of the book, so
full of promise, kindling with youthful
interest and susceptibility, was only
laying down her pen for the moment to
resume it again in many a fair page
of manuscript in the development ot
the many subjects dear to her heart,
ANNA JAMESON.
with which she was here, as it were,
but making a first acquaintance.
It is difficult to select from a book
where the topics are so varied, pas-
sages vvhich may represent its general
spirit. But we may notice particular-
ly the inclination of the writer to the
study of art, a field which she after-
wards cultivated with so much skill
and painstaking. Opening the vol-
ume almost at random, we alight upon
a characteristic comparison of the
great masters in the representations of
the Holy Family. " There is one sub-
ject," she says, "which never tires,
at least never tires me, however va-
ried, repeated, multiplied ; a subject so
lovely in itself that the most eminent
painter cannot easily embellish it, or
tha meanest degrade it; a subject
which comes home to our own bosoms
and dearest feelings ; in which we
may 'lose ourselves in all delightful-
ness,' and indulge unreproved pleas-
ure. I mean the Virgin and Child,
or in other words, the abstract person-
ification of what is loveliest, purest,
and dearest under heaven — maternal
tenderness, virgin meekness, and child-
ish innocence, and the beauty of holi-
ness over all. It occurred to me to
say (at Florence), that if a gallery
could be formed of this subject alone,
selecting one specimen from among the
works of every painter, it would form,
not only a comparative index to their
different styles, but we should find, on
recurring to what is known of the lives
and characters of the great masters,
that each has stamped some peculiari-
ty of his own disposition on his Vir-
gins ; and that, after a little consider-
ation and practice, a very fair guess
might be formed of the character of
each artist, by observing the style in
which he has treated this beautiful
and favorite subject. Take Raffaelle.
for example, whose delightful charac-
ter is dwelt upon by all his biogra-
phers ; his genuine nobleness of soul,
which raised him far above interest,
rivalship or jealousy ; the gentleness
of his temper, the suavity of his man-
ners, the sweetness of his disposition,
the benevolence of his heart, which
rendered him so deeply loved and ad-
mired, even by those who pined awa)
at his success and died of his superi-
ority— as La Francia, at least so runs
the tale — are all attested by contem-
porary writers: where, but in his own
harmonious character, need Raffaelle
have looked for the prototypes of his
half -celestial creations? His Virgins
alone combine every grace which the
imagination can require — repose, sim-
plicity, meekness, purity, tenderness;
blended without any admixture of
earthly passion, yet so varied, though
all his Virgins have a general charac-
ter, distinguishing them from those of
every other master, no two are exactly
alike. In the Madonna del Seggiola,
for instance, the prevailing expression
is a serious and pensive tenderness;
her eyes are turned from her infant,
but she clasps him to her bosom, as if
it were not necessary to see him, to feel
him in her heart. In another Holy
Family in the Pitti Palace, the pre-
dominant expression is maternal rap-
ture : in the Madonna di Foligno, it is
a saintly benignity becoming the Queen
of Heaven: in the Madonna del Car-
dellino, it is a meek and chaste .sim-
plicity ; it is the ' Virgin e dolce e pia '
ANNA JAMESON.
of Petrarch." Corregio, Guido, Titian,
Andrea del Sarto, Carlo Dolce, Carlo
Maratti, Caravaggio, Rubens, Michael
Angelo, Carlo Cignani, Sasso Ferrato,
are then successively passed in review,
in relation to their works in this great
department of art, with nice discrimi-
nation throughout, and a taste and
skill for which the author no doubt
was much indebted to her paternal
education. In her works we are con-
stantly -reminded of the daughter of
the artist. The book also affords an
early indication of her prolific fancy
and the eloquence with which she deco-
rated every topic on which she wrote.
Thus, in little space, she happily char-
acterizes the Italian cities. " Genoa,
though fallen, is still ' Genoa the proud.'
She is like a noble matron, blooming
in years and dignified in decay ; while
her rival, Venice, always used to remind
me of a beautiful courtesan repenting
in sackcloth and ashes, and mingling
the ragged remnants of her former
spleHdor with the emblems of present
misery, degradation and mourning.
Pursue the train of similitude, Florence
may be likened to a blooming bride
dressed out to meet her lover; Naples to
Tasso's " Armida," with all the allure-
ments of the Syren and all the terrors
of the sorceress ; Rome sits crowned
upon the grave of her power, widowed
indeed, and desolate, but still, like the
queenly Constance, she maintains the
majesty of sorrow —
1 This is my throne, let kings come bow to it !' "
The next appearance of Mrs. Jame-
son in print, was as the author of a
couple of volumes published in Lon-
don, in 1829, entitled, "Memoirs of
the Loves of the Poets," a series of
biographical sketches of women cele-
brated in ancient and modern poetry.
In a prefatory address to the reader, the
author tells us that the sketches " are
absolutely without any other preten-
sion than that of exhibiting/ in a small
compass and under one point of view,
many anecdotes of biography and critic-
ism, and many beautiful poetical por-
traits, scattered through a variety of
works, and all tending to illustrate a
subject in itself full of interest,- —the
influence which the beauty and virtue
of women have exercised over the char-
acters and writings of men of genius.
But little praise or reputation attends
the mere compiler, but the pleasure of
the task has compensated its difficulty ;
— 'song, beauty, youth, love, virtue,
joy,' these ' flowers of Paradise,' whose
growth is of earth, were all around
me; I had but to gather them from
the intermingling weeds and briars,
and to bind them into one sparkling
wreath, consecrated to the glory of
women and gallantry of men." After
several preliminary chapters, bringing
before the reader the honors paid to
the gentle passion in the days of chiv-
alry, and by the songs of the trouba-
dours, the Laura of Petrarch, the
Beatrice of Dante, Chaucer's Philippa,
Surrey's Geraldine, and various time-
honored delights of the muses, are
passed in review, bringing the story,
by successive ages and in different
lands, with glimpses of Waller's Sac-
charissa and Donne's sweet married
affection, and other heart memorabilia,
to our own era, which can boast in the
affluent enthusiasm of Burns tributes
to the power and glory of the sex, un
16
ANNA JAMESON.
rivalled in grace and tenderness by all
the Anacreons and Ovids of preceding
generations. In her preface, Mrs. Jame-
son, impressed with the deep philoso-
phies involved in such a theme, sighs
for the critical power and judgment of
Madame de Stael. Had she brought
them to bear upon the subject, she
might have produced a less agreeable
book. There was a foolish criticism
upon the work in the London Literary
Gazette, on its first appearance. The
writer, probably the editor Jerdan
himself, after some minor objections,
objected to any such work being writ-
ten at all. " A poet's love," he said,
'' is like the veiled statue of Isis — its
very divinity is its mystery. Who is
there but has some shadowy yet beau-
tiful ideate floating in the innermost
recesses of his soul — some vague but
lovely likeness of those beings whose
smile made the inspiration of those
poets whose love may have interpreted
his own ? Who can endure to have
this Vaucluse of his heart broken in
by the broad daylight of dictionary
research, and these 'fair creatures of
the element' ranged in alphabetical
order, and Martha Blunt and Lady
Mary Wortley Montague affiche with
the same sentimentality, meant to sup-
ply the place of sympathy, with Bea-
trice and Leonora. Our illusions are
like flowers — they will not endure be-
ing gathered, tied up in nosegays, and
paraded, without fading. We shall
conclude with a traveller's story ; one
who, arriving at Vaucluse, was directed
to a little public-house, on whose sign
was painted, 'entertainment for man
and horse ; good beer et Petrarch et
Laurel r Notwithstanding this flip-
pant censure, the book was well re.
ceived, and continues a favorite; the
last edition, an American one, being
in an elegant pocket volume, a frequent
companion of gentle readers.
The Literary Gazette seems to have
repented its hasty judgment of Mrs.
Jameson, for we find it, a year or so
after, heartily praising her next book,
which also dealt with memorable wo-
men, though often of a sterner cast
than the fair beings who had engaged
the affections of the poets. This was
the "Memoirs of Celebrated Female
Sovereigns," a book which has had
many readers in America, having been
included in Harper's "Family Library."
The list begins with Semiramis and
Cleopatra, and ends with Maria The-
resa and Catherine of Russia. There
is call enough here for picturesque
description of events, philosophical
appreciation of character, and sorrow
for misfortune ; and the author fairly
meets the demand, as, in animated style,
she runs rapidly over the stor^r of
events which will probably never
cease to engage the attention of stu-
dents and readers. Unlike most bio-
graphers, the author is unwilling to
sacrifice everything to her heroines.
Though a champion of the rights of
women, she is by no means of opinion
that one of those rights is the right to
a throne. On the contrary, she evi-
dently looks upon female rule with a
great deal of suspicion, looking either
to the welfare of the ruler or the ruled.
" There may be a difference of opinion,"
she says, " as to whether women ought,
or ought not, to be intrusted with the
executive government of a country;
but if, in a very complicated and arti
JAMESON.
17
fieial system of society, the rule of a
woman be tolerated or legalized as a
necessary evil, for the purpose of avoid-
ing worse evils arising from a disputed
succession and civil commotions, then
it remains a question how far the fem-
inine character may be so modified by
education as to render its inseparable
defects as little injurious to society,
and its peculiar virtues as little hurt-
ful to herself, as possible. Women in
possession of power, are so sensible of
their inherent weakness, that they are
always in extremes. Hence, among
the most arbitrary governments re-
corded, are those of women. They
substitute for the dominion of that
superior strength, mental and physical,
which belongs to the other sex, and
with which should rest 'all lawful
rule and right supremacy, the mere
force of will; and call that power
which is founded in weakness. Chris-
tina, of Sweden, has left a memorable
sentence under her own royal hand,
expressing the true feminine idea of
empire ; namely, the privilege of say-
ing je le veux / and however modified
by the character of the individual,
however dissembled — for all had not
the frank audacity of Christina — we
may trace the same feeling, the same
principle of action, in every women
who has either inherited power, or
achieved political greatness; and not
more in the acute Elizabeth, and the
haughty, energetic Catharine, than in
the stupid, heartless Anne and the
amiable Maria Theresa." The reader,
upon laying down the book, impressed
with the prevalent story of great crimes
and great misfortunes, may well be dis-
posed to echo the sentiment of the words
placed by Shakespeare on the lips of
Anne Bullen, in the tragedy of Henry
VIII:-
"By my troth
I would not be a queen 1
- verily,
I swear, 'tis better to be lowly born,
And range with humble livers in content,
Than to be perk'd up in a glistering grief,
And wear a golden sorrow !"
Mrs. Jameson's next book was one
of profounder thought and deeper feel-
ing, one which called foith her best
powers; and remains, though it was
surpassed by her later works in labor
and extent, upon the whole the finest
and most original product of her mind.
The " Characteristics of Women, Moral,
Poetical and Historical," published in
1832, devoted to a philosophical study
of the female characters of Shakes-
peare, places her in the foremost rank
with those who have taught the pre-
sent generation of readers to admiro
and appreciate, as they were never
popularly loved or understood before,
the consummate creations of the great
dramatist. Hallam, in his "History
of the Literature of Europe," review-
ing what has been done by the preten-
tious race of commentators in elucida-
tion of the works of Shakespeare,
from the days of Johnson to our own,
closes his enumeration with a dis-
tinguished compliment to our author-
ess, "In the present century," says he,
" Coleridge and Schlegel, so nearly at
the same time that the question of pri-
ority and even plagiarism has been
mooted, gave a more philosophical, and
at the same time a more intrinsically
exact view of Shakespeare than their
predecessors. What has since been
ANNA JAMESON.
written, has often been highly acute
aud aesthetic, but occasionally with an
excess of refinement, which substitutes
the critic for the work. Mrs. Jame-
son's " Essays on the Female Char-
acters of Shakespeare " are among the
best. It was right that this province
of illustration should be reserved for
a woman's hand, Mrs. Jameson was,
indeed, the first of either sex who fully
entered upon the work. In her recent
studies she had become familiar with
many a phase of character in the me-
morable women of history and bio-
graphy, tracing their experience, sum-
ming up their virtues and defects, with
an inexhausted interest theme, where
she had found the common trials of
life elevated and refined by poetical
associations, and the grandeur insepa-
rable from the lofty stations of queens
and sovereigns. Out of such materials,
drawn from the realities of every-day
life and historic dignity, Shakespeare,
adding to the stock the immense wealth
of his loving sympathy and creative
imagination, had by his "so potent
art," created his Lady Macbeth, his
Constance, his Portia, Miranda, Rosa-
lind, and their fellows, in that rare
gallery of his dramatis personse. Nor
was it less an advantage to his critic,
beside her acquaintance with the
" Loves of the Poets " and the "Female
Sovereigns," that, thrown in a measure
on her own resources in the world, and
pursuing authorship as an art, she had
been compelled to enter profoundly
into the consideration of that great
question, now pressing more and more
upon her sex, the determination,
through a just estimate of her capa-
bilities, of the true development of
the womanly life, and her position in
society and the world. With these
advantages, some of which had been
O /
forced upon her, she entered upon the
study of Shakespeare, particularly of
his female characters, not, we may be
sure, as a task for the bookseller, but
for its own "exceeding great reward."
Her book is divided into four sections,
" Characters of Intellect, Characters of
Passion and Imagination, Characters
of the Affections, Historical Char-
acters." Portia is a type of the first ,
Juliet, of the second ; Desdemona, of
the third ; and Constance, with Lady
Macbeth, of the fourth. The last di-
vision, constructed on accidental cir-
cumstances, is less philosophic than
the others. The historical personages
are, after all, chiefly interesting by
their passions and affections, and might
be ranked in the other classes, where
the characters are also variously af-
fected by their different stations in
life, and the peculiar demands thus
made upon them. In the execution of
this design, Mrs. Jameson brings to
her work a high reverence for her
author and just conception of the capa-
bilities of his art, never forgetting
that he is the many-sided or, as he has;
been called, the " myriad-minded "
Shakespeare. A single illustration
which she employs, indicates her
understanding of the difference be-
tween her previous historic studies,
moving, as it were, on a single line
and for a single purpose, to this new
world, varied by all the possibilities,
the infinite freedom of human emo-
tion and action. " Characters in his-
tory," she truly says, " move before ua
like a procession of figures in basw re-
ANNA JAMESON.
19
lievo / we see one side only, that which
the artist chose to exhibit to us ; the
rest is sunk in the block: the same
characters in Shakespeare are like the
statues cut out of the block, fashioned,
tangible in every part : we may con-
sider them under every aspect, we may
examine them on every side. As the
classical times, when the garb did not
make the man, were peculiarly favor-
able to the development and delinea-
tion of the human form, and have
handed down to us the purest models
of strength and grace — so the times in
which Shakespeare lived were favor-
able to the vigorous delineation of
natural character. Society was not
then one vast conventional masquerade
of manners. In his revelations, the
accidental circumstances are to the in-
dividual character what the drapery
of the antique statue is to the statue
itself; it is evident, that, though
adapted to each other, and studied
relatively, they were also studied sepa-
rately. We trace through the folds
the fine and true proportions of the
figure beneath ; they seem and are, in-
dependent of each other to the prac-
tised eye, though carved together from
the same enduring substance ; at once
perfectly distinct and eternally insepa-
rable. In history we can but study
character in relation to events, to situ-
ation and circumstances, which dis-
guise and encumber it : we are left to
imagine, to infer, what certain people
must have been, from the manner in
which they have acted or suffered.
Shakespeare and nature bring us back
to the true order of things ; and, show-
ing us what the human being is, en-
able us to judge of the possible as
well as the positive result in acting
and suffering. Here, instead of judg-
ing the individual by his actions, we
are enabled to judge of action by a re
ference to the individual. When we
can carry this power into the experi-
• ence of real life, we shall perhaps be
more just to one another, and not con
sider ourselves aggrieved, because we
cannot gather figs from thistles, and
grapes from thorns."
The last observation points to a trait
which gives a peculiar value to the
" characters." It is not only Isabella,
or Cleopatra, or Viola, that we are
studying, but ourselves and the human
nature about us. We are learning at
the same time to have a higher regard
for each other, by comprehending how
" the soul of goodness is mixed with
things evil," and of what, under pres-
sure, our common nature is capable,
and also how to look tenderly upon its
occasional shortcomings. This is the
great privilege and worth of the dra-
matist, to place us intimately for the
time, in the situation of others, with
all their burdens upon us, struggling
with hope and faith, and manifold ex-
ertion to emerge in the better life ; or,
failing in will and endeavor, overcome
by evil, to perish in the last act of
life's tragedy. This, however, is inci-
dental to the author's main work, the
analysis of Shakespeare's poetic and
dramatic creations ; for the two, with
him, are always united. The main
excellence which she has attained in
proving this, is thus indicated by a
writer, in the Edinburgh Review. " It
is in the debateable land, as it were,
of character, that the criticism of a
woman of genius may so often throw
20
ANNA JAMESON".
light on the singularities or moral
enigmas of the past; while even in
those where there are no inconsisten-
cies or difficulties to solve, a thousand
little shades of meaning and delicacies
of feeling and traits of character are
made palpable by her delicacy of an-
alysis, which have escaped the notice
of others, who have occupied them-
selves only with the more marked lines
of character, and to whose duller vis-
ion their microscopic features have
been either invisible or meaningless.
This is the service which, in many par-
ticulars, Mrs. Jameson has rendered to
the female characters of Shakespeare ;
in some cases placing the whole char-
acter in a new light ; in almost all,
elucidating and bringing out unsus-
pected beauties in individual situa-
tions or speeches, in looks, in actions,
in smiles or sighs, in half sentences, in
silence. Meaning is seen to lurk, inti-
mations of character are detected, and
all these little traits are woven to-
gether with so much art into a consis-
tent whole, and so set of? by the graces
of language and illustration, that it is
hardly too much to say that in these
Characteristics the full beauties of
Shakespeare's female characters have
been for the first time understood or
portrayed. Nor is the service thus
rendered to Shakespeare confined
merely to the better understanding
of his heroines; for often, from the
new or clearer light thrown over these,
a light is reflected back even on all the
other personages of the play, and much
that was startling or embarrassing in
the construction of their characters
rendered consistent and intelligible."
The " Characteristics " was followed
the next year by "Memoirs of the
Beauties of the Court of Charles the
Second," written to accompany a series
of portraits after Sir Peter Lely and
other artists of their day. The list in-
cludes Queen Catherine of Braganza,
the Duchess of Cleveland, the Count-
ess of Ossory, Mrs Middleton, Miss
Jennings, not forgetting Nelly Gwynn,
a score or more, in all, of ladies, excep-
tional personages for an English court,
most of them, familiar enough to us in
the pages of Grammont, and the dia-
ries of Evelyn and Pepys, of whom
every one reads with a certain sort of
interest, when the historical conscience
is asleep and the fancy is entertained
with the pictures of that "merry,
laughing, quaffing and unthinking
time." Mrs. Jameson, never overstep-
ping the bounds of propriety, presents
an animated picture of the scene. The
book was originally handsomely is-
sued in quarto for the sake of the en-
gravings. In such publications the
accompanying letter-press is seldom of
any extraordinary value; but the me-
moirs are of sufficient interest by
themselves. It is a book of anecdotes,
and the anecdotes are well told. Every
page sparkles with wit and piquant
adventure. The whole thing is so
unlike any thing in England of the
present day, that the story has an air
of unreality about it; and we seem
transported into a world of fiction,
where ill example, from its remoteness
from every day-life, is comparatively
harmless. Where artists and their
works are to be noticed, the author
shows herself peculiarly at home. In
the " Introduction " she treats the sub
ject generally from that point of view
ANNA JAMESON.
21
passing in review the chief portrait
painters of the age, Lely, Huysman,
Wissing and Kneller, continuing the
sketch to the days of Reynolds and
Lawrence, between whom she insti-
tutes a comparison, or rather contrast.
The passage is of value for the appre-
ciation of these great artists, and for
the suggestion at the close of special
exhibitions of portraits, which has been
carried out in London more than thirty
years afterwards. " The excellencies,"
she says, " of Sir Joshua Reynolds are
more allied to the Venetian school,
those of Sir Thomas Lawrence to the
Flemish school. Sir Joshua reminds
us more of Giorgione and Titian ; Sir
Thomas, of Vandyke and Lely. Both
are graceful ; but the grace of Sir
Joshua Reynolds is more poetical, that
of Sir Thomas Lawrence more spirit-
ual ; there is more of fancy and feel-
ing in Sir Joshua, more of high bred
elegance in Sir Thomas Lawrence. The
first is the sweeter colorist, the latter
the more vigorous draughtsman. In
the portraits of Sir Joshua there is
ever a predominance of sentiment; in
those of Sir Thomas a predominance of
spirit. The pencil of the latter would
instinctively illuminate with animation
the most pensive face ; and the genius
of the former would throw a shade of
tenderness into the countenance of a
virago. Between both, what an en-
chanting gallery might be formed of
the Beauties of George the Third's
reign — the Beauties who have been
presented at St. James's during the
last half century ! Or, to go no further
back than those painted by Lawrence,
since he has been confessedly the Court
painter of England — if the aerial love-
liness of Lady Leicester; the splendid
beauty of Mrs. Littleton ; the poetical
sweetness of Lady Walscourt, with
mind and music breathing from her
face; the patrician grace of Lady
Lansdowne ; in the pensive elegance of
Mrs. Wolfe ; the more brilliant and
intellectual graces of Lady Jersey*;
in Mrs. Hope, with eyes that anticipate
a smile, and lips round which the last
Ion-mot seems to linger still; the
Duchess of Devonshire ; the Lady
Elizabeth Forster ; Miss Thayer ; Lady
Blessington ; Lady Charlotte Camp-
bell ; Mrs. Arbuthnot, etc. — if these,
and a hundred other fair ' stars,' who
each in their turn have blazed away a
season on the walls of the Academy,
'the cynosure of neighboring eyes,'
and then set forever to the public — if
these could be taken from their scat-
tered stations over pianos and chim-
ney-pieces, and assembled together for
one spring in the British Gallery, an
exhibition more interesting, more at-
tractive, more dazzlingly beautiful, can
scarcely be imagined ; but if the pride
of some, and the modesty of others,
would militate against such an arrange-
ment, we know nothing that could
prevent the Directors of the British
Institution from gratifying the public
with a regular chronological series of
British historical portraits, beginning
with the age of Henry VIII. and
Elizabeth, as illustrated by Hans Hol-
bein, Antonio More, Oliver, etc., and
bringing them down to the conclusion
of the last century."
In 1834, Mrs. Jameson republished
1 The Diary of an Ennuyee," with an
additional volume of traveling obser-
vations, and a series of essays, mostly
EL-
-J
ANNA JAMESON.
in the form of dialogue, on art, litera-
ture and character, under the general
title, "Visits and Sketches at Home
and Abroad." In this work, she first
made the English reading public gen-
erally acquainted with the art treas-
ures of Munich and the rising school
of modern German artists. A visit to
Moritz Ketzsch, while at Dresden, sup-
plies us with a most interesting ac-
count of this simple-minded enthusias-
tic artist, whose graphic illustrations
of the works of Goethe, Schiller, and,
above all, Shakespeare, have, through
their cheap method of reproduction,
found their way into every well-edu-
cated English household. He had
then just entered upon his studies of
Shakespeare, and there is nothing said
of his praise by Mrs. Jameson which
he did not make good in the later pro-
ductions of his pencil. After visiting
this artist in his city studio, she ac-
cepts an invitation to his home or
country place, when her narrative pre-
sents us with a truly idyllic picture :
" Whether it were farm-house, villa, or
vineyard, or all together, I could not
well decide. The drive was delicious.
The road wound along the banks of
the magnificent Elbe, the gently-swell-
ing hills, all laid out in vineyards, ris-
ing on our right ; and, though it was
November, the air was soft as summer.
Ketzsch, who had perceived our ap-
proach from his window, came out to
meet us — took me under his arm as if
we had been friends of twenty years'
standing, and leading me into his pic-
turesque domicile, introduced me to
his wife — as pretty a piece of poetry
as one shall see in a summer's day.
She was the daughter of a vine-dresser,
whom Retzsch fell in love with while
she was yet almost a child, and educa-
ted for his wife — at least so runs the
tale. At the first glance, I detected
the original of that countenance, which,
more or less idealized, runs through
all his representations of female youth
and beauty ; here was the model, both
in feature and expression. She smiled
upon us a most cordial welcome, re-
galed us with delicious coffee and
cakes prepared by herself; then, taking
up her knitting, sat down beside us;
and while I turned over admiringly
O «/
the beautiful designs with which her
husband had decorated her album, the
looks of veneration and love with
which she regarded him, and the ex-
pression of kindly, delighted sympathy
with which she smiled upon me, I shall
not easily forget. As for the album
itself, queens might have envied her
such homage ; and what would not a
dilettante collector have given for such
a possession.
The scene in the writings of oui
authoress next changes to Canada, in
a record published in 1838, of her ex-
periences in that country, and some of
the adjoining parts of the United
States, under the title " Winter Studies
and Summer Rambles in Canada." In
this work we have an interesting ac-
count of her residence at Toronto, with
some rather piquant observations on
the society of the place, with notices
of the scenery and a sketch of a winter
tour to Niagara, with which, for a nov-
elty, she confesses herself disappointed,
though she makes amends for this in
her admiration in another visit to the
spot in the summer. When the spring
opens, she traverses the London clis-
ATsTNA JAMESOK
fcrict on the northern shore of Lake
Erie, crosses Lake St. Clair to Detroit,
and thence pursues her way to Macki-
naw, where she forms an interesting
acquaintance with the Schoolcrafts,
and beyond, to the Sault St. Marie.
While on this route, she makes a par-
ticular study of the Indians, who were
still personages of some importance in
the region, surveys their manners close-
ly ; and, by the aid of Mr. Schoolcraft
and his wife, is able to reconstruct
some of their songs and legends, which,
for the time, occupy her attention, to
the exclusion of those recollections of
Weimar, of Goethe, Schiller, and other
German literary favorites which are
freely interspersed through the other
portions of the two agreeable volumes
in which she narrates these American
adventures.
Her next publication, in 1840, car-
ries us back again to her beloved
Germany, which had taught her so
much in literature and art. This was
a translation entitled " Social Life of
Germany, illustrated in the Acted
Dramas of Her Royal Highness, the
Princess Amelia of Saxony," with an
introduction and notes to each drama,
of which five were chosen out of the
fifteen written by the noble authoress.
In preparing this work, Mrs. Jame-
son was naturally desirous of exhibit-
ing to the world of English readers, a
new example of the capacity of the
female intellect in furtherance of her
views of the widening sphere of wo-
man's resources and employments ;
while her main object, of course, as
the title of the book indicates, is to
exhibit the simple and varied manners
of German life, drawn by a lady of a
princely house, celebrated foi its ac-
complishments in literature and art,
Incidentally, she remarks that the dif-
ficulties of exertion, and the attain-
ment of success in the paths of author-
ship are not confined to the indigent
and lowly, but may be felt checking
the budding intellect in the courts of
princes. She appears, indeed, of opin-
ion, that a new and most curious chap-
ter might be added to such works as
"The Pursuit of Knowledge Under
Difficulties," by carrying the search
for materials into royal halls. " If,"
says she, " ' many a gem of purest ray
serene ' lie hidden in dark unfathoma-
ble depths of poverty and misery;
many a fiower, born to diffuse fra-
grance and blessedness through God's
world, droops faint, or runs rank in
the confined atmosphere of a court, or
in some similar hot-bed, where light
and heat (which are truth and love)
are admitted by measure. It were to
be wished that the two extremes of
society could be a little more just to
each other ; while you shall hear the
vulgar great, wondering and speculat-
ing over genius and refinement in a
Ploughman Poet and a Corn Law
Rhymer, you shall see the vulgar little,
incredulous of the human sympathies,
the tender yearnings, the brilliant,
though often unemployed capacities
cf those lifted above their sordid
wants and cares : yet are they all one
brotherhood and sisterhood. Many a
genius rests mute and inglorious within
a trophied vault, as well as in a village
church-yard, equally stifled and smoth-
ered up by impediments and obstruc-
tions infinite." The Princess Amelia
shared these difficulties in her youth
24
ANNA JAMESON.
from the excessive restrictions of the
court etiquette in Saxony ; and, had it
not been for the varied experience of
life in exile, to which she was subjec.
ted in the Napoleonic wars, she proba-
bly never would have been enabled to
appreciate the life which she depicted
in her domestic dramas, which, in sim-
ple story, actuated by a pure morality,
" lead us into the country-house of the
farmer, the laboratory of the physician,
the back-parlor of the banker, even the
still-room of the notable fraulein who
mixes up cookery, account-keeping, and
a passion for Schiller, so as to form an
agreeable picture of industry and ac-
complishment."
With the exception of several minor
publications, growing out of her advo-
cacy of the just claims to employment
for women, as her Essay on Woman's
Position, and that on the relation of
"Mothers and Governesses," included
in a collection of "Memoirs and Es-
says illustrative of Art Literature and
Social Morals," published in 1846, and
two Lectures on "Sisters of Charity
Abroad and at Home," and " The So-
cial Employment of Women," deliver-
ed ten years later, the literary efforts
of Mrs. Jameson were to be henceforth
exclusively devoted to her favorite
topic of art illustration. As her es-
says in biography had culminated in
her sympathetic and philosophical ap-
preciation of the Female Characters of
Shakespeare, so her studies of art
widened in extent and rose in interest
till they were concentrated on the im-
portant topics of Christian Art, to
which all her previous acquaintance
with painting from her childhood was
made accessory. We have noticed her
familiarity with ancient and modern
German art. In 1842, recognized as
an authority on 9Tich subjects, she was
employed in the preparation of a Hand-
book to the Public Galleries of Art in
and near London, embracing the Na-
tional Gallery, the Royal Collections at
Windsor, those at Hampton Court,
the Dulwich Gallery, Soane's Museum,
and the collection of Barry's Pictures.
This was followed by a companion
volume, two years later, including
the Buckingham Palace, Bridgewater,
Sutherland, Grosvenor, Lansdowne,
Sir Robert Peel, and the poet Rogers's
collections. In 1845, appeared, in two
volumes of Charles Knight's popular
"Shilling Library," a series from her
pen of some thirty biographies of ar-
tists, "Memoirs of the Early Italian
Painters, and of the Progress of Paint-
ing in Italy, from Cimabue to Bassa-
no." Three years later, in 1848, the
first of her series of elaborate works
on Christian Art appeared in two ele-
gant small quarto volumes, from the
press of Longmans. It was entitled
" Sacred and Legendary Art," contain-
ing descriptive and critical essays on
the legends of the angels and arch-
angels, the evangelists, apostles, doc-
tors of the Church, Mary Magdalene,
the patron saints and virgin patron-
esses, the Greek and Latin martyrs,
the early bishops, the hermit and the
warrior saints of Christendom. This
was followed, in 1850, by a special
volume on the "Legends of the Mo«
nastic Orders, as represented in the
Fine Arts," succeeded in 1852, by a
similar volume of "Legends of the
Madonna." There yet remained the
sacred themo, crowning the whole, tc
ANNA JAMESON.
25
which a longer period of labor was
devoted, and which remained unfin-
ished in her hands at the time of her
death. This was " the History of Our
Lord as Exemplified in Works of Art ;
with that of His Types ; St. John the
Baptist ; and other Persons of the Old
and New Testament." This work, con-
tinued and completed by her friend,
Lady Eastlake, was published in 1864.
Throughout the several series there
runs a uniform purpose to present, in
a clear and attractive light, with can-
dor, and yet with reverence, all that
may exhibit, in full and fair propor-
tion, the devotion of art, through
many ages, to the sublime characters
and vast array of secondary person-
ages, associated in ecclesiastical his-
tory, with the promulgation of the
Christian faith. The first desire of
the author is, evidently, to be emi-
nently useful to the reader and stu-
dent; to bring before them — a feat
never before attempted in English
book-making — by diligent research
and study, an abstract of the vast ac-
cumulations of learning on the several
subjects. To this Mrs. Jameson added
an unwearied diligence in personal ob-
servation of the works of art she de-
scribes, many of which are exhibited
in engravings for the volumes, from
designs by her own hand. The enu-
meration just given of the leading di-
visions or sections of these six vol-
umes, may afford some indication of
the extent of labor involved, in which,
it must be remembered, there were at
every stage critical difficulties to be
met and decided upon. It was an un-
dertaking indeed, of no slight magni-
tude, to be divided among several per-
sons, requiring unwearied industry and
sagacity of the highest order ; — and all
this, with the exception of the supple
mentary work of Lady Eastlake, was
accomplished by a single woman at
the close of a life extending to more
than threescore. Seldom, indeed, has
there been raised a more distinguished
monument of literary industry. The
subjects are imperishable in interest ;
will attract more and more attention
as, in the course of time, they recede
farther in the historic period ; while
the name of Mrs. Jameson will justly
be associated with them in these books,
which, from her long practice and ac-
customed felicity in narrative writing
of this class, please equally the learned
and the unlearned.
The life of Mrs. Jameson was liter-
ally closed in the midst of her labors.
After a visit to the Eeading Boom of
the British Museum, in March, 1860,
she complained of a cold ; in two or
three days a severe attack of bron-
chitis succeeded, from the effects of
which she expired on the eighteenth
of the month.
The mind of Mrs. Jameson was well
balanced. She possessed what is rare
in both sexes, and especially so in the
female writer, a well-regulated enthu-
siasm. She could be true to her own
Protestant culture and conviction, in
treating, as she had so often occasion
to do in her works on Christian art,
the Roman Catholic legends, without
giving needless offence to the Church
from which they sprang, or doing in-
justice to their spirits. She could dis-
cuss the vexed question of Woman's
Rights, and demand for women an en-
larged sphere of occupations, without
ANNA JAMESON.
setting up any assumptions, or claim-
ing for the sex anything beyond its
legitimate province. Dwelling much
in her writing upon the past, and its
themes of romance, she was not insen-
sible to the poetic grandeur of the age
in which she lived. Writing of Venice,
in one of her essays, entitled "The
House of Titian," she characteristically
says, " Not to forget the great wonder
of modern times, I hear people talking
of the railroad across the Lagune as if
it were to unpoetise Venice ; as if this
new approach were a malignant inven-
tion to bring the syren of the Adriatic
into the 'dull catalogue of common
things ;' and they call on me to join
the outcry, to echo sentimental denun-
ciations, quoted out of" Murray's Hand-
book ;•' but I cannot — I have no sym-
pathy with them. To me, that tre-
mendous bridge, spanning the sea,
only adds to the wonderful one won-
der more — to great sources of thought
one yet greater. Those persons, me-
thinks, must be strangely prosaic au
fond who can see poetry in a Gothic
pinnacle, or a crumbling temple^ or a
gladiator's circus ; and in this gigantic
causeway, and in seventy-five archea
traversed with fiery speed by dragons,
brazen-winged, — to which neither Alp
nor ocean can oppose a barrier — noth-
ing but a common-place. I must say I
pity them. I see a future fraught
with hopes for Venice —
1 Twining memories of old time,
With new virtues more sublime !"
I will join in any denunciations against
the devastators, white-washers, and so-
called renovators; may they be — re-
warded ! But in the midst of our re-
grets for the beauty that is outworn
or profaned, why should we despond,
as if the fountains of beauty were re-
served in heaven, and flowed no more
to us on earth ? Why should we be
always looking back, till our heads are
well-nigh twisted off our shoulders?
Why all our reverence, all our faith
for the past ; as if the night were al-
ready come 'in which no man can
work' — as if there were not a long
day before us for effort in the cause o '
humanity — for progress in the know!
edge of good 2"
JOHN FREDERICK WILLIAM HERSCHEL.
s:
IR JOHN FREDERICK WIL-
LIAM HERSCHEL, Bart., the
only son of Sir William Herschel, the
celebrated astronomer of the reign of
George III., and inheritor of his fame,
of Hanoverian descent, was born at
Slough, near Windsor, in England,
March 7th, 1792. Educated at Cam-
bridge, at St. John's College, he dis-
tinguished himself there from the first,
by his high mathematical genius, and
a fondness for physical science in all
its branches. He took his degree of
Bachelor of Arts in 1813, with high
honors as Senior Wrangler and Smith's
Prizeman. From that time, till the
death of his father in 1822, he was oc-
cupied chiefly in mathematical studies
and researches in theoretical physics.
His first work of note was " A Collec-
tion of Examples of the Application
of the Calculus to Finite Differences,"
published at Cambridge in 1820. It
was not till after his father's death
that he devoted himself in an express
manner to the continuation of that im-
mense work of astronomical research
and investigation, which his father had
begun and carried on through a life of
such magnificent results. Abandoning
O O
other pursuits, or making them for the
time subordinate, he commenced, about
the year 1825, a series of observations
of the sidereal heavens, after his fa-
ther's methods, and with his father's
instruments. In this labor, in which,
for a time, he co-operated with Sii
James South, he proposed to himseli
at first, to use his own words, " no fur-
ther object than a re-examination of
the nebulae and clusters of stars dis-
covered by his father in his * sweeps
of the heavens,' and described by him
in three catalogues presented to the
Royal Society, and published by them
in their ' Transactions ' for the years
1786, 1789, and 1802." The execution
of this undertaking occupied eight full
years, and involved results much more
extensive than had been at first con-
templated. As regards nebulae and
clusters of stars, the results were ex-
hibited complete in the year 1833,
when they were presented to the Roy-
al Society in the form of a Catalogue,
arranged in the order of Right Ascen-
sion, which was published in their
" Transactions " of the same year. " In
this work," says the author, "are re-
corded observations of 2,306 nebulae
and clusters ; of which 1,781 are iden-
tical with objects occurring in my fa
<27)
28
JOHNS' FREDERICK WILLIAM HERSCHEL.
tlier's catalogue, in the small but in-
teresting collection published by Mes-
sier, in the " Memoires de 1' Academic
des Sciences," for 1771, and the " Con-
naissances des Terns " for 1783, 1784,
and in M. Struve's "Catalogue of
Double Stars: the remaining 525 are
new." But these were not the only
results of the eight years' survey. A
great number of double stars of all
classes, and orders had also been no-
ticed and observed, and their places
taken, " to the amount altogether,"
says Sir John, " of between 3,000 and
4,000 ;" the observations of which, re-
duced and arranged in the order of
their right ascension, had, from time
to time, in the course of the surveys,
been published in six catalogues, in
" Transactions of the Royal Astronom-
ical Society," the first in 1825, the
others in subsequent years. Results so
important, obtained by labor so syste-
matic, fixed Herschel's place as the
man who, among living astronomers,
was pre-eminently the successor of his
father.
As early as 1826, this was recogniz-
ed, when the Royal Astronomical So-
ciety voted to him and Sir James
South, a gold medal each, for their
observation of double stars ; but, at the
close of the survey, in 1833, the asso-
ciationa with his name were correspond-
ingly increased. In addition to the
labors of the survey, he had by that
time given to the world proofs of his
industry and versatility, which even
alone would have counted for much —
namely, various scattered memoirs
published in the " Transactions of the
Astronomical Society ;" a " Treatise on
Sound," published in 1830, in the " En-
cyclopaedia Metropolitana ; a " Trea-
tise on the Theory of Light," publish-
ed in the same work in 1831 ; and his
more celebrated and popular " Pre-
liminary Discourse on the Study of
Natural Philosophy," published in
" Lardner's Cyclopaedia " in the same
year. This last-mentioned work, ad-
mitting, as it did, from the nature of
its subject, more of general philosoph-
ic thought than the author's special
treatises on individual topics of physi-
cal science, gave the author a place in
the higher didactic literature, as well
as in the science of his country.
In 1836, there appeared in the same
" Cyclopaedia " a " Treatise of Astrono-
my," also by Herschel, and proving
his power as a popular expositor on
the peculiar science of his family. Be-
fore the publication of this work,
however, he had undertaken and com-
menced a second great design in prac-
tical astronomy, in continuation and
completion of that which he had con-
cluded in 1833. The southern heav-
ens still remained to be surveyed, as
well as the northern ; and Herschel
resolved, if possible, to add this, till
then, comparatively unknown hemis-
phere to the domain of astronomy, so
as to complete for mankind the survey
of the whole sphere of the sidereal
space. His own account of his inten-
tion and hopes is surprisingly simple.
" Having," he says, " so far succeeded
to my wishes, and having by practice
acquired sufficient mastery of the in-
strument employed (a reflecting tele-
scope of eighteen and one - quarter
inches clear aperture, and twenty feet
focus, on my father's construction), and
of the delicate process of polishing the
JOHN" FEEDEEICK WILLIAM HEESCHEL.
29
specula ; being, moreover, strongly in-
vited by the peculiar interest of the
subject, and the wonderful nature of
the objects which presented themselves
in the course of its prosecution, I re-
solved to attempt the completion of the
survey of the whole surface of the hea-
vens, and for this purpose to transport
into the other hemisphere the same in-
strument which had been employed in
this, so as to give a unity to the result
of both portions of the survey, and to
render them comparable with each
other."
In execution of this great design,
he set out, with the telescope men-
tioned and other necessary apparatus,
for the Cape of Good Hope, as afford-
ing the most suitable station for his
purpose. He reached the Cape on the
15th of January, 1834, and, after some
search, selected the mansion of a Dutch
proprietor at Feldhausen, about six
miles from Table Bay, and situated in
a beautiful and well-shaded spot. Here
he set up his instruments, not one of
which had suffered injury on the voy-
age ; and on the 5th of March, he was
able to begin a regular course of sweep-
ings of the southern heaven. His ob-
servations were continued without any
intermission, save that occasioned by
the weather, over four years, or from
March, 1834, to May, 1838; and all at
his own expense. Immense interest
was felt by the scientific world of Eu-
rope and America in the progress of
his solitary and sublime labors. From
time to time curiosity was gratified by
accounts of some of the observations,
conveyed over to friends ; but it was
not till the year 1847, or nine years
after his return to England, that the
IT.— 4
collected and digested results of his
four years' residence at the Cape v^ere
published in a regular form. This was
done in a large quarto volume, pub
lished that year, under the title of
"Results of Astronomical Observa-
tions, made during 1834-'38, at the
Cape of Good Hope; being the Com-
pletion of a Telescopic Survey of the
Whole Surface of the Visible Heavens,
commenced in 1825." The nature and
extent of the observations and disqui-
sitions in this work may be judged
from a list of its contents. It is di
vided into seven distinct portions —
the first treating of " the Nebulae of
the Southern Hemisphere ;" the second
of " the Double Stars of the Southern
Hemisphere ;" .the third of " Astrono-
my, or the Numerical Expression of
the Apparent Magnitudes of Stars;"
the fourth of "the Distribution of
Stars and the Constitution of the Ga-
laxy in the Southern Hemisphere;"
the fifth of " Observations of Halley's
Comet, (as seen at the Cape towards
the close of 1835), with remarks on
its physical condition, and that of
Comets in general ;" the sixth of " Ob-
servations of the Satellites of Saturn ;"
and the seventh of " Observations of
the Solar Spots." It will be seen from
this list of contents, that, though the
astronomer's main object in the south-
ern hemisphere, as in the northern,
had been the detection of new and the
re-examination of old nebulae, yet his
observations had extended themselves
so as to include all the objects for
which his position was favorable. In
fact, not only was a mass of new ob-
servations appertaining to the southern
heavens, and exhausting those heavens
30
JOHN FREDERICK WILLIAM HEESCHEL.
of what they could be made to yield,
added to astronomical science by the
survey; but many of the extreme
speculations of the elder Herschel and
others, relative to the highest problems
of astronomy, were reviewed afresh in
the li^ht of the new observations.
O
Herschel's residence at the Cape was
beneficial also to Meteorology. While
there, he suggested a plan of simul-
taneous observations to be made at
different places — a plan subsequently
developed in a publication of his, is-
sued under official military authority
in 1844, and entitled " Instructions for
Making and Registering Meteorologi-
cal Observations at various stations in
Southern Africa." On his return to
England, in 1838, he was received with
every public honor. During his ab-
sence, the Royal Astronomical Society-
had again voted him their gold medal ;
on the occasion of the coronation of
Queen Victoria he was made a D.C.L.
of Oxford ; and there was a proposal
to elect him to succeed the Duke of
Sussex as President of the Royal So-
ciety. In 1848, he was President of
the Royal Astronomical Society. Hav-
ing by that time completed the digest
and publication of his observations
at the Cape, he was free to pass on to
other labors. Among these was his
work entitled, " Outlines of Astrono-
my," enlarged from his former treatise
in " Lardner's Cyclopaedia," published
in 1849. In December, 1850, the office
of Master of the Mint was conferred
upon him, a position which he held
for five years, when he resigned it in
consequence of ill-health. He contri-
buted the articles on " The Telescope "
and "Meteorology and Physical Geo-
graphy," to the Encyclopedia Britan
nwa. and wrote several articles on sci-
entific subjects for the Edinburgh and
Quarterly Reviews, which were col-
lected and published in a separate
form in 1857, with some of his lec-
tures and addresses on public occa-
sions. By the side of his scientific
pursuits he gave much attention in his
latter years to literature, publishing an
English version in hexameters of Ho-
mer's Iliad. His death occurred on
the llth of May, 1871, at his seat of
Collingwood, near Hawkshurst, Kent.
To this outline narrative of the ca-
reer of Sir John Herschel, for which
we are indebted to the " English Cy-
clopaedia," an excellent authority in
this field, we may add some passages
from the genial analysis of the as-
tronomer's methods and faculties, con-
tributed, after his death, to the " Corn-
hill Magazine," by Mr. Richard A.
Proctor, one of the foremost scientific
writers of the day. " It would be
difficult," says he, " to say in what de-
partment of astronomical research Sir
John Herschel was most eminent. That
he was the greatest astronomer of his
day, even those who rivaled or sur-
passed him in special departments ad-
mit without question. He was, indeed,
facile pririceps, not merely among the
' astronomers of his own country, but
among all his astronomical contempo-
raries. He held this position chiefly
by reason of the wide range of subjects
over which his mastery extended. He
was unequalled, or rather unapproach-
ed, in his general knowledge of the
science of astronomy. It need hardly
be said that he was proficient in the
mathematical departments of the sci
JOHN FREDERICK WILLIAM HERSCHEL.
ence (perhaps no one of whom, this
cannot be said may be regarded as an
astronomer at all). In his knowledge
of the details of observatory work he
was surpassed by few, and his acquain-
tance with the specialties of astronomi-
cal instruments was such as might
have been anticipated from the excel-
lence of his mathematical training. He
was by far the greatest astronomical ob-
server the world has known, with one
single exception — Sir W. Herschel.
That, in certain respects, other observ-
ers surpassed him may be admitted
very readily. He had not the eagle
vision of the late Mr. Dawes, for in-
stance; nor had he the aptitude for
accurately measuring celestial spaces,
angles, and so on, which some of the
German astronomers have displayed of
late years. But such minutiae as these
may well be overlooked, when we
consider what Sir John Herschel actu-
ally achieved as an observer. Thous-
ands of double stars detected, measur-
ed and watched, as they circled round
each other ; upwards of two thousand
nebulae discovered; the southern hea-
vens gauged with a twenty-feet tele-
scope— these, and like achievements,
dwarf into insignificance all the obser-
vational work accomplished by astron-
mers since Sir W. Herschel ceased
his labors. In one respect, and that
noteworthy, Sir John Herschel even
surpassed his father. Only one astron-
omer has yet lived who had surveyed
with a powerful telescope the whole
sphere of the heavens — that astrono-
mer was the younger Herschel. He
went over the whole range of his
father's observations, in order (to use
his own w^ords) that he might obtain
a mastery over his instrument ; then
in the southern hemisphere he com-
pleted the survey of the heavens, He
alone, then, of all the astronomers the
world has known, could boast that nc
part of the celestial depths had escap-
ed his scrutiny. I need not dwell on
Sir John Herschel's success in expound-
ing the truths of astronomy. We owe to
him, beyond all question, the wide in-
terest at present felt for the science, as
well as the special fervor with which
the younger astronomers of our day
discuss its truths. And lastly, (pass-
ing over many departments of astro-
nomical study), Sir John Herschel's
position as a theorist in astronomy is
unquestionably a most eminent one.
" Let the position of scientific theo-
rizing be rightly apprehended. We
hear much of theory and practice, or, in
the case of such a science as astronomy,
of theory and observation, as if the
two were in some sense opposed to
each other. Nay, unfortunately, it is
not uncommon to hear some observers
speak of the astronomical theorist as
if he held a position quite apart from
theirs. Theorists do not, on the other
hand, adopt a corresponding tone in
speaking of observers. And this foi
a very simple reason — the theorist
must needs value the labors of the ob-
server, because it is on such labors
that he must base his theories. But
observers — at least such observers as
do not themselves care -to theorize —
are apt to contemn the theorist, to
suppose that the hypotheses he deals
with have been evolved from the
depths of his moral consciousness, in-
stead of being based on those very
observations which they mistakenly
JOHN FREDERICK WILLIAM HERSCHEL.
imagine that the theorist undervalues.
The fact, indeed, is really this — that
the theorist alone values observation
as much as it deserves. The observer
is too apt to value observations for
their own sake; the theorist sees in
them a value beyond that which they
possess in themselves — a value depend-
ing on their relation to other observa-
tions, as well as a value depending on
the application of suitable processes
of manipulation, or, as it were, of man-
ufacture. It is not going too far, in-
deed, to say that observations as origi-
nally made are as raw material — high-
ly valuable it may well be (and the
manufacturer will be better aware of
this than the producer of the raw ma-
terial), but owing their value to their
capacity for being wrought into such
and such fabrics. It would be as rea-
sonable for the miner to despise the
smith and the engineer, as for the ob-
server in science to contemn him who
interprets observations and educes their
true value. Let me quote here a passage
from those too little studied essays, the
papers contributed by Sir "W. Herschel
to the i Transactions ' of the Eoyal So-
ciety. The passage is interesting, as be-
longing to the opening of that noble es-
say in which he first presented to the
world his ideas respecting the constitu-
tion of the celestial depths. ' First let
me mention,' he says, ' that if we would
hope to make any progress in investi-
gations of a delicate nature, we ought
to avoid two opposite extremes, of which
I can hardly say which is the most
dangerous. If we indulge a fanciful
imagination and build worlds of our
own, we must no1 wonder at our going
wide from the path of truth and nature ;
but these will vanish like the Carte-
sian vortices, that soon gave way when
better theories were offered. On the
other hand, if we add observation to
observation, without attempting to
draw, not only certain conclusions, but
also conjectural views from them, we
offend against the very end for which
only observations ought to be made.' 1 1
will endeavor,' he adds, speaking of
the special work he was then en-
gaged upon, ' to keep a proper me-
dium; but if I should deviate from
that, I could wish not to fall into the
latter error.'
" Sir John Herschel has himself de-
scribed in clear and powerful language
the quality which is primarily requis-
ite in the theorist. 'As a first prepar-
ation, he must loosen his hold on all
crude and hastily-adopted notions, and
must strengthen himself by something
like an effort and a resolve for the un-
prejudiced admission of any conclusion
which shall appear to be supported by
careful observation and logical argu
ment, even s'hould it prove of a nature
adverse to notions he may have pre-
viously formed for himself, or taken
up, without examination, on the credit
of others. Such an effort is, in fact, a
commencement of that intellectual dis-
cipline which forms one of the most
important ends of all science. It is
the first movement of approach to-
wards that state of mental purity
which alone can fit us for a full and
steady perception of moral beauty as
well as physical adaptation. It is the
1 euphrasy and rue ' with which we
must l purge our sight ' before we can
receive and contemplate as they are
the lineaments of truth and nature
JOHN FREDEKICK WILLIAM HEESCHEL.
33
These just principles have been per-
haps as clearly laid down by other
men of science ; but it may be ques-
tioned whether any has ever more
thoroughly obeyed them than Sir
John Herschel. The enforced mental
purity with which he approached .a
subject on which he proposed to theor-
ize was indeed so remarkable that to
many it was scarce even intelligible.
tlis determination to remove from his
mind all the effects of preconceived
opinions, whether adopted independ-
ently, or received at the hands of oth-
ers, was mistaken by some for an un-
due humility of mind. The coinpletest
proof which a man of science can give
of this ' mental purity,' is afforded by
a readiness to submit to some crucial
test a theory which he has strong rea-
sons for desiring to see established. I
draw a distinction here between test-
ing a theory and the search for evi-
dence respecting a theory. One who
is not free from prejudice may yet
none the less eagerly search for evi-
dence respecting the theories he desires
to advocate. But to test a theory cru-
cially, to enter on a series of researches
which must needs reveal the weak
points of a theory, this is what only
the true man of science is capable of.
'This,' as Professor Tyndall well re-
marks, t is the normal action of the
scientific mind. If it were otherwise —
if scientific men were not accustomed
to demand verification — if they were
satisfied with the imperfect while the
perfect is attainable, their science, in-
stead of being, as it is, a fortress of
adamant, would be a house of clay, ill-
fitted to bear the buffetings of the
storms to which it has been from
time to time, and is at present, ex
posed.'
" I know of no more remarkable in-
stance of Sir John Herschel's readiness
and skill in interpreting observed facts
than the way in which he dealt with
the features he had recognized in the
Magellanic Clouds. He was the first
to survey those strange celestial re-
gions with a powerful telescope. He
mapped down and pictured multitudes
of star cloudlets, scattered among the
myriads of minute stars which produce
the milky light of the Magellanic
Clouds. At this point, others might
have ceased their labors. There was
an array of interesting objects contain-
ed in certain regions of the heavens —
what more could be said ? But Sir
John Herschel was not thus satisfied.
He reasoned from the shape of the
Magellanic Clouds to the distances of
tho star-cloudlets within them, and
thence to the scale on which these
star - cloudlets are formed. He was
able to deduce in this way perhaps
the most important conclusion to
which astronomers have ever been led
by abstract reasonings — a conclusion
interpreted by Whewell, Herbert Spen-
cer, and in my own inquiries into the
star-depths, to mean nothing short of
this : that, so far as the only available
evidence we have is concerned, all or-
ders of star-cloudlets belong to our
own star system, and not to external
galaxies.
"For another instance of Sir John
Herschel's power in this respect, I
would refer the reader to his discus-
sion of the phenomena presented by
Halley's comet during its approach to-
wards and recession from the sun ID
JOHN FKEDEKICK WILLIAM HEKSCHEL.
the years 1835-1836. A brief resume
of this discussion will be found in the
charming volume entitled 'Familiar
Essays on Scientific Subjects ;' but the
student of astronomy should also read
the original paper in the 'Results of
Astronomical Observations made at
the Cape of Good Hope.' Here I shall
merely quote the conclusion of the
reasoning, as summarized in the * Fa-
miliar Essays,' in order to show how
much which was certainly not directly
contained in the observations was de-
duced in this instance by abstract rea-
soning. It was 'made clear' that the
tail of this comet * was neither more nor
less than an accumulation of luminous
vapor, darted off, in the first instance,
towards the sun, as if it were some-
thing raised up, and as it were ex-
ploded, by the sun's heat, out of the
kernel, and then immediately and for-
cibly turned back and repelled from
the sun.'
" Another faculty which the theorist
should possess in a high degree is a
certain liveliness of imagination, where-
by analogies may be traced between
the relations of the subject on which
he is theorizing and those of objects
not obviously associated with that
subject. This faculty Sir John Her-
schel possessed in a very high degree —
almost as strikingly as his father, who
ia this respect probably surpassed all
other astronomers, unless we place
Kepler and Newton on the same level.
It is obvious that the faculty is of ex-
treme importance, though it is one
which requires a judicious control,
since if it be too readily indulged, it
may at times lead us astray. One of
bhe finest illustrations of Sir John
Herschel's aptitude in tracing such
analogies is to be found in his rea-
soning respecting the zones in which
the solar spots ordinarily make their
appearance. I give this reasoning
as it was originally presented, in
the fine work to which I have al-
ready so often referred, the " Re-
sults of Observations made at the
Cape of Good Hope.' ' Whatever be
the physical cause of the spots,' says
Herschel, 'one thing is certain, that
they have an intimate connection with
the rotation of the sun upon its axis.
The absence of spots in the polar re-
gions of the sun, and their confine-
ment to two zones extending to about
latitude thirty-five degrees on either side
with an equatorial zone much more
rarely visited by spots, is a fact which
at once refers their cause to fluid cir-
culations, modified, if not produced,
by that rotation, by reasoning of the
very same kind whereby we connect
our own system of trade and anti-trade
winds with the earth's rotation. Having
given any exciting cause for the circu-
lation of atmospheric fluids from the
polls to the equator and back again,
or vice versa, the effect of rotation will
necessarily be to modify those currents
as our trade winds and monsoons aie
modified, and to dispose all those me-
teorological phenomena on a great
scale, which accompany them as their
visible manifestations, in zones parallel
to the equator, with a calm equatorial
zone interposed.' Herschel then pro-
ceeds to inquire ' what cause of circu-
lation can be found in the economy of
the sun, so far as we know and can
understand it ?' With this inquiry
however, we are not at present con
JOHN" FREDERICK WILLIAM HEESCHEL.
35
rp-rued, save only to note how the ap-
titude of the theorist in the recogni-
tion of analogies leads him to inquiries
which otherwise he would not have
entered upon.
"Sir John Herschel, indeed, enter-
tained a singularly strong belief in
the existence of analogies throughout
the whole range of created matter.
As an evidence of this, I venture to
quote a passage from a letter of great
interest, which I received from him. in
August, 1869. It relates to the con-
stitution of the heavens, referring es-
pecially to a remark of mine to the ef-
fect that all forms of star-cloud and
star-cluster seem to" be included with-
in the limits of our own sidereal sys-
tem. ' An opinion,' he wrote, ' which
the structure of the Magellanic Clouds
has often suggested to me, has been
strongly recalled by what you say of
the inclusion of every variety of nebu-
lous or clustering form within the ga-
laxy— viz : that if such be the case ;
that is, if these forms belong to and
form part and parcel of the galactic
system, then that system includes with-
in itself miniatures of itself on an al-
most infinitely reduced scale ; and
what evidence then have we that there
exists a universe beyond? — unless a
sort of argument from analogy that
the galaxy, with all its contents, may
be but one of these miniatures of that
vast universe, and so on ad infinitum /
and that in that universe there may
exist multitudes of other systems on a
scale as vast as our galaxy, the ana-
logues of those other nebulous and
clustering forms which are not minia-
tures of our galaxy.' This, perhaps,
is the grandest picture of the uni-
verse that has ever been conceived by
man.
" Next in order comes that faculty by
which the chain of causes and effects
(or of what we call such) is traced
out, until the true correlation of all
the facts dealt with by the theorist is
clearly recognized. Adequately to il-
lustrate the action of this faculty, how-
ever, would obviously require more
space than is available in such a paper
as the present. I shall mention but
one instance of Sir John Herschel's
skill in this respect, selecting for the
purpose a passage (in the first edi-
tion— 1833 — of his treatise on astron-
omy), the opinions expressed, which
have been erroneously supposed to
have been in the first instance enun-
ciated by the celebrated engineer,
George Stephenson. Tracing out the
connection between the action of the
central luminary of our system and
terrestrial phenomena, Sir John Her-
schel'remarks that "the sun's rays are
the ultimate source of almost every
motion that takes place on the surface
of the earth. By its heat are pro-
duced all winds, and those disturb
ances in the electric equilibrium of
the atmosphere which give rise to the
phenomena of lightning, and probably
also to those of terrestrial magnetism
and the aurora. By their vivifying
action vegetables are enabled to draw
support from inorganic matter, and
become in their turn the support of
animals and of man, and the sources
of those great deposits of dynamical
efficiency which are laid up for human
use in our coal strata. By them the
waters of the sea are made to circulate
in vapor through the air, and irrigate
36
JOHJS" FEEDEEICK WILLIAM HEESCHEL.
the land,- producing springs and rivers.
By them are produced all disturbances
of the chemical equilibrium of the ele-
ments of nature, which by a series of
compositions and decompositions give
rise to new products and originate a
transfer of materials. Even the slow
degradation of the solid constituents
of the surface, in which its chief geo-
logical changes consist, is almost en-
tirely due, on the one hand, to the ab-
rasion of wind and rain, and the alter-
nation of heat and frost, and, on the
other, to the continual beating of the
sea-waves, agitated by winds, the re-
sults of solar radiation.' He goes on
to show how even ' the power of sub-
terranean fire,' repressed or relieved by
causes depending on the sun's action,
1 may break forth in points where the
resistance is barely adequate to their
retention, and thus bring the phenom-
ena of even volcanic activity under the
general law of solar influence.'
" As respects Sir John Herschel's skill
in devising methods for throwing new
light on questions of interest, it is only
necessary to remark that we owe to
him the first experimental determina-
tion of the quantity of heat received
from the sun, as well as a solution of
difficulties which seemed to Sir Wil-
liam Herschel almost insuperable in
the problem of estimating the relative
brightness of the lucid stars. I may
add also that he was among the first,
if not actually the first, to suggest that
the prismatic analysis of solar light
might ' lead us to a clearer insight in-
to its origin.'
" Nor is it necessary to dwell special-
ly on that most notable quality of Sir
John Herschel's character as a, theori-
zer — the light grasp with which ho
held those theories which he had him-
self propounded. This characteristic
is so intimately associated with the
mental purity, the necessity of which
Sir John Herschel kept so constantly
in his mind, as I have shown above,
that, having exhibited instances of the
last-named quality, it is hardly neces-
sary to point to cases by which the
other has been illustrated. Suffice it
to say that no theorist of modern times
has surpassed Herschel, and few have
equalled him, in that complete mastery
of self whereby it becomes possible
for the student of science not merely
to admit that he has enunciated erro-
neous opinions, but to take in hand
the theories of others, and to work as
patiently and skilfully in placing such
theories on a firm basis as though they
had been advocated in the first place
by himself.
"A remarkable era in astronomy
observational and theoretical, ha&
come to a close with the death of
Sir John Herschel — an era lasting
nearly a full century, during which
two astronomers, father and son, have
stood forth more prominently than any
save the greatest names in astronomi-
cal history. With all our faith in the
progress of the human race (and my
own faith in that progress is very
strong), we can yet scarcely hope that
for many generations astronomy will
look upon their like again."
LORD PALMERSTON.
TTENRY JOHN TEMPLE, Vis-
J — L count Palmerston, was a mem-
ber of a family, the ancestry of which
may be traced in England to the pe-
riod of the Norman conquest. In the
reigns of Henry VIII. and Elizabeth,
the Temples were of some distinction;
but their best-known representative in
public affairs was Sir William Tem-
ple, the political confidant of William
III., and famous in literary history, by
his elegant learning and authorship,
and as the early friend of Swift, who
entered upon life as his Secretary. It
was from a younger brother of Sir
William that the subject of this no-
tice was directly descended. His son
Henry was, in 1722, created Baron
Temple, of Mount Temple, county
Sligo, and Viscount Palmerston, of
Palmerston, county Dublin ; both
dignities being in the Irish peerage.
He died in 1769, and was succeeded
by his grandson, Henry Temple, the
second Viscount Palmerston, who is
described as "an accomplished and
fashionable gentleman, a lover and
appreciator of art, which he studied
in Italy. He was also an admirer of
beauty, of which he gave proof in his
second marriage to Miss Mee, who is
». -5.
said to have been the daughter of a
respectable Dublin tradesman, into
whose house, in consequence of a fall
from his horse, the peer was carried.
Though not of aristocratic birth, this
lady, from all accounts, appears to
have been not only handsome, but ac-
complished and agreeable, and to have
taken, in a becoming manner, the place
in Dublin and London society which
her marriage opened to her."
Of this somewhat romantic marriage,
our popular English statesman and pre-
mier, was born at the family estate of
Broadlands, near Eamsey, in Hamp-
shire, on the 20th of October, 1784.
His father, the fashionable and dilet-
tante Viscount, being a frequent visi-
tor to Italy, took his son with him to
that country in his boyhood, and the
youth thus acquired a familiar knowl-
edge of the Italian language, which he
always spoke fluently. His regular
English education commenced at Har-
row school, from which, at sixteen, he
passed to Edinburgh, where he lived
with Dugald Stewart, and attended the
lectures at the University. In the three
years which he thus spent among the
scholars of the northern capital, and
in its intellectual society, he says, w
(37)
LOED PALMEESTOK
his Autobiography, " I laid the foun-
dation of whatever useful knowledge
and habits of mind I possess." No
more favorable position for a youth of
quick intellectual perceptions could be
desired, than the intimacy and guar-
dianship of the amiable philosophic
Stewart, whose writings at this day
are still among the noblest incentives
to mental cultivation. And young
Temple proved himself ivorthy of the
association. Stewart found him quite
a model pupil. Writing of him at the
time, he says, " His talents are uncom-
monly good, and he does them all pos-
sible justice by assiduous application.
In point of temper and conduct, he is
everything his friends could wish. In-
deed, I cannot say that I have ever
seen a more faultless character at his
time of life, or one possessed. of more
amiable dispositions." When, in after
years, Sir William Hamilton under-
took the publication of Stewart's lec-
tures, which had been, in a great meas-
ure, unwritten, he found the notes
taken at the time by Lord Palmerston
of much use to him. It was during
this Edinburgh period, in 1802, by the
death of his father, that young Temple
succeeded to the title, thus becoming
the third Viscount Palmerston.
In the following year, he was en-
tered at St. John's College, Cambridge.
u I had gone further," he writes, " tit
Edinburgh, in all the branches of
study pursued at Cambridge, than the
course then followed at Cambridge
extended during the two first years of
attendance. But the Edinburgh sys-
tem consisted in lectures without ex-
amination ; at Cambridge there was a
half-yearly examination. It became
necessary to learn more accurately at
Cambridge what one had learned gen-
erally at Edinburgh. The knowledge
thus acquired of details at Cambridge
was worth nothing, because it evapo-
rated soon after the examinations were
over. The habit of mind acquired by
preparing for these examinations is
highly useful." The remark is char-
acteristic of Lord Palmerston's practi-
cal intellect. He certainly lost no
time in turning his collegiate educa-
tion to account in a public career. In
1806, the same year in which he re-
ceived his degree of Master of Arts
from the University, when he was just
of age, he became a candidate for the
representation of that body in Parlia-
ment, and came out third at the poll,
his competitors being Lord Henry
Petty, subsequently Marquis of Lans-
downe, and Lord Althorp. In such a
contest, he writes, " it was an honor to
have been supported at all, and I was
well satisfied with my fight." At the
general election of the same year, he
was returned for Horsham; but, the
election being disputed, was thrown
out. He then stood again unsuccess
fully for the University ; but soon after
obtained the coveted seat in Parlia-
ment as the representative of a bor-
ough in the Isle of Wight. In 1811,
he was returned for the University of
Cambridge.
Following the account of the public
career of Lord Palmerston, in the " Eng-
lish Cyclopaedia :" " from his first en
trance into Parliament, his conduct
and manner, were such as to impress
his seniors with his tact and ability,
and to mark him out for promotion
and employment. He spoke seldom,
LORD PALMERSTON.
39
but always in an interesting manner,
and to the purpose; and Ms talents
for business were, from the first, con-
spicuous. In 1807, on the formation
of the Tory administration of the
Duke of Portland and Mr. Perceval,
he was appointed, though then only
in his twenty-fifth year, a junior Lord
of the Admiralty. In this capacity
he made, perhaps, his first important
parliamentary appearance as a speaker,
in opposing a motion of Mr. Ponsonby,
in February, 1808, for the production
of papers relative to Lord Cathcart's
expedition to Copenhagen, and the de-
struction of the Danish fleet — meas-
ures which had been ordered by the
government, for fear of an active co-
operation of Denmark with Napoleon
I. On this occasion, Lord Palmerston
broached those motions as to the ne-
cessity of secresy in diplomatic affairs
on which he ever afterwards acted.
Ln 1809, when Lord Castlereagh re-
signed the office of Secretary of War
under the Perceval ministry, Lord
Palmerston succeeded him ; and, in
February, 1810, he, for the first time,
moved the Army Estimates in the
House of Commons. It seemed as if
the Secretaryship-at-War was the post
in which Lord Palmerston was to live
and die. He held it uninterruptedly
through the Perceval administration;
he continued to hold it through the
long Liverpool-Castlereagh administra-
tion which followed (1812-'27), the
first three years of whose tenure of
power were occupied with the final
great wars against Napoleon; he held
it still during Canning's brief premier-
ship (April to August, 1827) ; he con-
tinued to hold it under the ministry
of Lord Goderich (August, 1827, to
January, 1828) ; and he held it for a
while under the succeeding adminis-
tration of the Duke of Wellington.
Under this last ministry, however, he
found himself unable to act. Never
appearing to interest himself much in
general politics, but confining himself
as much as possible to the business of
his own department, he had yet, to-
wards the close of the Liverpool ad
ministration — especially after Can-
ning's accession to the Foreign Secre
taryship, on the death of Castlereagh
in 1822 — shown a more liberal spirit
than was general among his colleagues.
He seemed to attach himself to Can-
ning and to share his opinions: like
him, he was a friend to Roman Catho-
lic emancipation ; and to the cause of
constitutional, as distinct from des-
potic, government, on the Continent;
though, like him also, he opposed, for
the time, all projects of parliamentary
reform at home. These tendencies,
growing more decided after Canning's
death, unfitted him for cooperation
with the Duke of Wellington's gov-
ernment ; and in May, 18287 he seceded
from it, along with Huskisson and
others of the Canning party. Mean-
time he had spoken much on foreign
affairs, and with such ability, that,
after Canning's death, he was felt to
be the greatest parliamentary master
of that order of subjects. Before leav-
ing the Wellington ministry, he had
opposed the Test and Corporation
Bills ; but he had done so on the prin-
ciple that he could not relieve Protes-
tant Dissenters till the emancipation
of the Roman Catholics had. taken
place.
LORD 1'ALMERSTOX.
" As an independent member, Lord
Palmerston devoted himself especially
to foreign questions. He kept up the
character of being Mr. Canning's suc-
cessor, the inheritor of his mantle.
His speech on the 10th of March,
1830, in which, in moving for papers
respecting the relations of England
with Portugal, he developed Canning's
idea of the necessity of increased sym-
pathy on the part of England with the
cause of struggling nationality abroad,
was accounted a great parliamentary
success. This motion was lost by a
majority of 150 to 73; but it marked
out Lord Palmerston as the future
Foreign Secretary, as soon as a minis-
try should be formed of which he
could become a member. Such a min-
istry was formed in November, 1830,
when the Duke of Wellington re-
signed, and the Whigs came into of-
fice. Twenty years Secretary at War
as a Tory, Lord Palmerston now be-
came Foreign Secretary as a Whig;
but his known attachment to the lib-
eralized Toryism which Canning had
professed and introduced, was felt to
constitute a sufficient transition. Ro-
man Catholic Emancipation, of which
he had always been a supporter, had
already been carried; and the only
question, where a modification of his
previous opinions was requisite, was
that of Parliamentary Reform — the
very question which the Whig minis-
try had been formed to settle. Lord
Palmerston's assent to the Reform Bill
policy of his colleagues led to a dis-
agreement with the Cambridge Uni-
versity electors; and, losing his seat
for Cambridge, he fell back, in 1831,
on his old borough of Bletchingley.
Representing first this borough, and
then, after the Reform Bill, in 1832,
the County of South Hants, Lord Pal-
merston remained Foreign Minister till
December, 1834, when the Whigs went
out of office, and were succeeded bj
the Conservative ministry of Sir Rob-
ert Peel. The ministry lasted till
April, 1835, when the new Whig ad-
ministration of Lord Melbourne waa
formed, and Lord Palmerston, who
had lost his seat for South Hants at
the general election, and been returned
for the borough of Tiverton, resumed
his functions as Foreign Minister. He
continued to exercise them till Sep-
tember, 1841 ; and these six years
were the period during which he at-
tained that reputation for brilliancy,
alertness and omniscience as a Foreign
Minister, which made his name a word
of exultation to his admirers, and of
execration and fear to some foreign
governments. It was during this time,
that, over the Continent, from Spain to
Turkey, the name Palmerston began to
be used as synonymous with English
diplomatic activity; and it was dur-
ing the same time that a party of erra-
tic politicians sprang up in England,
who sought to prove that he was a
voluntary tool of Russia, and argued
for his impeachment. Records of this
state of feeling, with respect to Lord
Palmerston, may be found in the
pamphlets of Mr. Urquhart and his
friends, as regards England ; and in
Count Fiequelmont's "Lord Palmer-
ston, L'Angleterre et la Continent, '
as regards Europe at large. The op-
position of the Conservatives in Par-
liament was a more normal matter
It was during this period of his For
LOKD PALMERSTOK
eign Secretaryship that Lord Palmer-
ston married the daughter of the first
Lord Melbourne and the widow of the
fifth Earl Cowper.
" On the re-accession of Sir Robert
Peel to office, in 1841, Lord Palmer-
ston retired from the Foreign Secre-
taryship; and he continued in oppo-
sition till 1846, when, on the retire-
ment of Sir Robert Peel, after the
abolition of the Corn Laws, in July,
1846, he again became Foreign Secre-
tary, as a member of the new Whig
ministry of Lord John Russell. He
continued to direct the diplomacy of
the country in this capacity — steering
the policy of Britain, in his character-
istic fashion, through the many diffi-
cult and intricate foreign questions
which arose, and, amongst them,
through the many questions con-
nected with the European revolu-
tionary movements of 1848-'49, in-
cluding the Italian and Hungarian
wars — till the year 1851, when differ-
ences with Lord John Russell and with
his other colleagues induced him to re-
sign. The year 1850, in fact, closed
that part of Lord Palmerston's history
which is connected with his tenure of
the Foreign Secretaryship in particu-
lar. But such a man could not remain
long out of office. Broken up mainly
by Lord Palmerston's secession from
it, the ministry of Lord John Russell
gave place, in December, 1852, to the
coalition ministry of Lord Aberdeen.
As Lord Aberdeen had been the For-
eign Minister under previous Conserva-
tive governments, and was therefore
regarded as the rival, and, in some re-
spects, the antagonist of Lord Palmer-
ston in this particular department,
Lord Palmerston, in joining the coali-
tion ministry, took the office of Home
Secretary, while the Foreign Secretary-
ship was taken by Lord John Russell.
The business of his new office was dis-
charged by Lord Palmerston with his
customary activity, allowing for a
short period of threatened rupture
with his colleagues, in 1853, till the
dissolution of the Aberdeen ministry,
in 1855, when his lordship ascended to
the apex of power as the First Lord
of the Treasury and Prime Minister of
Great Britain. In that capacity it fell
to him to conduct the greatest war in
which England had been engaged
since 1815 — the war with Russia; and
in the conduct of that war to estab-
lish a new system of alliances with con-
tinental powers, more especially with
France. From the time of the coup
d'etat in France, Lord Palmerston had
always expressed his respect for Louis
Napoleon ; and consequently, in the con-
duct of the war, and of the negotiations
which concluded it, Napoleon III.
and Lord Palmerston are supposed to
have deferred to each other, and to
have acted systematically in concert.
As regards other powers, there was
not, on the part of Lord Palmerston,
at this time any strong direction of
the policy of England one way or the
other. Thus, while always keeping up
the language of Canning as to the pro-
priety of encouraging freedom and
constitutional government abroad, and
while using this language more es-
pecially with respect to Italy, he con-
stantly asserted the maintenance of the
integrity and power of the Austrian
empire as a necessity in the European
system. This principle appears tc
LORD PALMERSTON.
have regulated his conduct also, as
Foreign Minister, in the matter of the
Hungarian wars of 1848-'49. He gave
no approbation to the popular move-
ments; but he supported Turkey in
refusing to give up the refugees, and
advised the governments to leniency
\vhen the movements were suppress-
ed, and to more moderate rule after-
wards.
"A combined opposition in March,
1857, carried a resolution, declaring
the course pursued by Sir John Bow-
ring and the British officers in China to
be unjustifiable, and consequently cen-
suring Lord Palmerston's administra-
tion for having pursued that course.
Of the alternatives of resignation and
an appeal to the country, Lord Pal-
merston chose the latter, and Parlia-
ment was dissolved on the 21st of
March. Two days afterward, the Pre-
mier, in his address to the electors of
Tiverton, the borough which he had
long represented, declared his policy
to be peace abroad, on the conditions
of honor and security; and at home,
economy, progressive improvements,
the continued diffusion of education
among the people, and well-considered
measures of reform. The majority he
secured in the new Parliament was
sufficient to enable him to continue
his administration until February,
1858, when he was compelled to resign,
on account of his reputed anxiety to
accommodate the Emperor of the
French, at the expense of English
honor and independence, exhibited in
the Conspiracy to Murder Bill. He
was succeeded by the Earl of Derby,
whom he in turn displaced in June,
1.859 ; and signalised an administration
which endured till his death, on the
18th of October, 1865, by his conclu-
sion of a commercial treaty with
France, by the sympathy which he
manifested in the welfare of Italy, by
his conduct of the relations with
America, and by his management of
the obligations of England in respect
to the Schleswig-Holstein question.
His health and mental visror were
O
preserved until a very short time be-
fore his death ; and, in spite of his ad-
vanced age, his career was considered
to have been prematurely closed by
imprudent exposure to the sudden
coldness of the season. It was his
own desire to be interred in the cenie-
try at Romsey ; but Lady Palmerston
yielded to the express wish of the
Queen and the vehemence of the na-
tional desire that he should be buried
in Westminster Abbey. Here he was
accordingly interred on the 27th of
October, when his funeral was attend-
ed by the Prince of Wales, the Duke
of Cambridge, the representatives of
fourteen foreign States, and deputa-
tions from various public bodies,
whilst ten cabinet ministers bore his
pall. The death of Lady Palmerston,
who had been for more than twenty
years a discreet and able fellow-worker
for his political success, and a sharer
in his social popularity, took place in
September, 1869, at Brocket Hall,
Hertfordshire."
The first portion of a Life of Lord
Palmerston, with Selections from his Di
aries and Correspondence, by the Hon,
Sir Henry Lytton Bulwer, was given
to the public in 1870 It exhibits,
especially in the Diaries, the vivacity
of Lord Palmerston's character, and
LOED PALMEKSTOK
43
that genial familiarity witli society
which doubtless aided greatly to keep
bis faculties so long in repair. Of the
habits of mind which characterised
the statesman, Sir Henry Bulwer gives
us this well-considered estimate, " The
most distinguishing advantage," says
he, " possessed by the eminent person
whom I am about to describe, was a
nature that opened itself happily to
the tastes, feelings and habits of vari-
ous classes and kinds of men. Hence
a comprehensive sympathy, which not
only put his actions in spontaneous
harmony with the sense and feeling of
the public, but, presenting life before
his mind in many aspects, widened its
views and moderated its impressions,
and let it away from those subtleties
and eccentricities which solitude or
living constantly in any limited soci-
ety, is apt to generate. In the march
of his epoch, he was behind the eager,
but before the slow. Accustomed to
a wide range of observations over con-
temporaneous events, he had been led
by history to the conclusion that all
eras have their exaggerations, which a
calm judgment and an enlightened
statesmanship should distinctly recog-
nise, but not prematurely or extrava-
gantly indulge. He did not believe
in the absolute wisdom which some
see in the past, which others expect
from the future ; but he preferred the
hopes of the generation that was com-
ing on to the despair of the generation
that was passing away. Thus there
was nothing violent or abrupt, nothing
that had the appearance of going back-
wards and forwards in his long career.
It moved on in one direction, gradu-
ally but continuously, from its com
mencement to its close, under the influ-
ence of a motive-power formed from
the collection of various influences,
the one modifying the other, and not
representing in the aggregate the de-
cided opinion of any particular party
or class, but approximating to the
opinion of the English nation in gen-
eral. Into the peculiar and individual
position, which in this manner he by
degrees acquired, he carried an earnest
patriotism, a strong, manly understand-
ing, many accomplishments derived
from industry and a sound early edu-
cation, and a remarkable talent for
comprehending and commanding de-
tails. This, indeed, was his peculiar
merit as a man of business, and
wherein he showed the powers of a
masterly capacity. No official situ-
ation, therefore, found him unequal to
it, whilst it is still more remarkable
that he never aspired to any prema-
turely. Ambitious, he was devoid of
vanity ; and, with a singular absence
of effort or pretension, he found hia
foot at last placed on the topmost
round of the ladder he had been long
unostentatiously mounting."
l''rom, MI original pcunkuwj by ChappeJ. in the. possession of' the publishers.
JoTins on, Wilson & Co.Publi.sLei'.s, Mew^fork
E'tK-vJ 'iwiiiru; i> M'f wV '/V?,//T,W f IWt kv Jahnssp . Wikrm .4 '.'•• in Hit nil,, /• nfithr Mr-anoji !•/' frruirua u>. Waxhinatn,
CHARLOTTE BRONTE.
finally installed in another Yorkshire
parsonage at Hawortli, a small semi-
rural village, in the neighborhood of
the manufacturing town of Keighley.
It was a somewhat peculiar location
where they were now established. The
general aspect of the country is bleak
and desolate, a region of hills covered
with wild moors, oppressed by long
and severe winters, with' a scant vege-
tation from a reluctant soil in summer.
The buildings of the village are most-
ly of the abundant grey stone of the
vicinity ; and, in the scarcity of wood,
this material is used for the floors and
stairways. The parsonage was so
built, a house of two stories, with a
line of four windows on the front,
looking, at a distance of a hundred
yards, upon the old parish church, the
ancient graveyard occupying the great-
er portion of the interval, and nearly
surrounding the dwelling. Being on
the edge of the town, the parsonage
had easy access to the moors beyond.
A few mill-owners of the middle-class,
with a greater number of operators in
the woolen manufactories of the dis-
trict, composed the principal occupants
of the place. The discharge of the
usual parochial duties, mainly in visit-
ing the sick and attendance upon the
schools, supplied the chief intercourse
between the curate's family and the
persons living around him. Having
the retired disposition of the scholar,
little disposed to thrust himself upon
others who, according to the customs
of the country, would have resented
any distinct professional approaches,
this social intercourse was generally
very limited. The life at Haworth
Parsonage was thus solitary and re-
n-— 6.
mote from the usual resources of the
world. The wild scenery of the moors
became the main resort of the children,
and with certain home influences, en-,
couraged in them the growth of the im-
aginative temperament with which they
were all endowed at their birth. The
father kept himself closely to his study.
He was, moreover, a man of some
eccentricities, and of crotchety views
on the subject of education. Dyspep-
tic himself, he always dined alone, and
imposed the plainest fare upon his
children at their table. The mother,
afflicted with an incurable disease of a
painful nature, was confined to her
bed-room, and did not long survive
the removal to Haworth. Her death
occurred in September, 1821, in the
thirty-ninth year of her age. Her
place in the care of the family was
supplied, about a year after, by the arri-
val of one of her older unmarried sis-
ters from Cornwall, who taught the
girls sewing, and the good housewifery
for which the parsonage became cele-
brated. Their other instruction, at this
time, was derived from their father, to
whom their lessons were said, and
whose conversation on the affairs of
the day, of which, through the me-
dium, of newspapers, he was a diligent
student, gave them thus early an intel-
ligent appreciation of the great world
outside of their restricted observation.
About three years after the death
of their mother, the two older girls
were sent to a school opened at a place
called Cowan's Bridge, in Yorkshire,
not far distant from Haworth, under
the superintendence of a benevolent
clergyman, to assist his poorer breth-
ren in the church in the education of
CHAKLOTTE BRONTE.
their children. The institution was
parti}'- supported by charitable dona-
tions. Charlotte, with her sister Emi-
ly, were soon sent there to join her
sisters. By neglect or mismanage-
ment, in the poor and insufficient sup-
ply of food, and in the tyranny of a
harsh teacher, who figures in the pic-
tures drawn from this establishment
in " Jane Eyre," as Miss Scatcherd, the
school appears to have been practically
little bettei than those in the same
county for the care of boys which
Dickens so ingeniously satirized in
" Nicholas Nickleby." It was certain-
ly a most unfortunate position for the
tender and sensitive Bronte children,
in whose constitutions the seeds of
consumption were already developing
themselves. After less than a year's
experience of its unwholesome atmos-
phere, injurious diet, and other severi-
ties, the two elder ones, Maria and
Elizabeth, came home to die, within a
month of each other, the one in her
twelfth, the other in her eleventh year.
For a short time in the next session,
Charlotte and Emily continued at
school; but finally left it on the ap-
proach of winter.
Charlotte was then about the age of
nine, and was taught at home with
her younger sisters, by her aunt, Miss
Branwell ; her father's conversation, and
her own eager thirst for knowledge,
rendering every means at hand availa-
ble for her instruction. Like most
children of genius, she was in a great
measure self-educated, which means
that she turned every opportunity to
ber advantage, rather than that she
was independent of others. The fa-
ther, naturally reserved, in greater se-
clusion after the death of his wife, the
children were, in an unusual degeee,
dependent upon the company of each
other, and got to live in a little world
of their own, presided over by Char-
lotte, a little in advance of her brother
and sisters in age, and more in intel-
lectual development, care and anxiety.
Being all of them of an impressionable
character, of bright mental capacity,
their own thoughts and studies took
an intensely real, and at the same
time, imaginative aspect. Charlotte
led the way among them in a rare
species of juvenile authorship. By
the time she had completed her four-
teenth year, she had prepared in manu-
script, no less than twenty-two vol-
umes ; tales, dramas, poems, romances,
with various miscellaneous composi-
tions, a substitute for the usual sports
of their age, with the children of that
remarkable Bronte family. Some of
these were of a wild fanciful interest,
others of the nature of moral essays,
and quite a number were woven to-
gether in a series of ju\renile " Maga-
zines." In the tales oi adventure,
Charlotte's favorite hero, for whom
she had acquired a great admiration
from her father's newspapers and his
discussion of the political movements
of the time, was the Duke of Welling-
ton, whom she invested with all sorts
of splendid qualities. Everything
which she saw, heard, or read of, was
utilized in these compositions; so
early and naturally came to her the
translation of life into literature. Spec-
imens of some of these early writings
exhibit great ease and fluency, with a
readiness to turn facts to account, as
well as to run riot in the wildest en-
CHARLOTTE BRONTE.
thusiasm of the fancy. Her poetical
pieces, wliicli were numerous among
these effusions, were also of much prom-
ise, marked, as they were, by thought
and feeling.
The reader may be interested in a
personal description of Charlotte, as
she appeared about this period of her
youth. "In 1831," writes Mrs. Gas-
kell, " she was a quiet, thoughtful girl,
of nearly fifteen years of age, very
small in figure — 'stunted' was the
word she applied to herself — but as
her limbs and head were in just pro-
portion to the slight, fragile body, no
word, in ever so slight a degree sugges-
tive of deformity, 'could properly be
applied to her ; with soft, thick brown
hair, and peculiar eyes, of which I find
it difficult to give a description, as
they appeared to me in her later life.
They were large and well -shaped;
their color, a reddish - brown : but if
the iris were closely examined, it ap-
peared to be composed of a great va-
riety of tints. The usual expression
was of quiet, listening intelligence ; but
now and then, on some just occasion
for vivid interest or wholesome indig-
nation, a light would shine out, as if
some spiritual lamp had been kindled,
which glowed behind those expressive
orbs. I never saw the like in any
other human creature. As for the
rest of her features, they were plain,
large, and ill set ; but, unless you be-
gan to catalogue them, you were hard-
ly aware of the fact, for the eyes' and
power of the countenance overbalanced
every physical defect; the crooked
mouth and the large nose were forgot-
ten, and the whole face arrested the
attention, and presently attracted all
those whom she herself would have
cared to attract. Her hands and feet
were the smallest I ever saw ; when
one of the former was placed in mine,
it was like the soft touch of a bird in
the middle of my palm. The delicate
long fingers had a peculiar firmness of
sensation, whicE was one reason why
all her handiwork, of whatever kind — •
writing, sewing, knitting — was so clear
in its minuteness. She was remark-
ably neat in her whole personal at-
tire ; but she was dainty as to the fit
of her shoes and gloves."
A new school was presently found
for Charlotte, kept by Miss Wooler, in
a cheerful country house at Roe Head,
about twenty miles from Haworth, on
the road from Leeds to Huddersfield.
There were but few scholars, and the
preceptress was of a kind, considerate
disposition, with a faculty for teaching.
The influences were favorable to Char-
lotte's development, and she profited
by them greatly, carrying home with
her, after a year's residence, an in-
creased ability for the instruction of
her sisters. This occupation now fur-
nished her regular morning employ-
ment, which, with her drawing, which
she steadily prosecuted, her reading,
and household duties, agreeably filled
up the day. The parsonage furnished
her a good stock of books, including
the writings of Scott, Wordsworth,
and Southey; and the children had
ready access to the circulating library
at Keighley, four miles distant. Char-
lotte's own tastes in literature, at this
time, are indicated in a letter to a
female friend who had asked her ad-
vice on the subject. " If you like po-
etry," she wrote, " let it be first-rate ;
CHAKLOTTE BRONTE.
Milton, Shakespeare, Thomson, Gold-
smith, Pope (if you will, though I
don't admire him), Scott, Byron, Camp-
bell, Wordsworth, and Southey. For
history, read Hume, Rollin, and the
'Universal History,' if you can; I
never did. For fiction, read Scott
alone; all novels after his are worth-
less. For biography, read Johnson's
( Lives of the Poets,' Boswell's ' Life
of Johnson, Southey's ' Life of Nelson,'
Lockhart's 'Life of Burns,' Moore's
' Life of Sheridan,' Moore's ' Life of
Byron,' Wolf's l Remains.' For natur-
al history, read Bewick, and Audubon,
and Goldsmith, and White's ' History
ofSelborne.'"
As the children grew up, the limited
means of their father offered them lit-
tle provision for their future support,
and they were driven to look around
for some suitable occupation. Char-
lotte received two proposals to become
a private governess, which she declin-
ed ; and accepted an offer from her
former instructor, Miss Wooler, to be-
come a teacher in her school at Roe
Head. She entered upon this duty at
the beginning of her twentieth year,
and continued in it for two years,
when she returned home. It was a
period of much anxiety for her. Her
sister Emily, who, at the outset, went
with her as a pupil, of a sickly tem-
perament, pined for theindependence of
her home and the freedom of the moors,
and soon left the school, to become,
the following year, herself a teacher
at a school at Halifax, where her deli-
cate constitution was exposed to severe
hardships. Branwell, the brother, was
growing up to manhood. He had
oeen educated by his father, showed
remarkable talent, with a particular
liking for painting; it was proposed
to send him to London as a student at.
the Royal Academy. Anne, the young-
est sister, had succeeded Emily as a
pupil at Miss Wooler's school, where
she shortly exhibited the tendency to
consumption common to the family.
The health, too, of Charlotte soon be-
gan to fail her in her occupation as a
teacher. She fell into a distressed
nervous condition, with self-question-
ings, and a disposition to melancholy.
The prospect was not bright before
her; and, in one of her vacations at
home, thinking of literature as a means
of living, she addressed a letter to
Southey, asking his advice and opinion
of some of her poems. He replied,
entering into the situation as far as he
could, prudently reiterating the old
cautious respecting the assumption of
a literary career, as dangerous and out
of place for a woman, while he exhor-
ted her to " write poetry for its own
sake ; not in a spirit of emulation, and
not with a view to celebrity," but as " a
wholesome exercise, both for the heart
and soul, capable of being made the
surest means, next to religion, of sooth-
ing the mind and elevating it." The
advice was feelingly expressed, and had
the effect for the time of checking tho
applicant's aspirations in the field of
authorship.
On the conclusion of her engage-
ment at Miss Wooler's school, Char-
lotte accepted a situation as governess
in the family of a wealthy Yorkshire
manufacturer, where she remained but
a short time to experience some of the
hardships and miseries too often at
tached to that position. Her health
CnAKLOTTE BRONTE.
49
iv{>s again failing under these influ-
ences. Anxious for the future, her
thoughts turned at one time upon
keeping a school in the house, a favor-
ite plan thwarted by the inability to
meet the necessary expense; and at
another, on literature. She began the
composition of a story, a portion of
which she sent anonymously to the
poet Wordsworth, who seems to have
been interested in its perusal, and
with whom she corresponded on the
subject, under her assumed initials.
The novel, of which a portion only
was written, was projected with mate-
rials, she says, for half a dozen vol-
umes, probably of the class she refers
to, of her unpublished prentice efforts
in the preface to "The Professor," a
long-drawn literal picture of ordinary
realities. Nothing came of this at the
time ; and the author, as yet, uncertain
of her powers, soon accepted another
situation as governess, this time in a
kind-hearted family. A position of
this kind, however, was, at best, an
irksome one to her; and she longed
earnestly to be with her sisters at
home, assist their wants and be the
much-needed guardian of their failing
health. The school project was again
revived, with a closer view of its re-
quirements. An adequate knowledge
of French was needed for the under-
taking, and, to secure this, she propos-
ed a residence for a time at a boarding-
school in Belgium. The savings of
her aunt, generously tendered to her,
would supply the means. Eesigning
her situation as governess, which she
had held during the greater part of a
year, early in 1842, she was taken by
her father to Brussels, where the wife
of the chaplain of the British Embassy
was ready to receive her, and further
her objects. Her sister Emily accom-
panied her, to remain with her; and
they soon found lodgings together, as
pupils, in a well-conducted girls' school
of the city. It showed some resolution
for a person of Charlotte's self-reliant
disposition, thus, at the age of twenty-
six, to become a school-girl again.
She notices the incongruity in one of
her letters, but cheerfully accepts the
situation. "It felt very strange at
first," she writes, "to submit to au-
thority instead of exercising it — to
obey orders instead of giving them ;
but I like that state of things. I re-
turned to it with the same avidity
that a cow, that has long been kept on
hay, returns to fresh grass. Don't
laugh at my simile. It is natural to me
to submit, and very unnatural for me
to command." The sisters enjoyed
their new life, assiduously devoted
themselves to their studies ; and, under
the discipline of the intelligent conduc-
tors of the school, Madame Heger and
her husband, soon acquired skill in the
use of the French language, and an in
telligent appreciation of its literature.
It was Charlotte's intention at the
outset to stay at Brussels only six
months, to the summer vacation ; bul
the offer which she received at the
end of this time from Madame Heger,
of employment as an English teacher,
the compensation for which would be
her board and instruction in French
and German without charge, induced
her to remain for a longer period. In
the midst of these new employments,
the sisters were recalled to England,
by nsws of the serious illness of theii
50
CHARLOTTE BRONTE.
aunt, who died before their arrival at
Haworth. Charlotte subsequently re-
turned alone to the school at Brussels.
At the close of 1843, nearly two years
after her first arrival in Belgium, she
finally returned home, the immediate in-
ducement being the care of her father,
who was now suffering from increasing
bindness.
The plan of the school, for which
the sisters were now fully instructed,
was again under consideration, and an
attempt was made, by the issue of cir-
culars, to carry it out ; but pupils
were not to be obtained, and it was
finally relinquished. The parsonage no
longer offered the facilities which were
once relied upon. The health of the
father, and the wretched life of intem-
perance into which his son Branwell
had fallen, induced by a peculiar train
of events, oppressed the household
with many cares. Fortunately, in the
midst of these anxieties, the beneficent
genius of literature was present to
solace the present and open a path of
glory in the future. We have reached
the year 1845, and Charlotte is ap-
proaching the age of thirty. One au-
tumn day of this year, a manuscript
volume of her sister Emily's verses was
accidentally taken up by Charlotte, who
was struck with " their peculiar music,
wild, melancholy, and elevating." Her
liking for these effusions induced the
youngest sister, Anne, to produce some
of her own, which also struck her sis-
ter as possessing " a sweet, sincere pa-
thos." Charlotte, too, had a stock of
poems, and it was resolved by the sis-
ters that they would join their pieces,
and, if they could find a publisher, is-
sue a volume together. " Averse to
publicity," writes Charlotte, in an ac-
count of the affair, " we veiled our
own names under those of Currer,
Ellis, and Acton Bell ; the ambiguous
choice being dictated by a sort of con-
scientious scruple at assuming Chris-
tian names, positively masculine, while
we did not like to declare ourselves
women, because, without at the time
suspecting that our mode of writing
and thinking was not what is called
1 feminine,' we had a vague impres-
sion that authoresses are liable to be
looked on with prejudice ; we noticed
how critics sometimes use for their
chastisement the weapon of personali-
ty, and for their reward, a flattery,
which is not true praise."
It was, of course, not easy to find a
publisher ; but as the authors were will-
ing to issue the book on their own ac-
count, paying for its cost, a house in
Paternoster Row, Messrs. Aylott and
Jones, undertook the work ; and it was
accordingly sent forth in the spring of
of 1846, with the simple title, " Poems
by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell,"
the initials indicating the Christian
names — Charlotte, Emily, and Ann —
of the respective writers. The poems
were mingled together in the volume,
each being marked by the assumed
signature of the writer. The poems
in general have an introspective char-
acter, and are distinguished by a ten-
der melancholy, the themes being drawn
mostly from the sorrowful experiences
of the household. There are compara-
tively few allusions to natural scenery,
and no descriptive poems of the favor-
ite moor land which lay around the
writers, and might have been looked
for in such a volume. Their thoughts
CHARLOTTE BKOOTE.
were turned within, to the world of
thought and emotion, sometimes with
a cry of passion, oftener with a sim-
ple expression of religious feeling.
The book which contained these heart-
felt sighs and aspirations of the gen-
tle sisterhood was not likely to attract
any extraordinary notice in the multi-
plicity of the verse productions of the
day. The authors remained anony-
mous, and their work but little known,
till a new interest was excited in it by
the success of their subsequent prose
writings.
The next literary project of the sis-
ters, of the following year, was also a
contemplated joint undertaking, the
publication together of three prose
tales, "Wuthering Heights," by Emi-
ly ; " Agnes Grey," by Anne, and " The
Professor," by Charlotte. After some
efforts, a publisher was found for the
two former ; the last, Charlotte's work,
was steadily rejected, and had long to
remain in manuscript. It was not till
some years after the author's death
that it was given to the world. The
last publishers to whom it had been
sent, when it was first written, were
Messrs. Smith and Elder, in London.
Unlike the replies of others of the
trade, their letter of refusal was kind-
ly worded ; and showed that the work
had been intelligently and considerate-
ly regarded. The want of interest
complained of in the story, was ac-
knowledged by the writer ; and anoth-
er tale " of a more striking and exciting
character" at once proposed. This
was rapidly pushed along to a conclu-
sion ; and in August, 1847, the manu-
script was forwarded to Smith and
Elder. The ne7v work was entitled
" Jane Eyre." Its merits were at once
appreciated ; it was accepted and pub-
lished the following season. Practic-
ed judges immediately saw its merits :
it was praised by the "Examiner;'1
but the public were far ahead, in theii
enthusiastic reception of the book, of
any eulogy of the critics. Its passion-
ate interest, its bold and forcible scenes,
its insight into character, with its
strong sensational incidents, universal-
ly enchained the attention of novel
readers. Who, it was everywhere ask-
ed, could be the author of a fiction so
new and startling ? Not even the pub-
lishers, at the outset, were acquainted
with the real name of the writer.
Their correspondence was carried on
with Currer Bell, and it w^as not known
whether the designation was that of a
man or a woman. There were quali-
ties in the book which favored either
supposition. There was an intense in-
dividuality in the work; the charac-
ters and scenes, whatever they might
owe to the imagination, were evidently
based on stern realities. Who could
have had these experiences ?
So closely had the secret of the au
thorship been kept, that it was not
known to Charlotte's own father, till
one day, when he was recovering from
an operation which had been perform-
ed for the relief of his blindness, she
took a copy of the printed book with
her into his study, when the following
conversation occurred, reported from
her own lips by her biographer : " Papa,
I've been writing a book." "Have
you, my dear?" "Yes, and I want
you to read it." " I am afraid it will
try my eyes too much." "But it is
not in manuscript; it is printed.'
CHAKLOTTE BKONTE
"My dear! you've never thought of
the expense it will be ! It will be al-
most sure to be a loss, for how can you
get a book sold? No one knows you
or your name." "But, papa, I don't
think it will be a loss ; no more will
you, if you will let me read you a re-
view or two, and tell you more about
it." " Jane Eyre " was then left with
him to peruse. When he came into
tea, he said, " Girls, do you know
Charlotte has been writing a book,
and it is much better than likely." A
second edition of this book was soon
called for, and was dedicated to Thack-
erary, whom the author then knew only
by his writings, but whose acquaint-
ance she afterwards made in London.
She was a keen appreciator of his ge-
nius. Following the public demand,
the critics set to work to explain the
nature of the book which had created
this popular enthusiasm. It was soon
understood that a new author had
arisen in the north, distancing by her
power and earnestness the great num-
ber of her competitors in the field. The
two stories by her sisters, " Wuthering
Heights," and " Agnes Grey," accepted
before " Jane Eyre " was concluded,
did not appear in print till after that
work was published ; and so, though
they by no means equalled its success
received a certain advantage from its
popularity.
The following year, 1848, proved a
sad one in the records of the Bronte
family. In September, after a painful
career, died Branwell, at the age of thir-
ty ; and was followed to the grave three
months later by his sister Emily, who
had recently completed her second nov-
el, " The Tenant, of Wildfell Hall." In
the spring of the next year, Anne also
died of a slow decline, singing her death
song in her last poem, a few simple
verses abounding in Christian resigna-
tion. Charlotte, the last of the chil
dren, was then left alone to struggle
on in the old parsonage, by the side
of her infirm and aged father. Her
literary faculty appeared all that was
left to her. Shortly after the publication
of " Jane Eyre," she had commenced
another novel, "Shirley," founded on
the observations of her school-days at
Roe Head, and much of it was written
before her sisters died. It was a pain-
ful task for her to conclude it, when
she had no longer their sympathy and
support. Her own health, too, was pre-
carious. " Shirley " appeared in Octo-
ber, 1849. Though the author had
thus far preserved her incognito, part-
ly in consideration for her sisters, link-
ed with her in the public eye, con-
cealment was no longer easy, and, on
her visit to London the ensuing season,
in which she was greeted by several
of the chief authors of the day, she
finally threw it oif; and the wonder
was all the greater when it was discov-
ered that her two successful books
were the first publications of a simple,
retired young lady, the daughter of a
country clergyman, in an unpromising
manufacturing district of Yorkshire.
A third novel from her pen, " Villette,"
was published in 1852. In the in
terval, she had visited different parts
of England, and was in friendly inter-
course with many of the best authors
of the country. The boldness and sen
sensational character of her writings
was sometimes discussed; but their
vigorous realities and power in depict-
CHARLOTTE BRONTE.
53
ing character were universally ad-
mitted.
During these later years, the Rev.
Mr. Bronte had been assisted in his
church duties by an estimable curate,
Mr. Nichols, who had conceived a warm
affection for Charlotte, and, in 1853,
offered her his hand in marriage. Owing
to a disinclination to the match on the
part of her father, it was then refused ;
but he afterwards -became reconciled to
it, and in June, 1854, they were mar-
ried. A visit to Ireland followed, af-
ter which, the old residence at Haworth
was resumed. It was not of long contin-
uance. On the last day of May, 1855,
she fell a victim to the wasting con-
sumption, which had already preyed
upon so many members of the family,
and was laid by their side in the
church-yard which surrounded their
dwelling. The father, the last survi-
vor of the household, lingered a few
years longer, dying in 1861, at the age
eighty-four.
When the memoir of Charlotte
Bronte by Mrs. Gaskell, was published,
it was made the subject of a pathetic
sketch by Thackeray — one of the
" Roundabout Papers," in the " Corn-
hill Magazine." The feeling humorist
recalled the time when he had first seen
her in London, when he was just recov-
ering from an illness from which he had
not expected to survive. " I remember,"
says he, " the trembling little frame,
n.— 7.
the little hand, the great honest eyes.
An impetuous honesty seemed to me
to characterize the woman. JSTew to
the London world, she entered it with
an independent, indomitable spirit of
her own; and judged of contempora-
ries, and especially spied out arro-
gance or affectation, with extraordinary
keenness of vision. She was angry
with her favorites, if their conduct or
conversation fell below her ideal. I
fancied an austere little Joan of Arc
marching in upon us, and rebuking
our easy lives, our easy morals. She
gave the impression of being a very
pure and lofty, and high-minded per-
son. A great and holy reverence of
right and truth seemed to be with her
always. Such, in our brief interview,
she appeared to me. As one thinks
of that life — so noble, so lovely — of
that passion for truth — of those nights
and nights of eager study, swarming
fancies, invention, depression, elation,
prayer; as one reads the necessarily
incomplete, though most touching and
admirable history of the heart that
throbbed in this one little faame — of
this one amongst the myriads of souls
that have lived and died on this great
earth — this great earth? — this little
speck in the infinite universe of God —
with what wonder do we think of to
day, with what awe await to-morrow,
when. that which is now but darkly
seen shall be clear !"
CAMILLO BENSO DI CAVOUR.
CAMILLO BENSO DI
\J> CAYOUR was descended from
an ancient and noble family, founded,
tt is "believed, by a Saxon named Odi-
bert. His ancestors have been traced
to the middle of the 12th century.
They belonged to the flourishing com-
munity of Chieri, holding fiefs which
are still possessed by their descend-
ants. During the Middle Ages the
Bensos numbered several distinguished
statesmen and warriors. The Count
Geoffrey Benso defended the Castle of
Montmeillan, then the bulwark be-
tween France and Savoy, for thirteen
months with great bravery and skill,
against Louis XIII. At a later period
the family contracted alliances with
the noble French house of Clermont-
Tonnerre. The title of Count of Ca-
vour was conferred upon Michele 'An-
tonio di Benso, from a small town in
the province of Pinerolo.
Camillo was the second son of the
Marchese don Michele Giuseppe Benso
di Cavour and of Adelaide Susanna
Sellon, a lady . of Geneva. He was
born on the 10th of August, 1810. It
is not a little curious that one of his
* Abridged from an article in the ' ' Quarterly
Rerlew."
sponsors was Pauline Borghese, the
sister of the first Napoleon. His fa-
ther, although an amiable man, and
much beloved in his family, had ren-
dered himself unpopular by his aristo-
cratic manners and reserve, and by hia
connection with the absolute party.
A share of his unpopularity long fell
upon his son. Like most young men
of rank, Caraillo was sent to the mili-
tary academy. The army was then
almost the only career open to a youth
of noble birth. The civil service of
the State was despised, and few in his
position could be prepared for it by a
suitable education. He soon distin-
guished himself by his diligence and
ability, and was chosen as a royal
page, then the next step to successful
entrance into patrician life. His posi-
tion at the Court seems to have been
irksome to him. He took little pains
to conceal his distaste for it, and was
soon dismissed from its duties. Re-
turning with renewed energy to his
studies, chiefly directed by the cele-
brated astronomer Plana, he completed
his military education at eighteen,
leaving the Academy with the rank
of Lieutenant in the Engineers, and
the reputation of an able mathemati-
from an op roved photograph rrom, krh
Jotnson,Wilson & Co .Publishers ,
OAMILLO BEN80 DI CAVOUK.
trated than in England, mainly influ-
enced his future life, and led to the
formation of those opinions, and to the
adoption of those principles, upon
which he subsequently acted when
called into the service of his country.
He scarcely ever made a speech or
wrote a paper in which some allusion
to England will not be found, in which
he does not summon, as justifying a
policy or a principle, the great names
of Chatham, of Pitt, of Canning, or of
Peel, in which he does not point to a
maxim or a rule of the House of Com-
mons for the guidance of the Italian
Chambers, in which he does not show
that he was thoroughly imbued with
the spirit of the English Constitution.
His admiration for England — not an
irrational, blind, or frivolous admira-
tion, as his enemies wished Italy to be-
lieve, but a deep, earnest reverence for
those principles which had led to her
greatness and her freedom — subse-
quently earned for him the title of
which he certainly felt no shame, of
the "Anglomane." Cavour's visit to
England wras the turning-point of his
life. Its fruits were soon visible. He
had already, in 1835, published an ac-
count of the English poor-law; and
one of his first literary works, when he
was again settled in Turin, was a
paper upon Ireland, published during
the winter of 1843-'44, in two parts,
in the " Bibliotheque Universelle de
Geneve." It attracted general atten-
tion. A translation was published in
England in 1845.
Cavour, by his pen and his connec-
tion with several public institutions,
had now begun to take an active part
in public affairs. Or the 25th of Au-
gust, 1842, the King, Charles Albert,
had approved by a royal patent the
"Societa Agraria," of which Cavour
had been one of the originators, and of
which he was soon after appointed
resident councillor. Its ostensible ob-
ject was the improvement of agricul-
ture, and of the arts and sciences con-
nected with it ; but the founders of
the society had other ends in view. It
was their intention that it should be-
come a bond of union between men of
liberal opinions, and should ultimately
open the way to the establishment of a
constitution in Piedmont. Other ques-
tions than those strictly relating to
agriculture were, consequently, dis-
cussed at their meetings and in their
journals. Their principal organ was
the " Gazetta dell' Associazione Agra-
ria," to which Cavour became the prin-
cipal contributor. His articles at once
attracted attention by their boldness,
the novelty of their opinions upon
Free Trade, and their advocacy of con-
stitutional institutions. He especially
opposed the establishment, by the
Government, of model farms, which
were then much in public favor. He
entered into an examination of the
condition of agriculture in Piedmont,
and contended that it was not for the
State to undertake experiments at the
public expense, but that the true mode
of developing the resources of a coun-
try was to encourage the industry of
the people, and to remove all restric-
tion upon it, by wise and liberal laws ;
that all real progress came from their
intelligence, and not from the interfer
ence of their rulers. These broad and
liberal views produced their political
effect. Insensibly, and without excit
58
CAMILLO BENSO DI CAYOUR.
ing the jealousy or suspicion of the
Government, they gave an impulse to
that intellectual movement which ow-
ed its origin mainly to Gioberti, Balbo,
Massimo d'Azeglio, and other eminent
Piedmontese, who, by their writings,
were preparing the way for constitu-
tional freedom. Amongst the papers
which he published at this time were
a comprehensive inquiry into the sub-
ject of railways for Italy, and an able
argument against Communist doctrines.
Finding too limited a scope for the
expression of his political opinions in
his " Agricultural Journal," he found-
ed in 1847, with his friends Cesare
Balbo, Santa Rosa, Boncompagni, Cas-
telli, and other men of moderate con-
stitutional views, the " Bisorgimento,"
of which he became editor. The prin-
ciples of the new periodical were an-
nounced to be " independence of Italy ;
union between the princes and people ;
progress in the path of reform ; and a
league between the Italian states."
Cavour now threw himself into more
active political life. One of his first
public acts was to unite with his col-
leagues in the press in calling upon
the King of Naples to abandon his
anti-Italian policy for the course of re-
form then followed by Pius IX., the
Grand Duke of Tuscany, and Charles
Albert, " in the policy of Providence,
of pardon, of civilization, and of Chris-
tian charity." In the beginning of the
eventful year 1848, a meeting had been
called of the principal political leaders
in Turin, to consider the steps to be
taken with regard to a petition from
the inhabitants of Genoa to the King,
demanding, amongst other measures,
the expulsion of the Jesuits and the
organization of a national guard. Af
ter several persons present had giver
their opinion that a deputation froiL
the capital should accompany that from
Genoa to present the petition, Cavoui
exclaimed with great vehemence,
" Why should we ask in a roundabout
way for concessions which end in little
or nothing ? I propose that we should
petition to the King to concede to us
the inestimable benefits of public dis-
cussion in the face of the country, in
which the opinions, the interests, and
the wants of the whole nation shall be
represented. I propose that we should
ask for a constitution." Whilst this
proposition was approved by the more
moderate of those present, the extreme
democrats, with the exception of Sig-
nor Brofferio, declared themselves
against it. Out of this division of
opinion grew the two parties in the
Piedmontese parliament ; of one of
which, the Constitutional, Cavour be-
came the recognized leader.
He himself informed the King oi
what had passed at the meeting, assur
ing him that the Constitutional party
had no other object in view than the
support of the throne and the true
interests of the people united with
those of government. Shortly after
wards, Charles Albert, on the petition
of the municipality of Turin, granted
a constitution. Cavour was named a
member of the commission, of which
Balbo was the president, to draw up a
scheme for the election of deputies.
He took the principal part in its pro-
ceedings, and prepared the electoral
law. The first electoral college ol
Turin sent him to the new chamber as
its representative. He at once ass am
CAMILLO BENSO DI CAYOITE.
59
ed a first place in the assembly by the
ability, the vigor, and the matter of
his speeches.
The events of 1848 seemed to prom-
ise at last a day of freedom for Italy.
He shared in the general hope, and did
not even shrink from advocating with
enthusiasm the declaration of war
against Austria, and the union of
Lombardy to Piedmont. When the
King seemed to waver in his decision
of advancing to the assistance of the
Milanese, Cavour urged Balbo to pro-
claim himself dictator, and to march
upon Milan, declaring that he was
ready to accompany him bare-footed.
After the defeat of Custozza he actual-
ly enrolled himself as a simple volun-
teer. The armistice concluded at Mil-
an, however, rendered it unnecessary
for him to join the army. But in
common with the wisest and most
moderate of his countrymen, he soon
became alarmed at the pretensions and
excesses of the democratic party. He
declared himself unhesitatingly against
their doctrines and their policy, and
foretold the dangers into which they
were hurrying Italy. He exposed them
in the " Bisorgiinento," and in his speech-
es; and thus earned for himself that
hatred which never nagged to the day
of his death. He had now become so un-
popular that, when the King was com-
pelled to form a Democratic Ministry
under Gioberti and to dissolve the
Chambers, an unknown candidate was
chosen in preference to him by the
city of Turin as its representative. He
continued to condemn the policy of
the extreme party in the " Risorgi-
mento," but at the same time he gave
his support to those measures of Gio-
berti, while their moderate character
so exasperated the democrats, that when
that Minister proposed to interfere in
Tuscany to check the misrule of the
Republicans, he was obliged to resign.
We need only refer to the fatal
events of 1849. The folly, the jeal-
ousies, and the excesses of the Demo-
cratic party in Italy, and the weak and
treacherous policy of France, had ruin-
ed the cause of Italian freedom. The
battle of Novara had left Piedmont
prostrate at the feet of Austria. French
Republicans had illustrated their doc-
trine of universal fraternity by shoot-
ing down their brother Republicans at
Rome. Venice, deserted by Lamartine
and his Government, who had detrayed
her to Austria, and had sought to place
the shame on England, fell, after a glo-
rious resistance, giving an example of
noble sacrifice which alone casts any
lustre upon the history of that unhappy
period. Tuscany, wearied by a state
of uncertainty, and alarmed at the
prospect of invasion, invited the Grand
Duke to return. Men of moderate
opinions throughout Italy had long
separated themselves from the extreme
party represented by Mazzini and his
colleagues. They had held aloof from
all share in the events of this year of
revolution. It was Ricasoli and the
leaders of the constitutional party who
recalled the Grand Ducal family to
Tuscany. Even Gioberti himself pro-
posed that the Pope should be invited
back to Rome.
The Italian states, again broughj
under the direct influence of Austria,
were governed in a jealous and severe
spirit, some of them with a cruelty
which roused the indignation of Eu
60
CA'MILLO BENSO DI CAYOUE.
rope. In their bitter disappointment,
the hopes of the Italians were turned
to Piedmont, and that kingdom neces-
sarily became the rallying-point for
Italian freedom.
Cavour was re-elected a member of
the Chambers in December, 1849. His
foresight, and the justness of his views
during the lamentable crisis through
which the country had just passed, had
now been fully recognized. The place
which he accordingly held in public
estimation, and the confidence reposed
in him, rendered him peculiarly fitted
to lead the constitutional party in
Italy. In Piedmont alone could that
party gather strength and influence;
everywhere else it had been confound-
ed and crushed with the democrats
and republicans. The unfortunate
Charles Albert had been succeeded
by a young King who was willing to
govern as a constitutional monarch,
and who afterwards justified the trust
placed in him. Even most of the Re-
publican leaders now saw that the
sole hope of freedom for Italy rested
in this constitutional party, and they
determined to renounce their own
views and to rally round it. Manin,
the most virtuous, disinterested, and
noble-minded of these men, after a vis-
it to England, wrote his celebrated
letter calling upon the republicans of
Italy to give their entire support to
Piedmont. Mazzini alone, pursuing
his dark and mischievous plots and in-
trigues, preferred his selfish ends to
the welfare and happiness of his coun-
try ; but his followers were so much
discouraged, that his party was extinct,
except where blind and cruel acts of
despotism gavo it temporary strength.
Cavour's popularity was soon in-
creased by his vigorous and able sup-
port of the Siccardi law, abolishing
ecclesiastical jurisdiction. He succeed-
ed on this occasion in uniting the mod-
erate men of all parts in the Chambers,
and in forming that Parliamentary
majority which enabled him subse-
quently to carry out his own policy.
On the death of Santa Rosa (October
11, 1850), he was named his successor
as Minister of Agriculture and Com-
merce. Soon afterwards he was, in
addition, charged wth the Department
of Marine. One of his first acts was
to call upon the syndics of the various
provinces to abolish the local taxes
upon bread, a measure which was re-
ceived with general favor. Notwith-
standing the difficulties with which
he had to contend in the political and
financial condition of the country, he
lost no time in putting into practice
those principles of free-trade which he
had so long adopted, and of the truth
of which he had so earnest a convic-
tion. To this end he concluded treaties
of commerce with England, Belgium,
and other European powers. His
views met with determined opposition
from both the retrograde and the ex
treme democratic sides of the Cham-
bers. His desire to establish close and
intimate relations with England was
especially condemned as opposed to
the traditional policy of Piedmont.
The attacks upon him by the Protec-
tionist party were at one time so vio-
lent that they led to a duel; not an
uncommon end at that period to a
Parliamentary contest. His adversary
was the challenger. They fought with
pistols at twenty-five paces, each com
CAMILLO BENSO DI CAVOUR.
61
batant beinej allowed to advance five.
O
Neither was hit after the first fire, and
the quarrel was made up. Cavour be-
haved with great courage and with his
usual calmness. Immediately before
the duel he had made a fong and ex-
cellent speech in the Chambers.
He was now the recognized leader of
the majority in the Chambers. He had
soon shown himself the only man capa-
ble of directing their deliberations by
his tact, his knowledge of the principles
of constitutional government, and his
acquaintance with the forms of Parlia-
mentary procedure. However, a dif-
ference of opinion with his colleagues,
in opposition to whom he had succeed-
ed in persuading the Chambers to
elect Ratazzi as their president, led to
the resignation of the Ministry, which
was reconstructed in a few days, with
Massimo d'Azeglio at its head, but
without Cavour. He took advantage
of his exclusion from ofiice to pay a
hasty visit to England and France,
and to renew the friendships he
had formed with many of the most
eminent men of .both countries.
A weak and vacillating Ministry
could not long hold together when
deprived of its ablest member. Hav-
ing become involved in a serious dis-
pute with the Holy See on the ques-
tion of civil marriages, it resigned on
the 26th of October. Cavour was
called upon to form a Government,
but, finding it impossible to come to
terms with the Pope's agent, who put
forward the monstrous pretension of
the exclusive jurisdiction of Rome in
all ecclesiastical matters, he withdrew.
After several ineffectual attempts to
bring together a Ministry, the King
O I
yielded to the condition upon whicl
alone Cavour would accept office — •
resistance to the demands of Rome.
He became the chief of a new Govern-
ment, as President of the Council and
Minister of Finance.
From this period is to be dated Ca-
vour's career as the " Minister of Italy,"
and that bold and vigorous foreign and
domestic policy which enabled Pied-
mont to gather round her the whole
Italian race, and to become, from a
third-rate State of little importance,
one of the great powers of Europe.
During the following two years he
passed a number of important meas-
ures, which tended to develop the re-
sources and increase the prosperity of
Piedmont. A system of railroads was
planned for the country, chiefly with
the assistance of the able engineer
Paleocapa, whom he named his Minis-
ter of Public Works. The principles
of free -trade were further extend-
ed, and a convention was signed with
England in 1854, for the reciprocal
opening of the coasting-trade.
In 1854 the war broke out between
the "Western Powers and Russia. In
January of the following year, a treaty
was concluded between England,
France, and Sardinia, by which the
latter agreed to send an army of
14,000, afterwards increased to 25,000
men, to the Crimea. This treaty was
a master-stroke of policy. It affords
the strongest proof of the wisdom of
its author, and would alone establish
his claim to the title of a great states-
man. Cavour was not disappointed
in the estimate he had formed of the
Sardinian army. By their courage,
their discipline, and their soldier-like
n.— 8.
J
CAMILLO BENSO DI CAYOUK.
qualities, they established a repuation
not inferior to that of the best troops
in Europe. But, what was of no
less importance, the glory gained on
the field of battle removed that feeling
of discouragement which had arisen
after the fatal defeat of Novara, and a
nucleus of Italian soldiers was formed
around which would be gathered in
time an Italian army. In the autumn
of 1855, Cavour accompanied the King
to France and England.
What Cavour had so clearly fore-
seen now came to pass. The treaty of
alliance with England and France made
Italy. From henceforth Italy was to
be recognized as a nation, and to take
her place accordingly in the councils
of Europe. Peace was to be concluded
by conferences in which the Great
Powers were to be represented. Sar-
dinia claimed her right to be present
as a belligerent. In spite of the re-
monstrances of Austria, she was. admit-
ted, and Cavour brought before the
assembled statesmen the condition of
Italy. For the first time the national
wishes and hopes had been expressed
by an Italian in a European council.
For the first time Italy had been heard
in her own justification and defence ;
and, fortunately for her, she had found
an advocate in the most able, the most
wise, and the most moderate of her
sons. Cavour made a deep impression
upon his colleagues by the clearness of
his views, and the singular ability with
which he urged them. He spoke sel-
dom, but always to the point ; and his
opinions had much weight. Unable to
enter fully into the Italian question at
the conferences, he addressed two state
papers upon it to Lord Clarendon. In
them he proved, by indisputable facts,
how impossible it was for Piedmont
to develop her material resources, or
her free institution, whilst hemmed in
on all sides by Austrian bayonets, ex-
posed to endless intrigues, and com-
pelled for her own safety to make a
constant drain upon her finances. It
is evident by his language in the Con-
gress, 'and by these documents, that
Cavour still looked to a solution of
the Italian difficulty in the withdrawal
of the French and Austrian troops
from the territories of the Pope, and
in a reform of the Italian governments
themselves. His plan — at any rate for
the temporary settlement of the ques-
tion— was a confederation of Italian
states with constitutional institutions,
and a guarantee of complete independ-
ence from the direct interference and
influence of Austria ; and the seculari-
zation of the Legations with a lay vicar
under the suzerainty of the Pope. At
that time he would have been even
willing to acquiesce in the occupation
of Lombardy by Austria, had she
bound herself to keep within the lim-
its of the treaty of 1815.
The language of Cavour at the Con-
ferences of Paris had only tended to
embitter the relations between Austria
and Sardinia. Mutual recriminations
led at length to the^ recall of the Aus-
trian Minister from Turin, on the 16th
of March, 1857, followed by the with-
drawal of the Sardinian Minister from
Vienna. War now became sooner or
later inevitable. Neither the finances
nor the political condition of Sardinia
could bear the presence of a vast and
threatening army on her frontiers. On
the other hand, constitutional institu
CAMILLO BE^SO DI CAYOUR
63
tions and a free press in Piedmont, the
gathering-place of refugees from all
parts of the Peninsula, who fomented
discontent in the neighboring states,
were incompatible with the tranquility
of Lombardy. Open war was preferable
to this hostile peace. Austria increas-
ed her troops by sending about 50,000
men across the Alps. Cavour asked
the Chambers to sanction a loan of
forty millions of lire to enable the
Government to prepare for any events.
He was resolutely opposed by the re-
actionary party, but obtained a major-
ity after a remarkable speech delivered
during the best part of two days'
sittings.
The good understanding which had
hitherto existed between Cavour and
the English Ministry had suffered since
the Treaty of Paris. In advocating
with France the union of the Danubian
Principalities, he had opposed British
policy. This slight estrangement was
increased by the temporary cession of
Villafranca to Russia as a harbor for
commercial steamers and a coal depot.
These differences with the English
Government, and the absence of any-
thing more than a cold sympathy on
its part in the quarrel with Austria,
led Cavour to turn for aid to France.
He felt that the war which was impend-
ing, a war in which the very existence
of Piedmont as a free state would be
imperiled, rendered a close alliance
with that nation absolutely necessary.
Overtures were consequently made to
the Emperor which led to the celebra-
ted interview at Plombieres in the au-
tumn of 1858. On that occasion an
arrangement was come to, soon after-
wards to be ratified by the marriage
of the daughter of Victor Emmanuel
with Prince Napoleon. Its first result
was the memorable speech addressed
by the Emperor to Baron Hubner on
the first day of the new year — the sig-
nal for alarm throughout Europe and
for hope in Italy. Still Cavour believ-
ed that war would be deferred.
He nevertheless obtained from the
Chambers another loan of fifty millions
of lire to place the country in a state
of defence — justifying this step in a
very able circular addressed to the
Sardinian Ministers at foreign courts.
For a time the abortive Congress pro-
posed by Russia gave some hopes of
peace. But the change of Government
in England, misunderstood by Austria,
led her to believe that a change of
policy would follow, and encouraged
her in refusing concessions which might
have averted a war. When asked in
the early spring whether hostilities
were imminent, Cavour still expressed
a belief that Austria would shrink
from them. " When," added he, " you
hear that I have intrusted Garibaldi
with high command, you may be cer-
tain that war is inevitable." Sudden-
ly that celebrated chief was named
commander of the corps of volunteers.
One morning a rough, bearded man,
wearing a slouched felt hat and a
countryman's blouse, demanded an au-
dience of the Minister. Declining to
give his name, he was refused admit-
tance ; but as he insisted upon seeing
the Count, the servant went to his
master, and, describing the uncouth
appearance of the stranger, warned him
of the risk of ^ceiving unknown per-
sons. " Let him come in," said Cavour,
in his good-natured way ; " it is proba
CAHILLO BEKSO-Dl CAVOUR.
bly some poor devil who has a petition
to make to me." It was Garibaldi.
Cavour had never seen him before. A
long interview gave him the highest
opinion of the character and capacity
of this remarkable man, whom he
made up his mind to employ as soon
as the time for actual war had arrived.
On the 25th of March, Cavour paid
a hasty visit to the Emperor, at Paris,
and at a final interview came to a full
understanding with him as to the
course to be pursued in the event of
the breaking out of hostilities. Still
neither France nor Piedmont was thor-
oughly prepared for war when, on the
19th of April, Count Buol sent his ul-
timatum, demanding the immediate
disarmament of Sardinia, and allowing
three days for a reply. Cavour called
together the Chambers at once, and, in
a short speech, proposed that the
Constitution should be temporarily
suspended, and that full powers should
be conferred upon the King. The ul-
timatum was rejected, and on the 29th
the Austrians crossed the Ticino. The
French troops, still unprepared for a
campaign, wanting supplies and am-
munition, and even a proper medical
staff, were partly hurried across the
Alps, and partly sent by sea to Genoa.
Delays and incapacity on the side of
the enemy gave the French and Sardi-
nian armies time to unite and to occupy
the principal defensive positions. The
withdrawal of the Austrian troops from
the Legations, and a series of disastrous
defeats, ending in the great battle of
Solferino, left the French the masters of
all Central and Northern Italy, except
Venetia. During this eventful period,
the activity and energy of Cavour was
surprising. He always rose between
three and four o'clock ; indeed, it was
his common habit when in office, to
make appointments for six o'clock in
the morning, winter and summer. He
superintended the administration of
almost every department of the State.
In a series of masterly circulars to the
Sardinian diplomatic agents abroad, he
explained the situation of affairs, and
boldly declared his policy. The rapid
success of the allied armies seemed to
have placed within his reach the object
of a life of toil and hope — a free and uni-
ted Italy. It may, then, be imagined
with what dismay and sorrow he receiv-
ed the news, almost by accident, of the
interview of the two Emperors at Vil-
lafranca, and the conclusion of the
armistice, which was to end in peace.
For a moment he seems to have lost
his usual control over himself. Ho
felt that his country had been betray-
ed, her dignity offended, and his own
pride mortified, by the step which had
been taken by the Emperor without
consulting either his sovereign or him-
self. He remonstrated urgently with
the King, insisted that the terms of
peace should be rejected, the Piedmon-
tese armies withdrawn from Lombardy,
and the Emperor left, to carry out his
policy as best he could. The King
was in favor of calmer counsels. He
felt that much had been gained by a
great addition to his territories secured,
by treaty. Cavour insisted that to
accept the proposed conditions would
be to betray the Italian cause and
those who had already compromised
themselves in its behalf. He pointed
out the infamy of calling upon men to
rise on one day, and then to abandon
CAMILLO BEKSO DI CAVOUR.
65
fchem on the next to those who never
forgot or forgave, and upon whom the
most solemn pledges were not binding.
But these arguments were urged in
vain. Overcome by his feelings, the
indignant stateman is believed to have
addressed words to the King which
led to his dismissal from the royal
presence. He resigned at once, aud
retired to his farm at Leri. He refus-
ed even to see the Emperor, declining
an invitation sent to him to dine at
the imperial table.
During the period of his retirement
from office Cavour lived mostly at Leri.
Although his mind was engrossed with
public affairs, he found time to attend to
the management of his brother's estates
O
and his own. Many of his friends
visted him. The railway station near-
est to the small village adjoining the
farm is Livorno, between Turin and
Novara. There the Count's carriage
was usually in waiting, and a rapid
drive over a road deep in mud or fur-
rowed with ruts, according to the sea-
son of the year, brought his guests to
Leri. The dwelling-house itself is one
of those buildings common in this part
of Italy, distingushed more by its pictur-
esque neglect than by any architectur-
al pretensions. In front is an extensive
court-yard, surrounded by stables and
granaries, the outer walls of which are
hung with graceful festoons of grapes,
or with the golden heads of the Indian
corn. A few rooms had been added
to the farm for the comfort of visitors.
But Cavour himself usually inhabited
a small half - furnished chamber in
which he transacted business. On a
holiday his " fattore ' or bailiff, the
village doctor and priest, and one or
two farmers of the neighborhood, gen-
erally dined with him at his mid-day
meal. In appearance and dress he
was not unlike one of them. His sim-
ple, easy manners, his hearty laugh,
and his cordial greeting, were those of
an honest country gentleman. There
never was a man who looked less like a
stateman upon whom rested the fate of
nations. He was full of frolic and fun.
He would slyly hint to the doctor that
the stranger who just arrived was
Mazzini himself, or he would invent
for the priest, with the humor and
gravity of Charles Lamb, some mar-
vellous story of the discoveries in un-
known regions made by an English
traveler who had joined the party.
He would enjoy the joke like a very
child, rubbing his hands quickly to-
gether, as he was wont to when pleas-
ed, and keeping up the " mystification "
with infinite relish. But if one of his
neighbors asked him a political ques-
tion, he would reply as if he were ad-
dressing the Chambers, explaining the
facts with the greatest clearness, and
giving his own opinion upon them.
This was the time to see the real char-
acter of the man ; to understand that
union of rare qualities which made him
the idol of the Piedmontese people,
and led them almost to overlook the
greatness of the stateman in their love
for his personal worth.
When the meal was over, and the
guests, as is the custom of the country,
had dispersed, Cavour resumed his
gravity, without losing the extreme
simplicity of his manner. Under the
outward calm and good humor there
lurked a feeling of deep indignation
against the French Emperor. He
-66
CAMILLO BENSO DI CAVOUR
chafed and fretted at the check which
' had been given to his magnificent
schemes for the liberation of all Italy ;
but he was comforted by the confi-
dence which his countrymen had placed
in his patriotism and wisdom, and by
the unexampled constancy and pru-
dence they had shown in an hour of the
severest trial. He felt that his tempo-
rary retirement would ultimately se-
cure the triumph of the great cause
with which his name and fame were
for ever connected. Above all, he
rejoiced at the manner in which the
tortuous and uncertain policy of the
Emperor had been baffled by the un-
compromising firmness of the Italians
themselves.
As regards the peace of Villafranca,
Cavour attributed it to no distinct po-
licy, but rather to a variety of motives:
" There is no profound secret or mystery
about it," he said ; " it was rather an im-
pulse than the result of any well-consid-
ered design. Two splendid victories had
added sufficiently to the glory of the
French arms. The horrible scenes he
had witnessed on the field of battle
had made a deep impression upon him.
He felt much disgust at the quarrels
amongst his generals, who were sacri-
ficing the honor of their country to
personal jealousies. Then there were
the heat, the dust, and the labor, for
he did not spare himself; indeed, he
did everything. His exertions and
the fatigue he went through were
amazing. His health was beginning
to give way. He had had enough of
campaigning and its hardships, and
was anxious to get back to Paris. To
add to all this he could not resist the
temptation of dealing in person with
a legitimate Emperor, as his uncle had
before him, of imposing, without con-
suiting any one, the conditions of peace
and of earning at the same time, by-
his generosity and moderation, the
gratitude, and perhaps eventual sup-
port, of a still powerful, though van-
quished enemy. These various motives
and considerations together led him to
abandon the great cause in which he
had embarked, and to forget the proc-
lamations, the promises, and the hopes
of the' day before." Cavour 'was con-
vinced that the difficulties of an attack
upon the Quadrilateral had been great-
ly exaggerated. He believed that the
fortresses would have soon fallen. The
result of subsequent inquiries made by
the Austrian Government itself into a
state Mantua and Verona fully con-
firmed his opinion. After the fatal
day of Solferino a panic 'had seized
the Austrian army. The result of the
battle was first known in Verona by a
vast rabble of soldiers and camp fol-
lowers blocking up the gates leading
into the city. The greatest disorder
prevailed even in the forts, which
were without the necessary guns and
ammunition, and in some of which the
troops had been gained over. At the
same time the inhabitants of the city
were ready to rise. It is believed that
Louis Napoleon was not unacquainted
with these facts, and that he urged
them upon the Emperor of Austria at
Villafranca to obtain his acceptance
of the conditions of peace.
After the resignation of Cavour sev-
eral ineffectual attempts were made to
form a ministry. At length his strong
hand was succeeded by the feeble
grasp of Ratazzi and La Marmora
CAMILLO BEJSTSO DI CAYOUK.
67
But from his farm at Leri he really
governed Italy. His fame had never
been greater; the confidence in him
by his countrymen never more com-
plete. The peace of Villafranca had
been received with one feeling of scorn
and indignation. By his opposition
to it he had gained unbounded popu-
larity. Encouraged by his example,
and strengthened by his advice, the
Italians made a stern and effectual
protest against the treaty by simply
refusing to fulfil its conditions, and
to receive back the Princes they had
expelled. It was evident that no min-
istry of which he was not the head
could stand. Those who had succeed-
ed him were soon sending day by day,
almost hour by hour, to consult him.
It was not long before he was invited
to attend the meetings of the Cabinet.
A reconciliation took place with the
King, and Cavour was named the rep-
resentative of Piedmont to the Con-
gress of Paris, which was to have set-
tled the affairs of Italy, but which
never met. In the beginning of 1860,
the Batazzi Ministry resigned, and he
again became Prime Minister.
Cavour had scarcely returned to. of-
fice when it became known that the
Emperor had demanded the cession of
Nice and Savoy. It would be unfair
to overlook the enormous difficulties
with which Cavour had to contend in
this question. He had to choose be-
tween assent to the Emperor's demand,
however unjust and ungenerous, and
the sacrifice of his great scheme so
near its accomplishment for the liber-
ty and unity of Italy. Had he refused
to make the sacrifice, and had the hopes
of Italy been rudely disappointed,
what would have been the feelings of
O
the Italians themselves ? Would they
not have looked upon him as a traitor
to the national cause? They were
willing to pay the price demanded by
the Emperor. There was no voice
raised from one end of Italy to the
other against Cavour for acceding to
it. Even in the Chambers scarcely
any but the deputies of the province
of Nice protested against it.
The state of Italy was now such,
that no man with less influence, less
wisdom, and less courage than Cavour,
could have carried her through her
difficulties. At the conclusion of the
war the democratic party had again
obtained importance through the suc-
cess and reputation of Garibaldi, who
unfortunately allowed himself to be
guided by their evil counsels. Urged
onwards by them, he had, in the au-
tumn of 1859, planned an invasion of
the Marches. His adherents, if not
himself, had even gone so far as to
tamper with the Piedmontese army.
An outbreak at Bologna was only pre-
vented by the firmness and courage of
Farini, who threatened to place Gari-
baldi himself under arrest. The per-
sonal influence of the King restrained
the impetuous chief for a time ; but in
the spring of the following year an
abortive rising in Sicily was the signal
for a general movement on the part of
the Mazzinians. Garibaldi publicly
announced his intention of going to
the aid of the Sicilians, and an expe-
dition was prepared at Genoa. The
King and his government would have
willingly prevented it. Cavour knew
full well that the time for adding the
Neapolitan dominions to the rest of
CAHILLO BEKSO DI CAYOUE.
Italy had not yet come. The newly
formed kingdom required peace and
leisure to consolidate its strength, to
develop its resources, and to recover
from the struggle in which it had been
recently engaged. He foresaw that if
the expedition failed, he would be ac-
cused of sacrificing its leader; but
that if it proved successful, Garibaldi
would reap the glory, leaving him the
far greater difficulty of dealing with
the liberated states. But the feeling
was so strong in favor of the Sicilians,
that desertion threatened to become
general in the Sardinian army. Cavour
yielded, not without extreme reluc-
tance, to the less of the two evils, and
after having taken the only measures
in his power to prevent the sailing of
the expedition. He was probably not
without expectations that it would
fail in its objects.
Within almost a few days Garibaldi
by his daring and genius had conquer-
ed a kingdom. With the exception of
t vo great fortresses, nothing remained
to the Bourbon family. The difficul-
ties foreseen by Cavour now commenc-
ed. Garibaldi and his followers, ela-
ted by success, were prepared to ad-
vance upon Rome in defiance of the
French army. Again the cause of
Italian freedom was at stake through
the rash and hopeless schemes of the
democratic party. Cavour did not
hesitate as to the course he should
pursue. In order to forestall Garibal-
di, he decided that the Piedmontese
army should invade the Marches and
join the Garibaldian forces now held
in check by the line of defences occu-
pied by the King of Naples. The
result of this bold policy was the an-
nexation to Piedmont of all the remain-
ing territory of the Pope, except that
protected by the actual presence of
French troops, and the transfer of the
Neapolitan dominions to Victor Em-
manuel.
On the 30th of May, 1860, while
dressing, Count Cavour was seized
with a slight shivering fit, which he
attributed to indigestion. His full
habit had long led him to dread an
attack of apoplexy. He sent for his
physician, and, according to his usual
custom, had himself bled, — an opera-
tion which was repeated on the follow-
ing day. During the night the band-
ages came loose, and he lost much
blood. Next morning, however, he
felt better, and his active mind return-
ed to business. The state of things in
the Neapolitan dominions, and the
conduct of the Neapolitan Deputies in
the Chambers, caused him much anxie-
ty and irritation. He insisted upon
seeing M. Nigra, who had recently re-
turned from Naples, and an exciting
conversation took place between them,
which lasted two hours, and was only
interrupted by a relation, who, enter-
ing the room, insisted that it should
cease. The exertion and the excite-
ment caused a relapse. Again and
again, as he became weaker, he was
bled. Still no uneasiness was felt
until the morning of the 4th. Every
attempt had failed to check the fever,
and he seemed to be sinking. Those
who were about him now became se-
riously alarmed, and the anxiety was
shared by the population of Turin,
which gathered round his house, and
awaited with eager looks every report
from the sick chamber. The King de-
CAMILLO BEJSTSO DI CAVOUK.
aired that Dr. Biberi, the physician of
.the royal family, should be called in.
When left alone a short time, whilst
the medical attendants were in consul-
tation, Cavour asked whether they had
abandoned him. " It is of little mat-
ter," said he, laughing; "I shall leave
them all to-morrow morning." His
brother and others of his family were
desirous that he should now receive
the last sacraments of the church. He
consented at once. His parish church,
the Madonna degli Angeli, belongs to
the order of the Capuchin friars. One
of them, Fra Giacomo, had been em-
ployed by him in some negotiations
upon ecclesiastical matters. Cavour
had often asked him jokingly whether,
in case of approaching death, he would
administer the sacraments to one in-
cluded in some of the many furious
excommunications which the Pope
had launched against the enemies of
the Church. Fra Giacomo did not
hesitate to obey the summons to his
bedside. " You think me then an
honest fellow, do you not, Giacomo ?"
said Cavour to him, with a smile.
Up to this time he had retained full
possession of his senses. He had spo-
ken calmly of his approaching end,
but no words escaped him either of
regret for what he had done, or which
might might lead to the inference that
he recanted at the last one of those
opinions steadily and consistently
maintained during a whole life. On
the contrary, he spoke as a man who
had conscientiously performed his du-
ty. The King, after seeing him later
in the day, said that he had been
greatly struck by the calm- and sweet
expression of his countenance. The
n.— 9.
crucifix was placed between the light-
ed tapers, and the other mournful prep-
arations were made in the sick cham-
ber for the last religious rites. It was
soon known abroad that the solemn
ceremony was about to be performed.
A vast crowd gathered round the
house. When the tinkling bell which
announces the approach of the Host
was heard, a murmur of uncontrolled
grief rose from the throng. The friar
ascended the broad stairs amid the
chants of the attendants. The room
in which the Count lay was open, as
is the custom in Italy, to those who
followed the priest. A few of the rela-
tives and friends of the dying man en-
tered. As they stood around his bed
a feeling of unutterable sorrow came
over them at the calamity about to
fall upon them and upon their coun-
try. Cavour himself was calm and
collected. Addressing Fra Giacomo,
he said, in a strong voice, " The time
for departure is come;" using the
words of one going on a journey.
In the evening the King canae to
his bedside. Raising himself with his
two hands, Cavour exclaimed, " Majes-
ty ! you here !" and strove to seize his
hand to press it to his lips. The King,
deeply affected, bent over him and
kissed his cheek, saying, " I have heard
that you are suffering much, and I am
here to see you." " I am suffering no
longer," replied the Count. After a
few more words his thoughts began
to wander. " If you receive any let-
ters," he said, with much animation,
" let me have them immediately ; it is
very important that I should have
them, and I cannot go to you." Then
endeavoring to recollect himself, he
70
CAMILLO BENSO DI CAVOUR.
repeated, "Remember it is very im-
portant that I should have them im-
mediately. As for the Neapolitans —
ourify them, purify them, purify them !"
(li lava, li lava, li lava!). He then
spoke of Italy. Hi's whole soul was
wrapt up in this one thought — in his
country. During his illness no allu-
sion to his own affairs or condition, no
bitterness, no reproach to any one man,
escaped his lips. His last trial — that
indeed which had probably hastened
his death — the state of Naples, left the
last impression upon his waning mind.
'* No ! no S" he repeatedly exclaimed,
in the words which he had often used
during the previous two months, "I
will have no state of siege. Any one
can govern with a state of siege !"
The last intelligible sentences which
he is said to have uttered were " State
tranquilli / tutto e salvato " — " Be tran-
quil ; all is saved ;" and " Oh ! ma la
COSSL vaj state sicuri che ormai la cosa
va " — " The thing (the independence
of all Italy) is going on; be certain
that now the thing is going on." As he
gradually sank, he was heard at inter-
vals to mutter, " Italy — Rome — Ve-
nice— Napoleon."
As the morning of the 6th of June
dawned, he fell into a deep lethargy ;
at seven he passed away, almost inper-
ceptibly, in the arms of his beloved
niece, the Countess Alfieri.
As the s-id tidings spread through
Italy, a gloom of mourning, like the
shadow of an eclipse, seemed to creep
over the face of the land. Even those
who had differed from him in life
grieved over the loss of a great and
good man. The " Armonia," the or-
gan of the priest-party, bore witness
to his secret deeds of kindness and
charity. Nay, even the very Austrian
newspapers paid a generous tribute to
the genius of a great statesman who
had passed away. The day after his
death the Count lay in state. The
whole population came to gaze for the
last time upon that familiar face. Men
of every rank followed the body as it
was borne to the parish church through
streets hung with black and deep in
funeral flowers. It was deposited there
only for a time. His native city de-
sired that his remains should be con-
fided to it, to be placed beneath a
monument worthy of the man, and of
the capital which he had made the
cradle of Italy's freedom. The King
asked that they should be borne to the
Superga, that he himself might one
day be near the servant to whose genius
and devotion he owed his unexampled
prosperity. But Cavour's own wish
was fulfilled. He rests in the small
niche he had himself pointed out, be-
neath the old church of Santena, in
the land which belonged to his fore-
fathers, and where his kin have toi
generations lain before him.
RICHARD COBDEN.
73
net of Lords Aberdeen, Clarendon,
and others, Mr. Cobden gave his deci-
ded opposition ; and the war with
Russia, which soon followed, was con-
demned by him in terms that gave
some offence to the nation in general ;
O '
and, though he succeeded in causing a
dissolution of Parliament in 1857, by
carrying a vote condemning the pro-
ceedings of Sir John Bowring in China,
his course was so distasteful to his York-
shire constituents, that he did not of-
fer himself again for the West Rid-
ing. He became, however, a candi-
date for the town of Huddersfield,
but was beaten by his opponent. For
the next two years Mr. Cobden re-
mained out of Parliament, and spent
a good portion of the time abroad re-
cruiting his health. But at the next
general election, in 1859, when Mr.
Cobden was in the United States, his
friends nominated him for the borough
of Rochdale, and had influence enough
7 O
to return him for the seat. The issue
of that election was unfavorable to
the Conservative party, and Lord Pal-
merston, again Premier, kept the Presi-
dentship of the Board of Trade, with
a seat in the Cabinet, vacant for some
time, waiting for Mr. Cobden's accept-
ance. The latter, on arriving in Eng-
land, hastened to the Premier, and had
an interview with him ; but the result
was that he declined the offer.
"Though never a Minister, he in
1859, was employed as Plenipotentiary
at Paris, where he had the chief direc-
tion of the commercial treaty with
France. After negotiating that treaty,
he refused, with rare disinterestedness,
all public reward for his services be-
yond the bare repayment of the ex-
penses to which he had been put,
which was the more honorable to him,
as it was generally understood that his
private affairs were not in the best or-
der, owing to the depressed state of
his American investments. Indeed,
whilst he was out of Parliament, his
friends proposed to raise a second sub-
scription for him ; but this he positive-
ly declined ; and before long an im-
provement occurred in the share mar-
ket, which rendered any such step un-
necessary.
"For some years previous to his
death, Mr. Cobden had suffered from
ill -health, and he was strenuously
advised (as he declined to go abroad)
to avoid, as much as possible, exertion
and exposure in the winter season ;
this he usually passed at Dunford,
where he was much esteemed by all
classes. He ordinarily followed the
advice given ; but on the occasion of
his visit to his constituents at Roch-
dale, in last November, he spoke to
an unusual length, his speech occupy-
ing more than two hours in delivery.
Though apparently in an improved
state of health, the exertion required
in making that speech, coupled with
the heated condition of the room, pro-
duced the illness that ended in his
death. A severe attack of bronchitis
confined him to his bed-room several
weeks, and to his house during the
whole of the winter. As the season
advanced, his health began to improve ;
and about three weeks before his de-
cease he wrote to a friend stating that
he was perfectly well, and that he in-
tended taking his seat in Parliament,
to join in the debate on the Canadian
defences. He arrived in London foi
RICHARD COBD'EN.
that purpose on the 21st of March,
1865 ; but the weather was so bitterly
cold, that he was suddenly seized with
a renewal of his complaint, and was
obliged to hasten to his lodgings in
Suffolk Street. Though very ill, it was
believed that he would recover; but,
after some alternations, his strength
entirely give way, and he died on the
morning of the 2d of April, in his
sixty-first year. His remains were in-
terred on the 7th of the same month,
beside his only son, who died some
years before, in the church-yard of West
Lavington, which is in the immediate
vicinity of Dunford. The funeral was
attended by Mr. Gladstone, Mr. Vil-
lers, Mr. Milner Gibson, and upwards
of fifty other members of Parliament,
besides numerous deputations from
Manchester, Rochdale, and other places.
" Richard Cobden was one of those
men whom the fertile soil of freedom
never fails to cast up whenever there
is a great deed to do, or a great repu-
tation to make. In some respects he
might appear, at first sight, one who
was not peculiarly well qualified to
conduct a great popular agitation.
His manners, at least in private life,
were gentle and courteous ; he habitu-
ally shunned all occasions of giving of-
fence ; and, without deserting his opin-
ions, took no particular delight in
supporting them. Nature had given
him tastes for both what is correct in
design and elegant in language; but
his voice had neither great flexibility
nor power, and his manner and action
were not such as greatly to commend
him to turbulent and mixed assemblies.
He probably was more at home in the
House of Commons, than in those large
meetings over which he exercised HO
great and so decisive an influence.
But, though he was scantily endowed
with the external gifts and graces of
oratory, Mr. Cobden had that within
which amply compensated for these
defects. His delivery was earnest and
impressive; his language was clear,
vernacular, and well-chosen ; his ap-
peals to the reason of his hearers
weighty and well-directed ; his power
of argument singularly sustained and
elastic. He could impress upon an
uncultivated audience long and subtle
arguments on matters far removed
from ordinary experience ; and, by the
united power of language, vigor of
thought, and homeliness of illustration,
could convince as well as persuade,
and win converts while he was over-
whelming adversaries. No man took
up the ground he meant to maintain,
with more caution ; no man saw clear-
ly the weakness and difficulty of his
own position, or the assailable points
of his adversary. It was his habit to
anticipate objections, and to answer
arguments before they had been urged,
and so to qualify and limit his posi-
tion as to leave as few vulnerable
points as possible. His English was
clear, racy, and idiomatic, free from
common and vulgar expressions on the
one side, or from exaggerated or infla-
ted phrases on the other. He was
Nature herself; but Nature straining
and bending all her powers to the at-
tainment of a single object, to the es-
tablishment of a single point. He had
a great mastery over every part of the
Free-Trade controversy, such as nobody
else could pretend to ; and, in the num-
ber of speeches which he made on the
EICHAED COBDEN.
same subject, he showed a bound-
less fertility of illustration, and an
inexhaustible ingenuity in varying
tho arrangement and the form of his
arguments. Although not exempt
from that inequality which attends
even the best public speakers, there is
no orator of the present day who was
so sure to bring out the facts, to adduce
the arguments, and to make the im-
pressions that he desired. Such a man
could not fail of great success, espe-
cially among the hard heads and shrewd
understandings . of the North. Year
after . year he labored on in the cause
of Free-Trade, and it might be difficult
to say what amount of progress he
had made, when suddenly the whole
edifice of protection crumbled away
before him, and he found himself vic-
torious in a struggle which many had
considered as almost without hope.
At that moment he occupied a posi-
tion as proud, perhaps, as has ever
fallen to the lot of any English sub-
ject, who, by the mere exercise of en-
ergy and talent, had raised himself
above his fellow-citizens. Just seven-
ty years after the discoveries of Adam
Smith were made public, the victory
was obtained, and the twenty years of
Mr. Cobden's life which succeeded this
glorious epoch, witnessed the verifica-
tion of his ideas and the gradual diffu-
sion of his principles. Though at va-
rious times the object of bitter denun-
ciation and unsparing attack from his
political adversaries, Mr. Cobden lived
to see his merits appreciated, and his
great services acknowledged, even by
some of his most vehement opponents.
But of all the tributes paid to his
character, none was more brilliant nor
better deserved than that which he
received from the great leader of the
Conservative party. On the 29th of
June, 1846, in the course of a memor
able speech, Sir Robert Peel said : ' In
proposing our measures of commercial
policy, I had no wish to rob others of
the credit due to them. The name
which ought to be, and will be asso-
ciated with these measures is not the
name of the noble lord, the organ of
the party of which he is the leader,
nor is it mine. The name which ought
to be, and will be associated with those
measures, is that of one who, acting
as I believe from pure and disinterest-
ed motives, has, with untiring energy,
made appeals to our reason, and has
enforced those appeals with an elo-
quence the more to be admired because
it was unaffected and unadorned ; the
name which ought to be chiefly asso-
ciated with those measures is that of
Richard Cobden.'
" Mr. Cobden's private character was
unblemished, his habits extremely sim-
ple, and his discharge of all the duties
of life exemplary. The Bishop of Ox
ford (a neighbor of Mr. Cobden's) writ-
ing to account for his non-attendance
at the funeral, on the ground of ill
health, said, — 'I feel his loss deeply.
I think it is a great national loss. But
my feelings dwell rather on the loss of
such a man, whom I hope it is not toe
much for me to venture to call my
friend. His gentleness of nature, the
tenderness and frankness of his affec
tions, his exceeding modesty, his love
of truth, and his ready and kindly
sympathy — these invested him with an
unusual charm for me.' "
Such is the account given of the
76
EICHAED COBDLN.
life and character of Mr. Cobden in an
obituary article in the " Annual Reg-
ister " for 1865. To this impartial and
appreciative narrative, we may add the
more particular tribute to his memory
of his friend and political associate,
Professor Goldwin Smith, contributed,
at the time of his death, to an Ameri-
can journal, the Boston " Daily Adver-
tiser." "Even in the midst of your
struggle," he writes, " the hearts of
Americans will, .1 am sure, be touched
by the tidings that Richard Cobden
has gone to his rest. His rest, it may
be truly called ; for it closes, with the
peacefulness of evening, a long day's
work in the service of humanity. Long
his day has not been, if you measure it
by hours ; but it has been very long, if
you measure it by the work done.
Americans had a special interest in
this man, as well as Englishmen. It
was after over - exerting himself in
speaking on your Presidential election,
that he was taken home seriously ill.
It was to protest against calumnious
suspicions spread by your enemies re-
specting the designs of your Govern-
ment, that he came, somewhat impru-
dently, to London to take part in the
debate on Canadian defences, and there-
by probably brought on the attack
which ended in his death. He belong-
ed, however, properly neither to Eng-
land nor to America, but to man-
kind. His eulogy is pronounced by the
French journals as well as by ours.
Even in his death he reconciles nations.
To the sober sense of a man of busi-
ness (his original calling) Cobden had
added the ardor of a crusader; and
this union of sobriety and ardor mark-
ed the whole course of his political
career. The landlords fought for pro
tection, as the slave-owners fight for
slavery; and Cobden, as one of theii
great enemies, was of course one of
the chief objects of their furious invec-
tives. Yet his character remained more
free from bitterness, perhaps, than that
of any other party man. He could be
moved to indignation, fiery indigna-
tion, against public wrong. But per-
sonal rancor he had none. A ^ short
time before his death he had. a very
angry correspondence with the editor
of the * Times.' But the calumny which
on that occasion excited his wrath, and
revealed the latent vehemence of hia
nature, had been leveled, not against
himself, but against his friend. In
fact, perfect devotion to a great cause
had raised his mind, as far above every-
thing that was mean, as above the
meanness of personal hatred. That he
was most disinterested, even his ene-
mies allowed. Whether his principles
were right or wrong, he lived, as all
confessed, for them and for them alone.
Not only did he disregard the emolu-
ments of place, but all the grosser
prizes of ambition. Of him, if of any
public man, it might be said that he
never did an act or uttered a word
with a view to personal objects alone.
He and Garibaldi were cast in such
different moulds, and moved in such
different spheres, that had they met
they would scarcely havf^ recognized
each other as brethren. But in his
perfect purity, at least, the Manchester
manufacturer was the counterpart of
the Italian patriot, and both were
members of a new order of chivalry,
and precursors of a coming age.
" Free-trade does not stand by itself,
RICHARD COBDEK
77
either in the pages of Adam Smith, its
great apostle, or in the real world. It
is intimately connected with a general
policy of peace and good will among
nations, of which free commercial in-
tercourse is the providential basis. Of
this policy, and of the mutual reduc-
tion of armaments, and military taxa-
tion, which is a consequence of it, Cob-
den was, during the rest of his life, in
conjunction with Bright, the worthy
representative and the untiring cham-
pion. As the successful negotiator of
the French Treaty, Cobden might, if
he had pleased, have received the ac-
knowledgement of his victory in the
shape of a title or a seat in the Privy
Council. These he declined, as well
as all rewards of a more substantial
kind. Not that he had the vanity to
despise or affect to despise marks of
public esteem. But, no doubt, he in-
stinctively felt that such decorations
as these belonged to the old, he to the
new order of things. It would not
have been easy to induce him to put
on a court dress. That he should ac-
cept office under Lord Palmerston was
not to be expected. Lord Palmerston
was the embodiment of all that he
thought worst both in domestic and
foreign policy. And he was not the
man either to compromise in a matter
of principle or delude himself with the
belief that he could do good by be-
coming a partner in the councils of
evil. With a world still in arms, and
with the condition of military despots
yet unextinguished, the English nation,
even the more pacific part of it, has
perhaps scarcely embraced Cobden's
doctrine on the subject of non-inter-
vention. But full justice has been
n.— 10.
done to the courage with which he, in
company with Bright, faced the charge
of cowardice and the temporary storm
of popular hatred in attempting to
save the country from the Russian
war.
"The goodness of Cobden's heart
and the purity of his motives made
him, not only influential but popular
in the House of Commons, with all ex-
cept the most violent fanatics of the
Tory party. His eloquence, simple,
clear, earnest, and genial, flowed from
his character as a stream from its
spring. He never composed his speech-
es, but trusted that words would not
be wanting to a full mind and a glow,
ing heart. The most peculiar of his
intellectual gifts was the perfect sim-
plicity of view, which is likewise char-
acteristic of Adam Smith, and of all
great economists. He saw things ex-
actly as they were. His modesty in
his speeches, writings, and conversa-
tion equalled his strength of convic-
tion. His conversation, which was
charming, and his letters (a selection
of which would be most delightful
and instructive) advanced his princi-
ples almost as much as his public
speeches.
" Few of those with whom he held
intercourse could fail to venerate, none
could fail to love him. He possessed,
above all men, the talisman which wins
hearts. Johnson said of Burke, that a
stranger could not stand by his side
for a moment to take shelter from the
rain without discovering that he was
a remarkable man. Five minutes' con-
versation made you feel that Cobden
was a good man.
"Judged merely by his public
78
RICHARD COBDEN.
speeches, he might have seemed a man
of a single subject, or of a limited
class of subjects. But his modesty led
him to confine himself in public to
questions with which he was specially
familiar, and to pay an almost excces-
sive deference to the special knowledge
of others on topics to which they had
given more attention. Though his ed-
ucation had been limited, he had en-
larged his culture as he rose in life,
and could talk with interest and intel-
ligence on any theme. This 'cotton-
spinner' was not without a heart for
beauty. * There are two sublimities,'
he said, 'in nature — one of rest, the
other of motion, the distant Alps and
Niagara.'
" Whatever there may be sordid in
commercial pursuits, it had not touch-
ed his nature. No man ever felt a
deeper contempt for the pretensions
of hoarded wealth. 'That man,' he
exclaimed, speaking of a covetous and
dictatorial millionaire, ' talks as if his
words were shotted with sovereigns;
and yet it is not money that deserves
respect, but a generous use of it !'
" His later years were spent (when
he was not attending Parliament) at
Dunford, a country house in a beauti-
ful district near Midhurst, built for
him by the gratitude of his political
friends on the site of his father's farm.
This was his Caprera, and, like Gari-
baldi's Caprera, it was the unostenta-
tious centre of the great movements of
the age. Never was there a more per-
fect picture than that country house
presented of English family life, of
frugal enjoyment, simple hospitality,
and the happiness that flows from
iuty, friendship, and affection. Each
Sunday saw Cobden and his family
walking by a pretty country path to
the village church. Free (as the church
o v
of the future will be) from bigotry and
sectarianism, he was yet a truly relig-
ious man, walking as in the presence
of God, and thoroughly valuing the
religious character in others. He
would scarcely have trusted any one
whom he believed to be without relig-
ion. He was accused by his enemies
of being non-English, and of not lov-
ing his country. No man ever had a
more thoroughly English heart, or
loved his country better. But he lov-
ed her, not as an isolated tyrant, but
as a member of the great community
of nations and in just subordination to
humanity. He knew that her interests
were inextricably blended for the best
purposes of Providence with those of
her neighbors; that her strength lay,
as that of a man among his fellow-men
lies, not in her enmities, but in her
friendships ; and that the law of mu-
tual good-will, not of mutual hatred,
was the one which, as a nation of
Christendom, she was bound to obey.
Even her military security has been
essentially practical by his policy of
commercial alliances, which is uniting
all the powers of Europe with us in a
great confederacy, pledged to defend
the common trade. But the grand
proof that Cobden was a true English-
man is, that Englishmen of all parties
have wept over his grave. In death
at least he has put calumny under his
feet, and pointed out the path of sure
and enduring glory to all who have
the courage to serve their country with
singleness of heart, and to disregard not
the only vulgar temptations of persona]
RICHARD COBDEN
79
ambition, but (what is more difficult
for a generous mind) the popular pas-
sion of the hour. He rests at Laving-
ton, amidst a quiet scene of English
rural beauty, worthy in every way of
such a grave. Faults, no doubt, and
infirmities, Cobden had — we all have
them, or we should not stand in need
of each other. But our gratitude pre-
vents our seeing them now. Assured-
ly, if the Being that rules the world is
beneficence, to Him, we may reverent-
ly trust, this man's spirit has returned.
Nothing in life can be happier than
such a death. It is the setting of a
harvest sun, pensive as all sunsets are,
but glad with sights and sounds of
Harvest Home."
To this noble eulogy from the pen
of his able friend, nothing need be
added of comment on his character, or
illustration of the useful lessons of his
life. Unlike most statesmen, who live
only for their times, his work has not
perished with him ; for he was em-
ployed in sowing principles which have
yet to bear their fruit, not only in local
reforms, but in the comity and frater-
nity of nations. In this respect, he
was a man in advance of his age. His
projects of reform, only partially ac-
complished in his life-time, have yet
much of prejudice, and many entangle-
ments of old interests to contend with ;
but, with the progress of sound ideas
of political economy and the advance-
ment of Christian civilization, they
will be more and more brought into
the foreground, when his sagacity and
disinterested morality will not be for-
gotten. It cannot be said of him that
he " to party gave up what was meant
for mankind ;" for he sought to infuse
universal principles and a humanitarian
policy into the acts of his supporters >
and by these things his memory will
live. America owes him a debt oi
gratitude for his exertions in support
of her national life during her perilous
war for the preservation of the Union,
when it was his lot, in public life in
England, to withstand the opposition
of many in power and authority, less
benevolent or keen-sighted than him-
self. His two speeches on the Ameri-
can War, delivered in the House of
Commons on the 24th of April, 1868,
and at Rochdale on the 24th of No-
vember of the same year, are examples
no less of his acuteness in argument,
than of his philanthrophic spirit. For
he knew how to place questions of
morality on the ground of common
sense and common interest. In the
former, he argued ably in support of
the obligations resting upon England,
as well by her own laws as by the good
example of America in previous cases,
and by the claims of sound policy, to
maintain a strict observance of neutrali-
ty obligations in such cases as the fitting
out and escape of the " Alabama ;" and
in the second, he defended the United
States from the charge of maintaining
the war in the interests of protection
against free-trade. In such terms had
he spoken from the beginning of the
contest, and he lived to witness the in-
evitable triumph ; for, at the moment
of his death, the surrender of Lee's army
was imminent, an event which was con-
summated only a week after he expired
CATHARINE MARIA SEDGWICK.
IN a fragment of autobiography,
Miss Sedgwick traces her ances-
try on the paternal side to Robert
Sedgwick, who was sent by Oliver
Cromwell as governor or commission-
er to the island of Jamaica ; and, while
alluding to this personage, expresses
her satisfaction at the thought, that,
to have been thus chosen, he must
have been a Puritan or Independent;
for " a love of freedom," she says, " a
habit of doing their own thinking, has
characterized our clan." For two gen-
erations the family were settled, in no
great prosperity, at West Hartford,
Connecticut, when one of its members
removed to an unproductive farm at
Cornwall, where he opened a store.
Dying suddenly of apoplexy, in middle
life, he left a young family of six chil-
dren. Of these, Theodore, the father
of Miss Sedgwick, by the assistance of
his elder brother, received a liberal ed-
ucation at Yale College ; and, devoting
himself to the study of the law, open-
ed an office at Sheffield, Massachusetts,
and rose to be one of the Judges of
the Supreme Court of the State. He
removed, about 17S5, to Stockbridge.
He was an eminent Federalist, a dele-
gate to the old Constitutional Con-
(80)
gress, a supporter of the Constitution
and a member of the first Congress af-
ter its adoption. He married Pamela
Dwight, the daughter of Brigadier-
Colonel Dwight, of some celebrity in
the old French war. Of this union
there were seven children, of whom,
Theodore, the oldest son, educated at
Yale College, became distinguished as
a lawyer and politician. He was also
the author of a work entitled " Public
and Private Economy." Catharine
Maria, the sixth child, and second
daughter, was born at the family resi-
dence^ at Stockbridge, Massachusetts^
December 28th, 1789. Writing, late
in life, some recollections of childhood
for her grand-niece, she says of that
early period : " Education, in the
common sense, I had next to none ;
but there was much chance seed drop-
ped in the fresh furrow, and some of
it was good seed, and some of it, T
may say, fell on good ground. My
father was absorbed in political life,
but his affections were at home. My
mother's life was eaten up with calam-
itous sicknesses. My sisters were just
at that period when girl's eyes are daz-
zled with their own glowing futura
I had constantly before me examples
CATHARINE MAKIA SEDGWICK.
of goodness, and from all sides admoni-
tions to virtue, but no regular instruc-
tion. I went to the district schools,
or if any other school a little more se-
lect or better chanced, I went to that.
But no one dictated my studies or
overlooked my progress. I remember
feeling an intense ambition to be at
the head of my class, and generally
being there. Our minds were not
weakened by too much study; read-
ing, spelling, and Dwight's geography
were the only paths of knowledge into
which we were led. Yes, I did go in
a slovenly way through the first four
rules of arithmetic, and learned the
names of the several parts of speech,
and could parse glibly. But my life
in Stockbridge was a most happy one.
I enjoyed unrestrained the pleasures of a
rural childhood ; I went with herds of
school-girls nutting, and berrying, and
bathing by moonlight, and wading by
daylight in the lovely Housatonic that
flows through my father's meadows.
I saw its beauty then ; I loved it as a
play-fellow ; I loved the hills and
mountains that I roved over. My fa-
ther was an observer and lover of
nature ; my sister Frances, a romantic,
passionate devotee to it ; and, if I had
no natural perception or relish of its
loveliness, I caught it from them, so
that my heart was early knit to it,
and I at least early studied and early
learned this picture language, so rich
and universal."
Domestic associations, the pure af-
fections and intellectual encouragement
within her home, and the invigorating
all-bracing nature without, were the in-
fluences that moulded her character for
life. There was a similar felicity in the
mental and moral worth and kindly
mutual relations of the members of this
family. It was connected by marriage
in several generations with the best
blood of New England. Honored
names in the professions and litera-
ture, in civil and political life continu
ally recur in the record. There are early
connections of blood or friendship with
the family of Hopkins, the ancestors
of the renowned President of Williams
College, of our own day ; with the
Dwights, Sergeants, Hawleys, Worth-
ingtons, the "River Gods," as these
established gentry-folk on the banks
of the Connecticut were then called.
The American Revolution came as a test
of character; there was a natural selec-
tion of worth and moral force in its in-
struments ; and the Sedgwicks, with
the Ellsworths, Wolcotts, and their
fellows of New England, ripened un-
der its demands. With these, the ac-
quaintanceships and intimacies of the
family were formed. At home, the
father of Miss Sedgwick, a gentleman
of the old school, exercised no little
influence by his intellectual vigor up-
on the mental growth of his children.
He inspired them with a love of liter-
ature by his own delight in classic
authors. His daughter Catharine re-
calls in her " Recollections of her Early
Years," his reading aloud to the family
in the evenings, Hume, Shakespeare,
Don Quixote, or Hudibras. " Certain-
ly," says she, "I did not understand
them " — she was but eight years old at
the time of which this is written —
"but some glances of celestial light
reached my soul, and I caught from
his magnetic sympathy some elevation
of feeling, and that love of reading
52
CATHARINE MARIA SEDGWICK.
which has been to me 'education."1
She also speaks of the kindly influ-
ences in mental and moral culture of
her early association with her brothers,
Robert, Harry, and Charles. The charm
of friendship seems to have been blend-
ed with family affection in their inter-
course ; and these genial impressions
were always kept alive. " In looking
back upon our family life," writes
Miss Sedgwick, towards the close of
her own, " from a position that is like
that of a retrospect from another life,
and in comparing it with any other
that I have intimately observed, the
love and harmony, kept aglow by a
constitutional enthusiasm, seems to
me unparalleled ; and I look upon my
parents, the source of it all, with an
admiration and gratitude that I have
no words to express."
The first books which found their
way to Catharine in her childhood,
were of a class of juvenile literature
of a generation or two ago, which has
not been much improved upon in the
issues of stories for children at the
present day. They were mingled, too,
with others of a larger growth, the
English classics, which ere now quite,
to their loss, seldom in the hands of
the young. " The books that I remem-
ber," writes Miss Sedgwick, — "there
were, perhaps, besides a dozen little
story-books — are Berquin's ' Childrens'
Friend,' translated from the French, I
think, in four volumes — I know I can
remember the form and shade of color
of the book, the green edges of the
leaves, the look of my favorite pages.
Then there was the ' Looking-Glass,'
an eclectic, which contained that most
pathetic story of ' Little Jack.' Then
there was a little thin book, called
1 Economy of Human Life.' That was
quite above my comprehension, and I
thought it very unmeaning and te-
dious. There was a volume of Howe's
1 Letters from the Dead to the Living,1
which had a strange charm for me. I
do not think that I believed them tc
have been actually written by the de-
parted, but there was a little mystifi-
cation about it that excited my iinagi
nation. And, last and most delightful
were the fables, tales and ballads, in a
large volume of ' Elegant Extracts.' I
have sometimes questioned whether
the keen relish which this scarcity of
juvenile reading kept up, and the
sound digestion it promoted, did not
overbalance the advantage in the
abundance and variety that certainly
extinguishes some minds and debili-
tates others with over - excitement.
All books but such as had an infusion
of religion were proscribed on Sunday,
and of course the literature for that
day was rather circumscribed. We
were happily exempted from such con-
fections as Mrs. Sherwood's — sweeten-
ed slops and water gruel, that impair
the mental digestion. We lived as
people in a new country live — on
bread and meat — the Bible and good
old sermons, reading these over and
over again. I remember, when very
young, a device by which I extended
my Sunday horizon; I would turn
over the leaves of a book, and if I
found * God ' or ' Lord,' no matter in
what connection, I considered the book
sanctified — the taboo removed."
Beside the surroundings of fine na-
tural scenery and the happy waifs and
strays of good books, there was anoth-
CATHAKINE MAEIA SEDGWICK.
83
er element in the culture of the family
peculiar to those days which deserves
to be recorded. It was the discipline
in the formation of opinions and man-
ners growing out of the intercourse
with various people in the hospitality
of the homestead, and its influence has
been happily traced by Miss Sedgwick.
" My father's public station," she
writes, " and frequent residences in
town, gave him a very extensive ac-
quaintance, and his affectionate tem-
per warmed acquaintance into friend-
ship. There were then no steamers,
no railroads, and a stage-coach through
our valley but once a week. Gentle-
men made their journeys in their pri-
vate carriages, and, as a matter of
course, put up at their friends' houses.
My father's house was a general depot ;
and, when I remember how often the
great gate swung open for the entrance
of traveling vehicles, the old mansion
seems to have resembled much more an
hostelrie of the olden time, than the quiet
house it now is. My father's hospital-
ity was unbounded. It extended from
the gentleman in his coach, chaise, or
on horseback, according to his means
and necessities, to the poor lame beggar
that would sit half the night roasting
at the kitchen fire with the negro ser-
vants. It embraced within its wide girth
a multitude of relations. My father
was in some sort the chieftain of his
family, and his home was their resort
and resting-place. Uncles and aunts
always found a welcome there; cous-
ins summered and wintered with us.
Thus hospitality was an element in
our education. It elicited our facul-
ties of doing and suffering. It smoth-
ered the love and habit of minor com-
forts and petty physical indulgences
that belong to a higher state of civili-
zation and generate selfishness, and it
made regard for others and small sacri-
fices to them a habit. Hospitality was
not formally inculcated as a virtue,
but it was an inevitable circumstance
— a part of our social condition. The ta-
ble was as cheerfully spread for others
as for ourselves. We never heard that
hospitality was a duty, nor did we
ever see it extended grudingly, or with
stinted measure to any guest of any
condition. This gathering into our ark
of divers kinds of human creatures had
a tendency to enlarge our horizon,
and to save us from the rusticity, the
ignorance of the world, and the preju-
dice incident to an isolated country
residence."
In her religious views, the opinions
and sentiments of Miss Sedgwick cer-
tainly were not formed, unless by a
kind of antagonism, by the Hopkinsian
Calvinistic teaching of Dr. West, for
two generations the preacher at Stock-
bridge. She describes his small, well-
made person, and graceless features,
" save an eye ever ready to flow with
gentle pity and tender sympathy," hia
formal visits, " stern as an old Israelite
in his faith, gentle and kindly in his life
as ' my Uncle Toby.' I dreaded him, and
certainly did not understand him in my
youth. He Avas then only the dry,
sapless embodiment of polemical divin-
ity. It was in my mature age and hia
old age that I discovered his Christian
features, and found his unsophisticated
nature as pure and gentle as a good
and gentle as a good little child's.
He stood up in the pulpit for sixty
years, and logically proved the whole
CATHAKINE MARIA SEDGTWICK.
moral creation of God — for this lie
thought limited to earth and the stars
made to adorn man's firmament — left
by him to suffer eternally for Adam's
transgression, except a handful elected
to salvation, and yet no scape-grace,
no desperate wretch within his ken
died without some hope for his eternal
state, springing up in the little doctor's
merciful heart."
But the child's education was not lim-
ited by the home or village-life at Stock-
bridge. There were visits to people at
at a distance, to a Federalist uncle and
his well-fitted household at Bennington;
and especially to New York, where the
child of eleven years was taught by
the one and only dancing-master of
the city, at the close of the century;
and where she had lessons from a
French master ; and where, more to her
liking, she was taken to the theatre,
and, for her first play, saw Hodgkin-
son as " Macbeth," and Cooper as
" Macduff." " When they came to the
final fight," she says, " I entreated my
brother to take me out of the house.
He laughed at me. I said, ' I know it
is not real, but they are really enrag-
ed !' How much delight I had from
the few plays I saw that winter !
What an exquisite portion of the
pleasures of imagination come, or have
come, to the young through the drama."
There was school-life, too, at Albany,
at thirteen, at good Mrs. Bell's,, a lady
who not much of a school-mistress in
matters of education, but who " was
always ready to throw out poetic rid-
dles and conundrums ;" and, at fifteen,
another sojourn at a boarding-school
at Boston, not a very exclusive sort of
residence, for she seems to have been
much admired in a large and friendly
circle outside of it. The succeeding
years, until her arrival at womanhood,
were pleasantly passed by Miss Sedg-
wick in the midst of those family cares
and attentions, devotion to which ever
occupied so large a portion of her life.
Her mother died in 1807 ; and the fol-
lowing year, Judge Sedgwick, " to
whose genial and affectionate nature,"
we are told, " widowhood was intoler
able," married again. On his decease,
in 1813, the stepmother returned to
her family, and Catharine became
housekeeper for her brothers, in the
old Stockbridge home. She had in the
meantime, when in New York, become
a member of Dr. Mason's Presbyterian
Church ; and, though distrustful of his
extreme Calvinistic tenets, remained
with the "persuasion" until the for-
mation of the first Unitarian Society
in New York, in 1820, when she grad-
ually became attached to that denomi-
nation. During this period of growth,
her occasional letters, which have been
published, exhibit her development.
Her mind appears to have been open
to all the genial influences of the time ;
while her affections were constantly
strengthened by her new family rela-
tions. We find her expressing her pleas-
ure in seeing " the unrivalled Kean " in
" Lear," and saluting a new, unopened
" Waverley novel, Kenilworth," "with
as much enthusiasm as a Catholic
would a holy relic." A journal, which
she kept for her friends, while on a
tour to Niagara and Canada, in 1821;
shows a natural spirit and cultivation
in writing, and a sense of humor pre
monitory of her coming authorship. It
is of interest, also, as a record of a swift
CATHARINE MARIA SEDGWICK.
85
ly passing era. The Erie Canal was
then in progress towards completion;
Buffalo was a town of 1,200 inhabi-
tants, with " several fine brick houses,
some them quite as large as any in
Albany." The Eev. Eleazer Williams,
with no mention as yet of reputed
Dauphinism and heirship to the crown
of France, was a simple missionary in
Oneida , and the Niagara Falls, then
as now, were impossible to describe,
in all their beauty and sublimity.
A notice of a Yorkshirernan and his
wife, inhabiting an old stone store-
house by the Falls, is characteristic :
"The old man gave us a piteous ac-
count of his trials : he said when he
laid in his bed, he could never tell
when it rained nor when it thundered ;
for there was always a dripping from
the dampness, and the deafening roar of
the Fall ; and then, his poor cattle, in
winter, were always covered with
icicles. It was a mighty fine thing
to come and see, but we should be
sick enough of it if we had as much of
it as he had. 1 11 rt'y a rien de beau
que Futile ' is a fair maxim for a poor
laborer. We expressed our sympathy,
which was certainly more appropriate
than our contempt would have been."
In this there was a little foretaste of
the philosophy which pervades Miss
Sedgwick's many volumes.
The talent in writing which she had
now displayed, encouraged by her in-
tellectual relations, naturally went fur-
ther. Her mental powers, stimulated
by her associations with the Unitarians,
found exercise in the composition of a
short story, intended as an illustration
of her new religious views. By the
advice of her brother Harry, she en-
n.— II.
larged its scope and plan, and the re-
sult was her first publication, issued
by Bliss and White, in New York, in
1822, entitled "The New England
Tale." The scene was laid in her own
Berkshire, and in her own day. " It
was the first time," writes her early
friend, Mr. Bryant, " that the beautiful
valleys of our country had been made
the scene of the well-devised adven-
tures of imaginary personages, and we
all felt that, by being invested with
new associations, they had gained a
new interest." The book was at once
favorably received, though it appears
to have been the subject of some dis-
cussion ; " the orthodox," as we learn
from a letter written at the time by Mr.
Harry Sedgwick, " doing all they can
to put it down," and Mr. Bliss, the
most gentlemanly and kind-hearted of
publishers, regarding its representa-
tion, of the New England character as
too unfavorable for general success.
Writing to Mrs. Frank Channing, the
author herself says : " My book ! If
all poor authors feel as I have felt
since obtruding myself upon the notice
of the world, I only wonder that the
lunatic asylum is not filled with ihein.
I hardly know any treasure I ^ould
not exchange to be where I was before
my crow-tracks passed into the handa
of printers' devils. I began that little
story for a tract ; and because I wanted
some pursuit, and felt spiritless and
sad, and thought I might perhaps lend
a helping hand to some of the h ambler
and unnoticed virtues. I had no plans,
and the story took a turn that seemed
to render it quite unsuitable for a
tract, and after I had finished it, I was
persuaded to publish it. I claim noth-
80
CATHARINE MARIA SEDGWICK.
ing for it on the score of literary merit.
1 have some consolation in the convic-
t*on that the moral is good, and that
to the young and simple in our coun-
try towns, if into the hands of any
such it should fall, it may be of some
service."
Thus, at the age of thirty - three,
Miss Sedgwick began her career of au-
thorship. A short time after, we find
her in communication with Maria Edge-
worth, the aim of whose writings, and
she could hardly have had a better
model, fell in with her own tastes and
habits of thinking, and excited an in-
fluence which was not diminished in
later years. "I have received," she
writes to her relative, Mrs. Watson, in
1823, "a very gratifying letter from
Miss Edgeworth. This is quite an
epoch in my humble, quiet life. The
letter is entirely satisfactory to me,
though some of my kind friends would
fain believe that she ought to have
buttered me up more." The following
year, " Redwood," Miss Sedgwick's
second novel, was published in two
volumes, in New York, and with distin-
guished success. It fairly established
her fame in that department of litera-
ture in America. As with her pre-
vious work, the scene was laid at
home, and the manners were those of
the present day. It was reviewed by
Mr. Bryant, in the " North American
Review," in an elaborate article, in
which he exhibited the capabilities of
American life and character, in their
marked diversity and interesting pe-
culiarities for the purposes of the nov-
elist, and complimented the author on
their judicious employment, and the
moral value of her work in elevating
objects which had been regarded as
simply ludicrous and laughable, by
"connecting them, as we find them
connected in real life, with much that
is ennobling and elevated, with traits
of sagacity, benevolence, moral cour-
age, and magnanimity." There is one
character in the book which has been
much admired, " Miss Deborah," or
" Debby Lenox," " the clear-headed,
conscientious, resolute Yankee spins
ter, a combination of noble and home
ly qualities so peculiar, yet so proba-
ble, and made so interesting by the
part she takes in the plot, that as we
read, we always welcome her re-appear-
ance, and she takes her place in our
memory with the remarkable person-
ages we have met with in real life."*
" Redwood " was followed the next
year by a single volume, " The Travel-
lers, a Tale designed for Young Peo-
ple," in which the author, availing
herself of her former travelling expe-
riences, carried a little family party of
a brother and sister, with their pa-
rents, on a tour to Niagara and the
St. Lawrence, improving the incidents
by the way with a variety of instruc-
tive moral reflections. Later on, we
shall find Miss Sedgwick largely en-
gaged in the composition of works of
a similar character for the young.
About the time that " Redwood " was
produced, Miss Sedgwick was much in
New York, where, in an evening party
in 1825, she sees, for the first time, the
poet Halleck, then enjoying his celeb-
rity as the author of " Fanny," and the
" Croakers." In a letter to her brother,
Charles Sedgwick, we have this men
* Mr. Bryant's "Reminiscences of Miss Sedg
wick."
CATHABINE MARIA SEDGWICK.
87
fcion of his appearance : " He has a red-
dish - brown complexion, and heavy
jaw, but an eye so full of the fire and
sweetness of poetry, that you at once
own him for one of the privileged
order. He does not act as if he spent
his life in groves and temples, but he
has the courtesy of a man of society.
He dances with grace, and talks freely
and without parade." She also, the
same season, was called upon in New
York by Daniel Webster, who "talk-
ed of birds and beasts as well as .La
Fontaine himself. His face is the
greatest I have ever seen. It has all
the sublimity of intellect." Shortly
after, she is in Boston, at the famous
Bunker Hill celebration, listening to the
oration of Webster, in the presence of
the "nation's guest," General Lafay-
ette. An intimate acquaintance with
Dr. Channing, also becomes to her a
source of unmingled delight and intel-
lectual gratification. The words in
which she expresses her admiration
give us an insight into the life of the
wealthy and cultivated society around
him. '' One of the greatest pleasures,"
she writes from Boston, in November,
1826, to her brother Charles, "I have
had here, or could have anywhere, has
been seeing Mr. Channing. I have
twice dined and spent the evening in
his company, and sat next to him all
the time. There is a superior light in
his mind that sheds a pure, bright
gleam on everything that comes from
it. He talks freely upon common
topics when he speaks of them. There
is the influence of the sanctuary, the
holy place about him. Such an influ-
ence cannot be lost, and I perceive a
deep seriousness, an energy of religious
feeling in the conversation of some of
my friends, that seems to me more like
what I have read of than anything 1
have before seen. Elsewhere I have
seen the poor, the sick, and the afflict-
ed detached from the world, and turn-
ing to communion with the God of
their spirits ; but here I have met with
some who have everything that the
world can give, who feel that it is all
very good, and yet their minds are in-
tent on heavenly things. It seems to
me that it would be impossible to live
within the sphere of Mr. Channing's
influence, without being in some. de-
gree spiritualized by it."
In her third novel, " Hope Leslie ; or,
Early Times in Massachusetts," publish-
ed in 1827, Miss Sedgwick presented
what may be called an historical picture
of the country shortly after its first set-
tlement, with its Puritan inhabitants in
deadly and romantic conflict with the
Indian warriors of the time. The Eev-
erend Dr. Greenwood, reviewing the
book in the " North American Review,"
thus characterizes it, in company with
its predecessors, pronouncing it the
best of the three : " In all, there is the
same purity and delicacy; the same
deep and solemn breathings of religion
without parade, and of piety without
cant or censoriousness ; the same love
of the grand and lovely in nature, to-
gether with the same power so to ex
press that love as to waken it up ar-
dently, devotionally in others; the
same occasional touches of merry wit,
and playful satire ; the same glowing
fancy; and, spread through all, and
regulating all, the same good sense,
leading to a right apprehension of hu
man motives, restraining genius from
CATHARINE MARIA 8EDGWICK.
extravagance, giving an air of reality
to the narrative, and securing our con-
stant respect for the narrator." In
her next novel, "Clarence, a Tale of
Our Own Times," published three
years after, the author introduces the
reader to the fashionable world of
New York ; and, among other descrip-
tions of the country, to the scenery of
Trenton Falls. In 1832, she contribu-
ted " Le Bossu," a tale of the times of
Charlemagne, to a collection published
in New York by the Harpers, entitled
u Tales of the Glauber Spa," to. which
Robert C. Sands, James K. Paulding,
William Leggett, and William Cullen
Bryant were her fellow contributors.
Three years later, another novel by
Miss Sedgwick, " The Linwoods ; or,
Sixty Years Since in America," was
published with the like success, which
attended her previous works. Immedi-
ately after this, she entered upon a new
course of writings, in which she became
greatly distinguished — a series of prac-
tical tales for illustrating every - day
life and manners with a direct moral,
philanthropic purpose in the improve-
ment of social relations and the devel-
opment of individual character. The
first of these was entitled " Home," a
second "The Poor-Rich Man and the
Rich-Poor Man," followed at intervals
by " Live and Let Live," and several
delightful volumes of juvenile tales.
u A Love Token for Children;" " Sto-
ries for Young Persons ;" " Means and
Ends; or, Self Training." The titles
of these books indicate their subject-
matter ; the treatment was simple, ear-
nest, humorous, and pathetic. They
have been the most read, and are still
the most in demand of the author's
numerous writings. " In those admir-
able stories," writes Mrs. Kirkland, in
allusion to these little works, " that
seem like letters from an observing
friend — those, we mean, that have an
avowed moral purpose, imagination
and memory are evidently tasked for
every phase of common or social expe
rience that can by example or contrast
throw light upon the great problem,
how to make a happy home under dis-
advantages both of fortune and char-
acter. She might be well painted as a
priestess tending the domestic altar,
shedding light upon it, setting holy
symbols in order due, and hanging it
with votive wreaths, that may both
render it proper honor, and attract the
careless or the unwilling."
On the arrival in New York, in
1833, of Fanny Kemble, Miss Sedg.
wick admired her on the stage, and
made her acquaintance in private life,
an acquaintance which ripened into
intimacy, and bore lasting fruits in
their future personal relations. " We
are just now," she writes, to Mrs.
Frank Channing, " in the full flush
of excitement about Fanny Kem-
ble. She is a most captivating crea-
ture, steeped to the very lips in genius.
Do not, if you can bear unmixed trag
edy, do not fail to see her ' Belvidera.'
I have never seen any woman on the
stage to be compared with her, nor
ever an actor that delighted me so
much. She is most effective in a true
woman's character, fearful, tender, and
true. On the stage she is beautiful,
far more than beautiful ; her face is
the mirror of her soul. I have been
to see her: she is a quiet gentlewoman
in her deportment." When the fa
CATHARINE MARIA SEDGWICK.
89
aious " Journal " of the actress appear-
ed, Miss Sedgwick records her perusal
of " most of it with intense pleasure,"
with the remark, "It is like herself;
and she is a complex being, made up
of glorious faculties, delightful accom-
plishments, immeasurable sensibilty.,
and half a hundred little faults." Miss
Sedgwick, also, on the arrival of the
Italian patriots, released from the tyr-
anny of Austria, on condition of per-
manent exile, Confalioneri, Maroncelli,
Foresti, and others, received them hos-
pitably, and interested herself most
warmly in their welfare.
In 1838, Mr. Kobert Sedgwick, hav-
ing suffered severely in health, visited
Europe with his wife and eldest
daughter, and was' accompanied by Miss
Sedgwick. The tour extended through
nearly two years, and embraced Eng-
land, Belgium, the Ehine, Switzerland,
and Italy. Of this journey, after her
return to America, Miss Sedgwick pub-
lished a most interesting account in a
brace of volumes, entitled "Letters
from Abroad to Kindred at Home."
The notices of English life and man-
ners in this work, are of especial
value ; and, without any violation of
the privileges or delicacy of hospital-
ity, we get glimpses of many literary
and other celebrities, of whom it is al-
ways pleasant to hear. Thus, at the
outset, we meet Captain Basil Hall,
who shows the party much attention
at Portsmouth ; Miss Mitford in her
rural home ; Joanna Baillie, at Hamp-
stead Hill ; Macaulay, at a breakfast
with the poet Rogers ; Carlyle ; Sydney
Smith ; Jane Porter ; Mrs. Opie, and
others. Nor was the attention of the
traveller confined to eminent persons
or places. Her sketches of familiar
every -day life are by no means the
least attractive pages of her book.
She carried her sympathizing human
heart with her, and everywhere found
occasion for the exercise of the affec-
tions. " In my strolls," she writes, soon
after her arrival in England, " I avail
myself of every opportunity of accost-
ing the people ; and, when I can find
any pretext, I go into the cottages by
the wayside. This, I suppose, is very
un-English., and may seem to some
persons, very impertinent. But I have
never found inquiries, softened with a
certain tone of sympathy, repulsed.
Your inferiors in condition are much
like children, and they, you know, like
dogs, are proverbially said to know
who loves them." There is something
very pleasing in this road-side picture.
" I will spare you," she says, " all the
particulars of my wayside acquaint-
ance with a sturdy little woman whom
I met coming out of a farm-yard, stag-
gering under a load of dry furze, as
much as could be piled on a wheelbar-
row. A boy not more than five years
old was awaiting her at the gate, with
a compact little parcel in his arms,
snugly done up. ' Now take slie] he
said, extending it to the mother, and I
found the parcel was a baby not a
month old; so I offered to carry it,
and did for a quarter of a mile, while
the mother in return, told me the whole
story of her courtship, marriage, and
maternity, with the last incident in her
domestic annals, the acquisition of a
baking of meal, some barm, and the
loan of her husband's mother's oven,
and, lastly of the gift of the furze to heat
the oven. The woman seemed some
CATHAKINE MAKIA SEDGWICK.
thing more than contented — happy. I
could not but congratulate her. * It
does not signify,' I said, ' being poor
when one is so healthy and so merry
as you appear.' ' Ah, that's natural
to me,' she replied, ' my mother had
red cheeks in her coffin !' '
After her return from Europe, the
life of Miss Sedgwick flowed on in
one uniform current, affording few
novel incidents for the biographer.
Her time was divided as before, be-
tween the city and the country.
Family cares engrossed her sympa-
thies ; for, though living a single life,
few mothers have exhibited in a great-
er degree the matronly qualities, or
been regarded with more reverence
and tenderness by the young. Her
mind, .ever open to instruction and
culture, was diligently employed in
the worthiest studies, and in commu-
nion with her many intellectual friends
vvho valued her society. Her intercourse
with Mrs. Frances Kemble, whose viv-
id impressions of life she always ap-
preciated, stimulated her mental facul-
ties. She was keenly alive to all the
liberal interests of the day in literature
and art, and actively participated in
the rational work of philanthropy, as
in her intimate connection with the
Women's Prison Association of New
York, and the kindred " Isaac T. Hop-
per Home," for the reception and em-
ployment of women discharged from
prison. In the discharge of these vol-
untary engagements, she visited the
prisons and public institutions, and
personally ministered to the sick and
suffering. In her visitations, we are
told by a fellow laborer in this cause,
who accompanied hei Mrs. James S.
Gibbons, "she was called upon to
kneel by the bedside of the sick and
dying. The sweetness of her spirit,
and the delicacy of her nature, felt by
all who came wdthin her atmosphere,
seemed to move the unfortunate to ask
this office from her, and it was never
asked in vain. So tenderly shrinking
was she, that she sought opportunities
for such ministrations when no ear
heard, no eye beheld her; and many
an erring sister was soothed and com-
forted as she passed through the dark
valley, by the heavenly voice of this
angel of mercy."
NOT did she abandon her literary
occupations. Her pen was frequently
in her hand in the preparation of
books for the young, among which
may be mentioned "The Morals of
Manners," and the " Boy of Mount
Ehigi." "In 1857, her latest novel,
entitled " Married or Single," was pub-
lished by the Harpers, followed tlie
next year by a memoir of her friend
the philanthropist, Joseph Curtis, a
book of singular interest and value.
" I often thought," writes Mr. Bryant,
" of her record of this good man's most
useful, unostentatious labors for the
relief of the wretched, and the instruc-
tion of the ignorant, when the Old
World and the New, vied with each
other in paying honors to George Pea-
body, the opulent banker, whose life
was occupied in heaping up millions
to be bestowed in showy charities,
whose funeral procession was a fleet
furnished by two mighty empires,
crossing the wide ocean that separates
the two great continents of Christen
tendom, from a harbor darkened witl
ensigns of mourning in Europe to an
CATHARINE MARIA SEDGWICK
91
other in America, while the departure
of Joseph Curtis called for no general
manifestation of sorrow. But the
memoir of Miss Sedgwick is his mon-
ument, and it is a noble and worthy
memorial of his virtues and services."
Her retired rural life, meanwhile,
at her brother, Mr. Charles Sedg-
wick's home, at Lenox, exhibited every
grace of elegance and refinement. The
home in which she lived, described with
her mode of life, by her biographer,
Mary E. Dewey, was " in a charming
situation on the brow of the hill, com-
manding a vast and beautifully varied
prospect. Here Miss Sedgwick 's ' wing '
received still further additions, notably
that of a broad and well-inclosed piaz-
za, looking to the south over twenty
miles of valley, meadow, lake, and
hill, to the blue Taghkonic range, in
southernmost Berkshire. The terrace
in front of it was bright with flowers
which the assiduous care of their mis-
tress kept in bloom both early and
late, even upon that height, still so
bleak in early spring and late autumn.
She was an enthusiastic gardener, and
thought no pains too great to save a
favorite rose or geranium, or to coax a
bed of violets into early blossom. Nor
did she confine her care to flowers, but
took a practical interest in the growing
vegetables, and had her own strawberry-
bed, from which it was her delight in
the early morning, to gather the fruit
with her own hands. When she gave
her frequent breakfast-parties, which
all who had the good fortune to be
her guests, must remember as among
the most fascinating banquets in their
memory, alike for the place, with its
rummer-morning beauty fresh upon it,
the delicacy of the viands, the piquant
or interesting talk that was sure to
arise, and the radiant cordiality of the
hostess, she would be in her garden by
six o'clock, to gather fruit and flowers
for the table, and unconscious inspira-
tions of health and happiness for her
self, of which she dispensed the latter, at
least, as liberally as the more tangible
harvest of her borders. Then, after ar-
ranging the table, and paying a visit to
her tiny kitchen, where the more del.
icate dishes received the touch of her
own skilful hand, she would make a
rapid toilette, and appear, untired as
the day, to greet her guests with that ex-
quisite grace and sweetness, that genial
warmth of welcome which made old
and young, grave and gay, literary
celebrities, distinguished foreigners,
fashionable people from town, and
plain country friends, all feel a delight
ful ease in her presence. Her vivaci
ty, shrewdness, and tact in conversa
tion, were never more charming than
at these Arcadian repasts. She piqued
herself upon her cookery, and with
reason. 'Cooking is the only accom-
plishment of which I am vain,' she
said. A New England life, especially
in the country, makes a strong draft
upon all the executive faculties of
man or woman, and Miss Sedgwick
fully and cheerfully accepted all its
obligations. She could make cake aa
well as books, and provide for all
household exigencies as ingeniously as
she could construct a story."
As " in the eye of nature," she had
lived, so amidst the cherished familial
scenes of Berkshire, her sympathetic
spirit passed away. During her last
few years, after a serious attack of
92
CATHAKINE MAEIA SEDGWICK.
epilepsy in 1863, her "health was much
impaired. She survived till 1867.
Her last published letter to Mrs.
Charles E. Butler, bears the date
Woodbourne, July 19th of that year.
" I have a balcony," she writes, " out
of Kate's window in the pine wood,
where I lie all day, and where the
mercies of God are continually press-
ing upon my senses." .A fortnight after,
she expired, in her seventy-eighth year.
"Perhaps," writes Mrs. Kemble, of
Miss Sedgwick, "the quality which
most peculiarly distinguished her from
other remarkable persons I have known,
was her great simplicity and transpar-
ency of character — a charm seldom
combined with as much intellectual
keenness as she possessed, and very sel-
dom retained by persons living as
much as she did in the world, and re-
ceiving from society a tribute of gen-
eral admiration. She was all through
her life singularly childlike, and loved
with a perfect sympathy of spirit, those
of whom it is said, 'Of such is the
kingdom of heaven.' Nothing could
be more affecting and striking than
the close affinity between her pure
and tender nature, and that of the
' little children,' who were irresistibly
drawn to her ; alike those who lived
Tvithin the circle of her love, and those
on whom only the kindly influence 01
her transient notice fell. I think, in
her intercourse with the more ' sophisti-
cate' elder members of society, Miss
Sedgwick's acute sense of the ludicrous,
in all its aggressive forms of assumption,
presumption, pretension, and affecta-
tion, was so keen that in a less amiable
person, it might have degenerated into
a tendency to sarcasm, and made a sa-
tirist of one who was pre-eminently a
sympathizer with her fellow-creatures.
**»»»» To the poor> who
were rich in having her for a neiarh-
O O
bor, she was the most devoted and
faithful of friends, sympathizing with
all their interests, soothing their sor-
rows, supplying their wants, solacing
their sufferings with an exquisite tact,
which her knowledge and skill in
homeliest, as well as highest feminine
accomplishments, rendered as efficient
as it was tender and unwearied. * * *
Early in my acquaintance with Miss
Sedgwick, my admiration for her be-
came affection, and the love and re-
spect with which I soon learned to re-
gard her, increased and deepened till
the end of our intercourse. Her mem-
ory now remains to me as that of one
of the most charming, most amiable,
and most excellent persons I have
ever known."
PRINCE ALBERT.
A LBERT FRANCIS AUGUS-
-CJL TUS CHARLES EMMAN-
UEL, as lie was christened, Prince
of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha, and consort of
Queen Victoria of Great Britain, the sec-
ond son of Duke Ernest I., of Saxe-Co-
burg-Saalfeld, and his wife, the Prin-
cess Louise, daughter of the Duke of
Saxe-Gotha-Altenburg, was born at the
Grand Ducal Castle of Rosen au, a sum-
mer residence of his father, near Coburg,
on the 26th of August, 1819. The
Princess Louise is spoken of in a mem-
orandum by Queen Victoria, contribu-
ted to the narrative of "Early Years
of His Royal Highness, the Prince
Consort," compiled under her direction
by Lieut-General, the Hon. C. Grey,
as " having been very handsome, though
very small ; fair, with blue eyes ; and
Prince Albert is said to have been ex-
tremely like her. An old servant who
had known her for many years, told
the Queen that when she first saw the
Prince at Coburg, in 1844, she was
quite overcome by the resemblance to
his mother. She was full of clever-
ness and talent ; but the marriage was
not a happy one, and a separation took
place in 1824, when the young duch-
ess left Coburg, and never saw her
a— 12.
children again. She died at St. Wen
del, in 1831, after a long and painful
illness, in her thirty-second year. The
Prince always remembered her with
tenderness and sorrow ; and one of the
first gifts which he made to the Queen,
we are told, was a little pin he had re-
ceived from her when a little child.
This anecdote is related by the pater-
nal grandmother of Prince Albert, the
Dowager Duchess of Coburg, the mo-
ther of the Duchess of Kent, and con-
sequently maternal grandmother of
Queen Victoria. This Duchess of
Coburg is spoken of by the Queen as
"a most remarkable woman, with a
most powerful, energetic, almost mas-
culine mind, accompanied with great
tenderness of heart, and extreme love
for nature." Her son, King Leopold,
of Belgium, also describes her as " in
every respect distinguished ; warm-
hearted, possessing a most powerful
understanding, and loving her grand-
children- most tenderly." These chil-
dren, Prince Albert and his brother
Ernest, born a little more than a year
before him, were much with their
grandmother in their younger days.
She would tell them stories in the eve-
ning from Walter Scott's novels, and
PEINCE ALBEET.
employ them in writing letters from
her dictation. There was also another
grandmother on the mother's side, the
Duchess of Gotha, a woman of great
intelligence and goodness, who like-
wise took a great interest in the chil-
dren; while, in addition to their fa-
ther's supervision, they always had
the solicitude of their uncle, Prince, af-
terwards King Leopold. Prefixed to
the Queen's memoir, there is an en-
graving from a picture by Doll, of
Prince Albert, at the age of four,
which, in its sweet, open, susceptible
look, fully warrants the description of
the child given in a letter written at
the time, by the Duchess of Coburg,
" lovely as a little angel, with his fair
curls." When he was not yet two
years old, she had described him by
his pet diminutive name of endear-
ment, " Little Alberinchen, with his
large blue eyes and dimpled cheeks,
bewitching, forward, and quick as a
weasel." These things may be consid-
ered trifles; but in the nurture of
Prince Albert, they are very charac-
teristic. He appears never to have
been out of sight of the most affection-
ate solicitude, and his gentle, though
resolute nature, seconded every effort
for his improvement.
At the age of four, he was placed
with his brother, under the care of ah
estimable tutor, M. Florschiitz, who
continued his superintendence of their
instruction to the close of their Uni-
versity studies, a period of some fifteen
years. Noticeable through all this
time, and to the end of their joint
career, was the affection of those bro-
thers for one another. The earliest
considerable anxiety of Prince Albert j
occurred when, on their entrance upon
manhood, they were first separated to
pursue their different paths in life.
Up to this moment, he writes, in a let-
ter at the time, " we have never, as
long as we can recollect, been a single
<— ' / O
day away from each other."
From the very beginning, Prince
Albert was of a thoughtful, studious
temperament, less robust in his child-
hood than his elder brother, but cap*
ble of holding his own by his more
vigorous intellect. " To do something,"
says his tutor, of these early years,
" was with him a necessity." A cu-
rious illustration remains of the syste-
matic employment of his time in a
journal, which he dictated in his sixth
year, evidently not dictated to him,
for it is full of honest, childish simpli-
cities, as in these little passages from
it:— "23d January, 1825.— When I
awoke this morning, I was ill. My
cough was worse. I was so frighten-
ed that I cried. Half the day I re-
mained in bed, and only got up at
three o'clock in the afternoon. I did
a little drawing, then I built a castle,
and arranged my arms; after that, I
did my lessons, and made a little pic-
ture and painted it. Then I played
with Noah's Ark, then we dined, and
I went to bed and prayed." Again
" I cried at my lesson to-day, because
I could not find a verb ; and the Rath
pinched me, to show me what a verb
was. And I cried about it;" and,
again u I got up well and happy ; af tei
ward, I had a fight with my brother.
After dinner, we went to the play. It
was Wallenstein's ' Lager,' and they
carried out a monk." Writing of these
early years of their boyhood, when
PRINCE ALBERT.
95
they were thrown much together, his
nousin. Count Arthur Mensdorff, says :
"Albert, as a child, was of a mild, be-
nevolent disposition. It was only
what he thought unjust or dishonest
that could make h;m angry. He never
was noisy or wild ; was always very
food of natural history, and more se-
rious studies, and many a happy hour
we spent in the Ehrenburg, the palace
at Coburg, in a small room under the
roof, arranging and dusting the collec-
tions our cousins had themselves made
and kept there. He urged me to be-
gin making a similar collection myself,
so that we might join and form to-
gether a good cabinet. This was the
commencement of the collections at
Coburg, in which Albert always took
so much interest." Men, says the poet
Dryden, are but children of a larger
growth, an observation he may have
derived from Milton :
''The childhood shows the man,
As morning shows the day,"
and which again has been borrowed
by Wordsworth :
"The child is father of the man."
The arphorism certainly has never been
better illustrated, than in the career
of Prince Albert. Germany is the
modern land of system and method,
definite in her requirements from her
citizens as ancient Rome; and her
princes, it would appear, are not ex-
empt from the obligations of exact
training. There are dispositions which
may rebel against this constant care
and solicitude of families and the
State; but the tendency upon the
whole, is to develop the individual to
the utmost, and produce, in the aggre-
gate, a powerful nation. Certainly,
whatever exceptions may be required —
for genius, will, at times, demand a
larger liberty and freedom — the sys-
tem worked well in the case of Prince
Albert. Nothing was lost by neglect
or in desultory pursuits. Tutors and
professors were bestowing their labors
not upon a luxuriant, but a kindly
soil. There was a basis of character
to work upon, which made instruction
easy, something to bring forth from
the man which is the etymology and
principle of education. With a great
deal of system, also, there appears to
have been in the case of the two bro-
thers, no unnecessary restraint. There
was provision for amusement as well
as study, and for that social intercourse
with their fellows, which is necessary
at every period of life to strengthen
manly dispositions, and render knowl
edge an available living force. During
the whole time of their boyhood, it
was the custom on Sundays, in the
winter months, for Ernest and Albert
to have with them twelve or thirteen
boys of their own age, with whom
they played as they liked, from two
to six in the afternoon, when an hour
was passed in a species of instruction.
Each boy was then required to recite
something; and, as they grew older,
discussions upon a given subject in
some foreign language were substitu-
ted for these recitations. The acces-
sion of the father of the princes to the
Dukedom of Gotha, in 1826, enlarged
the range of the residences of the fam-
o
ily. introducing new scenery and ideas,
with agreeable acquaintances, as the
children at times passed from one to
PRINCE
the other. The summer excursions in
the vicinity of two country retreats of
Coburg and Gotha, at Rosenau and
hVinliardsbrunn, afforded opportuni-
ties which were not neglected, of fa-
miliarity with the beauties of nature,
and the practical pursuit of that health-
iest of all studies, the study of natural
history. Altogether it was a varied,
cheerful, and pleasant, as well as care-
fully instructed childhood, which the
brothers passed under the guidance of
their tutor, M. Florschiitz. At seven-
teen, the elder, Ernest, had arrived at
the age when it is customary in Ger-
many, to go through the religious cere-
mony of confirmation, and though his
brother was a year younger, it was
thought proper, such was the sobriety
of his disposition, and so intimate
his union with his brother, that thay
should enter upon this profession to-
Aether. Accordingly, on Palm Sunday,
in 1835, they were confirmed at a sol-
emn service in the chapel of the castle
at Coburg, which was followed the
same day by appropriate public re-
ligious exercises in the Cathedral.
In honor of the event, Counsellor
Florschiitz was presented by the
town of Coburg with a diamond ring,
in acknowledgment of his services in
the education of tin- princes.
1 1 diaiely after this confirmation,
the brothers were taken on a tour
tli rough Germany, including visits to
Krrlin, Dresden, and Vienna. The
iir\f year, in company with their fa-
ther, Miry m:idr nil excursion to Eng-
land, when I'rinee Albert, in a visit to
M.rir mint, Mir Duchess of Kent, at
Kensington I'.-daee, lor the first time,
the Princess Victoria. In a letter
to the Duchess of Coburg, he writes
"Dear aunt is very kind to UN, and
does everything she can to please us,
and our cousin also is very amiable."
On their return from England, after a
brief visit to Paris, the princes took up
Mieir residenee at, Brussels, the seat of
the new government of their undo,
King Leopold, where they passed ten
months under the care of Baron Weieli-
inaiiii, a retired officer of the English-
German Legion, preparing by a course
of study, chiefly in modern languages
and history, for their introduction in
the following year, to the University
of Bonn. " After all our fatigues and
amusements," writes the Prince, u wo
are now settled in our new home, and
are really glad to be able to lead a
quiet and regular mode of life. We
live in a small, but very pretty house,
with a little garden in front, and
though in the middle of a larirr town,
we are perfectly shut out frojn the
noise of the streets. The masters selec-
ted for us are said to be excellent, so
that everything is favorable to our
studies ; and I trust there will be no
lack of application on our part." At
all times, Prince Albert would seem
to have preferred a life of quid study
to (he entertainments and dissipations,
the exacting requisitions of court, or
fashionable society. On his first visit
to England, he complains, in the letter
already cited, of the severities of n>\ a I
levees at the court of William IV. In
the morning, a levee, "long and fa-
tiguing, but very interesting," follow-
ed the name day by a dinner at court,
and at night, a beautiful concert, at
which we had to stand till two o'clock;''
and this succeeded the next day by a
PRINCE ALBERT.
97
Drawing Room for the King's birth-
day, at which nearly four thousand
people passed before the King, Queen,
and other high dignitaries, to offer
them congratulations; a dinner and
another concert in sequence. " You
can well imagine," the Prince writes,
"I had many hard battles to fight
against sleepiness during those late
entertainments." A tendency to sleep-
iness of an evening, very pardonable
under the circumstances just narrated,
seems to have been a constitutional trait
of the Prince, which we are told, man-
fully as he strove against it, he never
could entirely conquer. "Independ-
ently of this feeling," it is added by
his biographer, Lt.-Gen. Grey, "he
never took kindly to great dinners,
balls, or the common evening amuse-
ments of the fashionable world, and
went through them rather as a duty
which his position imposed upon him,
than as a source of pleasure or enjoy-
ment to himself. Indeed, on such occa-
sions, he loved to get hold of some
man, eminent as a statesman, or man
of science, and to pass the hours he
was thus compelled to give to the
world, in p olitical or instructive con-
versation."
In the spring of 1837, the brothers
left Brussels for the University of
Bonn, where, still conducted by their
tutor, Herr Florschiitz, they pursued
their studies for a year and a half, at-
tending the lectures on hbtory of A.
W. von Schlegel ; of Fichte, Perthes,
Bethman, Holweg, and other eminent
professors. The favorite subjects of
Prince Albert were the natural sci-
ences, political economy, and philoso-
phy, in all which he made great pro-
gress. Of music, also, he was passionate-
ly fond, and is said to have shown con
siderable talent as a composer. Prince
William of Lowestein, who was his fel-
low student, says, that "among all
the young men at the University, he
was distingushed by his knowledge,
his diligence, and his amiable bearing
in society. He liked, above all things,
to discuss questions of public law and
metaphysics, and constantly, during
our many walks, juridical principles or
philosophical doctrines were thorough-
ly discussed. On such occasions, the
Councillor Florschiitz used to turn the
conversation to subjects of general in-
terest." We also learn from the same
authority, that the Prince possessed a
lively sense of the ridiculous, as well
as great talent for mimicry, with a
turn for drawing caricatures, the Uni-
versity professors, of course, furnishing
the subjects for the exercise of his
talents in these exhibitions, while his
" perfect good taste prevented his ever
giving offence, even when he allowed
the most uncontrolled play to his fun.
The Prince was also an accomplished
fencer; on one occasion, in a match,
carrying off the prize from all competi
tors. He was also the life and soul of
certain dramatic performances of an
extempore character, in which the dia-
logue was supplied on the spur of the
moment. In fine, he appears to have
entered freely and heartily into all the
studies and pursuits of the place, spar-
ing no expense of labor and applica-
tion in the development of his powers
and faculties.
During his first season at the Uni-
versity, news came of the death of
William IV, of England, and of the
98
PRINCE ALBERT.
accession of Victoria to the throne.
On this occasion, he addressed to her
« simple letter of congratulation, which,
among such things, has been consider-
ed characteristic of the writer for its
freedom from anything like flattery,
and its recognition of a high sense of
responsibility in the Queen's duties to
her people. It reads : " Bonn, 26th
June, 1837: — My dearest cousin, I
must write you a few lines to present
you my sincerest felicitations on that
great change which has taken place in
your life. Now, you are Queen of the
mightiest land of Europe ; in your
hand lies the happiness of millions.
May Heaven assist you and strength-
en you with its strength in that high
but difficult task. I hope that your
reign may be long, happy, and glorious,
and that your efforts may be rewarded
by the thankfulness and love of your
subjects. May I pray you to think
likewise sometimes of your cousins in
Bonn, and to continue to them that
kindness you favored them with till
now. Be assured that our minds are
always, with you. I will not be indis-
creet, and abuse your time. Believe me
always your Majesty's most obedient
and faithful servant, ALBERT." Ru-
mors being afloat of a projected mar-
riage between the Prince and the
Queen, by the advice of Leopold, to
draw the attention from the former, he
made during the ensuing summer va-
cation a somewhat extended tour
through Switzerland, crossing the
Simp] on, and visiting Milan and Venice.
When opportunity offered, the journey
was made on foot, the Prince being a
skilled pedestrian. After the fullest
enjoyment of mountain scenery, he ap-
pears to have been much impressed
with his first glimpses of the art treas«
ures of Italy. " Milan, and still more
heavenly Venice," he writes to his fa-
ther, " contain treasures of art that as-
tonish me." Nor was the Queen for-
gotten during the tour. The Prince
collected views of the different places
he visited, which he made into a book,
with memoranda of dates, etc., and
sent to her. He also sent to her a
dried rose, which he had plucked at
the top of the Rigi, and a scrap oi
Voltaire's handwriting, which he had
picked up from a servant of the arch-
satirist at Geneva.
The University career of the broth-
ers closed with the summer term of
1838, when the elder went to Dresden
to enter the military service, and Prince
Albert, after a short stay at Coburg,
(where, with great presence of mind, he
assists in putting a out fire in his apart-
ment of the palace,) he sets out on an
extended Italian tour. Herr Florschiitz
having finished his duties with the ter-
mination of the University life, a new
companion was found for the Prince,
in an experienced " guide, philosopher,
and friend " the Baron Stockmar, who
had been long attached to King Leo-
pold. The intimacy thus formed was,
after the Prince's marriage, continued
at the English court, and they were
not separated till the Baron, in his
later years, retired to his native Co-
burg. The Italian journey was com-
menced in December, 1838, and con-
cluded with the return of the Prince
to his home in the following spring.
In these few months he visited Flor-
ence, Rome, and Naples. Though,
from his position, he was necessarily
PRINCE ALBERT.
99
drawn much into society, his studies
of literature and art were constantly
pursued.
On his return to Coburg, Prince
Albert was immediately engaged, to-
wards the close of June, in the celebra-
tions attending the coining of age of his
brother Ernest; when he himself, also,
by a special act of the Legislature, was
declared of age, so that in his own
words, in a letter to a friend, " I am
now my own master, as I hope always
to be, and under all circumstances," a
declaration printed in the Memoir; to
which the Queen adds in a note : "How
truly this was ever carried out." After
those formalities, he passed the sum-
mer in visits to Dresden, Carlsbad, and
a short stay at Rosenau, whence, in Oc-
tober, he proceeded to England on the
important mission involving the subse-
quent arrangements of his life.
A matrimonial alliance between
Queen Victoria and Prince Albert,
though little directly agitated, would
appear for some time to have been a
foregone conclusion. When the Prince
was but three years old, he was told
by his nurse that he should marry the
Queen; and the jest, as he grew up,
ripened into a kind of sober convic-
tion. His education was undoubted-
"y directly to this end, and his Uncle
^eopold, the King of the Belgians, al-
ways influential in the English court,
seems never to have lost sight of this
object. He had first broached the
idea to the Queen ; and, from him, the
suggestion came to her with something
of the authority of a father. The Baron
Stockmar, whose judgment was always
much relied on, and whose knowledge
of the Prince from his early years was
of the most intimate nature, had, in
1836, written in express terms to
King Leopold, " that no prince whom
he knew, was so well qualified to
make the Queen happy, or fitly to sus-
tain the arduous and difficult position
of Prince Consort in England," an
opinion which would not have been
given unless it had been directly called
for. It was about this time that the
Prince paid the visit to Kensington,
already noticed, and became personal-
ly acquainted with the Princess Vic-
toria— a visit which was opposed by
the reigning sovereign, William IV.,
who had set himself against the Co-
burg alliance, having several other
matrimonial projects of his own for
the Princess. The following year;
however, Victoria came to the throne,
and, early in the next year, Leopold
wrote a letter to the Queen, suggest-
ing the alliance, which was favorably
received, and led to a formal conversa-
tion on the subject between Leopold
and Prince Albert, of which we have
an account in a published letter of the
King to Baron Stockmar, in March,
1838 : " I have put the whole case,"
he writes, " honestly and kindly before
him. He looks at the question from
its most elevated and honorable point
of view. He considers that troubles
are inseparable from all human posi-
tions, and that, therefore, if one must
be subject to plagues and annoyances,
it is better to be so for some great " or
worthy object, than for trifles and
miseries. I have told him that his
great youth would make it necessary
to postpone the marriage for a few
years. I found him very sensible on
all these points. But one thing he ol>
100
PRINCE ALBERT.
served with truth. 1 1 am ready,' he
said, l to submit to this delay, if I have
only some certain assurance to go up-
on. But, if after waiting, perhaps, for
three years, I should find that the
Queen no longer desired the marriage,
it would place me in a very ridiculous
position, and would to a certain ex-
tent, ruin all the prospects of my fu-
ture life." There was some little delay
in settling the affair, which the Queen
afterwards regretted. The visit of the
Prince, however, in the autumn of
1839, to England, speedily brought
matters to a close. Acompanied by
his brother, he arrived at Windsor
Castle on the 10th of October, and,
after a few days' participation in the
ordinary routine of the place, in riding,
hunting, dinner entertainments and
the like, on the 15th was invited to a
private interview with the Queen, in
which, according to the requirement
of royal etiquette in such a case, she
made him a formal proposal of marriage.
The Queen, the same day communi-
cated her resolution to her uncle, Leo-
pold, and the Prince wrote on the sub-
ject to the confidential Baron Stock-
mar. In another letter, to his grand-
mother, the Dowager Duchess of
Gotha, he spoke quite unreservedly of
the situation. "The Queen," he says,
" sent for me alone to her room a few
days ago, and declared to me, in a gen-
uine outburst of love and affection,
that I had gained her whole heart, and
would make her intensely happy if I
would make her the sacrifice of sharing
her life with her, for she said she look-
ed on it as a sacrifice ; the only thing
which troubled her was, that she did
not think she was worthy of me. The
joyous openness of manner in which
she told me this, quite enchanted me
and I was carried quite away by it
She is really most good and amiable,
and I am quite sure heaven has not
given me into evil hands, and that we
shall be happy together. Since that
moment, Victoria does whatever she
fancies I should wish or like, and we
talk together a great deal about our
future life, which she promises to
make as happy as possible."
The time of the marriage was no^v
determined upon, an early day in the
ensuing February being fixed upon
for its celebration. At the end of a
month, the Princes left Windsor for
Coburg. A few days after their de-
parture, a declaration of the intended
marriage was made by the Queen to
the Privy Council. In December there
were great rejoicings at Coburg, on oc-
casion of the public announcement of
the betrothal. In January, the Queen
opened Parliament in person, and gave
formal notice of the marriage from the
throne. An annual sum of thirty
thousand pounds was voted to the
Prince Consort, a reduction of twenty
thousand from the sum first proposed.
An act of naturalization of the Prince
was passed the same day. About the
middle of January, Lord Torrington
and Colonel Grey were sent on an em-
bassage to Gotha, to escort Prince
Albert to England for the intended
marriage. They bore with them a
commission to invest the Prince with
the Order of the Garter, which was
carried out in an imposing state cere-
mony at Gotha. The departure from
that little capital at the end of January.
is described as quite an effecting scene
PRINCE ALBERT.
101
The route of the procession by Cas-
sel, Cologne, Aix-la-Chapells, Liege,
Ostend to Calais, was attended with
various rejoicings, and when the party
arrived at Dover, on the 5th of Febru-
ary, the enthusiasm of the people was
proportionately increased. There were
various demonstrations at Canterbury.
On the 8th, they reached London, and
were received, on their arrival at Buck-
ingham Palace, by the Queen and the
Duchess of Kent, attended by the
whole household. In the afternoon,
the oaths of naturalization were ad-
ministered to the Prince, and the day
ended with a great dinner, at which
the Prime Minister, Lord Melbourne,
was present, attended by the Officers of
State. The next day being Sunday,
service was performed in the morning
in an apartment of the palace, by the
Bishop of London ; and the rest of the
day was spent in visits to the royal
family, with another great dinner in
the evening. On this day also, as we
are told in a published extract from
the " Queen's Journal," the Prince
gave her, as his wedding gift, a beauti-
ful sapphire and diamond brooch,
while she gave to him the star and
badge of the Garter, and the Garter
itself set in diamonds. The marriage
itself took place the following day, at
the Chapel Royal, St. James' Palace,
the Archbishop of Canterbury officiat-
ing, the simple service of the Anglican
church being followed throughout.
The life of the Prince Consort hence-
forth, apart from that of the Queen, is
comparatively simple in its outline.
His self-knowledge and judgment
were such as not to allow him to be
drawn into any circumstances where
ii.— 13
the attention of the people, particular
ly in reference to political affairs,
would be exclusively concentrated on
himself. At the outset, it is undenia-
ble that his position was, in many re-
spects, an embarrassing one. He had
hardly arrived at age, when he was
called to share the councils of the Queen,
not in any sense of direct responsibili-
ty to the nation, but necessarily as her
most intimate adviser, and sure to be
held accountable in any action of roy-
alty which might run counter to the
theories or prejudices of the day.
There was also, as appears from the
discussion of the question of prece-
dence in Parliament in relation to him
prior to his marriage, some jealousy or
distrust on the part of the higher
classes, as to his exact position at
court. There was an attempt to de-
fine this ; but it was wisely left to be
regulated by itself. As there was an
equal desire on the part of the Queen
to bestow upon him every honor, and
on his own to assume nothing which
was not indispensable to his position,
the result in the end was in every
way satisfactory. He was naturally,
however, beset by many difficulties.
He was young, a foreigner, reserved to
a certain degree, and apathetic; not
cold in his temperament, but inclined
to thoughtfulness, and with a sobriety
of manner and discourse becoming a
philosopher. As he had every quality
to command the respect of the nation,
so he had none of those weaknesses or
irregular displays of temperament
which sometimes, by making him fa-
miliar, gain for a prince the affections
of his people. His life was exact,
methodical, without license or excess,
102
PRISTCE ALBERT.
eminently sincere, and governed by
the most rigorous principle. There was
with him always a high and pervad-
ing sense of duty which was never
detected at fault. The exercise of it
came naturally to the man, but it was
not carried out without labor and self-
denial, with a full consciousness of the
effort. He was, in fine, that rare phe-
nomenon in English court life, an emi-
nently philosophic prince. The thor-
ough knowledge of his faculties and of
what he might attain, was instilled
into him in his German education, and
the lesson was available to him through
life.
Character, thus, the sum and essence
of every man's genuine life, was
constantly before him with never-
swerving fidelity to his high ideal. It
might not make him an eminently
great man, in that relative sense of
greatness which is comprehended in
a comparison of the deeds of men in
their vast effects in changing the for-
tunes of nations by war or revolution ;
or in the grandeur of intellectual supe-
riority in the triumph of literature or
art ; but it was a virtue, not often to be
met in conquerors or reformers, the dis-
cipline of a meek and quiet spirit, intent
on the calm performance of duty, shed-
ding light and beauty on the daily
pathway of life — a rare quality, in-
deed, but which has this advantage,
that it is in a great measure within
reach of the humblest citizen. The re-
lations outside of the royal palace, in
which the Prince Consort became
known to the British people, clearly
exhibit this. He always appears in
some useful attitude, promoting some
work of public utility. In the acts of
government he had nothing to invent
or contrive ; he had but to follow, un-
der the best guidance, the principles
of the Constitution ; but in the adapta-
tion and workings of these, there were,
doubtless, frequent occasions when his
private counsels to the Queen relieved
the friction of the old cumbrous ma-
chinery. His influence was liberal and
conciliatory, so far as it may have af-
fected the politics of the country. It
was in the wide field, however, of scien-
tific and social improvements that his
exertions were most conspicuous. As-
sociated effort in voluntary organiza-
tions of the people in those works of
beneficence and reform, is one of the
leading characteristics of modern civil
progress. The collection of " Speeches
and Addresses," published after the
death of the Prince Consort, which
were delivered by him, shows the ex-
tent of his sympathies and attainments.
They are no less than thirty in number,
commencing with a few words in 1840,
in behalf of an association for the abo-
lition of slavery; and ending in 1860,
shortly before his sudden decease, with
an elaborate discourse on occasion of
the opening of the International Sta-
tistical Congress of that year, in Lon-
don. In the course of these twenty
years, he had addressed meetings held
on behalf of the most distinctive phi-
lanthropic societies of the day : he had
spoken on the condition of the labor-
ing classes, at the opening of schools,
at the laying of the corner-stones of
national buildings, and on several oc-
casions for the instruction of the peo
pie in art. Science and cultivation
were always favorite topics with him.
In 1850. he spoke at the laying of the
PRINCE ALBERT.
103
foundation stone of the National Gal-
bry at Edinburgh, commending the
objects of the institution in their rela-
tion to the imperishable monuments of
national life, exerting " so important an
influence upon the development of the
mind and feeling of a people, and
which are so generally taken as the
type of the degree and character of
that development, that it is on the
fragments of works of art, come down
to us from bygone nations, that we
are wont to form our estimate of the
state of their civilization, manners, cus-
toms, and religion." The following
year he addresses the distinguished
gathering at the annual dinner of the
Royal Academy, feelingly pointing
out some of the moral conditions on
which the successful pursuit of art de-
pends, and the peculiar conditions of
modern life assisting or inimical to its
welfare.
He also made addresses on several
other occasions, in which the claims of
art and science were to be represented;
but his most practical service to the
cause, was in the active aid which he
rendered in his personal attention in
promoting the great London Industrial
Exhibition of 1851, in which he stood
in the relation of Chairman of the
Council. It is claimed and admitted
that it owed much of its eminent suc-
cess to his taste and skill. He was
also much interested in the develop-
ment of agriculture, seeking to pro-
mote its improvement by the introduc-
tion of new scientific and chemical re-
sources. His model farms at Windsor
were much noted.
While pursuing this career of use-
fulness, and gaining that hold upon
the esteem and affection of the English
people, which his character, when ful-
ly understood, was certain to secure,
he was, in December, 1861, taken ill,
apparently with a feverish cold, which
at the outset created no alarm; but
which was developed into a malignant
fever of the typhoid form, under which
he suddenly sank and expired, his
death taking place on the 14th day of
the month, in his forty-third year.
The character of the Prince Consort
has been sufficiently indicated in the
course of this narrative. We have re-
marked his simple earnestness, his un-
failing sincerity, the unwearied appli-
cation of his faculties in his youthful
studies, while he remained a student
to the end; always inquisitive of
knowledge, and ready to turn his
acquisitions to practical account; his
high sense of duty, his conscientious
estimate of his position, his candid and
liberal judgment of men and things.
His death threw a sad, but brilliant
light on all these things; for then he
was really first thoroughly known and
appreciated in England, and the" na-
tion learnt how much it had lost in
the absence of his encouragement
and living example. The numerous
monuments and statues in his honor,
erected in the United Kingdom, beai
witness to this popular feeling of
regret.
THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY.
rinHIS eminent orator, statesman, es-
-L 8ayist, biographer, historian, and
poet— one of the most brilliant products
in English literature of the nineteenth
century, came of a sound Scottish
ancestry, the Macaulays of the island
of Lewis, one of the Hebrides. When
Dr. Johnson, in his famous tour to
that region in Scotland, visited the
Duke of Argyle at Inverary Castle, he
was accompanied by the minister of
the place, the Rev. John Macaulay,
with whom, before he left the town,
he had some sprightly conversation,
as recorded by Boswell. This clergy-
man, who ended his days in a paro-
chial charge at Cardross, in Dumbar-
tonshire, where he died in 1789, was
the father of Zachary Macaulay, the
constant and familiar associate of
Wilberforce, Clarkson, and Granville
Sharp, in the long philanthropic toil
of the abolition of the British Slave
Trade, in grateful memory of which
he rests in an honored tomb in West-
minster Abbey. Sir James Stephen
has afforded us some glimpses of the
man in an essay on "The Clapham
Sect," as the little body of earnest re-
ligious men with whom Macaulay
acted, got to be designated, from their
(lot)
gatherings at the house of the benevo-
lent Thornton, in that locality. He
there describes him as " trained in the
hardy habits of Scotland in ancient
times, having received from his father
much instruction in theology, with
some Latin and a little Greek, when
not employed in cultivating the pater-
nal glebe on the Clyde. While yet a
boy, he had watched as the iron enter-
ed into the soul of the slaves, whose
labors he was sent to superintend in
Jamaica ; and, abandoning with abhor-
ence a pursuit which had promised
him early wealth and distinction, he
pondered the question — how shall the
earth be delivered from this curse ?
Turning to Sierra Leone, he braved
for many years that deadly climate,
that he might aid in the erection and
in the defence of what was then the
one city of refuge for the Negro race ;
and as he saw the slave-trade crushing
to the dust the adjacent tribes of
Africa, he again pondered the ques-
tion— how shall the earth be delivered
from this curse ? That God had called
him into being to wage war with this
gigantic evil, became his immutable
conviction. During forty successive
years he was ever burdened with this
THOMAS BABINGTCXN" MACAULAY.
105
thought. His commerce, his studies,
his friend ships, his controversies, even
his discourse in the bosom of his fami-
ly, were all bent to the promotion of
it. He edited voluminous periodical
works ; but whether theology, litera-
ture, or politics, were the text, the de-
sign was still the same — to train the
public mind to a detestation of the
slave-trade and of slavery. In that
service he sacrificed all that man may
lawfully sacrifice — health, fortune, re-
pose, favor, and celebrity. He died,
in 1838, a poor man, though wealth
was within his reach."
Such was Zachary Macaulay, the
devoted philanthropist. He was mar-
ried to Selina, daughter of Thomas
Mills, a bookseller, in Bristol, of the
Society of Friends, and of this union
was born the subject of this notice,
Thomas Babington Macaulay, at Roth-
ley Temple, Leicestershire, on the 25th
of October, 1800. The name Babing-
ton was derived from his uncle, a gen-
tleman of fortune, in England, who,
in his youth, had been taught by a
son of Macaulay, the minister of Car-
dross, and had fallen in love with and
married his preceptor's sister. This
connection brought his brother-in-law,
Zachary Macaulay, out of Scotland
into England. The early education of
the future historian was superintended
by his mother till he was sent to a
private academy at the age of thirteen.
As a youth, he was precocious in 'tal-
ent, and attracted the attention of the
venerable Hannah More, a good judge
of juvenile character and ability. In
a letter to his father, with whom, from
their similar pursuits of religious and
philanthropic subjects, she was in
friendly relations, she speaks of the
child's " great superiority of intellect
and quickness of passion " at the age
of eleven ; and of a certain ambition
and power of will or authority in him,
even then, suggesting that he should
be brought into competition with
others, and comparing him to " the
prince who refused to play with any-
thing but kings." She noticed also
his active poetic faculty in making
verses, his anxiety till he had poured
them forth, and his indifference to
them afterwards, which she thought
a favorable indication." Two years
later she notices, as something aston-
ishing, " the quantity of reading Tom
has poured in, and the quantity of
writing he has poured out." His con-
versational talent was already remark-
able, neat in expression, flowing in
utterance, uniting " gaiety and ration-
ality."
At the age of eighteen, this wonder-
ful youth entered Trinity College,
Cambridge, where he at once became
distinguished. In 1819 he gained the
Chancellor's Medal for a poem entitled
"Pompeii," and two years afterwards
the same prize for another poem on
" Evening." In the first there are evi-
dent tokens of the facility in pictu-
resque narrative which afterwards
proved so attractive in his writings ;
while the latter is illustrated by a
picture of the sweet English land-
scape at twilight, and the delights
of a learned fancy roaming over
scenes of classic literature. In the
"Pompeii" there is this happy pas-
sage, closing with an adaptation to hu-
man interests of a famous image bj
Pope.
106
THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY.
'' Then mirth and music thro' Pompeii rung;
Then verdant wreaths on all her portals hung;
Pier sons, with solemn rite and jocund lay
Hail'd the glad splendors of that festal day.
With fillets bound, the hoary priests advance,
And rosy virgins braid the choral dance.
The- rugged warrior here unbends awhile
His iron front, and deigns a transient smile;
There, frantic with delight, the ruddy boy
Scarce treads on earth, and bounds and laughs
with joy.
From every crowded altar perfumes rise
In billowy clouds of fragrance to the skies.
The milk-white monarch of the herd they lead,
With gilded horns, at yonder shrine to bleed;
And while the victim crops the 'broider'd
plain,
And frisks and gambols tow'rds the destined
fane,
Phey little deem that like himself they stray
To death, unconscious, o'er a flow'ry way.
Heedless, like him, th' impending stroke await,
And sport and wanton on the brink of fate."
In 1821, Macaulay was also elected
to the Craven Scholarship ; he grad-
uated Bachelor of Arts in 1822, was
elected a Fellow of Trinity, and in
1822 graduated M. A. It was in the
latter part of this course that he gave
to the world the first striking proof
of his varied literary accomplishments
and attainments, in his contributions
to " Knight's Quarterly Magazine,"
published in three volumes, from June,
1823, to November, 1824. This per-
iodical was a kind of sequel to " The
Etonian," in which several of its lead-
ing contributors, Henry Nelson Cole-
ridge, William Sydney Walker, and es-
pecially the poet, Winthrop Mack-
worth Praed, had given proof of their
fine talents. It had also an earlier
predecessor in the " Microcosm," for
which Channing wrote in his youthful
days, and which was published by the
father of Charles Knight, so that the
new venture was quite in the line of
a worthy literary succession. In its
first number, in a humorous paper
written by Praed, in the character of
editor marshalling his contributors, we
have this characteristic introduction of
Thomas Babington Macaulay, under a
designation which marks his articles
throughout the work. " l Tristram
Merton, come into Court.' There came
up a short manly figure, marvellously
upright, with a bad neckcloth and
one hand in his waistcoat pocket. Of
regular beauty he had little to boast ;
but in faces where there is an expres-
sion of great power, or of great good
humor, or both, you do not regret its
absence." And this figure proceeds to
discourse in a rapid, oratorical, highly
decorated way, of the days of Pericles
and Aspasia, running on with a fertile
crop of illustrations and similes from
the Arabian Nights, Mahomet's Le-
O /
gends, Southey's Kehama, Zoroaster,
Paul of Russia, and what not. The
style of the young scholar was already
well known to his friends. In his own
proper way, Macaulay contributed to
this first number of " Knight's Quarter-
ly" three characteristic articles, a pic-
turesque "" Fragment of a Roman Tale,"
a; eloquent appeal " on West Indian
Slavery;" a pleasant satire "On The
Royal Society of Literature," and a
couple of fluent lyrical effusions. All
are marked by a warm glow of ex-
pression and an unfailing supply of
picturesque illustrations. No writer,
in this way, ever turned a fund of
miscellaneous reading to bettei ac-
count. We find nothing further from
our author's pen in the second num-
ber, but the third gives us an Athen-
ian dramatic sketch, a critical descrip
tive paper on Dante, and the two
THOMAS BABIKGTON MA CAUL AY.
107
" Songs of the Huguenots," which have
become in our school books and by
public recitation, familiar as house-
hold words — " Montcontour " and
Ivry," to which were added, in the
next issue of the Quarterly, the equal-
ly well known " Songs of the Civil
War — The Cavalier's March to Lon-
don, and The Battle of Naseby."
Among the other papers in the work
by Macaulay were critical Essays on
" Petrarch," "The Athenian Orators,"
a review of "Mitford's Greece," and
" A Conversation between Mr. Abra-
ham Cowley and Mr. John Milton
touching the great Civil War." Abun-
dant proof there was in all this of the
varied capacity of a writer whose pen
apparently could produce nothing in-
capable of charming the reader.
Having adopted the law as his pro-
fession, he was called to the bar, a
student of Lincoln's Inn, in 1826; but
it was not as a lawyer that he was to
achieve his fame ; nor did he for some
time enter upon his career in political
life. His finest powers, in fact, were
always to be displayed in literature.
Already he was gaining a name as a
contributor to the Edinburgh Review,
in which he soon outdid the triumphs
of Jeffrey, upon whose animated style
he engrafted a greater wit and variety
with a still more impetuous sweep of
eloquence. His first article in that
periodical was n paper on West Indian
Slavery, published in the number for
January, 1825, a review of a book on
the subject, by James Stephen, a keen
incisive discussion, moeting objections,
laying bare • fallacies, and urging on
the work of humanity with a fertility
of resource imparting new life to a
seemingly threadbare theme. This
was followed in August by an article
which first brought the writer perma-
nently into notice, an eloquent paper
on the genius and character of Milton.
The popular admiration of this ornate
composition somewhat annoyed the
writer afterwards, when his style had
attained a greater solidity, and he
looked back upon this as a youthful
rhetorical display ; but its glow and
fervor of admiration of the heroic sub-
ject will always gain it admirers, and
it, upon the whole, worthily heads the
volumes of the author's collected " Es-
says." The next year came a noticea-
ble paper on "The London University,"
in which, among other things, the re-
lative importance of the study of
Greek and Latin and more modern
forms of culture is discussed, with a
call for a wider and more practical
system of education than had hitherto
prevailed in the higher institutions of
learning in England. At the same
time, he pays a scholar's glowing trib-
ute to the language and literature of
Greece, with some disparagement of
the Latin. In 1827 we have several
" Macaulay articles," as they soon be-
gan to be called in the Review ; one
on the " Social and Industrial Capaci-
ties of Negroes," in which the part of
the oppressed race was taken against
the conclusions in a report of a gov-
ernment commission appointed to look
into the condition of certain Africans
rescued from their captors in the sup-
pression of the slave trade ; another, a
vigorous assault on the Tory Admin-
istration of the day ; and a third, which
displays the author's powers to the
best advantage, a closely written Es
108
THOMAS BABDsTGTON MACAULAT.
say on the Italian statesman, Machia-
velli, chaste yet rich in style, finely
thought out, and replete with the hap-
piest illustrations. Tn 1828 came three
quite as remarkable papers : a critical
sketch of the poet Dry den, and two
papers on a History ;" one a general
review of historical writers, the other
an elaborate paper on the Constitu-
tional History of England, suggested
by the work of Hallam. During the
two next years Macaulay's pen was
actively at work in papers for the
" Edinburgh ;" reviews of James Mill's
" Essays on Government," " The Utili-
tarian Theory of Government," "South-
ey's Colloquies on Society," " Sadler's
Law of Population." The vivid pre-
sentation and able discussion of sub-
jects like these, with the writer's fam-
ily connection, pointed him out for use-
fulness to the Whig party, whose inter-
ests he advocated; and he was, in
1830, by the assistance of Lord Lans-
downe, elected a member of parliament
for the borough of Calne.
He at once made his mark as a
speaker in the House of Commons.
His first speech, delivered April
5, 1830, was on the "Bill to Repeal
the Civil Disabilities affecting British-
Born Subjects professing the Jewish
Religion," a topic which he afterwards
treated in an article in the "Edin-
burgh Review." It was, of course, in
favor of the measure. Looking at it
as it is reported in Hansard, we find
it an acute, practical exposition of the
inconsequential assumptions and falla-
cies of the opposition, with much of
that downright application of logical
tests which distinguishes the advocacy
of reform by Sydney Smith. When
Macaulay had concluded, Sir James
Mackintosh followed on the same theme,
and spoke of the speech which he had
just heard as well calculated to im-
press the house, and every way worthy
of the name borne by the speaker.
Macaulay spoke again briefly, in De-
cember, on the subject of Slavery in
the West Indies; but it was in the
series of speeches which he delivered
during the discussion of Parliamentary
Reform, in 1831 and 1832, that he
fairly established his reputation as an
orator. The qualities by which he
succeeded were those by which he was
gaining an unprecedented popularity
as an essayist ; a direct, energetic,
business faculty in putting forward
his views ; a ready and unsparing use
of logical weapons in discomfiting an
adversary, a brilliant employment of
an apparently inexhaustible stock of
historical illustrations. Francis, in his
book on the " Orators of the Age,"
published in 1849, when the speaker
had achieved his chief work in parlia-
ment, speaks of "his bold, vigorous,
uncompromising mode of handling a
question ; his acute analysis and firm
grasp of his subject, mingling in a re-
markable manner the persuasiveness
of the advocate with the impartiality
of the judge." With such resources,
which have left his speeches still at-
tractive to readers, one would expect
corresponding physical graces in the
orator. But, as Mr. Francis tells us,
the contrast of the reality was strik-
ing. " Nature," says he, " has grudged
Mr. Macaulay height and fine propor-
tion, and his voice is one of the most
monotonous and least agreeable of
those which usually belong to ouj
THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULA1.
countrymen north of the Tweed — a
voice well adapted to give utterance
with precision to the conclusions of
the intellect, but in no way naturally
formed to express feeling or passion.
Mr. Macaulay is short in stature, round,
and with a growing tendency to alder-
manic disproportions. His head has
the same rotundity as his body, and
seems stuck on it as firmly as a pin-
head. This is nearly the sum of his
personal defects ; all else, except the
voice, is certainly in his favor. His
face seems literally instinct with ex-
pression ; the eye, above all, full of
deep thought and meaning. As he
walks, or rather straggles, along the
street, he seems as if in a state of total
abstraction, unmindful of all that is
going on around him, and solely occu-
pied with his own working mind. You
cannot help thinking that literature
with him is not a mere profession or
pursuit, but that it has almost grown
a part of himself, as though historical
problems or analytical criticism were a
part of his daily and regular intellect-
ual food."
In 1832, Macaulay was returned a
member of the first reformed parlia-
ment as the representative of Leeds,
and was the ensuing year made Secre-
tary of the Board of Control. An
elaborate speech on East Indian Af-
fairs, in 1833, was followed, after a
short interval, by his appointment as
member of the Supreme Council of
Calcutta, with the view of securing his
services in the preparation of a new
code of Indian laws. He accepted the
office, and for two years and a half ap-
plied himself diligently to the work.
The code was completed and publish-
ii.— U.
ed after his return to England; but
though it exhibited the author's acute-
ness and general ability, it was not
adopted, being thought insufficient to
meet in practice the exigencies of the
country. The emoluments of the office
being large, he secured by it the means
of a future moderate independence.
He had meanwhile kept up his contri-
butions to the " Edinburgh Review."
Following the papers we have men-
tioned, among others were his reviews
of Moore's "Byron," Croker's "Bos-
well's Johnson ;" papers on Hampden,
" Lord Burleigh and his Times," Mira-
beau, Horace Walpole, the Earl of
Chatham, and two important articles
contributed while the author was in
India, on the History of the Revolu-
tion of 1688, suggested by the work
of Sir James Mackintosh, and one of
his masterpieces, a general review of
the " Life of Lord Bacon, and his Phil-
osophy."
Not long after his return from In-
dia, Macaulay, in 1839, re-entered par-
liament as member for the city of Ed-
inburgh, and the same year accepted
the office of Secretary at War, under
the Whig administration of Lord Mel-
bourne. He held this till Sir Robert
Peel and the Tories came into power
in 1841. He continued a vigorous
member of the opposition till Lord
John Russell became premier, in 1846,
when he was appointed paymaster-
general of the forces, with a seat in the
cabinet. In 1847 he was before his
constituents at Edinburgh for re-elec-
tion, and was defeated in consequence
of a disagreement with the majority
growing out of his independent sup
port of a grant to the Irish Roman
110
THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY.
Catholic College at Maynootli. He
was treated with much harshness and
even insult at the hustings, and felt
the indignity. In a speech to the elec-
tors, after the result was declared, he
said : " I once did believe, and from
what I have seen either of English or
Scotch communities I was entitled to
believe, that there existed none where
any person would have made his ap-
pearance for the mere purpose of his-
sing the defeated candidate. Gentle-
men, I stand before vou defeated, but
V
neither degraded nor dispirited. Our
political connection has terminated
forever. If ever I return, and I hope
often to return to your city, it will be
solely for the purpose of seeing the
most beautiful of British cities, and of
meeting in private intercourse some of
those valued friends whose regard, I
hope, will survive our political separa-
tion." Sick at heart, Macaulay retired
for a time from parliamentary life, for
he might have found, had he been in-
clined, another constituency. A poem
of great beauty and feeling, written by
him at this time, and not published
till after his death, simply entitled,
"Lines Written in August, 1847," dis-
closes the exquisite sensibility of the
man, and the devotion of his inner life
to principles, and a solace out of reach
of the disturbances of the day. In
slumber in an old mansion, he sees the
fairy queens who rule the future with
their gifts appear at the cradle of the
infant child. The queens of gain, of
fashion, of power and pleasure, pass
by the boy with disdain ; till one, the
genius of virtue and intellect, comes
to shed upon him her choicest bene-
dictions, promising him her support, not
only in all the refined enjoyments of
life, but when all else should fail.
"Thine most, when friends turn pale, when
traitors fly,
When hard beset, thy spirit, justly proud,
For truth, peace, freedom, mercy, dares defy
A sullen priesthood and a raving crowd.
"Amidst the din of all things fell and vile.
Hate's yell and envy's hiss, and folly's bray,
Remember me ; and with an unforced smile,
See riches, baubles, flatterers pass away.
"Yes: they will pass away; nor deem it strange:
They come and go, as comes and goes the sea:
And let them come and go : thou, through all
change,
Fix thy firm gaze on virtue and on me.
The Edinburgh defeat was a serious
loss to the House of Commons, but the
world was the gainer by the oppor
tunity afforded the disappointed can
didate to devote himself, in a greater
degree than hitherto, to his favorite
literary pursuits. During the whole
period of his services in parliament,
indeed, they had never been intermit-
ted. To the " Edinburgh Eeview " he
had still been a contributor, continu-
ing the series of his fascinating arti-
cles with the brilliant historical essays
on Clive and Hastings, animated by
his Indian study and experiences ; and
by the side of literary portraits of
Madame D' Arblay and Addison, equal-
ly graphic representations of the career
of Frederic the Great, of Barere, and
the last of the series, the sequel to his
former paper on the Earl of Chatham.
He had also, in 1842, published hia
" Lays of Ancient Rome ;" in which, in
rapid and glowing versification, he
had successfully reproduced, in a mod-
ern ballad form, the spirit of several
of its memorable legends, the story
" How well Horatius kept the bridge
lii the brave days of old. —
THOMAS BABIXGTON MACAU! AY.
Ill
The "Battle of the Lake Eegillus;"
the tale of " Virginia," and the Pro-
phecy of Capys celebrating the mar-
tial glories of Rome. "As modern crit-
icism had resolved much of the anti-
que records of the people into my-
thical legend," it was the purpose of
Macaulay, in his own words, " to re-
verse that process and transform some
portions of early Roman history back
into the poetry out of which they were
made." In doing this, he borrowed some-
thing, as he tells us, from the old En-
glish ballads, and more from Sir Wal-
ter Scott, "the great restorer of our
ballad poetry ;" while he owed still
greater obligations to the Iliad, from
which, in accordance with the theory
he had adopted, he had " reason to be-
lieve that some of the old Latin mins-
trels really had recourse to that inex-
haustible store of poetical images."
Every reader knows the felicity with
which the author carried out his plan ;
the book has been among the most
popular of his writings, where all are
popular ; and has, like his " Lays of the
Cavaliers," furnished recitations for
school-boys, and reappeared in many
editions as one of the brightest literary
productions of its time. The skill
with which the author manages a
crowd of Roman names is one of the
most noticeable traits of the poem. In
the ardor of his genius, they by no
means, as in other hands they might
have done, retard ; but, on the con-
trary, accelerate the living movement
of his verse.
Another and greater work in litera-
ture was yet before the author. His
essays in the " Edinburgh " had led
him, by the paths of biography and
criticism, to the wider region of his-
tory ; and he now set before himself a
task capable of employing all his re-
sources and experience. The pro-
gramme was announced in the first
sentences of the introductory chapter
of the work, two volumes of which ap-
peared in 1849. " I purpose," says he,
" to write the history of England from
the accession of King James the Sec-
ond down to a time which is within
the memory of men still living. I
shall recount the errors which, in a
few months, alienated a loyal gentry
and priesthood from the House of
Stuart. I shall trace the course of that
revolution which terminated the long
struggle between our sovereigns and
their parliaments, and bound up to-
gether the rights of the people and the
title of the reigning dynasty. I shall
relate how the new settlement was,
during many troubled years, success-
fully defended against foreign and do-
mestic enemies ; how, under that set-
tlement, the authority of law and the
security of property were found to be
compatible, with a liberty of discus
sion and of individual action never be
fore known ; how, from the auspicious
union of order and freedom, sprang a
prosperity of which the annals of hu-
man affairs had furnished no example
how our country, from a state of igno-
minious vassalage, rapidly rose to the
place of umpire among .European pow-
ers; how her opulence and her martial
glory grew together; how, by wise
and resolute good faith, was gradually
established a public credit fruitful of
marvels, which to the statesmen of any
former age would have seemed incred-
ible; how a gigantic commerce gavj
112
THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY.
oirth to a maritime power, compared
with which every other maritime pow-
er, ancient or modern, sinks into insig-
nificance ; how Scotland, after ages of
enmity, was at length united to En-
gland, not merely by legal bonds, but
by indissoluble ties of interest and af-
fection ; how, in America, the British
colonies rapidly became far mightier
and wealthier than the realms which
Cortes and Pizzarro had added to the
dominions of Charles the Fifth ; how,
in Asia, British adventurers founded
an empire not less splendid and more
durable than that of Alexander."
A declaration like this has some-
thing of the air of the style of Gibbon ;
and, with many elements of unlike-
ness, there is a certain parallelism be-
tween the two historians in their re-
spective histories. An unresting vig-
orous movement is common to both ;
each seems to exult in a plenitude of
details and illustrations ; they equally
rely upon an accumulation of particu-
lars drawn from incidental sources;
they are actuated alike by a sympa-
thetic poetic imagination, and the de-
light of the scholar and thinker in the
successful exertion of intellectual pow-
er. The flowing sentences of Macau-
lay, sweeping onward in a majestic
current, differ from the smart antithet-
ical condensation of the compact per-
iods of Gibbon, as befits the open and
more free atmosphere of modern times.
In one respect, unhappily, any resem-
blance between the two wrorks ceases.
Gibbon lived, with proud satisfaction,
to complete his design ; Macaulay left
his unaccomplished. Two more vol-
umes of the history appeared in 1855;
a fifth was published after his death
exhausting the manuscript which he
had prepared, closing with the death
of William III.
M. Taine, the brilliant philosophical
critic of the day, in his work on En-
glish literature, has traced the excel-
lence of Macaulay in his " History," to
his talent as an orator. " True elo-
quence," he writes, " is that which per
fects argument by emotion ; which re-
produces the unity of events by the
unity of passion; which repeats the
motion and the chain of facts by the
motion and the chain of ideas. It is a
genuine imitation of nature; more
complete than pure analysis; it reani-
mates beings ; its dash and vehemence
form part of science and of truth. Of
whatever subject he treats, political
economy, morality, philosophy, litera-
ture, history, Macaulay is impassioned
for his subject. The current which
bears away events excites in him, as
soon as he sees it, a current which
bears forward his thought. He does
not set forth his opinion, he pleads it.
He has that energetic, sustained, and
vibrating tone which bows down op-
position and conquers belief. His
thought is an active -force; it is im-
posed on the hearer; it attacks him
with such superiority, falls upon him
with such a train of proofs, such a
manifest and legitimate authority, such
a powerful impulse, that we never
think of resisting it; and it masters
the heart by its vehemence, whilst, at
the same time, it masters the reason by
its evidence. * ' * * In his ' History,'
by his breadth of knowledge, his pow-
er of reasoning and passion, he has
produced one of the finest books of
the age, whilst manifesting the genius
THOMAS BABINGTON MACAIILAY.
118
of liis nation. This solidity, this en-
ergy, this deep political passion, these
moral prejudices, these oratorical hab-
its, this limited philosophical power,
this partially uniform style, without
flexibility or sweetness, this eternal
gravity, this geometrical progress to a
settlej^end. announce in him the En-
glish mind."
As a partial effort for the discredit
or neglect which had been shown him
at Edinburgh, Macaulay was, in 1849,
elected to the honorary office of Lord
Rector of the University of Glasgow.
His address on occasion of his installa-
tion, was an eloquent retrospect of the
early history of the institution, when
it sprang into existence under the aus-
pices of that friend to learning of the
renaissance, Pope Nicholas the Fifth,
and of the influences of that support
in the century of the Reformation
which ensued. A few years later, in
1852, Edinburgh herself made amends
by electing him to a seat in parlia-
ment without any overtures or exer-
tions on his part. Pleased with this
mark of confidence, he again took his
seat in the House of Commons. He
bore, however, little part in its pro-
ceedings. A single speech on " The
Exclusion of Judges from the House,"
delivered in 1853, is the only one of
this new period introduced by him in
the collection of his Speeches, which
he edited the following year. In 1856,
in failing health, he resigned his seat,
and in 1857 was, unexpectedly to him-
self, raised by the Queen to the peer-
age, when he took the title of Baron
Macaulay. He still continued, though
with interrupted strength, his employ-
ments in literature, working steadily
upon the History, and contributing
several choice biographies — of John-
son, Goldsmith, Pitt, Atterbury, Bun
yan — to his friend, Adam Black's
" Encyclopaedia Britannica," in which
his finest qualities were displayed. In
the midst of these occupations, in his
residence in London, he died suddenly
of disease of the heart, on the 28th of
December, 1859. He was buried in
Poet's Corner, Westminster Abbey,
by the grave of Johnson. He was
never married, and his title died with
him.
Departing from its usual custom, the
" Edinburgh Review," which owed so
much to his pen, in its succeeding
number, in January, 1860, paid this
tribute to his character and genius :
" Others will relate, as long as liter-
ary history excites the sympathy and
the curiosity of future ages, the varied
and inexhaustible gifts which marked
out Thomas Babington Macaulay from
all his contemporaries. The astonish
ing activity of his mind had ranged
from early youth through every path
of literary research ; the capacity and
precision of his memory retained and
arranged for instant use every page,
every thought, every incident, and
every name which had at any time at-
tracted his attention. All he read, all
he knew, — and what had he not read ?
what did he not know ? — was reflected
by some spectral process on his mem-
ory, wl ere it remained, subject to no
change but that of mortality. Accord-
ingly, the studies of his earlier years,
the sublime language of the Hebrew
Scriptures, the tragic grandeur of the
Athenian stage, the eloquence and
wisdom of the orators and historians
114
THOMAS BABINGTON MACAU LAY.
of antiquity, and even the discourses of
the Christian Fathers, formed the basis
of his mental culture, and were no less
present to his mind than every other
part of the vast structure of modern
literature and history he raised upon
it. But whilst the universal range of
his acquirements had rendered him fa-
miliar with all that was beautiful and
elevated in the literature of other ages
and other lands, the focus of his genius
centred in the history, the language,
and the literary life of England. Pro-
foundly versed in the story of her
growth, and imbued with the spirit of
her freedom ; admirably skilled in the
use of his mother tongue, of which it
may be said, as Wordsworth said of
Milton, that in his hands * the thing
became a trumpet ;' incredibly familiar
with the writings and the lives of
every man who has left a trace in the
letters of this country, till he seemed
to have the power of recalling the
dead by the vivacity of his own im-
pressions of them, Lord Macaulay was
essentially English in his habits of
thought and in his tastes. The strong-
est of all his feelings was the love and
pride excited in him by his native
land ; for he knew her and admired
her, not only as the England of this
age, but from the dawn of her annals
to the fulness of her strength.
" In other men gifted with these ex-
traordinary powers of memory, it has
been remarked that the mind is over-
burthened with its own stores, and
that powers of vigorous thought
are not linfrequently wanting to ani-
mate and control the mass of acquired
knowledge. The intellect of Lord
Macaulay was more perfectly constitu-
ted. He combined so vivid an imagi
nation with so solid a judgment, that
if he had not been a great historian he
might have passed down to posterity
as a great poet ; and whilst the amount
of his intellectual wealth would have
overwhelmed a mind of less original
power, with him it remained subordi
nate to the genius of the Master. No
man was more remarkable for the nice
discrimination of his critical powers,
or for the ingenious combinations by
which he threw a new and vivid light
on the course of events, the play of
human character, and the principles he
lived to advocate and defend. It was
this rare union, which gave so wonder-
ful a charm to his style; every sen-
tence was instinct with life; every
word touched by his pen left its mark;
and the same spell which captivated
the most accomplished of his contem-
poraries, and overruled the hostility of
his antagonists, gave him an unequal-
led popularity wherever the language
of England is understood or admired.
" We speak of Lord Macaulay, main
ly, as a man of letters, because without
doubt that is his chief glory and his
most imperishable character. For al-
though we have seen and admired the
part he sometimes filled in political
debate, and his speeches in the House
of Commons were not unworthy of
himself, he early discerned that he
was the heir of a loftier fame than po-
litical services can earn, or political
distinctions confer. When called by
the just favor of the Crown to the
august ranks of the British peerage,
and to that Senate which alas ! he
was never able to address, the nation
felt that his coronet rested uoou hia
THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAr.
115
matchless literary eminence, and not
upon mere party connexion. No peer-
age conferred by a Minister was ever
more cordially sanctioned by the na-
tion, for it was felt that the lustre
thrown by his genius upon the peer-
age surpassed the distinction conferred
by the peerage upon himself. No
loubt Lord Macaulay was strongly at-
tached to his political friends, and
deeply imbued with those immortal
principles which have assigned to the
Whig party so glorious a share in the
annals and government of this country.
But he raised those principles to a
higher power. He gave them a broad-
er and more universal character. He
traced them along the mighty streams
of history, and he expanded them till
they embraced the noblest destinies of
man. Enshrined in the memorable
Essays which first appeared in the
pages of this journal, and embodied in
the great History, which though still
incomplete, includes the most remark-
able epoch and the most formidable
crisis of British constitutional free-
dom, these truths will be remembered
in the language he gave them, when
parliamentary orators and the conten-
tions of statesmen are forgotten. Above
all things, his public career was singu-
larly high-minded and pure ; he was
actuated by no selfish motives ; he dis-
dained every vulgar reward ; and,
bound by principl ; to the Whig par-
ty, he never made the slighiest sacri
fice of his own judgment and indepen-
dence to the demands of popular preju-
dice or to the dictation of authority.
" The brilliant efforts of accomplished
rhetoric, the graphic scenes traced by
a vivid imagination, the energetic de-
fence of political principles, would
however, fail to secure to Lord Macau-
lay that place which he deserves in
the memory of his countrymen, if his
prodigious intellectual powers had not
been allied to a still nobler tempera-
ment. * * * Though singularly inac-
cessible to the ordinary temptations of
vanity or ambition, one wish of person-
al distinction we know him to have en
tertained, and that wish has been fitly
fulfilled. He more than once expressed
his earnest desire that his mortal re-
mains might rest in that sepulture of the
illustrious dead of England, which in-
spired one of the most exquisite con-
templative essays in the language to
Addison, and which has oftentimes
been described as the last bourne of
human renown by Macaulay. Between
the men who made these names im-
mortal there are now but a few feet of
stone; both of them are gathered in
the same spot to the silent company
of their compeers. In that assemblage
of poets, orators, statesmen, and patri
ots, there rests no nobler Englishman
than he whom we have so recently
laid there."
f 1 1HIS amiable authoress, who, "by
-L her genial kindly successes in
literature, won so honorable an esteem
in the hearts of readers of the last gen-
eration— a regard well worthy to be
continued at present and hereafter —
was born at Alresford, Hampshire,
England, the 16th of December, 1787.
Her maternal grandfather, Dr. Eich-
ard Russell, was of the Bedford fami-
ly, a parish clergyman, with a good
private fortune. He was married to
a Hampshire lady, also possessed of
considerable property. Of three chil-
dren, one only, a daughter, survived
her parents, Mary Russell, who thus
inherited the family estate, worth in
lands and funds about forty thou-
sand pounds. She was plain in
appearance, with lady-like manners,
ready and intelligent in conversation,
with a kind, amiable disposition. At
the age of thirty-five, a few months af-
ter she had come into possession of
her fortune, when, by the death of her
mother, she was " left alone in the op-
pressive solitude of a large house, with
no companion but her father's library,7'
she was courted and won by a Dr.
George Mitford, of -a good Northum-
berland family, a graduate of the Ed-
ittfj
inburgh University, who had settled
at Alresford as a physician — a man of
a careless, joyous temperament, utter-
ly improvident, with an outside show
of talent and amiability, of rare per-
sonal beauty, addicted to dissipation
and extravagance, already, at twenty-
five, reduced to poverty, and ambitious
of expensive living. The only child of
this union, born two years after the
marriage, at the date we have given,
at her mother's house, was the subject
of this notice, Mary Russell Mitford.
She early exhibited great precocity
of intellect. Before she was three
years old, she was able to read, when
as she playfully tells us in her " Recol
lections of a Literary Life," u my father
would perch me on the breakfast-table
to exhibit that one accomplishment to
some admiring guest, who admired all
the more, because, a small, piiny child,
looking far younger than I really was,
nicely dressed, as only children gener-
ally are, and gifted with an aifluence
of curls, I might have passed for the
twin sister of my own great doll."
The subjects chosen for these recita-
tions were her father's favorite leading
articles in the Whig newspapers of
the day, — a rather severe infliction on
MART EUSSELL MITFOKD.
117
the infant mind; but the child had
her reward when she called upon her
mother in turn to repeat for her the
"Children in the Wood," a ballad
which she looked for after every per-
formance, " just as the piping bullfinch
that hung in the window, looked for
his lump of sugar after going through
1 God save the King ' — the two cases
being exactly parallel." One day, her
mother being out of the way, her fa-
ther, whose memory was not so well
stored, had to hunt up the ballad in
Bishop Percy's Collection. The book
was retained by the maid at the child's
request, to be at hand for use; and
thus, by the time she was four or five
years old, she read the ballads herself,
and grew into admiration of the work
which, more than any other, has influ-
enced the modern poetry of England.
Her associations, too, at this time,
were of the most delightful character.
u The breakfast room," as she recalls it,
" where I first possessed myself of iny
beloved ballads, was a lofty and spa-
cious apartment, literally lined with
books, which, with its Turkey carpet,
its glowing fire, its sofas and its easy
chairs, seemed, what indeed it was, a
very nest of English comfort. The
windows opened on a large, old-fash-
ioned garden, full of old-fashioned
flowers — stocks, roses, honeysuckles
and pinks ; and that again led into a
grassy orchard, abounding with fruit-
trees, a picturesque country church-
yard, with its yews and lindens on one
side, and beyond, a down as smooth as
velvet, dotted with rich islands of
coppice, hazel, woodbine, hawthorn and
holly, reaching up into the young
oaks, and overhanging flowery patches
H.— 16.
of primroses, wood-sorrel, wild hya-
cinths and wild strawberries. On the
side opposite the church, in a hollow
fringed with alders and bulrushes,
gleamed the bright, clear lakelet, ra-
diant with swans and water-lilies,
.which the simple townsfolk were con-
tent to call the Great Pond. What a
play-ground was that orchard ! and
what play - fellows were mine ! the
maid, Nancy, with her trim prettiness ;
my own dear father, handsomest and
cheerfulest of men ; and the great New-
foundland dog, Coe, who used to lie
down at my feet, as if to invite me to
mount him, and then to prance off
with his burden, as if he enjoyed the
fun as much as we did. Happy, happy
days ! It is good to have the memory
of such a childhood ! to be able to call
up past delights by the mere sight
and sound of Chevy Chase, or the bat-
tle of Otterbourne."
This reminiscence was given to the
world in 1851, when, at the age of
sixty-five, the writer was approaching
the end of her pilgrimage. It is a
cheerful retrospect, vividly bringing
before us in a few sentences, the scenes
of English nature and animal life in
which she took an unfailing interest,
and which no one has more exquisite-
ly painted than herself. It was a se-
rene setting to a troubled day, often
clouded, but along which the rays of
a cheerful, happy spirit were ever
shining. Keturning to the morn-
ing hour of childhood, to trace this
chequered progress of the maiden life,
we find the interruption of its felicity
in the spendthrift habits of her father.
In the course of eight or nine years af-
ter his marriage, he had contrived by
118
MART RUSSELL M1TFORD
his reckless mismanagement or expense
to dissipate all except a small secured
fraction of his wife's property; the
furniture and library were sold; the
pleasant residence at Alresford had
been given up for a temporary one at
Lyme Regis ; and that for a retreat in
London, where, about the year 1795,
the doctor was living with his wife
and child on the Surrey side of Black-
friar's Bridge, and finding a refuge
from his creditors within the rules of
the King's Bench. In this strait, the
daughter, child as she was, came as she
ever did, to the end, to the rescue of
the improvident father. Among other
traits of his expensive disposition, he
was fond of play ; and, as a matter of
course, when everybody indulged in
this sort of dissipation, he was ready to
dabble in the public lottery, which
was then an established institution in
England and America. He took Mary
with him one day to the office to
choose a number. She unhesitatingly
fixed upon a certain one, which proved
to be only the sixteenth of a ticket. As
a whole one was wanted, the first sug-
gestion was naturally to select another ;
but the little girl stoutly insisted up-
on her choice ; and the father, from a
superstitious feeling, let her have her
way. The sixteenth was bought, and
the other parts of the ticket were
looked up and obtained at different
offices. When the drawing took place,
the ticket turned up a prize of twenty
thousand pounds.
This, of course, set the doctor upon
his legs again — for a time. The con-
6ned city lodgings were exchanged for
a house at Eeading, where, "with his
phaeton, his spaniels, and his grey-
hounds, he enjoyed his good fortune
with all his wonted hilarity of spirit,
prodigality of expense, and utter want
of consideration for the future." His
daughter, too, shared the improvement
in the family finances, by being sent
to a fashionable boarding-school at
Chelsea, kept by a French emigrant,
where she learnt French and Italian,
and passed five years very happily,
education being carried on in that es-
tablishment in an open and liberal
manner. It was a peculiarity of Miss
Mitford's early life, that she appears
never to have been thwarted or re-
strained by any rigorous rules ; so
that nothing interfered with the full
development of her powers. Her in-
tercourse with her parents seems al-
ways to have been on a footing of
equality. They were easy and indul
gent, and took pride in encouraging
her talents ; and, in consequence, she-
soon attained a remarkable degree of
self-possession. A noticeable instance
of an unhesitating expression of opin-
ion in one so young, is contained in a
letter written to her father from the
school in Hans Place, when she was in
her eleventh year. She is speaking of
a visit of an uncle and his wife. Of
the latter she writes : " I hope that I
may be wrong in my opinion of my
aunt ; but I again repeat, I think she
has the most hypocritical drawl that I
ever heard." A less generous nature
might have been spoilt by this species
of confidence ; but in the case of Miss
Mitford, it was proof of little else than
a vigorous mental activity and har-
dihood, for the support of which she
was to have occasion enough in her
passage through life.
MARY RUSSELL MITFORD.
119
On her return from school in 1802,
she found her father engaged in anoth-
O O
er of his money-wasting enterprises.
lie had purchased a farm of about sev-
enty acres, in the vicinity of Reading;
and, not content with the quaint re-
spectable old-fashioned house upon it,
had resolved to pull it down and erect
another of more modern construction
in its place. This ancient mansion,
which bore the name of Grasely Court,
was consequently levelled and sup-
planted by a new building, to which,
in commemoration of his family rela-
tionship with the Mitfords of Bertram
Castle, he gave the name of Bertram
House. Here, for awhile, the family
pride was fostered by a life of liberal
hospitality and expense. In occasion-
al visits to London, Miss Mitford be-
came acquainted with the art exhibi-
tions and best theatrical performances
of the day ; while at home she was a
most indefatigable devourer of books.
A list of the novels which she read in
a single winter month in 1806, preserv-
ed by her mother as a check on the
bill of the circulating library, foots
up more than fifty volumes of now,
for the most part, forgotten produc-
tions. At all times she was an omnivo-
rous reader ; and, as her correspondence
constantly shows, a most excellent judge
and sympathetic appreciator of what
was of value in literature. A journey
with her father to Northumberland,
among his family relations, under the
auspices of a wealthy female cousin,
Lady Charles Aynsley, was an import-
ant event for a young lady of nineteen,
as it brought her into communication
with the luxurious modes of life of the
northern aristocracy. In the midst of
a succession of feastings and entertain
ments on this tour, she is suddenly
left by her father, who departs uncere-
moniously to assist in an election at
Reading, for which piece of eccentrici-
ty, he receives quite a pungent letter
from his abandoned daughter, to whom
he afterwards returns to accompany
her homeward. The whole account of
this journey in her correspondence, is
spirited, and shows her quite at home
in a relish and appreciation of high
life.
The literary talents of Miss Mitford
were first exhibited in her " Letters ;"
but she wTas also, at an early age, given
to the composition of occasional verses
on such topics of the day as the death
of Sir John Moore, and the celebration
of her father's political idols, Fox,
Cobbett, and their associates. Of
these, with others, recording her own
love of nature and favorite pursuits,
she made a collection, which, under
the simple title, " Poems, by Mary
Russell Mitford," was published by
the Longmans, in 1810. The cost was
of course defrayed by the family, and,
as is usual in such cases, the production
met with no success. It was rather
roughly handled in the " Quarterly
Review," then in its infancy, and ready
to pounce upon game which, in its
later years, would be thought unwor-
thy of its notice. The article is said
to have been written by the Rev.
John Mitford, the editor of Gray.
Though of the same name, he was not
probably of the same family, or he
might have been more indulgent to
the school-girl verses before him, or
not have noticed them at all The
only interest which attaches to the
120
MARY RUSSELL MITFORD.
volume, is from the indication which
it affords of the early love of the wri-
ter for flowers and fields, and the na.
tural scenery around her. Writing at
this time to Sir William Elford, a fel-
low of the Royal and Linnsean Socie-
ties, a gentleman of much taste and
culture, advanced in life, a friend of
her father, who had the faculty of
drawing out her powers, and to whom
a long series of her voluminous corres-
pondence is addressed, she says of this
love of nature : " You are quite right
in believing my fondness for rural
scenery to be sincere ; and yet one is
apt to fall into the prevailing cant up-
on those subjects. And I am general-
ly so happy everywhere, that I was
never quite sure of it myself, till, dur-
ing the latter part of my stay in
town, the sight of a rose, the fragrance
of a honeysuckle, and even the trees
in Kensington Gardens, excited noth-
ing but fruitless wishes for our own
flowers, and our own peaceful wood-
lands. Having ascertained the fact, I
am unwilling to examine the motives,
for I fear that indolence of mind arid
body would find a conspicuous place
among them. There is no trouble or
exertion in admiring a beautiful view,
listening to a murmuring stream, or
reading poetry under the shade of
an old oak ; and I am afraid that is
why I love them so well." From pri-
vate letters written in this pleasing
strain, — and her pen runs on for pages
with her correspondents in an equally
agreeable manner, it was but a short
step into print to delight the public
by her facile genius.
Succeeding to the publication of the
Miscellaneous Poems, another of con-
siderable length was at once under-
taken, entitled " Christina ; or, The
Maid of the South Seas," founded on
the romantic incidents which followed
the Mutiny of the Bounty, and which
had then recently been brought to no-
tice by Captain Folger's visit to Pit-
cairn Island, in 1808. In carrying this
through the press, the author had the
assistance of the advice of the poet
Coleridge, to whom the proof sheets
were submitted. The poem, on its
publication, in 1811, became very
popular, and passed through several
editions in America. It was next year
followed by another, "Watlington
Hill," in the octosyllabic measure of
Sir Walter Scott. In the meantime
there was, in consequence of Dr. Mit-
ford's extravagance and speculations —
his fondness for gaming was alone
sufficient to account for his frequent
embarrassments — a sad want of money
at Bertram House, in spite of the old
lottery fund and legacies falling in.
Servants were to be dismissed, books
and pictures sold, and a general sacri-
fice of property and securities ; all of
which is plainly discussed by Miss
Mitford in letters to her father. She
is ready to part with anything to
secure peace in a humble retirement
with a small competency. As early as
1808 great reductions had been re-
quired in the establishment, and the
handsome style of living in the family
fell by various shifts from lower to
lower grades of appearances and re-
spectability, till there was next to
nothing left to support the house. It
was retained, however, till 1820, whei.
it was finally relinquished for a hum
ble cottage in the vicinity, a milt
MAEY KUSSELL MITFORD.
121
nearer Reading, at the village of Three
Mile Cross. The new habitation is
thus described by Miss Mitford, in a
letter to her friend, Sir William El-
ford. " Our residence is a cottage —
no, not a cottage — it does not deserve
the name — a messuage or tenement,
such as a little farmer, who had made
twelve or fourteen hundred pounds,
might retire to when he left off busi-
ness to live on his means. It consists
of a series of closets, the largest of
which may be about eight feet square,
which they call parlors and kitchens
and pantries; some of them minus a
corner, which have been unnaturally
filched for a chimney ; others deficient
in half a side, which has been trunca-
ted by the shelving roof. Behind is a
garden about the size of a good draw-
ing-room, with an arbor which is a
complete sentry-box of privet. On
one side a public house, on the other
a village shop, and right opposite a
cobbler's stall." But the cheerful dis-
position of Miss Mitford soon found
consolation in the new restricted abode.
The outer world of nature in which
she revelled was still unchanged. " The
cabin," she continues, " is within reach
of my dear old walks ; the banks where
I find my violets ; the meadows full
of cowslips ; and the woods where the
wood -sorrel blows. We are all be-
ginning to get settled and comforta-
ble, and resuming our usual habits.
* * * It is an excellent lesson of con-
densation— one which we all wanted.
Great as our merits might be in some
points, we none of us excelled in com-
pression. Mamma's tidiness was al-
most as diffuse as her daughter's litter.
Papa could never tell a short story ;
nor could papa's daughter, as you well
know, ever write a short letter. I ex
pect we shall be much benefited by
this squeeze ; though at present it sits
upon us as uneasily as tight stays, and
is just as awkward looking. Indeed,
my great objection to a small room al-
ways was its extreme unbecomingnesa
to one of my enormity. I really seem
to fill it — like a black-bird in a gold-
finch's cage. The parlor looks all me."
This was certainly a kindly and
philosophical way of looking at the
family misfortunes; and, with Miss
Mitford, it was no affair of mere senti-
ment, but a practical every-day virtue.
Her father had brought a rich estate
to ruin ; and it fell upon ths daughter,
by her talents, to repair the fallen for-
tunes of the house. In doing this, she
labored with her pen for long years,
sacrificing health and constitution in
the effort, cheerfully ministering not
only to her father's wants but to his
continued folly and extravagance. She
soon found two lucrative resources in
literary production, in writing for the
magazines and the stage. To the first
she furnished poetry, tales, criticism,
and the series of descriptive sketches
of the rural life around her, which,
carried on for many years, made for
her a distinctive reputation as a paint-
er of landscape and village portraiture,
as the author of " Our Village," as
these papers were entitled in their col-
lected form. "This work, or rather
series of works," as the " Quarterly
Review " remarks, making amends for
its early harshness to the juvenile
poems, "may be said, without carica-
ture, to have become a classic, and io
have set the fashion in literature of a
122
MARY RUSSELL MITFORD.
series of sketches of Lome scenery and
natural life — akin to the wood-cuts of
Bewick, or the etchings of Read of
Salisbury, and will bear return and
reprint so long as the taste for close
observation and miniature painting of
scenery and manners shall last." The
spirit and method with which she
entered upon the sketches may be gath-
ered from her remarks in the preface
to the collected work. " The descrip-
tions have always been written on the
spot and at the moment, and in nearly
every instance with the closest and
most resolute fidelity to the place and
the people. If I am accused of having
given a brighter aspect to my villa-
gers than is usually met with in books,
I cannot help it, and would not if I
could. I have painted as they appear-
ed to me, their little frailties and their
many virtues, under an intense and
thankful conviction that in every con-
dition of life goodness and happiness
may be found by those who seek them,
and never more surely than in the
fresh air, the shade, and the sunshine,
of nature." Growing out of " Our
Village" came numerous tales and
sketches for the annuals and maga-
zines, and the distinct publication,
" Belf ord Regis ; or, Sketches of a
Country Town," in which she drew
her material from Reading.
Miss Mitford's dramatic productions
began with "Julian," which was per-
formed with Macready in the leading
character, in the spring of 1823. It
was followed by the "Two Foscari,"
in 1826; "Rienzi," with Young for
the head, in 1828 ; and " Charles the
First," in 1834. All of these were
successful, "Rienzi," in the greatest
degree. Of their general characteris-
tics, a writer in " Blackwood's Maga-
zine," says, " besides the graceful and
fluent writing, which is as remarkable
in them as in the less ambitious narra
tive of the author, we may remark the
animated and rapid action, so unusual
to modern dramas. 'Rienzi,' indeed,
roads like a sketch, so hurried and
breathless is its story ; and the ' Two
Foscari,' if less impetuous, is singularly
unencumbered with the tedious and un-
necessary dialogue which forms so large
a portion of ordinary dramatic writing."
In addition to these acted plays, Miss
Mitford wrote two others, "Inez de
Castro," and "Otto of Wittelsbach,"
with a volume of " Dramatic Scenes."
In all these plays, writes a competent
critic, Mr. Henry F. Chorley, " there is
strong, vigorous writing, — masculine
in the free, unshackeled use of lan-
guage, but wholly womanly in its
purity from coarseness or licence, and
in the intermixture of those incidental
touches of softest feeling and finest ob-
servation, which are peculiar to the
gentler sex. A rich air of the south
breathes over ' Rienzi ;' and in the
' Charles,' though the character of
Cromwell will be felt to vibrate, it is,
on the whole, conceived with a just
and acute discernment of its real and
false greatness— of the thousand con-
tradictions, which, in reality, make the
son of the Huntingdon brewer a
character too mighty for any one be-
neath a Shakespeare to exhibit."
There is much that is interesting
concerning the production on the
stage of her plays, narrated by Miss
Mitford in her published " Corres-
pondence," mingled with painful
RUSSELL MITFORD.
123
glimpses of the sacrifices she was
making in her unresting course of
literary exertion, to alleviate her fa-
ther's pecuniary distresses. It is upon
the whole, a sad story, though it is
constantly relieved by the writer's in-
exhaustible cheerfulness, as her in-
creasing reputation brought her new
friends, notably among them Miss
Barrett, whose poetic and philosophic
mind was to her a great encourage-
ment and support. To her, in 1842,
as a sympathizing listener, Miss Mit-
ford communicates her anxieties re-
specting her father's health ; for, spite
of the sad sufferings he had brought
upon the household, and the toil his
selfish indulgence had inflicted upon
herself, she loved and cherished him
with the fondest affection to the last,
thinking no effort too costly, if it con-
duced to his comfort. His death oc-
curred in 1842. His devoted daugh-
ter survived him thirteen years. They
were passed by her not without suffer-
ing from bodily sickness and infirmi-
ties, doubtless incurred by her over-
tasked powers, but solaced by the
love of kind friends and the respect
and admiration, which reached her
from the many readers of England and
America, who had been taught by
her writings to look upon life and
nature with a kindlier sympathy. Her
correspondence was still kept up with
unabated freshness ; she was employed
in the revision of her writings for new
editions, and still wrote much for the
press, among other things, a novel en-
titled " Atherton," and a most genial
series of critical and descriptive essays,
entitled "Recollections of a Literary
Life ; or, Books, Places, and People."
A subscription was raised to pay her
father's debts, and a moderate pension
was granted to her by the English
government. In 1850, the cottage at
Three-Mile Cross, where she had so
long resided, having fallen into decay,
she removed to another simple resi-
dence, a few miles beyond it, at Swal-
lowfield, where her last few years were
spent. Her death, hastened by the effects
of a fall from her pony-chaise, which kept
her for a considerable period confined
to the house, occurred at this place in
her sixty-ninth year, on the 10th of
January, 1855. Her remains were
laid in the village church-yard, in a
spot selected by herself, which is now
marked by a granite cross, erected bj
a few of her oldest friends.
BENITO JUAREZ.
BENITO JUAREZ, President of
the Republic of Mexico during
an important period in its recent his-
tory, was descended from the Tapa-
tecos, one of the native races of the
country, and, with this Indian blood
in his veins, is remarkable among its
native rulers. He was born in 1806,
7iear the village of Ixtlan, near Oaxaca.
His education was the best the district
afforded. He graduated at the College
of Oaxaca; in 1830 was admitted a
Member of the Institute of Arts and
Sciences of Mexico ; in 1833 was elec-
ted a member of the State Legislature,
and the following year, having chosen
the legal profession, was admitted to
the bar and appointed professor of
Commercial Law in the Institute of
Oaxaca. From 1834 to 1844, he was
Secretary of the Supreme Tribunal of
Justice ; Substitute Judge of the same
tribunal; Civil Judge of the First
Instance, in the City of Oaxaca ; Fiscal
Judge ; a second time member of the
Legislature; and finally Attorney-
General of the Supreme Tribunal of
Justice of that department. He was
elected in 1846 a representative from
his district to the National Congress
at Mexico, where he began the advo-
(124)
cacy of one of the prominent measures
of his subsequent administration, the
appropriation of church property to
secular uses, to serve the needs of the
deficient treasury of the government.
Two years later, in 1848, he was elect-
ed governor of his native State of
Oaxaca, and distinguished his admin-
istration of its affairs, during the four
years in which held this office, by
many useful reforms. It is remarked
a3 one of the virtues of his rule, that
at its close, a creditable thing at any
time in Mexico, there was left a bal-
ance in the public treasury. Being at-
tached to the liberal party, when Santa
Anna, in 1853, a second time became
dictator of the country, Juarez, with
others of his political views, was driv-
en from the country. He resided at Ha-
vana and New Orleans the two follow-
ing years, returning to Mexico in 1853
as a participator in the insurrectionary
movement of Alvarez, by whom the
despotic government of Santa Anna
was overthrown, and the Republic
again set up in its place. Alvarez be-
came President ; Juarez was returned
to the National Congress in 1856, and
the following year was chosen Presi-
dent of the Supreme Court of the
From, the. onjaiaLvairUMa In? ChappeL w ^fe pan 'session or the juw
Jdbnson Wilson ^ Co-. Pabjishers,Nf?w fork
BENITO JFAREZ.
French armed occupation and imperial
protectorate under Maximilian ; and
lastly, from the suppression of all
the numerous revolutionary attempts
which have followed the death of
Maximilian, for the expulsion of Juarez
from the government.
" We may here not unprofitably re-
produce some of the leading facts in
the eventful career of this extraordin-
ary Mexican of the Aztec race. In
1858 there was a military outbreak in
the City of Mexico, instigated by the
Church party, against the constitu-
tional authorities. President Comon-
fort, in this crisis proving faithless in
attempting a dictatorship, was driven
from the country, and for some time,
like so many other exiled rulers, lived
the life of a philosopher in New York.
Juarez, Vice-President at that time,
thus became President, and in this
capacity, from Queretaro, he issued a
strong pronunciamento against the
Church party, and the war commenced
in earnest between this powerful party
and this bold reformer. Driven from
point to point, he was at length, at
Vera Cruz, in April, 1859, acknowl-
edged by the United States as the
lawful head of the Mexican govern-
ment; and, then and there, July, 1859,
he issued his programme of reform,
embracing religious liberty, indepen-
dence between Church and State, the
legality of civil marriages, the confis-
cation of the real estate of the Church
as national property, and directing its
sale, and the suppression of conven-
tual establishments throughout the
republic. After a sanguinary civil war
of three years, Juarez, with the des-
truction of the army of Miramon, came
off the conqueror, and his proposed
reforms were put. into practice. But
the defeated Church party, in the
enormous properties and powers which
had been held, and which might be
reclaimed by them, had too much at
stake to give up the contest in this
fashion. Driven to this desperate ex-
tremity, they did not hesitate to invite
foreign intervention ; and it came with
that French invasion and armed occu-
pation which culminated in the setting
up of Maximilian as Emperor of Mex-
ico, " by the will of the people," under
the protection of the Emperor Napo-
leon and the army of Marshal Bazaine.
The time was favorable for this daring
Napoleonic idea. The United States
could give no material aid to Juarez.
They, at home, were engaged in a
struggle of life or death with a gigan-
tic rebellion, and Napoleon was satis-
fied that the issue of this struggle
would give him the convenient ally of
an independent Southern confederacy.
Juarez, by Bazaine, was driven to the
northern frontier of Mexico ; but still
the tenacious Indian maintained his
rights as head of the State, and faith-
fully in this capacity was Juarez sup-
ported to the end by President Lin-
coln's Secretary of State ; Mr. Seward.
At length, with the beginning of the
end of our Southern confederacy, Na-
poleon, convinced that his Mexican
adventure was a bad investment, aban-
doned it, withdrew his protecting army,
and left poor Maximilian to his fate.
" With more courage than discretion,
Maximilian, relying upon his Mexican
adherents, resolved to fight it out with
Juarez. He was invested in that very
Queretaro where Juarez set forth upon
BENITO JUAEEZ.
his successful career; lie was betray-
ed, he was captured, and he was exe-
cuted. This execution was the act of
Juarez ; and, while he could justify it
under the laws of Mexico, he would
have acted more wisely had he listen-
ed to the appeal of Mr. Seward and
spared the life of the brave but mis-
guided Maximilian. Nothing was
gained by his execution but the con-
demnation of the act by the civilized
world as an act of needless vengeance ;
nothing would have been lost in spar-
ing him, but the blood of a victim no
longer required to satisfy Mexican
honor or to vindicate the sacredness
of the Mexican soil against foreign us-
urpers. But Juarez was a man of reso-
lute will — of persistent stubbornness,
we may say ; and this quality, which
we find in almost every man distin-
guished in public life, at home or
abroad, occasionally mars with cruel-
ties, more or less, the record of the
best of them. Something, too, touch-
ing the execution of Maximilian, must
be allowed to the Indian blood of
Juarez, with which vengeance for a
great wrong is held as a religious duty
never to be forgotten or compromised.
Still the general record of the long,
turbulent, eventful, revolutionary and
bloody administration of Juarez, all
the circumstances considered, is good.
He lived to see established his pro-
gramme of civil and religious liberty
against a powerful party in war at
home, and against a powerful armed
occupation from abroad. In short, his
administration has been marked by a
political revolution hardly less radical
and progressive than that connected
with the abolition of slavery in the
United States."
" The death of Juarez," says a dis-
passionate writer in an English journal
of authority,* "is a misfortune to a
country which has no more urgent
want than the need of political stabil-
ity. Even Mexicans probably respect a
ruler who, with or without pretence
of re-election, has retained power for
half a generation. Nearly all English-
men who have had a diplomatic or
commercial knowledge of Mexico,
agree in attributing to the late Presi-
dent the rare quality of personal in-
tegrity. Although he was not indif
ferent to his own political aggrandize-
ment, he seems not to have been open
to pecuniary corruption. If he was
cruel to his enemies and offensively
indifferent to international rights, it
will be remembered that he was a full-
blooded Indian, and that he was not
worse than his rivals and predecessors,
the Miramons and Santa Annas. The
popularity which Juarez enjoyed in
his later years was, in a great measure,
earned by his determined resistance to
the French invaders, and to their Aus-
trian nominee ; nor is the unnecessary
execution of the Emperor Maximilian
regarded by patriotic Mexicans as a
blunder or a crime. If there should
hereafter be a Mexican history, the
retreat of the foreigners from the coun-
try and the death of their chief, will
probably assume in the popular imag
ination heroic proportions."
* The Saturday Review, August 3, 1372.
DANIEL, WEBSTER.
THE great orator of New England,
and eminent statesman and pub-
licist of the whole country, was des-
cended from a race of honest yeomen
in America who traced their ancestry
to an ancient Scottish origin. The first
of the family in America appears to
have been one Thomas Webster, who
was settled in Hampton, New Hamp-
shire, in 1636. From him Daniel
Webster traced his direct descent. He
was his great-great-grandfather. His
son Ebenezer was the father of one
who bore the same name, who was the
parent of a third Ebenezer, the father
of the orator. This last-mentioned
Ebenezer was a small farmer in Kings-
ton, New Hampshire, a man of fine
personal appearance, of energy and
character, and self-taught, rising to
positions of trust and confidence among
his townspeople. He was called upon
in his youth to fight the battles of the
Crown in the wars with France, and
served with distinction in the famous
company of Rangers commanded by
Colonel Rogers, who gave so good an
account of themselves in the region of
Lake Champlain and on the borders of
Canada. On the conclusion of peace,
in 1763, and the consequent opening
of the frontier to settlement, he b&
came one of an adventurous party
which advanced to a new location on
the Merrimac. The place was so dis.
tant at that time that, in the words of
his eloquent son, many years after-
wards, when Ebenezer Webster " lap-
ped on, a little beyond any other
comer, and had built his log cabin and
lighted his fire, his smoke ascended
nearer to the North Star than that of
any other of his majesty's New En-
gland subjects. His nearest civilized
neighbor on the north was at Mon-
treal."
At this spot, which took the name
of Salisbury, Daniel was born, the
fruit of a second marriage, January 18,
1782. His mother, Abigail Eastman,
was a woman of much force of charac-
ter, and of a self-relying instinct. To
her and his father, Daniel was alike in-
debted for that opportunity of distinc-
tion in the world which he so diligent-
ly improved. When the Revolution
came on, Captain Webster, like many
another hero of the seven years' war,
took the field in the service of his
countrymen. He was in the engage-
ment at White Plains, and a major uri
der the famous Stark, at Bennington.
(129)
130
DANIEL WEBSTEK.
The first education of Daniel was at
the hands of his mother or elder sisters.
Ele said that he never could recollect a
time when he could not read the Bible.
He had also his share in the humble
instructions of the district schoolmas-
ter, who had found his way even to
that remote region. He probably
owed little to such teachers, for thev
* «/
had nothing to impart but reading and
writing, which did not always include
correct spelling. For such association
as he had with, them, however, the pu-
pil was not ungrateful, when, more than
half a century afterward, venerable
Master Tappan reminded him of his
existence and of these early lessons.
The great lawyer then recalled how the
schoolmaster had once taken his turn of
migratory living at his father's house,
and cordially assisted his preceptor in
his old age. A few books which had
found their way to a village library at
Salisbury, founded by the lawyer and
clergyman of the place and his father,
were far more profitable instructors.
The " Spectator " was among them, and
the young Daniel took delight in the
stirring ballad of Chevy Chase, the
verses of which he picked out from the
setting of criticism in which Addison
had imbedded them. Isaac Watts he
had by heart, and Pope's " Essay on
Man," brought home by his father in a
pamphlet, was at once added to this
stock of rhymes. The seed fell into an
eager soil. He tells us how he met, a
few years later, with Don Quixote, and
that he was so entranced with "that
extraordinary book," so great was its
power over his imagination, that he
never closed his eyes till he had fin-
ished it.
Here, however, the education of the
youth might have been arrested, had
he not shown signs of a feeble consti-
tution, which was judged too little
serviceable for the plough. Like his
elder brother, Ebenezer, he would have
been assigned to the farmer's duty.
But other visions doubtless interfered
In ' one of the statesman's letters re-
calling these early scenes, he tells us
of the arrival, one hot day in July,
about the close of Washington's admin-
istration, of a member of Congress
' O
who came up to his father and himself
at work together in the field. The
contrast struck the parent between the
rising man of the State, honorably paid,
and his own life of ill-requited toil.
" My son," said the father, " that is a
worthy man — he is a member of Con-
gress ; he goes to Philadelphia and gets
six dollars a day, while I toil here. It
is because he had an education which
I never had. If I had had his early
education, I should have been in
Philadelphia in his place. I came
near it as it was ; but I missed it, and
now I must work here." "My dear
father," was the reply, " you shall not
work. Brother and I will work for
you, and wear our hands out, and yon
shall rest." And I remember to have
cried, and I cry now — it is Daniel
Webster, in one of his later years,
writing — at the recollection. "My
child," said the father, " it is of no im-
portance to me — I now live but for my
children ; I could not give your elder
brother the advantages of knowledge
but I can do something for you. Ex-
ert yourself, improve your opportuni-
ties— learn, learn, and when I am gon<j
you will not need to go through the
DANIEL WEBSTER
13J
hardships which I have undergone, and
which have made me an old man be-
fore niy time."
This was the spirit with which,
mounting his horse and placing his son
on another, he conducted him to the
Phillips Academy, at Exeter, presided
over by that eminent instructor, Dr.
Benjamin Abbott, and then in the first
enjoyment of the posthumous bounty
of its disinterested founder. The youth
had recently completed his fourteenth
year, and, if we may judge from the
modest narrative which he has himself
left in a fragment of autobiography,
does not appear to have exhibited any
extraordinary precocity. On the con-
trary, he manifested a repugnance and
apparent inability to do at all what he
was celebrated in after-life for doing so
much better than others : he could not
be induced by any appeal, and even
the chagrin of his own mortification,
to go through a simple declamation in
presence of the school. He was utterly
unable, when his name was called, to
raise himself from his seat. " When
the occasion was over," he adds, "I
went home and wept bitter tears of
mortification." He had good teachers,
men who became eminent in the pro-
fessions, among them Joseph Stevens
Buckminster, who heard his first reci-
tations in Latin ; and he formed thus
early many friendships which lasted
through life. After nearly a year at
Exeter, he was placed in charge of
the Rev. Samuel Wood, at Boscawen,
not far from his father's residence.
This gentleman pursued education for
the love of it, and for the reward it
brought him in the elevation of a Chris-
tian community. His fees were always
trifling, and he had, on occasion, no un
willingness to relinquish them altoge
ther, for the greater glory of the com
monwealth, provided only he sent sons
to his favorite Dartmouth. He thus
forwarded, from under his own roof,
more than a hundred to the institution.
As the father of young Webster ac-
companied him on the way to his new
home with this kind preceptor, he in-
timated the intention of sending him
to college. The promise was welcomed
with fear and joy, and a depth of emo-
tion most honorable to the recipient.
In our day, when facilities of this kind
are so freely extended, it is not easy to
appreciate the kind and degree of gra-
titude thus awaked in an ingenuous
youth. "The very idea," wrote the
thankful son in the fulness .of his
reputation, " thrilled my whole frame.
My father said he then lived but for
his children, and if I would do all I
could for myself, he would do what he
could for me. I remember that I was
quite overcome, and my head grew
dizzy. The thing appeared to me so
high, and the expense and sacrifice it
was to cost my father, so great, I conld
only press his hands and shed tears.
Excellent, excellent parent ! I cannot
think of him, even now, without turn-
ing child again."
With his new instructor, Daniel read
Virgil and Cicero, and was warmed by
the latter to an enthusiasm for oratory
which never afterwards failed him.
"With what vehemence did I denounce
Catiline ! with what earnestness strug-
gle for Milo ! " Put thus upon the
track — his preparation was little more
— he entered Dartmouth College as a
freshman in August, 1797. He was a
132
DANIEL WEBSTER.
diligent, earnest student, and became
highly esteemed for his proficiency, es-
pecially in the rhetoric and belles-let-
tres departments. There is evidence
of this in the fact that he gained his
support for a year by superintending a
little weekly newspaper, for which he
made the selections and to which he
occasionally contributed, and in his de-
livery, in his junior year, in 1800, of a
Fourth of July oration before the good
people of Hanover. The address was
printed, and remains to witness, in its
sounding periods, to his patriotic fer-
vor, which even then did not overlook
the blessings of constitutional govern-
ment. The young orator would doubt-
le:s have shone with equal distinc-
tion the following year, on taking his
degree, had he not thrown himself out
of his appointment by one of those al-
tercations not uncommon with the
arrangement of these college exercises.
The Faculty, out of regard for his
English attainments, assigned him the
second part, an English Oration or
Poem, in place of the Latin Salutatory.
Disappointed with this order, he took
no part in the Commencement exer-
cises, though he delivered at the time
an oration on "The Influence of Opin-
ion," before the leading college Society,
which gained him great applause.
He left College, however, with a
higher claim to self-respect than any
admiration of a promiscuous audience.
The very year on which he graduated
he had been instrumental in bringing
his elder brother Ezekiel to the spot,
and leaving him there on the high
road to professional eminence equal-
ling his own subsequent achieve-
ments. It was while in his sopho-
more year, during a vacation at home,
that the thought of thus benefiting
his brother was seriously taken up by
him. A whole night was passed in
bed between the two youths in con
sultation on the subject, neither clos-
ing his eyes; but daylight brought
the decision with it, and it was in
consequence of the earnest appeal of
Daniel that Ezekiel was taken from
the plough and placed under the tute-
lary care of the beneficent clergyman,
Samuel Wood. Thence he passed to
college, and we shall see how hand-
somely his brother seconded his advice
by contributing to his support while
there.
Immediately on graduating, Daniel
entered the law office of his father's
neighbor, Thomas "W. Thompson, a
man of some note in his day -as a mem
ber of the State legislature, and a Sen-
ator in Congress; but he was presently
called off from his legal studies by the
necessity of making some pecuniary
provision for himself, and in this strait
accepted the offer of a school at Frye-
burg, in Maine. He was led to this
step by what was then, to him, the
munificent salary of three hundred and
fifty dollars a year, " no small thing," he
says, " for I compared it, not with what
might be before me, but what was
actually behind me " — a proper method,
by the way, of estimating one's for-
tunes, which would lead to a more gen-
eral content. In addition to this, he
continued to get something more of
consequence by copying deeds for the
registry of the newly-created county
of Oxford. As exact penmanship was
always a troublesome labor to him, we
may estimate his diligence. Thirty
DANIEL WEESTEK.
133
years, he afterward said, had not taken
the ache of that exercise out of his fin-
gers.
His first vacation, in May, 1802,
was passed in carrying his quarter's
salary to his brother at Hanover, thus
devoting his earliest earnings to an act
of fraternal friendship. He left Frye-
burg in the autumn, and resumed the
study of the law with his father's
friend, Mr. Thompson. Like Story, he
began with the apex of professional
application, Coke upon Littleton, and
such early and obscure authorities, and
was grievously disheartened by the
process, till luckily, one day, falling
upon Espinasse's law of Nisi Prius, he
found that he could understand what
he read. He always, he said, felt great-
ly obliged to that gentleman for his
intelligible labors. At the proper time
Webster as a law student did not shun
the more laborious literature of the
profession. He was meanwhile assist-
ed at Salisbury by his father's limited
income as judge of the Court of Com-
mon Pleas for the county.
His brother Ezekiel having now gra-
duated, after eking out his support
through three years of college life,
which he made to do the work of four,
by winter school teaching, it had be-
come necessary, writes Daniel, for one
of us to " undertake something that
should bring us a little money, for we
were getting to be * heinously unpro-
vided.' r The younger brother accord-
ingly set off for Boston, secured a
teacher's place in that city for Ezekiel,
who in turn invited the elder thither
with the promise of pecuniary assist-
ance while he prosecuted his law stu-
dies. In this way these brothers labored
n.— 17
for one another. Daniel accordingly
proceeded to Boston, with the inten-
tion of making his way into the law.
He had no letters of introduction, and
the future ruler of the Boston bar failed
in his first attempts to gain admission
to an office to study. He however made
a vigorous attempt with an eminent
man who had been employed in Eng-
land in the diplomatic service of the
country, and who rose to be governor
of Massachusetts, Christopher Gore. In
the interview the youth was thrown
upon his best address, and succeeded
in securing the coveted opening. A
good library was now accessible to him,
with an opportunity which he availed
himself of, of attending the higher
courts.
He read diligently, and made notes
of his observations. In 1805 he was
admitted to practice in the Suffolk
Court of Common Pleas. It was not,
however, without a relinquishment of
immediate benefit which cost him an
effort. Not long before the completion
of his legal studies, an office fell va-
cant in his father's court, which he
was selected to fill. It was a clerkship
with an income of fifteen hundred dol-
lars a year. Here was wealth for the
family to be clutched at with eager-
gerness. His father thought it a great
prize gained, and so did the son, who
was hastening to enter this " opening
paradise," when he encountered the ad-
vice of Mr. Gore. This learned coun-
sellor and man of experience took the
matter very coolly, said it was undoubt-
edly a complimentary offer, and that
he should acknowledge it with all civ-
ility— in other words, his monitor
wisely pointed out to him the steady
DANIEL WEBSTER
path and sure rewards of his profession,
in preference to the immediate but un-
certain tenure of office. " Go on," was
his memorable advice, worthy, in these
days of office-seeking and its melan-
choly adjuncts, of being written in let-
ters of gold on our page — " go on and
finish your studies : you are poor
enough, but there are greater evils than
•Doverty ; live on no man's favor ; what
bread you do eat, let it be the bread
of independence ; pursue your profes-
sion, make yourself useful to your
friends, and a'little formidable to your
enemies, and you have nothing to fear."
Fortified with this invigorating coun-
sel, the youth went down to his father
and somewhat startled the kind old
gentleman, in the first flush of the pro-
mised acquisition, by declining it in
favor of his future prospects. Was
the boy's talk empty flattery, or was it
prophecy ? The father, in his reply,
seemed uncertain. " Well, my son,"
said he, and it was all that he said on
the subject, " your mother has always
said that you would come to something
or nothing, she was not sure which ; I
think you are now about settling that
doubt for her." The first return of the
youth for this paternal solicitude, when
he reached his admission to the bar,
was settling himself by the side of his
father, in the neighboring village of
Boscawen, in the practice of his pro-
fession. He thus solaced, by his com-
pany, the last year of that parent's
life. '
Two years and a half were spent in
this limited field of legal practice, when
he removed to Portsmouth, relinquish-
ing his local business to his brother, who
was then commencing a career at the
bar, which soon led to great distinct] 01
in his State, and would, doubtless, have
made him as well known to the nation
at large, had his life been prolonged.
At Portsmouth, Daniel married, in
1808, Miss Grace Fletcher, the daugh-
ter of a clergyman of valued New
England lineage, and there he con-
tinued to reside till 1817. In this
enlarged sphere, he appears to have
met with immediate success, entering
at once, not indeed upon a very lucra-
tive practice, but sharing the honors of
the bar of New Hampshire with some
of its most distinguished adepts. He
was employed chiefly on the circuit of
the Superior Court, where, as leading
counsel, he frequently became the
antagonist of Jeremiah Mason, then
in the height of his vigor. The emu-
lation of the young lawyer with this
distinguished counsellor, with whom
he was often associated as well as in
opposition, was blended with the warm-
est friendship. He often recurred to
this period in after-life, and when it
became his lot, many years later, to
perform the final act of courtesy, in
pronouncing a eulogy on the decease
of his friend, it was in no feigned or
guarded words that he spoke. Re-
strained by "proprieties of the occa-
sion," he would not, he said, in the
course of his noble tribute, give utter-
ance to the personal feelings which
rose in his heart, in recalling a " sincere,
affectionate, and unbroken friendship,
from the day when I commenced my
own professional career to the closing
hour of his life. I will not say," he
added, "of the advantages which I
have derived from this intercourse and
conversation all that Mr. Fox said of
DANIEL WEBSTEE.
135
Edmund Burke; but I am bound to
say, that of my own professional disci-
pline and attainments, whatever they
may be, I owe much to that close
attention to the discharge of my duties,
which I was compelled to pay for nine
successive years, from day to day, by
Mr. Mason's efforts and arguments at
the same bar; and I must have been
unintelligent, indeed, not to have
learned something from the constant
displays of that power, which I had
so much occasion to see and to feel."
Mr. Webster's residence, at Ports-
mouth, saw his introduction into public
life. Passing over the usual prelimi-
nary experience of service in the State
legislature, he was at once, in Novem-
ber, 1812, elected by the Federal party,
to which he was attached, to the Con-
gress of the United States. On taking
his seat, in May. 1813, he was appointed
by the speaker, Henry Clay, on the
important Committee of Foreign Af-
fairs. War with England had just
been declared, and the news of the
repeal of the obnoxious French De-
crees and English Orders in Council,
which had so grievously injured the
commerce of the country, and deeply
irritated the mind of the nation, had
just come to hand. It was in offering
a resolution, in reference to the Berlin
and Milan Decrees, calling out the
motives of the contest, that Webster,
early in the session, delivered his
maiden speech. It was listened to,
among others, by Chief Justice Mar-
shall, who predicted the future impor-
tance of the orator, destined, he wrote
to a friend, to become " one of the very
first statesmen in America, and perhaps
the very first." No full report of the
speech has been preserved, but suffi-
cient of it is known to justify the con-
clusion of Mr. Edward Everett, who
sums up its merits, in language, as he
intimates, applicable to the whole
course of the orator's subsequent par-
liamentary efforts. He speaks of the
" moderation of tone, precision of state-
ment, force of reasoning, absence of
ambitious -rhetoric and high-flown lan-
guage, occasional bursts of true elo-
quence, and, pervading the whole, a
genuine and fervid patriotism." When-
ever he spoke, these were his character-
istics, which at once gained him the
respect of the wisest judgments in the
House, which at that time held an
unusual number of eminent men.
Though opposed to some of the prom-
inent measures of the administration of
Madison, he was not its factious oppo-
nent. He was ardent for the mainte-
nance o^ the rights of his country , though
he differed ^'ith the party in power as
to the best means of securing them.
He thought the force of the nation was
weakened by attempts at invasion on
the frontiers, and maintained that a
well-manned navy was a better defence
for the seaboard than an embargo which
strangled a commerce that otherwise
would only be open to assault. In
fine, Webster exhibited thus early that
moderation of statesmanship which
marked his subsequent course. In the
language of his friend and eulogist
whom we have just cited : " It was not
the least conspicuous of the strongly
marked qualities of his character as u
public man, that at a time when party
spirit went to great lengths, he never
permitted himself to be infected with
its contagion. His opinions were firmh
136
DANIEL WEBSTEK.
maintained and boldly expressed ; but
without bitterness towards those who
differed from him. He cultivated friend-
ly relations on both sides of the House,
and gained the personal respect even
of those with whom he most differed."
It is a lesson not to be lost sight of by
politicians, or any who would serve the
country where its diverse interests are
in hostile array.
Mr. Webster was re-elected to Con-
gress in 1814, and the war being now
ended, entered with zeal into the
measures of reorganization of the mate-
rial interests of the country. His pro-
fession at home, too, was making larger
demands upon his attention, while his
private affairs had suffered by the de-
struction of his house and property in
a conflagration at Portsmouth. This,
with the general progress of his for-
tunes, determined him upon taking up
his residence in Boston, a measure
which, of course, withdrew him from
his New Hampshire constituency, and
his seat in Congress, while this tempo-
rary absence from Washington enabled
him to occupy himself in several im-
portant professional cases. Foremost
among them, the first of a series mem-
orable in the annals of the bar, was
his final argument before the Supreme
Court, at the seat of government, in
defence of Dartmouth College against
the interference of the State legislature.
His maintenance, on that occasion, of
the inviolability of corporate rights,
followed by the decision of the Court,
pronounced by Chief Justice Marshall,
established collegiate and other pro-
perty on an unassailable foundation.
The fervor of his appeal, as he pro-
nounced this lofty argument for the
college in which he had been educated,
is said to have affected the sensibilities
of his audience — an audience not accus-
tomed to much personal agitation. But
we see nothing of this in the severe
Spartan brevity of the legal points of
the argument as preserved in his writ-
ings, though we may well credit it on
the testimony of Mr. George Ticknor,
who tells us, "many betrayed strong
emotion, many were dissolved in tears."
This final hearing of the question
took place in 1818, two years after
Mr. Webster had made his home in
Boston. It was followed by other
cases of equal professional distinction ;
but the great Dartmouth question,
marking his entrance upon the Su-
preme Court of the nation, is the great
landmark of his legal career.
In the revision of the constitution
of Massachusetts, in 1820, Mr. Webstei
was chosen one of the delegates from
Boston, and the observation made by
his biographer, Mr. Everett, is worthy
of note, that " with the exception of a
a few days' service, two or three years
afterwards, in the Massachusetts House
of Representatives, this is the only oo
casion on which he ever filled any po-
litical office under the State govern
ment, either of Massachusetts or New
Hampshire." He rose rapidly in law
and politics to the highest positions.
His speeches in the Convention on
" Qualifications for Office," in which,
while maintaining the sanction of
religion, he advocated the remission
of special tests of religious belief;
the " Basis of the Senate," suppor-
ting a property representation in
the apportionment of electoral dis-
tricts, according to their taxation, and
DANIEL WEBSTER
137
the " Independence of the Judiciary,"
are included in his collected works.
It was in this same year, 1820, that
Mr. Webster delivered the first of those
anniversary and occasional discourses,
which, equally with his forensic and
political exertions, gave him his great
popular reputation. He had, indeed,
previously delivered various addresses,
but his Plymouth oration, on the first
settlement of New England, gave im-
portance to these efforts, and has raised
a department of oratory, in his own
hands and that of others of distin-
guished merit, to a high and distinctive
place in the literature of the country.
This discourse was pronounced on the
twenty-second of December, two hun-
dred years after the landing of the
Pilgrim Fathers. Opening, as was his
wont, with a few dignified general re-
flections, looking into the philosophy
of common truths applicable to his
subject, he proceeded to present the
cause of emigration, which he found in
religious fervor and love of indepen-
dence; the peculiarities of the settle-
ment as distinguished from other in-
stances of colonization, reviewing the
' O
colonies of Greece and Rome, and their
social and military principles, and then
descending to the trading establish-
ments of modern times; after that,
taking up the retrospect of the century
just ended, with the progress of New
England through the Revolution in
political and civil history, he proceeded
with some observations on the nature
and constitution of government in the
country. The general diffusion of
wealth, with its interests and responsi-
bilities, and the provision for educa-
tion, he found to be the motive and
safeguard of republican institutions,
He closed with an invocation worthy
the best days of ancient oratory
" Advance then, ye future generations '
We would hail you, as you rise in your
long succession, to fill the places which
we now fill, and to taste the blessings
of existence where we are passing, and
soon shall have passed, our own human
duration. We bid you welcome to this
pleasant land of the fathers. We bid
you welcome to the healthful skies and
the verdant fields of New England.
We greet your accession to the great in-
heritance which we have enjoyed. We
welcome you to the blessings of good
government and religious liberty. We
welcome you to the treasures of science.
and the delights of learning. We
welcome you to the transcendent sweets
of domestic life, to the happiness of
kindred and parents and children. We
welcome you to the immeasurable bless-
ings of rational existence, the immortal
hope of Christianity, and the light of
everlasting truth."
Mr. Webster again entered Congress
in 1823, sacrificing, doubtless, large pe-
cuniary returns from his profession to
the service of the State. His legal ai
guments were, however, only interrupt •
ed, not relinquished ; he found time to
debate in the Capitol, and plead in
the Supreme Court, and certainly no
regret is to be expressed that he lis-
tened to the counsel of friends, and the
more imperative call of his own inter
ests to political life. Commanding
statesmanship was his forte and pas-
sion, and he lived and breathed freely
in the higher atmosphere of govern-
ment. The first question which prom-
inently engaged his attention in the
138
DANIEL WEBSTEE
House of Representatives was the state
of Greece, then engaged in her life strug-
gle with the Ottoman power. The top-
ic had been brought before Congress
in the messages of Monroe, and although
little more was to be done than utter
an eloquent expression of opinion on
the floor of Congress, that little, in Mr.
Webster's utterance, became a voice of
prophecy. His speech on the Revolu-
tion in Greece, delivered in January,
1824, was an emphatic declaration of
public law and right between the op-
pressor and oppressed, and its declara-
tions at this moment, where not over-
ridden by insuperable claims of expe-
diency, are sanctioned by the practice
of the great courts of Europe. Free
governments, it is now getting to be
understood, as the policy of the great
Italian movement witnesses, are the
guaranties of prosperous international
intercourse. Despotism, and not free-
dom, is now understood to be the dan-
gerous incendiary torch, and the prin-
ciples of this decision will be found in
the speech of Mr. Webster.
The next year gave him occasion for
another public exercise of his oratory,
in the ceremony of laying the corner-
stone of the Bunker Hill Monument.
Lafayette was present at the delivery
of the address, and the accessories in
every way were of the most imposing
character. The orator again seized the
vital elements of his subject. Half a
century had elapsed since the spot had
been consecrated by the blood of its
defenders. Mr. Webster, after paying
due honor to the military struggle,
turned to the peaceful triumphs of
government and arts during the period,
in conclusion striking the key note of
his earlier and later efforts in his plea
for harmony and union. " Let our con
ceptions," said he, " be enlarged to the
circle of our duties. Let us extend
our ideas over the whole of the vast
field in which we are called to act.
Let our object be our country, our
whole country, and nothing but our
country." Eighteen years afterward,
on the completion of the monument,
he was again called upon as the orator
of the day. He had in the meantime
risen to the high position of Secretary
of State; years and family changes had
made their mark upon his life; but
they had not abated, they had only im-
parted a deeper tone to his eloquence.
His review of the elements and pro-
gress of colonial life was worthy of the
master historian, and show how well
he would have succeeded in this mode
of composition, had he turned his atten-
tion to it. He had eminently an his-
toric mind. Every-day events presented
themselves to him in their causes and
consequences with a certain procession-
al grandeur. He always looked to
moral influences, and here found them
written legibly in the material granite.
" We wish," he said, in his first oration,
" that this column, rising toward hea-
ven among the pointed spires of so
many temples dedicated to God, may
contribute also to produce in all minds
a pious feeling of dependence and gra-
titude. We wish that the last object-
to the sight of him who leaves his na-
tive shore, and the first to gladden his
who revisits it, may be something
which shall remind him of the liberty
and the glory of his country. Let it
rise ! let it rise till it meet the sun in
his coming ; let the earliest light of the
DANIEL WEBSTER.
139
morning gild it, and parting day linger
and play on its summit." In tie same
spirit in Iris second discourse he says :
" The powerful shaft stands motionless
before us. It is a plain shaft. It bears
no inscriptions, fronting to the rising
sun, from which the future antiquary
shall wipe the dust. Nor does the ris-
ing sun cause tones of music to issue
from its summit. But at the rising of
the sun and at the setting of the sun,
in the blaze of noonday and beneath
the milder effulgence of lunar light, it
looks, it speaks, it acts to the full com-
prehension of every American mind
and the awakening of glowing enthu-
siasm in every American heart."
A eulogy on Adams and Jefferson,
pronounced in Faneuil Hall in August,
1826, was the next of those popular
discourses delivered by Mr. Webster,
ranking with his Plymouth and Bun-
ker Hill orations. The simultaneous
death of these two great fathers of the
state, on the preceding fourth of July,
had deeply affected the mind of the
country, and expectation was fully alive
to the charmed words of the orator.
In the course of this address occurs the
description of eloquence often cited,
commencing, "true eloquence, indeed,
does not consist in speech," and ending
with the idea of Demosthenes, " in ac-
tion, noble, sublime, godlike action."
Here, too, occurs the famous feigned
oration so familiar in the recitations of
schoolboys, put into the mouth of Ad-
ams— words written with the emphasis
and felicity of Patrick Henry — " Sink
or swim, live or die, survive or perish,
I give my hand and my heart to this
vote. ... It is my living sentiment,
and by the blessing of God it shall be
my dying sentiment, Independence now
and Independence forever."
Mr. Webster had been continued, by
new elections, in the House of Repre-
sentatives— in some of them his vote
was almost unanimous — when, in 1827,
he was elected to the Senate of the
United States. It was while on the
journey to the Capitol to take his seat,
at the close of the year, that his wife
became so ill that he was compelled *to
leave her under medical treatment in
New York. He speedily rejoined her,
and in the month of January she
breathed her last. Those who knew
her well have recorded her virtues.
She was of great amiability. Judge
Story wrote of her " warm and elevat-
ed affections, her constancy, purity and
piety, her noble disinterestedness and
excellent sense," while a feminine hand,
Mrs. Lee, has recalled similar traits of
character. At the time of this calam-
ity, her husband was forty-six. He had
many honors yet to reap, but youth
and early manhood, with their fresh
hopes and incentives, did not cross that
grave. It was not long after, in the
spring of 1829, that he was called to
suffer another sorrow in the sudden
death of his brother Ezekiel, who fei]
in full court at Concord, even while he
was standing erect, engaged in speak-
ing— stricken down in an instant by
disease of the heart. " Coming so
soon after another awful stroke," he
wrote to a friend, "it seems to fall
with double weight. He has been my
reliance through life, and I have de-
rived much of its happiness from his
fraternal affection."
His public duties were before him,
and to them he turned. In the Senate
140
DANIEL WEBSTEE.
at the close of this year, 1829, com-
menced that celebrated debate on Mr-
Foot's resolution on the sale of the
public lands, which led to the passage
at arms between Robert Y. Hayne, the
senator from South Carolina, and Mr.
Webster, who was looked up to as the
champion of New England. The ques-
tion involved a matter of delicacy
between the two parties of the coun-
try— Jackson had then recently ousted
Adams in the Presidency — in their re-
lations to the West. Mr. Foot was
from Connecticut, and the supporters
of the Administration endeavored to
set New England in an unfriendly at-
titude to the emigration to the new
States. Mr. Hayne, a young man of
brilliant talents, rapid and effective in
onset, took part in the debate, and bore
with severity upon New England, and
personally upon Mr. Webster. There
were two speeches on each side by
the rival orators. The second by Mr.
Webster is usually considered his
greatest parliamentary oration. There
were three objects, says Mr. Everett,
to accomplish in this answer. Person-
alities were to be repelled, the New
England States vindicated, and the
character of the government as a poli-
tical system maintained against theories
of nullification. The speech was de-
livered on the 26th and. 27th of Janu-
ary. As published in the author's
works, it occupies seventy-two large,
solidly-printed octavo pages, yet it is
said to have been listened to with un-
broken interest. "The variety of in-
cident," we are told, " and the rapid fluc-
tuation of the passions, kept the audi-
ence in continual expectation and cease-
less a<?i Cation. There was no chord of
the heart the orator did not strike as
with a master hand. The speech was
a complete drama of comic and pathetic
scenes ; one varied excitement — laugh-
ter and tears gaining alternate vic-
tory." The account is well support-
ed by intelligent eye-witnesses, but
the calm, nnimpassioned reader must
not look for all these emotions in
his perusal of the printed pages. He
must remember how much depend-
ed upon the occasion, the studiously
aroused parliamentary crisis, the rising
agitation between the North and the
South, and above all, the personal em-
phasis of the speakers. Hayne's tal-
ents were of no common order ; he
was ingenious, inventive, full of mat-
ter, copious in language, easy and im-
pressive in action. Mr. Webster,
though some years his senior, was in
the prime of life, with all that interest
attaching to his appearance, his raven
hair, dark, deeply set eyes, olive com-
plexion, and general force and compact
ness which no physical weakness of his
later days ever wholly deprived him
of. Even his dress was carefully se-
lected. He appeared in the blue coac
and buff vest, the costume of the Rev-
olution— an apparel often worn by him
on subsequent oratorical occasions. He
stood forth as a representative man, a
pledged combatant in the arena ; and
he was every way equal to the occa-
sion. Stripped of what was acciden-
tal, enough remains in his speech to
secure admiration. Its best remem-
bered passages will always be its enco-
mium of Massachusetts, and its closing
appeal, as the orator shrinks from " the
dark recess," and shudders at " the pre-
cipice of disunion." Rising grandly to
DANIEL WEBSTEK.
141
imagery truly Miltonic, lie exclaimed,
'' While the Union lasts we have high,
exciting, gratifying prospects spread
out before us, for us and our children.
Beyond that I seek not to penetrate
the veil. God grant that in my day,
at least, that curtain may not rise !
God grant that on my vision never may
be opened what lies behind ! When
my eyes shall be turned to behold for
the last time the sun in heaven, may I
not see him shining on the broken and
dishonored fragments of a once glori-
ous Union; on States dissevered, dis-
cordant, belligerent; on a land rent
with civil feuds, or drenched, it may
be, in fraternal blood. Let their last
feeble and lingering glance rather be-
hold the gorgeous ensign of the repub-
lic, now known and honored through-
out the earth, still full high advanced,
its arms and trophies streaming in
their original lustre, not a stripe erased
or polluted, or a single star obscured,
bearing for its motto no such miserable,
interrogatory as l What is all this
worth ?' nor those other words of delu-
sion and folly, ' Liberty first and Union
afterwards ;' but everywhere, spread all
over in characters of living light, blaz-
ing on all its ample folds, as they float
.over the sea and over the land, and in
every wind under the whole heavens,
that other sentiment, dear to every true
American heart, Liberty and Union,
now and forever, one and inseparable."
When the progress of the nullifica-
tion doctrine in South Carolina brought
matters to a crisis with the government,
Mr. Webster was again called upon to
elucidate the constitutional history of
the country in answer to the arguments
of Mr. Calhoun. It was at the season
n.— 18.
of President Jackson's Proclamation,
a moment of intense public excite-
ment. A second time the New Eng
land orator was placed in a conspicu
ous position to assert a great national
principle, and how well he maintained
it let the voice of Madison, the father
of the Constitution, answer. In ac-
cepting a copy of the speech, the ven-
erable sage wrote from Montpellier,
" Your late very powerful speech
crushed ' nullification ' and must has-
ten an abandonment of * secession.' "
This support of the cause of the Pres-
dent placed the orator high in the re-
gards of the administration, and we
have seen it intimated that overtures
of a seat in the Cabinet were made
him. There was good reason for this
cordiality of feeling toward one who
supplied the argument by his previous
speeches for the noted Proclamation ;
but the course of Congressional life
soon brought the parties at variance.
The President's action towards the
Bank of the United States called forth
various speeches from Mr. Webster,
who stood opposed to what he consid-
ered aD assumption of power by that
high officer, not conferred by the Con-
stitution. The orator's arguments on
this head were fully presented in his
reply in the Senate to the Presidential
'protest,' objecting to the censure
which had been passed, and fully set-
ting forth the pretensions of the Gov-
ernment. As an incidental ornament
to his discourse, Mr. Webster in this
speech introduced that allusion to Eng-
land, the extent of her power and au-
thority, which has become in all lati-
tudes " familiar as a household word."
He is urging the necessity of sustain
DANIEL WEBSTER
ing a principle, and appeals to the
course of our Revolutionary fathers.
" On this question of principle," said
he " while actual suffering was yet afar
off, they raised their flag against a
power to which, for purposes of foreign
conquest and subjugation, Rome, in the
height of her glory, is not to be com-
pared ; a power which has dotted over
the surface of the whole globe with
her possessions and military posts,
whose morning drum-beat, following
the sun and keeping company with the
hours, circles the earth with one con-
tinuous and unbroken strain of the
martial airs of England."
The next event which call's for notice
in this account of Mr. Webster's career,
is his visit to England in the spring of
1839. He was not long absent, but
had the best opportunities of observa-
tion in the welcome he received in the
highest quarters. His journey was ex-
tended to Scotland and France. He
was always fond of agriculture, and
the model farming of Great Britain
had much of his attention. He spoke
on this subject at the celebration at
Oxford.
On his return he became deeply en-
gaged in the political campaign which
resulted in the election of General Har-
rison to the Presidency, as the successor
of Van Buren, and in return for his
services was appointed Secretary of
State in the new administration. He
found, in the discharge of the duties
of this office, many important questions
waiting for adjustment, and it was his
good fortune to conduct the nation
with honor through the vexed bounda-
ry questions with England, which, at
one time, seemed seriously to threaten
hostilities. There were other matters
of weight with foreign nations which
he was called upon to negotiate, which
are amply illustrated in his published
diplomatic correspondence. Mr. Web
ster continued in office about two years
under President Tyler, deferring party
considerations to the public welfare in
his negotiations. When these were
happily adjusted he resigned. An in-
terval of leisure from affairs of state
was divided between his engagements
in the services of his whig party and
the demands of his profession. In
1845 he is again in the Senate, and had
occasion to oppose the Mexican war,
which he disliked in its inception,
though he patriotically voted supplies
to the army. A journey to South Ca-
rolina two years later, proved the hold
he had upon the popular sympathy and
intelligence. It was looked upon as a
step to the Presidency. He had long
served his party, and was entitled to
its rewards. Expediency, however,
fatal to so many servants of the public,
came in the way, and General Taylor,
the popular hero of the war, was pre-
ferred before him. On the early suc-
cession of Vice-President Fillmore to
the office, Mr. Webster again became
Secretary of State in 1850, and held
the position to his death. A new Pre-
sidential election afforded his party
one more opportunity of rewarding
him by a nomination, but it was given
to General Scott, and the old political
hero, with a sigh at the ingratitude of
party, continued to discharge the du-
ties of his office to the last. The re-
lease was not long in coming. It came
to him in the autumn of 1852, at his
retirement at Marshfield, where some
DANIEL WEBSTEE.
143
of the happiest hours of his later life
had been spent in the enjoyment of the
pursuits of agriculture, the refresh-
ments of rural Jife, and the intimacy
of his family and chosen friends. He
died on the morning of Sunday, the
24th of October, 1852.
Of the impression made upon the
whole community by that event, it
will be difficult to convey an adequate
idea to another generation. During
the later years of his life, Mr. Webster
was much before the public. His
voice had been heard in our large
cities, and in many of the rural parts
of the land, counselling in politics
and national affairs ; there was scarcely
a liberal interest in which he had not
taken part, in local and historical
gatherings, agricultural meetings, open-
ings of railroads, anniversaries of his-
torical societies. Spite of the subtle
inroads of disease, age sat lightly upon
him, and the wear and tear of three-
score years and upwards had not done
their frequent disheartening work, in
impairing the energy of his mind. Its
springs were as yet unbroken ; assured
position, and the ease of doing readily
what he had done so often, perhaps
gave greater pliancy to his movements.
All that he said was uttered with point
and energy, and his powers were with
him to the end. He had lived in the
company of great thoughts and great
ideas, and their solace was not denied
him, when the spirit, on the eve of its
parting flight, most needed refreshment.
The first voice from his dying chamber
to the public was communicated, in
terms singularly worthy of the occa-
sion, by a friend, Professor Felton, of
Harvard. " Solemn thoughts," was the
language of this startling bulletin,
which appeared in the " Boston Cou-
rier," of October 20, only four days
before the final event, " exclude from
his mind the inferior topics of the fleet-
ing hour; and the great and awful
themes of the future now seemingly
opening before him — themes to which
his mind has always and instinctively
turned its profoundest meditations,
now fill the hours won from the weary
lassitude of sickness, or from the public
duties, which sickness and retirement
cannot make him forget or neglect.
The eloquent speculations of Cicero on
the immortality of the soul, and the
admirable arguments against the Epi-
curean philosophy, put into the mouth
of one of the colloquists in the book of
Nature of the Gods, share his thoughts
' O
with the sure testimony of the Word
of God." Many anecdotes are recorded
of those last hours. It is fondly remem-
bered, at Marshfield, how he caused his
favorite cattle to be driven by his win-
dow when too feeble to leave his room
— and among the traditions of that
dying chamber, are treasured his affec-
tion for his friend, Peter Harvey, and
others with him, and the gentle conso-
lation of some stanzas, which he had
recited to him from that mournful
requiem, the sad cadence of human life,
the undying Elegy of the poet Gray
Conscious to the very end, he calmly
watched the process of dissolution, and
the last syllables he listened to were
the sublime words of the Psalmist,
"Though I walk through the valley of
the shadow of death, I will fear no
evil, for Thou art with me ; Thy rod
and thy staff, they comfort me." His
last words were, " I still live." By his
144
DANIEL WEBSTER.
own directions, his remains were en-
tombed by the side of his first wife,
and the children of his early days, in
the old family burying-ground on his
estate, at Marshfield. His grave bears
his name, and the text selected by him-
self, "Lord, I believe, help thou my
unbelief."
We should far transcend the limited
space at our command, were we to
attempt to notice the many tributes to
the memory of Daniel Webster. The
press, the pulpit, the bar, colleges,
senates, cities, had their commemora-
tions, and poured forth their eulogies.
With the exception of Washington
and Franklin, more, perhaps, of a per-
sonal character has been written about
Webster, than of any of our public
men. His life had been passed in the
eye of the people, and a certain pub-
licity naturally followed all that he
said or did. In his strength and in his
weakness, in all the minutiae of his
daily life, he was well known. All
men who live much before the public,
are necessarily something of actors,
we all act our parts ; he was constantly
presenting his best. There was a cer
tain greatness, as we have remarked^
natural to the man, spite of his fail
ings. His ordinary conversation had
an air of grandeur. His look was full
of dignity. His plain speech in his
orations, in which simple strong Saxon
greatly abounds, was an index of his
matter and prevailing moods. He
sought no effects which did not spring
from the truthfulness of his subject.
Rhetoric was his forte, but he used it
sparingly in illustration of the sober
groundwork of reason. In the happy
phrase of his friend, Mr. Hillard, his
eloquence was " the lightning of pas-
sion running along the iron links of
argument." The full value and signifi-
cance of his political career, with that
of his great brethren in the Senate,
remains yet to be adjusted in history,
but his friends may fearlessly leave the
apportionment of fame to posterity.
But, whatever Webster's future rank in
history may be, the biographer will
never lack material for a story of el ova
ting interest in the narrative of his
life, from the cradle to the grave.
FREDERIKA BREMER.
FREDERIKA BREMER,
the household novelist of Swed-
en, was born in Tuorla Manor-house,
near Abo, in Finland, on the 17th of
August, 1801. Her father, Carl Frede-
ric Bremer, descended from an ancient
German noble family, was the son of
an enterprising Swede, who had set-
tled in Finland and accumulated con-
siderable wealth by his iron works
and factories. His son, Carl, also was
an "Iron-Master," and held valuable
estates in the country. Foreseeing the
political difficulties which led to its
separation from Sweden, he removed
with his family, in 1804, to Stock-
holm, which he made their winter resi-
dence, passing the summers at his es-
tate of Arsta, which he purchased.
This was a large palace-like edifice,
built two hundred years before, in the
period of the thirty years' war, a huge
rambling place fitted to have its ro-
mantic influence on the imagination of
its youthful inmates.
The life which the children of the
wealthy capitalist led, judged by the
standard of our own day, was some-
thing peculiar. With occasional in-
dulgence to the children, there was
great formality and restraint upon
their movements. Frederika .had a
companion in an older sister, Charlotte,
who was educated with her. Their
first teacher, who made them acquaint-
ed with the Swedish language, was a
young housekeeper, who accompanied
the family from Sweden. She was
succeeded, when the sisters were re-
spectively at the ages of six and five,
by a French governess, from whom
they received much kindness, and who
taught them to read and speak her
language. They appear for some time
to have been kept at a forbidding dis-
tance from their parents ; though they
felt at every moment their authority.
The household went by rule. The
mother, we are told by Charlotte, in
her sketch of her sister's life, " laid
down three inviolable principles for
the education of her children. They
were to grow up in perfect ignorance
of everything evil in the world ; they
were to learn (acquire knowledge) as
much as possible ; and they were to
eat as little as possible." The first, of
course, involved a system of rigid se-
clusion, which was carried so far as to
banish the children from the drawing-
room when any visitors were present,
lest something should be said they
(145)
L46
FREDERIKA BREMER.
should not listen to. As for the learn-
ing, that went on apace, Frederika
soon having by heart whole acts of
Madame de Genlis's plays. The semi-
starving process might have killed
feebler constitutions, and would ap-
pear to have been not at all beneficial
to Frederika. At any rate, the general
morale of the system did not prevent
her showing herself a wayward, mis-
chievous girl — a protest of nature,
possibly, against the enfeebling, re-
straining course of living prescribed
to her. Her sister tells how, from
seven till ten, she " began to manifest
strange dispositions and inclinations.
Occasionally she threw into the fire
whatever she could lay her hands upon
— pocket-handkerchiefs, the younger
children's night-caps, stockings, and
the like. If a knife or a pair of scis-
sors happened to be lying about, they,
and Frederika too, disappeared imme-
diately. She then walked about alone,
meditating ; and, if nobody happened
to be present, she cut a piece out of a
window-curtain, or a round or square
hole in the front of her dress." These
and the like pranks she seems to have
carried on with a kind of moral uncon-
sciousness, or indifference of feeling;
practising little concealment and
frankly avowing what she had done.
In her Autobiography, she herself tells
us how the restraint to which she was
subjected was met by a species of
morbid passion. " None of those who
surrounded me," she says, " understood
how to guide a character like mine to
good. They tried to curb me by
severity, or else my thoughts and feel-
ings were ridiculed. I was very un-
happy in my early youth ; and, violent
as I was in everything, I formed many
plans to shorten my life ; to put out
my eyes, etc., etc., merely for the sake
of making my mother repent her se-
verity ; but all ended in my standing
on the margin of the lake, looking
down into the water, or feeling the
pricking of the knife in my eyeball."
There was, in fact, a strong charac-
ter at work in her youthful bosom,
which, refined and purified, was a
necessary element of her future success
in the world as an author; and the
purifying process was to impart to her
powers additional force and vigor. It
is curious to read of her mannish in-
clinations when the country was stirred
by the final struggle against Napoleon.
"She wept bitterly," says her sister,
" for not having been born a man, so
that she could have joined her coun-
trymen to fight against the general dis-
turber of peace and oppressor of na
tions ; she wanted to fight for her na-
tive country; longed to distinguish
herself to win renown and glory. She
felt that she would not be wanting in
courage, if she could only get over to
Germany. There she would disguise
herself; perhaps be made page to the
Crown Prince." A bold foray of about
a mile beyond the prison limits of the
rural Arsta, with the hope of getting
to Stockholm, on her way to military
glory, was all that came of this child
ish excitement. But it showed what
was struggling in her disposition. She
was to influence the world by not less
powerful though more peaceful arts.
In the meantime, her education was
proceeding with due earnestness, on
her own part as well as by her instruc-
tors. From nine to twelve years of
FREDERIKA BREMER.
147
age, she was taught English and Ger-
man, and made great progress in his-
tory, geography, and other studies. A
talent for literary composition, also,
was already beginning to develop it-
self with her. At the age of eight
she wrote her first verses in French
" to the moon ;" and at ten composed
a little ballad, of which she long after-
wards introduced the first verse in her
novel, " The Home." The inflation of
her mind was exhibited in the concep-
tion of a grand poem on " The Creation
of the World," in which, appropriate-
ly enough, she got no further than the
opening lines on " Chaos." Her early
acquaintance with the tales of Madame
de Genlis, and the novels of Fanny
Burney, naturally generated in her
mind the most romantic visions, peo-
pling the groves of Arsta with adven-
turous ruffian lovers, fully prepared to
carry her off to violent nuptials. The
translation, with her sister, of a reli-
gious work, at the period of prepara-
tion for the religious rite of Confirma-
tion, afforded gratifying evidence to
her parents of an improving serious-
ness of disposition. Music and Italian
were now added to her accomplish-
ments, and the young lady, at the age
of seventeen, was allowed to emerge
into a more liberal atmosphere of so-
cial liberty. For her father's birthday,
in 181 8, she composed a theatrical piece,
in one act, which was performed, or
recited, in the family, on an extem-
porised stage in the drawing-room.
Associated with her other attainments
was a practical introduction to the
science of cookery, under a professed
master of the art — which gave her op.
portunity to make some amends to
herself for the short commons of bei
childhood.
But the possibilities for her were soon
to be enlarged. The painful journey-
ing through Pomerania and Luneburg
(of which she speaks in her Autobio-
graphy), undertaken by the family, with
the view of settling for a time at Mar-
seilles, was greatly aggravated by a
severe fit of illness which fell upon her
at Darmstadt, and enfeebled her in
the progress of the tour through Ger-
many. The result, however, was of
great value to her. She was then at
the age of twenty, and fully prepared
to improve and enjoy the advantages
of foreign travel. After a short so-
journ in Switzerland, the family took
up their residence for the winter in
Paris, where the sisters were speedily
engaged with excellent teachers in
music, drawing, painting, and singing.
They frequently visited the theatres
when the Parisian stage was in great
force, with Talma, Duchesnoix, Mars,
Georges, Pasta, and others on the
boards. With Mademoiselle Mars, in
particular, she was greatly delighted.
She also profited greatly by the study
of art in the galleries and museums.
"The desire for knowledge," she
writes, " and the desire for enjoyment
were reawakened within me — a new,
all-consuming fire, at the sight of the
masterpieces of nature and of art." In
the summer of 1822, the party return-
ed to Stockholm, and Frederika was
once more installed at the old country
mansion of Arsta.
One of her early employments after
her return was to paint miniatures ; an
occupation which diverted her in her
retirement, and in which she displayed
148
FEEDEKIKA BEEMER.
considerable genius. Still she longed
for widei sympathies and more active
pursuits. She seriously entertained
the idea, in imitation of the Sisters of
Charity whom she had seen at Paris,
of seeking employment as a nurse in
one of the hospitals of Stockholm. But
she was soon to find a better outlet
and more sufficient use for her facul-
ties in the creations of literature; when,
after the death of her father, in 1829,
she was thrown more on her indepen-
dent resources. Living alone in the
country, she began shortly before this
time to form images in her mind of
the characters and scenes which she
had witnessed, to which the quaint
customs and simple manners of the
people about her furnished the most
abundant picturesque material. Her
first volume, entitled "Sketches of
Everyday Life," was written to please
herself, and printed with the hope of
getting a little money to assist the
poor in the country. It was, by the
aid of her brother, brought to the no-
tice of a publisher at Upsala, who sur-
prised the author by his willingness to
pay one hundred rix dollars for the
copyright. Animated by its success,
she wrote, in 1829, a second volume
of the " Sketches." It was refused by
a bookseller in Stockholm, but readily
undertaken by her former publisher.
A third volume of the " Sketches " ap-
peared in 1832. The flattering atten-
tions which Miss Bremer received in
consequence of these writings, with
the honor of a gold medal from the
Swedish Academy, determined her re-
solution to devote herself seriously to
the life of an author. A residence
with a titled lady of her acquaintance
for the winters of several years, at her
estate in Norway, with various travels
in Sweden, and sojourns at the sum-
mer baths and spas, added greatly to
her sphere of observation.
Having become conscious of her
powers in the composition of the
" Sketches " — the possession of humor,
she tells us, was quite a revelation to
her in one of these tales — she rapidly
followed up her successes by the pro-
duction of the series of novels, chiefly
drawn from family life, which, as they
became known to the world, gained
her an enduring reputation among the
best character painters in her fiction.
The manners of her own isolated
northern region afforded her abundant
scope, and she accomplished in " The
Neighbors," "Home," "Strife and
Peace," "A Diary," "The H Fam-
ily," "The President's Daughters," for
the home life of Sweden and Norway,
what Maria Edgeworth had done for
Ireland, in the graphic dialogue and
description of her numerous tales. In
Miss Bremer's works there was local
fidelity, humorous portraiture, and a
warmth of sentimental coloring pecu-
liarly her own. These books were in-
troduced to English readers mainly by
the excellent translations of Mary
Howitt, beginning with " The Neigh-
bors," in 1842, followed by that of
" Home, or Life in Sweden," the next
year. Their success was very great in
England and America, both of which
countries were visited by the author,
who was everywhere received with the
warmest attentions.
The American tour of Miss Bremer
extended through two years, from the
autumn of 1859, when she landed in
FREDERIKA BEEMER.
149
New York. During this time, sha
travelled in the "New England. Middle,
Southern, and Western States , and, in
the last winter, visited the island of
Cuba. She had everywhere kind
friends to welcome her, for the pecu-
liar character of her writings had given
her, as it were, a personal introduction
to the whole reading public. Her own
amiable and enthusiastic disposition
led her to take a warm interest in the
social life of the country, which she
saw to great advantage. On her re-
turn home, she published a genial re-
cord of the tour, in a brace of volumes,
entitled "The Homes of the New
World; or, Impressions of America,"
which appeared in an English transla-
tion from the pen of Mary Howitt.
Her sympathy with the progress of
the country is expressed in the motto
to the book, from the Psalms, "Sing
unto the Lord a new song." In the
course of her observations, she gave
many interesting personal notices of
the persons eminent in literature or
public life with whom she was
brought into intimacy. Among them
we have a just tribute to Miss Cather-
ine Sedgwick, who was one of the
foremost to greet her, at the residence
of her friend, the architect, Mr. Down-
ing, on the Hudson. A memorandum
of this first interview is also to be
found in the published correspondence
of Miss Sedgwick, who describes .her
as " a little lady, slightly made, with
the most lovely little hands, a very
florid complexion (especially of the
noso) — florid, but very pure and fair,
and far from giving any idea of coarse-
n.— 19.
ness. Her hair is somewhat grayed ;
her eye, a clear blue. She uses our
language with accuracy and even ele-
gance, but her accent is so strong and
her intonation so curious that it is not
easy to understand her. Her voice is
one of the sweetest I have ever heard
— one of those soul instruments that
seem to be a true spiritual organ. She
is simple and sincere as a child in all
her ways. There is a dignified, calm
good sense about her, with a most
lovely gentleness and spirituality."
The portrait, from the life, is such a
one as might have been drawn in ad-
vance from her writings.
After her return to Sweden, Miss
Bremer became engaged in the promo-
tion of various philanthropic schemes
for ameliorating the condition of her
sex, and for extending education
among the poor. She continued to
write, and produced in succession,
" Hertha," in 1856, in which she made
the story subservient to her philan-
thropic purpose; and "Fathers and
Daughters," 1859, in which a similar
purpose was visible. She also travel-
ed, and mostly alone, in Switzerland,
Greece, and Palestine, and gave the re-
sults of her observations to the public,
in "Two Years in Switzerland," 1860;
"Travels in the Holy Land," 1862;
and "Greece and the Greeks," 1863,
al] of which have been translated into
English. In the summer of 1865, she
retired to the old country residence at
Arsta, the home of her childhood ; and
there, on the last day of December,
1865, in the ardor of Christian hope
and resignation, ended her days.
WASHINGTON IRVING.
QJELDOM does biography offer to
kJ us so pleasing a subject as the life
of Washington Irving. It is of beauty
and beneficence from the beginning to
the close — the course of a quiet, tran-
quil river, fed at its source by the pur-
ity of rural fountains; gathering fer-
tility on its banks as it advances;
pursuing its path through the loveliness
of nature and by the " towered cities "
of men, to lapse into final tranquility
beneath the whispering of the groves
softly sighing on the borders of the all-
receiving ocean. Many were the felici-
ties of the life of Irving. Of a good
stock, of honorable parentage, happy in
the associations of his youth; gifted
with a kindly genius, sure to receive
the blessing which it gave, attracted to
the great and good and beloved by
them ; finding its nutriment in the
heroic in history and the amiable in
life; returning that generous culture
in enduring pictures in most valued
books ; writing its name on the monu-
ments of Columbus, Washington, and
Goldsmith; fondly remembered at
Stratford upon Avon, and by the pen-
sive courts of the Alhambra ; endeared
to many a cliff and winding valley of
bis native Hudson : — his memory, sure-
(150)
ly, by the side of that generous stream
will be kept green and flourishing with
undying affection.
If the felicity of a poem desired by
the exquisite Roman bard, that it
should be consistent with itself and
proceed to the end as it commenced at
the beginning, be a just measure of the
happiness of life, Washington Irving
enjoyed that prosperity in an extraor-
dinary degree.
The ancestry of Irving belongs to an
ancient line in Scotland, which has
been traced to the first years of the
fourteenth century. It is known as
" the knightly family of Drum," from
an old castle still occupied by the de-
scendants, on the banks of the Dee.
An early member of the family settled
in the Orkneys, where the race flou-
ished and faded, " and dwindled, and
dwindled, and dwindled, until the last
of them, nearly a hundred years since,
sought a new home in this New World
of ours." * This was William Irving,
who arrived in New York in 1760,
bringing with him his wife, an English
lady of Cornwall, whose maiden name
* The expression is that of Washington Irving
himself. We find it in a family sketch in the
Richmond Co. Gazette, Dec. 14, 1869
WASHINGTON IRVING.
151
was Saunders. These were the parents
of Washington Irving.
He was born in William-street, New
Fork, April 3, 1783. One of the ear-
liest recorded incidents of his life, he
probably shared in common with many
children of the period; but it is better
worth remembering in his case than
the others. His Scotch nurse taking
him out one day — it was the time of
Washington's inauguration, and the
first Congress in New York — fell in
with the Father of his Country, and
eagerly seizing the opportunity, pre-
sented her charge to his notice. " Please,
your excellency, here's a bairn that's
called after you !" Washington, whose
kind nature was not averse to such so-
licitations, laid his hand upon the head
of the child and blessed it. "That
blessing," said Irving, in one of his lat-
est years, u I have reason to believe has
attended me through life."
Irving's schooldays were not over
rigorous. He was not robust, and thus
escaped some of the usual persecutions
of the pedagogues; for the tradition
runs that he was not very bright in
these early exercises. Coming home
one day, he told his mother, " The ma-
dam says I am a dunce ; isn't it a pity !"
The story is worth telling, as a hint to
schoolmasters, upon whom Dame Na-
ture is forever playing these mystifica-
tions. In Irving's story it simply wit-
uesses that he had a genius of his own,
better adapted to one thing than ano-
ther. It does not appear, however,
that he derived much from the schools
of his day ; and as ill-health prevented
his entering Columbia College, he
passed through life with little know-
ledge of Greek and Latin, and probably
none worth mentioning of Greek. His
home education in English literature
was more thorough. He read Chaucer
and Spenser, Addison and Goldsmith,
and the other excellent old-fashioned
volumes of the British classical book
shelf. There was nothing in the con-
temporary literature of the time spe-
cially to engage his attention ; nothing
at all to wake a boy's heart at home, and
no Dickens to stir his perceptions from
the other side of the water. This read-
ing of old books was, doubtless, favor-
able to the employment of his imagina-
tion, a faculty which is always excited
by pictures of the past and distant.
The youth soon found that the cloth in
this old wardrobe of the days of Addi-
son and Dr. Johnson was sound enough
to bear cutting down and refitting for
the limbs of another generation. So
the boy became an essayist of the
school of the Spectator, and the Citizen
of the World. His first production of
which we have any knowledge was
written at the age of nineteen, the
" Letters of Jonathan Oldstyle," a series
of papers on the follies and habits of
the town, with an especial leaning to
its theatrical shows, which he contri-
buted to the " Morning Chronicle," a
political daily newspaper which had
been recently commenced by his elder
brother, Dr. Peter Irving. These pa-
pers are lively and humorous produc-
tions ; and though, of course, they do
not equal the polish of the author's
later style, yet they are certainly re-
markable for their ease and finish.
The youth was evidently on the right
track, and knew well what he was
about.
The next incident we have to record
152
WASHINGTON IRVING.
is a pilgrimage to Europe, induced by
symptoms of ill health. At this time
and for some years after, Mr. Irving
was threatened with pulmonary diffi-
culties. Indeed, the likeness painted
by Jarvis, in his early manhood, bears
painful indications of this type of con-
stitution. He lived to outgrow it en-
tirely. There can be no more pleasing
surprisfe than a glance at the bril-
liant prime, from the pencil of Newton
and Leslie, by the side of the melan-
choly portrait by Jarvis. His tour
carried him to France, Italy, Switzer-
land and England. An acquaintance
with Washington Allston, the refined
artist at Home, half persuaded him to
turn his attention to painting, for
which he had considerable taste and
inclination. The pursuit, amidst the
beauties and glories of the arts in
the Eternal City, cajoled his imagi-
nation with the most enticing allure-
ments. " For two or three days," he
said, "the idea took full possession
of my mind ; but I believe it owed its
main force to the lovely evening ram-
ble in which I first conceived it, and to
the romantic friendship I had formed
with Allston. Whenever it recurred
to mind, it was always connected with
beautiful Italian scenery, palaces and
statues, and fountains, and terraced
gardens, and Allston as the companion
of my studio. I promised myself a
world of enjoyment in his society, and
in the society of several artists with
whom he had made me acquainted,
and pictured forth a scheme of life, all
tinted with the rainbow hues of youth-
ful promise. My lot in life, however,
was differently cast. Doubts and fears
gradually clouded over my prospects ;
the rainbow tints faded away ; I began
to apprehend a sterile reality, so I gave
up the transient but delightful pros-
pect of remaining in Rome with Alls
ton, and turning painter."
The law was the rather unattractive
alternative, and to the law for awhile
the young enthusiast returned to New
York, after an absence abroad of two
years. He read law with the late
Judge Josiah Ogden Hoffman, and old
citizens remember his attorney's sign,
for he was admitted to practice ; but
he did not pursue the profession.
The very year after his introduction
to the bar, in January, 1807, appeared
in New York the first number of " Sal-
magundi; or, the Whim- whams and
Opinions of Launcelot Langstaff, Esq.,
and others," a small 18mo. publication
of twenty pages, which was destined
to make its mark upon the town, and
attract the notice of a wider circle.
This sportive journal was the produc-
tion of three very clever wits — Wash-
ington Irving, his elder brother Wil-
liam, the verse-maker of the fraternity,
and James K. Paulding, who also then
first rose to notice in this little constel-
lation. New York was not at that time
too large to be under the control of a
skilful, genial satirist. Compared with
the metropolis of the present day, it
was but a huge family, where every-
body of any consequence was known
by everybody else. A postman might
run over it in an hour. One bell could
ring all its inhabitants to prayer and
one theatre sufficed for its entertain-
ment. The city, in fact, while large
enough to afford material for and shel
ter a humorist with some degree of
privacy, was, so far as society was con
WASHINGTON IRVING.
153
cerned, a very manageable, convenient
instrument to play upon. The genial
wits of " Salmagundi " touched the
strings cunningly, and the whole town,
with agitated nerves, contributed to
the music. The humors of fashion,
dress, the dancing assemblies, the mili-
tia displays, the elections, in turn yield-
ed their sport; while graver touches
of pathos and sketches of character
were interposed, of lasting interest.
There are passages in " Salmagundi,"
of feeling, humor and description
which the writers hardly surpassed.
The work, in fine, is well worthy to
take its place, not at the end of the
series of the British classical essayists,
but at the head of that new American
set, which includes "The Idle Man,"
" The Old Bachelor," " The Lorgnette,"
and other kindred meritorious produc-
tions.
" Salamagundi " closed at the end of
the year, with its twentieth number,
and was shortly succeeded by the
famous "History of New York from
the Beginning of the World to the End
of the Dutch Dynasty, by Diedrich
Knickerbocker," a work of considera-
ble compass and most felicitous execu-
tion. The book was commenced with
little regard to the form in which it
finally made its appearance. The in-
tention at first seems to have been to
prepare something with the general
notion subsequently wrought out in
Mr. Poole's very clever "Little Ped-
lington Papers " — to ridicule the pre-
tensions of the town, which had been
aggravated by the appearance of a
hand-book of a somewhat provincial
character, entitled "A Picture of New
Vork." The parody, as in the parallel
instance of Mr. Dickens' "Pickwick
Papers," soon outgrew itself.
Previously to its publication, some-
thing like a grave history was looked
for from Diedrich Knickerbocker. To
whet the public appetite, an advertise-
ment was inserted in the Evening
Post," narrating, under the heading
" Distressing," the departure from his
lodgings at the Columbian Hotel, Mul-
berry street, of " a small elderly gen-
tleman, dressed in an old black coat
and cocked hat, by the name of Knicker-
bocker, and asking printers to serve the
cause of humanity by giving the notice
insertion. " A Traveller " next sends
a random note of an old gentleman
answering the description, having been
seen on the road to Albany, above
Kingsbridge. After the lapse of a rea-
sonable time, Seth Handaside, the Yan
kee landlord, announces his intention
to remunerate himself by the sale of a
curious manuscript Mr. Knickerbocker
had left behind him. The same num-
ber of the journal had an advertisement
of the publication by Inskeep and
Bradford.
There is a great deal of fun in Knick-
erbocker— some sheer burlesque, which
begins and ends with the page, but far
more genuine humor applicable to
wider scenes and more real adventures.
The old Dutch families took offence at
the free use of their names, which were
very unceremoniously handled.
One old inhabitant of the North
River, who rejoiced in the patronymic
itself, Knickerbocker, it is said was
especially aggrieved, and we have
heard of the author's exclusion, in
one instance, from the entertainments
of a leading colonial family. Years
154
WASHINGTON IRVING.
after, the spirit of the work was con-
lemned in a grave paper read be-
fore the New York Historical Society ;
and the censure was afterwards re-
vived by so judicious a person as Mr.
Edward Everett* The truth of the
matter is, that society must be very
weak indeed, which cannot bear the in-
fliction of so really good-natured a jest
as this Diedrich Knickerbocker's His-
tory of New York. Though it occu-
pied the attention of the public, and
to a certain degree gave color to rather
a ludicrous estimate of our Dutch fore-
fathers, in the absence of popular his-
tories, which it is perhaps a misfortune
were not written earlier, yet it has
proved no obstacle to the serious opera-
tions of Clio, in the works of Brodhead,
O'Callaghan and others; while it has
in a thousand ways perpetuated the
memory of the old Dutch dynasties.
The Dutchmen of New York had never
been called Knickerbockers before;
now it is quite an accredited designa-
tion, not without honor and esteem
throughout the world. In the words
of the author's apology, prefixed to the
revised edition of 1848: "Before the
appearance of my work, the popular tra-
ditions of our city were unrecorded;
the peculiar and racy customs and
usages derived from our Dutch progen-
itors were unnoticed, or regarded with
indifference, or adverted to with a
sneer. Now they form a convivial cur-
rency, and are brought forward on all
occasions : they link our whole commu-
* Mr. Verplanck's Anniversary Discourse be-
fore the Now York Historical Society, Decem-
ber, 1818. — Mr. Everett's obituary remarks on
Irving, before the Massachusetts Historical
Society, December, 1859
nity together in good humor and good
fellowship ; they are the rallying points
of home feeling — the seasoning of our
civic festivities — the staple of local
tales and local pleasantries, and are so
harped upon by our writers of popular
fiction, that I find myself almost crowd-
ed off the legendary ground which I
was the first to explore, by the host
who have followed in my footsteps."
This home sensitiveness, of course,
was never felt abroad. A copy of the
work was sent by the author's friend,
Mr. Brevoort, to Sir Walter Scott. His
verdict upon this "most excellently
jocose history," as he termed it, is con-
clusive. It was read in his family with
absolute riot of enjoyment. He com-
pared it advantageously with Swift,
and failed not to note its more serious
pathetic passages, which reminded him
of Sterne. This led the way afterward
to an introduction to Scott at Abbots-
ford, and the formation of a friend-
ship which lived while Scott lived, and
which was cherished among the most
valued recollections of Irving's life.
His next literary performance was a
brief biography of the poet Campbell,
written for an American edition of the
poet's works. The author showed him-
self at home in this department of lit-
erature, in which he subsequently be
came so greatly distinguished.
We hear of him now engaged in the
mercantile calling of his brother ; but
hardware and cutlery had little attrac-
tion for him. The iron, it may be
said, never entered into his soul. When
the war with Great Britain shortly
after broke out, we find him on the
military staff of Governor Tonipkins,
with the title of Colonel. Colonel IT
WASHINGTON IKYING.
dng ! It no more belonged to his
name than the hardware sign. Yet we
have no doubt he would have done
credit to it if called into active service.
As it proved, his pen was more in re-
quisition than his sword. He was em-
ployed, in the years 1813 and 1814, in
conducting the " Analectic Magazine,"
published by Moses Thomas, in Phila-
delphia, and at that time specially de-
voted to military and naval affairs. In
the original department oj5 this work,
in which he was aided by Mr. Ver-
planck and Mr. Paulding, he wrote,
beside other papers, the biographies
of Lieut. Burrows, Captain Lawrence,
Commodore Perry, and Captain Porter.
They are all spirited productions, cal-
culated to warm the heart of the coun-
try, justly proud of the brilliant
achievement of these worthies ; while
they are quite free from the besetting
sin in such cases, of patriotic exaggera-
tion.
At the close of the war he sailed for
Liverpool, and took charge of the
affairs of the mercantile house with
which he was connected. The sudden
change of business affairs at the peace
greatly embarrassed the firm. After
suffering the torture of the counting-
room during this period of failing
credit, he finally became disengaged
from the affair, and directed his steps
to London and the booksellers for a
livelihood.
He now turned his talent for obser-
vation and description to account in
the production of the series of papers
included in the " Sketch Book." They
are the first fruits of his English expe-
rience, mingled with some fanciful ere-
itions, as the legends of Rip Van Win-
kle and Sleepy Hollow, based on Ame
rican recollections. The great success
of the work was not attained at a sin-
gle blow. There seemed to be no
opening for such a work in the English
market. The publication was, in fact,
commenced in New York, in numbers.
When a portion of it had thus ap-
peared, it reached William Jerdan, the
editor of the " London Literary Ga-
zette," whose practised eye detected at
once a good thing for his journal. He
reprinted several of the papers, when
the author offered the work to Murray.
The usual answer in such cases was
returned, couched in imposing phrase,
as a mark of respect . " If it would
not suit me to engage in the publica-
tion of your work, it is only because I
do not see that scope in the nature of
it which would enable me to make
those satisfactory accounts," etc. ID
this strait the author addressed Sii
Walter Scott, who, generously appre-
ciating the man and his work, promised
his aid with Constable, and as the best
thing at hand in the meanwhile offered
Irving a salary of five hundred pounds
to conduct a weekly periodical at Ed
inburgh. His correspondent was, how
ever, too chary of his talents as an au-
thor of all work to engage in this
undertaking. He put his book to
press in London at his own expense,
with John Miller, and Miller soon aftei
failed. Sir Walter, the beneficent deut
ex macJiind now opportunely happened
in London, and arranged the publica-
tion with Murray, who thenceforward
became the author's fast friend and
most liberal paymaster. The " Sketch
Book " was a brilliant success. Jeffrey
reviewed it, Lockhart admired, Byroi.
156
WASHINGTON IKYING.
praised, and Moore sought the author's
acquaintance at Paris on the strength
of it.
"Bracebridge Hall" followed the
" Sketch Book " in 1822 ; and the close
of the next year brought its sequel, the
"Tales of a Traveller." All these
works have more or less characteris-
tics of the first member of the family.
There is an elaborate elegance of style,
a certain delicacy and sweetness of
sentiment, an easy grace of reflection, a
happy turn of description. The writer
does not draw a great deal on his in-
vention for the characters or the inci-
dents, but he managed to develop both
with skill, and, being always a jealous
watcher of his own powers, and cau-
tious in feeling the pulse of the public,
he looked for new material before the
old was exhausted. There is a good
genius always waiting to help ability
and sincerity. Just as the essayist
may have felt the want of a new field
for his exertions, he was invited by
Mr. Alexander H. Everett, to Spain,
with a view to the translation of the
collection of Spanish documents re-
cently made by Navarrete from the
long and jealously - secluded public
archives. He undertook the work,
which called for something far above
translation, and the essayist bloomed
into the historian. The " History of
the Life and Voyages of Christopher
Columbus," appeared in due time, fol-
lowed by the "Voyages and Discov-
eries of the Companions of Colum-
bus." Both works greatly enhanced
the reputation of the author. Litera-
ture, indeed, awards her highest hon-
ors to the historian. History h£S
laid Macaulay in Westminster Abbey.
Jeffrey reviewed the " Columbus "
with enthusiasm in the ' Edinburgh,"
and the George IV. fifty-guinea gold
medal was conferred upon Hallam and
Irving at the same time.
The literary execution of the " Co
lumbus " must be pronounced in gen-
eral very happy. There is perhaps a
little cloying sweetness in its regular-
ly constructed periods ; but these ele-
gantly apportioned sentences are al-
ways made .to bear their full weight
of thought. The condensation is ad-
mirable, while there is a richness ol
phraseology, and a warm glow of the
imagination is spread over the whole.
It is not to be supposed that this ex-
cellence was attained without labor. It
is the fiat of fate, says Wirt, from
which no power of genius can absolve
a man. Irving, at the suggestion of
Lieutenant Slidell, who pronounced
the style unequal, re-wrote nearly the
whole of the work. Professor Long
fellow, who saw Irving while it was
in progress in Spain, recalls the "pa-
tient, persistent toil " of the author.
The genius of Irving delighted in these
Spanish themes. After he had made
the intimate acquaintance of various
parts of Europe, the land of the Sara-
cen seemed to present to him the great-
est attractions. He devoted his genius
to the revival of her history, and the
embellishment of her legends. Had
opportunity permitted, he would doubt-
less have produced companion volumes
to the Columbus on themes which af-
terwards engaged the pen of Prescott.
As it was, he gave the world those de-
lightful books, the " Conquest of Gra-
nada," the " Alhambra," the " Legends
of the Conquest of Spain," and " Maho
WASHINGTON IKYING.
157
met and his Successors." His imagina-
tion was thoroughly captivated by the
daring, pathetic, and tender scenes of
these old tales of adventure, with
vvhich his genius was very apt to blend
gome lurking touch of humor.
At the close of his long residence in
Spain, Mr. Irving passed some time in
England, enjoying for a while the post
of secretary of legation to the Ameri-
can embassy. He left London in 1832,
on his return to America, after an ab-
sence of seventeen years, arriving in the
month of May, at New York, where he
found a most cordial welcome awaiting
him. A public dinner was given to
him by his friends, numbering some of
the most distinguished persons in the
country'. Chancellor Kent presided at
the banquet. Irving was congratulated
in the handsomest terms on the eminent
services he had rendered the literature
of his country, and replied in the sim-
plest words, congratulating his fellow-
citizens on their prosperity as he drew
an attractive picture of the growth and
beauty of New York, and expressed
the warmest emotions at his reception.
His essential modesty led him to value
such. tributes highly; though he very
seldom allowed himself to be put in
the way of them.
The sight of America appeared to
revive in him the freshness and adven-
ture of youth. In the very summer of
his return he accompanied Mr. Ells-
worth, one of the commissioners for
removing the Indian tribes to the
west of the Mississippi, a journey of
which he published an animated ac-
count in 1835. This sharpened his
pen for the fascinating narrative enti-
tled " Astoria ; or, Anecdotes of an En-
n.— 20
terprise beyond the Kocky Mountains,"
which appeared the ensuing year, and
was followed by a work of similar cha-
racter, the "Adventures of Captain
Bonneville, U. S. A., in the Rocky
Mountains and the Far West." The
skilful grouping and picturesque nar-
rative of these books, rendering an
otherwise confused and encumbered
story so charming, leave us to regret
that so much excellent matter of the
kind should be so frequently thrown
away for lack of these literary advan-
tages.
Though Mr. Irving had received large
sums for copyright, yet, from losses
from investment which he had experi-
enced, his income could not at this
time have been large, for we find him
yielding to an agreement of a character
always irksome to a man of his tem-
perament, to furnish regular monthly
articles to a periodical. Some of the
pleasantest of his later papers, howev-
er, were written in this way for the
"Knickerbocker" magazine, in 1839
and 1840; a selection from which was
afterwards made by him in the volume
entitled " Wolfert's Roost."
In 1852, Mr. Irving received the ap-
pointment from the government of
minister to Spain. Its announcement
by Daniel Webster, at whose sugges-
tion it was made, was entirely unex-
pected by him. A passing compli-
ment paid him at this time is worth
recording. It occurs in Mr. Charles
Dickens's " American Notes," in a de-
scription of a Presidential drawing-
room at Washington, when Irving was
present in his new character for the
first and last time before going abroad.
"I sincerely believe," says Dickens,
158
WASHINGTON IKYING.
" that in all the madness of American
politics, few public men would have
been so earnestly, devotedly, and affec-
tionately caressed as this most charm-
ing writer : and I have seldom respect-
ed a public assembly more than I did
this eager throng, when I saw them
turning with one mind from noisy ora-
tors and officers of state, and flocking
with a generous and honest impulse
round the man of quiet pursuits : proud
in his promotion as reflecting back
upon their country: and grateful to
him with their whole hearts for the
store of graceful fancies he had poured
out among them."
Mr. Irving passed several years in
Spain in his diplomatic capacity, devot-
ing himself assiduously to the duties
of his position. His dispatches in the
State Paper Office will doubtless,
should the time ever come for their
publication, present a valuable picture
of the changing political fortunes of
the country during his term.
On his return from Spain, Mr. Irving
made his home for the remainder of his
life at his beautiful country seat, " Sun-
ny side," on the eastern bank of the
Hudson, some twenty miles from New
York. Here he resided in the midst
of his family, consisting of his brother
and nieces, occasionally visiting his
friends in Virginia and other portions
of the country, but gradually limiting
his journeys to the neighboring city.
At Sunnyside, in these later years, he
prepared the revised editions of his
books, which now became a source of
regular profit, wrote the " Life of Oliver
Goldsmith," and completed the crown-
ing labor of his long literary career, the
'Life of George Washington." The
interval between the publication of the
first of the five volumes and the last,
was five years. It was completed the
very year of his death. His design
was to present in simple, unambitious
narrative a thoroughly truthful view
of the character of Washington — of the
acts of his life — with an impartial esti-
mate of the men and agencies by which
he was surrounded. He attained all
this and more. His work has been
read with interest, nay, with affection,
and promises long to retain its hold
upon the public.
Mr. Irving had now reached the
close of life, with as few of the infirmi-
ties as fall to the lot even of those ac-
counted most fortunate. His health,
delicate in his youth, had strengthened
with his years, and during the long
periods of his residence abroad he
knew no illness. The breaking-up of
his powers was gradual, affecting only
his physical strength. His mind — the
felicity of his thoughts, the beauty of his
expression, his style, were unimpaired
to the last. His death occurred sud-
denly, in his Sunnyside cottage, as he
was retiring to rest on the night of
November 28, 1859. He fell with
scarcely a word —
"Death broke at once the vital chain,
And freed his soul the nearest way."
" It was scarcely death, said an emi-
nent artist* to us, a dweller on the
banks of his own Hudson, thinking of
the fulness of years and honors, and
the mild departure — " it was a transla-
tion."
The good omen of this happily
* Mr. Weir, of West Point.
WASHINGTON IRVING.
159
rounded life was repeated on the day
of the funeral, which drew multitudes
of honored citizens from New York to
participate in the last rites. It was
the first of December, a day of unu-
sual gentleness and beauty, the last
as it proved, of the calm Indian sum-
mer. All nature breathed tranquil-
lity, as the sun descended upon the
sleeping river and silent evergreens.
Every shop in the village of Tarry town,
where the services were performed, at
Christ Church, was shut, and the ut-
most decorum prevailed throughout
the thronging crowd during the day
which closed upon his grave on the
hill-side of the Tarrytown cemetery. It
was, as President King remarked at
the subsequent memorial meeting of the
New York Historical Society, "a Wash-
ington Irving day." The country will
not soon forget the memorable scene.
The life of Washington Irving was
so truthful, so simple, so easily to be
read by all men, that few words are
needed for an analysis of his character.
He was primarily a man of genius — that
is, nature had given him a faculty of
doing what no one else could do pre-
cisely, and doing it well. His talent was
no doubt improved by skill and exer-
cise ; but we see it working in his ear-
liest books, when he could scarcely
have dreamt of becoming an author.
Indeed, he was thrown upon author-
ship apparently by accident ; a lucky
shipwreck of his fortunes, as it proved,
for the world. In this faculty, which
he possessed better than anybody else
in America, the most important ingre-
lient was humor — a kindly perception
of life, not unconscious of its weakness-
es, tolerant of its frailties, capable of
throwing a beam of sunshine into the
darkness of its misfortunes. The heart
was evidently his logician ; a pure life
his best instructor. He loved litera
ture, but not at the expense of society
Though his writings were fed by many
secret rills, flowing from the elder
worthies, the best source of his inspi-
ration was daily life. He was always
true to its commonest, most real emo-
tions.
In all his personal intercourse with
others, in every relation of life, Mr. Ir-
ving, in an eminent degree, exhibited
the qualities of the gentleman. They
were principles of thought and ac-
tion, in the old definition of Sir Philip
Sidney, " seated in a heart of courtesy."
His manners, while they were charac-
terized by the highest refinement, were
simple to a degree. His habits of liv-
ing were plain, though not homely:
everything about him displayed good
taste, and an expense not below the
standard of his fortunes ; but there was
no ostentation. No man stood more
open to new impressions. His sensibi-
lity was excited by everything noble
or generous, and we may add, anything
which displayed humor of character,
from whatever sphere of life the exam-
ple was drawn. His genius responded
to every honest touch of nature in lit
erature or art. He was a man of feel-
ing, with the sympathies of a Macken
zie or a Goldsmith. Nor did these
emotions, with him, rest only in the
luxuries of sentiment. He was a prac
tical guide, counsellor and friend
and his benevolence was not confined
to this charmed circle of home and
neighborhood. In public affairs, though
unfitted for the duties of the working
160
WASHINGTON IKYING.
politician, his course was independent
and patriotic. No heart beat warmer
in love of country and the Union, and
the honor of his nation's flag. This is
worth mentioning in his case, for his
tastes and studies led him to retire-
ment ; but he did not suffer it to be an
inglorious ease, to which higher ends
should be sacrificed.
Much has been said of the influence
upon his life of an early attachment.
He was engaged to a daughter of the
late Judge Josiah Hoffman. The lady
died and her lover never married.
There is thought to be an allusion to
this in a beautiful passage in his
sketch of St. Mark's Eve in " Brace-
bridge Hall," where it is written: —
"There are departed beings that I
have loved as I never again shall love
in this world — that have loved me as
I never again shall be loved." Mr.
Thackeray, the eminent novelist, has
mentioned this tenderly in a few words
of tribute to the memory of his friend :—
" He had loved once in his life. The
lady he loved died ; and he, whom all
the world loved, never sought to re-
place her. I can't say how much the
thought of that fidelity has touched
me. Does not the very cheerfulness of
his after-life add to the pathos of that
untold story? To grieve always was
not in his nature ; or, when he had his
sorrow, to bring all the world in to
condole with him and bemoan it. Deep
and quiet he lays the love of his heart
and buries it, and grass and flowers
grow over the scarred ground in due
time."
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VICTOR EMANUEL I.
105
offensive and defensive, with Prussia,
in opposition to Austria, against which
power he declared war on the 20th of
June, two days after Prussia had taken
the same step. The gain to Italy of
the short, sharp, and decisive cam-
paign, which culminated on the 3d of
July, in the Prussian victory of Sa-
dowa, was the long-coveted Venetian
territory, which Victor Emanuel re-
ceived, October 19th, from Austria, at
the hands of the Emperor of the
French, to whom it had been trans-
ferred on the 4th of July, and who
claimed to have saved Vienna from the
most imminent hostile occupation. On
the 7th of November, Victor Emanuel
made his triumphal entry into Venice,
three days after the decree which de-
clared its annexation to his dominions.
Rome still remained isolated from the
rest of Italy, and Garibaldi, whose
patriotic impatience had led him to
protest against the convention of Sep-
tember, 1864, in pursuance of the
terms of which the French troops had
evacuated the city in December, 1866,
invaded the Papal territory, and thus
brought a renewal of the French occu-
pation on the 30th of October, 1867,
and his own complete defeat at Men-
tana, on the 4th of November; after
which, on the 25th of the same month,
he was deported to his own island
of Caprera, and placed under surveil-
lance.
On the 8th of September, 1870, four
days after the deposition of the Em-
peror of the French, Victor Emanuel
addressed a letter to the Pope, an-
nouncing that he was compelled to as-
sume the responsibility of maintaining
order in the Peninsula, and the secur-
n.— 21
ity of the Holy See, and undertaking
that his government and his forces
would restrict themselves absolutely
to a conservative and tutelary action
on behalf of the rights of the Roman
people, which would be easily recon-
cilable with the inviolability of the
Sovereign Pontiff and the spiritual
authority of his chair. The Pope, who
had previously refused to acknowledge
the kingdom of Italy, protested
against the meditated occupation ; and,
having solicited the intervention of the
King of Prussia, to stay the execution
of the project, received from that sov-
erign a refusal to disturb or endanger
the friendly relations in which he stood
to the King of Italy, on account of a
question with which the interests of
Prussia were not concerned. The Ital-
ian troops, accordingly, entered Rome
on the 20th of September, after a formal
resistance from the Pope's soldiers, who
had received orders to yield to violence
when violence should be offered, and
did not prolong the defence of the city
after a slight breach had been made in
the walls, through which General Ca-
dorna proceeded to make an entrance
A plebiscite of the Papal dominions;
taken early in October, resulted in an
almost unanimous vote for the incor-
poration of Rome and its dependencies
with the kingdom of Italy. Even the
inhabitants of the city of Rome voted
for the annexation, which was carried
into effect by a royal decree on the 9th
of October, and by the arrival, two
days after, of General della Marmora
as Lieutenant-Governor of the Roman
provinces. At the opening of the Ital-
ian Parliament at Florence, on the oth
of December, Victor Emanuel claimed
166
to Lave " fulfilled his promises, and to
have crowned the enterprise commenc-
ed twenty-three years before by his
magnanimous father." "Italy," the
king said, " is free and united hence-
forth, and depends upon herself for
achieving greatness and happiness.
We entered Rome by our national
right, and shall remain there, keeping
the promises solemnly made to our-
selves of freedom to the Church and
the independence of the Holy See in
its spiritual ministry and its relations
with Catholicity." The Government
further undertook that, whether the
Pope determined to continue his resi-
dence in the city, or not, his sovereign-
ty should be guaranteed, as well as all
the honors and privileges to which he
was entitled. In the face of difficul-
ties which opposed the immediate
transfer of the capital to Rome, it was
decided, at a meeting of the Italian
Parliament at Florence, on the 23d of
December, that the transfer should be
postponed for six months, and should
be carried into effect on the 1st of July
following.
On Christmas day, 1870, Prince
Amadeus, Duke of Aosta, second son
of Victor Emanuel, left Florence for
Madrid, to assume the crown of Spain ;
and, on the same day, the completion
of the Mount Cenis tunnel was an-
nounced, the inauguration of which
was celebrated with much ceremony
and rejoicing in September, 1871 — the
VICTOR EMANUEL I.
crowning material glory of a reign
which, in spite of chronic financial
difficulties, has been mindful of indus-
trial and commercial development, aa
it has of social, educational, ecclesias-
tical, legislative, and administrative,
reforms. On Sunday, the 2d of July,
1871, the King of Italy paid a three
days' visit to Rome, to which he had
some months previously made a hur
ried and incidental one, for the pur-
pose of taking formal possession, and
of acknowledging it thenceforth as the
head-quarters of the Government, from
which the royal decrees would in fu-
ture be issued, and where the minis-
ters were left installed in their new
offices. On the occasion of a longer
visit to his new capital, where he ar-
rived on the 21st of November, the
King was received by Prince Hum-
bert, the Ministers, the members of the
Municipality, and the National Guard,
whilst the city was decorated with
flags, and immense and enthusiastic
crowds thronged the way to the palace.
On the 27th, the Italian Parliament
was opened in Rome with a speech
from the throne, in which, after ex-
pressions of pleasure and congratula-
tion, the King renewed his obligations
of faithfulness to those principles of
liberty and order which had regenera-
ted Italy, and to which he looked for
the secret of strength, and a reconcilia
tion between the Church and the
State.
SYDNEY, LADY MORGAN.
IN the fragmentary Autobiography
which opens the two bulky Lon-
don volumes occupied with Lady Mor-
gan's Memoirs, she tells us that she
was born on Christmas day, in " an-
cient ould Dublin." The year is not
given : the writer, who was tender on
this subject, " taking the opportunity
to enter her protest against dates ;" but,
judging from the statements of her
age at the time of her death, it may
be set down at about the year 1777;
though, in a note to the " Noctes Am-
brosianaB," Mr. R. Shelton Mackenzie,
a good authority in Irish matters, says
that she could not have been born
later than 1770. However this may
have been, in one sense the genial au-
thoress and " Queen of Society " had
her own way with time, preserving to
four-score much of her extraordinary
youthful vivacity. Her sprightly
qualities and habits of life seem to
have been inherited from her father,
Robert Owenson, the son, as we learn
from the daughter's " Autobiography,"
of a farmer of Connaught, who, early
in the eighteenth century, by his skill
at a wrestling match, attracted the
favor of the Queen of Beauty on the
occasion, an accomplished lady of the
Crofton family. A runaway match
between the couple ensued ; and their
son Robert came into the world ex-
hibiting in due time the stature and
personal beauty of his father, with the
artistic and poetical instincts of his
mother. It was soon seen that the boy
had a fine taste for music, with an ex
cellent voice, which he employed alter-
nately on Sundays in singing early
low mass at the Catholic chapel, his
father being of that faith, and later in
the day imparting unction and expres-
sion to the hymns of the Protestant
church attended by his mother. A
wealthy landed proprietor, with a
fondness for music, taking note of him
on these occasions, received him into
his household as a permanent inmate,
and, in due time, carried him with him
to London, where the youth fell in
with his relative, Oliver Goldsmith
twenty years his senior, with whom
he shared in the liberal amusements
of the town. Being dismissed by his
dignified patron for an extempore ap
pearance one night as a singer at
Vauxhall, young Owenson resolved to
seek support on the stage; was in-
troduced by Goldsmith to Garrick,
who accorded him at his theatre tin
(1G7)
108
SYDNEY, LADY MORGAN.
part of Tamerlane, in which he failed ;
but he soon after made a hit in his
performance of Captain Macheath, in
the Beggar's Opera, his forte lying in
musical parts. His representation of
such characters as Sheridan's Sir
Lucius O'Trigger, and Cumberland's
Major O'Flaherty, is also spoken of as
excellent. The justice which he did
the latter secured him a brave compli-
ment from the author, who at the same
time indulged his own vanity. " Mr.
Owenson," said Cumberland, "I am
the first author who has brought an
[rish gentleman on the stage, and you
are the first who ever played it like a
gentleman." Daly, the celebrated Irish
manager, was present when this trib-
ute was paid ; he saw the capabilities
of the actor, and invited him to a share
in his theatre at Dublin, which was
accepted. Thither Owenson carried
his newly-acquired bride, the daugh-
ter of an English gentleman, the
Mayor of Salisbury, who objecting
stoutly to an alliance with an actor,
the lively young Irishman, following
the precedent of his parents, was clan-
destinely married to the lady. She
was a person of great refinement, and
of decidedly religious views in sympa-
thy with the Methodists ; and, though
a devoted wife, was sorely tried by
the company of the priests and players
this matrimonial union compelled her
to entertain. Her early death was the
first great sorrow her daughters, Olivia
and Sydney, were called upon to en-
dure. The name Sydney, it is said, was
given to the latter in grateful remem-
brance of Sir Henry Sydney, Lord
Deputy of Ireland in the time of <
Elizabeth. Her father was on the
patriotic side in Irish affairs, and the
daughter grew up with strong predi-
lections for the liberal cause and a
sympathy with the revolutionary spirit
of the age, which, with all her fond
ness for aristocratic society, never de
serted her during her long career.
After their mother's death, the sis-
ters were placed at an admirable school
at Clontarf, on the sea shore, near
Dublin, kept by a Madame Tersori, an
establishment founded by refugee Hu-
guenots, and maintained in accordance
with their principles. Literature was
here well cared for in a methodical
way, while a simplicity of diet sup-
ported a commendable out-of-door
physical training. "A life more
healthy," writes Lady Morgan, in her
retrospect of the period, " or more fully
occupied, could not well be imagined
for female youth between twelve and
fifteen." Here the young Sydney
made an " attempt at a bit of author-,
ship," a paraphrase of the scripture
story of Hagar and her child, which
her preceptress, for the ignorance of
Bible history displayed in it, threw
into the fire ; while her pupil gained
greater credit with the scholars by in-
troducing their names in an imitation
of Goldsmith's " Retaliation. The girl
was from the beginning marked out
for an author. A volume of her juven-
ile verses was edited and printed by
her father, entitled "Poems by a
Young Lady between the Age of
Twelve and Fourteen," of which, in
after-life, the writer gives this dispas-
sionate account: "TLey had all the
faults of tiresome precocity, which is
frequently disease and generally ter
minates in dulness."
SYDNEY, LADY MORGAN.
169
The failure of her father's theatrical
speculations about this time brought
him to bankruptcy; and, pending the
negotiations with his creditors, he
found it expedient to absent himself
for a while from Dublin. The children
had now to turn their education and
talents to account, in providing for
themselves the means of living. The
situation of a governess was naturally
thought of ; and in this capacity, after
several adventures in search of em-
ployment, most amusingly detailed in
her "Autobiography," she found a
home in the happy Irish family of the
Featherstones of Bracklin Castle, West-
meat h. In this and other relations of
the kind, which she afterwards main-
tained, she appears to have enjoyed in
every respect the freedom of the man-
sion, and to have been welcomed rather
as a guest than as a dependant — a re-
sult brought about by her frank, con-
fiding nature, and her brilliant social
qualities, manifested particularly as a
singer of the best Irish songs and bal-
lads. We find her always in the best
of company, forming and cementing,
in the midst of her caprices, of which
she had a full share, the most valuable
friendships. The employment of her
pen came to her as the most natural
pursuit in the world. Her mind
from the beginning was set on tale
writing, as she rapidly turned her
young reading and experience into
this form of composition. At first, of
course, the influence of books, of which
she was through life a most eager de-
vourer, had the predominance. Her ear-
liest production of the kind which got
into print, a novel entitled u St Clair,"
was modelled on the " Sorrows of Wer-
ter," and was appropriately turned by
some admirer into German. It was
published in Dublin, about the year
1801, and hit the taste of readers well
enough to be thought worthy of re-is-
sue, a year or two after, in a revised
and enlarged form. This first work
was succeeded, about 1803, by a second
novel, "The Novice of St. Dominic,"
for which the author found a publish-
er in Sir Kichard Phillips, a noted
member of the trade, in his day, in
London. She visited the great me
tropolis in an off-hand journey, and
conducted the negotiation in person.
Phillips was charmed with her spright-
liness, but wisely checked her exuber
ance by insisting that the romance
should be cut down from six volumes
to four ! A good portion of the sum
paid for the book was at once remitted
to her father, whose necessities, as well
as her own, supplied for some time a
constant motive to her literary indus-
try. The story proved amusing, and
with a good proportion of extrava-
gance and pedantry — for the author
was already fond of introducing her
reading into her books — had some
quality of life in it to render it a fa-
vorite with the great statesman, Mr.
Pitt, who is said to have read it a
second time in his last illness.
The gay vivacious young girl was
thus early displaying abilities and
habits of occupation sufficient to se-
cure her prosperous career as an au-
thor. "The indomitable energy and
indefatigable industry," says her biog-
rapher, Miss Jewsbury, "which char
acterized her both as Sydney Owenson
and Lady Morgan, are even more re-
markable than her genius, and gave
170
SYDNEY, LADY MOKGAK
her the coherence and persistence es-
sential to success. Her tenacity of
purpose through life was unrelaxing —
whatever project of work she had in
hand, nothing turned her aside; with
her, the idea of Work was the first ob-
ject in life. All other things, whether
they appertained to love, amusement,
society, or whatever else, were all sub-
ordinate to her work. Intellectual
labor was the one thing she thorough-
ly respected and reverenced. She nev-
er wasted a moment of time; and
wherever she went, and whatever she
saw, she turned it to practical use in
her profession."
" The Novice of St. Dominic " prov-
ing a success, the publisher, who had
in the meantime issued a collection of
poems and melodies by the author, en-
titled the " Lay of the Irish Harp,"
was ready to negotiate for her next
uovel, which may be said to have
gained her a lasting name in the liter-
ary world, " The Wild Irish Girl," a
title which was taken as significant of
the rollicking disposition of the author.
By a well-managed negotiation between
Phillips and his rival, Johnson, Miss
Owenson secured the sum of three
hundred pounds for the book — a good
price for a comparatively immature
and unknown writer. The story was
founded on incidents in her own expe-
rience, a father and son being both in
love with her, and courting her at the
bame time. Her own part in the story
is represented by the Princess of Innis-
tnore, Glorvina, a popular sobriquet,
by which she was familiarly known in
society up to the time of her marriage.
The book was afterwards claimed by
tier as " the firs* purely Irish story
ever written." It took up the cause
of the country against the injustice it
was suffering at the hands of England,
and presented a curious picture of the
antiquities, habits, and customs of the
people.
This work was immediately suc-
ceeded by a brace of volumes entitled
" Patriotic Sketches," gathering up the
impressions, scenes, and incidents of a
journey made by Miss Owenson in the
west of Ireland, in the autumn of 1806.
Another novel or romance from her pen,
" Ida of Athens," was published by the
Messrs. Longmans in 1809; a book,
which, as usual with the author, was
the vehicle for her political and liter-
ary aspirations. "Ida," says her biog
rapher, " discourses like a very Corinna
about Greek art, literature, morals,
and politics, in a manner eloquent, pe-
dantic, enthusiastic, and absurd. The
real interest of the work lies in the
unexpressed but ever-present parallel
between the condition of the Greeks,
their aspirations after liberty, their rec-
ollections of old glories, and the condi-
tion of Ireland at that time." The, au-
thor's next effort was in a still remoter
field, an Indian story, "The Mission-
ary," the subject being the attempt of
a Spanish priest to convert a Brahmin
priestess, the result being a mutual
passion and an elopement — the whole,
of course, high-flown and fantastical.
These repeated literary successes and
adventures, united with her attractive
personal qualities and accomplishments,
now gave the author an enviable posi-
tion in the best Dublin society, where
she seems constantly to have had a
succession of loving admirers at her
feet. She, in fact, maintained a variety
SYDNEY, LADY MOEGAN
171
.if coquettish intimacies with divers
gallant beaux, from whom she was, in
due time, rescued by her marriage
with Sir Charles Morgan. Her ac-
quaintance with this estimable gentle-
man arose from her intimacy with the
noble family of Lord Abercorn, in
whose splendid residences at Baron's
Court, in Ireland, and Stanmore Priory,
near London, she became thoroughly
domesticated. She was a great favor-
ite with the Marquis and Marchioness,
who were bent upon her forming a
matrimonial alliance with their friend,
Sir Charles Morgan, a physician of
much repute, who had just been knight-
ed for his merits in the profession. The
Doctor and Miss Owenson became ac-
quainted with each other at the seat
at Baron's Court ; after a due amount
of coquetry on her side, became engag-
ed; and after a still more vexatious
course of flirtations on her part, were
finally married in a hurried extempore
fashion, at the seat of the Marquis in Ire-
land. The closing circumstances are
thus related by her biographer, who
had them from Lady Morgan herself:
" On a cold morning in January, in
1812, she was sitting in the library by
the fire in a morning wrapper, when
Lady Abercorn opened the door, and
said, ' Glorvina, come upstairs and be
married; there must be no more tri-
fling !' Her ladyship took Miss Owen-
son's arm, and led her up-stairs into
her dressing-room, where a table was
arranged for the ceremony — the fami-
ly chaplain standing, in full canonicals,
with his book open, and Sir Charles
ready to receive her. There was no
escape left. The ceremony proceeded,
and the " Wild Irish Girl " was married
past redemption." Her sister Olivia,
a few years earlier, was married to a
Doctor Clarke, a prosperous physician
of Dublin, who was also knighted by
the Lord Lieutenant in Ireland. He gen,
erously maintained his wife's father, the
decayed actor, who, for the remainder
of his days, had a home in the family.
The marriage of Lady Morgan, spite
of the unfavorable auguries which
might have been entertained from her
fondness for admiration in society, and
the waywardness which she had dis-
played during her courtship, proved a
happy one. In truth, with all her
seeming extravagance, there was in
her character a fund of good sense,
without which, indeed, she would not
have been able to support her success-
ful literary career. From the days of
her girlhood, she had shown herself
much of a heroine in the maintenance
of herself, surrounded as she was by
family difficulties and perplexities.
She had risen from the humble daugh-
ter of a poor player, and the rank of
a governess, to be the companion and
associate of the best in the land, and
such a position could have been secur-
ed by talent and virtues of no ordi-
nary kind. The friends whom she made
respected her with all her eccentrici-
ties ; and indeed, throughout her whole
life, she formed and held the most en-
viable intimacies. Her husband's char-
acter was precisely of the kind to sup-
plement her own, and supply any de-
fects in her disposition — " a man," as
he is described, " of a sweet and noble
nature, generous, high-minded, entirely
free from all meanness or littleness,
tender-hearted and affectionate, with
great firmness of character, strength oJ
172
SYDNEY, LADY MORGAN.
mind, and integrity of principle." Uni-
ted in literary habits, their different
pursuits left each free to pursue an in-
dependent course. He became distin-
guished by his philosophical and pro-
fessional writings, while she pursued
her career as a novelist ; the previous
somewhat wild spirit of enthusiasm in
her writings being restrained and
corrected by his sound judgment —
not, however, at the expense of the vi-
vacity, which was her unfailing charac-
teristic in books and society. In
" O'Donnel," her first publication after
her marriage, she again returned to
Irish life, introducing, as usual, her
own experiences, handling the ques-
tions of the day with sagacity and vig-
or, and enlivening the work with a
native humor, which secured the ad-
miration of Sir Walter Scott. Col-
burn, the London publisher, paid her
for this work, issued in 1814, the sum
of five hundred and fifty pounds.
The next year, in company with her
husband, she visited France, which,
after the long period of the Napoleonic
wars, had just been opened to English
travelers. The social life of Paris, af-
ter the extraordinary changes it had
undergone, offered a new and tempt-
ing field for observations; and Lady
Morgan, who enjoyed the best oppor-
tunities of observation, in her acquain-
tance and intimacy with the most dis-
tinguished men and women of the
capital, reaped an abundant literary
harvest. For her book, simply entitled
" France, by Lady Morgan," published
in quarto by Colburn, in 1817, she re-
ceived a thousand pounds. The suc-
cess of this led to a similar study of
Italy, in a tour to that country, in
1819 and the following year — the re-
sults of which were given to the world
in an equally suggestive and enter
taining book of travels. A pains-
taking and enthusiastic biography of
Salvator Rosa, was another of the
fruits of her studies in Italy — " of all
my works," she says, " most delightful
to myself in the execution." Many
years later, in 1830, Lady Morgan
published a second work on France.
Meantime, in 1827, she had given to
the world one of the best of her novels,
the " O'Briens and the O'Flaherties," a
book of genuine Irish humor and feel-
ing, with pictures of society before
and after the Union. Another novel,
" The Princess and the Beguine," the
scene of which is laid in Brussels, a
work abounding in pictures of fash-
ionable life, and of the scenes of the
revolution in Belgium, closes the list
of her chief productions of this class.
After her return from Italy, her life
was passed in Ireland, with frequent
visits to England. In 1837, she per-
manently left her native country to re-
side in London, where she exercised a
generous hospitality, her house being
the constant resort of the most cultiva-
ted society of the metropolis. Her
husband, Sir Charles, died in 1843 ;
she still continued to maintain her old
relations with the literary society of
the day, " the fancifulness of her Celtic
temperament," as she once called it,
little impaired by age ; till at last the
end came, which she met " patiently
and with perfect simplicity," in her
house in London, on the 16th of April
1859
Likeness fam a, recent Photograph from, li
Johnsou.Wilsoii & Co,Pubhshars,NewYork.
MICHAEL FARADAY.
1T5
The letters, indeed, considering the
circumstances under which they were
written, must be considered very no-
ticeable productions. " It is difficult,"
as Dr. Bence Jones, the biographer of
Faraday, remarks, " to believe that they
were written by one who had been a
newspaper boy, and who was still a
bookbinder's apprentice, not yet twen-
ty one years of age, and whose only edu-
cation had been the rudiments of read-
ing, writing, and arithmetic. Had
they been written by a highly educa-
ted gentleman, they would have been
remarkable for the energy, correctness,
and fluency of their style, and for the
courtesy, kindness, candor, deference,
and even humility, of the thoughts
they contain." There is a characteris-
tic passage in the very first of the let-
ters, showing the formation in his
mind, through various stages of reflec-
tion, of a definite purpose in writing at
all, which of itself is a curious presage
of the man of science. " I, dear A.,
naturally love a letter, and take as
much pleasure in reading one, when
addressed to myself, and in answering
one, as in almost anything else. I
like it for what I fancy to be
good reasons, drawn up in my own
mind on the subject ; and from those
reasons I have concluded that letter-
writing improves : first, the hand-
writing; secondly, the — at this mo-
ment occurs an instance of my great
deficiency in letter- writing — I have the
idea I want to express full in my mind,
but have forgot the word that express-
es it — a word common enough too, —
I mean the expression, the delivery,
the composition or manner of connect-
ing words ; thirdly, it improves the
mind by the reciprocal exchange of
knowledge; fourthly, the ideas — it
tends, I conceive, to make the ideas
clear and distinct (ideas are generated
or formed in the head, and I will give
you an odd instance as proof) ; fifthly
it improves the morals." Here, at the
very start, is the future lecturer mak-
ing the first essay of his intellectual
powers. It is worth noting, too, that
while he courts and compliments his
correspondent, he puts in a thoroughly
scientific qualification of his praise.
" You have, I presume, time to spare
now and then, for half an hour or so ;
your ideas, too, I have ascertained whilst
conversing with you, are plentiful and
pretty perfect — 1 will not say quite, for
I have never yet met with a person who
has arrived at perfection so great as to
conceive new ideas with exactness and
clearness."
This same first letter shows that
science was already claiming him as
her own devoted pupil. " I have
lately," he writes, "made a few simple
galvanic experiments, merely to illus-
trate to myself the first principles of
the science. I was going to Knight's
to obtain some nickel, and bethought
me that they had malleable zinc. I
inquired and bought some — have you
seen any yet ? The first portion I ob-
tained was in the thinnest pieces possi-
ble— observe, in a flattened state. It
was, they informed me, thin enough
for the electric stick ; or, as I before
called it, De Luc's electric column. I
obtained it for the purpose of forming
discs, with which, and copper, to make
a little battery. The first I completed
contained the immense number of
seven pairs of plates ! ! ! and of the
176
MICHAEL FARADAY.
immense size of halfpence each !!!!!!
I, Sir, I my own self, cut out seven
discs of the size of half-pennies each !
I, Sir, covered them with seven half-
pence, and I interposed between, seven,
or rather six, pieces of paper soaked in
a solution of muriate of soda ! ! ! But
laugh no longer, dear A ; rather won-
der at the effects this trivial power
produced. It was sufficient to pro-
duce the decomposition of sulphate of
magnesia — an effect which extremely
surprised me ; for I did not, could not
have any idea that the agent was com-
petent to the purpose." The letters
proceed through the summer and au-
tumn of 1812, with the communication
of various philosophical experiments,
and comments on the themes and dis-
coveries of Sir Humphrey Davy, who
then enjoyed the admiration of Lon-
don and the scientific world. In Oc-
tober, his apprenticeship having ex-
pired, we find Faraday taking account
of the event, in a letter to his friend
Abbott, with a deliberate moral survey
of his new position. He was now en-
gaged as a journeyman book-binder to
a Mr. De La Roche, a violent-tempered
French emigrant, in London. His
mind, it will be seen, was, with the
progress of his thoughts, turning more
to religious affairs. "Of liberty and
time," he writes, " I have, if possible,
less than before, though I hope my
circumspection has not at the same
time decreased; I am well aware of
the irreparable evils that an abuse of
those blessings will give rise to. I
thank that Cause to whom thanks are
due that I am not in general a profuse
waster of those blessings which are
bestowed on me as a human being — I
mean health, sensation, time, and tern
poral resources. Understand me clear
ly here, for I wish much not to be mis-
taken. I am well aware of my OWD
nature, it is evil, and I feel its influ-
ence strongly ; I know too that — but
I find that I am passing insensibly to
a point of divinity, and as those mat-
ters are not to be treated lightly, I
will refrain from pursuing it. All I
meant to say on that point was that I
keep regular hours, enter not inten-
tionally into pleasures productive of
evil, reverence those who require rever-
ence from me, and act up to what the
world calls good. I appear moral, and
hope that I am so, though at the same
time I consider morality only as a la-
mentably deficient state."
Before the year closed, an event oc
cured which determined the future
course of Faraday's life. This was a
letter which he addressed, in Decem-
ber, to Sir Humphrey Davy, sending
as a proof of his earnestness the notes,
already alluded to, which he had taken
of his lectures. In his reply, Davy ex-
pressed himself pleased with the proof
he had given him of his confidence,,
and the display which the notes afford-
ed of " great zeal, power of memory,
and attention." He promised an in-
terview on his return to town, in Jan-
uary. When they met, Davy pru-
dently advised the young book-binder
to keep to his business, promising him
the work of the British Institution,
and his own, and what he could obtain
for him from his friends. He appears
however, to have been fully impressed
with the scientific capacity of Faraday;
for, when the assistant to the labora-
tory of the Institution was shortl.v
MICHAEL FAKADAY.
177
after removed, he sent for him to offer
him the place. " At this second inter-
view,'' says Faraday, " while Sir Hum-
phry Davy thus gratified my desires as
to scientific employment, he still ad-
vised me not to give up the prospects
I had before me, telling me that
science was a harsh mistress ; and, in a
pecuniary point of view, but poorly
rewarding those who devoted them-
selves to her service. He smiled at
my notion of the superior moral feel-
ings of philosophic men, and said he
would leave me to the experience of a
few years to set me right on that mat-
ter. " Faraday, however, was too much
enamoured of his new mistress not to
be proof against doubts and difficul-
ties. He accepted the office, with its
salary of twenty-five shillings a week,
and the possession of two rooms at the
top of the house.
In the same year in which he enter-
ed on this new duty, at the age of
twenty-one, he joined the City Philo-
sophical Society, an institution found-
ed by Mr. Tatum, holding its meet-
ings weekly, at his house, for the pur-
pose of improvement in science. There
were thirty or forty members — most,
if not all, from the humbler ranks of
life. Every other Wednesday, friends
of the members were admitted, and a
literary or philosophical lecture deliv-
ered by one of the members. At the
other weekly meetings, subjects were
pri vately discussed. Faraday also took
advantage of the possession of his new
attic rooms to assemble there some
half-dozen of his friends of the City
society, to read together, and to criti-
cise, correct and improve each other's
pronunciation and construction of lan-
guage. " The discipline," he tells us,
"was very sturdy; the remarks very
plain and open, and the results most
valuable." These meetings were con-
tinued for several years. They are
circumstances worth recording, were it
only to show with what simple means,
where there are willing hearts and
minds, the cultivation of the most use
ful knowledge may be pursued. Here
was a work of the highest value going
on with the regularity of college in-
struction; and, in a pecuniary view,
literally costing nothing.
Faraday's letters are now filled with
details of his work in the Institution,
in which he at once proved an admira-
ble assistant to Davy, and gained his
unlimited confidence. He was freely
trusted by him in the nicest and most
dangerous experiments. In several of
these, on the detonating compound of
chlorine and azote, Davy and Fara-
day acting together, and both wearing
masks, received various injuries in
hand and face by the explosions.
While engaged in these more practical
parts of his engagements, the assistant
did not, as his correspondence shows,
neglect the study of the moral ele-
ments in life — as important, not only
in their bearing upon his own nature,
but in the relations of others to him-
self. "What a singular compound,"
he writes, " is man ! What strange con-
tradictory ingredients enter into his
composition ; and how completely each
one predominates for a time, according
as it is favored by the tone of the
mind and senses, and other exciting
circumstances ! — at one time grave, cir-
cumspect and cautious; at another,
silly, headstrong and careless: — now,
178
MICHAEL FAKADAY.
conscious of his dignity, lie considers
himself a lord of the creation, yet in a
few hours will conduct himself in a
way that places him beneath the level
of beasts at times free, frivolous and
open, his tongue is an unobstructed
conveyer of his thoughts — thoughts
which, on after consideration, make
him ashamed of his former behaviour ;
indeed, the numerous paradoxes, ano-
malies, and contradictions in man, ex-
ceed in number all that can be found
in nature elsewhere, and separate and
distinguish him, if nothing else did,
from every other created object, or-
ganized or not. The study of these
circumstances is not uninteresting, in-
asmuch as knowledge of them enables
us to conduct ourselves with much
more propriety in every situation in
life. Without knowing how far we
ourselves are affected by them, we
should be unable to trust to our dis-
cretion amongst other persons; and
without some knowledge of the part
they bear or make in their own posi-
tion, we should be unable to behave
to them unreserved and with freedom.'1
It is evident, too, that, at this early
period, he was making a thorough
study of that in which he became a
great proficient, the art of lecturing.
It was in after-life, indeed, next to his
original discoveries, that by which he
was most celebrated. Then his man-
ner appeared so natural and easy that
it suggested little the long reflection
and experience out of which it grew.
It is an instructive lesson to watch
the early development in his mind of
ideas which he so happily reduced to
practice. He studies the subject as he
a series of phenomena in natural
philosophy. After providing a lit
room for any lecture, with regard to
proper size and ventilation, which he
considers of the utmost importance to
hold the attention, by imparting ani-
mation to the physical powers, he then
ascertains what topics are fit to be lec-
tured upon. He gives the first place
to science, for the opportunity which
it affords, or rather demands, for popu-
lar illustration and practical experi-
ment before the eye of the listener.
Arts and manufactures, which are
only applications of science, he ranks
next, with the belles lettres. Every-
thing is provided for in his programme.
The selection of a proper method of
treatment, simple or profound, grave
or gay, according to the audience, as
well as the time of day, are considered.
" I need not point out," he writes, al-
most in the very words of the obser-
vation of the poet Horace, " the aston-
ishing disproportion, or rather differ-
ence, in the perceptive powers of the
eye and the ear, and the facility and
clearness with which the first of these
organs conveys ideas to the mind —
ideas which, being thus gained, are
held far more retentively and firmly in
the memory than when introduced by
the ear." This leads to a description
of the proper apparatus for a lecturer,
and its disposition before the audience.
No one object should be suffered to
hide another from the view, or stand
in the way of the lecturer.
These preliminaries being arranged,
the next thing is the speaker •himself,
and here we have the very qualifies
tions insisted upon, which Faraday so
successfully perfected. " The most
prominent requisite, though perhaps
MICHAEL FAKADAY.
179
not really the most important, is a
good delivery; for, though to all true
philosophers, science and nature will
have charms innumerable in every
dress, yet I am sorry to say that the
generality of mankind cannot accom-
pany us one short hour unless the path
is strewed with flowers. In order,
therefore, to gain the attention, it is
necessary to pay some attention to the
manner of expression. The utterance
should not be rapid and hurried, and
consequently unintelligible, but slow
and deliberate, conveying ideas with
ease from the lecturer, and infusing
them with clearness and readiness into
the minds of the audience. A lecturer
should endeavor, by all means, to ob-
tain a facility of utterance, and the
power of clothing his thoughts and
ideas in language smooth and harmon-
ious, and at the same time simple and
easy. His periods should be round,
not too long or unequal ; they should
be complete and expressive, conveying
clearly the whole of the ideas intended
to be conveyed. If they are long, or
obscure, or incomplete, they give rise
to a degree of labor in the minds of
the hearers, which quickly causes lassi-
tude, indifference, and even disgust.
With respect to the action of the lec-
turer, it is requisite that he should
have some, though it does not here
bear the importance that it does in
other branches of oratory ; for, though
I know of no species of delivery (divin-
ity excepted) which requires less mo-
tion, yet I would by no means have a
lecturer glued to the table or screwed
on the floor. He must by all means
appear as a body, distinct and separate
from the things around him, and must
have some motion apart from that
which they possess. He shouM ap-
pear easy and collected, undaunted
and unconcerned, his thoughts about
him, and his mind clear and free for
the contemplation and description of
his subject. His action should not b«
hasty and violent, but slow, easy,
and natural, consisting principally in
changes of the posture of the body, in
order to avoid the air of stiffness or
sameness that would otherwise be una-
voidable. His whole behaviour should
evince respect for his audience, and he
should in no case forget that he is in
their presence." While he would al-
low written lectures as tending to ex-
actness, he would not permit mere
reading at the expense of a free and
ready manner. The utmost effort
should be expended by the lecturer
" to gain completely the mind and at-
tention of his audience, and irresisti-
bly to make them join in his ideas to
the end of the subject. He should
endeavor to raise their interest at the
commencement, by a series of imper-
ceptible gradations ; and, unnoticed by
the company, keep it alive as long as
the subject demands it. No breaks or
digressions foreign to the purpose
should have a place in the circumstan-
ces of the evening; no opportunity
should be allowed to the audience in
which their minds could wander from
the subject, or return to inattention
and carelessness. A flame, should be
lighted at the commencement and kept
alive with unremitting splendor to the
end." In these and other reflections.
Faraday, at the age of twenty-one,
sought to express his ideal of the lee
turer. It is worth noticing that the
180
MICHAEL FAKADAY.
remarks we have given appear in a
consecutive series of letters addressed
to a friend. He had already so mas-
tered the methodical arrangement of
his thoughts, that the continuity was
sustained in what, with most young
men, would have been a purposeless
and desultory correspondence.
After a few months of intercourse in
the lab oratory, Sir Humphrey Davy had
conceived such a regard for his assis-
tant, that, when in the autumn of the
year he went abroad on a protracted
tour over the continent, he invited
Faraday to accompany him as his
amaneunsis. The offer was accepted.
The journey lasted a year and a half,
and extended over France, Italy, and
Switzerland. Faraday kept a journal
of his travels, and continued his corres-
pondence with his friend Abbott, as
well as with his mother and sisters.
Both his diary and letters, as may be
supposed, are of the highest interest.
The first experience of a foreign land
is an interesting event in the life of
any man. What must it have been to
the youthful Faraday, who had, as yet,
seen nothing of the world outside of
London, and was to share in the gold-
en harvest of observation and experi-
ment, reaped at the height of his fame
by so distinguished a scientific enquir-
er as Sir Humphrey Davy. The obsta-
cles which were placed in the way of
travelers, especially of Englishmen,
during the period of the Napoleonic
warfare, doubtless added something to
the piquancy of the journey. It is not
to be wondered at, therefore, that he
opens his foreign journal, on the 13th
of October, 1813, the day he set out,
with the sentence, " This morning form-
ed a new epoch in my life." His first
sight of the country, as he rode through
Devonshire, awakened entirely new
conceptions in his mind. Accustomed
only to the neighborhood of London,
the scenery on the way to Plymouth,
he writes, " came upon me unexpected-
ly, and caused a kind of revolution in
my ideas respecting the earth's sur-
face." The luminous appearance of
the sea at the bow of the vessel, as he
crosses the channel, arrests his atten-
tion, and is duly described. But the
conduct of a horde of custom-house
officers and their followers, on the
landing of the travelers at Morlaix,
was, to Faraday, quite as novel and
perplexing a matter for contemplation.
He was personally searched and exam-
ined all over, from his hat to his shoes,
and when this was over, the coach which
they carried with them, was probed and
sounded to its utmost recesses, and the
contents of the trunks unrolled to the
last pair of stockings. The hotel is then
described, and that phenomenon so
delightful to artists, the postilion. If
he should ever, as he is threatened, be
entirely swept by modern innovations
from the face of the earth, he may be
reconstructed, if necessary, from the
description in the opening pages of
Faraday's journal. It has the flavor
of true scientific observation, minute,
loving, and exhaustive.
11 The postilion," says he, " deserves
a paragraph to himself. He is mostly
a young, always a lively man. His
dress, with the exception of his boots,
and that part which covers his head,
varies infinitely, but hairy jackets ap
pear to be frequent as outer garments,
and they are often finely ornamented ;
MICHAEL FAKADAY.
181
at other times the dress seems to be a
kind of uniform, being at many post-
houses together of one color, and turn-
ed up at the edge with another. The
first pair of jack-boots that I saw, came
out of the kitchen at the hotel at Mor-
laix ; for, as it is almost impossible
for a man, when in them, to move
about by his own exertions, the postil-
ion had left them in the above-named
place until all was arranged at the car-
riage; but then he used his reserved
strength, and showed them off in a
walk from the fireside to the horses.
They appeared like two very large cyl-
inders of leather, terminated at the end
by purses for the feet ; they rose about
six inches above the knee, and were
cut away at the back part to admit
the use of that joint. Their external
diameter was about seven inches, but
the cavities within were not much too
large for the legs. The sides of the
boots consisted of two or three folds
of strong leather sewed together, and
stuffed on the inside with wool, to the
thickness of three-quarters of an inch,
and sometimes more, and the lower
part, or foot, not being stuffed in the
same way, was much smaller in pro-
portion, though, being still too large,
it was made perfect by a wisp of straw.
The weight of a pair of jack-boots va-
ries between fourteen and twenty
pounds generally. These boots are
sometimes moved about by the postil-
ions, independent of the exertions of
the horses, and then an enormous pair
of stirrups are hung to the saddle to
sustain them in riding. At other
times they are attached to the saddle
by straps, and the postilion jumps on
to his horse and into them at the same
n.— 23.
time. The use of them, according to
the wearers, is to save their legs from
being broken, should the horses stum-
ble, or the carriage be overturned ;
and though a traveler must laugh at
the sight of such clumsy things, there
is not much amusement in the idea
that the people who best know their
horses and drivers, consider such a pre-
caution constantly necessary. Other
appendages to the postilion, are the
whip and the tobacco-pouch. The
first is a most tremendous weapon to
dogs, pigs, and little children. With
a handle of about thirty inches, it has
a thong of six to eight inches in length,
and it is constantly in a state of vio-
lent vibratory motion over the heads
of the horses, giving rise to a rapid
succession of stunning sounds. The
second is generally a bag, though
sometimes a pocket, exclusively appro
priated, answers the purpose. It con-
tains tobacco, a short pipe, a flint, a
German tinder, and sometimes a few
varieties. To this the postilion has
constant recurrence, and whilst jog-
ging on, will light his pipe and smoke
it out successively for several hours."
Objects of natural history, as might
be expected, appear more readily to
have engaged his attention than the
antiquities of the country. He records
his first sight of a glowworm which
he picked up on the road one night
when the horses had stumbled, and
there was a detention by the way.
At Drieux, he makes a curious study
of the French pig. "I cannot," he
writes, " help dashing a note of admi-
ration to one thing found in this part
of the country — the pigs. At first, I
was positively doubtful of their na-
182
MICHAEL FAKADAY.
fcure, for though they have pointed
noses, long ears, rope-like tails, and
cloven feet, yet who would have imag-
ined that an animal with a long, thin
body, back and belly arched up-
wards, lank sides, long slender feet,
and capable of outrunning our horses
for a mile or two together, could be at
all allied to the fat sow of England ?
When I first saw one, which was at
Morlaix, it started so suddenly, and
became so active in its motions on be-
ing disturbed, and so dissimilar in its
actions to our swine, that I looked out
for a second creature of the same kind
before I ventured to decide on its be-
ing a regular animal, or an extraordi-
nary production of nature ; but I find
that they are all alike, and that what
at a distance I should judge to be a
greyhound, I am obliged, on a near
approach, to acknowledge a pig."
The months of November and De-
cember were passed with Davy in
Paris. Being ignorant of the language
he made the best use of his eyes in a
general observation of the city; while
he was more closely engaged in the
pursuits of the labratory with Davy,
experimenting upon the newly-discov-
ered iodine, which was brought to their
notice by the French chemists. One
day he is at the Polytechnic School, in
attendance upon a lecture by M. Gay-
Lussac, upon vapor, of which he would
have carried away but little, had it not
been for the experiments. He had,
however, procured a French and Eng-
lish grammar, " composed for Ameri-
cans;" his own countrymen, in consf
quence of the long period of non-inter-
course between the nations, being at
this time quite ignored by the Parisian
.booksellers, and was making some
progress in the language. Going to
the gardens of the Tuilleries when
Napoleon was visiting the Senate in
full state, he gets a rather uncertain
glimpse of that distinguished personage.
" After waiting some time, and getting
wet through, the trumpet announced
the procession. Many guards and many
officers of the court passed us before the
Emperor came up, but at last he appeared
in sight. He was sitting in one corner
of his carriage, covered and almost hid-
den from sight by an enormous robe
of ermine, and his face overshadowed
by a tremendous plume of feathers that
descended from a violet hat. The dis-
tance was too great to distinguish the
features well, but he seemed of a dark
countenance, and somewhat corpulent.
His carriage was very rich, and four-
teen servants stood upon it in various
parts."
On leaving Paris, nearly a month
was passed at Montpellier, while Davy
was " working very closely on iodine,
and searching for it in several plants
that grow in the Mediterranean." The
travelers then entered Italy by Nice,
and the passage of the Col de Tende,
arriving at Turin in time for the amuse-
ments of the Carnival. At Genoa, they
visit the house of a chemist to witness
an experiment with torpedoes — wheth-
er water could be decomposed by the
electrical power possessed by these an-
imals— with no very satisfactory con-
clusions. At Florence, Davy pursues
several interesting experiments with the
great lens of the Duke of Tuscany, ap-
plied to the combustion of the diamond,
to ascertain whether any other element
than pure carbon entered into its com
MICHAEL FARADAY.
183
position, but nothing further was dis-
covered. The museum attached to the
Academy del Cimento, with its relics
of Galileo and other objects, furnished
Faraday " with an inexhaustible fund
of entertainment and improvement."
From Rome he writes an affectionate
letter to his mother, full of home feel-
ing. " When Sir H. Davy," he writes
to her, "first had the goodness to ask
me whether I would go with him, I
mentally said, ' JSTo ; I have a mother,
I have relations here.' And I almost
wished that I had been insulated and
alone in London ; but now I am glad
that I have left some behind me on
whom I can think, and whose actions
and occupations I can picture in my
mind. Whenever a vacant hour oc-
curs, I employ it by thinking on those
at home." There is a particular ac-
count in the journal of an ascent of
Mount Vesuvius, with the observations
of Davy on the phenomena, and a care-
ful description of the water-fall at
Terni. The summer was passed at
Geneva and in northern Italy, with a
return to Rome in the winter. The
spring of 1815 saw the parties once more
in England. The time passed in this
tour was spent profitably by Faraday,
and with general satisfaction, though
he had often to utter a manly protest
against the discharge of personal ser-
vices to the party, which were thrown
upon him in the inability of Davy to
find a suitable person as courier. He
had also to endure some inconvenience
from the haughty temper of Lady
Davy. Though easy and accommo-
dating under these circumstances, with
a genuine regard for Davy, he had a
spirit of self-respect and independence.
Faraday was, in May, engaged in the
Royal Institute as assistant in the la
boratory and mineralogical collection,
and superintendent of the apparatus,
with a salary of thirty shillings a week.
" He had now," says his biographer,
" full knowledge of his master's geniua
and power. He had compared him
with the French philosophers whilst
helping him in his discovery of iodine ;
and he was just about to see him en-
gage in those researches on fire-damp
and flame, which ended in the glorious
invention of the Davy lamp, and gave
Davy a popular reputation, even be-
yond that which he had gained in
science by the greatest of all his dis-
coveries— potassium. The care with
which Faraday has preserved every
note-book and manuscript of Davy's
at the Royal Institution, the remarks
regarding Davy in his letters, the ear-
nestness of his praise of Davy's scien-
tific work, show that he fully acknowl-
edged all the debt which he owed to
his master. But, with all his genius,
Davy was hurt by his own great suc-
cess. He had very little self-control,
and but little method and order. He
gave Faraday every opportunity of
studying the example which was set
before him during the journey abroad,
and during their constant intercourse
in the laboratory of the Royal Institu-
tion ; and Faraday has been known to
say that the greatest of all his great
advantages, was that he had a model
to teach him what he should avoid."
This reminds us of the saying of Mr.
Davies Gilbert, President of the Royal
Society, that "the greatest discovery
Davy ever made, was the discovery oi
Michael Faraday."
L84
MICHAEL FAItADAr.
In 1816, Faraday commenced his
career as a lecturer with a course of
six chemical lectures, written out with
care, and delivered through the year
at the City Philosophical Society.
The first scientific paper which he
published was in the same year in the
Quarterly Journal of Science," an
analysis of native caustic lime. One
of his lectures closed with the follow-
ing statement of his simple and honor-
able ?reed as a practical worker in
science : " The philosopher should be a
man willing to listen to every sugges-
tion, but determined to judge for him-
self. He should not be biased by ap-
pearances; have no favorite hypothe-
sis ; be of no school ; and in doctrine
have no master. He should not be a
respecter of persons, but of things.
Truth should be his primary object.
If to these qualities be added industry,
he may, indeed, hope to walk within
the veil of the temple of nature." His
lectures at the City Institution were
continued the following year. In his
common-place book of this period, we
notice the following remark on flogging
in juvenile education : " What precise
quantity of misery is thrust into that
space of human life which extends
from six to sixteen years of age it is
not possible to determine ; but it may
safely be asserted that it far exceeds
that of any other evil that infests the
earth : the rod and the cane are in
constant requisition, and the cries of
infant misery extend from one end of
Europe to the other. A German maga-
zine recently announced the death of a
schoolmaster, in Suabia, who for fifty-
one years had superintended a large
institution with old-fashioned severity.
From an average, inferred by means of
recorded observations, one of the uehera
had calculated that, in the course of
his exertions, he had given 911,500
canings; 121,000 floggings; 209,000
custodes or imprisonments; 136,000
tips with the ruler ; 10,200 boxes on
the ear; 22,700 tasks by heart: — it
was further calculated that he had
made 700 boys stand on peas ; 6,000
kneel on a sharp edge of wood ; 5,000
wear the fool's cap, and 1,700 hold the
rod. How vast the quantity of human
misery inflicted by one perverse edu-
cator."
Other lectures were delivered at the
City Institutions, and other articles
published in the " Journal of Science,"
from 1817 to 1819. In the latter yeai
he made a pedestrian excursion in
Wales, of which he kept a journal. At
the famous inn at Llangollen, he had
a curious experience of a Welsh har-
per : " Whilst at breakfast, the river
Dee flowing before our windows, the
second harper I have heard in Wales
struck his instrument and played some
airs in very excellent style. I enjoyed
them for a long time, and then, wish-
ing to gratify myself with a sight of
the interesting bard, went to the door
and beheld — the boots ! He, on seeing
me open the door, imagined I wanted
something; and, quitting his instru-
ment, took up his third character of
waiter. I must confess, I was sadly
disappointed and extremely baulked."
A year or two after, in 1821, at the
age of twenty-nine, came his marriage
to Miss Sarah Barnard, the daughter
of an elder of the Sandemanian Church;
in London. A number of his letters
written during the period of his court
MICHAEL FARADAY.
185
ship, are given by his biographer, and
exhibit throughout the delicacy and
force of his attachment ; the lights and
o
shades which enliven or depress a pure-
minded philosopher in love. Before
the consent of the lady was given, her
lover visits her at Ramsgate, with a
determination, as he expresses it, "to
force myself into favorable circum-
stances if possible." On the evening
of his arrival there, he says, " I was
in strange spirits, and had very little
command over myself, though I man-
aged to preserve appearances. I ex-
pressed strong disappointment at the
look of the town and of the cliffs; I
criticised all around me with a mali-
cious tone ; and, in fact, was just get-
ting into a humor which would have
offended the best-natured person, when
I perceived that, unwittingly, I had,
for the purpose of disguising the hopes
which had been raised in me so sud-
denly, and might have been considered
presumptuous, assumed an appearance
of general contempt and dislike. The
moment I perceived the danger of the
path on which I was running, I stop-
ped, and talked of home and friends."
" Two days afterwards," he says, " dur-
ing a walk, the conversation gradually
became to me of the most pensive cast,
and my mind was filled with melan-
choly thoughts. We went into a mill,
and got the miller to shoiv us the ma-
chinery j thus seeking mechanical means
of changing the subject, which, I fear,
weighed heavy on both of us. But
still our walk continued to have a very
sombre, grave cast with it ; and, when
I sat down in t"he chair at home, I
wished for a moment that memory and
sensation ^vould leave me, and that I
could pass away into nothing. But
then pride came to my help, and 1
found that I had at least one inde-
pendent auxiliary left, who promised
never to desert me whilst I had exist-
ence." The lovers had a day together
on Shakespeare's Cliff, at Dover, a day
never to be forgotten. "From the
first waking moment in it to the last,
it was full of interest to me: every
circumstance bore so strongly on my
hopes and fears that I seemed to live
with thrice the energy I had ever done
before. But now that the day was
drawing to a close, my memory recal
led the incidents in it, and the happi.
ness I had enjoyed; and then my
thoughts saddened and fell, from the
fear I should never enjoy such happi-
ness again." This is all very natural,
and happily it was the prelude to
many years of unchanging domestic
felicity. His marriage was speedily
followed by his public profession of
faith before the Sandemanian Church,
In 1824, Faraday was elected a
Fellow of the Royal Society. He was
now a frequent contributor to the
" Philosophical Transactions," to which
he furnished an account of his discov-
ery, in coal tar, of benzine, as it has
since been called ; or, as he named it,
the bicarburet of hydrogen — the source
of the bright and brilliant purple,
crimson, blue, and violet tints known
as the aniline colours. In the next
year, 1825, he wa,s appointed Director
of the Laboratory of the Royal Insti-
tution, and immediately after invited
the members to evening meetings,
which were held several times in the
year, and resulted, in the following
year, in *' . establishment of the cele
MICHAEL FAKADAY.
brated Friday Evening Discourses, in
which he bore so prominent a part.
£n 1831, he began his series of experi-
mental researches in Electricity, pub-
lished with great regularity, for many
years, in the " Philosophical Transac.
tions." They cover the whole subject
of electricity, and include his most dis-
tinguished discoveries. For ten years
he pursued this great work, when an
overwrought brain compelled him to
cease for a time from his labors. At
the close of this period, in 1840, he
was elected an elder of the Sandeman-
ian Church; and for the ensuing three
or four years, when in London, preach-
ed on alternate Sundays. It was a
duty to which he had previously been
in some measure accustomed by his
occasional exhortations to the brethren.
He was, as appears from the statement
of his biographer, less happy as a
preacher than as a lecturer. "There
was no eloquence. There was not one
word said for effect. The overflowing
energy and clearness of the lecture-
room were replaced by an earnestness
of manner, best summed up in the
word devoutness. His object seemed
to be, to make the most use of the
words of Scripture, and to make as
little of his own words as he could."
The year 1841 was distinguished
in the career of Faraday by an almost
total cessation of his work in the lab-
oratory. Loss of memory and giddi-
ness warned him of the absolute ne-
cessity of repose. The summer season
was passed in a tour in Switzerland,
in which he exhibited great activity
in the study of its mountain scenery.
After his return to London, he became
engaged in his old occupation, in lec-
turing before the British Institution
but did not seriously resume his elec-
trical researches till 1845, when he
entered on the second period of his
labors in this direction, which were
continued for ten years. The story of
these investigations, the results of
which are now embraced in so many
important processes of science and the
arts, wras told by him from time to time,
as before, in the "Philosophical Transac-
tions," and other periodicals, from which
he gathered his three published vol-
umes of " Experimental Researches in
Electricity." "To ascertain," says his bio-
grapher, in the " English Cyclopasdia,"
" the nature of this force ; to evolve the
laws which it obeyed ; to exhibit the
modes of its development, and its re1 a-
tions to heat, light, and the other great
forces in nature, were the objects of
these papers. If Faraday did not dis-
cover the science of electro-magnetism,
he established its laws and made the
science of magneto-electricity. If the
thought that the phenomena of free
electricity, galvanism, and magnetism
were the manifestations of the same
force, was not originally his, it has been
mainly through his experiments that it
has been demonstrated to be true. The
science of electricity, comprehending
the great facts of voltaic electricity and
magnetism, presents multitudes of facts
with the widest generalization ; and,
although this science is indebted to a
number of inquirers for its present po-
sition, there is one name that shines
more brightly than any other through
the whole of these researches, and that
is Faraday."
In 1858, at the suggestion of Prince
Albert, Queen Victoria offered Faraday
MICHAEL 1'ARADAF.
187
the use of one of Her Majesty's houses
at Hampton Court for a residence.
The offer was accepted, and here Fara-
day passed his last years in honorable
retirement. He was still more or less
engaged in scientific pursuits, chiefly
in the application of his discoveries to
the light-houses on the coast in the
employ of the Trinity House, which he
often personally superintended, and in
the delivery of lectures at the Royal
Institution. One of his latest courses
was a series addressed to the young,
" Juvenile Lectures," as they were call-
ed, which excited great admiration for
their beautiful simplicity, their clear-
ness of illustration, and the charming
manner of their delivery. In his letter
to the managers of the Institution, an-
nouncing the close of these lectures,
Faraday briefly reviewed his long con-
nection with the society. " I entered,"
says he, "the Royal Institution in
March, 1813, nearly forty-nine years
ago, and, with the exception of a compar-
atively short period, during which I
was abroad on the Continent with Sir
H. Davy, have been with you ever
since. During that time I have been
most happy in your kindness, and in
the fostering care which the Royal
Institution has bestowed upon me.
Thank God, first, for all his gifts. I
have next to thank you and your
predecessors for the unswerving en-
couragement and support which you
have given me during that period. My
life has been a happy one, and all I
desired. During its progress, I have
tried to make a fitting return for it to
the Royal Institution, and through it
to science. But the progress of years
(now amounting in number to three
score and ten) having brought forth
first the period of development, and
then that of maturity, have ultimately
produced for me that of gentle decay.
This has taken place in such a manner
as to make the evening of life a bless-
ing; for, whilst increasing physical
weakness occurs, a full share of health
free from pain is granted with it ; and
whilst memory and certain other fac-
ulties of the mind diminish, my good
spirits and cheerfulness do not dimin-
ish with them." This letter was writ-
ten in October, 1861 ; in June of the
following year, his last Friday dis-
course was delivered at the Institution.
For thirty-eight years he had deliver-
ed lectures there to the benefit of science
and the admiration of the public. It was
his chosen sphere. For it he sacrificed
the most brilliant prospects which lay
before him. If he had stepped aside from
his exclusive devotion to pure scien-
tific inquiry to turn his achievements
to account .in the commercial world,
he might have reaped a large fortune ;
but he was content with a moderate
subsistence and the greater reward of
scientific usefulness, the satisfaction
the pursuit brought with it to himself,
and the honorable reputation which
attended it.
The few remaining years of his life
were passed in comparative quiet — in
enjoyment of the beauties of nature
which surrounded him, the society of
his family and friends, and that relig-
ious communion with himself which
he always cherished. At peace with
himself and all around him, he waited
calmly and with resignation for the
end. Writing in February, 1865, to
the Count of Paris, who had invited
188
MICHAEL FAKADAY.
him to Twickenham, he pleads his in-
firmities for not accepting the offer,
and adds, " I bow before Him who is
Lord of all, and hope to be kept wait-
ing patiently for His time and mode
of releasing me, according to His Divine
Word, and the great and precious prom-
ises whereby His people are made par-
takers of the Divine Nature." About
a year later he writes to Sir James
South: "As death draws nigh to old
men or people, this world disappears,
or should become of little importance.
It is so with me ; but I cannot say it
simply to others [here he gave up his
writing, and his niece finished the
note], for I cannot write it as I would.
Yours, dear old friend, whilst permit-
ted, M. Faraday." His strength was
now gradually failing, and he became
very infirm. His niece, Miss Reid,
who passed with him, at Hampton
Court, the month of June preceding
his death, gives us this touching ac-
count of these last days, which must
always be associated with the historic
memories of the place. "Dear uncle
kept up rather better than sometimes,
but oh ! there was always pain in see-
ing afresh how far the mind had faded
away. Still the sweet, unselfish dis-
position was there, winning the love
of all around him. Very gradual had
been the weaning, and the time was
far past when we used to look to him on
every occasion that stirred our feelings.
When any new object attracted our
notice, the natural thought always was,
what would our uncle think of this ?
There was always something about
him which particularly attracted con-
fidence. In giving advice, he always
went back to first principles, to the
true right and wrong of questions,
never allowing deviations from the
simple, straightforward path of duty,
to be justified by custom or precedent ;
and he judged himself strictly by the
same rule which he laid down for oth-
ers. I shall never look at the lightning
flashes without recalling his delight in
a beautiful storm. How he would
stand at the window for hours watch-
ing the effects and enjoying the scene ;
while we knew his mind was full of
lofty thoughts, sometimes of the great
Creator, and sometimes of the laws by
which He sees meet to govern the earth.
I shall always connect the sight of the
hues of a brilliant sunset with him ; and
especially he will be present to my
mind while I watch the fading of the
tints into the sombre gray of night. He
loved to have us with him as he stood
or sauntered on some open spot, and
spoke his thoughts, perhaps in the words
of Gray's ' Elegy,' which he retained
in memory clearly, long after many
other things had faded quite away.
Then, as darkness stole on, his compan-
ions would gradually turn indoors,
while he was well pleased to be left
to solitary communing with his own
thoughts." On the 25th of August,
1867, Faraday passed quietly away
from life, while sitting in his chair in
his study. In accordance with his
wishes, the funeral was very plain.
He was buried in the cemetery at High-
gate, where a stone, with only the in-
scription of his name, the date of his
birth and death, marks the spot.
WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY.
THIS genial humorist, the witty
satirist, the great novelist, the
representative of the genius of Field-
ing in the nineteenth century, came of
a good English ancestry. The family,
when first heard of, was in the West
Riding of Yorkshire ; where, at the
end of the seventeenth century, was
born Dr. Thomas Thackeray, the great
grandfather of the author of " Vanity
Fair." He was educated at Eton and
Cambridge, became an accomplished
scholar, and ended his days as head-
master of Harrow School. Of his
large family of sixteen children, Wil-
liam Makepeace, whose name was re-
vived by the grandson, was the young-
est. He was employed in the East
India Company's service, in India,
where his son Richmond followed the
same career, among other offices being
engaged as Secretary to the Board of
Revenue at Calcutta. There his son,
William Makepeace Thackeray, the
future novelist, was born in the year
1811. The death of his father follow-
ing soon after, in 1817, he was sent to
be educated in England ; and, on the
way, when the ship touched at St.
Helena, was furnished with a sight of
the great Napoleon, " When I first
n— 24
saw England," he says, in one of his
later works, " she was in mourning for
the young Princess Charlotte, the hopo
of the Empire. I came from India as
a child, and our ship touched at an
island on our way home, where my
black servant took me a long walk
over rocks and hills, until we reached
a garden where we saw a man walk-
ing. 'That is he!' cried the black
man ; ' that is Bonaparte ! He eats
three sheep every day, and all the
children he can lay hands on ! ' "
At the age of eleven, the boy was
placed in the Charter-House School,
the quaint old monastic foundation in
the heart of London, which he often
afterwards introduced into his best
writings, when the education of his
heroes or their children was to be ac-
counted for, drawing largely, doubt-
less, on his own juvenile experiences.
He passed several years there, in its
different forms, till he reached the
first, when he carried his elementary
knowledge of the classics to Cam-
bridge, entering as a student at Trinity
College in 1828. He remained there
for seven or eight terms, but took no
degree, contented apparently with a
gentlemanly acquaintance with the
(189)
WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKEKAY.
liberal studies of the place. He had
always a fine appreciation of the clas-
sics, and a scholar's love for Horace,
which ripened into admiration with
bis growing knowledge of the world.
A little humorous periodical, which he
carried on with a friend and fellow-
student in the second year of his resi-
dence at Cambridge, presents the first
example, of which we have seen any
mention, of his literary talents. This
affair, of foup small duodecimo pages
to each number, was, characteristically
enough, entitled " The Snob ; a Liter-
ary and Scientific Journal, not ' con-
ducted by Members of the Univer-
sity.' " One of its squibs was a rhym-
ing travesty of Timbuctoo, the sub-
ject of the prize poem for the year,
which was successfully competed for
by Alfred Tennyson ; another, an imi-
tiition of Hook's " Mrs Ramsbottom's
Letters," with hints of the future
" Yellow Plush Correspondence." One
of these papers has a vignette of an
Indian smoking, as formerly seen at
the doors of tobacconists, exhibiting
the writer's early talent in pen and
ink drawing, which afterwards be-
came so constant an accompaniment to
his authorship.
The next glimpse we have of Thack-
eray in his early life, is in 1831, soon
after the conclusion of his studies at
the University, when he passed some
time at Weimar, and made the ac-
quaintance of the great Goethe. Of
this period, Thackeray himself gave
some interesting notices in a letter
published in his friend Lewes' life of
the Poet. "Five and twenty years
ago," he writes in 1835, "at least a
score of young English lads used to
live at Weimar for study, or sport, or
society ; all of which were to be had
in the friendly little Saxon capital.
The Grand Duke and Duchess received
us with the kindliest hospitality. The
Court was splendid, but yet most
pleasant and homely. We were invit-
ed in our turns to dinners, balls, and
assemblies there. Such young men aa
had a right, appeared in uniforms,
diplomatic and mili ary. Some, I re-
member, invented gorgeous clothing.
I, for my part, had the good luck to
purchase Schiller's sword, which form-
ed a part of my court costume, and
still hangs in my study, and puts me
in mind of days of youth, the most
kindly and delightful." Goethe he
has sketched with both pen and pencil
as he saw him, then so near his end, in
the midst of the classic objects in the
ante-chamber of his home, "habited
in a long gray or drab redingote, with
a white neckcloth, and a red ribbon
in his button-hole ; his hands behind
his back, just as in Ranch's statuette;
his complexion very bright, clear, and
rosy; his eyes extraordinarily dark,
piercing, and brilliant — I felt quite
afraid before them, and recollect com-
paring them to the eyes of the hero of
a certain romance called "Melmoth
the Wanderer," which used to alarm
us boys thirty years ago ; eyes of an
individual who had made a bargain
with a Certain Person, and at an ex-
treme old age retained these eyes in
all their awful splendor. I fancied
Goethe must have been still more
handsome as an old man than even in
the days of his youth."
At this period, Thackeray had a
strong predilection for an artist's life.
WILLIAM MAKEPEACE TIIA DKEKAY.
191
He visited Rome, and passed much of
his time in Paris practising with his
pencil, frequenting the society of
artists, and at times to be seen copy-
ing pictures in the Louvre. Having
come of age, he was in possession of a
competent fortune, which left him free
to follow his own inclinations. The
gaiety and social influences of Paris,
always attractive to him, had their
effect, and not unfavorably, upon liis
character; for, while he entered into
all that was really enjoyable in the
luxurious city, and caught its finer
spirit in art and literature, his native
strength of intellect made him superior
to their extravagance and perversions.
In 1833, Thackeray may be said to
have begun his career as a man of let-
ters, with the editorship of a weekly
periodical in London, with the some-
what ambitious title of " The National
Standard, and Journal of Literature,
Science, Music, Theatricals, and the
Fine Arts." A reviewer, who has ex-
amined its pages, finds some indica-
tions of the author's frolic vein in
tales, sketches, and burlesque, and pro-
nounces it " an attempt to substitute
vigorous and honest criticism of books
and art for the partiality and slip-
slop then generally prevailing." The
journal, like many others of its class,
was abandoned at the end of the year ;
and its ill success was doubtless for
the time a serious disappointment to
its editor. A few years later, in 1836,
there appeared from his pencil, pub-
lished simultaneously at London and
Paris, a small folio of six lithographs
from his drawings, a satire on the bal-
let-dancing of the stage, entitled " Flore
et Zephyr, Ballet Mythologique dedie
a — par Theophile Wagstaffe." It
was also in this year, when but few
numbers of the "Pickwick Papers"
had been published, and a new artist
was wanting for their illustration, in
consequence of the melancholy suicide
of Seymour, who had partly planned
and been occupied on the work, that
Thackeray offered himself to Dickens,
to occupy the place of the lamented
designer. The story was long after-
wards told by Thackeray, in the pres-
ence of Dickens, at an anniversary
dinner of the Royal Academy, when
the fame of both was established ; and
the highest attention either could
receive was a word of compliment
from the other. "I can remember,"
said Thackeray on that occasion,
" when Mr. Dickens was a very young
man, and had commenced delighting
the world with some charming humor
ous works in covers, which were col-
ored light green, and came out once a
month ; that this young man wanted
an artist to illustrate his writings ; and
I recollect walking up to his chambers
in Furnival's Inn, with two or three
drawings in my hand, which, strange
to say, he did not find suitable. But
for the unfortunate blight which came
over my artistical existence, it would
have been my pride and my pleasure
to have endeavored one day to find a
place on these walls for one of my per-
formances."
While Thackeray was thus seeking
employment for his faculties, a joint
stock company was projected for the
establishment of a new daily newspa-
per in London, of a liberal cast in poli-
tics, of which his step-father, Major
Henry Carmichael Smith, a gentleman
WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY.
of literary culture, was the chief pro-
prietor. The journal was entitled the
"Constitutional and Public Ledger,"
and made its appearance on the 15th
of September of this very year, 1836.
Thackeray entered heartily into its
plan as a considerable stockholder, and
became at the start its Paris corres-
pondent, writing letters regularly from
that capital during its brief continu-
ance, for the enterprise proved unsuc-
cessful, the paper coming to an un-
timely end within the year. This en-
tailed a heavy pecuniary loss on
Thackeray, who, about this time, hav-
ing married the daughter of a Captain
Shaw of the East India service, doubt-
less felt himself in a greater degree
than ever compelled to look to his
artistic or literary employments for
support. We consequently hear of
his contributing to the " Times " news-
paper, and having a hand in two light
literary papers of short duration.
"The Torch," edited by Felix Fox,
Esq., and its successor, "The Parth-
enon." But it was as a writer for
" Eraser's Magazine " that, in conjunc-
tion with its brilliant corps of con-
tributors, Maginn, Mahony, Carlyle,
and the rest, he first found scope for
his peculiar talents, and laid the foun-
dation of his fame, though some years
were to pass before the merit of what
he then wrote was to be fully recog-
nized. There he published, in No-
vember, 1837, the first paper of the
" Yellow Plush Correspondence," a hu-
morous i e view of an absurd book on
etiquette which had just appeared.
Other " Yellow Plush Papers," in reg-
ular series, followed, and a host of
tales, sketches, and criticisms on the
Art Exhibitions of the Season, run
ning through many years. In the
story of " Catherine," founded on the
career of Catherine Hayes, a noted
criminal, it was his object, by a realis-
tic portraiture of villainy, to counter
act the romantic sentimental interest
which had been thrown around such
heroes as Eugene Aram and Jack
Sheppard, in the popular literature of
the day.
It was at this time, in 1839, that
Thackeray became, for a short time, a
contributor to a weekly newspaper in
New York, "The Corsair," conducted
by Willis and Porter. The former
met Thackeray in Paris and engaged
his services. There is an excellent
vein in the papers which he furnished,
in their maturity of thought, delicacy
of feeling, and a nicety of style, which,
from the beginning, characterised the
author. At the conclusion of the first
letter, which carries us very pleasantly
across the Channel from London to
Boulogne, there is a noticeable allu
sion to his literary fortune at the time.
" O editor of the ' Corsair,' " he writes.
" I believe your public is too wise to
care much for us poor devils, and our
personal vanities and foolishness ; on-
ly too good is it to receive with some
show of kindness the works which we
from time to time, urged by the lack
of coin and pressure of butcher's bills,
are constrained to send abroad. What
feelings we may have in finding good
friends and listeners far, far away — in
receiving from beyond seas kind
crumbs of comfort for our hungry van
ities, which at home, God wot, get lit-
tle of this delightful food — in gaining
fresh courage and hope, for pursuing'
WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKEKAY.
193
a calling of which the future is dreary
and the present but hard. All these
things, 0 * Corsair,' had better be med-
itated on by the author in private."
In one of the papers there is a man-
ly condemnation of the pantheism then
in vogue in Paris, in a notice of George
Sand, which shows the writer's rever-
ential spirit was not dulled by famil-
iarity with the world :
" Mrs. Sand proclaims her truth —
that we need a new Messiah, and that
the Christian religion is no more ! O
awful, awful name of God ! Light un-
bearable ! Mystery unfathomable !
Vastness immeasurable ! — who are
these who come forward to explain
the mystery, and gaze unblushing into
the depths of the light, and measure
the immeasurable vastness to a hair?
O name that God's people of old did
fear to utter ! O light that God's
prophet would have perished had he
seen ! Who are these that are now so
familiar with it ? Women truly, for
the most part weak women — weak in
intellect, but marvelously strong in
faith — women who step down to the
people with stately step and voice
of authority, and deliver their two-
penny tablets, as if there were some
divine authority for the wretched non-
sense recorded there !"
There was a natural vein of piety
and amiability in Thackeray, which
here and there crops out in his books
as a tender shoot from the rough bark,
indicating the generous nature within ;
not often, but as frequently as his
genuine Englishman's hatred of senti-
ment would permit. As he grew old-
er he felt privileged to express such
feelings more freely, and they are the
charm of many of his pages. In these
early Paris letters there is a sketch
which would do honor to the best
powers of Hood or Dickens in this
line. It is an account of a visit to the
female prison of Saint Lazare, where
an Italian singing-master of some note
had taught the inmates music. He
went to hear the poor creatures sing
at a mass in the chapel of the place.
The service was shabby, and made no
favorable impression upon the visitor
but he is quick to recognize any traits
of goodness in these unhappy outcasts,
who are still women in his eyes. He
cannot but see the wild spirit of un-
rest in the place; but he finds some
flowers of tenderness. *' The mu-
sicians, however, appeared to be pret-
ty tranquil; they pursue their study
with vast industry, we were told, and
give up the two hours of sunshine and
exercise allotted to them in order to
practice these hymns and choruses. I
think the prettiest sight I saw in the
place was a pair of prisoners, a grown
woman with a placid face, who had
her arm around the neck of a young
girl ; they were both singing together
off the same music-book, and in the
intervals seemed to be fond and affec-
tionate toward each other." It is in
such passages as these that the author
indicates his calling, in its amiable re
lation to the world, through its kind
and benevolent teachings. "Is the
glory of Heaven," he asks, at the close
of a beautiful tribute to the religious
genius of Adison, "to be sung only by
gentlemen in black coats ? Must the
truth be only espoused in gown and
surplice; and out of those two vest-
ments can nobody preach it? Com
194
WILLIAM MAKEPEACE TIIACKEEAY.
mend me to this dear preacher with-
out orders — this parson in the tye-wig."
In 1840, Thackeray published the
' Paris Sketch Book," partly made up
of these and other periodical sketches,
with a few charming translations from
Beranger, and other new matter. In
this book, in a chapter of " Meditations
at Versailles," he introduced his fa-
mous caricature of Louis XIV., the in-
dex to so much of the author's philoso-
phy in his unmasking of shams. This
was a grotesque and fearfully dimin-
ishing revelation. Here stood the ap-
pliances which made the king; and
there, in undress nakedness, the man.
Hex, on the left, a magnificently stud-
ded lay figure, or clothes-horse, with
the sword, the great flowing robe and
the flowing wig, and the altitudinous
state shoes of majesty. In the centre
was poor unadorned Z/udovwus — spin-
dle-shanked, abominably protuberant,
bald, and bare. But see him on the
right in panoply divine, Ludovicus
Rex. The humiliating decrepitude has
put on the robes, and the shoes, and
the wig, and look down from aloft on
the unaccommodated " forked radish "
in the centre. There were exhibited
the king and the man. To apply
that measure of altitudes ran along the
wall in the picture, was to be the great
business of the author's life. Strip
majesty of its externals, says the old
conundrum, and it is — a jest. So Thack-
eray henceforth sported with the follies
of men, and, spite of his critics and the
sentiment alism of all England, would
strip off the robes of whatever preten-
sion, and show the man. Herr Teuf-
elsdrocks himself could not preach
bettei on this clothes philosophy. It
became the main text from the Thack-
eray pulpit — yet all the. men whom he
unwrapped are not spindle-shanked or
protuberant.
"The Irish Sketch Book" succeeded
to the " Parisian," in 1843 — two good-
ly volumes, by " Mr. Titmarsh," also
pleasantly illustrated by that gentle-
man's pencil, with very real life-like
sketches — altogether a true and faith-
ful book, with just that quality of hu-
mor with which a gentleman may de-
sire to enliven his information — not
that barren stuff of some other so-
called humorists where the sense is
lost in the nonsense. It was a serious
time for Thackeray, for from this pe-
riod dates that great calamity of his
life, the insanity of his wife, an Irish
lady of good family, whom he had
married several years before.
In 1846, came another book of trav-
els of the indefatigable Mr. Titrnarsh —
"The Journey from Cornhill to Cai-
ro " — an easy, humorous sketch of the
ordinary excursion to the Pyramids,
which also furnishes some pleasant
passages to the world-renowned peri-
odical of Mr. Punch. " Our Fat Con-
tributor" will be remembered in his
pages, followed by the never-to-be-for-
gotten " Diary of Jeames de la Pluche,"
and that astounding mortar battery
firing into the heart of English socie-
ty, "The Snob Papers/' The world
admired the gay curveting of these
pyrotechnics, and the victims felt the
shock. It is not too much to say that
English snobbery, and, to some extent,
the universal snobbery of man is no
longer the same privileged thing it
was before the publication of these
papers. Thackeray pricked the bub-
WILLIAM MAKEPEACE TIIACKEKAY.
195
ble with his graceful rapier, and it has
l»een letting out its gas ever since.
We have not mentioned all of Thack-
eray's productions up to this time.
There are half a score of them in
"Eraser" and "Punch." "The Luck
of Barry Lyndon;" "Men's Wives;"
"The Shabby - Genteel Story;" the
' Confessions of Fitz-Boodle," and the
tremendous adventures of that East
Indian rival of " Munchausen," " Major
Gahogan ;" " Punch's Prize Novelists,"
with some sharp hits at his brethren,
for which the author was afterwards
disposed to apologise, though after all,
nobody was hurt more than was good
for them ; " Mr. Brown's Letters," an-
other "Punch" series; " The Great Hog-
garty Diamond," etc., etc. Thackeray-
appears in this list, which might readi-
ly be extended, wonderfully prolific ;
but that came in a great measure from
his writing for the periodicals. There
is no such consumer of foolscap arid
ink bottles as your newspaper man.
Verily, he writes in folio, and his
works are legion. But it is not every
day that publishers seek to revive
them, and bibliographers are compelled
to ferret them out.
Among these minor works should
not be forgotten an amazingly clever
series of books for Christmas enter-
tainment, illustrated by some of the
author's own designs, beginning with
"Mrs. Perkins's Ball," in 1847, and
running through several years with
"Our Street," "Dr. Birch and his
Young Friends," "The Kickleburys
on the Rhine," "The Rose and the
Ring." The characters in the first of
o
these — Mr. Smith, Mr. Hicks, Miss
Joy, and above all, "The Mulligan,"
that lively representative of old or
young Ireland — are personages whom
nearly a score of Christmases since
have not blotted from our recollection.
They were the precursors of greater
booksof the author; but in noneof them
will you find his humor more genial,
or so kindly interpreted by the pencil
— nowhere are the delightful women
and children he loved to portray, more
graceful. " Dr. Birch's Young Friends "
are miniatures of the world in his
larger volumes. Thackeray, mindful
of the old Charter-House days, has
ever his word for schoolboys.
"Vanity Fair," the first work in
which he fairly challenged ta place
with the great novelists of his country,
was published in numbers, between
1846 and 1848. The author was so
little established at the start that the
undertaking was declined by the pub-
lisher to whom it was first offered. It
soon, however, made a hit — "Becky
Sharp " would look out for that — and
henceforth the publishers came to
Thackeray. "Pendennis," with that
consummate growth of English socie-
ty, the " Major," occupied another two
years, the public appetite growing by
what it fed on. Then, in 1852, "The
History of Henry Esmond," perhaps
the most elaborate and carefully fin-
ished of all the author's productions —
an ingenious review of the tone of
thought of its period, and the purest
style of the days of the " Spectator."
In these great works, unsurpassed in
English fiction since the days of Field-
ing, what a fine subtle power thtre ia
in the exhibition of human character
The style is the man ; and how broad
and genial it is in these pages ; candid
196
WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKEKAY.
and discriminating ; satirical, yet never
out of reach of the kindly emotions of
the heart ; easy, colloquial in its utter-
ance, playfully or eloquently respon-
sive to the nicest shades of feeling.
The author's subjects, indeed, are often
worldly people, and bitterly, at times,
loes he inveigh against them; but
bhere is a good motive in his caustic
utterances ; a manly contempt for folly
or vice, and the balance of the account
is always on the side of virtue.
In 1851, the series of lectures on
" The English Humorists of the Eigh-
teenth Century " was first delivered in
London. The author's newly-acquired
celebrity^ drew an audience ; and the
rare powers of his feeling voice, and
the life and sincerity which he threw
into his subject, retained them and
widened the circle of hearers, till the
speaker was called to America, whither
he came in the Autumn of 1852, to re-
peat them. Many of our readers who
listened to these wise and piquant dis-
courses, may remember how they went
home from the evening entertainment
impressed by the forcible sketch of
Swift, conveyed with so much power,
in so quiet and well-mannered a way,
by the tall, red-faced gentleman with
white hair; who, humorous novelist
as he was, preached, perhaps, as serious
a sermon as was ever delivered from
his pulpit. There were milder topics
afterwards, as the lecturer treated of
Addison and Goldsmith, and appended
to the course the genial address on
Charity, with its tributes to Hood and
Dickens. Thackeray, in his American
tour, became the lion of the day in
New York, and wherever else he went
in the country ; and when his pilgrim-
age was over, in the Spring, found
himself satisfactorily enriched by the
trip. He had "a pot of money," he
told his American publisher, to carry
home with him. It was the basis of
his new fortunes — something above
the daily wants of his family.
Another serial, "The Newcomes,"
was undertaken on the author's return
to England, and completed in 1854.
It was of the Pendennis school, repeat-
ing, with variations, the author's
studies of life, which his graceful, ini-
mitable style would have enabled him
to prolong to the satisfaction of the
public in a hundred repetitions. There
was a ridiculous misconception, by
some senseless American critic, of a
passage in the opening of this work,
which was represented as disparaging
Washington. In describing the period
of the story, the author, among other
characteristics, spoke of the time
"when Mr. Washington was heading
the American rebels with a courage, it
must be confessed, worthy of a better
cause." Of course this was written
historically, and no reader of ordinary
intelligence could misunderstand it;
but Thackeray, when it was brought
to his notice in the New York corres-
pondence of the London "Times,'' felt
called upon to supply the fools with
brains as well as books. " I am think-
ing," he wrote in reply to the " Times,"
"about '76. Where, in the name of
common sense, is the insult to 1853 ?
Need I say that our officers were in-
structed (until they were taught better
manners) to call Washington 'Mr.
Washington ? ' and that the Americans
were called rebels during the whole of
that contest ? Rebels ! — of course they
WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY.
197
were rebels ; and I should xike to know
what native American would not have
been a rebel in that cause ! As irony
is dangerous, and has hurt the feelings
of kind friends whom I would not
wish to offend, let me say, in perfect
faith and gravity, that I think the
cause for which Washington fought
entirely just and right, and the cham-
pion the very noblest, purest, bravest,
best of God's men."
After a summer interval spent in
preparing a new series of lectures on
"The Four Georges" of the English
throne, Mr. Thackeray took leave of
his London friends, at a dinner presid-
ed over by Charles Dickens, in Octo-
ber, 1855, previous to a second visit
to America. He brought the lectures
with him, and the audience in New
York was complimented by listening
to their first delivery, and was not at
all displeased at their essential radical-
ism, recalling the old caricature of
" Ludovicus Rex," with which Thack-
eray started on his literary career.
The treatment of the subject was pic-
turesque, as much was put into the
lecture as it would hold ; gravity was
relieved by the gayety, and vices were
unsparingly scouted. The public
thronged to the several places of deliv-
ery as before ; tke course was repeat-
ed, and all listened with delight to
the now familiar sweet, impressive ac-
cents.
The first suggestion of Thackeray's
opinions on the Georges, appeared in
1 Punch " several years before the de-
livery of the lectures. It was at the
time their statues were prepared for
the new parliament palace. " We have
been favored," said the periodical, " by
n.— 25.
a young lady connected with the
Court, with copies of the inscriptions
which are to be engraven under the
images of those Stars of Brunswick."
They were all sufficiently satirical ; but
the severity lay in the truth. The
first and the last were the most point-
ed. This was for
GEORGE THE FIRST— STAR OF BRUNSWICK.
He preferr 3d Hanover to England .
He preferred two hideous Mistresses to a beau-
tiful and innocent Wife.
He hated Arts and despised Literature ;
But He liked train-oil in his salads,
And gave an enlightened patronage to bad
oysters.
And he had Walpole as a Minister :
Consistent in his Preference for every kind of
Corruption.
George III. is made to say, among
other things :
Ireland I risked, and lost America;
But dined on legs of mutton every day.
And there are some pathetic lines at
the close, concerning the " crazy old
blind man in Windsor Tower," never
stirring while his great guns are roar-
ing triumph, and all England is thril-
led with joy at the victory over Napo-
leon.
The inscription for George IV, is
one of the most pointed satires of its
class ever written :
GEORGIUS ULTIMUS.
He left an example for age and for youth to
avoid.
He never acted well by Man or Woman,
And was as false to his Mistress as to his Wife.
He deserted his Friends and his Principles.
He was so ignorant that he could scarcely spell ;
But he had some skill in Cutting out Coats,
And an undeniable Taste for Cookery.
He built the Palaces of Brighton and Bucking
ham,
And for these qualities and Proof of Genius,
An admiring Aristocracy
198
WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKEKAY.
Christened him the "First Gentleman in Eu-
rope."
Friends, respect the King whose Statue is here,
And the generous Aristocracy who admired him.
America, on the author's return the
following year, furnished the theatre
and title of a new serial work, "The
Virginians," the publication of which
was commenced in November, 1857.
He had been, in the previous summer,
candidate for Parliament from the City
of Oxford, and was defeated by sixty
votes. When the new novel was com-
pleted, the author, now at the height
of his popularity, and with the trade
at his feet, was induced by Messrs.
Smith, Elder & Co. to undertake the
editorship of the new " Cornhill Maga-
zine." The first number of this jour-
nal appeared in January, 1860. A
new serial, " The Adventures of Philip
on his "Way Through the World," was
presently commenced in its pages, fol-
lowed by the story, " Lovell the Wid-
ower," and his latest publication — a
peculiar reflection of the author's hab-
its of thinking — the " Roundabout Pa-
pers." In these desultory sketches,
the writer's mind is, as it were, in un-
dress. With the candor of Montaigne,
he prattles innocently of his feelings
in a charming vein of benevolence.
There is not much in them, the critics,
who are always looking for grand
things, would say ; but they, neverthe-
less, contain pages overflowing with
sense and sensibility which the writer
never surpassed. Nothing can be finer
in its way than the tribute to the
memory of the two Americans, kin-
dred in friendship and genius — the
artist Leslie and Washington Irving.
The very last of these papers which
he published, was one of the best. It
is entitled, " Strange to Say, on Club
Paper," the singular title referring to
a charge made upon the late Lord
Clyde of filching the paper for his last
will from the Athenaeum Club. The
sheet bore the Club mark. This is
commented upon in an excellent vein,
the author insinuating his moralities
into his playful discourse. After re-
flecting on the impertinent judgments
of the idle circle upon the trifling affair,
he tells how the lawyers sent a draft
of the will from the Club-room, which
Clyde, innocent of the great offence,
adopted ; and then turns upon the un-
reflecting with a lesson of charity —
that charity which he ever loved to
inculcate. While engaged in these
literary works, and busily employed
upon a new serial story for "The
Cornhill," Thackeray, who had for
several years suffered occasionally from
disease, was suddenly called away, the
immediate cause of his death being an
effusion on the brain. He had retired
to rest as usual, at his home in Lon-
don, on the night of Christmas Eve,
1863, and was found at day, lying
with life extinct, in an attitude of calm
repose. A few days afterwards his
remains were interred in the rural
Kensal Green Cemetery, followed to
the grave by the chief men of letters
and artists of the metropolis, who lov-
ed and admired the man. Among the
number were Charles Dickens, Antho-
ny Trollope, the poet Browning ; and,
with other artists, his life-long friend
George Cruikshank, and his later asso
ciate in "Punch,"' John Leech.
ALICE GARY.
THE family of this gentle and ami-
able poetess has been traced
through a long Puritan ancestry in
New England, to an earlier lineage in
the historic annals of Great Britain.
The first of the race in America, John
Gary, came to the Plymouth Colony in
1630, a man of education, useful as a
Latin teacher, and of influence in the
new community. There were later
emigrations of the family to Connecti-
cut and New Hampshire, and finally,
in the fifth generation, one of the de-
scendants removed to Cincinnati, Ohio,
taking with him his son Robert. They
settled upon a farm together in the
vicinity of the city, at the begin-
ning of the present century. There
Robert, after taking part as a soldier
in the war of 1812, married Elizabeth
Jessup; and of this union, Alice, the
subject of this notice, was born on the
26th of April, 1820. Her sister Phoebe,
so intimately associated with her in her
literary career, was four years younger.
The father of this family is spoken
of as a kindly man of a religious disposi-
tion, apt to relieve the toil of his farm-
ing occupations with something of a
poetical appreciation of the rural
scenes and images among which his
lot was cast ; the mother, patient and
laborious in the duties of her home,
left a life-long impression on the hearts
of her daughters of her personal beau-
ty and of her pure, self-sacrificing dis-
positi'-n. The early death of this esti-
mable lady, shortly after Alice had
reached the age of fifteen, threw the,
girls, in a great measure, upon their
own resources. After a short inter-
val, in 1837, the father married again,
and the new wife whom he introduced
to his home, proved to have but little
sympathy for the efforts at intellec-
tual cultivation which already distin-
guished the sisters, Alice and Phoebe.
Their education was of the simplest,
some -slight attendance at the village
district school, the rest supplied by
their own improvement of the chance
literature which fell in their way. The
stock of books on the shelf of the cot-
tage, the humble residence which their
father had built on the farm, consisted
of a Bible, a hymn book, a " History
of the Jews," Pope's " Essays," Lewis
and Clark's "Travels," and Mrs. Row-
son's widely-circulated little romance,
"Charlotte Temple." But there was
a wider and more varied field of cul-
ture open to these occupants of what
(199)
200
ALICE CAEY.
was then a remote western settlement,
in the newspapers of the day which
found their way thither. Of these,
the most important in its influence, ap-
pears to have been "The Trumpet," a re-
ligious journal of the Universalists, the
denomination to which the parents of
Alice had early become converts. This
we are told, " was for many years the
only paper seen by Alice ; and its ' Po-
et's Corner,' the food of her fancy, and
source of her inspiration." The sensi-
bilities of the children were also af-
fected by the death of an elder sister,
which preceded that of the mother by
about two years. These influences,
acting with the impressions made by
the vigorous nature around them in
their farm life, developed in their sensi-
tive dispositions a passion for thought,
and its exercise in literature. The
first attempts of Alice in this direction
weie made very early, before the death
of her mother, in " occasional efforts to
alter and improve the poetry in her
school reader, and a few pages of orig-
inal rhymes which broke the monotony
of her copy-books." Her sister, Phoebe,
seems to have preceded her in getting
into print ; at least her talent was de-
veloped at an earlier period of her life ;
for, when she was but fourteen, a poem
which she sent secretly to a Boston
newspaper, found its way back to the
cottage, copied in a Cincinnati news-
paper. The first literary adventure
of Alice, we are told by Phcebe, ap-
peared in the " Sentinel," a newspaper
at Cincinnati. It was entitled "The
Child of Sorrow," and written in her
eighteenth year.
It was not, however, iUl the estab-
lishment of the "National Era" at
Washington, in 1847, that Alice be
gan fairly to make her way as a Writer
She wrote verses frequently for its col-
umns, and some prose sketches. The
editor, Dr. Bailey, after the publica
tion of a number of these voluntary
offerings, sent her a gratuity of ten
dollars, the first money which she ever
received for the labors of her pen. She
afterwards furnished regular contribu-
tions to the paper for a small stipula-
ted sum. The poems published by the
two sisters in the newspapers of the
day, for they kept pace with one an-
other in those exercises of the muse,
early engaged the attention of Griswold,
who was then occupied in gathering
materials for his volume of " The Fe-
male Poets of America." In this he
gave considerable space to the verses
of Alice and Phcebe Gary, introducing
them to his readers with a complimen-
tary notice, in which he cited a letter
addressed to him by the elder sister.
" We write," says Alice Gary in this
epistle, " with much facility, often pro-
ducing two or three poems in a day,
and never elaborate. We have print-
ed, exclusive of our early productions,
some three hundred and fifty." This
was about the year 1848. Not long
after, by the assistance of Mr. Gris-
wold, in 1849, the first volume of the
sisters was published in Philadelphia.
It was entitled " Poems of Alice and
Phcebe Gary." The ability displayed in
these sweet warblings was recognized
by several authors of reputation, among
others, by Horace Greeley, who, ID
one of his tours in the West, visited
the sisters, and formed with them an
acquaintance which ripened into a life-
long friendship and intimacy. When,
ALICE CAKY.
201
a year after, in 1850, they first visited
the East, Mr. Greeley was ready to
welcome them in New York, from
which place they extended their jour-
ney into New England, and were re-
ceived by the poet Whittier, who, in a
poem entitled " The Singer," has cele
brated their visit to his home at Ames-
bury. This was written after the death
of Alice, the delicacy of whose consti-
tution appears even then to have been
visible to this feeling observer.
Years since (but names to nie before),
Two sisters sought at eve my door ;
Two song-birds wandering from their nest,
A grey old farm-house in the West.
Timid and young, the elder had
Even then a smile too sweetly sad;
The crown of pain that all must wear,
Too early pressed her midnight hair.
Yet, ere the feummer eve grew long,
Her modest lij/.s were sweet with song;
A memory haunted all her words
Of clover-fields and singing-birds.
The result of this visit to the East
was the immediate determination of
the sisters, trusting in their own re-
sources, to take up their residence in
New York. "They hired," says Mr.
Greeley, in a sketch of their career,
" two or three modest rooms, in an un-
fashionable neighborhood, and set to
work resolutely to earn a living by
the pen. * * * Being already an ac-
quaintance, I called on them soon after
they had set up their household goods
among us, and met them at intervals
thereafter at their home or at the
houses of mutual friends. Their par-
lor was not so large as some others,
but quite as neat and cheerful ; and
the few literary persons, or artists,
who occasionally met at their informal
invitation to discuss with them a cup
of tea and the newest books, poems,
and events, might have found many
more pretentious, but few more enjoy-
able gatherings." Mary Clemmer
Ames, in her excellent and highly
characteristic " Memorial of Alice and
Phoebe Gary," gives some additional
particulars of this newly-created home
in the great city. " They had," says she,
" an unfeigned horror of ' boarding.'
A home they must have, albeit it was
up two nights of stairs. To the main-
tenance of this home they brought in-
dustry, frugality, and a hatred of
debt. Thus, from the beginning to
the end, they always lived within
their income. I have heard Alice
tell how she papered one room with
her own hands, and Phoebe how she
painted the doors, framed the pic-
tures, and ' brightened up ' things gen-
erally."
The qualities indicated in a course
like this, were of great value to their
success in the career which they had
marked out for themselves. They at
once set busily to work with their
pens, and were constantly, to the end,
among the most industrious writers of
their time. The first fruits of their
occupation in the simple home which
they had provided for themselves,
were the publication by Alice, in 1851,
of " Clovernook ; or, Eecollections of
Our Neighborhood in the West," a
volume of prose sketches, issued in
1851. The sentiment of the book was
fresh and natural ; the style was easy
and flowing ; and, as the descriptions
were drawn from life, the " Clover
nook " papers proved so acceptable tc
the public that the author was encour-
202
ALICE CART.
aged to pursue the vein, and produce
a second series, which was published
two years after, and with like success.
* The Clovernook Children," issued in
Boston in 1853, though adapted to
younger readers, may be regarded as a
third series of these pleasing papers.
A separate collection of the poetical
productions of Alice, entitled "Lyra
and Other Poems," appeared in New
York the same year. Alice had also,
about this time, published in book
form, a novel, " Hagar, a Story of To-
Day," written originally for the " Cin-
cinnati Commercial." A second novel
from her pen, " Married, Not Mated,"
followed in 1856, and was succeeded
at intervals by various tales and works
of prose fiction, among which may be
mentioned " The Bishop's Son," which
appeared originally in the "Spring-
field (Mass.) Republican." The per-
iodical publications of the day, which
rapidly grew into importance after she
bes^an to write, offered her the readiest
O '
employment and the best remunera-
tion of her talents. From time to
time, new collections of her Poems
were given to the public, " Lyrics and
Hymns ; " " Hymns for All Christians ;"
"Poems and Parodies;" "Poems of
Faith, Hope and Love," the last ap-
pearing in 1868. In addition to these
productions, she was the author also
of various compositions for youthful
readers.
The success of her writings, thus
systematically and industriously pur-
sued, enabled Alice, early in her liter-
ary career, in New York, to purchase a
convenient house, in a good location
in Twentieth Street, where she hence-
forth resided in company with her sis
ter, and which became the seat of a
simple hospitality, as they received
the visits of numerous friends of cul-
tivation and intelligence, including
among them various authors well
known to the public. In the "Me-
morial" already cited, a minute dis-
cription of this residence is given,
showing how, in the exercise of good
taste, the sisters filled the abode with
the most interesting objects ; cultivat-
ing elegance and brightness in the fur-
niture, and in the prints on the walls,
and in other ways cheering the visitor
with intellectual and refined associa-
tions. Alice also took much interest
in the social efforts of the day for the
assertion of the claims and the ame-
lioration of the condition of women.
So twenty years passed away of this
residence of the sisters in New York.
Continuous confinement to the labors
of the desk, though pursued with sys-
tem lightening the toil, were now
wearing upon a delicate, sensitive or-
ganization. After a period of broken
health, during which she suffered no
abatement of her intellectual powers.
Alice expired at her residence in New
York, on the 12th of February, 1870.
The funeral services were held at the
Church of the Strangers, presided over
by her friend Dr. Deems, who deliver-
ed a discourse of much feeling 'on the
occasion. A few months after, the
companion of so many years, allied to
her so closely in fame, her sister
Phoebe died at Newport, Rhode Island
(the last day of July, 1871), and was
laid by her side in the rural cemeterj
of Greenwood.
JOHN CALDWELL CALHOUN.
r 1 1 HIS eminent statesman, like his
-J- contemporary, Andrew Jackson,
was of Irish parentage. His grand-
father, James Calhoun of Donegal,
with many of the inhabitants of that
northern portion of the country a
Presbyterian in faith, came to Ameri-
ca in the year 1733, bringing with him
his son Patrick, a boy six years old.
The family first landed in Pennsyl-
vania, where they settled for a time in
Wythe County, in the western region
of Virginia, whence they were driven
by the Indian disturbances attendant
upon the opening of the old French
war, to emigrate further, to South
Carolina. In this province they estab-
lished themselves at a spot which be-
came known as the Calhoun settle-
ment, in the Abbeville district on the
upper waters of the Savannah, then a
remote frontier territory. This south-
ern removal took place in 1756, after
the defeat of General Braddock, when
Virginia lay open to Indian hostilities.
It proved in the end an exchange of a
single peril for others far more formi-
dable. In South Carolina the family
were destined to encounter, not merely
the Indian in the fierce contests with
the Cherokee, in which Patrick Cal-
houn gained a name among the reso
lute border heroes of that wild war-
fare, but the savage Briton and the
deadly civil struggle of their own land.
The upper country on the Savannah,
bordering on Georgia, was the scene,
during the Revolutionary war, of fierce
and protracted conflicts, fought out,
not in the great issues of single bat-
tles, but in the unintermitted, murder-
ous strife of constant invasion. In the
years, however, intervening between
the two struggles, the Calhoun family
managed to make good their position
in their settlement, so that they were
enabled to maintain it against all op-
position, though at a fearful cost. Pat-
rick Calhoun, in 1770, married Martha
Caldwell, of Virginia, also of Irish Pro-
testant parentage. Three of her broth-
ers were victims or sufferers in the
Revolutionary contest. One was mur-
dered by the Tories by the side of his
burning dwelling; another fell fight-
ing for his country at Cowpens ; a
third was imprisoned a long time by
the English at St. Augustine.
This horrid strife was just closing
in the lingering of the conflict in
South Carolina, already determined by
the surrender at Yorktown, when John
204
JOHN CALDWELL CALHOUK.
Caldwell Calhoun, the youngest but
one of a family of five children, was
born at the family settlement, March
18, 1782. The unsettled state of the
country at the period of his childhood,
of course, offered little or no opportuni-
ty for what is too exclusively called
education. There was not an academy
in the whole region, and but an occa-
sional schoolmaster of any description,
and he was not likely, when found, to
be of the best. The boy, however, had
the instruction of the vigorous race
among whom he was born, men
strengthened in their resolves and tu-
tored in their rights by the severe les-
sons of the Revolution. The mind of
a keen, intelligent boy was not likely
to stagnate with such recent traditions
lying thickly about him. He had, too,
in the loving example of his father, a
man of great energy and resolution, in
the full maturity of life, a constant
source of strength. Such influences as
these, however, though all-important
in the formation of character, are of lit-
tle avail to the higher usefulness of life,
without the positive instruction of
books and learning. They are oppor-
tunities which can be brought into ac-
tion oniy by literary culture. In vain
does the wind pursue its strong career
over the buoyant depths of the ocean,
unless it be fettered to the sails of the
bark, skilfully constructed to avail it-
self of those natural forces.
The young Calhoun, happily, was
not without some of these learned ap-
pliances, though his education in his
boyhood was irregular and he was
mostly self-taught — a term which we
apply to what one learns from printed
volumes, and a hundred diiferent
sources, without the interposition of a
schoolmaster or professor — as if the
words of the greatest minds of the past
and present in books, and the actions
of men, were not more direct and forci-
ble instruction than the average hire-
ling pedagogue. Be this as it may, in
the present case the boy was left to
find his own way at first into the plea-
sant fields of literature. He was sent
at thirteen to the school of his brother-
in-law, the Rev. Mr, "Waddell, in a
neighboring county in Georgia; but
all teaching was speedily interrupted
there by the breaking up of the estab
lishment in consequence of the death
of the preceptor's wife. Fortunately
for the youth, who remained on the
spot, there was a small circulating lib-
rary in the house, in charge of his bro-
ther-in-law, the clergyman, to which he
had free access ; and here we may see
the early natural bent and force of the
boy's mind. It was not to poetry or
romance that he directed his attention,
but to history, of which he devoured
all that the library contained — Rollin,
Robertson's Charles V. and America,
Voltaire's Charles XII.— not a large
stock, but sufficient to furnish the mind
of an earnest, reflecting boy. There
was Cook's Voyages also, to give wings
to his imagination ; and enough meta-
O ' O
physics in Brown and Locke to stimu-
late the reasoning faculties which were
to be the prominent mark of the man.
The young student became so improved
in these books, all of which he con-
sumed in fourteen weeks, that his
health began to suffer, " his eyes be-
came seriously affected, his countenance
pallid, and his frame emaciated." His
mother, hearing of these difficulties,
JOHN CALDWELL CALHOUN.
205
sent for him home, where, occupying
himself with the duties of the farm —
his father was now dead, and his
brothers absent — he recovered his
health, and in four years' sturdy em-
ployment in rural pursuits and amuse-
ments strengthened his constitution for
his future labors.
He now appeared far more likely to
follow the life of a planter than to en-
ter the Senate of the United States,
when his elder brother, James, who
was in a counting-house at Charleston,
coming home in the summer of 1800,
urged him to aim at one of the profes-
sions. His answer was characteristic.
He said his " property was small and
his resolution fixed : he would far
rather be a planter than a half-informed
physician or lawyer. With this deter-
mination he could not bring his mind
to select either without ample prepara-
tion ; but if the consent of their mo-
ther should be freely given, and he
(James) thought he could so manage
his property as to keep him in funds
for study preparatory to entering his
profession, he would leave home and
commence his education the next
week." * The conditions were agreed
to, the arrangements made, and John
returned again to his brother-in-law the
clergyman, who had married again and
resumed his school. He was eighteen
when he tlms recommenced, if, indeed,
he may not be said to have begun, his
systematic studies. He pursued them
with such vigor that in two years he
entered the junior class of Yale College,
under the presidency of Dr. Dwight,
and graduated with honor in 1804, in
the beginning of his twenty-third year.
* Life of John C. Calhoun (Harpers, 1843).
u.— 26.
To this mature age may doubtless be
attributed much of the benefit which
he received from his instruction. The
soil, not altogether unprepared for its
reception, had lain fallow to produce a
more certain and bountiful crop. In
the college traditions of his powers, his
strength in argument is remembered.
He was thus early attached to the re-
publican or democratic party, and the
story is told of his employing the hour
of instruction in disputation with the
president, arising out of the text of Pa-
ley, on the source of power, which he
maintained to be in the people. Dr.
Dwight ia said to have been so much
struck with his ability as to declare
that " the young man had talent enough
to be President of the United States,"
an augury which, at one time, came to
be thought on the eve of fulfilment.
The topic of the discourse which he
prepared for Commencement was also
indicative of his future career. It was,
" The qualifications necessary to consti
tute a perfect statesman."
From New Haven, Calhoun passed to
the law school of Judge Reeves and
Judge Gould at Connecticut, where he
pursued his studies with eagerness aiif1
left a fragrant memory of his skill in
disputation and public speaking. Hf
then completed his law studies in
the office of Mr. De Saussure, oi
Charleston, and Mr. George Bowie, 01
his native district of Abbeville. His
seven years' apprenticeship to learning
being thus accomplished " according to
his determination when he commenced
his education," he was admitted to the
bar and began practice at Abbeville,
continuing to reside in the old family
homestead. He rose at once to emi
206
JOHX CALDWELL CALHOUN.
nence on the circuit, and speedily in
the councils of his country.
The event to which his first entrance
upon public life is referred, was one
which, coming as the culmination of a
long series of injuries received since
the peace of 1783, from Great Britain,
stirred up the popular feeling of the
country to a height of excitement diffi-
cult at the present day to appreciate.
We allude to the assault of the Leo-
pard upon the Chesapeake, in June,
1807 — the date, it will be observed, of
Mr. Calhoun's entrance on the practice
of the law. Meetings were held to ex-
press the public indignation in various
parts of the country, and, among other
places, in Abbeville. Calhoun, young,
ardent, inheriting the blood of resist-
ance from his father, was on hand to
give expression to the general voice.
He prepared the resolutions of the as-
sembly, and supported them by a vig-
orous speech. The people caught him
up as their representative, and their
votes carried him into the State legis-
lature at the next election. He served
two sessions, establishing his character
as a sagacious politician and earnest
man for the times, when, in the autumn
of 1810, he was elected to the twelfth
Congress of the United States. He
went to Washington an avowed sup-
porter of the war policy ; and it was
by his energy, as much as that of any
man, that this policy was carried into
effect. Henceforth he is devoted to
public life, and lives and breathes in the
councils of the nation. He was placed
on the Committee of Foreign Relations,
and spoke on the poition of the Presi-
dent's message which fell to the consi-
~
deration of that body. He was at the
outset second on the committee, when
the retirement of its chairman, Mr.
Porter, placed him at its head. His
reports in this influential position led
the war movement of the country. In
his speech of December 12, 1811, on
the proposition for the enlistment of
an .additional force of ten thousand
regular troops, in reply to the re-
marks of John Randolph, he thus
happily met the charge — often thrown
out in those times when the choice of
going to war appeared to be whether
France or Great Britain should be
taken as the antagonist — of hatred to
England. " The gentleman from Vir-
ginia is at a loss to account for what
he calls our hatred to England. He
asks, how can we hate the country of
Locke, of Newton, Hainpden and Chat-
ham ; a country having the same lan-
guage and customs with ourselves and
descending from a common ancestry ?
Sir, the laws of human affection are
steady and uniform. If we have so
much to attach us to that country, po-
tent indeed must be the cause which
has overpowered it. Yes, there is a
cause strong enough ; not in that oc-
cult courtly affection which he has sup-
posed to be entertained for France;
but it is to be found in continued and
unprovoked insult and injury — a cause
so manifest, that the gentleman from
Virginia had to exert much ingenuity
to overlook it. But the gentleman, in
his eager admiration of that country,
has not been sufficiently guarded in his
argument. Has he reflected on the
cause of that admiration ? Has he ex-
amined the reasons of our high regard
for Chatham ? It is his ardent patriot-
ism, the heroic courage of his mind
JOHN CALDWELL CALHOUN.
207
that conld not brook the least in:ult or
injury offered to his country, but
thought that her interest and honor
ought to be vindicated at every hazard
and expense. I hope, when we are
called upon to admire, we shall also be
asked to imitate." Another passage
which has been much commended, will
show the quick, fertile, intellectual pro-
cesses which the young orator intro-
duced into the dry discussions of the
House. It is from his speech of June
24. 1812, on the proposition to repeal
the Non-importation Act. Gliding into
this portion of his subject, the consid-
eration of the general worth of the em-
bargo, by an admirable touch of irony
he acquits it of being a "pusillani-
mous" measure: "To lock up the
whole commerce of this country; to
say to the most trading and exporting
people in the world, " you shall not
trade, you shall not export ; ' to break
in upon the schemes of almost every
man in society, is far from weakness,
very far from pusillanimity."
He then objects to the restrictive
system, that it is not suited to the ge-
nius of the people, the government, or
the geographical character of the coun-
try. "No passive system," he says,
" can suit such a people, in action supe-
rior to all others, in patience and endu-
rance inferior to many." As for the
government, it is " founded on freedom
and hates coercion," while the geogra-
phy of the country renders the preven-
tion of smuggling impossible. He
next exhibits the government rendered
odious by the embargo, and with great
subtilty contrasts the pressure with
the burdens of war. " The privation,"
he says, "it is true, may be equal or
greater; but the public mind, under
the strong impulses of such a state, be-
comes steeled against sufferings. The
difference is great between the passive
and active state of mind. Tie down a hero
and he feels the puncture of a pin ; but
throw him into battle, and he is scarce-
ly sensible of vital gashes. So in war.
Impelled alternately by hope and fear,
stimulated by revenge, depressed with
shame or elevated by victory, the peo-
ple become invincible. No privation
can shake their fortitude, no calamnity
can break their spirit. Even where
equally unsuccessful, the contrast is
striking. War and restriction may
leave the country equally exhausted ;
but the latter not only leaves you poor,
but, even when successful, dispirited^
divided, discontented, with diminished
patriotism, and the manners of a consi-
derable portion of your people corrupt-
ed. Not so in war. * * * Sir, I would
prefer a single victory over the enemy,
by sea or land, to all the good we shall
ever derive from the continuation of
the Non-importation Act. The memory
of a Saratoga or a Eutaw is immortal.
It is there you will find the country's
boast and pride, the inexhaustible
source of great and heroic actions.
But what will history say of restric-
tion? What examples worthy of
imitation will it furnish posterity?
What pride, what pleasure will our
children find in the events of such
times ? Let me not be considered as
romantic. This nation ought to be
taught to rely on its own courage, its
fortitude, its skill and virtue, for pro-
tection. These are the only safeguards
in the hour of danger. Man was en-
dowed with these great qualities for
£08
JOHN CALDWELL CALHOUK
his defence. There is nothing about
him that indicates that he must con-
quer by enduring. He is not incrusted
in a shell ; he is not taught to rely on
his insensibility, his passive suffering,
for defence. No, no ; it is on the in-
vincible mind, on a magnanimous na-
ture, that he ought to rely. Herein
lies the superiority of our kind; it is
these that make man the lord of the
world. It is the destiny of our condi.
tion that nations should rise above na-
tions, as they are endowed in a greater
degree with these shining qualities."
By such words as these was the
nation stimulated to its exertions in
the second war with Great Britain, and
such eloquence will ever be in request
on like occasions from the lips of youth-
ful orators when peaceful policy is to
be thrown aside and heroic energy
excited. Nor was it necessary only
that the country should be aroused ;
the confidence of the war party was
to be sustained ; and, throughout the
struggle, in all its vicissitudes, to the
end, the trumpet tones of Calhoun, no
less than his cool argumentative discus-
sion, were heard animating to renewed
effort.
In his speech of February 25th, 1814,
on the Loan Bill, he discussed with
masterly vigor the aggressive mari-
time and commercial policy of Eng-
land, and the rights of other nations to
be preserved in an armed neutrality.
" Why," said he, " should I consume
time to prove her maritime policy?
Who is there so stupid as not to see
and feel its effect ? You cannot look
toward her shores and not behold it.
You may see it in her Parliament, her
prints, her theatres, and in her very
songs. It is scarcely disguised. It is
her pride and boast. . . . The nature
of its. growth indicates its remedy. It
originated in power, has grown in pro-
portion as opposing power has been
removed, and can only be restrained by
power. Nations are, for the most part,
not restrained by moral principles, but
by fear. It is an old maxim that they
have heads, but no hearts. They see
their own interests, but do not sympa-
thize in the wrongs of others." Then,
briefly noticing the part the country,
standing alone, had borne in the pre-
servation of the rights of neutrals, he
turns to assure fainting courage of the
result of perseverance, spite of the in
creased power of Great Britain, left free
by the cessation of her struggle with
France. "But, say our opponents,
their efforts are vain and our condition
hopeless. If so, it only remains for us
to assume the habit of our condition.
We must submit, humbly submit, crave
pardon, and hug our chains. It is not
wise to provoke where we cannot re-
sist. But let us be well assured of the
hopeless nature of our condition before
we sink into submission. On what do
our opponents rest their despondent
and slavish belief? On the recent
events in Europe? I admit they are
great, and well calculated to impose on
the imagination. Our enemy never
presented a more imposing exterior.
His fortune is at the flood. But I am
admonished by universal experience
that such prosperity is the most fickle
of human conditions. From the flood
the tide dates its ebb ; from the meri-
dian the sun commences his decline.
There is more of sound philosophy
than fiction in the fickleness which
JOHN CALDWELL CALHOUK
poets attribute to fortune. Prosperity
has its weakness, adversity its strength."
If she has overcome France, he said,
she has lost her great stronghold in the
" French influence ;" if she has gained
victories, they were purchased only by
an exhausting conflict. The armed
neutrality yet remained. European
nations, every day more commercial,
will demand the freedom of the seas,
and make common cause against the
monopoly of Great Britain. "No,"
was his eloquent exclamation, "the
ocean cannot become property. Like
light and air, it is unsusceptible of the
idea of property. Heaven has given
it to man equally, freely, bountifully ;
and empires attempted to be raised
on it must partake of the fickleness
of its waves." This is eloquence, not
far-fetched or dependent upon pomp of
expression, armed with devices to star-
tle or confound the listener, but the
quick, fiery, impetuous utterance
springing from the heart of the subject,
with its living ornaments inwoven
with the very fibre of the discourse.
Nor will the strong, forcible Saxon of
this speech be overlooked. It is a
model of pure English undefiled.
We might linger over passages like
these, growing out of the abundant en-
ergy with which the wTar was defended
and pursued by Calhoun in Congress,
calling the reader's attention to this
most important portion of the orator's
career, which has been somewhat
thrown out of mind by the far differ-
ent discussions of his later life, which
have engrossed the attention of a new
generation ; but we must pass on with
our brief narrative. The war being
ended, questions of financial policy
arose, schemes and propositions of
banks, in the treatment of which a.
wise adjustment was to be made be-
tween an adequate provision for the
necessities of the public and the private
interests which always attach them-
selves to such institutions. The acute
mind and incorruptible national poli-
cy of Calhoun were here again in the
ascendant. He resisted such features
as he thought unsound ; but, waiving
the constitutional scruples of his party,
gave his support to what he thought
indispensable to meet the emergency.
As chairman of the committee on na-
tional currency, he introduced the bill
in 1816 to establish a National Bank.
In like manner he supported the tariff
of the same year, and the bill to pro-
mote internal improvements in the fol-
lowing. This was the last of his im-
portant labors in the House of Repre-
sentatives, from which he was called to
another sphere of public duty in the
cabinet of President Monroe, as Secre-
tary of War.
It is said that his political friends in
South Carolina attempted to dissuade
him from accepting this appointment,
thinking that " his mind was more me-
taphysical than practical," and that an,
rising orator would be lost to the House,
while the administration would gain
but an indifferent man of business :
and that he himself would " lose repu-
tation in taking charge of a depart-
ment, especially one in. a state of such
disorder and confusion as the Wai
Department was then." Plausible as
these considerations appeared, one im-
portant item was left out in the ac-
count, the ability and conscientiousness
of a man of true genius. A high or
210
JOHN CALDWELL CALHOUN.
der of intellectual faculties will always
naturally draw in its train-the perform-
ance of inferior duties — if the morali-
ty of any duty can be called inferior.
The skilful analysis, the shrewd sug-
gestion, the acute inquiry which can
conduct a debate as Calhoun conduct-
ed it, argue powers fully equal to the
disentanglement of a complicated im-
broglio of finance. When Mr. Calhoun
O
entered the War Department, it was in
utter disorder, without even the ser-
vices of its old chief clerk, that useful
functionary, who is expected to keep
the wheels of business moving through
successive administrations, having va-
cated his post. The new Secretary,
though he had inspired the movements
of fleets and armies, was utterly un-
practiced in the handling of miltary
affairs ; yet such was the result of his
sagacious insight, careful investigation,
and his methodical mind, that he per-
fected a system of organization for the
regulation of the department which
remains in force to this day. He in-
fused his energy into all the details of
administration, reviving the Military
Academy, establishing frontier posts,
setting on foot surveys, and originating
the system of medical observations
which have gained a wide repute in
our army statistics. His financial ma-
agement was such that he reduced
forty millions of unsettled accounts,
many of them of long standing, to
three millions, diminished the expenses
in various ways, and introduced such
accountability into the system that in
the disbursements of four millions and
a half in one year there was not a sin-
gle defalcation nor the loss of one cent
to the government. Let this purity be
remembered as a badge of the most
eminent men of the country who have
illustrated the national annals by their
powers of intellect. Genius is some-
times disgraced by the lack of hones-
ty, but fraud has no place in the his-
tory of those worthy to be called the
fathers of the American State.
Mr. Calhoun held the office of Secre-
tary of War for seven years, till his
election to the Vice-Presidency, in the
administration of John Quincy Adams,
at the termination of which he was
continued in the same office through
the first term of President Jackson.
This period may be called the troubled
era of his political life. He was disaf-
fected to the administration of Adams
at the beginning, and that of Jackson
at the close; and to the ordinary disa-
greements of party in the latter in-
stance was added the hostility of a
personal feud, resting on the charge of
ancient opposition to the President in
Mr. Monroe's cabinet, in the occurren-
ces of .the Seminole war. From this
period date the nullification doctrines
and proceedings which play so impor-
tant a part in Mr. Calhoun's political
history. He furnished arguments and
gave strength to the theory, which he.
based on an interpretation of the old
Virginia Eesolutions of 1789, of the
right of a State to take the cause in its
own hands, and interpose to arrest
what it might consider a violation of
its own proper privileges by the Gene-
ral Government — a doctrine which, ap-
plied by the minority in South Caro-
lina to the tariff of 1828, was met by
the practical conduct and authoritative
declaration of President Jackson, ir
jais celebrated Proclamation support
JOHN CALDWELL CALIIOUN.
211
ing the laws and authority of the
Union.
Mr. Calhoun resigned the Vice-Pres-
idency to become the successor, in the
Senate, of Robert Y. Hayne. He took
his seat on the eve of the introduction
of the celebrated Force Bill, levelled at
the movement in South Carolina. The
crisis was one well calculated to draw
forth his best powers, as he stood the
representative, on the floor over which
he had so long presided, of the obnox-
ious political heresy of " nullification."
In the debate which ensued, the closing
struggle was between him and Web-
ster, on the interpretations and powers
of the Constitution, whether, as an in-
dependent authority, a fundamental
Jaw of the land, an obligation binding
upon the people, or a compact between
States. Calhoun's speech on this occa-
sion, delivered on the 26th February,
1833, is considered one of his master
efforts.
Throughout the period of General
Jackson's administration, he continued
in opposition ; at war with the Presi-
dent's alleged " executive usurpations "
in his series of bank measures, joining
Clay and Webster in the vote of cen-
sure in the Senate, and resolutely op-
posing the u Expunging Resolution " so
pertinaciously urged by Senator Ben-
ton, by which they were blotted from
the record. " This act," said he, in the
closing scene of the last-mentioned
aifair, " originates in pure, unmixed,
personal idolatry. It is the melancholy
evidence of a broken spirit, ready to
bow at the feet of power. The former
act (the removal of the deposits) was
such a one as might have been perpe-
trated in the days of Pompey or Caesar ;
but an act like this could never have
been consummated by a Roman senate
until the times of Caligula and Nero."
When the long contest over the United
States Bank was succeeded by the ere
ation of the Independent Treasury in
the administration of Van Buren, Mr.
Calhoun gave that measure his earnest
support, setting forth at length his
views on the currency in several
speeches, characterized by his master-
ly power of analysis. This apparent
desertion of the Whigs, with whom he
.had acted in the bank contest with
Jackson, drew upon him an attack
from Mr. Clay, to which he replied in
a vindication, compared- by an admirer
to the celebrated oration of Demosthe-
nes, for the Crown, in answer to the
assaults of ^Eschines.
Mr. Calhoun continued in the Senate
till 1843, when he declined a re-elec-
tion. He was, however, soon brought
into public life again as the successor
of Mr. Webster, as Secretary of State,
under President Tyler, in 1844, a
period of official duty which he em-
ployed in paving the way for the
admission of Texas. On the expira-
tion of Tyler's term, he again took his
seat in the Senate, where he became
the opponent of the war with Mexico.
In the slavery discussion which arose
out of the conquest, he stood forward
as the uncompromising supporter of
the slave interest, maintaining the
necessity of an equilibrium between
the two portions of the country, the
North and the South. His theory in
this relation is unfolded at length in
his posthumous work, the employment
of the last years of his life, the " Dis-
quisition on Government, and Discourse
212
JOHN CALDWELL CALHOUK
on the Constitution and Government
of the United States," edited by Mr.
Richard K. Crallo, and published under
Hie direction of the General Assembly
of the State of South Carolina. His
theory of State Rights is argued in this
composition with his accustomed force
of argument and felicity of expression,
the discussion ending in a curious pro-
position to protect the claims of the
minority by a " reorganization of the ex-
ecutive department; so that its pow-
ers, instead of being vested, as they
now are, in a single officer, should be
vested in two ; to be so elected as that
the two should be constituted the
special organs and representatives of
the respective sections, in the executive
department of the government ; and
requiring each to approve all the acts
of Congress before they shall become
laws." His latest effort in the Senate,
on the 13th March, was in some re-
marks growing out of the discussion
on the slavery question. He was tak-
en home exhausted, and died at his
residence at Washington the last day
of March, 1850, having just completed
his sixty-eighth year. His disease was
a pulmonary affection, aggravated by
difficulty at the heart.
The faculties of Calhoun were emi-
nently intellectual. He had little re-
gard for the merely rhetorical or orna-
mental, and it is the highest proof of
his oratory that he succeeded in rous-
ing his hearers by the simple force of
argumentative appeal.
" His mind." said that eminent asso-
ciate of his best days in the capitol, his
fellow member of the oratorical trium
virate, one with whom and against
whom he had contended, who had re-
joiced in his aid and felt his steel,
Daniel Webster, in his obituary re-
marks in the Senate, " was both percep-
tive and vigorous. It was clear, quick^
and strong. The eloquence of Mr. Cal-
houn, or the manner in which he exhi-
bited his sentiments in public bodies,
was part of his intellectual character.
It grew out of the qualities of his
mind. It was plain, strong, terse, con-
densed, concise ; sometimes impassion-
ed, still always severe." He noticed also
the unmixed devotion of his life to
political duties, of his zealous occupa-
tion in serious employment, " seeming
to have no recreation but the pleasure
of conversation with his friends," while
he celebrated the charms of that con-
versational talent, and the delight of
its possessor to exercise it, particularly
in company with the young. The
eulogy ended with a tribute to "the
unspotted integrity and unimpeached
honor" of the man and statesman.
Consistent with this generous eu-
logy of his high-toned public career
is the tenor of the great senator's
private life. His liberal hospital-
ity and heartfelt enjoyment of the
beauties of nature at his seat, Fort
Hill, surrounded by his family, in the
mountain region of his native State, his
kindness to his friends and dependents,
his fondness for agriculture, all stamp
the man of genuine simplicity of mind.
WJKLL4M OFEBPffSSIA.
WILLIAM I., EMPEROR OF GERMANY.
215
peace of Prague; and, on the 4th of
August, the King returned to Berlin,
where he was enthusiastically received;
and where, on the next day, at the
solemn opening of the Diet, he return-
ed thanks " for God's gracious good-
ness," as manifested in the success of
the Prussian arms. On the 20th of
September, the triumphal entry of the
troops into Berlin was made in grand
pageant, in which the King and
Queen, the Princes and the Generals,
took a prominent part.
Peace treaties with individual States,
as Bavaria, Wurtemburg and Baden —
now occupied the King's ministers,
together with the consolidation of the
conquered provinces, and the forma-
tion of the North German Confedera-
tion, the constitution of which was
finally framed and ratified on the 16th
of April, 1867. The chief event of the
year in the foreign policy of the coun-
try, was the settlement of the pressing
difficulty with France, relative to the
fortress of Luxemburg, the neutralisa-
tion of which was achieved by a con-
ference of European powers meeting in
London. In June, 1867, the King
visited the great Exhibition of Art and
Industry at Paris. In September of
the same year, the North German Con-
federation met for the first time under
the new constitution. On the 1st of
January, 1870, the Prussian diplomatic
agents abroad were accredited as rep-
r senting the North German Confeder-
ation alone ; and at the opening of the
North German Parliament, in Febru-
ary, the King of Prussia announced
that union with South Germany on
national grounds, was the object of
his incessant attention, and expressed
his confidence in the continuance of
peace. Peace, however, was not to
continue; and the approximate unifi-
cation of Germany was to be precip-
itated by hostile pressure from with-
out.
On the 15th of July, 1870, the Em-
p'eror of the French declared war
against Prussia, ostensibly because the
King would not undertake that the
candidature of Prince Leopold, of Ho-
henzollern-Sigmaringen, for the crown
of Spain, which he had already declin-
ed, should never be renewed ; and be-
cause of an alleged insult to France,
in the person of her ambassador, Count
Benedetti, who intrusively preferred
his demands upon the King while the
latter was walking with Count Lehn-
dorff, his adjutant, in the Kurgarten at
Ems, on the 13th of July. On the
day after this occurrence, the King re-
turned to Berlin; and, on the 19th of
July, in his address to the North Ger-
man Parliament, after an allusion to
the pretext of the French Emperor,
" put forward in a manner long since
unknown in the annals of diplomatic
intercourse, and adhered to after the
removal of the very pretext itself,
with that disregard for the people's
right to the blessings of peace of which
the history of a former ruler of France
affords so many analogous examples."
" If Germany," he continued, " in for
mer centuries, bore in silence such vio
lation of her rights, and of her honor,
it was only because, in her then divid-
ed state, she knew not her own
strength. To-day, when the links oi
intellectual and rightful community,
which bea:an to be knit together at
o o
the time of the wars of liberation, join
216
WILLIAM I.,- EMPEROR OF GERMANY.
the more slowly the more surely, the
different German races — to-day that
Germany's armament leaves no longer
an opening to the enemy, the German
nation contains within itself the will
and the power to repel the renewed
aggression of France. It is not arro-
gance that puts these words in my
mouth. The Confederate Govern-
ments, and I myself, are acting in the
fall consciousness that victory and de-
feat are in the hands of Him who de-
cides the fate of battles. With a clear
gaze we have measured the responsi-
bility which, before the judgment-seat
of God and of mankind, must fall
upon him who drags two great and
peace-loving peoples of the heart of
Europe into a devastating war." In
reply to an address from the Berlin
Town Council, at this time, the King
said : " God knows I am not answera-
ble for this war. Heavy sacrifices will
be demanded of my people. We have
been rendered accustomed to them by
the quickly gained victories which we
achieved in the last two wars. We
shall not get off so cheaply this time ;
but I know what I may expect from
my army and from those now hasten-
ing to join the ranks. The instrument
is sharp and cutting. The result is in
the hands of God."
The co-operation of Bavaria had
been already notified on the 16th; and
at the close of the King's speech to the
Parliament, the Saxon minister called for
cheers for the head of the North Ger-
man Confederation, which were hearti-
ly given again and again by the whole
assembly. This enthusiasm was the
falsification of the dream of the Em-
peror Napoleon, who had fancied that
Bavaria, Wurtemburg, and Badet
would abandon their engagements with
the North German Confederation so
soon as war should be declared. On
the 31st of July, the King of Prussin
set out for the seat of war; and, not-
withstanding his advanced age, distin
guished himself by his cheerful endu-
rance of the privations and dangers of
the campaign, and for the pious grati-
tude which characterized the bulletins
which he transmitted to Queen Augus-
ta, after the several successes of his ar-
mies. On the 2d of September, he re-
ceived the personal surrender of the
Emperor; and, on the same day, ninety
thousand French troops laid down their
arms as prisoners of war, and were sent
to join the immense number of their com
rades who had preceded them into cap-
tivity in Germany. The telegrams sent
by King William to his Queen on this
occasion, exhibit the simple, earnest
nature of the man, surprised at the
event, and explaining all by the hand
of Providence. Early in the afternoon
of that eventful day, the first of these
documents, as published at the time,
announces the capitulation and the ap-
proaching interview with Napoleon,
concluding " what a course events have
assumed by God's guidance." Anoth-
er, a day or two later, from Varennes,
says, " What a thrilling moment, that
of my meeting with Napoleon ! He
was cast down, but dignified in his
bearing, and resigned. I gave h n
Wilhelmshohe, near Cassel, as the
place where he will stay. Our meeting
took place in a small castle in front of
the western glacis of Sedan. From
there I rode through the ranks of OUT
army round Sedan. The reception b\
WILLIAM L, EMPEEOK OF GERMANY.
217
the troops — thou mayest imagine it —
indescribable. I finished my five hours'
ride at nightfall, at half -past seven, but
only arrived back here at one A.M.
May God aid us further." In a subse-
quent letter to the Queen, he wrote :
" You know by my three telegrams
the whole great historical event. It is
like a dream, even if you have seen it.
I bend before God, who alone chose
my army and those of my allies, and
who ordered us to be the instruments
of His will. Only in this sense dare
I understand what has passed." His-
torians will indeed long dwell upon
those marvellous incidents of the fate
of war, remarkable even among the
extraordinary exaltation and over-
throw of nations which signalise the
present century.
On the 10th of December, the North
German Parliament, by a large major-
ity, passed a bill authorizing the inser-
tion of the words " Empire," and " Em-
peror," in the Constitution ; and on the
18th of the same month, a deputation
from that body waited on the King,
whose head-quarters were at that time
at Versailles, with authority to oifer
him the imperial crown of Germany, a
dignity which had for sixty years been
in abeyance. On the 1st of January,
1871, the King held a New- Year's levee
in the palace of Versailles ; where, on
the 18th, in the Hall of Mirrors, in the
presence of all the German princes,
under the standards of the army be-
fore Paris, and surrounded by the rep-
resentatives of the different regiments,
he was. proclaimed Emperor. Divine
service, as we learn from the accounts
of the event in the papers of the day,
was performed on the occasion, several
clergymen being present in full canon-
icals. On their right was a military
band. The service was made more
than usually impressive by some ex-
cellent singing and music. The court
preacher, Sogge, who was also military
chaplain, preached a sermon from the
text, " Mene, Mene, Tekel, Upharsin !"
addressed to France; and, after the
benediction, the King was declared
Emperor of Germany, with a mighty
cheering and waving of helmets.
On the 28th of January, after a siege
of one hundred and thirty-one days,
Paris surrendered ; and, on the 1st of
March, the Germans made their triumph-
al entry into the city, previous to which,
February 26th, a treaty of peace had
been concluded at Versailles, the condi
tions of which were reluctantly adopted
by the National Assembly on the 28th,
and the ratifications of which were ex-
changed at Frankfort in May follow-
ing. This treaty imposed upon France
the loss of a fifth part of Lorraine, in-
cluding Metz and Thionville, and
Alsace, less Belf ort, as well as the pay-
ment of a war indemnity of five mil-
liards of francs, or about one billion
of dollars in specie, which enormous
sum was to be paid by successive in-
stalments, extending over a period of
three years, or up to the month of
May, 1874. Meanwhile, various cities
and departments of France were to be
held as guarantees by a German army
of occupation, whose numbers, and the
area which they occupied, were to di
minish proportionately with the de
crease of the balance of the war in-
demnity. The Emperor returned to
Berlin on the 17th of March, and was
received with a brilliant enthusiasm
218
WILLIAM L, EMPEROR OF GERMAN"!
and, on the 16tli of June, took part in
the triumphal entry of the German
troops into Berlin, and assisted at the
inauguration of the statue of Frederick
William III. On the 21st of March,
he presided at the opening of the
Reichstag, and concluded his speech
with the expression of a prayer that
"the re-establishment of the German
Empire might be a promise of future
greatness ; that the German Imperial
war, fought so gloriously by us, might
be followed by an equally glorious
peace of the Empire; and that the
task of the German people henceforth
might be to prove victorious in the
universal struggle for the products of
peace. God grant it !•" The expres-
sion of a similar wish characterized
the speech with which the Emperor
closed the session of the Reichstag, on
the 15th of June. On the 8th of June,
he received the Emperor of Russia, as
the latter passed through Berlin, on
his way to Ems ; and, early in Septem-
ber, interchanged visits with the Em-
peror of Austria at Gastein and Salz-
burg. He opened the Reichstag on the
15th of October, with a speech longer
and more various in its topics than is
generally heard from a throne. On
the 27th of November, the Prussian
Diet was opened by the Emperor in
person, who promised some administra-
tive reforms, and directed attention to
finance and the furtherance of educa
tion, and mingled with the congratula
tions which he addressed to the repre-
sentatives of his ancestral kingdom, an
argument upon the necessity of being
forearmed against future dangers. A
grand banquet was given at Berlin on
the 18th of January, 1872, in connec-
tion with the meeting of the Chapter
of the Order of the Black Eagle, when
the Emperor-King spoke of the occa-
sion as the celebration of a double an-
niversary of the most important events
of Prussian history. " On this day,
one hundred and seventy-one j^ears
ago," said his majesty, " the first king
of Prussia was crowned ; this day, last
year, my acceptance of the Imperial
German crown, unanimously offered
me by all the princes and free towns
of Germany, was proclaimed. Con-
scious of the obligations I have assum-
ed, I, on the first anniversary of this
great event, again express to the illus-
trious persons who offered to me my
new position, in presence of their rep-
resentatives, iny deeply -felt thanks
hoping that, by our united efforts, we
shall succeed in fulfilling the just hopes
of Germany." The Bavarian minister
then, in the name of the King of Bava-
ria, and the illustrious Federate Allies
in the Empire, proposed " The health
of the German Emperor, William the
Victorious."
/-
I in. &LG possession, of' the publishers.
MAEY SOMERYILLE.
221
the latest phase of the theory of atoms
or molecules, the law of definite pro-
portions, the molecular affinities of
kind and degree, and the resolution of
bodies into the crystalline states. The
brilliant results of spectroscopic analy-
sis, as applied to the nature of light
and to the structure of the stellar,
nebular and planetary bodies, are duly
aet forth. The microscopic structure
of the vegetable world is made the
basis of an ascending scale of organic
life from the algae, fungi, and lichens to
the most highly developed exogenous
plants. In the second volume, animal
organisms are traced with the same mi-
nuteness of observation, both of the
order of evolution in time, and in the
ascending scale of structure and func-
tion, from protozoa to mollusca. With-
out taking the reader into the ultimate
depths of life, and insisting upon the
solution of the problem of the origin
of germs, the elementary principles of
physiology are laid down with all the
fulness required in a popular treatise,
while in the specific treatment of suc-
cessive forms of life, the careful study
of the best authorities is manifest
throughout.*
The latter portion of the life of Mrs.
Somerville was passed in Italy. Her
husband died at Florence in 1860, at
the advanced age of ninety-one. She
herself exceeded this protracted term
of life. Her last years were passed in a
residence at Naples, where her death oc-
curred on the 29th of November, 1872.
The following passage from a com-
munication by one of her friends at
Naples, to the "London Athenaeum,"
exhibits some of the amiable traits of
* " Saturday Review," Dec. 7, 1872.
n.— 28.
the woman, in a simplicity and beauty
of character, which will doubtless be
more fully exhibited to the world in
the details of the " Autobiography r
alluded to in the notice: "Though
t
her mind was generally occupied with
abstruse studies, yet so great were the
simplicity and geniality of her charac-
ter, that she could condescend to the
humblest subjects, and amuse child-
hood by prattling about its toys. Two
years have passed since she told me that
she was writing a history of her life ;
' but do not speak of it,' she said, ' as I
may never live to complete it.' Her
death has now, however, absolved me
from my obligation; and in January
last, she wrote to me saying, * You ask
me about my autobiography, I always
find something to add to it, but it wiK
not be published till after my death.
It will be no violation of delicacy to
give an extract from a still later letter,
as it illustrates the breadth of her sym-
pathies and may promote the cause
which she had so much at heart. ' You
must be aware of the atrocious barbar-
ity of the Italians to animals, which is
a disgrace to the country. I am request-
ed to take a part in their favor, which
I do with my whole heart ; and there-
fore, I apply to you for aid in this
difficult affair.' Thus wrote one who
was approaching the termination of a
life devoted to the abstrusest mental
pursuits — pursuits, however, which in
her were not incompatible with her
known sympathy with all God's crea-
tures, or with that genial simplicity
which won even childhood. She has
gone to her rest, but her praise will
long survive her, and her name be
honored by many generations."
BARON JUSTUS VON LIEBIG.
BAEON JUSTUS VON LIEBIG,
the eminent German chemist,
^hose researches into vegetable and
animal life have gained him the high-
est rank among the scientific enquirers
of the age, was born at Darmstadt, in
May, 1803. He received his early
education in the gymnasium of his na-
tive town. His love of natural science
induced his father to place him in an
apothecary's establishment, where he
obtained his first insight into that
science of which he became so dis-
tinguished an ornament. In 1819, he
was transferred to the University of
Bonn, and subsequently studied at
Erlangen. Having received the degree
of Doctor of Medicine, in 1822, by the
aid of a stipend from the Grand Duke
of Hesse Darmstadt, he was enabled to
visit Paris, where he remained two
years. Here he studied with Mits-
cherlich, the distinguished professor
of chemistry at Berlin. During his
residence at Paris, he devoted himself
to the science of chemistry. His atten-
tion at this time was especially direct-
ed to the composition and nature of
those dangerous compounds known by
This notice of the scientific career of Liebig
is from the "English Cyclopaedia."
(222)
the name of fulminates. These bodies
are composed of an acid, consisting of
carbon, nitrogen, hydrogen, and oxy-
gen, combined with a base. The salts
thus formed are so easily decomposed
that a slight touch causes their decom-
position ; a violent explosion follows,
and a new series of compounds are
formed. It was the nature of these
compounds that Liebig investigated—
thus indicating the bent of his genius
towards the investigation of the chem-
istry of those four organic elements.
In his subsequent writings, he often
alludes to the fulminates as instances
of unstable chemical combination, illus-
trating the nature of some of the chan-
ges which the organic elements undergo
in the compounds which form the tis-
sues of plants and animals. The true
chemical constitution of these com-
pounds was not explained till Liebig
read his paper on 'them before the In-
stitute of France in 1824.
The reading of this paper brought
Liebig in contact with Baron Hum-
boldt, who was at that time residing
in Paris. At the moment he was un-
known to Liebig, and, on hearing his
paper read, he invited him to his
house. Liebig, unfortunately, forgot
Likeness fivm, a recent photograph trim life.
BAKON JUSTUS YO]ST LIEBIG.
225
Special Eeferences to the late Re-
searches made in England." This
O
work was translated by Professor Gre-
gory, of Edinburgh, and published in
London in 1835. It was written in
answer to the conclusions arrived at
from a long course of experiments by
Mr. J. B. Lawes, of Berkhampstead.
Of this work the translator says, "it
is, so far as I can judge, by far the
best of the author's writings on the
important subject to which it refers."
The work contains, in the shape of
fifty propositions, a summary of the
true relation between chemistry and
agriculture."
Such works alone as the above might
well have made a lasting and enviable
reputation; but , from 1840 to 1855,
Liebig was engaged in the production
of many other works. In 1837, he
commenced, with Wohler, a " Diction-
ary of Chemistry," which was pub-
lished in parts. In 1839, Geiger's
" Handbook of Pharmaceutical Chem-
istry" was published, in which the
part devoted to organic chemistry was
written by Liebig: this part after-
wards appeared as a separate work.
In 18 II, he edited the organic part of
Dr. Turner's " Elements of Chemis-
try."
The volume on Agricultural Chem-
istry was regarded by the author as
only an instalment of what he owed
the British Association in answer to
their request for a report on the pro-
gress of Organic Chemistry. At the
meeting, held in Manchester, in June,
1842, Dr. Lyon Playfair read an ab-
stract of Professor Liebig's report on
" Organic Chemistry applied to Phy-
siology and Pathology." This able
production was published in the
" Transactions " of the association. The
entire report appeared in 1842, under
the title of " Animal Chemistry ; or,
Chemistry in its application to Physio-
logy and Pathology." This work was
translated from the author's manu
script by Professor Gregory, of Edin
burgh. A third and greatly improved
edition was published in 1846. Thie
work carried the author's chemical re-
searches from the vegetable to the ani-
mal kingdom. What had been done
for the plant, vegetable physiology,
and the agriculturist, in the first work,
was now attempted to be done for the
animal, animal physiology, and the
medical practitioner. In this work,
he pursued the same plan as in the
first ; he set aside the hypothesis of a
vital principle as a cause in living
phenomena, and examined them from
a physical and chemical point of view.
A strict comparison is instituted be-
tween that which is taken into the
body in the form of air and food with
that which passes out of the body, and
all possible knowledge of the laws of
organic chemistry is brought to bear
upon the intermediate phenomena of
life. In this way he threw a flood of
light on processes that had been hith-
erto wrapped in obscurity. The phe-
nomenon of animal heat was seen to
be more clearly the result of the oxi-
dation of carbon. Certain kinds of
food, as starch, sugar, and oil, were
pointed out as the sources of the car-
bon, whilst Mulder's group of protei-
naceous compounds were as clearly
traced to their destiny in the produc-
tion of the living tissues. The source
of fat in the animal body was tracc-i1
226
BARON JUSTUS TOIXT LIEBIG.
to the oxidation of the hydrogen in
the starch and sugar of the food. The
nature of the excretions, especially of
the urine, bile, and fasces, were care-
fully examined, and -manifold new an-
alyses and results were given. The
impression this work has made on the
science of physiology, and the practice
of medicine, is not less than that of
the author's previous great work on
the science of botany and agriculture.
It at once called into activity an
amount of chemical investigation that
has already led to the most important
results, and given a new aspect to all
physiological inquiry in the animal
kingdom. Whilst, on the one hand,
new structures have been constantly
developed by the microscope, the
chemist has demonstrated that these
structures exhibit life but in obedience
to chemical laws. Numerous treatises
have been written on the chemistry of
animal life, and all bear more or less
the impress of the genius of Liebig.
Many of his physiological views have
met with very decided opposition ; but
his great glory will always be the
method he pursued. By this method
he has put the physiologist in the
right direction to attain the great aim
and ends of his science. These views
are of the highest interest for man-
kind, as they involve no less questions
than the very existence of man, and
the best possible means of enjoying
that existence.
However complete the first outlines
of his theories might appear to be, Lie-
big never ceased working at correcting
and perfecting them. Between the
period of the publication of the edi-
tions of his works on agriculture and
animal chemistry, his " Annalen " and
continental journals, teem with his pa-
pers on various points which had been
canvassed in his books ; and, in all di-
rections, in his own laboratory and
other places, we find men working
under his advice and direction. It
was thus that, from the time the sub-
ject of food occupied his attention at
all, he prosecuted new researches on
the nature of the food, and of those
changes in the animal body by which
it becomes the source of life, and ulti-
mately the material ejected from the
system. In 1849, another work was
prepared for the English press, and
translated by Dr. Gregory. This was
entitled " Researches in the Chemistry
of Food." In this work, he gave an
account of his experiment on the
changes which the tissues of the body
undergo, and which result in the con-
version of fibrine and albumen into
gelatine, and eventually urea. In
these experiments, he operated on large
quantities of animal flesh, and succeed-
ed in demonstrating the universal pres-
ence of kreatine, a compound first de-
scribed by Chevreul, also of kreatinine,
lactic acid, phosphoric acid, and inosinic
acid in the flesh of animals. In this
work, he also drew attention to the
existence of phosphate of soda in the
blood, and its power of absorbing car-
bonic acid, as having an interesting
relation with the function of respira-
tion. He has also shown in this work
that the proper cooking of food can
only be carried on upon fixed chemical
laws, and that much improvement in
the economical and sanitary relations
of this art may be expected from
a larger knowledge of the changes
BARON JUSTUS YON LIEBIG.
227
undergone by food in its prepara-
tion.
In all his labors, Liebig has ever
striven to avoid being one-sided. No
one seems to have felt from time to
time more acutely than himself, the
fact that, after all, the organic body is
not an apparatus of glass tubes and
porcelain dishes. He ever tried to
penetrate into the nature of those
properties and laws which, acting
upon the textures of the human body,
seemed to interfere with an anticipated
necessary chemical result. It is in this
spirit we find him prosecuting the re-
searches and inquiries, the results of
which were again communicated to
English readers through Professor
G re^ory, in the work of Liebig, which
he translated, and which was publish-
ed in 1848, entitled "The Motions of
the Juices in the Animal Body."
In Giessen, Liebig was surrounded
by industrious colleagues, who appre-
ciated the value of his researches, and
were ready in any manner to act uder
his direction for the advancement of
the sciences they had at heart. It was
in 1848 that Liebig proposed to his
colleagues to draw up an annual report
on the progress of Chemistry. Profes-
sor Koff was associated with Liebig in
editing the work, with a host of dis-
tinguished scientific contributors. It
was continued annually, and became a
rich depository of chemical informa-
tion. Four volumes have been trans,
lated into English. ' Of late years a
wide publicity has been given to the
name of Liebig by the sale and adver-
tisements of a preparation devised by
him, "The Essence of Meat." In his
" Familiar Lectures on Chemistry," Lie-
big has treated of various subjects con-
nected with the science, which are in-
tended to show the importance of the
study as a general branch of education.
The work is charmingly written, and
indicates one of the sources of Liebig'a
influence on the public mind. Few
men have written more clearly or ex-
hibited a more genuine enthusiasm in
the importance and value of his science,
than Professor Liebig.
Such a man as Liebig was likely to
be honored. The Grand Duke of
Hesse made him an hereditary baron
in 1845. He was made a fellow of
the Royal Society of London, and a
member of numerous scientific associa-
tions throughout Europe and America.
In 1854, a subscription was raised in
Europe for the purpose of presenting
him with some mark of the high es-
teem in which his labors were held.
This subscription realized a sum of
above five thousand dollars. A part
of it was spent in purchasing five hand-
some pieces of plate, this number bo-
ing selected that one piece might be
handed down to each of the five chil-
dren of the baron, should they survive
their father. The remaining sum,
about half the amount collected, -was
handed in i check to this ingenious
scientific promoter of the knowledge
and welfare of the race.
The life of Baron Liebig closed,
after a painful illness, at Munich, on
the 18th of April, 1873.
HENKY CLAY, the seventh of a
family of eight children, was born
April 12, 1777, in Hanover Co., Virginia,
in a rural district abounding in swamps
and hence known as " The Slashes," a
term which gave the man a popular de-
signation in the Presidential campaign-
ing days. His father, of English de-
scent, a Baptist clergyman, the Rev.
John Clay, a native of Virginia, died
when his son was in his childhood, in
his fifth year, just as the Revolutionary,
war was brought to its close in Vir-
ginia, leaving the boy to the care of his
mother. The orator of after days once
recalled in a speech an incident of his
childhood, how his mother's house was
visited by the troops of Tarleton, and
of their "running their swords into
the new-made grave of his father and
grandfather, thinking they contained
hidden treasures." The mother was
poorly provided with the means for
the education of her numerous young
family, and the only early instruction
her son Henry received, was in the
rude log cabin school-house where but
the simplest rudiments were taught.
His teacher, Peter Deacon, an English-
man, like many others an involuntary
emigrant, in consequence of his fault
(228)
or misfortune — " under a cloud," as it
is said — conducted the child " as far
as Practice," in the old time-honored
elements,
The " Mill-boy of the Slashes," the
electioneering sentimental watchword
to which we have just alluded, dates
from this period. "It had its founda-
tion," says his biographer, Mr. Colton,
" in the filial and fraternal duty of
Henry Clay, who, after he was big
enough, was seen whenever the meal
barrel was low, going to and fro on
the road between his mother's house
and Mrs. Darricott's mill on the Pa
inunkey River, mounted on a bag that
was thrown across a pony that was
guided by a rope-bridle ; and thus he
became familiarly known by the peo-
ple living on the line of his travel as
the " Mill-boy of the Slashes."
So the boy grew up in rude country
l^fe till, at the age of fourteen, his
mother contracting a second marriage
with a gentleman of character, Mr.
Henry Watkins, and removing with her
husband to Kentucky, he was left be-
hind in a situation in a retail store at
Richmond. He was not long in the
employment, for we find him the next
year, through the agency of his step
c
HENRY CLAY.
231
nity, pleading for the common law with
"are eloquence and feeling, to defeat
an illiberal motion to exclude English
law precedents from the courts of the
State. When the first measures of
Jefferson's administration on the em-
bargo were taken, on occasion of the
promulgation of the British Orders
in Council, he introduced resolutions
strongly approving of the foreign poli-
cy of the government. They were car-
ried by a vote of sixty-four to one,
Mr. Humphrey Marshall constituting
the minority. Shortly after, this gen-
tleman expressing contempt for a pro-
position made by Mr. Clay for mem-
bers to assist the measures of the
time by dressing themselves in gar-
ments of native manufacture, a quar-
rel between them ensued, which re-
sulted in a hostile meeting. Shots
were twice exchanged, Mr. Marshall in
the first instance and Mr. Clay in the
second being slightly wounded.
At the close of 1809, Mr. Clay again
took his seat in the Senate, a second
time chosen to fill a vacancy. The first
speech which he delivered was after-
wards referred to for its advocacy of
an American policy. It was on an in-
cidental amendment to an appropria-
tion for munitions of war, giving pre-
ference to certain articles of native
growth and manufacture. He also
supported Mr. Madison in his assertion
of the claims of the country to Western
Florida as an integral portion of the
Louisiana cession, taking occasion to
denounce the threatened wrath of Eng-
land. "Is the rod of British power,"
lie asked, " to be forever suspended over
our heads ? Whether we assert our
rights by sea or attempt theii mainte-
nance by land — whithersoever we turn
ourselves, this phantom incessantly pur-
sues us." His report in favor of the
pre-emption rights of settlers on the
public lands may also be mentioned as
an indication of his future policy. At
the next session, the subject of the re-
newal of the charter of the United
States Bank being before Congress,
he spoke in opposition to the measure,
on the ground of the old Republican
party, with which he was thus far
identified.
The term for which he was elected
to the Senate having expired, and
his services being needed in the more
popular branch of the legislature at
the appearance of the cloud of war
already on the horizon, he was, in
1811, elected a member of the House
of Representatives. To meet the exi-
gency of the times, Congress was sum-
moned a month in advance, in No-
vember. On the first ballot on taking
his seat, Henry Clay was chosen speak-
er, a distinguished honor for a new
member, and a rare proof of the sagac-
ity of the House. At the next Con-
gress the honor was repeated, and on
three other occasions in the House of
Representatives. His apt, ready, grace-
ful talents, his prompt courtesy, and
readiness in all parliamentary duties,
made him, of all men, the most suit-
able for the office. His views in refer-
ence to the vindication of the country
by a spirited foreign policy were well
understood, and he carried them out in
his appointment of the Committee on
Foreign Relations, of which Porter of
O "
New York was placed at the head, and
John C. Calhoun, who presently suc-
ceeded him on his retirement, second
HENRY CLAY.
Mr. Clay spoke earnestly in favor of
the increase of the army and navy, and
advocated the new embargo as " a
direct precursor of war." He was one
of the young and fiery spirits of the
country in the House — a leader with
Calhoun — in vindicating and stimulat-
ing the declaration of war, and its ear-
nest prosecution. War was declared
in June, and, shortly after, Congress
adjourned. At its next session Mr.
Clay, on the eighth of January, 1813,
delivered a speech in defence of the
new army bill, which has been consid-
ered one of his most eloquent efforts.
Unhappily it is imperfectly reported,
but enough remains to mark his mas-
tery of the occasion.
Having thus so greatly distinguished
himself in the prosecution of the war,
when a prospect of peace was opened,
through the friendly assistance of the
Russian government, he was chosen en-
voy extraordinary, in conjunction with
Mr. Jonathan Russell, to join his con-
federates, Messrs. Gallatin, Bayard and
Adams, who were already in Europe,
in the negotiations. He accepted this
duty, took leave of the House as
speaker in an appropriate address, in
January, 1814, sailed from New York
immediately after, and was with his
colleagues at Ghent at the opening of
negotiations.
The general concurrence of the en-
voys in the proceedings which took
place, leaves little for special mention
of Mr. Clay's part, beyond his resolute
refusal to renew the concession of the
treaty of 1783 of the mutual right of
navigation of the Mississippi. He
thought the purchase of Louisiana had
since greatly altered the question, and j
that the river had become as peculiar a
part of the United States as the Hud-
son or the Potomac. On the other
hand, the old treaty had given to the
Americans certain fishing privileges on
the coast of British America, which
hung upon the same tenure as the
claim to the navigation of the Mississ-
ippi, namely, the treaty of Paris. The
conflict of these pretensions divided
the commissioners, when Mr. Clay par-
tially gave his consent to set off one
against the other. ,
The British, however, were not will-
ing to adopt the alternative, and both
were dropped. In personal intercourse
with the British commissioners, Mr.
Goulburn and Lord Gambier, Mr. Clay
seems to have borne a chief part. It
fell to him to explain the awkward cir-
cumstance of the publication in Ameri-
ca of an early part of the negotiations
which was returned to England, while
the treaty was yet pending. A story
is told, also, of his receiving one morn-
ing at Brussels, by his servant, a pack-
age of newspapers, a usual courtesy,
from the British negotiators, but this
time rendered more interesting by the
papers containing an account of the
burning of Washington. He not long
after took occasion to send a file of
newspapers in return, having some in-
telligence on the subject of the Indians
which was required in the negotiation
— the same papers repaying the Wash-
ington item with a narrative of McDo-
nough's affair at Lake Charnplain. The
anecdote is of no great importance, but
it exhibits the sensitiveness of th«
American negotiators. Clay said after
wards, when he heard at Paris of tlit
battle of New Orleans, the treaty ha\~
HENEY CLAY.
233
ing been some time before concluded,
" Now, I can go to England without
mortification."
At this visit to Paris, the period of
Bonaparte's exile at Elba, Mr. Clay was
received with great favor in society.
Among other distinguished persons
whom he met was Madame de Stael,
at a ball given by M. Hottinger, the
banker, on occasion of the peace be-
tween the United States and Great Bri-
tain, when the following dialogue oc-
curred : '"Ah ! " said she, " Mr. Clay,
I have been in England, and have been
battling your cause for you there." " I
know it, madame ; we heard of your
powerful interposition, and we are very
grateful and thankful for it." " They
were very much enraged against you,"
said she ; " so much so that they at
one time thought seriously of sending
the Duke of Wellington to command
their armies .against you ! " "I am
very sorry, madarne," replied Mr. Clay,
"that they did not send his Grace."
" Why ? " asked she, surprised. " Be-
cause, madame, if he had beaten us
we should only have been in the con-
dition of Europe without disgrace.
But if we had been so fortunate as
to defeat him, we should greatly have
added to the renown of our arms."
She afterwards introduced Mr. Clay
to the duke at her own house, and
related the conversation. The duke
replied, that " if he had been sent on
the service, and he had been so for-
tunate as to gain a victory, he would
have regarded it as the proudest fea-
ther in his cap."* On passing over
to England, after the ratification of
the treaty, Mr. Clay was equally well
* Sargent's Life of Clay, p. 39.
received by Lord Castlereagh. Eng-
land was then in good humor with
the victory of Waterloo, which had
just been fought. Before it was as-
certained what had become of Bona-
parte, Mr. Clay was one day at dinner
with the nobleman just mentioned,
and the possible flight of the emperor
to America was touched upon. "If
he goes there will he not give you a
great deal of trouble ? " said Lord Liv-
erpool to the American envoy. " Not
in the least, my lord," was the reply :
"we shall be very glad to receive
him ; we would treat him with all
hospitality, and very soon make a
good democrat of him."
Mr. Clay arrived again at New
York, in September, was welcomed in
the city at a public entertainment,
and pursued to his home in Kentucky
by the hospitality and enthusiasm of
the people. The members of his dis-
trict had already elected him to Con-
gress, but some doubts arising as to
the legality of the proceeding, he was
again unanimously chosen. On his
appearance, in December, at the open-
ing of the House, he was a third
time, by a large majority, seated in
the speaker's chair. It is pleasing to
note the constancy and unanimity with
which this honor was conferred on this
accomplished man through a series of
years, at the meetings of successive
Congresses. His new duties proved
not less important than those which be
had left behind him in bringing the
war to a conclusion by a treaty of peace
That war had been accomplished ;
there now remained the revival of the
country after the wearisome conflict,
the readjustment of it,° finances, thr
234
HENRY CLAY.
establishment of its industry. These
Ujcame especially the arts of our states-
man, loud as his voice had been for
war, and well adapted as his genius
was for its active pursuits. It is said
that at one time, at the beginning of the
struggle, President Madison thought
of calling him into the field as com-
mander in chief of the American forces.
He doubtless would have made a
brave and resolute officer, and his cour-
age and rare executive talent might
have anticipated the honors and reaped
the rewards destined for his Tennes-
see rival. But it was not in war
that his laurels were to be gained.
They were to be earned in quite a dif-
ferent field. While Jackson passes
down to posterity as the defender of
New Orleans, Henry Clay will be re-
membered as the friend to labor and
industry, the father of the American
System.
In the Congress of 1816, Mr. Clay
began that policy of internal improve-
ments, protection to manufactures, and
bank advocacy, which became the dis-
tinguishing tests of the great party of
which he was to be so long the leader
— a party enjoying many triumphs and
some sore defeats, which was to live
mainly through him, yet by which he
was to be denied in its period of au-
thority, when the Presidency was in its
power, his well-earned reward. It
must be admitted, however, that the
struggle was long, and that no party
devotion could be stronger than that
manifested by the Whigs to their be-
loved leader. The change of his views
on the subject of a United States
Bank, of which, having formerly, as
vve have seen, Seen the opponent — we
have seen it stated that his speech of
1811 was the stronghold of Jackson's
memorable opinions on that subject —
he now became the zealous advocate, is
to be accounted for on the principle of
that old philosophical adage, "The
times are changed, and we are changed
with them." A national bank seemed,
in 1816, the only solution of the finan
cial difficulties of the times, the low
j state of the public credit and the gene-
ral disorganization of the currency. It
was accepted as such by President Ma-
dison, who recommended the measure,
and by Mr. Calhoun, who devoted him-
self zealously to the subject, and intro-
duced the bill to the House. Mr. Clay
supported it.
At the next election Mr. Clay, for
the first and only time in his long
career as a representative of the people
of his State in Congress, was subjected
to the test of canvassing for his seat.
A bill had been introduced in the
House for which Mr. Clay voted, pro-
viding an annual salary of fifteen hun-
dred dollars for members in place of
the old six dollars a day, and giving to
the speaker a salary of three thousand
dollars. This provoked opposition in
Kentucky, and Mr. Clay was obliged
to take the stump. Mr. Pope was hia
competitor. Several good stories are
related of the canvass — one of a < har-
acteristic western dialogue with an old
hunter, whom the candidate ciicum^
vented by a judicious appeal to hia
rifle. " Have you a good rifle, my
friend?" asked Mr. Clay. "Yes.'r
"Did it ever flash?" "Once only."
" Did you throw it away on that ac.
count ? " " No, I picked the flint an J
ivied it again." " Have I ever flashed
HENRY CLAY.
235
but upon the compensation bill?"
" No." " Wnl you throw me away ? "
;' No, no ; I will pick the flint and try
you again." A story coupled with
this in the campaign biographies is still
better. It should be premised that
Mr. Pope, the opposition candidate,
had in his early days lost an arm.
There was an Irish barber in Lexing-
ton, one Jeremiah Murphy, whom Clay
on some occasion had helped out of
prison, who was observed, contrary to
the loquacious habits of his race, to be
silent on the subject of his vote. A
friend of Clay was bent upon sound-
ing him, and at length obtained an
answer. "I tell you what, docthur,
I mane to vote for the man that can
put but one hand into the treasury."
Clay was elected over his opponent,
and took his seat, again to be elected
Speaker in the new Congress. It was
the first session under the administra-
tion of Mr. Monroe, and is signalized
in the hiatory of Mr. Clay by his
efforts in behalf of the recognition by
the government of the political inde-
pendence of the South American Re-
publics. He undertook this champion-
ship with a chivalric earnestness,' and,
resolutely as ever political knight errant
tilted for a favorite measure, pursued it
to the end and victory. He had bro-
ken ground on this theme in his speech
on the state of the Union, in January
1816 ; he now followed it up at every
opportunity, when the conduct of Spain
in the Florida claim was under discus-
sion, and when an appropriation for
the Commissioners of Inquiry sent to
South America was before the House.
He would have a minister accredited
to the Independent Provinces of La
| Plata. His speech on this occasion,
singled out as one of his masterpieces,
was delivered in March, 1818; but the
end he desired was not gained. He
did not lose sight of it ; but it was not
till February, 1821, that he had the
satisfaction of introducing his resolu-
tion pledging the House to the sup-
port of the President when he should
deem it expedient to recognize the in-
dependence of the Provinces, and, after
battling it in a private debate, seeing
it at last triumphant. The President
acted in accordance with the intima-
tion in bringing the matter directly
before the House, which adopted the
measure with but one dissenting voice,
The conduct of this question was
highly creditable to Clay's disinterest-
ed feeling. " His zeal in the cause,"
as his biographer remarks, " was unal-
loyed ry one selfish impulse, or one
personal aim. He could hope to gain
no political capital by his course. He
appealed to no sectional interest, sus-
tained no party policy, labored for no
wealthy client, secured the influence
of no man, or set of men, in his cham-
pionship of a remote, unfriended and
powerless people." * In a like spirit,
some years after, in 1823, he brought
his eloquence to the aid of Mr. Webster,
in his advocacy of the recognition of
Greece in her struggle for indepen-
dence. In reference to the threatened
danger from the measure to our com-
merce in the Mediterranean, he said " a
wretched invoice of figs and opium has
been spread before us to repress our
sensibilities and eradicate our human-
ity. Ah, sir, 'What shall it profit a
man if he gain the whole world and
* Sargent's Clay, p. 25
236
HENKY" CLAY.
lose his own soul ? ' or what shall it
avail a nation to save the whole of a
miserable trade and lose its liberties ? "
In the discussion of the Missouri
question, Mr. Clay bore a prominent
part. He was opposed to the exclu-
sion of slavery, and labored earnestly
to impress his views upon the House,
which, by a small majority, maintained
the contrary opinion. We first hear
of him at this time in connection with
a word with which his fame was to
be afterwards identified — Compromise.
The House, after accepting the unre-
stricted admission of the State in the
Missouri bill, and what is known as
the Missouri Compromise, establish-
ing the northern limit of slavery,
became irritated by a clause in the
Missouri constitution, proposing to ex-
clude free negroes and mulattoes from
the State. To meet this difficulty, and
any question of the violation of the
right of citizenship which might be
involved in the condition, Mr. Clay,
as chairman of a committee which he
had proposed, brought forward a reso-
lution admitting the State, provided
that no law was to be passed prevent-
ing the settlement of persons citizens
of any other State. The resolution
was negatived at the time, but he
shortly after moved a joint commit-
tee of the House and Senate, which
was accepted, and the admission ad-
justed substantially on his basis.
Before this question was determined,
Mr. Clay, anxious to give attention to
his fortunes at home, had resigned his
seat in the House, but was prevailed
upon to retain it till the conclusion of
this struggle, one of the severest in the
annals of Congressional warfare. He
then retired and devoted himself to
his professional labors for nearly three
years, when he was again elected,
without opposition, to the House of
Representatives, of which he became
yet once more Speaker. It was the
time of Lafayette's passage through
the country, in 1824, and when the
chieftain visited Washington, it fell to
the Speaker to welcome him to the
House. Most gracefully was the duty
discharged, in an address which, though
brief, was charged with flowing elo-
quence. Few, if any, of the orators
in Congress could, like Mr. Clay, in
so few words, embark his audience on
a swelling tide of sentiment. Set oil
by his musical utterance, the charm
was doubly assured. " The vain wish
has been sometimes indulged," was his
language in this admired composition,
"that Providence would allow the
patriot, after death, to return to his
country and to contemplate the inter-
mediate changes which had taken
place — to view the forests felled, the
cities built, the mountains levelled, the
canals cut, the highways constructed,
the progress of the arts, the advance-
ment • of learning, and the increase of
population. General, your present visit
to the United States is a realization of
the controlling object of that wish.
You are in the midst of posterity.
Everywhere you must have been struck
with the great changes, physical and
moral, which have occurred since you
left us. Even this very city, bearing
a venerated name, alike endeared to
you and to us, has since emerged from
the forest which then covered its site.
In one respect you find us unaltered,
and that is in the sentiment of conti
HEJS'RY CLAY.
237
rmed devotion to liberty, and of ardent
affection and profound gratitude to
your departed friend, the Father of his
Country, and to you and your illustri-
ous associates in the field and in the
cabinet, for the multiplied blessings
which surround u£, and for the very
privilege of addressing you, which I
now exercise. This sentiment, now
fondly cherished by more than ten mil-
lions of people, will be transmitted
with unabated vigor, down the tide
of time, through the countless millions
/ O
who are destined to inhabit this conti-
nent, to the latest posterity."
The popularity of Mr. Clay, the na-
tionality of his views, and above all,
his constant devotion to public life,
marked him out, distinctly as Andrew
Jackson himself, in the line for the
Presidency. In the election of 1824
both were for the first time in the field,
John Quincy Adams, and Crawford, of
Georgia, being the other candidates.
Clay was nominated by his friends in
Kentucky, and other western States.
The electoral vote was ninety-nine for
Jackson, eighty -four for Adams, forty-
one for Crawford, and thirty-seven for
Clay — the votes of Ohio, Missouri,
Kentucky, and four from New York.
No one having the necessary majority,
the choice, according to the provision
of the Constitution, was to be made by
the House of Representatives from the
three highest. Mr. Clay was conse-
quently excluded, but he held the con-
trol of the election in the vote of Ken-
tucky, which was cast for Adams, and
consequently against Jackson,Crawf ord
being removed from the arena by a
fatal illness. This preference of Adams
by Clay was considered a violation of
ii.— 30.
party allegiance by his democratic
friends, and naturally rendered him
odious to the disappointed Jacksonites,
whose principle, controlled by the iron
will of their chief, was always to be un-
sparing to their political opponents.
The storm rose still higher when
Mr. Clay accepted office under Adams
as Secretary of State — an error of pol-
icy, as he afterwards admitted, for it
drew upon him a charge of bargaining
and corruption, of being bought over
to the interests of the candidate whom
his vote had elected, by this prize of
office. Conscious of his own integrity
in the matter, he said, when the admi-
nistration he had served had long
passed away, he had " underrated the
power of detraction and the force of
ignorance." If the detractors had
stopped to consider, they might have
found honorable grounds for his pre-
ference. He had already placed him-
self in a certain antagonism to Jackson
by his speech in 1819, in the House, in
faror of rebuking the assumptions of
power by the military chieftain in the
Seminole war ; and though his course
on that occasion was purely patriotic,
with no unfriendly feeling to the man,
his judgment of his qualifications for
the Presidency could not fail to be in-
fluenced by the issue. Pie doubtless
also looked upon Adams as one more
likely to pursue his own favorite pol-
icy of internal improvements and do-
mestic manufactures. As for any bar-
gain in the case, it was disproved by
Clay's avowed preference of Adams to
Jackson before the occasion arose.
Nothing could be more natural than
that Mr. Adams should, on his own
account, seek to support his adminis
238
HENRY CLAY.
tration by the services of such a man
as Mr. Clay, in the office of Secretary
of State.
For the time, however, the enemies
of the new secretary had the ear of the
public. An occasion arose in the sec-
Dnd year of the administration which
brought the matter to a personal issue.
We have seen Mr. Clay's advocacy of
the independence of the South American
Republics. In accordance with his old
views, he was now bent upon a further
association with their cause in the pro-
motion of a great cis- Atlantic Ameri-
can policy in the appointment of a de-
legation to the congress at Panama,
which was invited by the Mexican and
Central American representatives at
Washington. John Randolph, whose
genius had often been in opposition to
Air. Clay, opposed the measure with
the full force of his argument and in-
vective. In a speech in the Senate he
went so far as to throw out an intima-
tion that the " invitation " to action
proceeded from the office of the Sec-
retary of State, and, in an allusion of
great bitterness, denounced the union
of Adams and Clay as a " coalition of
Blifil and Black George, a combina-
tion, unheard of till then, of the puri-
tan with the blackleg." The venom
of the attack, pointing a charge of
fraud with such cunning emphasis,
brought from Mr. Clay a challenge.
It was accepted by Randolph, and the
duel was fought on the banks of the
Potomac. The first fire of neither took
effect, though both shots were well
aimed. At the second, Mr. Clay's bul-
let pierced his antagonist's coat. Ran-
dolph, as he had all along intended,
though he was diverted from this
course in the first intance, fired his
pistol in the air, upon which Mr. Clay
advanced with great emotion, exclaim-
ing, " I trust in God, my dear sir, you
are untouched ; after what has occurred,
I would not have harmed you for a
thousand worlds."* It was a duel
which should not have been fought ;
there was no hate between two such
chivalrous opponents, who understood
one another's better qualities ; and the
joy at the harmless termination of the
affair was sincere on both sides.
Years after, when Randolph was about
leaving Washington for the last time,
just before his death, he was brought
to the Senate. " I have come," he
said, as he was helped to a seat while
Clay was speaking, " to hear that
voice." The courtesy, burying long
years of political controversy, was met
at the conclusion of his remarks with
his accustomed magnanimity by the
orator. aMr. Randolph, I hope you
are better, sir," he said, as he ap-
proached him. " No, sir," was the re-
ply ; " I am a dying man, and I came
here expressly to have this interview
with you." The sun of that brilliant
existence, a checkered day of darkness
and splendor, went not down upon his
wrath. It was the spring of 1833
when this memorable incident occurred,
the period when Mr. Clay was advo-
cating the compromise of the tariff, to
save the country from what appeared
to him impending civil war. Ran-
dolph, in one of his county Virginia
speeches, had previously pointed to
the Kentucky orator for this service.
" There is one man," said he, " and on«
* Garland's "Life of John Randolph," Jl. 260.
— Benton's " Thirty Years' View," I. 76.
HENRY CLAY.
239
man only, who can save this Union :
that man is Henry Clay. I know he
has the power; I believe he will be
found to have the patriotism and firm-
ness equal to the occasion."*
Previously to that, however, a new
administration was to enter on the
scene. Mr. Clay, having filled the
office of Secretary of State with emi-
nent usefulness to the country, particu-
larly in the management of the foreign
questions of trade and negotiation
which arose, retired with the ill-fated
Adams to make way for the victorious
hero of New Orleans. The retirement
of the secretary, however, in face of
the new power, was not "without its
consolations in the tributes of his
friends and the public. On his way to
his home at Ashland — he had married
on his first arrival in the country, and
had now a rising family around him —
he was received everywhere with en-
thusiasm. The citizens of Lexington,
following the example of other towns
on his route, gave him a complimen-
tary banquet.
Like honors were paid the politician
in retirement, on occasion of a family
visit to New Orleans, at that city and
along his route. Powers like his, how-
ever, were not long to rest unused in
the service of the State. At the close
of 1831, he was elected to the Senate,
and, about the same time, nominated
for the Presidency by the National Re-
publican Convention at Baltimore. In
the Senate he advocated the re-charter
of the United States Bank, which was
carried, and then vetoed by the Presi-
dent., He also set forth at length the
principles of his American System
" Garland's Randolph," II. 362.
of Protection, in the discussion oc
the tariff, which ended favorably tc
his policy. Some amendments were
made, relieving non-protected articles,
but the concession did not satisfy the
growing hostility of the South. The
South Carolina Nullification resolu-
tions, passed in November, 1832, were
followed by the famous Proclamation
of Jackson in December, and the Force
Bill in the Senate of the ensuing Janu-
ary. At this moment, realizing the
prediction of Randolph already cited,
Clay in February introduced his Com-
promise bill, providing for a gradual
reduction of the obnoxious tariff. It
was accepted in the emergency by all
parties in the country, and the threat-
ened storm passed over.
In the meantime the Presidential
election had occurred, demonstrating
an extraordinary advance in the popu-
larity of the omnipotent Jackson. The
contest was between him and Clay,
the latter receiving, out of two hun-
dred and eighty-eight, but forty-nine
votes — those of Massachusetts, Rhode
Island, Connecticut, Delaware, Mary-
land and Kentucky. Thus strongly
fortified, Jackson commenced his sec-
ond term, inaugurating his new rule
by his much-discussed act, the removal
of the deposits from the Bank of the
United States. It created a storm of
opposition, as a violent, unconstitu-
tional act, which found vent in the
Senate in Mr. Clay's resolution of cen-
sure, introduced at the opening of the
new Congress, and, with some modifica-
tion, adopted in the following Maich;
the famous resolution which became
the subject of Mr. Benton's slow and
j pertinacious hostility till he triumphed
240
HENHY CLAY.
in the passage of his Expunging Act.
Not even the eloquence of Clay, exert-
ed to the last, could resist the well-
ordered drill of the Jackson parlia-
mentary forces. Previously to the
winter session of 1833, Mr. Clay made
a visit to the northern cities of the sea-
board, extending his journey as far as
Boston. It was one continued popular
triumph. Had he occupied the Presi-
dential chair he could have received
no more attention. There was always
something in the man which inspired
the enthusiasm of the people.
In 1835 Mr. Clay was enabled to
render a signal service to the country
by the interposition of his report as
chairman of the Committee on Foreign
Affairs, checking the prompt measures
of Jackson for the recovery of the
debt due from France, and giving that
nation an opportunity of reconsidering
its legislation — a delay which resulted
in the payment of the debt, in place of
a fierce and expensive war. A third
time did Mr. Clay thus perform the
part in Congress, of the great pacifica-
tor. On the conclusion of his senator-
ial term he was again chosen, and con-
tinued in the office to the completion
of the new period in 1842. Harrison
meanwhile had come into office, having
received the nomination of the Harris-
burg Convention over Clay, who was
a popular candidate, and Mr. Tyler
had, in a short month, fallen heir to
the Presidency. The Whig party, led
by Clay, was for a time in the ascend-
ant, but its measures were steadily
resisted by the new President.
It would be unjust to the memory of
Henry Clay, in the briefest narrative
of his career, not to pause at his sol-
emn, affecting leave-taking of the Sen
ate. It was inspired throughout by
feeling and manly courtesy, and, de-
livered with his graceful elocution, af-
fected his audience to tears. No act
of the kind was ever performed with
more genuine emotion. The rich na-
ture of the man, ardent, lofty, sympa-
thetic, was poured forth in one contin-
ued strain of touching eloquence. He
spoke of his long public duties, of the
trials and rewards of his career, of the
motives which had nerved him, and
of the kindness with which he had
been received. His tribute to Ken-
tucky was an outburst of gratitude
which the State should cherish among
her proudest records. " Everywhere,"
said he, " throughout the extent of this
great continent, I have had cordial,
warm • hearted, faithful and devoted
friends, who have known me, loved
me, and appreciated my motives. To
them, if language were capable of fully
expressing my acknowledgments, I
would now offer all the return I have
the power to make for their genuine,
disinterested, and persevering fidelity
and devoted attachment, the feelings
and sentiments of a heart overflowing
with never-ceasing gratitude. If, how-
ever, I fail in suitable language to ex-
press my gratitude to them for all the
kindness they have shown me, what
shall I say, what can I say, at all com-
mensurate with those feelings of grati-
tude with which I have been inspired
by the State whose humble representa-
tive and servant I have been in this
chamber ? I emigrated from Virginia
to the State of Kentucky now nearly
forty-five years ago : I went as an or
phan boy who had not yet attained
HEJSKY CLAY.
the age of majority; who had never
recognized a father's smile nor felt his
warm caresses ; poor, penniless, without
the favor of the great, with an imper-
fect and neglected education, hardly
sufficient for the ordinary business and
common pursuits of life; but scarce
had I set my foot upon her generous
soil when I was embraced with paren-
tal fondness, caressed as though I had
been a favorite child, and patronized
with liberal and unbounded munifi-
t'ence. From that period the highest
honors of the State have been freely
bestowed upon me ; and when, in the
darkest hour of calumny and detrac-
tion, I seemed to be assailed by all the
rest of the world, she interposed her
broad and impenetrable shield, repelled
the poisoned shafts that were aimed
for my destruction, and vindicated my
good name from every malignant and
unfounded aspersion. I return with
indescribable pleasure to linger a while
longer, and mingle with the warm-
O ' O
hearted and whole-souled people of
that State ; and when the last scene
shall forever close upon me, I hope that
my earthly remains will be laid under
her green sod, with those of her gallant
and patriotic sons."
His apology for any offence he might
have committed in the heat of debate
was uttered as he only could utter it,
when he turned for a moment to the
contemplation of the nobler struggles
of eloquence the Senate had witnessed.
In conclusion, he invoked " the most
precious blessings of heaven " upon all
and each, and " that most cheering and
gratifying of all human rewards, the
cordial greeting of their constituents,
' Well done, good and faithful servant.'
And now," he ended, " Mr. President
and senators, I bid you all a long, 'a
lasting, and a friendly farewell."
The farewell was honestly taken, but
it was not to be long or lasting. He
returned home, visited New Orleans
again in the winter, and, as formerly,
was called upon to address the public
in advocacy of the measures with which
he was identified. He was again looked
to as a candidate for the Presidency
with the most earnest anticipations
of his success. He was nominated at
Baltimore by the Convention ; Mr.
Polk was arrayed in opposition to him
on the Texas annexation question, and
he was a third time defeated. His
course was a manly one. He had spo-
ken out frankly on the Texas issue, as
involving a war with Mexico, and his
prediction came to pass. He had the
proud satisfaction of saying, "I had
rather be right than President." The
vote stood one hundred and seventy
for Mr. Polk and one hundred and five
for Mr. Clay — the large votes of Penn-
sylvania and New York being gained
by small majorities. The entire popu-
lar vote stood for Polk, 1,336,196 ; for
Clay, 1,297,912, with a sma]l vote for
Birney, the abolition candidate — so
near did Mr. Clay come to the Presi-
dency and fail of reaching it. His
friends, the large party which he repre-
sented, would have rallied upon him in
1848, but the party movers had been
taught the value of expediency, and
the magic of a military reputation
Clay was strong on the first ballot in
the Convention, but General Taylor
received the nomination, and was borne
into the office, like Harrison, soon to
yield it to the universal Conqueror.
242
HENEY CLAY.
Mr. Clay, during this time, was liv-
ing in comparative retirement at Ash-
land, engaged in the occasional practice
of his profession, and receiving the
visits of his friends. He had a sin-
gular proof of their kindness in the
unexpected payment of a mortgage on
his estate. It became known that he
was involved by the loan of his name.
A subscription was taken up in the
chief Atlantic cities, and at New Or-
leans, and the full amount — more than
twenty-five thousand dollars — deposit-
ed to his credit in the Northern Bank
of Kentucky. Other evidences of
kindness poured in upon him, consola-
tory to his years and trials — for he was
now to reap the bitter fruit of the
Mexican war, certainly not of his plant-
ing, in the death of his son Henry, at
the battle of Buena Vista. About
this time, carrying out a resolve pre-
viously formed, he attached himself to
the Episcopal church, was baptized
and confirmed, and partook of the
sacrament.
In 1849, having been elected for the
full term, he was seated again in the
Senate of the United States. His
Compromise Resolutions of 1850, touch-
ing the new territorial questions aris-
ing out of the Mexican war, were the
last great parliamentary efforts of his
career. He proposed that California
should be admitted, without restriction
as to the introduction or exclusion of
slavery ; that "slavery not existing by
law, and not likely to be introduced
into any territory acquired by the
United States from the republic of
Mexico, it was inexpedient for Congress
to provide by law either for its intro-
duction into, or exclude n from, any
part of said territory ; and that appro-
priate territorial governments ought to-
be established by Congress in all of
said territory not assigned as the boun-
daries of the proposed State of Cali-
fornia, without the adoption of any
restriction or condition on the subject
of slavery;" that "it is inexpedient to
abolish slavery in the District of Co-
lumbia, while that institution contin-
ues to exist in the State of Maryland,
without the consent of that State,
without the consent of the people oi
the District, and without just compen-
sation to the owners of slaves within
the District ; but that it is expedient
to prohibit within the District the
slave trade, in slaves brought into it
from States or places beyond the limits
of the District, either to be sold there-
in as merchandise, or to be transported
to other markets, without the District
of Columbia."
In another resolution he declared
more effectual provision should be
made for the restitution and delivery
of persons held to service or labor in
any , State, who may escape into any
other State or Territory in the Union,
and that " Congress has no power to
prohibit or obstruct trade in slaves be-
tween the slaveholding States; but
that the admission or exclusion of
slaves, brought from one into another
of them, depends exclusively upon their
own particular laws." Such, with a
stipulation for the debt and bounda-
ries of Texas, were the provisions with
which Mr. Clay sought to put at rest
the formidable agitation which arose
out of the slavery question. The ad-
mission of California, the adjustment
of the Texas debt, the organization of
HENRY CLAY.
243
the Territories of New Mexico and
Utah, the prohibition of the slave
trade in the District of Columbia, and
the Fugitive Slave Law, were all in ac-
cordance with these recommendations.
In the Congress of 1850-'51, under
the Presidency of Mr. Fillmore, Mr.
Clay was in his seat, battling for his
old issues of the tariff and internal im-
provements. In the following year he
returned once more to the Senate, too
ill and enfeebled to take any active
part in its proceedings. The consump-
tion which was wearing out his life
soon confined him to his room, where
his last act partaking of a public na-
ture was his reception of the Hunga-
rian patriot, Kossuth. He compliment-
ed the zealous orator on his fascinating
eloquence, " fearing," he said, " to come
under its influence, lest his faith might
be shaken in some principles in regard
to the foreign policy of this govern-
ment, which he had long and constantly
cherished." The principles which he
feared might be endangered were those
recommended by Washington's Fare-
well Address, advising no interference
beyond the influence of our example
with the internal difficulties of Europe.
" Far better," he said, " is it for our-
selves, for Hungary, and for the cause
of liberty, that, adhering to our wise,
pacific system, and avoiding the dis-
tant wars of Europe, we should keep
our lamp burning brightly on this wes-
tern shore, as a light to all nations,
than to hazard its utter extinction
amid the ruins of fallen or falling re-
publics in Europe."
The brief remaining record is of the
sick chamber, the wasting of bodily
strength, the solicitude of friends, the
ministrations of religion, of which this
noble-hearted man, accustomed to rule
Senates and control the policy of the
nation, was as penitent, resigned, hum-
ble a participant as any in the thronged
myriads whom the eloquence of his
voice had ever reached. He died, the
aged patriot, at the full age of seventy-
five, at the National Hotel of Washing-
ton, " with perfect composure, without
a groan or struggle," June 29th, 1852.
LETITIA ELIZABETH LANDON.
r I iHE ancestry of this gentle poetess
-1_ is traced, on the paternal side, in
the family of the Landons to the be-
ginning of the last century, when they
were possessed of some landed property
In Herefordshire, England, which was
lost about the time of the South Sea
Bubble, by some unfortunate specula-
tion of a certain Sir William Landon.
After that we find members of the
stock for several generations in the
church. The Rev. John Landon, great
grandfather of the poetess, died in the
year 1777, rector of a rural parish, in
Kent. A son of the same name held
another church living, and his son in
turn rose to the deanery of Exeter.
John Landon, elder brother of the last,
the father of Miss Landon, made two
voyages as a sailor early in life, and
would, it is said, have obtained em-
ployment in the navy, had not his
prospects been disappointed by the
death of his friend and patron, Ad-
miral Bowyer. He subsequently, by
the aid of his brother, obtained a lu-
crative situation as an army agent;
and, marrying Catharine Jane Bishop,
a lady of Welsh extraction, took up
his residence in Hans Place, Chelsea,
u«^ar London, where, on the 14th of
August, 1802, their daughter, the old-
est of three children, Letitia Elizabeth
was born.
She early exhibited unusual mental
acuteness. An invalid friend and
neighbor taught her the alphabet,
throwing the letters upon the floor
and giving her a reward when she
picked out the one called for; and
this reward, a trait of her disinterest-
edness through life, she invariably
brought home to her brother. In her
sixth year she attended a school in
Hans Place, kept by a Miss Rowden, a
lady poetess, who subsequently became
Countess St. Quentin. After a few
months at this place, she was taken
by her parents to a new residence in
the country, Trevor Park, at East
Barnet, where her education fell into
the hands of her cousin, Miss Landon,
who appears to have introduced her
to a comparatively learned course of
reading, including such works as the
histories of Rollin, Hume and Smol-
lett, Plutarch's Lives, Josephus, Dob'
son's Petrarch, with what was proba
bly a pleasant relief, the fables of Gay
and ^Esop. Novels were forbidden;
but, it is said, notwithstanding this
prohibition, that the child managed to
LETITIA ELIZABETH LANDOK
245
get through a hundred volumes or so
of Cooke's widely circulated pocket
edition of the English Poets and
Novelists — a series which, doubtless
among many other children of genius,
gave great delight in their boyhood to
Leigh Hunt, and Dickens.
She seems to have taken a particu-
lar interest in the heroic virtues of the
characters in Plutarch, affecting an es-
pecial fondness for the Spartans, with
a natural inclination of her generous
nature to their self -sacrificing spirit.
For Robinson Crusoe she had a genu-
ine boy's rather than girl's liking,
probably encouraged by her father's
early seafaring life. " For weeks after
reading that book," she subsequently
wrote, *' I lived as in a dream ; indeed,
I scarcely dreamt of anything else at
night. I went to sleep with the cave,
its parrots, and goats, floating before
my closed eyes. I awakened in some
rapid flight from the savages landing
in their canoes. The elms in our
hedges were not more familiar than
the prickly shrubs which formed his
palisades, and the grapes whose
drooping branches made fertile the
wide savannahs." While she was
quite young, her cousin, Captain Lan-
don, returned from America, bringing
to her a copy of Cook's voyages, an in-
cident which, long after, she commem-
orated in a poem to him.
' ' It was an August evening, with sunset in the
trees,
When home you brought his Voyages who
found the fair South Seas ;
For weeks he was our idol, we sailed with him
at sea,
And the pond amid the willows our ocean
seemed to be ;
The water-liiies growing beneath the morning
smile,
n.— 31
We called the South Sea islands, each flower a
different isle.
Within that lonely garden what happy hours
went by,
While we fancied that around us spread foreign
sea and sky.
The adventures in books of travel
had a strange fascination for her, and
somewhat singularly in connection
with the melancholy close of her life,
she was greatly attracted by stories of
Africa. Her favorite among her ju-
venile books was one called " Silvester
Tramper," made up of wild stories of
the men and animals of that country —
a little volume of which she vainly at-
tempted to procure a copy in after
life. She also took much delight in a
copy of the " Arabian Nights," given
to her by her father. "The delight
of reading these enchanting pages,"
she wrote, in a little semi-autobiograph-
ical sketch, entitled " The History of a
Child," " she ever ranked as the most
delicious excitement of her life," recal-
ling "the odor of the Russian leather,"
in which the book was bound, and
" the charming glance at the numerous
pictures which glanced through the
half-opened leaves."
These are all traits of an imagina-
tive child, of a delicate sensibility to
outward impressions, weaving for her-
self a fanciful world of her own.
Though when she began to write, and
appeared before the public as an au-
thor, there was a constant expression
of melancholy ideas in her verses,
which led to the notion that her life
was an unhappy one, even in her youth,
this was by no means the case. On
the contrary, she possessed a happy,
joyous temperament, was fond of sport
and raillery, and, spite of her subse-
, quent trials and disappointments, was
246
LETITIA ELIZABETH LANDON.
always cliaracterized by her playful,
cheerful disposition in society. Of
this contrast between her life and
writings, her biographer, Laman Blan-
chard, says, " there was not the remo-
test connection or affinity ; not, indeed,
a color of resemblance between her
every-day life or habitual feelings, and
the shapes they were made to assume
in her poetry. No two persons could
be less like each other in all that re-
lated to the contemplation of the ac-
tual world, than " L. E. L." and Leti-
tia Elizabeth Landon. People would
do in this, as in so many other cases,
forgetting one of the licenses of poetry,
identify the poet's history in the poet's
subject and sentiment, and they ac-
cordingly insisted that, because the
strain was tender and mournful, the
heart of the minstrel was breaking.
Certain it is that L. E. L.'s naturally
sweet and cheerful disposition was
not, at this time, soured or obscured
by any meditations upon life and the
things most worth living for, which a
lavish and rapturous indulgence of
the poetic mood could lead her into ;
and, however she may have merited
admiration, she had no original claim
to sympathy as a victim to constitu-
tional morbidness. While every chord
of her lute seemed to awaken a thou-
sand plaintive and painful memories,
she was storing up just as many lively
recollections; and, as the melancholy
of her song moved numberless hearts
towards her, her own was only moved
by the same process still farther than
ever out of melancholy's reach. Her
imagination would conjure up a scene
in which, as was said of the " Urn
Burial," the gayest thing you should
see would be a gilt coffin-nail ; ana
this scene she would fancifully con-
found for the time being with human
life, past, present, or to come ; but the
pen once out of her hand, there was no
more sturdy questioner, not to say re-
pudiator, of her own doctrines, than
her own practice. The spectres she
had conjured up vanished as the wand
dropped from her hand. Five minutes
after the composition of some poem
full of passionate sorrow, or bitter dis-
appointment and reproach, she would
be seen again in the very mood out of
which she had been carried by the
poetic frenzy that had seized her — a
state of mind the most frank, affection-
ate, and enjoying — self-relying, but
equally willing to share in the simple
amusements that might be presented,
or to employ its own resources for the
entertainment of others."
These remarks, however, are some-
what in anticipation of our story. We
left Miss Landon, in her school days, in
the country. At the age of thirteen,
she removed with the family to a resi-
dence at Lewis Place, Fulham, where
a year was passed, when they became
established in a new home at Bromp-
ton, a suburb of London. Here, says
Mr. Blanchard, "under the guiding
care of her mother, the good and gen-
erous qualities of her nature continued
to have fair play and to flourish ; while
these powers of intellect and imagina-
tion, which had been early signalized,
acquired ripeness and strength so grad-
ually, as to insure, in the minds of her
friends, the fulfilment of every grati-
fying promise. The days of tasks and
lessons over, her studies took their
own turn, and the tastes she displayed
LETITIA ELIZABETH LANDON.
247
were those of the poetry and the ro-
mance that colored all her visions,
waking or asleep. Pen and ink had
succeeded to the slate, writing to scrib-
bling, distinct images to phantasies
that had as little form as substance ;
and it followed that ideas of publica-
tion and a thirst for fame should suc-
ceed to the first natural charm of par-
ental kisses and family pats on the
head — the delicious encouragement of
an occasional * not so bad ! ' or even a
( very clever, indeed ! ' from some more
enthusiastic patron."
The first publication by Miss Landon
appeared in 1821, when she was at the
age of nineteen, a small volume, issued
by Mr. Warren, of Bond Street, con-
taining a Swiss romantic tale in verse,
entitled •' The Fate of Adelaide," with
some minor poems. When she had
finished the chief poem, in the previous
year, she wrote to a female cousin : " I
hope you will like 'Adelaide.' I
wished to portray a gentle soft charac-
ter, and to paint in her the most deli-
cate love. I fear her dying of it is a
little romantic ; yet, what was I to do,
as her death must terminate it ? Pray
do you think, as you are the model of
my. I hope, charming heroine, you
could have contrived to descend to the
grave —
' Pale martyr to love's wasting flame ' ? "
This was the fate, not only of Ade-
laide, but of another victim of her
lover, the inconstant Orlando, who,
going off to the v/ars in the East, mar-
ries there a fair Zoraide, who also dies,
to be laid by thi; side of "her sweet
rival.'1 The poem was dedicated to
Mrs. Siddons, not altogether as the
tragic muse, which would have been
appropriate enough for the melancholy
of the story, but as an intimate friend
of the mother of the poetess. About
the time of the publication of this vol-
ume, Miss Landon became acquainted
with the late William Jerdan, who
then resided at Brompton, and had re-
cently established the "Literary Ga-
zette," of which he was for many years
the editor. A native of Scotland, with
a somewhat desultory education, and
an unsettled early career, he had been
employed as a writer for the press, and
passing from one newspaper engage-
ment to another, had luckily found a
field for his miscellaneous and not very
profound talents, in the new enterprize
started by Colburn, the publishing of
a weekly journal, to be occupied exclu-
sively with notices of the literature,
art, and science, of the day, with an
occasional glance at social topics. He
early became a contributor to this
work and was soon installed as its
editor. Its plan was then a novelty ;
and, though it had some difficulties to
encounter, like most new undertakings
in the world of letters, it met with a
ready support from the authors of the
day. It called attention to their pur-
suits, was useful to the trade, and af
forded writers a ready means of com
munication with the public. Though,
during the many years it was conduct-
ed by Jerdan, it never attained any
great authority in criticism, it proved
a very aseful work to the literary
world, conveying much information
about the publications of the day,
which were largely exhibited in ex
tracts, and being occasionally enriched
213
LETITIA ELIZABETH LANDCXN.
by valuable original contributions. The
social qualities of its editor doubtless
added much to its success. An excel-
lent after-dinner companion and fre-
quenter of fashionable drawing-rooms,
he mingled freely with most of the
literary and artistic celebrities of the
day. By the side of the graver pro-
ductions noticed in his journal, he
always found a corner for the latest
epigram or bon-mot. Acquaintance
with such a personage must have been
a very charming thing to a young lady
of Miss Landon's vivacity and talent
seeking an introduction to the great
reading world ; while the editor must
have as eagerly hailed such an acquisi-
tion to his paper as was promised in
the facile poetical powers of the fair
author. She became at once a regular
contributor to the "Gazette," at first
furnishing sketches of verse, songs,
" stanzas," and other fragmentary effu-
sions. They were characterized by
their fluency, ease, a certain natural
melody, a vein of sentiment leaning to
melancholy, but not of too oppressive
a cast. There was something in their
flowing utterance pleasing to the fancy,
and contagious in sentiment. Separ-
ately, they might not have attracted
much notice, but when they were kept
up weekly, and the supply seemed in-
exhaustible in its freshness, enquiry
began to be made for the writer. The
poems being invariably signed with
the initials L. E. L., without any other
notice or indication of the author, the
three letters, says her biographer,
" very speedily became a signature of
magical interest and curiosity. Struck
by the evident youth of the writer, by
the force as well as the grace of her
careless and hurried notes, by the im
passioned tenderness of the many songs
and sketches that, week after week,
without intermission, appeared under
the same signature, the public unhesi-
tatingly recognized these contributions
as the fresh and unstudied outpour-
ings of genius; and they, by whom
the loftier beauties, and the more cul-
tivated grace of the living masters of
the lyre were best appreciated, at once,
'with open arms, received one poet
more.' Not only was the whole tribe
of initialists throughout the land
eclipsed, but the* initials became a
name}''
As the trifling designation " Boz,"
long served Dickens in his popular
reputation, so " L. E. L." clung to the
books of Miss Landon during her life.
People seldom spoke of her as an au
thor otherwise than by these initials.
They served for a time to keep up a
certain little mystery of the anony-
mous; were a kind of shelter to hei
personality; provoked curiosity, and
permitted a large amount of flattery
which could not have been so well be-
stowed directly upon the authoress.
Bernard Barton, in the early days of
her verse-making, could address her in
high terms of eulogy, as his unknown
muse :
" I know not who, or what, thou art,
Nor do I seek to know thee,
Whilst thou, performing thus thy part,
Such banquets can bestow me
Then be, as long as thou shalt list,
My viewless, nameless melodist."
And Maginn could, some years later,
in the fulness of her fame, write in
" Eraser's Magazine," " Burke said, that
O . * . '
ten thousand swords ought to have
LETITIA ELIZABETH LAKDOK
249
leaped out of their scabbards at the
mention of the name of Marie Antoi-
nette ; and, in like manner, we main-
tain, that ten thousand pens should
leap out of their ink-bottles to pay
homage to L. E. L." In a like pleas-
ant vein, in the same complimentary
article, he jestingly attributes to the
Edinburgh bookseller, Archibald Con-
stable, the perpetration of a parody on
an old well-known epigram, on occasion
of meeting the poetess while traveling
in Yorkshire.
" I truly like thee, L. E. L. ;
The reason why I cannot tell ;
But this is fact, I know full well,
That I do like thee, L. E. L."
Laman Bl an chard also wrote a whole
string of verses on the famed initials,
when the portrait of the author ap-
peared, prefixed to a volume of her
poems :
" One knows the power of D.C.L.,
The grandeur of K. Gr. ;
And F.B. S. will science spell,
And valor G.C.B.
The sage, the school-boy, both can tell
The worth of £ p. d. ;
But, then, the worth of L. E. L.1
All letters told in three .
In vain I've sought to illustrate
Each letter with a word ;
'Twas only trying to translate
The language of a bird.
I've read ye, L.E.L., quite bare;
Thus— Logic, Ethics, Lays :
Lives, Episodes, and Lyrics fair —
I've guessed away my days.
One wild young fancy was the sire
Of fifty following after;
Like these— Love, Eden, and the Lyre,
Light, Elegance, and Laughter.
Tve drawn from all the stars that shine,
Interpretations silly;
From flowers — the Lily, Eglantine,
And, then, another Lily.
Now fancy's dead ; no thought can strike,
No guess, solution, stricture ;
And L. E. L. is — simply like
This dainty little picture.
Like to her lays ! However Fame
'Mongst brightest names may set hers,
These three initials — nameless name-
Shall never be dead letters."
"While L. E. L., was thus establishing
her reputation as a poetess by a flood
of contributions to the " Literary Ga-
zette," she issued, in 1824, a new vol-
ume from the press, "The Inapro visa-
trice, and other Poems," a collection
extending to over three hundred. The
title of the leading poem was sufficient-
ly characteristic of the author's own
powers and execution. Her poems
were literally improvisations, being
mostly impromptus, written on the
spur of the moment. She had the fac-
ulty of detecting the poetical elements
in any given subject at a glance, and
poured forth sentiment as Theodore
Hook extemporized wit in the draw-
ing-room, on any theme, however seem-
ingly impracticable. She had often to
display this ready talent in the service
of the booksellers, when the topic was
not so agreeable as if it had been of
her own choosing; but as she. never
failed then, she was certainly never at
a loss when following her own incli-
nations. It may be doubted whether
so much good verse as she wrote, fill-
ing a large series of volumes in the
ordinary form, was ever penned with
equal facility. Certainly it would of-
ten have been benefited by compres-
sion, condensation of thought, and an
unsparing rejection of superfluous il
lustration; but with every allowance
250
LETITIA ELIZABETH
for these and the like critical objec-
tions, the product upon the whole was
something marvellous, and quite suffi-
cient to justify the admiration of the
author's contemporaries.
A year after the publication of the
" Improvisatrice " appeared another
volume from her pen, "The Trouba-
dour, with Poetical Sketches of Modern
Pictures and Historical Sketches." The
chief poem of the Collection was, as its
name imports, an assemblage of the
romantic incidents of the days of chiv-
alry. The festival of the Golden Vio-
let, held at Toulouse in the fourteenth
century, in which the flower was the
reward from the hand of beauty, of
prowess in the various accomplish-
ments of knighthood, holds together
the various sentiments and ventures of
the poem, protracted through four can-
tos of flowing minstrelsy. The picture
of the Troubadour may indicate some-
thing of the prevailing texture of the
poem, not unmingled with the charac-
teristic tone of melancholy already
noticed as habitual in the author's
writings :
" And gazing as if heart and eye
Were mingled with that lovely sky,
There stood a youth, slight as not yet
With manhood's strength and firmness set ;
But on his cold, pale cheek were caught
The traces of some deeper thought,
A something seen of pride and gloom,
Not like youth's hour of light and bloom :
A brow of pride, a lip of scorn —
Yet beautiful in scorn and pride —
A conscious pride as if he own'd
Gems hidden from the world beside ;
And scorn, as he cared not to learn,
Should others prize those gems or spurn,
lie was the last of a proud race
Who left him but his sword and name,
A.nd boyhood passed in restless dreams
Of future deeds and future fame.
But there were other dearer dreams
Than the light'ning flash of these war glearai
That fill'd the depths of Raymond's heart;
For his was now the loveliest part
Of the young poet's life, when first,
In solitude and silence nurst,
His genius rises like a spring
Unnoticed in its wandering;
Ere winter cloud or summer ray
Have chill'd, or wasted it away,
When thoughts with their own beauty fill'd
Shed their own richness over all,
As waters from the sweet woods distill'd
Breathe perfume out where'er they fall.
I know not whether Love can fling
A deeper witchery from his wing
Than falls sweet Power of Song from thine.
Yet ah! the wreath that binds thy shrine,
Though seemingly all bloom and light,
Hides thorn and canker, worm and blight.
Planet of wayward destinies
Thy victims are thy votaries.
Alas ! for him whose youthful fire
Is vowed and wasted on the lyre, —
Alas ! for him who shall essay,
The laurel's long and dreary way!
Mocking will greet, neglect will chill
His spirit's gush, his bosom's thrill;
And, worst of all, that heartless praise
Echoed from what another says.
He dreams a dream of life and light,
And grasps the rainbow that appears
Afar all beautiful and bright,
And finds it only formed of tears.
Ay, let him reach the goal, let fame
Pour glory's sunlight on his name,
Let his songs be on every tongue,
And wealth and honors round him flui g:
Will it not own them dearly bought?
See him in weariness fling down
The golden harp, the violet crown ;
And sigh for all the toil, the care,
The wrong that he has had to bear;
Then wish the treasures of his lute
Had been, like his own feelings, mute.
And curse the hour when that he gave
To sight that wealth, his lord and slave."
The loss of her father, while the
work was in preparation, is recorded
in a touching passage at its close :
" My task is done, the tale is told,
The lute drops from my wearied hold;
Spreads no green earth, no summer &k$
To raise fresh visions for my eye.
LETITIA ELIZABETH LATOOK
251
The hour is dark, the winter rain
Beats cold and harsh against the pane,
Where, spendthrift like, the branches twine,
Worn, knotted, of a leafless vine;
And tho wind howls in gusts around,
As omens were in each drear sound, —
Omens that bear upon their breath
Tidings of sorrow, pain and death.
Thus should it be,— I could not bear
The breath of flowers, the sunny air
Upon that ending page should be
Which ONE will never, never see.
Yet who will love it like that one,
Who cherish as he would have done,
My father! albeit but in vain
This clasping of a broken chain,
And albeit of all vainest things
That haunt with sad imaginings,
None has the sting of memory;
Yet still my spirit turns to thee,
Despite of long and lone regret,
Rejoicing it cannot forget.
I would not lose the lightest thought
With one remembrance of thine fraught, —
And my heart said no name but thine
Should be on this last page of mine.
My father, though no more thine ear
Censure or praise of mine can hear,
It soothes me to embalm thy name
With all my hope, my pride, my fame,
Treasures of Fancy's fairy hall, —
The name most precious far of all.
My page is wet with bitter tears, —
I cannot but think of those years
When happiness and I would wait —
On summer evenings by the gate,
And keep o'er the green fields our watch
The first sound of thy step to catch,
Then run for the first kiss and word, —
An unkind one I never heard.
But these are pleasant memories,
And later years have none like these :
They came with griefs, and pain, and cares,
All that the heart breaks while it bears ;
Desolate as I feel alone,
I should not weep that thou art gone.
Alas the tears that still will fall
Are selfish in their fond recall, —
If even tears could win from Heaven
A loved one, and yet be forgiven,
Mine surely might, I may not tell
The agony of my farewell I
A single tear I had not shed, —
'Twas the first tune I mourned the dead, —
It was my heaviest loss, my worst, —
My father! and was thine the first I
Farewell ! in my heart is a spot
Where other griefs and cares come not,
Hallow'd by love, by memory kept,
And deeply honor'd, deeply wept.
My own dead father, time may bring
Chance, change, upon his rainbow wing,
But never will thy name depart,
The household god of thy child's heart,
Until thy orphan girl may share
- The grave where her best feelings are.
Never, dear father, can love be,
Like the dear love I had for thee ! "
The "Troubadour" was, of courso,
heartily praised in the " Literary Ga-
zette," in a tone that one might have
thought would have found a general
echo. But to the discredit of the
world of public opinion in which the
lot of the author was cast, such was
by no means uniformly the case.
Youth, enthusiasm, genius, struggling
with narrow fortunes, freely expend-
ing themselves for others in daily ex-
hibition of the beautiful and good,
were surely entitled to a generous re-
ception. It would have been little
perhaps to complain of, had the writer
been subjected to the too common an-
noyance of unnecessary and unfeeling
criticism ; but her enemies, for, strange-
ly as it sounds, there were such peo-
ple, were contented with nothing less
than attacking her reputation. "Be
thou as chaste as ice, as pure as snow,
thou shall not escape calumny," says
the great dramatist; and Miss Landon
was destined, with some of the pure,
fair, gentle heroines of his creation, to
illustrate the cruel text. The story is
told in a letter, by Lady Blessington,
published in her " Life and Correspon
dence," by Madden. "Soon after,"
she writes, speaking of Miss Landon'a
early youth, " L. E. L. became ac-
quainted with Mr. Jerdan, who.
252
LETITIA ELIZABETH LAJSTDOK
charmed with her talents, encouraged
their exertion by inserting her poems
in a literary journal, with all the en-
comiums they merited. This drew the
attention of publishers on her ; and,
alas ! drew also the calumny and ha-
tred of the envious, which ceased not
to persecute her through her troubled
life, and absolutely drove her from
her native land. There was no slan-
der too vile, and no assertion too
wicked, to heap on the fame of this in-
jured creature. Mr. Jerdan, a married
man, and the father of a large fami-
ly, many of whom were older than L.
E. L., was said to have been her lover,
and it was publicly stated that she
had become too intimately connected
with him. Those who disbelieved
the calumny, refrained not from re-
peating it, until it became a general
topic of conversation. Her own sex,
fearful of censure, had not courage to
defend her ; and this highly-gifted and
sensitive creature, without having com-
mitted a single error, found herself a
victim to slander." The simple gener-
osity and frankness of her disposition
were turned against her. "Unfortu-
nately," says her biographer, Mr.
Blanchard, " the very unguardedness of
her innocence served to arm even the
feeblest malice with powerful stings ;
the openness of her nature, and the
frankness of her manners, furnished
the silly or the ill-natured with abun-
dant materials for gossip. She was
always as careless as a child of set
forms and rules for conduct. She had
no thought, no concern about the in-
o /
terpretation that was likely to be put
upon her words, by at least one out of
a score of listeners — it was enough for
I her that she meant no harm, and that
the friends she most valued knew this
— perhaps she found a wilful and most
dangerous pleasure, sometimes, in niak
ing the starers stare yet more widely.
She defied suspicion. But to induce
her to condescend to be on her guard,
to put the slightest restraint upon her
speech, correspondence, or actions, sim-
ply because self-interest demanded it
to save her conduct from misrepresen-
tation, was a task which, so far from
any one being able to accomplish, few
would, without deliberation, venture
to attempt ; so quick were her feelings,
so lofty her woman's pride, and so
keen and all-sufficing her consciousness
of right." Compelled to take notice
of this slander, in correspondence with
an intimate female friend, Mrs. Thom-
son, author of " Memoirs of the Court
of Henry VIII." and other works, she
thus explains the nature of the associa-
tion which had partly given rise to it :
" As to the report you name, I know
not which is greatest — the absurdity
or the malice. Circumstances have
made me very much indebted to the
gentleman for much of kindness. I
have not had a friend in the world but
himself to manage anything of busi-
ness, whether literary or pecuniary.
Your own literary pursuits must have
taught yon how little, in them, a
young woman can do without assis-
tance. Place yourself in my situation.
Could you have hunted London for a
publisher, endured all the alternate
hot and cold water thrown on youi
exertions; bargained for what sum
they might be pleased to give; and,
after all, canvassed, examined, nay
quarreled over accounts the most intri
LETITIA ELIZABETH LANDOE".
253
?ate in the world ? And again, after
.success had procured money, what was
f to do with it ? Though ignorant of
business, I must know I could not
lock it up in a box. Then, for literary
assistance, my proof sheets could not
go through the press without revision.
Who was to undertake this — I can
3nly call it drudgery — Tmt some one
to whom my literary exertions could
in return be as valuable as theirs to
me ? But it is not on this ground that
I express my surprise at so cruel a
calumny, but actually on that of our
slight intercourse. He is in the habit
of frequently calling on his way into
town ; and, unless it is on a Sunday
afternoon, which is almost his only
leisure time for looking over letters,
manuscript, etc., five or ten minutes is
the usual time of his visit. We visit
in such different circles, that if I ex-
cept the evening he took Agnes and
myself to Miss B 's, I cannot recall
our ever meeting in any one of the
round of winter parties. The more I
think of my past life, and of my future
prospects, the more dreary do they
seem. I have known little else than
privation, disappointment, unkindness,
and harassment ; from the time I was
fifteen, my life has been one continual
struggle in some shape or another
against absolute poverty, and I must
say not a tithe of my profits have I
ever expended on myself. And here I
cannot but allude to the remarks on
my dress. It is easy for those whose
only trouble on that head is change, to
find fault with one who never in her
life knew what it was to have two
new dresses at a time. No one knows
but myself what I have had to con-
n.— 32
tend with — but this is what I have no
right to trouble you with."
We willingly turn from this unhap-
py record of ungenerous persecution to
the further chronicle of those ceaseless
literary productions which were mak-
ing friends for the author throughout
the world, far beyond the range of the
idle gossip of her petty maligners.
Her next published volume, in 1826,
was a kind of sequel to the " Trouba-
dour," being entitled "The Golden
Violet, with its tales of Chivalry and
Romance," a series of ballads, and re-
citals of the minstrels of different na-
tions, contending for the prize at a
May-day court — one of her happiest
works. This was followed, in 1829, by
"The Venetian Bracelet, the Lost Ple-
iad, the History of the Lyre, and other
Poems " — tales in verse of pleasant in-
vention, in light airy numbers, carry-
ing along trippingly the burden of
sentiment, and, in the rapidity of the
current, relieving what in heavier
hands would have been an oppressive
weight of melancholy. It was about
this time that Professor Wilson, in
his assumed character of Christopher
North, in the " Noctes Ambrosianse,"
in " Blackwood's Magazine," uttered a
loud, cheering salvo to the genius of
the rising author. "There is," he
wrote, " a passionate purity in all her
feelings, that endears to me both her
human and poetical character. She is
a true enthusiast. Her affections over-
flow the imagery her fancy lavishes on
all the subjects of her song, and color
it all with a rich and tender light
which makes even confusion beautiful,
gives a glowing charm even to in-
c"> o ~
distinct conception ; and, when the
254
LETITFA ELIZABETH LANDOX.
thoughts themselves are full formed
and substantial, which they often are.
brings them prominently out upon the
eye of the soul in hashes that startle
as into sudden admiration. The orig-
inality of her genius, methinks, is con-
spicuous in the choice of its subjects —
they are unborrowed ; and, in her
least successful poems, as wholes, there
is no dearth of poetry. Her execution
has not the consummate elegance and
grace of Felicia Hemans ; but she is
very young, and becoming every year
she lives more mistress of her art, and
has chiefly to learn now how to use
her treasures, which, profuse as she
has been, are in abundant store ; and,
in good truth, the fair and happy be-
ing has a fertile imagination, — the soil
of her soul, if allowed to lie fallow for
one sunny summer would, I predict,
yield a still richer and more glorious
harvest. I love Miss Landon — for, in
her, genius does the work of duty —
the union of the two is ' beautiful ex-
ceedingly ? — and virtue is its own re- !
ward ; far beyond the highest meed of
praise ever bestowed by critic — though
round her fair forehead is already
wreathed the immortal laurel."
Miss Landon may be compared with
Mrs. Hemans. There is a certain like-
ness with the unlikeness. They re-
sembled one another in native genius
and the impressibility of their nature,
in their kindred appreciation of all
romantic objects, and the ease with
which they turned them to poetic ac-
count. They rank side by side at the
head of the occasional poets, finding
everywhere, and in pretty much every
occasion, a theme for song. Alike,
they illustrated the beauty of the
world, in its sentiment, passion, and
heroic adventure. But the muse of
Mrs. Hemans was of a graver charac-
ter, with a profounder moral religious
element, approaching, particularly in
her later writings, the serious studies
of Wordsworth; while Miss Landon,
spite of her pervading melancholy re-
flections, recalls to us, in her charming
I literary execution, the lighter vein of
Moore. It is hard to take her at her
word, while she sings of sorrows in
such abounding lively measures, the
very inspiration of youth and health.
Yet it would be unphilosophical to
attribute this to mere affectation. In
such natures there is a quick reaction
from grave to gay. With the finest
minds, gaiety may be often a much-
needed, though perhaps unconscious,
protest against encroaching sadness;
and it is not difficult to understand
how the appreciation of the one en-
hances that of the other. But what-
ever may be the explanation, Miss
Landon, in her e very-day life, appar-
ently with a cheerful and even joyous
temperament, when she retires from
the world to communion with her
thoughts, appears inevitably impressed
with the limitations, the short-com-
ings, the disappointments of earthly
existence. There may be at times too
much of self -consciousness in this, with
a tinge of morbid introspection ; but,
upon the whole, looking back upon
her career, these lamentations of sad-
ness are to be taken as no ignoble ex-
pression on her part of the wants of
the soul.
In 1 8 30, Miss Landon put forward a
new claim to attention as a novelist, in
the publication of •' Romance and Re-
LETITIA ELIZABETH LANDOK
255
ality," a tale of unrequited love, in the
heart-trials of a heroine, from which
she has no escape but death — a story,
however, relieved by various graphic
sketches of manners and society. The
work was successful, and was followed
up by two other novels, at intervals
of several years, " Francesca Carrara,"
in 1834, and " Ethel Churchill," one of
her latest productions, in 1837. Mean-
time, a new volume of poems, includ-
ing: a tale, "The Vow of the Peacock,"
O ' '
inspired by a painting by the author's
friend, Maclise, appeared in 1835 ;
while, before and after this date, the
numerous brood of " Annuals," those
elegant combinations of art and liter-
ature, over-valued perhaps in their own
day, and undervalued in our own,
which sprang up during this period,
afforded her constant and profitable
opportunities for her peculiar talents.
Indeed, so well suited was her genius
for the requirements of these popular
undertakings, that an enterprising pub-
lisher secured her services as editor and
author of the entire poetical department
of one of not the least important of
them, "Fisher's Drawing-Room Scrap
Book," an annual quarto volume pre-
sided over by her for eight years, from
1831 to 1838. To this she contributed
some of her best occasional poems,
written frequently, as was often the
case in the annuals, to illustrate a
motley company of engravings set be-
fore her at the convenience of the pub-
lisher. That she preserved her accus-
tomed spirit and freshness in writing
under such exacting conditions, is an
extraordinary proof of the vitality of
her poetic powers. Take any volume
of tnis " Scrap Book " or of the " Liter-
ary Gazette " during the whole period
of her literary life, and you will be
pretty sure to open upon some attrac-
tive verses by L. E. L. Testing this
at a venture, we alight, in the number
of the " Gazette " for June 20th, 1829,
upon an eloquent little poem entitled
" Fame : an Apologue," well worthy
of a place in the choicest collections,
of which there are so many, of the fu-
gitive poetry of the century. It has
a second title, " The Three Brothers :"
"They dwelt in a valley of sunshine, those
Brothers ;
Green were the palm-trees that shadowed
their dwelling;
Sweet like low music, the sound of the foun-
tains
That fell from the rocks round their beautiful
home:
There the pomegranate blushed like the cheek
of a maiden
When she hears in the distance the step of her
lover,
And blushes to know it before her young
friends
They dwelt in the valley — their mine was the
corn-field
Heavy with gold, and in autumn they gath-
ered
The grapes that hung clustering together like
rubies ;
Summer was prodigal there of her roses,
And the ring-doves filled every grove with their
song.
" But those Brothers were weary; for hope, like
a glory,
Lived in each bosom — that hope of the future
Which turns where it kindles the heart to an
altar,
And urges to honor and noble achievement :
For the future is purchased by scorning the
present,
And life is redeemed from its clay soil by fame.
They leant in the shades of the palm-trees at
evening,
When a crimson haze swept down the side oi
the mountain :
Glorious in power and terrible beauty,
The Spirit that dwelt in the star of their birtb
256
LETITIA ELIZAEETH LANDON.
Parted ^ne clouds and stood radiant before
them :
"^ach felt liis destiny hung on that moment;
Each from his hand took futurity's symbol —
One took a sceptre, and one took a sword ;
But a little lute fell to the share of the
youngest,
And his brothers turned from him and laughed
him to scorn.
4 And the King said, 'The earth ehall be filled
with my glory :'
And he built him a temple — each porphyry
column
Was the work of a life ; and he built him a
city —
A hundred gates opened the way to his palace
(Too few for the crowds that there knelt as
his slaves),
And the highest tower saw not the extent of
the walls.
The banks of the river were covered with
gardens ;
And even when sunset was pale in the ocean,
The turrets were shining with taper and
lamp,
Which filled the night-wind as it passed them
with odors.
The angel of death came and summoned the
monarch ;
But he looked on his city the fair and the
mighty,
And said, ' Ye proud temples, 1 leave ye my
fame.'
;< The conqueror went forth, like the storm
over ocean,
His chariot wheels red with the blood of the
vanquished :
Nations grew pale at the sound of his trumpet,
Thousands rose up at the wave of his banners,
And the valleys were white with the bones of
the slain.
He stood on a mountain, no foeman was near
him,
Heavy and crimson his banner was waving
O'er the plain where his victories were written
in blood,
And he welcomed the wound whence his life's
tide was flowing.
For death is the seal to the conqueror's fame.
'But the youngest went forth with his lute —
and the valleys
Were filled with the sweetness that sighed
from its strings ;
Maidens, whose dark eyes but opened on pal
aces,
Wept as at twilight they murmured his words.
He sang to the exile the song of his country,
Till he dreamed for a moment of hope and ol
home:
He sang to the victor, who loosened his cap
tives,
While the tears of his childhood sprang into
his eyes.
He died — and his lute was bequeathed to the
cypress,
And his tones to the hearts that loved music
and song.
" Long ages past, from the dim world of shadow,
These Brothers return'd to revisit the earth;
They came to revisit the place of their glory,
To hear and rejoice in the sound of their fame.
They looked for the palace — the temple ol
marble —
The rose-haunted gardens — a desert was there ;
The sand, like the sea in its wrath, had swept
o'er them,
And tradition had even forgotten their names.
The conqueror stood on the place of his battle,
And his triumph had passed away like a
vapor,
And the green grass was waving its growth of
wild-flowers,
And they, not his banner, gave name to the
place.
They passed a king's garden, and there sat his
daughter,
Singing a sweet song remember'd of old,
And the song was caught up, and sent back
like an echo,
From -a young voice that came from a cottage
beside.
Then smiled the Minstrel, ' You hear it, my
Brothers,
My songs yet are sweet on the lute and the
lip.'
King, not a vestige remains of your palaces ;
Conqueror, forgotten the fame of your battles :
But the Poet yet lives in the sweetness of
music —
He appeal'd to the heart, and that never for-
gets."
It is unnecessary here to trace mi-
nutely the home life of Miss Landon,
or more than allude to the continued
ungenerous persecutions to which she
was subjected by malicious scandal
LETITIA ELIZABETH LANDOK
257
mongers. Lady Blessington tells us,
in the letter already cited, that in
more than one instance, they com-
pelled her to refuse advantageous pro-
posals of marriage. A suitor at last
came who was accepted — Mr. George
Maclean, of an excellent Scottish fami-
ly, the son of a clergyman and nephew
of a Lieutenant-General. At an early
age he had been secretary to the Gov-
ernor of Sierra Leone, the British col-
ony on the coast of Africa, and subse-
quently himself was appointed Gover-
nor. He had held the position for
some time, when, on a visit to Eng-
land, in 1836, he became acquainted
with Miss Landon. An engagement
soon followed, ending in their mar-
riage in June, 1838 ; the novelist Bui-
wer, a friend and admirer of the au-
thoress, assisting at the ceremony in
giving away the bride. Early in the
following month, Gov. Maclean, with
his wife, sailed for the place of his
official residence, Cape Coast Castle,
in Africa. The official income of the
Governor was not large, and the mar-
riage seemed likely to make little in-
terruption in the literary activity of
the authoress. While at sea, she com-
posed two poems, "The Polar Star,"
and "Night at Sea," which were for-
warded to England to be published in
the "New Monthly Magazine." On
her arrival, she expressed her gratifica-
tion at the sight of her new home, and
the natural features of the country
around her, in which she had always
taken an imaginative interest. "The
Castle," she wrote, to her friend, Mr.
Blanch ard, " is a fine building, of which !
we occupy the middle. A huge flight '
of steps leads to the hall, on either ;
side of which are a suite of rooms.
The one in which I am writing, would
be pretty in England. It is of a pale
blue, and hung with some beautiful
prints, for which Mr. Maclean has a
passion. On three sides, the batteries
are washed by the sea, the fourth is a
striking land view. The hills are
covered with what is called bush, but
we should think wood. It is like liv-
ing in the ' Arabian Nights,' looking
out upon palm and cocoa-nut trees."
To Mrs. S. C. Hall, Mrs. Thomson,
and others of her friends, she wrote
communicating details of her new life,
the manners and society of the place.
The latter, indeed, was somewhat lim-
ited, but there was little opportunity
for ennui. Soon after their amval
her husband was taken down with a
fever, during which she waited upon
him with a constant affection and
anxiety. Her literary occupations
must also have afforded her constant
employment, for she was employed in
preparing a series of prose "Essays
on the Female Characters in Walter
Scott's Novels and Poems," for Lady
Blessington's "Book of Beauty," a
number of which she completed while
engaged in these pursuits in the autumn
of her first year in Africa. On the
morning of the 15th of October, 1838
her health impaired by attendance on
her husband in his illness, she was
suffering from an attack of spasm or
fainting, to which she had been for
some time subject, and took as a rem-
edy, to which she had been familiar-
ly accustomed, some drops of a pre-
paration of prussic acid. At least,
this was the presumption, when her
maid found her, on entering thf.- room,
258
LETITIA ELIZABETH
her life extinct, and the labelled vial
by her side. An inquest was held,
and the jury, from the evidence before
them, pronounced that she died by
poison, incautiously administered by
her own hand. Thus, at the early age
of thirty-six, fell this gifted authoress.
The gossip and scandal which had been
so prejudicial to her life, followed her
husband after her death. Suspicious
circumstances were found in the neg-
lect of any examination of the remains ;
in the quick burial ; in the fact that
the English maid was about to be sent
home the very day of the disaster, as
if this were inevitably evidence of ill
treatment of the wife, and that she
had poisoned herself in consequence;
there was a story of jealousy on the
part of a native mistress of her hus-
band, who might have been the agent in
the murder. In fine, in these and various
conjectures and suppositions, there were
extraordinary efforts to raise a mystery
about the event of her death. A great
deal was written, and still continues to
be written on the subject ; but nothing
apparently of any weight to impeach
the honor of Governor Maclean, or
render the verdict of the coroner's
jury other than the most probable ex-
planation of the event.
There is an excellent portrait of
Miss Landon, painted by Maclise, and
engraved by Finden. as a frontispiece
to " The Vow of the Peacock," in 1835.
It represents, with something more of
fulness and maturity than the same
artist had rendered the girlish figure a
few years before in " Eraser's Maga-
zine,1' the plump, but expressive coun-
tenance, lighted by eyes through which
the so'il seeais speaking — the frank,
open look which extorted the compli-
ment from the Ettrick Shepherd, when
he was introduced to her in London :
" Oh dear ! I ha' written and thought
many a bitter thing about ye, but I'll
do sae nae mair; I did na think ye'd
been sae bonnie." Her biographer, Mr.
Blauchard, supplies the details of her
personal appearance : " Her easy car
riage and careless movements," he
writes, " would seem to imply an in-
sensibility to the feminine passion for
dress ; yet she had a proper sense of
it, and never disdained the foreign aid
of ornament, always provided it was
simple, quiet, and becoming. Her
hair was ' darkly brown,' very soft
and beautiful, and always tastefully
arranged ; her figure, slight, but well-
formed and graceful ; her feet small,
but her hands especially so, and fault-
lessly white and finely shaped ; her
fingers were fairy fingers; her ears,
also, were observably little. The face,
though not regular in every feature,
became beautiful by expression ; every
flash of thought, every change and
color of feeling, lightened over it as
she spoke, when she spoke earnestly.
The forehead was not high, but broad
and full ; the eyes had no overpower-
ing brilliancy, but their clear, intellec-
tual light penetrated by its exquisite
softness ; her mouth was not less mark-
ed by character, and, besides the glo-
rious faculty of uttering the pearls and
diamonds of fancy and wit, knew how
to express scorn, or anger, or pride, as
well as it knew how to smile winning
ly, or to pour forth those short, quick,
ringing laughs,which,not excepting her
bon-mots and aphorisms, were the most
delightful things that ijsued from it'
LORD LYTTON.
TjlDWARD GEORGE EARLE
-1JJ LYTTON BULWER, the young-
est son of General William Earle Bui-
wer, of Heydon Hall, Norfolk, Eng-
land, and of Elizabeth Barbara, the
only daughter and heiress of Richard
Warburton Lytton, of Kueb worth,
Hertfordshire, was born at his father's
residence, May 25, 1805. By the
death of this parent, he was early left
to the care of his mother, a woman of
superior character and intelligence,
who carefully directed his education.
Her father, Mr. Smiles tells us, was a
great scholar, the first Hebraist of his
day, and above Porson himself in the
judgment of Dr. Parr. He wrote
dramas in Hebrew, but he neglected
his estates, which were fast going to
decay under the care of stewards, when
his daughter, Mrs. Bulwer, was left a
young widow, and went back to reside
at Kneb worth with her family. There
the childhood of Sir Edward was pas-
sed under the happiest influences. He
soon displayed a remarkable talent and
precocity, guided by the examples fur-
nished by his mother, writing verses
when he was but six years old. At
the age of fifteen, he appeared in print
as the author of " Ismael, an Oriental
Tale." After a thorough training un-
der private tutors, maintaining mean-
while a constant correspondence with
his grandfather's friend, the learned
Dr. Parr, he entered Tiinity Hall,
Cambridge, where he distinguished
himself by his powers as a debater, and
won the Chancellor's prize medal for
an English poem on "Sculpture,"
which was published in 1825. He
also devoted himself to the cultivation
of neglected portions of English litera-
ture ; and, in connection with a friend,
subsequently Earl of Lovelace, found-
ed a bibliographical society, after-
wards honorably remembered as " The
Old Book Club." During the vaca-
tions, he made pedestrian excursions
over England and Scotland, and the
year after he left College, travelled on
horseback through a great part of
France. He graduated Bachelor of
Arts, and subsequently received the
degree of Master of Arts.
He was early marked out for an au-
thor, his literary career having com-
menced the year he graduated, with
the publication, at Paris, in a privately
printed edition of fifty copies, of a col-
lection of juvenile poems, under the
title " Weeds and Wild Flowers." This
(259)
260
LOED LYTTOK.
was followed the next year by a tale
in verse, " O'Neil ; or, The Rebel," af-
ter the manner of Byron. The same
year appeared, also anonymously, his
first novel, "Falkland," a love story,
passionate and sentimental, the publi-
cation of which he afterwards regret-
ted, refusing it a place among Ms col-
lected works. It was, however, when
his popularity was established, repub-
lished by the Harpers in America.
Then, in 1829, came " Pelham ; or, The
Adventures of a Gentleman," a dash-
ing novel of fashionable modern Eng-
lish society, followed rapidly by " The
Disowned " and " Devereux," in which
he introduced some historical charac-
ters, in the wits of Queen Anne's time.
In 1830, came "Paul Clifford," the ad-
ventures of a highwayman, which led
the way for a class of compositions in
fiction culminating in Ainsworth's
" Jack Sheppard." This was followed
by an elaborate satire in verse, social
and political, entitled "The Siamese
Twins," which had but little success.
Not so, however, his next novel, " Eu-
gene Aram," the story of a murderer,
whom he invested with the interest of
scholarship and sentimental refine-
ments in an artfully constructed tale,
which raised his popular reputation to
an extravagant height. It was in
everybody's hands, and universally
read for its thrilling excitement, before
the critics had time to warn the pub-
lic against its essential immorality. As
a relief to the mental excitement in
the production of that tale of crime
and agony, he wrote the quiet political
story of " Godolphin," which was pub-
lished anonymously in 1833.
In the meantime, in 183], he had
entered upon political life, being elect-
ed to parliament as a member for St.
Ives. It was the period of the agita-
tion of the Reform Bill, of which he
was an earnest advocate. In 1832, he
was elected a member of the Reform
Parliament for Lincoln, which he con-
tinued to represent till 1841. He waa
all this while eagerly following up his
successes in literature. About the
time that he took his seat in the House
of Commons, he became engaged as
the successor of the poet Campbell, in
the editorship of the " New Monthly
Magazine," to which he contributed a
valuable series of essays, afterwards
collected under the title of " The Stu
dent." In another work, which, doubt-
less, had its impulse in his political
pursuits, he gave expression to his taste
for philosophical criticism, a brace of
volumes, entitled "England and the
English," a thoughtful and spirited
book, of ingenious reflection and point-
ed delineations of life and character.
This was given to the world in 1833.
The next year the author returned to
his favorite walk of fiction in "The
Pilgrims of the Rhine," a collection of
legends set in a frame of tender senti-
ment, followed immediately by the
graphic presentment of ancient Roman
life, in "The Last Days of Pompeii."
This, like most of his other works in
fiction, proved an eminent success. In
his next work, Italy again furnished
the theme, but this time the story was
taken from a more modern period. In
" Rienzi," the tale of the Roman trib-
une, he supplemented the brilliant nar
rative of Gibbon, by a lively portrait-
ure of the actor in this episode of the
national anaals, with the advantage of
LORD LYTTON.
261
tights and effects in the best school of
.historical fiction.
Following close upon these works,
Bulwer's reputation as a scholar, critic,
and philosophical enquirer, was great-
ly enhanced by his publication, in
1837, of his work entitled " Athenr -
its Rise and Fall,'' a book which,
amidst the numerous productions to
which the recent study of Greek his-
tory has given rise, may still be read
with interest for its eloquent and ap-
preciative sketches of the literature
and character of the nation. In rapid
sequence after this graver essay came
two inore novels, still advancing the
writer's reputation in this field, "Er-
nest Maltravers," and its continuation,
" Alice ; or, The Mysteries," intense,
passionate, with traces of German cul-
ture in the development of character.
" Leila ; or, The Siege of Grenada," and
" Calderon, the Courtier," were also
productions of this period, which was
further marked by his elevation to a
baronetcy, in the promotions attendant
upon the coronation of Victoria.
Not satisfied with his brilliant suc-
cesses in fictitious composition, Sir Ed-
ward, with characteristic energy and
perseverance, was bent upon attaining
success as a dramatist. His first play,
"The Duchess of La Valliere," had
been acted with but moderate success,
in 1836 ; it was now, in 1838, follow-
ed by " The Lady of Lyons," one of
the most successful of the modern
pieces brought upon the English stage ;
and subsequently by "Richelieu," in
1839; "The Sea Captain," the same
year, afterwards reproduced as "The
Rightful Heir ;" the comedy of "Money,"
;n 1840; and, "Not so Bad as We
n— 33
Seem," which was written for perfor-
mance by Dickens and his fellow ama-
teur actors, for the benefit of the
"Guild of Literature and Art;" and,
in 1869, the rhymed comedy of « Wai-
pole."
In addition to these brilliant exer-
tions of his talents, the mental activity
of Bulwer was shown, in 1841, in his
association with Sir David Brewster
and Dr. Lardner in the editorship of a
valuable periodical, published by the
Longmans, entitled "The Monthly
Chronicle," to which, with some fine
aesthetic essays and criticisms, he cor
tributed an " Historical Review of tht
State of England and Europe at the
Accession of Queen Victoria." The
magazine was of a high character, in
advance of most of the works of its
class in England, in its philosophical
spirit. Nothing, however, was to be
suffered long to divert the author from
his main career as a novelist. We
consequently find him, the same year,
adding to the already long series of
his writings in this department, the
production "Night and Morning,"
which was speedily followed by " Za-
noni," which, indeed, he had commenc-
ed with the title "Zicci," in the
"Monthly Chronicle." Another vol-
lurne of poetry, " Eva, the Ill-Omened
Marriage," is also to be credited to this
period.
We have now reached the year 1843,
when, by Royal permission, Sir Ed-
ward took the name of Lytton instead
of Bulwer for his surname, on coming
into possession by his mother's will of
the estates in Hertfordshire, to which
she was sole heiress. This year was
also marked by the publication of his
262
LORD LYTTOK
English historical novel, "The Last of
the Barons.1' In 1844, the fruit of a
previous tour in Germany appeared in
an excellent volume of poetical trans-
lations of the <• Poems and Ballads of
Schiller," accompanied by an apprecia-
tive and well-digested life of the poet.
He was now at the age of forty; and
the continuous toil, of which the read-
er, from the bare list of his writings,
must have conceived a vivid impres-
sion, was showing its effects in shat-
tered bodily health. To repair his
constitution, he submitted to a vigor-
ous course of hydropathic treatment
in the year 1845, of which he gave an
account in his published letter to the
novelist, Ainsworth, entitled " Confes-
sions of a Water Patient." His health
was, in a great degree, restored by the
treatment; and we find him imme-
diately plunged again into his usual
course of activities, literary and politi-
cal. First we have the most success-
ful of his poetical works, the partly
satirical "New Timon," a portion of
which was published anonymously in
1845, and which was issued in its com-
plete form two years afterwards.
Then, also in 1847, came "Lucretia;
or, The Children of Night," a romance
of crime and intrigue, "full of hor-
rors," outdoing the author's previous
stories of this kind, which had its
origin in the actual history of the poi-
soner Wainwright. The painful im-
pression of this work was, however,
relieved by the genial humors of " The
Caxtons," a philosophical novel of do-
mestic English life, with traces of the
study of Sterne in its composition,
published first in a serial form in
" Blackwood's Magazine," and com-
pleted in 1849. To this succeeded
"King Arthur, an Epic in Twelve
Books," in which the author, in an
amiable spirit, narrated various ad-
ventures of the old fairy court — a work
which would doubtless be better ap-
preciated by the public, were it not
overshadowed by Tennyson's elaborate
and exquisite presentation of similai
scenes in " The Idylls of the King.
Another English historical novel,
" Harold, the last of the Saxon Kings,"
was published by Sir Edward Lytton
in 1848. He then, while residing
abroad at Nice, resumed the vein of
thought and feeling he had so success-
fully worked in the " Caxtons," by
publishing in Blackwood the serial
chapters of " My Novel," alleged to be
written by Pisistratus Caxton. " The
author," says one of his intelligent
critics, " who thought this book worth
an affectionate dedication to his bro-
ther, may be assumed to have meant
by its title that he put it forth as his
own genuine view of ' The Varieties in
English Life.' It is totally unlike
everything else he has written. A
better book, in the spirit which it
breathes, in the tone which it sounds,
in the repose of feeling, the breadth of
contemplation, the purity of style, has
been written by no English novelist of
our day. The inhabitants of the rural
village of Hazeldean; the Squire's
family; good parson Dale and his
quick-tempered wife ; Dr. Eiccabocca,
the Italian exile, with his quaint saga-
city and his Quixotic oddity, are per-
fectly alive ; while the folk in London
— Mr. Audley Egerton, the statesman ;
Harley L'Estrange, his generous, eccen-
tric friend ; the ambitious schemer
LORD LYTTOTsT.
203
Randal Leslie ; wild John Burley, the
hack writer; strong Richard A ven el,
the Radical who has been in America,
seem almost equally real. The humor
of the author is so kindly and benig-
nant, his judgments are so tempered
with charity and the tolerance of wis-
dom, and his moral teachings, in this
story, are so true and so full of practi-
cal good sense, that we prefer to accept
" My Novel " as the enduring manifes-
tation of himself, and to put aside
most of his other prose fictions as the
temporary diversions of a clever writer
in various feigned postures of mind."*
We have now to trace the course of
Sir Edward in his resumption of his
political career. In his early service
in Parliament, he had been distin-
guished by his Whig principles. In
the re-adjustment of political affairs,
after the Reform Bill had been se-
cured, there were various changes, as
witnessed in the life of Disraeli and
others, who came to rank themselves
on the Conservative side. Sir Edward
Lytton was of this class. He adopted
the views of the Protectionists, which
he advocated in 1852, in a published
" Letter to John Bull, Esq., on Affairs
connected with his Landed Property
and the Persons who Live Thereon,"
and in the next year was returned a
member of the House of Commons for
his county of Hertfordshire. Subse-
quently, on the accession of the Con-
servative party to power, under Lord
Derby, in 1858, he received the cabi-
net appointment of Secretary of State
for the Colonies, which he held a year,
distinguishing his term of office by his
services to the Colonial settlements of
11 Illustrated " Lor- don News," Dec. 4. 1869.
British Columbia and Queensland. In
July, 1866, when Lord Derby waa
again premier, he was raised to the
peerage as Baron Lytton of Kneb-
worth.
To the list of our author's writings
we have yet to add " What will He do
with It?" first published like the
" Caxtons," in " Blackwood's Maga-
zine ;" " A Strange Story," which ap-
peared originally in Dickens' " All the
Year Round;" "Caxtoniana; or, Es-
says on Life, Literature, and Manners,
by Pisistratus Caxton;" "The Lost
Tales of Miletus," a collection of an-
cient legends in verse ; a translation
in metres, following the original of
the " Odes of Horace," with the latest
labors of his long literary career, the
novel of " The Parisians," an anony-
mous work, following upon "The
Coming Race," in " Blackwood's Mag-
azine," and another work of fiction,
of great spirit and vivacity, a picture
of the philosophies of the day,
"Kenelm Chillingly, His Adventures
and Opinions," which was completed,
and had just been announced for pub
lication, while " The Parisians " was
yet only partly issued, at the time of
the author's death.
This event occurred after an illness
of a few days, January 18th, 1873,
at Torquay, on the southern coast of
England, whither he had resorted for
O '
the mildness of the climate. On the
25th, his remains were interred in the
chapel of St. Edmund, in Westminster
Abbey.
Lord Lytton, in 1827, was married
to Miss Rosina Wheeler, of Limerick,
in Ireland; but the union proved an
unhappy one, and was dissolved by a
264
LOED LYTTON
divorce. Edward Robert Bulwer Lyt-
tou, the only son by this marriage, the
successor to his father's title and es-
tates, has achieved a reputation in
literature by his poetical productions,
published under the name of " Owen
Meredith."
A prominent characteristic of Lord
Lytton as an author, was his indomit-
able energy and perseverance, often
taking the public by surprise by his
successes in the face of adverse criti-
cism. "Whether as novelist, or as
poet, or as dramatist," says one of his
critics in a posthumous notice, " he
never knew when he was beaten.
4 The Duchesse de la Valliere ' was
damned, but he brought out the " The
Lady of Lyons ' and ' Money,' both of
which took the town by storm, and
have remained ever since as what are
called stock-pieces on the boards. * The
Siamese Twins ' fell still-born, but
* St. Stephens ' lives vigorously ; * Falk-
land ' was suppressed, and is long for-
gotten ; but how many others of his
novels and romances made the tour of
Europe and America, besides being
translated into almost every one of the
civilized languages ? What is espe-
cially noticeable, moreover, in regard
to his long literary career, is this, that
he again and again carefully avoided
relying, or, as the phrase is, trading,
upon his own reputation as a man
of letters. In other words, he, with
a curious frequency, brought out
now a new poem, now a new play,
now a new novel, quite anonymously ;
in this manner, it is a simple matter
of fact to say, winning reputation up-
on reputation. ' Godolphin,' one of
the lighter of his fashionable novels,
ran through several editions in its
first season, before its authorship was
acknowledged. ' The Lady of Lyons '
had been acted nightly for a fortnight
before the town knew that it was his.
' The Caxtons, a Family Picture,' stole
its way into the public heart, instal
ment by instalment, before ever the
more discerning began to read in be-
tween the lines the sweeter and whole-
somer manner of Bulwer Lytton. ' The
New Timon ' and ' King Arthur ' had
his name first on their respective title-
pages upon their second, or, strictly
speaking (for they had, first of all,
passed through a serial issue), upon
their third publication. Enough, how-
ever, of the long, radiant, varied career
of Edward Bulwer, Lord Lytton. Three
things more we are desirous of adding
One is this, that his aspiration through
out life as a man of letters, — the title
of all others that he (with his stately
and knightly lineage, through which
hie was allied with the Tudors and the
Plantagenets) was proudest of, and
loved the most dearly, — his aspiration
all along as a man of letters, he him-
self has expressed in a poem penned
at thirty years of age, and beginning, —
' I do confess that I have wished to give,
My land the gift of no ignoble name,
And in that holier air have sought to live,
Sunned with the hope of fame. '
" A day-dream, not idly indulged,
but one long since and how resplendent-
ly realized ! Another thing about him
is this, that again and again he nobly
vindicated the rights and privileges oi
his calling as an artist and a man
of letters. Dramatic authors owe to
him in England the security of dra
LOKD LYTTOK
265
raatic copyright. He was among the
first to take part in the long-continued
assault made, and at last triumphant-
ly, on the so-called taxes upon knowl-
adge. Brother artists and brother
authors found in him one, not only
ready, but eager to claim for himself
the honor of fraternity. One of his
works he charmingly inscribed to
Gibson, the sculptor; another, as
charmingly, to Ernst, the violinist.
When Macready bade adieu to the
stage, Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton,
most gracefully and graciously, pre-
sided over the farewell banquet.
When Charles Dickens was going for
the last time to America, Lord Lytton,
upon the occasion of that yet more
memorable banquet, was chairman,
being present in the twofold character
of an attached friend and as a brother
novelist. Finally, what we are still
desirous of saying, has reference
to the remark that Lord Lytton was
intensely ingrained, in his innermost
nature, a chivalrous gentleman. And
in attestation that indeed he was so, it
will be enough to give here what has
never yet been published among his
writings, that terse and noble, and, as
it seems to us, beautiful inscription,
emblazoned round the banqueting
hall of his old ancestral home of
Knebworth The words are these -
'; Read the rede of this old roof -tree
Here be trust fast, opinion free,
Knightly right hand, Christian knee ;
Worth in all, wit in some ;
Laughter open, slander dumb;
Health where rooted friendships grow,
Safe as altar, e'en to foe;
And the sparks that upwards go
Whei. the hearth flame dies below,
If thy sap in them may be,
Fear no winter, Old Roof Tree."*
The comic journal of England,
" Punch," also, which, amidst its jests
and humor, is never wanting, on prop-
er occasions, in the pathetic, had ita
feeling tribute to the genius of the
versatile author ;
" What field of letters but in him may wail
A leading reaper, fall'n amongst his sheaves,
A good knight, sleeping knightly in his mail.
What wreath of all set for the victor's prize
In the arena where brain strives^with brain
But he or won it, in fair knightly guise,
Or, if he lost, so lost, to lose seemed gain
If his each triumph could its trophy claim,
Upon the coffin in his abbey grave,
Laurels would leave no room to write a name,
Known, wide as breezes blow and billows lave.
Novelist, poet, satirist, and sage,
Nor only sovereign of the study crowned
By willing thralls of his delightful page,
Lord of the theatre's tumultuous round.
Then from the Study to the State addresst,
An orator of mark to claim the ear,
Which England's Senate yields but to the best,
Whose wisdom wise men may be fain to hear.
Gracious withal, for all his clustered crowns,
To those among his lettered brotherhood,
Stunned by fate's buffets, saddened by hei
frown,
And quick to help them howsoe'er he could.
He fell in harness, as a soldier ought,
The ink scarce dry in the unwearied pen,
Thinking of other battles to be fought,
New laurels to be culled, new praise of men,
The last proof read, the last correction made,
Sudden the never-resting brain was still :
No laurels now, but those that shall be laid
Upon the marble brow — so deadly chill."*
* The "Athenaeum," Jan. 25, 1873.
* '-' Punch; or, London Charivari," Feb. 1, 1873
OTTO VON BISMARCK.
astute statesman,' whose ca-
JL reer tnust always be regarded
with the utmost interest, identified as
it is with the important national
movement, which, within a. brief pe-
riod, has so vastly aggrandized his
country, was born at the ancestral
residence of his family, Schbnhausen,
in the province of Brandenburg, Ger-
many, on the 1st of April, 1815. The
family may be traced far back in the
old German annals, previous to its
connection with Schonhausen, which
dates from about the middle of the
sixteenth century, when one of its
branches became established at that
place. Thenceforth, it was honorably
represented in various diplomatic and
military positions held by its members
in the service of the Prussian mon-
archy, and in other public relations.
August Frederick, the great • grand-
father of the subject of this notice, an
officer of the great Frederick, died on
the field of battle, in one of his sov-
ereign's engagements with the Aus-
rrians. His son, Charles Alexander,
was also in the civil and military
service of Frederick the Great ; and, in
the next generation, Charles William
Ferdinand, the father of Otto, was
(26G)
likewise educated for the army, in
which he held a captaincy of horse.
He married a daughter of a Privy
Councillor of distinction at the court
of Frederick William III., Anastatius
Ludwig Menken, a lady of a refined
education, many accomplishments, and
much personal influence. Though she
did not live to witness her son's tri-
umphs in public life, she earnestly de-
sired that he should pursue a diplo-
matic career. She died in 1839, when
he was at the age of twenty-four, her
husband following her to the grave a
few years after, in 1845.
The early years of Count Bismarck
were passed at Kniephof, an estate in
Pomerania, to which his parents had
succeeded, and which subsequently
came into his possession. His educa-
tion was commenced at Berlin, where
the family resided in the winter. It
was conducted at the best schools of
the city, first at a boarding-school,
and afterwards at the Frederick Wil-
liam Gymnasium ; and the usual full
course of instruction of these establish-
ments was supplemented by addition-
al studies of the modern languages, in
which he was led by various private
tutors. In this way, the basis was
'OOVNT VON~:B2SA[ARGK J
Jo"hrison,VvYlson & Co.Pullislicrs.lx '
OTTO YON BISMARCK.
260
of Jews, lie opposed it, maintaining
that the problem of the State was to
realize and verify the doctrine of
Christianity, and that this was not at
all likely to be accomplished by the
aid of such allies. For this speech he
was assailed as a reactionary with
ideas from the dark ages. One thing,
however, reconciled him to the assem-
bly of the United Diet, he saw in it a
step towards a dominant Prussian
State Government. Then came the
"Revolution in Paris, of 1848, prepara-
tory to the popular struggle in Ger-
many, during which he stood unmov-
ed on the side of prerogative, vigor-
ously denouncing the destructive spirit
of the times. Taking his seat in the
second United Diet in April, he con-
tinued his protests against the revolu-
tionary spirit of the hour, and having
been elected member of the Second
Chamber of the Diet of 1849, vigor-
ously opposed the new Constitution
and the Frankfort Parliament, con-
stantly defending the threatened sov-
ereignty of Prussia. A strong mili-
tary national Prussian policy was his
ideal. Referring to the frequent po-
litical illustrations in the debates
drawn from English precedents, he
said : " Give us everything English
that we do not possess ; give us Eng-
lish piety and English respect for the
law ; give us the entire English Con-
stitution, but with this the entire re-
lations of the English landlords, Eng-
lish wealth and English common-
sense — then it will be possible to
govern in a similar manner. The
Prussian Crown must not be forced
into the powerless position of the
English Crown, which appears more
n.— 34
like an elegant ornament at the apex
of the edifice of the State. In ours, I
recognize the supporting pillar." " Our
watchword," he wrote, in a friend's
album, in 1850, " is not ' a United State
at any price,' but 'the independence
of the Prussian Crown at every price.' "
In May, 1851, Bismarck received
from the King the appointment of
First Secretary of the Embassy to the
Diet at Frankfort-on-the-Maine, with
the title of Privy Councillor ; and, in
the following August, received the
rack: of Ambassador. " The duties of
this position were at this time excep-
tionally difficult, as the circumstances
of Prussia were exceptionally critical.
Bismarck expressed the conviction that
Austria would strive to retain Prus-
sia in such a state of humiliation as
would end in the final destruction of
Germany ; and, in spite of his tradi-
tionary inclination to the Austrian
alliance, he resolved upon opposition.
Notwithstanding the antagonism which
arose from his claims to achieve for
Prussia an equality with Austria at
the Diet, Bismarck lived on terms of
greater or less friendship and intima-
cy with a series of three Austrian
Ambassadors who were his contempo-
raries at Frankfort — a circumstance in
great part owing to the fact that in
his federal policy, he went hand in
hand with them. In May, 1852, he
was intrusted with an important mis-
sion to Vienna, on which occasion he
followed the imperial court into Hun-
gary ; and in the summer of the fol-
lowing year, fulfilled other missions in
various parts of Europe. During the
summer of 1855, he visited the Exhi-
bition at Paris, and was introduced to
270
OTTO YON BISMARCK.
the Emperor of the French, with whom,
on a subsequent visit to Paris in 1857,
he had his first special political confer-
ence. He was recalled from his Frank-
fort mission in 1859, and sent as Prus-
sian Ambassador to the court of St.
Petersburg. Here, amongst other du-
ties, he endeavored to further the plans
he had conceived at Frankfort, of an
alliance between Russia, France, and
Prussia, for the purpose of securing to
Prussia supremacy in Germany, in the
interests of German unity. His resi-
dence at St. Petersburg, varied by sev-
eral absences to different parts of Rus-
sia and Germany, extended to 1862,
by which time he had gained the es-
teem and confidence of the Czar, who
conferred on him the order of St.
Alexander Newski.
" On the 23d of May of this year,"
continuing the abstract of his career
in the " English Cyclopaedia," " he was
appointed ambassador to Paris, and
delivered his credentials to the Em-
peror on the 1st of June ; at the end
of which month he took a short trip
to the Exhibition in London, return-
ing to Paris on the 5th of July. His
mission to France commenced with the
best of omens, but it was of short con-
tinuance; for, whilst enjoying an ex-
cursion to the Pyrenees, he was sum-
moned by telegraph to Berlin, where
he arrived in September, 1862, to un-
dertake, in extremely critical circum-
stances, the Premiership and the Min-
istry of Foreign Affairs. It was to be
his task to uphold the kingdom of
Prussia against the parliamentary
spirit, and to accomplish the new or-
ganization of the army, on whicl the
future of Prussia and of Germany de-
pended. But he could not overcome
the resistance of the Chamber of Depu-
ties to the re-organization of the army,
which they opposed as tending to
weaken the landwehr and to strengthen
the army, the representative of reac-
tion. On the 29th of September, 1862,
he announced the withdrawal of the
budget for 1863, ' because the govern-
ment considered it their duty not to
allow the obstacles towards a settle-
ment to increase in volume.' He then
announced his purpose and his aims as
clearly as he dared, and concluded
with the expression that ' Prussia must
hold her power together for the favor-
able opportunity, which had already
been some time neglected; the fron-
tiers of Prussia were not favorable to a
good state constitution. The great
questions of the day were not to be de-
cided by speeches and majorities — this
had been the error of 1848 and 1849-
but by iron and blood ! ' The Cham-
ber responded by arriving at a resolu
tion, on the 7th of October, by which
all expenditures were declared uncon-
stitutional if declined by the national
representatives; and, having thus
proved itself hopelessly impracticable
for Bismarck's purposes, the Session
of the Diet was closed on the 13th of
October, by a royal message. Imme
diately after assuming the Ministry, in
December, 1862, Bismarck opened
negotiations with Austria, with whom
he was prepared to enter into coali-
tion, if she could decide upon the dis«
missal of that enemy of Prussian poli-
cy, Schwarzenberg, and give Prussia
her proper position in Germany. He
expressed his convictions to Count
Karolyi, that the relations of Prussia
OTTO VON BISMAKCK.
271
to Austria ' must unavoidably change
for the better or the worse ;' and re-
peated that it would be for the ad-
vantage of Austria herself to allow to
Prussia such a position in the Ger-
manic Confederation, as would render
it consonant with the interest of Prus-
sia to throw all her strength into the
common cause. But the overtures of
Bismarck, as recapitulated in his
famous circular despatch of the 24th
of January, 1863, were of little or no
avail. To this period belongs the con-
clusion of the Prusso-Russian treaty,
on the common measures to be pur-
sued for the suppression of the Polish
insurrection. This convention, by
which the friendly relations of Prussia
and Russia were confirmed, has, ac-
cording to the complaints of Bis-
marck's apologists, been frequently
misinterpreted ; and it excited so much
indignation in London and Paris that
it was at last formally abandoned. At
a moment when war seemed imminent
between Prussia and Austria, the
world was startled at seeing them ally
themselves for the purpose of an ag-
gressive war against Denmark, for the
recovery to Germany of Schleswig and
Holstein ; and the victorious standard
of Prussia was planted on the walls of
Diippel, in April, 1864. On the occa-
sion of a visit which Bismarck now
paid to Vienna, he was received with
great distinction by the Emperor
Franz Joseph, from whom he received
the Order of St. Stephen, whilst by
his own sovereign he was invested
with the Order of the Black Eagle.
In the summer of 1865, when it has
been assumed that Bismarck already
believed that the hour of the great
conflict between Prussia and Austria
had arrived, the treaty of Gastein was
concluded, August 14th, which divided
the co-domination of Prussia and Aus-
tria in Holstein and Schleswig. On
the 13th of September, 1865, Bis-
marck was raised to the rank of a
Prussian Count; and before the year
was at an end, had become firmly con-
vinced that Austria had returned to
the central state policy, the advocate
of which was the Freihen von Beust.
On the 7th of May, 1866, Count Bis-
marck, who was abroad for the first
time after a severe illness, escaped from
a determined attempt at assassination,
made in open day (five o'clock, p. m.),
in the centre allee of the Unter den
Linden, at Berlin. The preparations
for war were complete ; and, aided by
an alliance with Italy, the Prussian
columns set out for that sharp, short
struggle, which is still in the memory
of Europe and the world. On the 18th
of June, Prussia formally declared war
against Austria ; on the 29th, the first
news of victory arrived at Berlin ; on
the 30th, Bismarck left the capital, in
the suite of the king, for the seat of
war ; and, on the 3d of July, the Aus-
trians sustained the decisive defeat of
Sadowa, In the final days of July,
the preliminaries were settled at Count
MensdoriFs castle of Nicolsburg, re-
sulting in the peace of Prague, which
was probably facilitated by the atti-
tude assumed by the Emperor Napo-
leon, who, in his speech to the French
Chambers, declared that he had arrest-
ed the conqueror at the gates of
Vienna. On the 4th of August, Bis-
marck returned with the king to Ber-
lin ; and, on the next day came the
272
OTTO YON BISMAECK.
solemn opening of the Diet. Peace
treaties with individual states now
occupied the Minister-President, to-
gether with the consolidation of the
conquered provinces, and the forma-
tion of that North German Confedera-
tion, of which he was appointed Chan-
cellor, on the 14th of July, 1867. In
this year, one of the principal things
which drew attention to Bismarck, was
the question of Luxembourg ; and war
with France was avoided by a declara-
tion of its neutrality."
Peace, however, between the nations
was not of long continuance. France,
impatient of the growing preponder-
ance of Prussia in the councils of Eu-
rope, after her victory over Austria,
sensitively watched her aggrandize-
ment; and when, in the summer of
1870, it was known that General
Prim, the provisional head of the
Spanish government, had made over-
tures to Prince Leopold, of Hohenzol-
lern, to occupy the throne of that
country, it was looked upon by the
French as an alliance, bringing a new
increase of political power or influence
to the royal house of Prussia. Ex-
planations were required of the gov-
ernment at Berlin ; and, in reply to
the remonstrance, it was asserted that
the act was entirely independent of
the crown, and could not be regarded
as a Prussian state measure ; and, still
further to relieve that country of any
embarrassment, the Prince, by a com-
munication from his father, was with-
drawn as a candidate for the Spanish
throne. The French ambassador, not
content with this, demanding a pledge
from the King of Prussia in regard to
any future action in the matter, was
indignantly refused, when the Em-
peror of the French, observing the im-
pulse of the nation, hastily declared
war, and prepared, on the instant, to
put his armies in the field. The issue
called forth the best powers of Bis-
marck, who, as Foreign Minister of the
North German Confederation, was en-
trusted with the diplomacy of the
country, and had now the difficult task
of conciliating the South German gov-
ernments. But his Prussian policy,
strengthened by his successes over
Austria, was now to enjoy its full
triumph. At the cry of national unity,
Bavaria, Baden, and Wurtemberg sent
their troops to the field. The old hos-
tility to France was awakened, and
united Germany was on the instant in
arms to defend the sacred territory of
the Rhine. Bismarck accompanied the
King to the war, assisted him with his
counsels throughout the brilliant cam-
paign ; and, when its numerous victor-
ies were closed in negotiation, secured
for his conquering country the cession
of Alsace and Lorraine, with the enor-
mous pecuniary concessions demanded
for the abandonment of hostilities.
Germany, then, under his successful
policy, which had been carried on with
unwearied activity and a consummate
mastery of events, became a United
Nation ; and Bismarck, the most suc-
cessful statesman of modern times, re-
ceived, in recognition of his services,
from his sovereign the King of Prus-
sia, now also Emperor of Germany, the
position of Chancellor of the German
Empire, with the highest rank, for a
subject, of hereditary Prince of the
Empire. The Emperor also conferred
upon him a valuable estate.
MARGARET FULLER OSSOLI.
SAKAH MARGARET FULLER,
the eldest child of Timothy Ful-
ler and Margaret Crane, was born in
Cambridgeport, Massachusetts, on the
23d of May, 1810. In an unfinished
sketch of her youth, prepared at the
age of thirty as an introductory chap-
ter to an autobiographical romance,
she speaks of her father as "a man
largely endowed with that sagacious
energy which the state of New Eng-
land society, for the last half century,
has been so well fitted to develop."
He was the son of Timothy Fuller, a
clergyman, settled as pastor in Prince-
ton, Massachusetts, was educated at
Harvard, where he graduated in 1801 ;
then studied law, practised with suc-
cess in Boston, became distinguished
as a Democratic politician and speaker,
being elected State Senator in 1813,
an office which he held for three years,
when he became a Member of Con-
gress, and so continued for eight years,
after which he was Speaker of the
Massachusetts Legislature and Mem-
ber of the State Executive Council-
In this career we read the evidence of
a prompt, acute, decided character;
he had, doubtless, turned all his facul-
ties to account, and valued highly the
studies and exertions by which he had
attained his successes. Fond of learn-
ing, he undertook himself the educa-
tion of his daughter Margaret, which
he pursued with his accustomed ener-
gy, by a process which came near
crushing both the mind and body of
his pupil. "My father," writes Mar-
garet, " was a man of business, even in
literature ; he had been a high scholar
at college, and was warmly attached
to all that he had learned there, both
from the pleasure he had derived in
the exercise of his faculties and the
associated memories of success and
good repute. He was, beside, well
read in French literature, and in Eng-
lish, a Queen Anne's man. He hoped
to make me the heir of all he knew,
and of as much more as the income of
his profession enabled him to give me
means of acquiring. At the very be-
ginning, he made one great mistake,
more common, it is to be hoped, in the
last generation, than the warnings of
physiologists will permit it to be with
the next. He thought to gain time,
by bringing forward the intellect as
early as possible. Thus I had tasks
given me, as many and various as the
hours would allow, and on subjects
(273)
MAEGAKET FULLER OSSOLI.
beyond my age ; with the additional
disadvantage of reciting to him in the
evening, after he returned from his
office. As he was subject to many in-
terruptions, I was often kept up till
very late; and, as he was a severe
teacher, both from his habits of mind
and his ambition for me, my feelings
were kept on the stretch till the recita-
tions were over. Thus, frequently, I
was sent to bed several hours too late,
with nerves unnaturally stimulated.
The consequence was a premature de-
velopment of the brain, that made ni3
a 'youthful prodigy' by day, and by
night a victim of spectral illusions,
nightmare, and somnambulism, which,
at the time prevented the harmonious
development of my bodily powers, and
checked my growth, while, later, they
induced continual headache, weakness,
and nervous affections of all kinds.
As these again re-acted on the brain,
giving undue force to every thought
and every feeling, there was finally
produced a state of being both too ac-
tive and too intense, which wasted my
constitution, and will bring me — even
although I have learned to understand
and regulate my now morbid tempera-
ment— to a premature grave."
If this last reflection is not to be
taken altogether literally, there was
certainly enough in the course of stu-
dies enforced under the paternal super-
intendence to justify the most serious
apprehensions. At six, we are told in
the same fragment of autobiography,
the child having been taught Latin
and English grammar together, began
to read Latin, and continued to read
it daily for some years ; a£ first in- j
structed by her father and afterwards
by a tutor, the utmost precision and
accuracy being always exacted. With
Horace, Virgil, and Ovid — with their
lessons of literary refinement, and the
great examples of Eoman history thus
early engrafted on her character — for
her quick intellect and susceptible
temperament were ready to receive all
— she had, for her own amusement and
gratification, when these tasks of the
day were over, free access, on her
father's book-shelves, to the best French
writers of the eighteenth century, and
a copious stock of the Queen Anne
authors and later novelists. She has
recalled her first acquaintance with
Shakespeare when she was eight years
old, taking down the volume contain-
ing " Romeo and Juliet," and becom-
ing entranced in its passionate story,
till the book — it being Sunday, and
"plays" for that day being on the
prohibited list — was taken from 'her
with a reprimand by her father. Again
she was found with the book, the same
cold winter afternoon, when, for this
second act of disobedience, she was
sent to her dark room to bed — but " by
the vision splendid was on her way
attended," and there was no gloom to
her while her imagination was work-
ing out for itself the problem of the
ill-fated lover's destiny. Her father
then could not understand this absorp-
tion of her faculties, and consequent
indifference, for the time, to his com-
mands; but he lived long enough to
learn, by observation of its effects
upon others, something of the force of
his child's native genius. Shakespeare
became a new world of thought and
action to her, and in a less degree also
Cervantes and Moliere. She was foi
MAEGAKET FULLER OSSOLI.
275
tunate in her intimacy with these au-
thors, and her liking for them in youth
shows a vein of sterling strong sense
in her character ; when a less vigorous
temperament might have been carried
away by false sentiment and vulgar
enthusiasm. From their great works,
she learnt at once to think, and to
take an interest in and put a proper
estimate upon real life. With her
fine critical perceptions, she notices
this in the fragment already cited.
"These men, Shakespeare, Cervantes,
and Moliere," she says, " were all alike
in this, they loved the natural history
of man. Not what he should be, but
what he is, was the favorite subject of
their thought. Whenever a noble
leading opened to the eye new paths
of light, they rejoiced; but it was
never fancy, but always fact, that in-
spired them. They loved a thorough
penetration of the murkiest dens and
most tangled paths of nature; they
did not spin from the desires of their
own special natures, but reconstructed
the world from materials which they
collected on every side. Thus their
influence upon me was not to prompt
me to follow out thought in myself so
much as to detect it everywhere ; for
each of these men is not only a nature,
but a happy interpreter of many na-
tures."
In the same way, she insensibly
learned to appreciate the objective
side — well nigh the only side — of the
Roman character, from her familiarity
with the classic authors, and the some-
what Roman method of her father by
which that acquaintance was enforced.
" He made," says she, in a passage of
her writings, which may be taken as
an admirable and not unusual exam-
pie of the perspicacity and eloquence
of her philosophical powers, ' the com-
mon prose world so present to me,
that my natural bias was controlled.
My own world sank deep within, away
from the surface of my life ; in what I
did and said, I learned to have refer-
ence to other minds. But my true
life was only the dearer, that it was
secluded and veiled over by a thick
curtain of available intellect, and that
coarse but wearable stuff woven by
the ages — Common Sense. In accord-
ance with this discipline in heroic com-
mon sense, was the influence of those
great Romans, whose thoughts and
lives were my daily food during those
plastic years. The genius of Rome
displayed itself in Character, and
scarcely needed an occasional wave of
the torch of thought to show its linea-
ments, so marble strong they gleamed
in every light. Who, that has lived
with those men, but admires the plain
force of fact, of thought passed into
action ? They take up things with
their naked hands. There is just the
man, and the block he casts before
you, — no divinity, no demon, no unful-
filled aim, but just the man and Rome,
and what he did for Rome. Every-
thing turns your attention to what a
man can become, not by yielding him-
self freely to impressions, not by let-
ting nature play freely through him,
but by a single, though an earnest
purpose, an indomitable will, by hardi-
hood, self-command, and force of ex-
pression."
In reflections like these, we may re-
cognize a subtle power of analysis,
with a breadth of generalization wor
276
MARGARET FULLER OSSOLI.
thy of Madame De Stael, qualities
which were not ripened without much
thought and experience, but which had
an early development from these pre-
cocious studies of her girlhood. Few
eminent scholars, struggling in youth
for University honors, and preparing
for a career of exclusive literary labor,
have made such attainments, in the
same period of life, in philosophy and
various learning, as Margaret Fuller ac-
complished long before she was twenty.
"Writing to a friend, in 1825, at the
age of fifteen, in answer to her request,
she gives this sketch of her pursuits at
Cambridge; and no matured student
or professor at the neighboring Col-
lege, spurred by necessity or ambition,
we may safely say, could have been
more diligently employed. " I rise a
little before five" — she is writing of
the long summer days of July — " walk
an hour, and then practice on the
piano till seven, when we breakfast.
Next I read French — Sismondi's" Lit-
erature of the South of Europe " — till
eight; then two or three lectures in
Brown's "Philosophy." About half
past nine, I go to Mr. Perkins's school
and study Greek till twelve, when,
the school being dismissed, I recite,
go home and practice again till dinner,
at two. Sometimes, if the conversa-
tion is very agreeable, I lounge for
half an hour over the dessert, though
rarely so lavish of time. Then, when
I can, I read two hours in Italian, but
I am often interrupted. At six, I
walk or take a drive. Before going
to bed, I play or sing for half an hour
or so, to make all sleepy, and, about
eleven, retire to write a little while in
my journal, exercises on what I have
read, or a series of characteristics
which I am filling up according to
advice. Thus, you see, I am learning
Greek, and making acquaintance with
metaphysics and French and Italian
literature." Nor was this any blind
devotion to routine, or merely mechan-
ical employment of her faculties. It
had even then a conscious purpose,
firmly fixed in her resolution — the de-
termination, at any cost, to reach the
highest possible attainments, with the
bright reward, if not of fame, at least
of the happiness which her nature
craved, in the distance. " I am deter-
mined," she writes in the communica-
tion just cited, " on distinction, which
formerly I thought to win at an easy
rate ; but now I see that long years of
labor must be given to secure even the
succes de societe, which, however, shall
never content me. I see multitudes
of persons of genius utterly deficient
in grace and the power of pleasurable
excitement. I wish to combine both.
I know the obstacles in my way. I
am wanting in that intuitive tact
and polish which nature has bestowed
upon some, but which I must acquire.
And, on the other hand, my powers of
intellect, though sufficient, I suppose,
are not well disciplined. Yet all such
hindrances may be overcome by an
ardent spirit. If I fail, my consola-
tion shall be found in active employ-
ment." Surely this is a very remarka-
ble self-analysis for a girl of fifteen.
Fortunately there was combined with
this self-knowledge and introspection,
which might otherwise have degener-
ated into morbid disappointment, a
power of will, with a love of industry
sure to lead to some beneficent result.
MARGARET FULLER OSSOLI.
277
A year later we find the same pro-
cess of learned acquisition still going
on. It had relaxed nothing in the in-
terval. " I am studying," she writes
to the same friend, " Madame de Stael.
Epictetus, Milton, Racine, and * Cas-
tilian Ballads,' with great delight.
There's an assemblage for you. Now
tell me, had you rather be the brilliant
De Stael or the useful Edgeworth ? —
though De Stael is useful too, but it is
on the grand scale, on liberalizing,
regenerating principles, and has not
the immediate practical success that
Edgeworth has." And again, at the
beginning of 1827; "as to my studies,
I am engrossed in reading the elder
Italian poets, beginning with Berni,
from whom I shall proceed to Pulci
and Politian. I read, very critically,
Miss Francis (Lydia Maria Child), and
I think of reading Locke, as introduc-
tory to a course of English metaphy-
sics, and then De Stael 'on Locke's sys-
tem." Her relative, the Rev. Dr.
James Freeman Clarke, then a student
of divinity at Cambridge University,
became acquainted with Margaret Ful-
ler in 1829 ; and, in his valuable contri-
bution to her biography, has recorded
his recollections of her in this and the
few subsequent years while he was her
intimate companion. "During this
period," says he, " her intellect was in-
tensely active. With what eagerness
did she seek for knowledge ! What
fire, what exuberance, what reach,
grasp, overflow of thought, shone in
her conversation ! She needed a friend
to whom to speak of her studies, to
whom to express the ideas which were
dawning and taking shape in her
mind. She accepted me for this friend,
n.— 35
and to me it was a gift of the gods, an
influence like no other." Evidences,
indeed, of her cultivated powers at
this early period are multiplied on
every side, in the testimony of all who
knew her. The Rev. Dr. F. H. Hedge,
then in the first years of his ministry,
settled in the Congregational Church
at West Cambridge, speaks of some-
thing more than mere acquisition, of
her attractive personal qualities, by
which she became nobly distinguished,
in her intercourse with acquaintances
of her own sex, virtues which ripened
and expanded into a wide and genuine
philanthropy. " Where she felt an in-
terest," he writes, " she awakened an
interest. Without flattery or art, by
the truth and nobleness of her nature,
she won the confidence, and made her-
self the friend and intimate of a large
number of young ladies — the belles of
their day — with most of whom she re-
mained in correspondence during the
greater part of her life. In our even-
ing reunions, she was always conspicu-
ous by the brilliancy of her wit, which
needed but little provocation to break
forth in exuberant sallies, that drew
around her a knot of listeners, and
made her the central attraction of the
hour. Her conversation, as it was
then, I have seldom heard equalled.
It was not so much attractive as com-
manding. Though remarkably fluent
and select, it was neither fluency, nor
choice diction, nor wit, nor sentiment,
that gave it its peculiar power, but
accuracy of statement, keen discrimin-
ation, and a certain weight of judg-
ment, which contrasted strongly and
charmingly with the youth and sex of
the speaker. I do not remember that
276
MARGARET FULLER OSSOLI.
thy of Madame De Stael, qualities
which were not ripened without much
thought and experience, but which had
an early development from these pre-
cocious studies of her girlhood. Few
eminent scholars, struggling in youth
for University honors, and preparing
for a career of exclusive literary labor,
have made such attainments, in the
same period of life, in philosophy and
various learning, as Margaret Fuller ac-
complished long before she was twenty.
Writing to a friend, in 1825, at the
age of fifteen, in answer to her request,
she gives this sketch of her pursuits at
Cambridge; and no matured student
or professor at the neighboring Col-
lege, spurred by necessity or ambition,
we may safely say, could have been
more diligently employed. "I rise a
little before five" — she is writing of
the long summer days of July — " walk
an hour, and then practice on the
piano till seven, when we breakfast.
Next I read French — Sismondi's" Lit-
erature of the South of Europe " — till
eight; then two or three lectures in
Brown's "Philosophy." About half
past nine, I go to Mr. Perkins's school
and study Greek till twelve, when,
the school being dismissed, I recite,
go home and practice again till dinner,
at two. Sometimes, if the conversa-
tion is very agreeable, I lounge for
half an hour over the dessert, though
rarely so lavish of time. Then, when
I can, I read two hours in Italian, but
I am often interrupted. At six, I
walk or take a drive. Before going
to bed, I play or sing for half an hour
or so, to make all sleepy, and, about
eleven, retire to write a little while in
my journal, exercises on what I have
read, or a series of characteristics
which I am filling up according to
advice. Thus, you see, I am learning
Greek, and making acquaintance with
metaphysics and French and Italian
literature." Nor was this any blind
devotion to routine, or merely mechan-
ical employment of her faculties. It
had even then a conscious purpose,
firmly fixed in her resolution — the de-
termination, at any cost, to reach the
highest possible attainments, with the
bright reward, if not of fame, at least
of the happiness which her nature
craved, in the distance. " I am deter-
mined," she writes in the communica-
tion just cited, " on distinction, which
formerly I thought to win at an easy
rate ; but now I see that long years of
labor must be given to secure even the
succes de societe, which, however, shall
never content me. I see multitudes
of persons of genius utterly deficient
in grace and the power of pleasurable
excitement. I wish to combine both.
I know the obstacles in my way. I
am wanting in that intuitive tact
and polish which nature has bestowed
upon some, but which I must acquire.
And, on the other hand, my powers of
intellect, though sufficient, I suppose,
are not well disciplined. Yet all such
hindrances may be overcome by an
ardent spirit. If I fail, my consola-
tion shall be found in active employ-
ment." Surely this is a very remarka-
ble self-analysis for a girl of fifteen.
Fortunately there was combined with
this self-knowledge and introspection,
which might otherwise have degener-
ated into morbid disappointment, a
power of will, with a, love of industry
sure to lead to some beneficent result.
MARGARET FULLER OSSOLI.
A year later we find the same pro-
cess of learned acquisition still going
on. It had relaxed nothing in the in-
terval. " I am studying," she writes
to the same friend, " Madame de Stael.
Epictetus, Milton, Racine, and i Cas-
tilian Ballads,' with great delight.
There's an assemblage for you. Now
tell me, had you rather be the brilliant
De Stael or the useful Edgeworth ? —
though De Stael is useful too, but it is
on the grand scale, on liberalizing,
regenerating principles, and has not
the immediate practical success that
Edgeworth has." And again, at the
beginning of 1827 ; "as to my studies,
I am engrossed in reading the elder
Italian poets, beginning with Berni,
from whom I shall proceed to Pulci
and Politian. I read, very critically,
Miss Francis (Lydia Maria Child), and
I think of reading Locke, as introduc-
tory to a course of English metaphy-
sics, and then De Stael "on Locke's sys-
tem." Her relative, the Rev. Dr.
James Freeman Clarke, then a student
of divinity at Cambridge University,
became acquainted with Margaret Ful-
ler in 1829 ; and, in his valuable contri-
bution to her biography, has recorded
his recollections of her in this and the
few subsequent years while he was her
intimate companion. "During this
period," says he, " her intellect was in-
tensely active. With what eagerness
did she seek for knowledge ! What
fire, what exuberance, what reach,
grasp, overflow of thought, shone in
her conversation ! She needed a friend
to whom to speak of her studies, to
whom to express the ideas which were
dawning and taking shape in her
mind. She accepted me for this friend,
n.— 35
and to me it was a gift of the gods, an
influence like no other." Evidences,
indeed, of her cultivated powers at
this early period are multiplied on
every side, in the testimony of all who
knew her. The Rev. Dr. F. H. Hedge,
then in the first years of his ministry,
settled in the Congregational Church
at West Cambridge, speaks of some-
thing more than mere acquisition, of
her attractive personal qualities, by
which she became nobly distinguished,
in her intercourse with acquaintances
of her own sex, virtues which ripened
and expanded into a wide and genuine
philanthropy. " Where she felt an in-
terest," he writes, " she awakened an
interest. Without flattery or art, by
the truth and nobleness of her nature,
she won the confidence, and made her-
self the friend and intimate of a large
number of young ladies — the belles of
their day — with most of whom she re-
mained in correspondence during the
greater part of her life. In our even-
ing reunions, she was always conspicu-
ous by the brilliancy of her wit, which
needed but little provocation to break
forth in exuberant sallies, that drew
around her a knot of listeners, and
made her the central attraction of the
hour. Her conversation, as it was
then, I have seldom heard equalled.
It was not so much attractive as com-
manding. Though remarkably fluent
and select, it was neither fluency, nor
choice diction, nor wit, nor sentiment,
that gave it its peculiar power, but
accuracy of statement, keen discrimin-
ation, and a certain weight of judg-
ment, which contrasted strongly and
charmingly with the youth and sex of
the speaker. I do not remember that
278
MARGAKET FULLER OSSOLI.
the vulgar charge of talking 'like a
book' was ever fastened upon her,
although, by her precision, she might
seem to have incurred it. The fact
was, her speech, though finished and
true as the most deliberate rhetoric of
the pen, had always an air of sponta-
neity which made it seem the grace of
the moment — the result of some or-
ganic provision that made finished sen-
tences as natural to her as blundering
and hesitation are to most of us. With
a little more imagination, she would
have made an excellent improvisatrice."
Hitherto her studies had lain chiefly
in the classics, French and Italian au-
thors, and the abundant literature of
her own language. In 1832, she added
to these already large resources the
study of German, to which she was
attracted by the articles of Carlyle —
likely enough to impress any ardent
young student by their insight and
feeling — on Jean Paul, Goethe, and
others, which he was at that time pub-
lishing in the leading Reviews. In
about three months, we are told by Dr.
Clarke, Margaret was reading with ease
the master-pieces of German literature.
Within the year, she had read Goethe's
"Faust," "Tasso," "Iphigenia," "Her-
mann and Dorothea," "Elective
Affinities" and "Memoirs;" Tieck's
"William Lovel," "Prince Zerbino,"
and other works; Korner, Novalis,
and something of Richter; all of
Schiller's principal dramas, and his lyric
poetry. German coming latest in her
course of studies, she brought to her
reading a prepared mind, and thus was
enabled to derive the greatest profit
from her new acquisition, which, of it-
self, in its force and freshness, was so
well calculated to kindle anew her en
thusiasm by lighting her on her way
to the grandest accomplishments of
modern thought.
We hear little meanwhile of original
composition beyond an occasional let-
ter. Dr. Hedge tells us that, in her
early days at Cambridge, she wrote
with difficulty, and without external
pressure would probably never have
written at all. This was doubtless an
advantage to her; for, with her pas-
sion for conversation, she was still dis-
ciplining her mind, and acquiring that
command and dexterity of thought
which would render her works all the
more effective for being delayed. It
is generally, if not always, a misfor-
tune to rush hastily into print. Some-
thing may at times be gained by prac-
tice; but it is better that this expe-
rience or its equivalent should be ac-
quired in some other way. We can-
not regret, therefore, that, while in her
teens, Miss Fuller enthusiastically
planned no less than six historical
tragedies, and a series of tales illustra-
tive of Hebrew history, she did not
write them. The attempts which she
made upon the dramatic works served
to show her, she says, " the vast differ-
ence between conception and execu-
tion," while she wisely concluded that
the other project " required a thorough
and imbuing knowledge of the He-
brew manners and spirit, with a chast-
ened energy of imagination which I
am as yet (she writes) far from pos-
sessing."
In 1833, the family residence was
changed from Cambridge to Groton,
Massachusetts, whither Margaret ac-
companied her father, something to
MARGARET FULLER OSSOLI.
279
her regret in the change, for she thus
lost the immediate intercourse with
the enlightened friends whose society
she had cultivated at the former place ;
but she did not intermit her usual
studies, the motive for which lay
solely in the unresting demands of her
own nature. We find her also in her
new home, engaged in the work of
teaching, having several of the younger
members of the family under her
charge, for five days in the week, in-
structing them daily in three lan-
guages, in geography, history, and
other studies, while, in the illness of
her mother, a large share of the cares
of the household also fell to her lot.
The death of her father, in 1835, was,
from the inadequate estate which he
left, attended with new trials for the
family. Compelled to rely on her own
resources, the greatest disappointment
accompanying which was the loss of a
trip, which she had promised herself,
to Europe, in company with her
friends, the Farrers and Miss Martin-
eau — on her return home, she soon
found the means of independent sup-
port for herself, by turning her talents
and acquirements to account as a
teacher. This necessitated a departure
from Groton — the scene of much un-
happiness to her, the sad recollections
of which are recorded in a touching
passage from her pen. " The place is
beautiful, in its way, but its scenery is
loo tamely smiling and sleeping. My
associations with it are most painful.
There darkened round us the effects
of my father's ill- judged exchange —
ill-judged, so far at least as legarded
himself, mother and me — all violently
rent fr^ui the habits of our former life,
and cast upon toils for which we were
unprepared : there my mother's health
was impaired, and mine destroyed;
there my father died ; there were un-
dergone the miserable perplexities of a
family that has lost its head ; there I
passed through the conflicts needed to
give up all which my heart had for
years desired, and to tread a path for
which I had no skill, and no call, ex-
cept that it must be trodden by som^
one, and I alone was ready. Wachu-
set and the Peterboro' hills are blended
in my memory with hours of anguish
as great as I am capable of suffering.
I used to look at them towering to the
sky, and feel that I too, from birth,
had longed to rise; and, though for
the moment crushed, was not subdued.
But if those beautiful hills, and wide,
rich fields saw this sad lore well learn-
ed, they also saw some precious lessons
given in faith, fortitude, self-command,
and unselfish love. There, too, in soli-
tude, the mind acquired more power
of concentration, and discerned the
beauty of strict method ; there, too,
more than all, the heart was awakened
to sympathize with the ignorant, to
pity the vulgar, to hope for the seem-
ingly worthless, and to commune with
the Divine Spirit of Creation, which
cannot err, which never sleeps, which
will not permit evil to be permanent,
nor in its aim of beauty in the smal-
lest particular eventually to fail."
With such experiences, consolations
and aspirations, Miss Fuller, in the
autumn of 1836, went to Boston, with
the design of teaching Latin and
French in Mr. Alcott's school of young
children, and of forming classes of her
own in French, German, and Italia.iv
280
MARGARET FULLER OSSOLI.
The former, she naturally found " quite
jxhausting," though she took pleasure
>n the children, " had many valuable
thoughts suggested " by them, and pro-
fited by her discussions with the phil-
osophic Alcott, while thinking him
too impatient of the complex relations
of man in the world in his theory of
education. Her own peculiar work,
the formation of the classes, spite of
the pressure of ill-health and some
difficulties at the start, enlisted her
best faculties, and she accomplished
much in a short time. At the end of
six months, she had this encouraging
report to make in a letter to a friend.
The detail shows that her time was
most diligently employed. "To one
class," says she, " I taught the German
language, and thought it good success
when, at the end of three months, they
could read twenty pages of German at
a lesson, and very well. This class, of
course, was not interesting, except in
the way of observation and analysis of
language. With more advanced pu-
pils, I read, in twenty-four weeks,
Schiller's ' Don Carlos,' l Artists,' and
1 Song of the Bell,' besides giving a
sort of general lecture on Schiller ;
Goethe's l Hermann and Dorothea,'
1 Goetz von Berlichingen,' ' Iphigenia,'
first part of ' Faust ' — three weeks of
thorough study this, as valuable to me
as to them — and ' Clavigo ' — thus com-
prehending samples of all his efforts
in poetry, and bringing forward some
of his prominent opinions; Lessing's
' Nathan.' ' Minna,' ' Emilia Galeotti ; '
parts of Tieck's ' Phantasus,' and near-
ly the whole first volume of Richter's
1 Titan.' With the Italian class, I read
parts of Tasso, Petrarch — whom they
came to almost adore — Ariosto, Al
fieri, and the whole hundred cantos oi
the 'Divina Comuiedia,' with the aid
of the fine ' Athenaeum ' copy of Flax
man's designs, and all the best com
mentaries. This last piece of wort
was and will be truly valuable to my-
self." In addition, Miss Fuller had
three private pupils, one of them a boy
who had not the use of his eyes. " I
taught him," she says, "Latin orally,
and read the l History of England ' and
Shakespeare's historical plays in con-
nection. This lesson was given every
day for ten weeks, and was very in-
teresting, though very fatiguing." And,
as if all this were not enough, the
overwrought teacher was studying and
working upon the life of Goethe for a
biographical volume of Mr. Ripley's
series - of " Foreign Literature." An
evening of the week was given to Dr.
Channing, when she translated German
authors for his gratification ; but here
the pleasure she took in his society,
and her admiration for his kindly phil-
osophic nature, more than made amends
for any labor she may have under-
taken. It was mental toil, neverthe-
less, and adds to our admiration of her
truly heroic task work.
An invitation to Providence, Rhode
Island, to become the principal teacher
in the Greene St. School for the in-
struction of the young, in the Spring
of 1837, withdrew Miss Fuller for the
time from Boston and induced her to
abandon her projected life of Goethe.
To her new task she brought her
accustomed spirit, devoting four hours
a day to the work, and endeavoring to
infuse into her pupils, mainly the elder
girls, but including also younger child
MARGAEET FULLER OSSOLI.
281
ren of both sexes, something of taste
and philosophy as well as the usual
routine of learning. " General activity
of mind," she writes at the start, " ac-
curacy in processes, constant looking
for principles, and search after the good
and the beautiful, are the habits I
strive to develop." Keenly alive to
the study of character arid to every
association of art or literature, we find
her at one time present at " the Whig
Caucus " to listen to one of the famous
old political orators of Rhode Island,
Tristam Burgess, whose matter and
manner she observes with a critic's eye,
yet with a kindly feeling and generous
interpretation of the man. Then there
is a visit from John Neal, who addresses
her scholars in his frank, manly, inde-
pendent way, and impresses the mis-
tress vividly with the strength and
vivacity of his opinions. Whipple, the
lecturer, too, is attentively listened to
and fairly appreciated, with Hague,
the Baptist preacher of Providence,
who, probably, has never been better
complimented than by this unorthodox
woman. How just also is her estimate
of the thought and character of Rich-
ard H. Dana, whose lectures on Shak-
speare, fresh as she was from the study
of the profoundest critical literature
of Germany, kindle her admiration.
" The introductory was beautiful. Af-
ter assigning to literature its high place
in the education of the human soul, he
announced his own view in giving
these readings : that he should never
pander to a popular love of excitement,
but quietly, without regard to bril-
liancy or effect, would tell what had
struck him in these poets ; that he had
no belief in ai'ificial processes of ac-
quisition or communication, and having
never learned any thing except through
love, he had no hope of teaching any
but loving spirits. All this was arrayed
in a garb of most delicate grace. * * His
naive gestures, the rapt expression of
his face, his introverted eye, and the
almost childlike simplicity of his
pathos, carry me back into a purer at-
mosphere, to live over again youth's
fresh emotions." The acting of Fanny
Kemble, whom she saw in Boston, ex-
cited her deeper sympathies. A sight
of the casts of antique sculpture in the
Athenaeum revealed to her something
of the spirit of Greek art, of which in
books and prints she was now becom-
ing a devoted student. She absolutely
revelled, with an enthusiastic wonder,
as she grasped all that could be learnt
in America of Raphael and Michael
Angelo, while she entered with a lively
sympathy into all that was worthy her
esteem in the works of native artists,
looking through the canvas or marble
for the hidden sentiment which inspir-
ed them, and sometimes, perhaps, sup-
plying more than was meant from the
stores of her own thought and suffering.
There is a beautiful illustration of thia
in the verses which she wrote, sugges-
ted by seeing the design of Crawford's
Orpheus, in which the prophetic bard
was represented shading his eyes with
his hand as he proceeded on his errand
of love and beauty.
Each Orpheus must to the depths descend,
For only thus the Poet can be wise ;
Must make the sad Persephone his friend,
And buried love to second life arise ;
Again his love must lose through too much love
Must lose his life by living life too true,
For what he sought below is passed above,
Already done is all that he would do :
•- l
282
MAEGAEET FULLEE OSSOLI.
Must tune all being with his single lyre,
Must melt all rocks free from their primal pain,
Must search all nature with his one soul's fire,
Must bind anew all forms in heavenly chain :
[f he already sees what he must do,
Weir may he shade his eyes from the far-shin-
ing view.
It is of interest to note the impres-
sion which Miss Fuller made upon
Ralph Waldo Emerson when he first
became particularly acquainted with
her while she was on a visit to his
house at Concord in the summer of
1836. " I still," he writes some fifteen
years afterward, "remember the first
half hour of Margaret's conversation.
She was then twenty-six years old.
She had a face and frame that would
indicate fulness and tenacity of life.
She was rather under the middle
height ; her complexion was fair, with
strong fair hair. She was then, as
always, carefully and becomingly
dressed, and of ladylike self possession.
For the rest, her appearance had noth-
ing prepossessing. Her extreme plain-
ness,— a trick of incessantly opening
and shutting her eyelids, — the nasal
tone of her voice, — all repelled; and
I said to myself, we shall never get far.
* * I believe I fancied her too much
interested in personal history ; and her
talk was a comedy in which dramatic
justice was done to everybody's foibles.
I remember that she made me laugh
more than I liked ; for I was at that
time an eager scholar of Ethics, and
had tasted the sweets of solitude and
stoicism ; and I found something pro-
fane in the hours of amusing gossip
into which she drew me, and, when -I
returned to my library, had much to
think of the crackling of thorns under
O
i pot. Margaret, who had stuffed me
out as a philosopher, in her own fancy,
was too intent on establishing a good
footing between us, to omit any art
of winning. She studied my tastes,
piqued and amused me, challenged
frankness by frankness, and did not
conceal the good opinion of me she
had brought with her, nor her wish to
please. She was curious to know my
opinions and experiences. Of course
it was impossible long to hold out
against such urgent assault. She had
an incredible variety of anecdotes, and
the readiest wit to give an absurd
turn to whatever passed; and the eyes,
which were so plain at first, soon swam
with fun and drolleries, and the very
tides of joy and superabundant life.
The rumor was much spread abroad,
that she was sneering, scoffing, critical,
disdainful of humble people, and of
all but the intellectual. I had heard
it whenever she was named. It was
a superficial judgment. Her satire
was only the pastime and necessity of
her talent, the play of superabundant
animal spirits. Her mind presently
disclosed many moods and powers, in
successive platforms or terraces, each
above each, that quite effaced this first
impression in the opulence of the fol-
lowing pictures."
The analysis of her faculties as they
rapidly developed themselves, given by
Mr. Emerson in the sequel to the pas
sage just cited, presents one of the
most remarkable exhibitions we have
in literary history, of the inner life of
any distinguished author. While noth-
ing of weakness is spared, nothing is
omitted in the rare insight of the
writer, to guide to a full appreciation
of the better and higher qualities of
MAEGAEET FULLEE OSSOLI.
283
his subject. Rarely has a gifted auth-
or been exposed to so critical a posthu-
mous examination as Miss Fuller, sub-
jected to the scalpels, in a kind of
moral and mental autopsy, of such
acute philosophical surgeons as her
joint biographers Clarke, Emerson and
Channing. They are all appreciators
of her genius, which they are well
aware can bear the disturbance of every
critical objection which could be raised
against her, while many of the lighter
details of habits and peculiarities which
they furnish, relieve the weightier
analysis of mental character. Thus
we are curiously told bj- Mr. Emerson
that "it was soon evident that there
was somewhat a little pagan about
her ; that she had some faith more or
less distinct in a fate, and in a guard-
ian genius ; that her fancy, or her pride
had played with her religion. She
had a taste for gems, ciphers, talismans,
omens, coincidences, and birthdays.
She had a special love for the planet
Jupiter, and a belief that the month
of September was inauspicious to her.
She never forgot that her name, Mar-
garita, signified a pearl. ' When I first
met with the name Leila ' she said, ' I
knew from the very look and sound it
was mine ; I knew that it meant night,
— night, which brings out stars, as sor-
row brings out truths.' Sortilege she
valued. She tried sortes biblicce, and
her hits were memorable. I think
each new book which interested her,
she was disposed to put to this test,
and know if it had somewhat personal
to say to her. As happens to such
persons, these guesses were justified by
the event. She chose carbuncle for
her own stone, and when a dear friend |
was to give her a gem, this was the
one selected. She valued what she
had somewhere read, that carbuncles
are male and female. The female casts
out light, the male has his within him-
self. ' Mine ' she said, ' is the male.1
And she was wont to put on her car
buncle, a bracelet, or some selected
gem, to write letters to certain friends.
One of her friends she coupled with
the onyx, another in a decided way
with the amethyst. She learned that
the ancients esteemed the gem talis-
man to dispel intoxication, to give
good thoughts and understanding.
Coincidences good and bad, contretemps,
seals, ciphers, mottoes, omens, anni-
versaries, names, dreams, are all of a
certain importance to her. Her letters
are often dated on some marked anni-
versary of her own, or of .her corres-
pondent's calendar. She signalized
saints' days. 'All Soul's' and 'All
Saints,' by poems, which had for her
a mystical value. She remarked a pre-
established harmony of the names of
her personal friends, as well as of her
historical favorites ; that of Emanuel,
for Swedenborg ; and Rosencrantz for
the head of the Rosicrucians. 'If
Christian Rosencrantz,' she said, 'is
not a made name, the genius of the
age interfered in the baptismal rite, as
in the cases of the archangels of art,
Michael and Raphael, and in giving
the name of Emanuel to the captain
of the New Jerusalem. Su b rosa crux,
I think, is the true derivation, and not
the chemical one, generation corrup-
tion, etc. In this spirit, she soon sur-
rounded herself with a little mythology
of her own. She had a series of anni
versaries, which she kept. Her sea]
286
MARGARET FULLER OSSOLI .
time; visiting Wordsworth at Rydal
Mount, where she was much impressed
by the poet's simple life, and the affec-
tion with which he was regarded by
his neighbors; falling in, at Edin-
burgh, with De Quincey, "his elo-
quence, subtle and forcible as the
wind, full and gently falling as tho
evening dew ;" paying her respects, at
Hampstead, to Joanna Baillie, " a seren-
ity and strength on her brow, undim-
med and unbroken by the weight of
more than fourscore years;" and, in
London, entertained and sometimes
provoked by the dogmatism and para-
dox of Carlyle. All along this tour,
the attention of Miss Fuller is warmly
engaged in the various philanthropic
institutions for the relief of the suffer-
ing, and the care and education of the
poor. One of these which she wit-
nessed in operation in London, had an
especial claim upon her sympathy, and
was otherwise of interest, for introduc-
ing her to the revolutionist Mazzini,
with whom she was to be brought into
intimate relations at Rome. This was
a school for poor Italian boys, sustain-
ed and taught by a few of their exiled
patriots, foremost among whom was
Mazzini. She was much impressed
with the courageous zeal and hopeful-
ness and powerful mental qualities of
this great prophet and promoter of
Italian political reform, who, hunted
and proscribed, spite of every form of
persecution, continued, by his acts and
writings, to animate the hearts of his
countrymen, and strengthen their re-
solves, till the work of liberation from
a foreign yoke was finally accomplish-
ed. " He is one," she wrote in 1846,
u who can live fervently, but steadily,
gently, every day, every hour, as well
as on great occasions, cheered by the
light of hope ; for, with Schiller, ho is
sure that 'those who live for their
faith shall behold it living.' He is
one of those same beings who, measur-
O '
ing all things by the ideal standard,
have yet no time to mourn over failure
or imperfection ; there is too much to
be done to obviate it."
Passing from Great Britain to the
Continent, at Paris, Miss Fuller -is
deeply engaged in the study of art,
music, social science, and the world of
politics, which she sees, in anticipation
of the coming year of revolution, is
crumbling to its fall. " While Louis
Philippe lives," she wrote, early in
1847, to the 'Tribune,' "the gases,
compressed by his strong grasp, may
not burst up to light ; but the need of
some radical measures of reform is not
less strongly felt in France than else^
where, and the time will come before
long when such will be imperatively
demanded." Traversing France in the
winter by the Rhone, she embarks at
Marseilles for Genoa, and thence, by
way of Leghorn, reaches Naples by sea,
which she thus characterises in a sen-
tence : — " this priest-ridden, misgovern-
ed, full of dirty, degraded men and
women, yet still most lovely Naples —
of which the most I can say is that
the divine aspect of nature can make
you forget the situation of man in this
region, which was surely intended for
him as a princely child, angelic in
virtue, genius, and beauty, and not as
a begging, vermin-haunted, image-kiss-
ing Lazzarone." Passionate as was
her admiration for art, and much as
she had longed to study its great
MAKGARET FULLER OSSOLI.
287
works, in their permanent homes on
the soil where they were produced;
and susceptible as her constitution and
sympathetic emotions were to the
charms of nature, she appears always
on her travels to have been most
deeply impressed by the suffering con-
dition of the people. She was no
mere pleasure seeking, dilettante ob-
server, amusing herself with the out-
ward exhibitions of sculpture and
painting or architecture. She knew
that what gave them life and power
was the hidden spirit within, the mo-
tive which actuated their production,
and that they were beautiful and
heroic, as they embodied fair and noble
ideas. It was human life, after all,
which she studied in them, and it was
a kindred nobility which she sought
for in the people around her. Hence
she rejoiced so earnestly at the first
trumpet-call of freedom, which, spread-
ing from France, sounded over Italy
in the revolutionary agitations of 1848.
She was there to hail the first symp-
toms of emancipation from the foreign
yoke, with its dependency everywhere
upon restraint and oppression, repress-
ing the strong heart of the nation in
perpetual enforced childhood. After
traversing Italy, from Naples to Milan,
she writes in October, 1847, " the Aus-
trian rule is always equally hated ; and
time, instead of melting away differ-
ences, only makes them, more glaring.
The Austrian race have no faculties
that can ever enable them to under-
stand the Italian character ; their po-
licy, so well contrived to palsy and
repress for a time, cannot kill ; and
there is always a force at work under-
aeath which shall yet, and I think
now before long, shake off the incu-
bus." The day was at hand. Simul-
taneously with her arrival in Italy, the
new Pope, Pius IX., was in the first
flush of his popularity, in his opposi-
tion to foreign interference, and his
beneficent work of reform which, prom-
is.ed, for a time, the unusual spectacle
of the Papacy acting in accordance
with the more enlightened spirit of
the age. The liberal measures which
he encouraged or permitted were in
advance of the direct revolutionary
movement of 1848. Months before
the reaction following on that event
came at Rome, Miss Fuller, while ex-
pressing her admiration, even, for the
Pope, doubted the permanence and
efficacy of his reforms. " In the Spring,"
she wrote, " when I came to Home, the
people were in the intoxication of joy
at the first serious measures of reform
taken by the Pope. I saw with pleas-
ure their child-like joy and trust. With
equal pleasure I saw the Pope, who
has not in his expression the signs of
intellectual greatness, so much as of
nobleness and tenderness of heart, of
large and liberal sympathies. Heart
had spoken to heart between the prince
and the people; it was beautiful to
see the immediate good influence ex-
cited by human feeling and generous
designs on the part of a ruler. He
had wished to be a father; and the
Italians, with that readiness of genius
that characterizes them, entered at oncf
into the relation ; they, the Roman peo-
ple, stigmatized by prejudice as so
crafty and ferocious, showed them-
selves children, eager to learn, quick
to obey, happy to confide. Still doubts
were always present whether all this
288
MAKGAEET FULLEK OSSOLI.
joy was not premature. The task un-
dertaken by the Pope seemed to pre-
sent insuperable difficulties. It is
never easy to put new wine into old
bottles; and our age is one where all
things tend to a great crisis, not merely
to revolution, but to radical reform.
From the people themselves the help
must come, and^not from princes."
This was written in October, 1847.
Six months after, when Louis Philippe
had been dethroned, and the Austrian
tyranny at home and abroad was tot-
tering to its fall, and the Pope was
recoiling from the spectre of freedom
which he had himself invoked, Miss
Fuller again writes : ' " Good and lov-
ing hearts, that long for a human heart
which they can revere, will be unpre-
pared, and for a time must suifer much
from the final dereliction of Pius IX.
to the cause of freedom, progress and
of the war. He was a fair image, and
men went nigh to idolize it ; this they
can do no more, though they may be
able to find excuse for his feebleness,
love his good heart no less than before,
and draw instruction from the causes
that have produced his failure, more
valuable than his success would have
been. Pius IX., no one can doubt
who has looked on him, has a good
and pure heart ; but it needed also,
not only a strong, but a great mind,
' To comprehend his trust, and to the same
Keep faithful, with a singleness of aim.' "
Miss Fuller was now passing her
second season in Rome. She had gone
(through the tumult of emotions at-
tendant upon a first introduction to
the confused intermingling of ancient
and modern life in $Jje eternal city, and
was prepared to enjoy everything in
its true relation. "I am now truly
happy here," she wrote at this time to
a friend, " quiet and familiar; no long-
er a staring, sight-seeing stranger, rid-
ing about finely dressed in a coach to
see muses and sybils. I see these
forms now in the natural manner, and
am contented." Alone and free, as
she described herself, she occupied a
suite of rooms at a moderate rental,
calculating the whole of her expenses
for six months at a sum not exceeding
four hundred and fifty dollars. While
thus situated, she was, in December,
1847, privately married to a young
count, Giovanni Angelo Ossoli, with
whom her acquaintance had been
formed under somewhat, peculiar cir-
cumstances. Following her own nar-
rative, as related by her friend, Mrs*
Story : " She went to hear vespers,
the evening of ' Holy Thursday,' soon
after her first coming to Rome, in the
spring of 1847, at St. Peter's. She
proposed to her companions that some
place in the church should be designa-
ted, where, after the services, they
should meet, — she being inclined, as
was her custom always in St. Peter's,
to wander alone among the different
chapels. When, at length, she saw
that the crowd was dispersing, she
returned to the place assigned, but
could not find her party. In some
perplexity, she walked about, with
her glass carefully examining each
group. Presently, a young man of
gentlemanly address came up to her,
and begged, if she wrere seeking any
one, that he might be permitted to
assist her; and together they contin-
ued the search through all parts oi
MARGARET FULLER OSSOLI.
289
the church. At last, it became evi-
dent, beyond a doubt, that her party
could no longer be there; and, as it
was then quite late, the crowd all
gone, they went out into the piazza to
find a carriage, in which she might go
home. In the piazza, in front of St.
Peter's, generally may be found many
carriages; but, owing to the delay
they had made, there were none, and
Margaret was compelled to walk,
with her stranger friend, the long dis-
tance between the Vatican and the
Corso. At this time, she had little
command of the language for conver-
sational purposes, and their words
were few, though enough to create in
each a desire for further knowledge
and acquaintance. At her door, they
parted, and Margaret, finding her
friends already at home, related the
adventure."
Other interviews followed ; and, pre-
vious to her departure for the north,
as summer approached, Ossoli offered
her his hand and was refused. On
her return to the city, in the au-
tumn, the intimacy was renewed, and,
as we have stated, ended in marriage.
The reason for its being kept private
for a time, was the disturbed state of
the times, and the influence its be-
ing known might have had on the
moderate fortune of the husband. By
the death of his father, he had just
become entitled to a share in a small
property, the distribution of which
was dependent upon ecclesiastical in-
fluences affecting the administration
of the law, which would not have
been favorable to the rights of one
who was already, with reason, sus-
pected as a liberal, married to a Pro-
testant, openly in communication with
the reform or revolutionary party. Un-
der these circumstances, while her mar-
riage was known only to a few inti-
mate friends in Rome, her child, An-
gelo Osoli, was born in September,
1848, at the old mountain town of Rieti,
a summer retreat from the capital. The
progress of Italian political emancipa-
tion was meanwhile becoming embar-
rassed by the complicated re-action-
ary and revolutionary movements. The
Papal minister, the Count Rossi, was
assassinated in November ; the people
rose, established a revolutionary gov-
ernment in the city; the Pope was
confined to his palace, from which he
escaped in disguise, and took refuge at
Gaeta, near Naples. In the spring, a
French army was landed at Civita
Vecchia, and marched to Rome to ef-
fect his restoration. The city was
defended by the provisional authori-
ties in power, and endured a siege for
a month, ending on the 3d of July,
when it surrendered. The Count
Ossoli, acting with the revolutionary
party, a captain of the Civic Guard,
was earnestly engaged in the defence,
and freely exposed to the bombardment,
while bis wife, separated from her
child, who was left in the mountains,
was placed in charge of one of the
hospitals opened for the wounded, to
the painful duties of which, in the
midst of her domestic anxieties, she
devoted herself with her accustomed
self-sacrificing spirit. On the the fall
of the short-lived Republic, she left
Rome with her husband and child,
and, after passing the ensuing winter
in Florence, on the 17th of May, the
little family party embarked on board
290
MAKGARET FULLEK OSSOLI.
the brig " Elizabeth " for New York.
The voyage was prosperous at the
start, but a great disaster was encoun-
tered oft* Gibraltar, in the death of the
New England captain. The mate was
inexperienced ; and, encountering a se-
vere gale on the approach to the Ame-
rican coast, the vessel was driven by
the force of the tempest upon the
sand bars of Long Island, off Fire
Island beach. Here, about four o'clock
on the morning of the 16th July, 1850,
the ship struck. The hull was broken
by the shock, and the water poured
in rapidly through the opening, while
the seas were breaking over the deck.
The passengers, hurriedly driven from
their beds in their night-clothes, took
refuge on the forecastle, which was the
least exposed. The bow of the vessel
was within a few hundred yards of
the shore, and a number of the passen-
gers and crew were saved by being
driven violently ashore by the force
of the waves, as they clung to the
broken spars and other objects. Mad-
ame Ossoli was advised to trust to
this resource, by which her life might
have been saved, but she refused to
separate herself from her child, saying
that " she had no wish to live without
it, and would not, at that hour, give
the care of it to another." She steadi-
ly refused to leave the vessel. Shortly
before the forecastle sunk, when the re-
maining sailors had resolved to leave,
the steward, with whom the child had
been a great favorite, took it by main
force, and plunged with it into the sea,
where they perished together. The
Marquis Ossoli was, soon after, washed
away, but his wife, it is said, remained
in ignorance of his fate. The cook,
who was the last person that reached
the shore alive, said that the last
words he heard her speak, were, 1 1 see
nothing but death before me, — I shall
never reach the shore.' It was be-
tween two and three o'clock in the
afternoon," continues Bayard Taylor,
who gathered these particulars from
the survivors on the shore, " immediate-
ly after the event, and after lingering
for about ten hours, exposed to the
mountainous surf that swept over the
vessel, with the contemplation of death
constantly forced upon her mind, she
was finally overwhelmed, as the mast
fell. Thus perished, at the age of
forty, in company with those she lov-
ed dearest on earth, one who, had she
lived, would have brought to Ameri-
can life and culture the mature fruits
of an extraordinary intellectual devel-
opment and experience, the value of
which will not be lightly estimated
by those who have studied and prop-
erly appreciated what she had already
accomplished. Perhaps no one, from
her intimacy with Mazzini and others
of the revolutionary leaders, was so
well qualified to write the history of
the Roman Republic; and we may
well regret that there was lost in the
wreck of the vessel, when she perished,
a full narrative of that movement,
which she was bringirg home with
her for publication. The writings
which she has left behind ner will
well repay the attention of the thought-
ful reader, who will come to their pe-
rusal with a sense of admiration for
their force and self-reliance, their beau-
ty and sincerity, in the presence ofmany
difficulties ; and with a feeling of sym-
pathy enhanced by her sorrowful fate.
GEOKGE PEABODY.
293
ieatli of his father, leaving his
' O
native State in company with a
bankrupt uncle, John Peabody, to
seek his fortune in another region.
The sailed from Newburyport in the
brig " Fane," Captain Davis, for George-
town, in the District of Columbia,
where the uncle established himself in
business, which, owing to his pecu-
niary embarrassments, was conducted
in the name of his nephew. War with
England being declared immediately
after arrival, young Peabody volun-
teered in an artillery company, form-
ed at Georgetown, under the command
of Colonel George Peter, and served at
Fort Warburton, on the Potomac, in
defence of the capital, then threatened
by a British fleet in the river, one of
his companions on duty at the fort
being Francis S. Key, the author of
the popular war lyric, the u Star Span-
gled Banner."
After a couple of years passed in
conducting the business at George-
town, Mr. Peabody, prudently antici-
pating possible embarrassment if he
continued in charge of its affairs,
when he came of age reluctantly part-
ed with his uncle, and soon accepted
an offer of partnership with Mr. Elisha
Riggs, a dry-goods merchant of New
York. He entered upon this new re-
lation at the age of nineteen. In 1815,
the house of Riggs and Peabody was
removed to Baltimore, and other
houses were established in Philadel-
phia and New York in 1822 ; the
partnership continuing, in terms of
five years each, for fifteen years, sever-
al other individuals occupying succes-
sively subordinate situations in the
house. In 1829, Mr. Elisha Riggs re-
ti.— 37
tired from the firm; but his nephew,
Mr. Samuel Riggs, who had been ad-
mitted five years before, remained ;
and Mr. Peabody became senior part-
ner, under the firm of Peabody, Rigga
& Co. He fairly attained this posi-
tion by his business fidelity and activ-
ity ; laboring incessantly for the house,
and deservedly sharing its rising for-
tunes. He traveled much at home in
prolonged collecting excursions in
Maryland and Virginia, and, in 1827,
visited England for the first time, for
the purchase of goods. During the
next ten years he occasionally repeat-
ed this voyage for a like object, and
at the end of this time, 1837, made his
residence permamently in England.
A few years after, in 1843, he retired
from the firm of Peabody, Riggs &
Co., and established himself in Lon-
don at the head of the well-known ban-
king and commercial house of Peabody
In 1848, Mr. Peabody was brought
into public notice in the United States
by the thanks of the Legislature of the
State of Maryland, accorded him for
his generous services in negotiating an
important loan, wrhich enabled the
State to maintain its credit at a period
of great financial embarrassment. In
the words of the joint resolution of
the two Houses of the Legislature re-
cording the act : " Whereas, Mr. George
Peabody, a citizen of Maryland, now
resident in London, was appointed one
of the three commissioners, under the
act of assembly of eighteen hundred
and thirty-five, to negotiate a loan for
this State, and after performing the
duties assigned him, refused to apply
for the compensation allowed by the
L'94
GEORGE PEABODY.
provisions of that act, because he was
unwilling to add to the burthens of
the State, at a time when she was
overwhelmed with the weight of her
obligations; and whereas, since the
credit of the State has been restored,
he has voluntarily relinquished all
claim for the compensation due to
him for his services, expressing him-
self fully paid by the gratification of
seeing the State free from reproach in
the eyes of the world. Be it unani-
mously resolved, by the General As-
sembly of Maryland, that the record
of such disinterested zeal is higher
praise than any that eloquence could
bestow, and that this Legislature is
therefore content with tendering the
thanks of the State to Mr. Peabody
for his generous devotion to the inter-
ests and honor of Maryland."
These resolutions, by further direc-
tion of the Legislature, were commu-
nicated to Mr. Peabody by the Gover-
nor of the State, the Hon. Philip J.
Thomas, who added : " Instances of
such devotion on the part of a citizen
to the public welfare are of rare occur-
rence, and merit the highest distinc-
tions which a Commonwealth can be-
stow. To one whose actions are the
result of impulses so noble and self-
sacrificing, next to the approval of his
own conscience, no homage can be more
acceptable than the meed of a people's
gratitude, no recompense so grateful
as the assurance of a complete realiza-
tion of those objects and ends whose
attainment has been regarded of high-
er value than mere personal conve-
nience or pecuniary consideration."
In 1851, Mr. Peabody, whose innu-
3nce had always been exerted in the
promotion of kindly feeling between
the people of England and his country
celebrated the American national an-
niversary of independence by a splen-
did entertainment at his expense, at
Willis's Rooms, in London, to which
he invited a distinguished company
of the best English society, and his
countrymen who were then in the me-
tropolis. This peculiar celebration of
the day was undertaken, in the words
of a London journalist, " for the avow-
ed purpose of showing that all hostile
feeling, in regard to the occurrences
whi.h it calls to mind, has ceased to
have place in the breasts of the citi-
zens of either of the two great Ano;lo-
O O
Saxonnations, andthatthereisno longer
anything to prevent them meeting to-
gether on that day, or on any other oc-
casion, in perfect harmony and broth-
erhood." The affair was eminently
successful ; the ball room, in which
the celebration was held, was appro-
priately decorated with the blended
flags of England and the Uuited
States, and the portraits of Queen
Victoria and of Washington, The
entertainment opened with a concert,
in which the best talent of the day
was employed, followed by dancing
and a costly supper It was attended
by a brilliant company, the Duke of
Wellington being the honored guest
of the evening. Lord Granville, sub-
sequently referring to the fete, charac
terized it " as marking an auspicious
epoch in the history of international
feeling as between England and
America,"
The occasion on which Lord Gran-
ville made this remark was at another
entertainment, given in the autumn of
GEORGE PEABODT.
295
fclio same year by Mr. Peabody, a fare-
well dinner at the London Coffee
House, to " pay a parting tribute to
the skill, ingenuity, and originality "
of his American countrymen who had
been connected with the great Indus-
trial Exhibition of 1851, which the
host had liberally promoted by every
means at his command. His health
having been proposed by Lord Gran-
ville, Mr. Peabody replied that he had
" lived a great many years in England
without weakening his attachment to
his own land, but at the same too
lono- not to honor the institutions and
O
people of Great Britain. It has, there-
fore, been my constant desire, while
showing such attentions as were in
my power to my own countrymen, to
promote to the very utmost kind and
brotherly feelings between English-
men and Americans."
In June, 1852, the centennial anni-
versary of the separation of Mr. Pea-
body's native town of Danvers from
Salem, to which we have alluded, was
celebrated by the inhabitants. To
the gathering on this occasion Mr.
Peabody was invited. He replied, in
a characteristic letter, to his friends in
the town, regretting that he could not
be present, and referring to his early
days in the words already cited. " It is
now nearly sixteen years," he added,
" since I left my native country ; but I
can say with truth, that absence has
only deepened my interest in her wel-
fare. During this interval I have seen
great changes in her wealth, in her
power, and in her position among
nations. I have had the mortification
to witness the social standing of Ame-
ricans in Europe very seriously affect-
ed, and to feel that it was not entirely
undeserved ; but, thank Heaven, I have
lived to see the cause nearly annihila-
ted by the energy, industry, and hon-
esty of my countrymen ; thereby cre-
ating between the people of the two
great nations, speaking the English
language, and governed by liberal and
free institutions, a more kind and cordial
feeling than has existed at any other
time. The great increase of population
and commerce of the United States, the
development of the internal wealth of the
country, and the enterprise of her peo-
ple, have done much to produce this
happy change ; and I can scarcely see
bounds to our possible future if we
preserve harmony among ourselves,
and good faith to the rest of the
world, and if we plant the unrivalled
New England institution of the com-
mon school liberally among the emi-
grants who are filling up the great-
Valley of the Mississippi. That this
may be done, is, I am persuaded, no
less your wish than mine.
" I enclose a sentiment, which I ask
may remain sealed till this letter is
read on the day of the celebration,
when it is to be opened, according to
the directions on the envelope." The
sentiment enclosed with the letter was
this: "Education — a debt due from
present to future generations ;" and it
was practically enforced by the ex-
ceedingly liberal donation of twenty
thousand dollars, subsequently in-
creased by the giver to fifty thousand,
i to the town, "for the promotion of
! knowledge and morality," by the erec
tion and establishment, under the di-
rection of a suitable committee, of a
well appointed lyceum for the deliv
290
GEORGE PEABODY.
ery of lectures, with a valuable library
free to all the inhabitants.
The corner-stone of the "Peabody
Institute," as it was subsequently call-
ed, for which provision was thus made,
was laid, with appropriate ceremonies,
on the 20th of August, 1853. On the
29th of September, 1854, it was for-
mally dedicated, and an address deliv-
ered by the Hon. Rufus Choate, who
paid a generous tribute to the merits
of the founder. "I honor and love
him," said Choate, on this occasion, in
a discourse heightened by the gener-
ous enthusiasm of his nature, as he
dwelt on topics of mental culture and
learning, " not merely that his energy,
sense, and integrity have raised him
from a poor boy — waiting in that
shop yonder — to be a guest, as Cur-
ran gracefully expressed it, at the ta-
ble of princes; to spread a table for
the entertainment of princes — not
merely because the brilliant profes-
sional career which has given him a
position so commanding in the mer-
cantile and social circles of the com
mercial capital of the world, has left
him as completely American — the
heart as wholly untraveled — as when
he first stepped on the shore of Eng-
land to seek his fortune, sighing to
think that the ocean rolled between
him and home ; jealous of honor ;
wakeful to our interests; helping his
country, not by swagger and vulgari-
ty, but by recommending her credit ;
vindicating her title to be trusted
on the exchange of nations ; squan-
dering himself in hospitalities to her
citizens — a man of deeds, not of words
— not for these merely I love and hon-
;>r him, but because his nature is affec-
tionate and unsophisticated still; be'
cause his memory comes over so lov-
ingly to this sweet Argos; to the
schoolroom of his childhood ; to the
old shop and kind master, and the
graves of his father and mother ; and
because he has had the sagacity and
the character to indulge these uuex-
tinguished affections in a gift — not of
vanity and ostentation — but of su-
preme and durable utility. With
how true and rational a satisfaction
might he permit one part of the char-
itable rich man's epitaph to be written
on his grave-stone : ' What I spent I
had ; what I kept I lost ; what I gave
away remains with me.' '
Mr. Peabody, in 1856, visited the
United States, after an absence of twen-
ty years. He was invited, of course, to
various festive celebrations of his re-
turn, by friends in New York, Balti-
more, Philadelphia, Boston, and other
places, but refused all these invita-
tions with the exception of one, extend-
ed by the people of his native town oi
Danvers, There, in October of the
year just named, a most imposing de-
monstration awaited him. Guests were
assembled from various quarters; a
procession of the inhabitants, of which
the various schools formed an interest-
ing feature, escorted Mr. Pea body, on
his arrival, through the town ; the stores
and houses of which were gaily decor-
ated and inscribed with mottos expres-
sive of pride or gratitude ; and a dinner
was given, at which various eminent
orators, including Edward Everett
spoke with effect. The latter, in hia
happiest manner, celebrated the servi*
ces of Mr. Peabody to his countrymen
abroad, and particularly his successful
GEORGE PEABODY.
291
efforts in maintaining the national credit
when it was assailed on the score of
repudiation. " At that moment, and it
way a trying one," said he, " our friend
not only stood firm himself, but he was
the cause of firmness in others. There
were not at the time, probably, a half-
dozen other men in Europe, who, upon
the subject of American securities,
would have been listened to for a mo-
ment in the parlor of the Bank of Eng-
land. But his judgment commanded
respect — his integrity won back the
reliance which men had been accustom-
ed to place on American securities.
The reproach in which they were all
indiscriminately involved was grad-
ually wiped away from those of a sub-
stantial character, and if on this solid
basis of unsuspected good faith he
reared his own prosperity, let it be re-
membered that, at the same time, he
retrieved the credit of the State of
which he was the agent; performing
the miracle, if I may so venture to ex-
press myself, by which the word of an
honest man turns paper into gold."
Other instances of Mr. Peabody's
ample liberality might be recorded in
further benefactions to the town, in his
aid to the Grinnell Arctic Expedition,
and other public-spirited enterprises ,
but that which by its extent and im-
portance has most attracted the atten-
tion of the world, is his munificent
gift to the city of London, of two hund-
red and fifty thousand pounds sterling,
more than a million and a half of dol-
lars in our present currency, for the
building and establishment of various
extensive buildings, to be erected in
appropriate situations, and appropriat-
ed as lodging-houses for poor and re-
spectable inhabitants, heretofore strug-
gling without the means of obtaining
the decencies of life in squalid and
wretched abodes, which all the sanitary
regulations of the metropolis seemed
unable to regulate or improve. The
situation, growing every day more des-
perate, needed the interposition of some
powerful hand to meet the necessity.
The sagacity, insight and beneficence of
Mr. Peabody supplied the remedy.
With prodigal liberality proportionate
to the vast sphere of human misery in
the great metropolis and its dependen-
cies, in which he proposed to operate,
he gave to the city of London the means
of creating an ever-multiplying series
of homes for its virtuous and destitute
population. Those who have studied
the developments of the life in great
cities, under our modern civilization,
know that the inadequate provision
for the wants of the laboring classes in
good lodgings, at moderate prices, is
one of the greatest evils of the times,
yearly sacrificing in untold amount,
health, morality, and in a correspond-
ing degree the prosperity of the com-
munity. To give to honest poverty the
means of comfort and improvement, in
a home where a family might be
brought up with decency, and thus
rescued from vice and suffering imposed
by the neglect or extortion of selfish
landholders, this was the simple object
for which Mr. Peabody gave a fund
sufficient for a fair trial of the experi-
| ment on a gigantic scale. His first do-
nation of one hundred and fifty thou-
sand pounds, was given in 1863, the
remaining one hundred thousand was
added in 1866. Already, at the lattei
date, several extensive series of build
298
ings, to be built on convenient sites,
with money appropriated from the
fund, were erected, or in progress, at
Spitalfields, Chelsea, Bermondsey, Is-
lington, Shad well. The general plan
of the buildings is to provide suites of
rooms, airy, well ventilated, with appli-
ances for washing, cooking, and every
provision for health, to be let to suita-
ble persons of the industrial classes on
terms commensurate with their means.
A. great boon is thus extended, inde-
pendence on the part of the recipient
maintained, and the means provided in
the revenue received by the trustees for
future acts of similar beneficence. The
Peabody fund is thus a self-multiply-
ing charity.
The credit of this gift was much en-
hanced by the quiet manner in which
it was made — simply a business provi-
sion, as it were, for the wants of a hum-
ble deserving class of certain portions
of the city. But though hidden from
the great highways in the squalid dis-
tricts of poverty, this unobtrusive work
of benevolence was not to be allowed
to pass unnoticed by the British peo-
ple. Their highest representative,
Queen Victoria, touched perhaps in
addition to the obvious appeal to her
admiration by the consonance of the act
with similar efforts of her lamented
husband, the late Prince Albert, grace-
fully took occasion of the departure
of Mr. Peabody, on a visit to the United
States, to address to him the following
letter, dated Windsor Castle, March
28, 1866: "The Queen hears that Mr.
Peabody intends shortly to return to
America, and she would be sorry that
he should leave England without be-
ing assured by herself how deeply she
GEORGE PEABODY.
appreciates the noble act of more than
princely munificence by which he haa
sought to relieve the wants of the
poorer classes of her subjects residing
in London. It is an act, as the Queen
believes, wholly without parallel, and
which will carry its best reward in the
consciousness of having contributed so
largely to the assistance of those who
can little help themselves. The Queen
would not, however, have been satis-
fied without giving Mr. Peabody some
public mark of her sense of his munifi-
cence, and she would gladly have con-
ferred upon him either a Baronetcy or
the Grand Cross of the Order of the
Bath, but that she understands Mr.
Peabody to feel himself debarred from
accepting such distinctions. It only
remains, therefore, for the Queen to
give Mr. Peabody this assurance of her
personal feelings, which she would
further wish to mark by asking him
to accept a miniature portrait of her-
self, which she will desire to have
painted for him, and whiv.li, when
finished, can either be sent to him to
America, or given to him on the re-
turn which, she rejoices to hear, he
meditates to the country that owes hici
so much.''
To this Mr. Peabody sent the fol-
lowing graceful reply, through Earl
Russell, dated April 3: — "Madam, — I
feel my inability to express, in ade-
quate terms, the gratification with
which I have read the letter which
your Majesty has done me the high
honor of transmitting by the hands of
Earl Russell, on the occasion which has
attracted your Majesty's attention, oi
setting apart a portion of my propert)
to ameliorate the condition, and aug
GEORGE PEABOJVT.
299
ment the comforts, of the poor of Lon-
don. I have been actuated by a deep
sense of gratitude to God, who has
blessed me with prosperity, and of
attachment to this great country, where,
under your Majesty's benign rule, I
have received so much personal kind-
ness and enjoyed so many years of
happiness. Next to the approval of
my own conscience, I shall always prize
the assurance which your letter con-
veys to me of the approbation of the
Queen of England, whose whole life
has attested that her exalted station
has in no degree diminished her sym-
pathy with the humblest of her sub-
jects. The portrait which your Ma-
jesty is graciously pleased to bestow
on me I shall value as the most pre-
cious heirloom that I can leave in the
land of my birth, where, together with
!,he letter which your Majesty has ad-
dressed to me, it will ever be regarded
as evidence of the kindly feeling of the
Queen of the United Kingdom toward
a citizen of the United States."
In 1866, Mr. Peabody revisited the
United States and renewed his gifts to
the educational and philanthropic in-
stitutions of the country on an unpre-
cedented scale. To the " Peabody In-
stitute," which he had founded at
Danvers, he gave an additional hun-
dred thousand dollars, and made pro-
vision for the permanent deposit in its
gallery of the miniature of Victoria,
just spoken of, which was forwarded
to him while he remained in the coun-
try. To the scientific departments of
Yale College he gave one hundred and
fifty thousand dollars. He gave funds
for the building of a memorial Congre-
gational Church, as a monument to the
memory of his mother, in the vicinity
of bis birthplace. To the Phillips
Academy at Andover, Massachusetts,
he gave twenty-five thousand dollars,
for the purpose of endowing a Chair of
Mathematics and the Natural Sciences.
In his letter to the Trustees, conferring
this gift, he says : " I make this offer-
ing, gentlemen, from a heartfelt appre
ciation and desire for the promotion ol
the most thorough and liberal educa-
tion which our American institutions
can be made to impart, and to a school
like Phillips Academy, which, as I am
informed and believe, seeks to give, in
my native county of Essex, and so near
my early home, not only the highest
mental discipline in its sphere to all
classes, but such a general training in
manly virtues and in Christian moral-
ity and piety as all good men should
approve, and which is, and I trust will
ever remain, free from all sectarian in-
fluence."
Other examples of his liberality to
public institutions might be given.
One which crowned the whole must
not be omitted. It was a direct gift
to the nation of a million of dollars,
and the foundation of a system of pop-
ular school education in the Southern
States, to be conducted by a bureau
of eminent citizens, chosen by the
donor, with a single eye to their inte-
grity and ability to serve the public in
so peculiar and important a relation.
As the nature and provisions of such
a gift, in its original conception in the
mind of its author, must remain mat-
ters of constant interest, they may best
be presented in the words of the ori-
ginal letter of Mr. Peabody founding
this munificent trust. It is dated
300
GEOEGE PEABODT.
Washington, February 7, 1867, and is
addressed "To the Hon. Robert C.
Winthrop of Massachusetts, Hon. Ham-
ilton Fish of New York, Rt. Rev.
Charles P. Mcllvaine of Ohio, Gen. U.
S. Grant, of the United States Army,
Hon. Wm. C. Rives of Virginia, Hon.
John II. Clifford of Massachusetts, Hon.
Wm. Aiken of South Carolina, Wm.
M. Evarts, Esq., of New York, Hon.
Wm. A. Graham of North Carolina,
Charles Macalister of Pennsylvania,
Geo. A. Riggs, Esq., of Washington,
Samuel Wetniore of New York, Ed-
ward A. Bradford, Esq., of Louisiana,
Geo. N. Eaton of Maryland, and George
Peabody Russell of Massachusetts.
Gentlemen : I beg to address you on
a subject which occupied my mind long
before I left England, and in regard to
which one at least of you — Hon. Mr.
Winthrop — the honored and valued
friend to whom I am so much indebted
for cordial sympathy, careful consider-
ation, and wise counsel in this matter,
will remember that I consulted him
immediately upon my arrival in May
last. I refer to the educational needs
of those portions of our beloved and
common country which have suffered
from the destructive ravages and not
less disastrous consequences of civil
war. With my advancing years my at-
tachment to my native land has but be-
com e more devoted. My hope and faith
in its successful and glorious future
have grown brighter and stronger ; and
now, looking forward beyond my stay
on earth, as may be permitted to one
who has passed the limit of three-score
and ten years, I see our country united
and prosperous, emerging from the
clouds which still surround her, taking
' O
a higher rank among the nations, and
becoming richer and more powerful
than ever before. But to make its
prosperity more than superficial, her
moral and mental development should
keep pace with her material growth ;
and in those portions of our nation to
which I have referred, the urgent and
pressing physical needs of an almost
impoverished people must for some
years preclude them from making, by
unaided effort, such advances in educa-
tion and such progress in the diffusion
of knowledge among all classes that
every lover of his country must ear-
nestly desire. I feel most deeply,
therefore, that it is the duty and privi-
lege of the more favored and wealthy
portions of our nation to assist those
who are less fortunate ; and, with the
wish to discharge, so far as I may be
able, my own responsibility in this
matter, as well as to gratify my desire
to aid those to whom I am bound by
so many ties of attachment and regard,
I give to you, gentlemen, most of whom
have been my personal and especial
friends, the sum of one million of dol-
lars, to be by your successors held in
trust, and the income thereof used and
applied, in your discretion, for the pro-
motion and encouragement of intellec-
tual, moral, or industrial education
among the young of the more destitute
portions of the South-western States
of our Union, my purpose being that
the benefits intended shall be distri-
buted among the entire population,
without other distinction than their
needs and the opportunities of useful-
ness to them. Beside the income thus
devised, 1 give you permission to use
from the principal sum, within the next
GEOEGE PEABODY.
301
two years, an amount not exceeding 40
per cent. In addition to this gift I
place in your hands bonds of the State
of Mississippi, issued to the Planters'
Bank, and commonly known as Plant-
ers' Bank bonds, amounting, with in-
terest, to about $1,100,000, the amount
realized by you from which is to be
added to and used for the purposes of
this trust. These bonds were originally
issued in payment for stock in that
bank held by the State, and amounted
in all to only $2,000,000. For many
years the State received large dividends
from that bank over and above the in-
terest on these bonds. The State paid
the interest without interruption till
1840, since which no interest has been
paid, except a payment of $100,000
wbich was found in the Treasury, ap-
plicable to the payment of the coupons,
and paid by a mandamus of the Su-
preme Court. The validity of these
bonds has never been questioned, and
they must not be confounded with
another issue of bonds made by the
State to the Union bank, the recogni-
tion of which has been a subject of con-
troversy with a portion of the popula-
tion of Mississippi. Various acts of
the Legislatures, viz.: of Feb. 28, 1842,
Feb. 23, 1844, Feb. 16, 1846, Feb. 28,
1846, March 4, 1848, and the highest
judicial tribunal of the State, have con-
firmed their validity, and I have no
doubt that at an early day such legis-
lation will be had as to make these
bonds available in increasing the use-
fulness of the present trust. Missis-
sippi, though now depressed, is rich in
agricultural resources, and cannot long
disregard the moral obligations resting
upon her to make provision for their
ii.— 38
payment. In confirmation of what I
have said in regard to the legislative
and judicial action concerning the State
bonds issued to the Planters' Bank, I
herewith place in your hands the docu-
ments marked A. The details and
organization of the trust I leave with
you, only requesting that Mr. Win-
throp may be Chairman, and Grov. Fish
and Bishop MMlvaine Vice-Chairmen
of your body. And I give to you
power to make all necessary by-laws
and regulations, to obtain an act of
incorporation, if any shall be found ex-
pedient, to provide for the expenses of
the trustees and of any agents ap-
pointed by them, and generally to do
all such acts as may be necessary for
carrying out the provisions of this trust
All vacancies occurring in your num
ber by death, resignation or otherwise,
shall be filled by your election as soon
as conveniently may be, and having in
view an equality of representation, as
far as regards the Northern and South-
ern States. I furthermore^ give to you
the power, in case two-thirds of the
Trustees shall at any time after the
lapse of thirty years deem it expedient,
to close this trust, and of the funds
which at this time shall be in the
hands of yourselves and your succes-
sors, to distribute not less than two-
thirds for such educational purposes as
they may determine in the States for
whose benefit the income is now appoin-
ted to be used ; the remainder may be
distributed by the Trustees, for educa-
tional or literary purposes, whereever
they may deem it expedient. In mak-
ing this gift, I am aware that the fund
derived from it can but aid the States
.which I wish to benefit in their own
GEOEGE PEABODY.
exertions to diffuse the blessings of
education and morality ; but if this
endowment shall encourage those now
anxious for the light of knowledge, and
stimulate to new efforts the many good
and noble men who cherish the highest
purpose of placing our great country
foremost, not only in power, but in the
intelligence and the virtue of her citiz-
ens, it will have accomplished all that
I can hope. With reverent recognition
)f the need of the blessing of a mighty
Grod upon my gift, and with the fer-
Fent prayer that under His guidance
your counsels may be directed for the
highest good of present and future
generations in our beloved country, I
am, gentlemen, with great respect, your
humble servant, — GEORGE PEABODT."
This munificent gift to the nation
was appropriately recognized by an
Act of Congress, voting to the donor a
gold medal bearing on one side his
portrait and on the other the inscription :
"The People of the United States to
George Peabody, in acknowledgement
of his beneficent promotion of univer-
sal education."
As a further personal memorial of
his extraordinary beneficence in Eng-
land, a subscription was set on foot,
headed by the Prince of Wales, for the
erection of a statue of Mr. Peabody,
to be placed near the Royal Exchange
in London. It was executed in bronze,
and presented to the public with appro-
priate ceremonies, in the summer of
1869. At this time Mr. Peabody was
again in the United States, suffering
from impaired health. His travels
through the country from Massachu-
setts to Virginia wrere marked as
heretofore by his liberal donations to
public objects. He increased the South
ern Educational Fund by another mil
lion of dollars, and made other addi-
tions to the liberal institutions which
he had founded. In the autumn he
returned to England much enfeebled.
He did not long survive, his death oc-
curing at his residence in London on
the night of November, 4th, 1869.
The lesson of such a life to the youth
of America, as well as to the possessors
of wealth in its employment is a valu-
ble one. How that success, so far as
it has been dependent upon character,
has been obtained, we have already re-
lated ; but it may be worth while to
exhibit the tempei and disposition,
the practical good conduct of the actor
of this inunificient part in the social his-
tory of our times more fully, and this
cannot be better done than in the words
of one of the speakers at the Danvers
Centennial Celebration, Mr. P. R.
Southerick : " From his youth the mind
of Mr. Peabody was imbued with
sound principles. Early convinced of
the value of time, he rightly estimated
the importance of improving the op-
portunities and advantages with which
he was favored ; and we find him early
distinguished by those habits of in-
dustry and by that purity of moral con-
duct which have ever since been pre-
eminent in his character. He has been
promoted entirely by his own exertions
and merit. At home and abroad, in
his youth and in his manhood, industry,
decision, and perseverance characterize
every stage of his life. His judgment
is clear, deliberate, and peculiarly dis-
criminating. He regards punctuality aa
the soul of business, and never violates
the most trivial engagements."
n
NAPOLEON III.
305
for a while, obtained letters of natur-
alization as a citizen of the canton of
Thurgau, and pursued steadily his
military and political studies.
But a new career was gradually un-
folding- itself before him. His eldest
. O
brother died in infancy ; the second, as
we have seen, died in 1831 ; and, in
1832, the only son of the emperor,
now known as Napoleon II., but then
as the Duke of Reichstadt, also died.
Louis Napoleon had thus become, ac-
cording to the decree of 1804, the im-
mediate heir to the emperor. Thence-
forward the restoration of the empire,
and the Napoleon dynasty in his per-
son, became the predominant idea of
his life. He labored hard, not only to
fit himself for the lofty post his ambi-
tion led him to believe he should at no
distant period occupy, but also to im-
press his countrymen with his views,
and to accustom them to associate his
name with the future. He now pub-
lished his first work, "Political He-
views," in which the necessity of the
emperor to the state is assumed
throughout as the sole means of unit-
ing republicanism with the genius and
requirements of the French people.
His " Idees Napoleoniennes " were af-
terwards more fully developed, but
the germ is to be found in his first
publication. The " Political Reviews "
were followed by " Political and Mili-
tary Reflections upon Switzerland," a
work of considerable labor and un-
questionable ability; and this again,
after an interval, by a large treatise
entitled " Manual sur 1'Artillerie," the
result of the studies begun in the mili-
tary school of Thun.
At length he fancied that the time
had arrived for attempting to carry
his great project into effect. He had
become convinced that the French
people were tired of their citizen king,
and that it only needed a personal ap-
peal on the part of the heir of the
great Napoleon to rally the nation
round his standard. He had obtained
assurances of support from military
officers and others; and finally, at a
meeting in Baden, he secured the aid
of Colonel Vaudry, the commandant
of artillery in the garrison of Stras-
burg. His plan was to obtain posses-
sion of that fortress; and, with the
troops in garrison, who he doubted
not would readily join him, to march
directly on Paris, which he hoped to
surprise before the government could
make sufficient preparation to resist
him. Having made all necessary pre-
parations, and entered Strasburg se-
cretly as a conspirator, early on the
morning of the 30th of October, 1836,
the signal was given by sound of
trumpet, and Colonel Vaudry present
ed the prince to the regiment assem-
bled in the square of the artillery bar-
racks, telling the soldiers that a great
revolution was commencing at the mo-
ment, and that the nephew of their
emperor was before them. "He
comes," said he, "to put himself at
your head. He has arrived on the
soil of France to restore to it liberty
and glory. The time has come when
you must act or die for a great cause
—the cause of the people. Soldiers,
can the nephew of the Emperor count
upon you?" This was received with
a shout of " Vive Napoleon ! " u Vive;
1'Empereur," with a waving of sabres
and other enthusiastic demonstrations
306
NAPOLEON III.
When this had subsided, the Prince
addressed the soldiers. " Resolved,"
said he, " to conquer or to die in the
cause of the French nation, it was be-
fore you that I wished to present my-
self in the first instance, because be-
tween you and me exist some grand
recollections in common. It was in
your regiment that the Emperor Na-
poleon, my uncle, served as a captain ;
it was in your company that he dis-
tinguished himself at the siege of
Toulon; and it was also your brave
regiment that opened the gates of
Grenoble to him on his return from
Elba. Soldiers ! new destinies are in
reserve for you. To you is accorded
the glory of commencing a great enter-
prise— to you it is given first to salute
the eagle of Austerlitz and Wagram ! "
The Prince then snatching the eagle
from the officer who bore it, continued :
" Soldiers ! behold the symbol of the
glory of France, destined also to be-
come the em blem of liberty ! During
fifteen years it led our fathers to vic-
tory ; it has glittered upon every field
of battle; it has traversed all the
capitals of Europe. Soldiers ! will
you not rally round this noble stand-
ard, which I confide to your honor and
your courage? Will you refuse to
inarch with me against the betrayers
and oppressors of our country, to the
cry of ' Vive la France, Vive la Liber-
te ! ' " The soldiers echoed the appeal,
and Louis Napoleon, placing himself
at their head, marched off to the head-
quarters of the general, while a de-
tachment was sent to a printer's to
have the revolutionary proclamation
3et in type. The General had not fin- '
Ished dressing when the regiment ar- [
rived, and was, of course, taken by
surprise when the Prince appealed to
him as a friend to place himself on his
side, as the garrison was already in his
favor. The General doubted this, and
ordered the troops to return to their
obedience, which was answered by
shouts of defiance and his arrest. The
city prefect, meanwhile, had also been
arrested by the insurgent troops, and
the colonel of the third regiment be-
sieged in his own house. So far, all
seemed to be going favorable for the
Prince. The people of the town, on
waking up to the affair, were crying
" Vive 1'Empereur." The Prince now
proceeded to the barracks of another
regiment, the soldiers of which were
about to declare in his favor, when
their Colonel, with great vehemence,
cried out. " Soldiers, you are deceiv-
ed ! that man is no nephew of the
Emperor Napoleon. He is an impos-
tor and a cheat ! He is a relative of
Colonel Vaudry." The soldiers, see-
ing no resemblance to the great Em-
peror in the person before them, took
up the cry, and the Prince in an in-
stant exchanged the part of a success-
ful revolutionary leader for that of an
inglorious captive. He was arrested,
and the affair was at an end.
The Prince's mother, who now passed
by the name of the Duchess of St.
Leu, on the instant of hearing of his
arrest, hastened to Paris ; and her ap-
peals, and perhaps the want of sympa-
thy which the Parisians exhibited, in-
duced the king, Louis Philippe, to
treat the aspirant to his throne with
singular forbearance. The only pun-
ishment inflicted, was banishment from
France to America. He was accord
NAPOLEON III.
307
ingly, at the end of November, em-
barked on board a government frigate,
the "Andromede," and carried by a
circuitous route, the vessel going first
to Brazil, to the United States, land-
ing at New York. Here the Prince
was employing himself in a study of
the institutions of the country, and
planning an extended tour of observa-
tion, when, a few months only after
his arrival, he received a letter from
his mother, acquainting him with her
serious illness. He resolved at once
to return to Europe, sailed in a packet
for England; reached his mother at
her residence at Arenenberg, in Switz-
erland, and was with her at the time
of her death, in October. She was
devotedly attached to her son, and her
affection was warmly returned. She
was a woman of ardent feelings and of
considerable mental power. She pub-
lished some reminiscences of a portion
of her life, under the title of " Queen
Hortense in Italy, France, and Eng-
land, during the year 1831." She
was also fond of music, and composed
several airs, which have been much ad-
mired ; among others, the favorite
" Partant pour la Syrie."
By the death of his mother, the
Prince inherited considerable proper-
ty, including the richly-furnished and
decorated chateau of Arenenberg,
where he continued for some time to
reside. An attempt, however, to vin-
dicate his conduct in the affair at
Strasburg, by means of the press, led
the government of France, fearing his
pertinacity, to demand his extradition
from Switzerland. The cantons at
first refused to comply, and expressed
a determination to uphold his rights
as a citizen of Thurgau. But Louis
Philippe sent an army to enforce his
demands, and Louis Napoleon, not
wishing to involve Switzerland in
difficulty, withdrew to England. This
occurred in the autumn of 1838. For
about two years, he was leading ap-
parently the life of a man about town
in that country, visiting in the literary
society of the metropolis which gathered
about Lady Blessington and the Count
D'Orsay, with whom he became quite
intimate, and bein^; received as the guest
' o o
of the nobility, namely, the Duke of
Montrose, the Duke of Hamilton, the
Duke of Newcastle, and Lord Eglin-
ton, at whose famous "Tournament"
at Eglinton Castle, he was present, and
in which he bore a part. All this
while he was dwelling upon the fu-
ture before him, and maintaining his
pretensions to the throne of France,
nothing doubting that he would one
day be its emperor. The ingenuity
and intensity of his convictions were
witnessed by his publication in Brus-
sels and London, in 1839, of his fa-
mous work, "Des Idees Napoleonien-
nes." In the preface to this book,
dated Carlton Terrace, London, in
July of that year, he says : " If the des-
tiny which my birth presaged had not
been changed by events, I, a nephew
of the Emperor, should have been one
of the defenders of his throne, and a
propagator of his ideas ; I should have
enjoyed the glory of being a pillar of
his edifice, or of dying in one of the
squares of his guard, while fighting
for France. The Emperor is no more !
but his spirit still lives. Prevented
from defending his shielding power
with arms, I can at least attempt to
308
NAPOLEON III.
defend his memory with the pen. To
enlighten public opinion by searching
out the thought, which presided over
his high conceptions, to recall to mind
his vast plans, is a task which yet
smiles upon my heart and consoles
my exile. Fear of offending contrary
opinions will not restrain me : ideas
which are under the aegis of the great-
est genius of modern times, may be
avowed without reserve ; nor do they
need to adapt themselves to the vary-
ing caprices of the political atmos-
phere. Enemy of all absolute theo-
ries, and of all moral dependence, I
have no engagement with any party,
any sect, or any government. My
voice is free — as iny thought; — and
I love freedom !"* The book to which
this declaration was the prelude, dis-
cussed the general ideas of govern-
ment, the " Mission " of the Emperor,
and the details of the internal admin-
i3tration of France, civil and political,
the judiciary, the army, etc., with a
review of the foreign Napoleonic poli-
cy. " In conclusion," says he, " let us
repeat it, the Napoleonic idea is not
one of war, but a social, industrial,
commercial idea, and one which con-
cerns all mankind. If to some it ap-
pears always surrounded by the thun-
der of combats, that is because it was,
in fact, for too long a time veiled by
the smoke of cannon and the dust of
battles. But now the clouds are dis-
persed, and we can see, beyond the
glory of arms, a civil glory greater
and more enduring. May the shade
of the Emperor repose, then, in peace !
His memory grows greater every day.
* "Napoleonic Ideas." Translated by James
&. Dorr. New York, 1839
Every surge that breaks upon the rock
of Saint Helena, responding to a whis-
per of Europe, brings a homage to his
memory, a regret to his ashes ; and the
echo of Long wood repeats over his
tomb : ' The enfranchised nations are
occupied everywhere in re-establisliing
thy work /' '
This manifesto of opinions and aspi-
rations was the following year succeed-
ed by the miserable attempt, a repeti-
tion of the Strasburg failure, at Bou-
logne. Again the Prince seems to have
thought that he had but to show him-
self upon French soil to conquer the
nation. Having got together a com-
pany of miscellaneous adventurers, by
no means of a striking military appear-
ance, about fifty in number, including
Count Montholon, who had been an
attendant of the first Napoleon at
St. Helena, he embarked in a steam-
boat, the " City of Edinburgh," hired
for the occasion, from the English
port of Margate, and, early on the
morning of the 6th of August, 1840,
under pretence of a party of soldiers
proceeding from Dunkirk to Cher-
bourg, deceived the Custom officer on
watch, and was permitted to land at
Boulogne. An important member of
this redoubtable expedition was A
tame eagle, which the Prince carried
with him for sentimental effect, or as
an omen of victory ! Hardly, how-
ever, was this motley company, the
eagle included, on shore, than they
were met by the garrison troops, who,
had they been inclined, were not per-
mitted to show any favor to the enter-
prise. The adventurers who had done
nothing more than parade the streets,
were speedily, within a couple of
XAPOLEON III.
309
hours, endeavoring to get back to
thei' vessel ; and, in the attempt at
flight, Louis Napoleon, with most
of his followers, was captured. It is
difficult to suppose that the leader in
this affair regarded it in any other light,
than as a hap-hazard piece of daring,
an announcement of himself which,
successful or unsuccessful, would bring
his name again before the French peo-
ple. Anything to such a schemer would
be preferable to stagnation or neglect.
A color, however, seems to have been
given to his hopes by some recent
signs of disaffection to the govern-
ment of Louis Philippe, and by the
interest which the project of remov-
ing the remains of Napoleon from St.
Helena to Paris, then about to be ac-
complished, had occasioned. If the peo-
ple were so elated at the prospect of do-
ing honor to a dead Emperor, might
they not hail with acclamation his le-
gitimate successor? The time came
when something was to be built upon
this reasoning; but it had not yet ar-
rived. A proclamation issued by the
Prince at this Boulogne landing, for it
was nothing more, shows that he con-
nected the two events in his mind.
" Frenchmen !" was its language, " the
ashes of the Emperor should return
only to regenerated France. The shade
of a great man should not be profaned
by impure and hypocritical homage.
Glory and Liberty should stand at the
side of the coffin of Napoleon. Traitor*
to their country should disappear.
There is in France to-day but violence
on one side and lawlessness on the
other. I wish to re-establish order
and liberty. I wish, in gathering
around me all the interests of the
ii.— 39
country without exception, and in
supporting myself with the suffrages
of the masses, to erect an imperishable
edifice. I wish to give France true
alliances and a solid peace, and not to
plunge her in the hazards of a general
war. Frenchmen ! I see before me a bril
liant future for our country, I perceive
behind me the shade of the Emperor,
which presses me forward. I shall
not stop till I have regained the sword
of Austerlitz, replaced the eagles up-
on our banners, and restored to the
people their rights."
Louis Napoleon being now lodged
in prison in the conciergerie at Paris,
it was determined by the government
to proceed with his trial on an im-
peachment of treason, before the
Court of Peers. It was commenced
on the 28th of September, and lasted
several days. The Prince was defend-
ed by the eminent counsellor, Berryer,
and himself delivered an elaborate
speech in vindication of his projects
and intentions. In the course of this,
he asserted that nowhere in French
history, .had "the national will been
proclaimed so solemnly, or been estab-
lished by suffrage so numerous and so
free, as on adopting the constitution of
the Empire." He would not, however, he
said, force any issue upon the country ;
but, if he had the power, would appeal
to a National Congress to determine
the question, whether " Republic or
Monarchy, Empire or Kingdom." His
concluding remarks were pointedly
expressed. " A last word, gentlemen.
I represent before you a principle, a
cause, a defeat. The principle is the
sovereignty of the people ; the cause,
that of the Empire ; the defeat, Water-
— I
310
XAPOLEON III.
loo. The principle, you have recog-
nized it ; the cause, you have served
it; the defeat, you have wished to
avenge it. Eepresentative of a politi-
cal cause, I cannot accept as judge of
my intentions and my acts, a political
tribunal. Your forms impose on no
one. In the struggle now commenc-
ing, there can be but the victor and
the vanquished. If you are the vic-
torious, I have no justice to expect
from you, and I do not wish generosi-
ty." Language like this was not like-
ly to conciliate the court ; nor was the
argument of Berry er, which exhibited
the weakness of the government, and
appealed strongly to the Napoleonic
prestige, adapted to lessen the sense of
danger. The life of the Prince was
saved; but he was found guilty of
high treason, and condemned to per-
petual imprisonment in a French fort-
ress. The place chosen for his confine-
ment was the Castle of Ham, situated
in the town of that name, about 100
miles north-east of Paris ; and there
he remained for nearly six years, till
the 25th of May, 1846, when," with the
assistance of his friend, Dr. Conneau,
his physician, residing in the prison,
and a faithful valet, he escaped from
the walls in disguise.
He has, himself, furnished an ac-
count of this adventure in a publish-
ed letter. " My desire," he writes, " to
see my father once more in this world,
made me attempt the boldest enter-
prise I ever engaged in. It required
more resolution and courage on my
part than at Strasburg and Boulogne ;
for I was determined not to submit to
the ridicule which attaches to those
>vbo are arrested escaping under a
disguise, and a failure I could not
have endured. You know that the
fort was guarded by four hundred
men, of whom sixty soldiers acted
daily as sentries outside the walls.
Moreover, the principal gate of the
prison was guarded by three gaolers,
tvvo of whom were constantly on
duty. It was necessary that I should
first elude their vigilance ; afterwards
traverse the inside court, before the
windows of the commandant's resi-
dence ; and, on arriving there, I should
still have to pass by a gate which was
guarded by soldiers. Not wishing to
communicate my designs to any one,
it was necessary to disguise myself.
As several rooms in the part of the
building which I occupied were un-
dergoing repair, it was not difficult to
assume the dress of a workman. My
good and faithful valet, Charles The-
Her, procured a smock-frock and a
pair of sabots ; and, after shaving on*
my moustaches, I took a plank on my
shoulders. On Sunday morning I
saw the workmen enter at half-past
eight o'clock. Charles took them
some drink, in order that I should
not meet any of them on my way.
He was also to call one of the turn-
keys, whilst Dr. Conneau conversed
with the others. Nevertheless, I had
scarcely got out of my room before I
was accosted by a workman, who took
me for one of his comrades; and, at
the bottom of the stairs, I found my-
self in front of the keeper. Fortu-
nately, I placed before my face the
plank which I was carrying, and suc-
ceeded in reaching the yard. When*
ever I passed a sentinel or any other
person, I always kept the plank be-
NAPOLEON m.
311
fore my face. Passing before the
first sentinel, I let my pipe fall, and
stopped to pick up the bits. There
[met the officer on duty; but as he
was reading a letter, he paid no atten-
tion to me. The soldiers at the guard-
house appeared surprised at my dress,
and a chasseur turned several times to
look at me. I next met some work-
men, who looked very attentively at
me. I placed the plank before my
face ; but they appeared to be so cu-
rious, that I thought I should never
escape, until I heard them say, ' Oh !
it is Bertrand !' Once outside, I walk-
ed quickly towards the road to St.
Quentin. Charles, who had the day
before engaged a carriage, shortly
overtook me, and we arrived at St.
Quentin. I passed through the town
on foot, after having thrown off my
smock-frock. Charles procured a post-
chaise, under the pretext of going to
Cambrai. We arrived, without meet-
ing with any obstacles, at Valencien-
nes, where I took the railway. I had
procured a Belgian passport, but I
was nowhere asked to show it. Dur-
ing my escape, Dr. Conneau, always
so devoted to me, remained in prison,
and caused them to believe that I was
»
unwell, in order to give me time to'
reach the frontier. Before I could be
persuaded to quit France, it was
necessary that I should be convinced
ir
that the government would never set
o
me at liberty, if I would not consent to
dishonor myself. It was also a matter
of duty that I should exert all my
efforts, in order to be enabled to solace
my father in his old age."
Quickly making his way across the
frontier, through Belgium, he was soon \
landed in safety in England. Hearing
presently of the serious illness of his
father in Tuscany, he endeavored to
get a passport to that country, to be
with him ; but before he could accom
plish this, Ex-King Louis died at Leg-
horn, in July, in the sixty-eighth year
of his age. His son inherited a por-
tion of his property.
As if to make amends for his long
confinement at Ham, the Prince now
became more than ever a man of plea-
sure in London. He became greatly
addicted to the turf, and lost much, it
is said, at the hands of its professional
gamblers. Reduced in fortune, he re-
sided in London, in economical quar-
ters, at a house in King street, St.
James's. While there, he was, on oc-
casion of a threatened Chartist distur-
bance, sworn in as a special constable.
The French Revolution, in 1848, came
to inspire him with fresh hopes. Louis
Philippe was an exile in England ;
and, in the confusion of affairs in
France, there was some chance for the
heir of Napoleon. The exiled mem-
bers of the family nocked to Paris,
headed by Jerome, the brother of Na-
poleon. There was some opposition
to the return of Louis Napoleon, who
waited in London till he was ostensi-
bly called by the will of the people.
In the elections which presently took
place, he was returned for four depart-
ments, including that of the Seine.
Laniartine moved a decree on the 12th
of June, banishing him from France,
which was rejected with much excite-
ment on the part of the people of
Paris in his favor. But the Prince
still held aloof, judiciously fanning the
flame of the popular will by a resigna
312
NAPOLEON III.
tion of the position tendered him, sent
from London and read in the Assem-
bly. "I was proud," he wrote, "to
have been elected representative of the
people of Paris, and in three other de-
partments. It was, in my opinion, an
ample reparation for thirty years' exile
and six years' captivity. But the in-
jurious suspicions to which my election
has given rise, the disturbances of
which it was the pretext, and the hos-
tility of the executive power, impose
upon me the duty to decline an honor
which I am supposed to have obtained
by intrigue. I desire order, and the
maintenance of a wise, great and en-
lightened Republic, and, since involun-
tarily favoring disorder, I tender my re-
signation— not without regret — into
your hands. Tranquility, I trust, will
now be restored, and enable me to re-
turn as the humblest of citizens, but
also as one of the most devoted to the
repose and prosperity of his country."
Paris, meanwhile, witnessed fresh
scenes of disorder and insurrection, and
the Prince bided his time. It came
with a renewed offer of a seat in the
National Assembly. He consented, in
a letter from London, and was return-
ed by an immense majority for the de-
partment of the Seine and five others.
Leaving England immediately after
the elections, he appeared in person,
and, on the 26th of June, was enrolled
a member of the National Assembly.
On taking his seat, he addressed the
House. " I have at last," said he, " re-
covered a country and my rights of
citizenship. The Republic conferred
on me that great happiness. I offer it
now my oath of gratitude and devo-
tion ; and the generous fellow country-
men who sent me to this hall may rest
certain that they will find me devoted
to that double task which is common
to us all ; namely, to assure order and
tranquility, the first want of the coun
try, and to develop the democrat ica?
institutions which the people have a
right to claim. * * * My conduct,
you may be certain, shall ever be
guided by a respectful devotion to the
law ; it will prove, to the confusion of
those who attempted to slander me,
that no man is more devoted than I
am, I repeat it, to the defence of
order and the consolidation of the Re-
public."
Louis Napoleon's election as Presi-
dent, for a term ending May, 1852,
followed in December. An address to
his " fellow citizens " was marked by
lofty expressions of devotion to the
cause of the Republic, not without
suggestions of a " strong " and decided
government, implied, however, rather
than fully declared. " If I am elected
President," said he, " I shall not shrink
from any danger, from any sacrifice, to
defend society which has been so au-
daciously attacked. I shall devote
myself wholly, without reserve, to the
confirming of a Republic which has
shown itself wise by its laws, honest
in its intentions, great and powerful
by its acts. I pledge my honor tc
leave to my successor, at the end
of four years, the executive powei
strengthened, liberty intact, and real
progress accomplished. Whatever may
be the result of the election, I shall
bow to the will of the people ; and I
pledge, beforehand, my co-operation
with any strong and honest govern-
ment which shall re-establish ordei in
NAPOLEON III.
313
principles as well as in things ; which
shall efficiently protect our religion,
our families, and our properties, the
eternal bases of every social commu-
nity ; which shall attempt all practical
reforms, assuage animosities, reconcile
parties, and thus permit a country, ren-
dered uneasy by circumstances, to
count upon the morrow." In these
and other declarations of the kind the
ends of government were dwelt upon
rather than the means, with an unsus-
pected leaning to imperial authority.
When the election came on for the
presidency, Louis Napoleon received
nearly five million and a half votes ;
his chief opponent, General Cavaignac,
the military leader of the Republican
movement, about a million and a half,
and Ledru Rollin, of the late "provis-
ional " government, less than four hun-
dred thousand. On taking the oath
of fidelity, in the National Assembly,
to the Constitution, the Prince Presi-
dent declared in an address to the
members that "he should look upon
those as enemies to the country who
should attempt to change by illegal
means what entire France has estab-
lished. We have, citizen representa-
tives, a great mission to fulfil. It is
to found a Republic for the interests
of all, and a Government just, fira^
and animated, with a sincere love of
progress, without being either reac-
tionary or Utopian. Let us be men
of the country, not men of a party;
and, with the assistance of God, we
shall at least accomplish useful, if we
cannot succeed in achieving great
things." In this it may be observed
that a government is brought forward
as distinct from the Republic. An j
imperial authority resting on popular
forms seems always to have been the
ideal of Louis Napoleon.
From the moment of his election to
the presidency, Louis Napoleon took a
much more decided stand than eithei
of those who had preceded him as
head of the executive. There were
symptoms of red republican discon-
tent, but they were speedily checked.
The contest with the legislative assem
bly was more important and of longer
continuance. But the prince presi-
dent was looking to popular support,
and he soon found means of winning
public favor by his progresses through
the country, his sounding and signifi-
cant addresses, and the desire he con-
stantly expressed for the exaltation of
France in the eyes of the surrounding
nations. His dismissal, at the begin-
ning of 1851, of a man so able and
popular as Changarnier from the com-
mand of the army in Paris, showed
that he would not permit himself to
be bearded with impunity ; and, rash
as it might at first glance seem, it
served to strengthen his position. He
was met apparently by an equally
firm resolution in the National Assem-
bly; who, after repeatedly expressing
want of confidence in his ministers,
proceeded, on the 10th of February,
1851, by a majority of 102. to reject
the President's Dotation Bill. In No-
vember, the president sent a message
to the assembly, proposing to restore
universal suffrage; and, in accordance
with the message, a bill was introduc-
ed by the ministers, but thrown out
by a small majority. The contest was
hastening to a close. In a public
speech, the President had denounced
314
NAPOLEON III.
the assembly as obstructive of all
ameliorating measures, and a govern-
ment journal HOW plainly accused the
Dody of conspiracy against the Prince
President, and of designing to make
Changarnier military dictator. Paris
was filled with troops. It was evident
some decided measure was at hand.
The leaders of the assembly hesitated
and their cause was lost. On the sec-
ond of December, the Prince President
issued a decree dissolving the legisla-
tive assembly ; declaring Paris in a
state of siege; establishing universal
suffrage; proposing the election of a
President for ten years, and a second
chamber or senate. In the course of
the night, one hundred and eighty
members of the assembly were placed
under arrest ; and M. Thiers and other
leading statesmen, with generals Chan-
garnier, Cavaignac, Lamoriciere, etc.,
were seized and sent to the castle of
Vincennes. This was the famous Coup
if Mat : and it was eminentlv success-
•/
ful, if that can be called successful
which was a violation of faith and an
occasion of fearful slaughter. Numer-
ous other arrests and banishments oc-
curred subsequently. On the 20th
and 21st of December, a "plebiscite,"
embodying the terms of the decree,
with the name of Louis Napoleon as
President, was adopted by the French
people, the numbers, according to the
official statement, being 7,439,216 in
the affirmative, and 640,737 negative.
A decree, published on the day of the
official announcement of the vote, re-
stored the imperial eagles to the na-
tional colors and to the cross of the
Legion of Honor. In January, 1851,
the new constitution waspublished ; the
National Guard reorganized, and the
titles of the French nobility restored.
When the result of the vote approving
of the Coup $Etat was announced by
the Committee to the President at his
residence in Paris, the palace of the
Elysee, he replied : " France has re-
sponded to the loyal appeal which 1
had made to her. She has compre-
hended that I departed from the legal
only to return to the right. More,
than seven million votes have absolv-
ed me by justifying an act which had
no other object than to spare France,
and perhaps Europe, from years of
troubles and misfortunes. If I con-
gratulate myself upon this immense
adhesion, it is not through pride, but
because it gives me power to speak
and act in a manner becoming the
chief of a great nation such as ours
* * * I hope to assure the destinies
of France in founding institutions
which will correspond at once with
the democratic instincts of the nation,
and with the universally expressed
desire of having henceforward a strong
and respected government : in truth,
to satisfy the demands of the moment
by creating a system which reconsti-
tutes authority without injuring equal-
ity, or closing any channel of amelior-
ation, is to lay the true foundation of
the only edifice capable of sustaining
hereafter the action of a wise and
salutary li'berty."
It soon became evident that the res-
toration of the empire was only a
matter of time. Petitions which had
been presented to the senate, were
printed in the newspapers, piayiug
for the establishment of the heredita
ry sovereign power in the Bonapurtt
i
NAPOLEON III.
315
family; cries of "Vive 1'Empereur,"
were heard in every public ceremonial
in which the President took part ; and
at length, the President himself, in a
speech to the Chamber of Commerce
of Bordeaux, declared that " the Em-
pire is peace." In November, 1852,
the people were convoked to accept
or reject a "plebiscite," resuscitating
the imperial dignity in the person of
Louis Napoleon, to be hereditary in
his direct legitimate or adoptive de-
scendants. The affirmative was de-
clared to be voted by a majority of
about seven and a half millions.
The announcement was received by
the newly-made Emperor, on the 1st
of December, in a speech from a throne
which he had erected at the Palace of
St. Cloud. Among other things, on
this occasion, he said : " I take, to-day,
with the crown, the name of Napoleon
III., because the logic of the people
has already given it to me in their ac-
clamations, because the Senate has
proposed it legally, and because the
entire nation has ratified it. Is this,
however, to say that in accepting the
title, I fall into the error with which
that prince is reproached, who, return-
ing from exile, declared as null, and
not having happened, everything
which had taken place during his
absence ? Far from me a similar
delusion. Not only do I recognize
the governments which have preceded
me, but I inherit in a measure the
good or the evil which they have
done ; for governments which succeed
each other, notwithstanding their dif-
ferent origins, are responsible for their
predecessors. But the more I accept
all that which, for fifty years, history
has transmitted to us, with its inflexi-
ble authority, the less it will be per-
mitted to me to pass in silence the
glorious reign of the chief of my fami-
ly ; and the regular title, though ephe-
meral, of his son, whom the Chambers
proclaimed in the last outburst of van-
quished pathetism. Thus, then, the
title of Napoleon III. is not one of
those dynastic and obsolete preten-
sions which seem an insult to good
sense and to truth ; it is the homage
rendered to a government which was
legitimate, and to which we owe the
best pages of our modern history. My
name does not date from 1815; it
dates from the moment in which you
make known to me the suffrages of
the nation."
The entrance of Napoleon upon hia
new career as head of the Empire, was
speedily followed by his marriage to a
lady of Spain, Eugenie-Marie de Guz-
man, Countess of Teba, who, by her
beauty and accomplishments, and the
facility with which she adapted her-
self to French society, soon won a gen-
eral popularity. The marriage took
place on the 29th of January, 1853,
and was celebrated with much pomp
at Notre Dame. The issue of this
marriage was a son, Napoleon Eugene
Louis Jean Joseph, born March 16th,
1856. The public events of the reign
belong rather to history than biogra-
phy ; though, as the Emperor had risen
greatly by the force of his indomita-
ble perseverance and assertion of Na-
poleonic ideas, with the prestige of
his great name, there probably was no
ruler in Europe during his reign,
whose personal motives were more ea-
gerly scanned, or who illustrated more
NAPOLEON III.
fully, spite of popular forms of gov-
ernment, the notion of personal sov-
reignty. His alliance with England,
in the war with Russia, from 1854 to
1856, when the armies of the two na-
tions maintained together a long and
obstinate oontest in the Crimea, was
the first great event of his foreign
policy ; and his influence was strong-
ly felt in arranging the terms of peace,
at the treaty of Paris. A visit to
England, in April, 1855, by the Em-
peror and Empress, followed by the
appearance of Queen Victoria and the
Prince Consort the summer of the
same year at Paris, witnessed to a
friendly relation between the two
countries, which was generally sus-
tained during the Imperial rule. This
year was also signalised by the open-
ing at Paris of an "Exposition" of
the arts and industry of all nations,
which proved eminently successful.
In January, 1858, an unsuccessful at-
tempt was made upon the Emperor's
life, by Orsini, an Italian, a supposed
agent of the Revolutionary party in
Italy, who were dissatisfied with the
policy toward that country. It was
not long, however, before the Emper-
or was in arms against the hated Aus-
trians in Italy, in support of Victor
Emanuel, the King of Sardinia, when
his territory was invaded by Francis
Joseph. Napoleon took the field in
person in the campaign of 1859, com-
manding at the battle of Solferino, in
which the Austrians were defeated,
on the 24th of June; and, the next
month, concluded the treaty of Villa-
franca, by which Lombardy was freed
from Austrian rule, and added, to the
dominions of Victor Ernanuel, who, in
the rapid march of events in Italy
on the liberation of Sicily and Naples,
and the spontaneous national move-
ment in other parts of the country,
was, in March, 1861, proclaimed Kinj;
of Italy. For the aid Napoleon had
given in furtherance of this result,
France was compensated by the ces-
sion of Savoy and Nice. A French
army still occupied Rome, which it
held since 1849, ostensibly in the
cause of law and order, as a protec-
tion to the Pope ; but the effect of the
occupation had been to control the de-
signs of Austria. In 1866, the troops
were finally withdrawn from the city.
The next foreign movement of Na-
poleon, succeeding the Italian cam-
paign, was less successful, his inter-
vention in the affairs of Mexico, un-
dertaken in 1861, when the United
States were occupied in the conflict of
the Southern Rebellion. It was osten-
sibly at the outset, in conjunction with
Great Britain and Spain, to demand
redress for injuries inflicted on sub-
jects of the respective countries, and
for the payment of a debt resisted by
Mexico ; but his two allies perceiving
that the Emperor had other objects in
view, withdrew from the expedition,
and he was left to carry on the war
alone. This cost France a great ex*
penditure of men and money, with the
melancholy sacrifice of the Emperor
Maximilian, who, after the French
army had entered the city of Mexico,
in June, 1863, was invited to the
throne by Napolecxn. The firm con-
duct of the government at Washington,
strong in the suppression of the home
revolt, led to the withdrawal, by Na-
poleon of his troops from Mexico, in
NAPOLEON in.
317
,866, and Maximilian was left to his
fate, to fall in the internal conflicts of
the country. This Mexican interven-
tion was the first great blunder of the
imperial policy, and destroyed much
of the prestige which Napoleon had
gained abroad and at home by the
success of his measures. One of the
great resources of his internal adminis-
tration was the employment of work-
men in the improvement of Paris, which
became almost a new city under the
transformations which it underwent.
In the conflict which arose between
Prussia and Austria, terminated in a
short campaign by the decisive victory
at Sadowa, in July, 1866, France re-
mained neutral ; but the territorial ac-
quisitions of Prussia, and her increased
military prestige, generated a feeling of
jealousy and hostility in the French
nation which was to produce the most
important results. A difficulty, in
1867, between France and Prussia, re-
specting the affairs of Luxemburgh,
averted for the time, showed the ten-
dency of events. There was a strong
popular feeling in France for war;
measures were taken for the increase
of the army, and Napoleon now ex-
perienced more than ever what he had
often advanced in theory, that his
throne was resting on the immediate
will of the people. A greater infusion
of liberty was demanded by the peo-
ple in the imperial system, and ex-
pressed in the return of members to
the legislative body. Personal gov-
ernment, as it was called, was violent-
ly opposed, while the Emperor was
promising to " crown the edifice " he
bad erected by more liberal conces-
sions of popular rights. So imposing j
u.— 40
had the agitation become that resort
was had to the extraordinary measure
of taking a national vote of confidence
in the imperial administration, a pro-
ceeding which could have been in-
spired only by doubt or mistrust of
the strength of the Napoleonic govern-
ment. This vote was taken on the
8th of May, and was decidedly in favor
of the existing rule, more than seven
millions voting in its support, and
about a million and a half in opposi-
tion. Fifty thousand negative votes
were cast in the army — a hint for a
war policy which was not lost upon
the government. Still there were no
signs of war, and the Emperor seemed
to be realizing his favorite idea of
peace, when a pretext for the long
talked of conflict with Germany arose
in the Spanish Cortes, in the proffer
of the vacant throne to Prince Leo-
pold of Hohenzollern, a reputed mem-
ber of the reigning dynasty of Prussia.
France at once took the alarm, and an
explanation was demanded from Prus-
sia, which disclaimed any agency in
the appointment, and the name of the
Prince was presently withdrawn as a
candidate, by his father, in conse-
quence of the opposition. Here the
matter might, it would be supposed,
have rested. The protest of France
had been regarded, and by the defeat
of the invitation to the Spanish throne
the Emperor had gained a diplomatic
triumph. But he was disposed to
push this matter further. A more
distinct interference, with pledges for
the future, were demanded by the
French minister of the King of Prus-
sia, in an objectionable personal re-
monstrance. The ambassador, M. Ben
NAPOLEON III.
edetti, was promptly repulsed, and im-
mediately after, on the 15th of July,
1870, France declared war against
Prussia. The armies of the two na-
tions at once took the field; the Ger-
mans, anticipating invasion, hastening
to the defence of their frontiers, and
the French vainglorously threatening
a triumphant march to Berlin. Napo-
leon had resolved to take the com-
mand of his army; and, on the 24th
of July, issued a proclamation assert-
ing the aggressive spirit of Prussia,
and in sounding phrases of warlike
preparation pretending the security of
peace. "Frenchmen," was its lan-
guage, " there are in the life of a peo-
ple solemn moments when the national
honor, violently excited, presses itself
irresistibly, rises above all other inter-
ests, and applies itself with the single
purpose of directing the destinies of
the nation. One of those decisive
hours has now arrived for France.
* * * There remains for us nothing
but to confide our destinies to the
chance of arms. We do not make war
upon Germany, whose independence
we respect. We pledge ourselves that
the people composing the great Ger-
manic nationality shall freely dispose
o£ their destinies. As for us, we de-
mand the establishment of a state of
things guaranteeing our security and
assuring the future. We wish to con-
quer a durable peace, founded on the
true interests of the people, and to
assist in abolishing that precarious
condition of things when all nations
are forced to employ their resources
in arming against each other. The
glorious flag of France, which we once
more unfurl in the face of our chal-
lengers, is the same which has borne
over Europe the civilizing ideas of our
great revolution. It represents the
same principles; it will inspire the
same devotion. Frenchmen: I go to
place myself at the head of that gal-
lant army, which is animated by love
of country and devotion to duty. That
army knows its worth, for it has seen
victory follow its footsteps in the four
quarters of the globe. I take with
me my son. Despite his tender years,
he knows the duty his name imposes
upon him, and he is proud to bear his
part in the dangers of those who fight
for our country. May God bless our
efforts. A great people defending a
just cause is invincible."
On the day this proclamation was
issued, an advance party of the Ger-
mans covered the frontier at Saar-
bruck, where Napoleon made his ap-
pearance at the end of the month;
and, in an unimportant skirmish on
the 2nd of August, was present sur-
veying the field. In a telegraphic
message to the Empress, which was
published, he thought fit to make the
announcement that his son Louis, the
Prince Imperial, a boy of fourteen, had
" received his first baptism of fire. He
was admirably cool and little impress
ed. A division of Frossard's com
mand carried the heights overlooking
the Saar. The Prussians made a brief
resistance. Louis and I were in the
front, where the balls fell about us.
Louis keeps a bullet which he picked
up. The soldiers wept at his traa-
quility." This was literally child's
play. Other moves began to be made
on the chessboard of the war. The
French lost time by delay; the Ger
NAPOLEOK III.
319
man host were on French soil; and
battle after battle was lost, till the
crowning disaster at Sedan, on the
2nd of September, when Napoleon
surrendered, with his army, to King
William of Prussia. A residence was
assigned him at the palace of Wil-
helmshohe, near Cassel, where he en-
joyed the freedom of a private court,
and awaited the termination of the
war. In a despatch to his Queen,
King William briefly noticed the ap-
pearance of Napoleon in the interview
at the surrender : " What a thrilling
moment was that of my meeting with
Napoleon ! He was cast down, but
dignified in his bearing and resigned.
Our meeting took place in a small
castle in front of the western glacis of
Sedan." The effect of this disaster at
Paris was the immediate overthrow of
the Napoleonic dynasty. The Em-
press had been left regent on the de-
parture of the Emperor for the field ;
and now, in vain, attempted to pre-
serve the imperial rule. The deche-
ance, as it was termed, was voted in
the Corps Legislative; the Empress
sought safety in flight; and the Re-
public was proclaimed. Eugenie, with
her son the Prince, went to reside in j
England, where, at the close of the
war, they were joined, in the spring
of 1871, by Napoleon.
To this narrative, for a considera-
ble portion of which we have been in-
debted to the account of the Bonaparte
family in the "English Cyclopaedia,''
we have to add a notice of a memorable
literary production of Louis Napoleon
which signalized his imperial rule, j
This was his "History of Julius \
Caesar," the first volume of which ap- \
peared in Paris in 1865, and a second
ending with the termination of the
Wars in Gaul, and the passage of the
Rubicon, in 1866. This work, like all
the writings of its author, is skilfully
and effectively put together. In pre-
paring a work on history, he knew
well what would be expected in the
country of Thierry, Michelet, Guizot,
and their illustrious associates in this
field of composition. Hence it has all
the lights of geographical and anti-
quarian research ; is graphic and point-
ed ; and has, what we may suppose its
author above all aimed to give it, an
air of philosophical investigation. The
design is obvious; the suggestion of
the first Emperor and his authority as
a ruler; a vindication of Caesarism,
embodied more fully in the reign of
Augustus, the model of the second
Empire in France. " The aim I have
in view," says Napoleon III. in his
preface, " in writing this history, is to
prove that when Providence raises up
such men as Caesar, Charlemagne, and
Napoleon, it is to trace out to peoples
the path they ought to follow; to
stamp with the seal of their genius a
new era ; and to accomplish in a few
years the labor of many centuries.
Happy the peoples who comprehend
and follow them ! woe to those who
misunderstand and combat them !
They do as the Jews did, they crucify
their Messiah ; they are blind and cul-
pable : blind, for they do not see the
impotence of their efforts to suspend
the definitive triumph of good ; culpa-
ble, for they only retard progress by
impeding its prompt and fruitful ap
plication." Such was the imperial
language of the modern Augustus,
B20
NAPOLEON HI.
dated at the Palace of the Tuileries,
March 20, 1862.
Louis Napoleon, with his wife and
son had their residence in England, at
Camden House, Chiselhurst, Kent.
There the Ex-Emperor passed the
short remaining period of his life.
Early in January, 1873, suffering from
the disease of stone in the bladder, he
submitted to the operation of litho-
trity, and almost immediately after, on
the morning of the 9th, sank rapidly
and expired. His death was attribut-
ed to failure of the circulation and a
generally enfeebled constitutional con-
dition. On the 15th, the funeral
services were performed at the ad-
jacent Roman Catholic Church, St.
Mary's, Chiselhurst, and the remains
deposited in a mortuary chapel within
the edifice. The death of the Ex-Em-
peror created a feeling of profound
sympathy in England, where he was
held in great regard for the good feel-
ing displayed by him in his adminis-
tration toward that country. As it
was expressed in a poetical tribute to
his memory ;
" Let whoso will count of his faults the cost,
And point a moral in his saddened end ;
This is the thought in England uppermost —
He, who has died among us, lived our friend.
In France, his death excited little
emotion, " One of the strangest, rar-
O /
est, most complex phenomena of the
nineteenth century," wrote M. Phil-
arete Chasles, "he was a wonder,
reigned some twenty years, and died
almost unheeded and unknown. Bro-
ther citizens, in the streets of Paris, or
the official Seigniors, in the foyer de
l?opera, greet each other, saying only,
' The Emperor is dead ! ' — ' I knew it ;
— and go off. No passion is stirring ;
nobody feels angry, or glad, or excited
in any way. The man was not hated,
and among his entours and private
friends he was a very great favorite —
a silent, patient, sweet-tempered man ;
well bred, innocuous, easy of access,
he smiled readily, and possessed many
good points — many, indeed; but a
Sfiam Ccesar / " f
* "Punch; or, the London Charivari," Jan.
18, 1873.
t "London Athenaeum," Jan. 18, 1873
EMILY CHUBBUCK JUDSON.
T)EADERS of the popular maga-
-L\ zine literature of America, whose
recollections go back about a quarter
of a century, may remember the repu-
tation acquired by a gentle female au-
thor, all tenderness, spirit, and vivacity,
in the sketches and essays which she
published under the name of Fanny
Forester. For a long time few knew
her under any other designation. She
subsequently, became known to a large
portion of the religious world as the
wife of the eminent missionary, Jiid-
son ; and when, a few years ago, she
passed away, and the story of her life
was fully written, with loving insight,
by Professor Kendrick, a new interest
was awakened in her career by the
touching picture then presented of her
early years, in the struggle of her genius
upward to the light, through adverse
fortunes. In a fragment of autobiog-
raphy, confined mostly to the period
of her childhood, she has traced her
family in America, four generations
backward, to a paternal ancestor, John
Chubbuck, a native of Wales, though
of English parentage, who emigrated
to the American Colonies about the
year 1700. The vessel in which he
sailed being wrecked off Nantucket,
(321)
he landed there, and became a resi-
dent in that locality. He had a son
born there, who married Hannah Mar-
ble, "a worthy and pious woman,"
who became the mother of several
children, one of whom, Emily's grand-
father, served with the colonial army
' V
during the Revolutionary War. His
son, Charles, married Lavinia Rich-
ards, of a ^ew Hampshire family, of
English origin, but long settled in the
country. In 1816, this couple removed
from New England to Eaton, Madison
county, New York, bringing with them
four children. A fifth, Emily, the sub-
ject of this notice, was born at that
place, August 22d, 1817. From her
birth, she was of a delicate constitu-
tion. Her earliest recollections were
of her liability to illness, and of her
susceptibility to religious emotions.
Her parents, who are described as per-
sons of more than ordinary intelli-
gence, came poor in purse, settlers in a
comparatively new region, and their
children encountered with them the
hardships of their lot. At the age of
eleven, Emily removed with the fami-
ly to Pratt's Hollow, a small village
not far distant, the seat of a woollen
factory, in which she was immediately
EMILY CHUBBUCK JTJDSON.
322
set to work in splicing rolls. " We
were, at this time," she writer, " very
poor, and did not know on one day
what we should eat the next, other-
wise I should not have been placed at
such hard work. My parents, howev-
er, judiciously allowed me to spend
half my wages — the whole was one
dollar and twenty-five cents per week
— as I thought proper ; and, in this
way, with numerous incentives to
economy, I first learned the use of
money. My principal recollections
during this summer, are of noise and
filth, bleeding hands and aching feet,
and a very sad heart." The hard
frosts of December came, bringing a
happy relief for a few months, to this
severe factory labor, which employed
twelve hours of the day, and of needs
sent the delicate child home at its close,
utterly wearied and exhausted. While
the water-wheel was stopped .by the
ice, Emily went to the district school ;
and it is a touching memorial of the
time, that in her own words, she ac-
quitted herself " to the satisfaction of
every body, my poor sick sister espe-
cially." When the factory reopened in
March, she left school, and returned to
her routine of toil. A pathetic inci-
dent of her now constant home sor-
row, in the illness of her sister Lavinia,
the first-born of the family, ten years
older than herself, is recorded in a
passage of the autobiography for May :
" It was some time in this month that
the carding machine broke, and I had
the afternoon to myself. I spent all
my little stock of money in hiring a
horse and wagon, and took poor Lavi-
nia out driving. We spread a buffalo
robe on a pretty, dry knoll, and fa-
ther carried her to it in his arms. 1
shall never forget how happy she was,
nor how Kate and I almost buried her
with violets and other wild spring
flowers. It was the last time
she ever went out." The sister died
the following month, and Emily's
health failed perceptibly after the
event. A physician was called in,
who condemned the factory life for
the child, and pronounced freedom
and fresh air indispensable — " a home
on a farm, if possible."
In the month of November, we find
the recommendation realized. The
family have removed to a farm in the
vicinity of Morrisville, a village not
far off, where one of the sons, who su bse-
quently became an editor of some note,
was put to learn the printing business,
and the father wTas often absent
distributing newspapers. When he
wras at home, the severity, of the win
ter so affected his health that he could
do but little to assist the others. " Mo-
ther, Harriet, and I," writes Emily, were
frequently compelled to go out into the
fields, and dig broken wood out of the
snow, to keep ourselves from freezing.
Catharine and I went to the district
school as much as we could." The
year 1830 brought to the village revi-
vals in the Baptist, Methodist, and
Presbyterian churches, which interest-
ed Emily greatly, for she was always
susceptible to religious emotions ; and
her sister Harriet now was baptized,
while she looked on, as she tell us,
" almost broken-hearted." It may be
taken as evidence of a certain candor
and force of character, that, being thua
predisposed, she did not, as a matter
of course, fall in with the popular cur
EMILY CHUB BUCK JUDSON.
323
rent, "I recollect," she writes, "feel-
ing myself very heart-heavy, because
the revival had passed without my
being converted. I grew mopish and
absent-minded, but still I did not
relax my efforts. Indeed, I believe
my solemn little face was almost lu-
dicrously familiar to worshippers of
every denomination, for I remember a
Presbyterian once saying to me, as I
was leaving the chapel, after having,
as usual, asked prayers : ' What ! this
little girl not converted yet ! How do
you suppose we can waste any more
time in praying for you ?' '
Meanwhile other influences are com-
ing in. The family home became a
great resort for students from the
o
neighboring Hamilton College, whose
conversation enlivened the place. The
home was also well supplied with
choice books, " a luxury," says Emily,
"which, even in our deepest poverty,
we never denied ourselves; for we
had been taught from our cradles to
consider knowledge, next after relig-.
ion, 1>he most desirable thing, and were
never allowed to associate with ignorant
and vulgar children." She was now
taught something of rhetoric and na-
o fy
tural philosophy, by a female teacher,
and trained in English composition by
another, seven or eight years older than
herself, who was a great admirer of the
misanthropic school of poetry, and of
Lord Byron — always repeating his
poetry and "actually raving" over Man-
fred. She also read the French writers
in the originals ; and, having imbibed
infidel sentiments, introduced her pupil
to Gibbon, Hume, Tom Paine, and
more especially to \7oltaire and Rous-
seau. These new literary acquaint-
ances, doubtless, stimulated the facul-
ties ; but they do not appear to have
injured the faith or affected the serious
disposition of Emily.
The necessity of making some pro«
vision for daily living, gave her some-
thing to think of beside theoretical ir-
religion. Her father, one of those
men who seemed to have lacked the
faculty of being successful in the
world, had failed in his attempt at
farming. So he removed to the vil-
lage of Morrisville, to occupy a rude
abode, described by Emily as " a little
old house on the outskirts, the poorest
shelter we ever had, with only two
rooms on the floor, and a loft, to which
we ascended by means of a ladder. We
were not discouraged, however, but man-
aged to make the house a little genteel,
as well as tidy. Harriet and I used a
turn-up bedstead, surrounded by pret-
ty chintz curtains, and we made a par-
lor and . dining-room of the room by
day. Harriet had a knack at twisting
ribbons and fitting dresses, and she
took in sewing; Catharine and Wal-
lace went to school; I got constant
employment of a little Scotch weaver."
In such nestling-places of poverty ge-
nius raises her pupils, proving their
virtue in her rugged school, that they
may come forth to the world and ex-
hibit the beauty of life more beautiful
by contrast with its early darkness.
The example is instructive, and has
its lights as well as its shades, showing
that, even in the humblest abode, there
is some grace and elegance even in ex-
ternals, if knowledge and heart are
not altogether extinguished. There
happily was in this virtuous family no
discouragement; and the picture, hum
324
EMILY CTIUBBUCK JUDSOK
ble as it is, has its little idyllic graces,
with something of the flavor, we may
suppose, of the home of the Vicar of
Wakefield, where " though the same
room served for parlor and kitchen,
that only made it the warmer;" and,
even as the Vicar's household was
thrown into a flutter by the visit of
the fashionable town ladies, Lady
Blarney and Misa Caroline Amelia
Skeggs ; so, one day in June, as Emily
writes, she and her sisters " were sur-
prised by a visit from a maiden sister
of my mother, an elegant, dashing,
gaily-dressed woman, who contrasted
oddly enough with our homely house
and furniture. Harriet and I estima-
ted that the clothing and jewelry she
curried in her two great trunks, would
purchase us as handsome a house as
we wished. She was quite surprised
to find us in such humble circum-
stances, and wondered that we could
be so happy. She told me a good
deal of my mother, as she was in her for-
mer days, and frequently wept at the
contrast."
The opening of a new academy in
the village, in the spring of 1831, gave
Emily the opportunity of some further
instruction, of which she immediately
availed herself, being in attendance
there during the day, and at night
working with her sister Harriet at
sewing, to earn sufficient to clear the
expenses of the day, including tuition,
clothing, and food. At the close of
the first term of the school in August,
she enters regularly into the employ
of the Scotch weaver, and as she stood
alone in his house, turning her little
crank all day, she revolved in her
mind thoughts of the missionary lite,
which, from her early childhood, had
haunted her, and wondered how she
could turn her little stock of learning
to account, especially in refuting the
infidel arguments of Paine and the
like. The next winter brought a lit-
i tie change in the household arrange-
| ments. The father took a better house
in the village, the expenses of which
were to be met by receiving boarders,
and the family had hardly entered
upon the undertaking, when Harriet
was stricken with a fever, and was
soon taken away — another great sor-
row for Emily in her young life. So
the new year opened with fresh cares
in housekeeping. Boarders thronged
in, increasing, of course, the family
labors. Emily assumed her full share
of them, while she was making extra-
ordinary exertions to maintain her
place at school. What she encounter-
ed in this process she tells us herself.
" On Monday morning, I used to rise
at two o'clock, and do the washing for
the family and boarders before nine :
on Thursday evening I did the iron-
ing ; and Saturday, because there was
but half day of school, we made bak-
ing day. In this way, by Katy's (hef
sister's) help, we managed to get on
with only one servant. I also took
sewing of a mantua-maker close by,
and so contrived to make good the
time consumed in school. My class-
mates had spent all their lives in school,
and they now had plenty of leisure
for .study. They were also, all but
one, older than myself, and I therefore
found it a difficult task to keep up with
them without robbing my sleeping
hours. I seldom got any rest till one
or two o'clock, and then I read French
EMILY CHUBBUCK JtTOOK
325
and solved mathematical problems in
my sleep." Her constitution again
failod under these severe labors, a
physician was again consulted, and he
advised that she should leave school.
Her mother then proposed that she
should make millinery a means of live-
lihood. To this, Emily once and for
all, objected. She had been willing
to work at sewing and at the factory,
as a temporary resource from which
she could escape at will. She had
higher objects in life, having tasted of
the fruit of the tree of knowledge, and
feeling the impulses of the nobler
mental life within her. She would
attend school one year longer to pre-
pare herself for becoming a teacher;
but even this was denied her. The
boarders had proved unprofitable, and
something must be done immediately
to meet the expense of living; be-
sides, the physician had just interdic-
ted attendance at school as fatal to
her health. In this extremity she re-
solved, if possible, to find employment
at once as a school teacher — a serious
and courageous undertaking for a fee-
ble girl of fifteen.
Her first step was to consult her
academy teacher. After some awk-
ward hesitation, as she tells us, she
ventured to ask him if he thought
her capable of teaching school. " Yes,"
was the reply, " but you are not half
big enough." He gave her, however,
a recommendation. Losing no time,
she manages to get access a day or two
after to a farmer in a neighboring dis-
trict, to inquire if the school there
was engaged. She is informed that it is ;
and is told of another district near at
hand, where there may be a vacancy,
n— 41
and proceeds at once to the dispenser of
this important patronage. The meet-
ing is described by herself. " I took,"
says she, " a short cut across the lots,
and soon stood trembling in the pres-
ence of Mr. J. He was a raw-boned,
red-headed, sharp-looking man, in cow-
hide shoes and red flannel shirt. ' Is
your school engaged ?' I timidly in-
quired. He turned his keen gray eye
upon me, measuring me deliberately
from head to foot, while I stood as
tall as possible. I saw at once that it
was not engaged, and that I stood a
very poor chance of getting it. He
asked me several questions ; whistled
when I told him my age; said the
school was a very difficult one, and
finally promised to consult the other
trustees, and let me know in a week
or two. I saw what it all meant, and
went away mortified and heavy-hearted.
As soon as I gained the woods, I sat
down and sobbed outright. This re-
lieved me, and after a little while I
stood upon my feet again, with dry
eyes, and a tolerably courageous heart."
The next day, with the assistance of
Emily's former companion and free-
thinking instructor, the canvass was
renewed. A Mr. D. proved more pro-
pitious than Mr. J.; and Mr. B., the
acting trustee, more favorable still.
" To Mr. B.'s we went, a frank, happy-
looking young farmer, with a troop of
children about him, and made known
our errand. ' Why, the scholars will be
bigger than their teacher,' was his first
remark. ' Here, An't, stand up by
the schoolma'am, and see which is the
tallest ; An't is the blackest, at any
rate,' he added, laughing. He would
not make any definite engagement with
326
EMILY CHUBBUCK JITDSON.
me, but said I stood as fair a chance
as anybody, and he would come to the
village next week and settle the mat-
ter." A few days after he came, and
the thing was arranged. Emily was en-
gaged at the stipulated sum of seventy-
five cents a week, with the addition of
her board in turn, from week to week,
at the different farmer's houses. She
was driven over by her father on the
first Monday in May, to Nelson Cor-
ners, and commenced proceedings there
at once in the little brown school-house.
About twenty children presented them-
selves, " some clean, some pretty, some
ugly, and all shy and noisy." The
day passed off tolerably well, and at
its close, the schoolmistress retired to
the residence of Mr. B., first in order,
as the leading trustee. There she be-
came very home-sick ; having brought
no work or books with her to occupy
her time, and the trustee's library be-
ing confined to a Bible and Methodist
hymn - book, with not a newspaper
about the premises. She continued
resolutely at her task, however, serv-
ing through the year at the school, and
establishing herself firmly in her new
calling.
Other engagements of the kind fol-
lowed. In 1833, she opened a school
in Morrisville, and the following year
in the neighboring village of Smith- \
field — the year of her formal profes-
sion of faith as a member of the Bap-
tist Church. We find her afterwards
occupied as a teacher at Brookfield,
Syracuse; and, in 1838, at Hamilton,
where her evenings are devoted to the
study of Greek, under the tuition of a
student in the Theological Seminary,
and she also appears as a contributor of
articles in prose and verse to the col
umns of the village newspaper. Othei
school employments follow at other
places, at Morrisville again in the
Academy building, and afterward at
Prattsville or Pratt's Hollow, the scene
of her early factory experiences, where
she seems again to have tasted the full
bitterness of her lot. The fortunes of
the family had declined still further,
and she was glad to accept this rude
employment, at the low compensation
of three dollars a week and her board.
"Writing to a female friend, with
O /
whom she had long been acquainted,
she gives this lively sketch of her new
situation. " Behold me then at the
head of a little regiment of wild cats.
Oh, don't mention it, don't. I am as
sick of my bargain as — pardon the
compassion, but it will out — any Bene-
dict in Christendom. I am duly con-
stituted sovereign of a company of
fifty wild horses ' which may not be
tamed.' * * * My school is almost un-
governable. They have dismissed
their former teacher — an experienced
one — a married man, and it seems a
hopeless task to attempt a reformation
among them." Fortunately, in trials
like these, Miss Chubbuck was pos-
sessed of tastes and dispositions which
enabled her to bear them with seine-
thing more than resignation, with posi-
tive cheerfulness, if we may judge
from the exquisite sketch she has
drawn of village school life, in u Lilias
Fane," which her biographer intimates
was suggested by n \aterials supplied
by this very Pratt's Hollow experience.
It was a happy nature which could
sublimate from such embarrassments
the soft ethereal picture of this gentle
EMILY CHUBBUCK JUDSON.
327
heroine conquering all asperities by'
the radiant sunshine which emanated
from her — a charming picture to be
hung up for lasting admiration in the
gallery of fanciful portraits of Ameri-
can village life, worthy to be placed
by the side of some similar creations
of Nathaniel Hawthorne. The letter
which we have cited is also particu-
larly worthy of notice, for its exhibi-
tion of that light, graceful, easy, famil-
iar manner of writing, which, in the
subsequent productions of" Fanny For-
ester," became so acceptable to the
public. The style is precisely the
same, showing that it was not acquir-
ed by art or design, but was the na-
tural spontaneous utterance of the life
of the writer. It was indeed a sunny
nature which, at this toilsome period
of her career, could throw off abun-
dant cares, and express its gratitude
and cheerfulness in such strains as
this — verses thrown off in a letter to a
friend, not in any unconsciousness of
her privations, but with a Christian
philosophy, overcoming the darkness
by the light : —
" Happy, happy! Earth is gay;
Life is but a sunny day.
Lightly, lightly flit along,
Child of sunshine and of song;
Happy, happy, earth is gay,
Life is but a sunny day.
"If perchance a cloud arise,
Darkly shadowing o'er thy skies,
Heed it not; 'twill soon depart;
Bar all sadness from thy heart.
Happy, happy, earth is gay,
Life is but a sonny day.
" Drink the cup and wear the chain,
But let them weave their spell in vain;
Lightly, lightly let them press
On thy heart of happiness.
Happy, happy, earth is gay,
Life is but a sunny day."
If this last school engagement seem-
ed a step backward in Miss Chub
buck's career, the next turn in hei
affairs afforded her an unexpected re
lief. By the aid of a kind friend, a
young lady of Morrisville, then a pu-
pil at the Utica Female Seminaiy, a
school of some distinction, presided over
by the Misses Sheldon, one of whom
afterwards was married to President
Nott, of Union College, Emily was ad-
mitted as a resident at the institution,
with the opportunity of pursuing the
higher studies — a privilege for which
she was afterwards to make a proper
return in becoming a teacher. This
proved an admirable arrangement. The
ladies at the head of the school were
persons of great worth and amiability,
and with them were associated an
elder sister, Mrs. Anable, with her
daughters, one of whom, Anna Maria,
became an intimate companion of Misa
Chubbuck; and, in due time, in her
writings, a familiar acquaintance of
the reading public, in " Fanny Fores-
ter's " inseparable associate, " Cousin
Bel." We have also a pleasing notice
from her pen of Miss Chub buck's early
days at the Seminary. " I remember
well," wrote Miss Anable, in a letter
to Dr. Griswold, when the reminis-
cence had become a matter of general
interest, " her first appearance in Utica
as a pupil. She was a frail, slender
creature, shrinking with nervous timid-
ity from observation; yet her quiet
demeanor, noiseless step, low voice,
earnest and observant glance of the
eye, awakened at once interest and at-
tention. Her mind soon began to ex-
cite a quiet but powerful influence in
the school, as might be seen from the
328
EMILY CHUBBUCK JUDSON.
little coterie of young admirers and
friends who would often assemble in
her room to discuss the literature of
the day, or, full as often, the occurren-
ces of passing interest in the institu-
tion. Miss Chubbuck had a heart full
of sympathy; and no grief was too
causeless, no source of annoyance too
slight, for her not to endeavor to re-
move them. She therefore soon be-
came a favorite with the younger, as
with the older and more appreciative
scholars." She was, of course, an apt
learner entering heartily into the
higher studies, perfecting herself in
French, and grappling with the ma-
thematics, while she cultivated her
talent for poetical composition. In a
letter to one of her female friends, at
the close of 1840, she expresses her
sense of happiness, ardent admiration
of the character of Miss Sheldon, and
hints at a project of turning her liter-
ary capacity to account in the publica-
tion of a volume of poems. By the
judicious advice of the Misses Sheldon
she was induced to modify this plan
by writing for the publishers in prose,
commencing with a book for children
— a narrative with an immediate moral
purpose — which she entitled " Charles
Linn ; or, how to observe the Golden
Rule." A publisher was immediately
found for the book in New York ; it
proved successful, an edition of fifteen
hundred being sold within three
months after its issue, which, at the
customary rate of ten per cent on the
sales to the author, produced her fifty-
one dollars — no great sum, certainly,
but all important to her in her de-
pendent condition ; and, what was of
greater consequence, promising a con-
'tinued harvest in future literary un-
dertakings. Other juvenile works
from her pen, of a similar kind, fol-
lowed: "The Great Secret; or, How
to be Happy ; " " Allen Lucas ; or, the
Self-Made Man ; " and " Effie Maurice,"
and "John Frink," which were pub-
lished by the American Baptist Sun
day School Union. It is to be noticed,
as a characteristic of her always gen-
erous, self-sacrificing disposition, that
as soon as she began to receive any
pecuniary return from these writings,
Miss Chubbuck purchased for her
parents the house and garden occupied
by them at Hamilton. The sum, four
hundred dollars, does not appear large,
but it was more than she could sup-
ply at any one time, and it required
all her exertions to provide for it in
four annual payments. American au-
thorship was then, in general, but
pootly rewarded. In the meantime,
her position was advanced at the
school. From a pupil, according to
the agreement, she had become a
teacher; first an assistant instructor
in English composition, and afterwards
head of the composition department,
with a salary of one hundred and fifty
dollars and her board ; little enough,
one may say, but even yet the labors
of women are for the most part inade-
quately and disproportionately paid
for, and the sum was probably as large
as the school could afford.
The literary efforts of Miss Chub-
buck soon took a wider range than
was afforded in the composition of the
juvenile volumes. Contributions from
her pen began to make their appear-
ance in the Magazines, the " Knicker-
bocker," and "Lady's Book," and
EMILY CHFBBUCK JUDSON.
329
John Inman's " Columbian Magazine ;"
and she was the chief supporter, under
various disguises, in verse and prose,
of a monthly magazine published by
the young ladies of the Utica Semin-
ary— a miscellany which had the good
fortune to be continued for a year.
A visit to New York, which she made
in the spring of 1844, in company with
her friend, Miss Anable, incidentally
became the means of -bringing her
more prominently before the public in
this new literary relation as a con-
tributor to the popular periodicals of
the country. Keenly sensible to new
impressions, she was delighted with
the novel scenes which the city offered
to her view ; and, on her return to
Utica, addressed a playful epistle to
the editors of "The New Mirror," a
weekly literary publication at New
York, presided over by those veteran
caterers to the reading public, Messrs.
Morris and Willis ; in which, under
pretence of being fascinated by a
Broadway bonnet, she very prettily
made the enquiry whether there was
any likelihood of her being able to
purchase it by writing for the paper
for a consideration — if, indeed, the
" New Mirror " paid at all for articles.
As the " New Mirror " was, in fact,
anything but a paying concern, barely
supporting its editors, and, • indeed,
hardly being able to accomplish that,
for it was discontinued a few months
afterwards, this was rather a delicate
question to answer. Willis parried it
very gracefully. A master himself of
the art of literary confectionary, he
recognized a kindred hand in the
whipped syllabub of Fanny's communi- j
cation, which bore no other signature. I
So he encouraged his correspondent
with a proviso, as became his sagacity,
for he was too knowing a bird to be
caught with chaff. "We are fortu-
nate," he wrote in his next number,
" in a troop of admirable contributors,
who write for love, not money — love
being the only commodity in which
we can freely acknowledge ourselves
rich. We receive, however, all man-
ner of tempting propositions from
those who wish to write for the other
thing — money — and it pains us griev-
ously to say 'no,' though, truth to
say, love gets for us as good things as
money would buy — our readers will
cheerfully agree. But, yesterday, on
opening at the office a most dainty
epistle, and reading it fairly through,
we confess our pocket stirred within
us ! More at first than afterwards —
for, upon reflection, we became doubt-
ful, whether the writer were not old
and ' blue ' — it was so exceedingly well
done ! We have half a suspicion, now,
that it is some sharp old maid in spec-
tacles— some regular contributor to
Godey and Graham, who has tried to
inveigle us through our weak point —
possibly some varlet of a man-scrib-
bler— but no ! it is undeniably femi-
nine. * * Well — we give in ! On
condition that you are under twenty-
five, and that you will wear a rose
(recognizably) in your bodice the first
day you appear in Broadway, with the
hat and ' balzarine,' we will pay the
bills. Write us thereafter a sketch of
' Bel ' and yourself as cleverly done
as this letter, and you may ' snuggle
down ' on the sofa and consider us
paid, and the public charmed with
you." All this appeared in the " Mir
EMILY CHUBBUCK JUDSON.
ror " of June 8th, 1844. In the issue
of that paper for the 29th, the return
sketch, entitled " The Cousins," was
announced for the next number ; and
thereafter, as long as the publication
lasted, there came tripping along to
its readers, a delightful series of " Fan-
ny Forrester " sketches, — " Kitty Cole-
man," "Norah Maylie," and the like,
papers which figure in the author's
collected writings, and are still read
by her admirers. From the letters ad-
dressed by Willis to Miss Chubbuck,
which have been printed, it would ap-
pear that she derived little, if any, di-
rect pecuniary profit from these arti-
cles; but she gained, what was more
important for her at the time, encour-
agement and reputation. Willis had
remarkable talent in drawing out the
abilities of his correspondents, and
equal tact in gaining the attention of
the public. When the daily u Evening
Mirror " succeeded to the weekly " New
Mirror," he solicited her assistance on
the terms indicated in the following
passage of one of his letters : " I shall
go on glorifying you in our new daily
paper, until the magazine people give
you fifty dollars an article, and mean-
time, if you have anything you cannot
sell (particularly a short story, or es-
say, or sketch of character), let us have
it for the 'Evening Mirror,' and we
will give you its value in some shape.
Do not waste time and labor, however,
even upon us, but write a novel little
by little. You can.1' The compensa-
tion was given. Fanny Forrester sud-
denly became famous ; her writings
were in demand ; and she rapidly pour-
ed forth in the magazines of the day,
the serins of tales, essays, poems, and
sketches, which, in 1846, were colleo.
ted and published in two volumes,
bearing the title " Alderbrook," the
rural name under which she had pic-
tured various incidents of country life,
gathering about her early home in
Madison county. The general sunny
atmosphere of the occasional sketches
gives little indication of the privations
under which they were written. Dur-
ing part of the period their author suf
fered much from ill-health. Her con-
stitution was naturally delicate, and a
fever with which she was visited at the
close of 1844, left its effects in contin-
ued weakness. Unable to endure the
ensuing rough spring season of Cen-
tral New York, she visited her friends,
the Gillettes, in Philadelphia, where
she made several literary acquaintances
of value. After resuming her duties
at the seminary, in improved health,
in the summer, when the winter came,
| she was again compelled to resort to
the milder climate of Philadelphia.
While on this second visit to the
house of the Rev. Mr. Gillette, an inci-
dent occurred which intercepted her
career of authorship, and changed the
whole current of her life. The return
home to the United States, on a short
visit, at the close of' the year 1845, of
the distinguished missionary to the
East, the Rev. Adoniram Judson, after
more than thirty years of heroic exer-
tions, varied only by extraordinary
sufferings among the heathen, natural-
ly excited a lively interest in the Bap-
tist denomination, to which he belong-
ed, worthy of being shared by the
whole Christian world. There was
much about him to excite attention.
The son of a Baptist clergyman, re
EMILY CHIIBBUOK JUDSOtf.
331
markaVle f;»r his self-reliance, he had
inherited that quality from his parent,
aud become distinguished in his youth
and early manhood for his industry,
perseverance, intellectual vigor, and
force of character. Born at Maiden,
Massachusetts, in 1788, he had been
educated at Brown University, in
Rhode Island, and while there, had
contracted, from his friendship with
a fellow student, who was a deist,
some infidel notions. On receiving
his degree at the college, he opened a
private school, at Plymouth, Massa-
chusetts, where his parents resided ;
and published, about the same time,
two elementary works on English
grammar and arithmetic. Closing his
school, at the end of a year, in August,
1808, he made an independent journey
through some of the New England
States, and, being at Albany while
Fulton's first steamboat was the won-
der of the season, became a passenger
in her on her second voyage to N ew
York. He appears on this journey to
have been deeply imbued with the
spirit of adventure, for we find him
adopting the name of Johnson, for
which his own had been mistaken;
and, on his arrival in the city, attach-
ing himself to a theatrical company, not,
it is stated, "with the design of Center-
ing upon the stage, but partly for the
purpose of familiarizing himself with
its regulations, in case he should enter
upon his literary projects ; and partly
from curiosity and love of adventure."
Freaks like tfrese were but the youth-
ful ebullitions of a strong nature. Be-
fore he had completed his autumnal
travels, he had thrown off his infideli-
ty and prepared his mind for the cleri-
cal profession. An incident which as-
sisted in bringing about this change,
was not a little singular. Journeying
from New York to Berkshire, Massa-
chusetts, he passed the night at a
country inn, where his rest was dis-
turbed by the dying groans of a trav-
eler in the next room. Revolving the
situation in his mind, with the serious
instructions of his youth rising within
him, he thought with much concern ot
the possible religious condition of the
sufferer ; repressing his emotion, how-
ever, with the reflection that his intel-
lectual college companion would laugh
at such idle anxieties. When morn-
ing came, he inquired of the landlord
the state of the sick man, and was told
that he was dead. On further inquiry,
he learned that he was from the Uni-
versity at Providence, and that he
was the very friend whose infidel
opinions he had been recalling in the
night. With the impression upon him,
so striking an event was calculated to
produce, he at once turned back to the
parental home at Plymouth, and, with-
in a short time after, was admitted a
special student at Andover Theologi-
cal Seminary; for he had not as yet
made a formal profession of religion,
and could not, in consequence, be
made a member in full standing. Six
months after he made this dedication
of himself, and thenceforth, during his
long life, appeared to the world in the
single aspect of a devoted Christian
disciple and minister. When he had
completed his course of education at
Andover, he was licensed to preach as
a Congregational minister, and became
much interested in the organization oi
the efforts for foreign missions in Mas-
332
EMILY CHTJBBUCK: JUDSON.
sachusetts. In 1841, he was sent to
England to open communication with
the London Missionary Society on be-
half of the American board ; and, after
his return, was, on the 6th of February,
1812, ordained at Salem, Massachusetts,
as a missionary to the heathen in Asia.
He had been married the day before,
to Ann Hasseltine, a well-educated
young lady of his own age, of a New
England family, who accompanied
him a fortnight after, on his voyage
to Calcutta. During the passage, he
made a close examination of the scrip-
tural authority for infant baptism, and,
having convinced himself that it was
without warrant in the New Testa-
ment, on their arrival in Calcutta, he
and his wife were baptized according
to the usage of the Baptists, and thus
became members of that denomina-
tion — an independent act, proceed-
ing from conscientious motives, which
naturally caused him some embarrass-
ment in his relations to the large
religious association with which he
had previously acted. He also en-
countered another difficulty in the
treatment he experienced from the
East India Company, which, at the
time, fearing that the preaching of the
gospel would excite the natives to re-
bellion, forbade any missionary opera-
tions in the regions under their juris-
diction. Mr. Judson, was, in fact, or-
dered to return to America, and with
difficulty was enabled to secure a
passage to the Isle of France. India be-
ing forbidden ground, after some per-
plexities, Burmah was chosen as the
scene of his exertions; and, in July,
1813, he landed at Rangoon, where, un-
der the auspices of the newly-formed
American Baptist Society for Propa-
gating the Gospel in India and othei
Foreign Parts, he began the work
which continued during his life, near-
ly forty years of devoted missionary
labor, in the course of which he trans-
lated the Bible and other works into
the native language. After some ten
years, mainly passed in Rangoon, Dr.
Judson, early in 1824, resolved to ex-
tend his efforts at Ava, the capital of
the country ; but he had hardly estab-
lished himself there, when, war break-
ing out between Burmah and England,
he was in consequence of the jealousy
of the native government, arrested as
a foreign spy, and thrown into prison,
where he was for months treated with
merciless severity. His wife being at
liberty, was constantly engaged in the
most heroic exertions in alleviating
his wants, ministering to his necessi-
ties and endeavoring to procure his
release. Her account of her trials
during this period and of the suffer-
ings of her husband, given in Dr.
Wayland's Memoir of Dr. Judson, is
one of the most pathetic and extraor-
dinary chapters in the sad history of
missionary endurance. Fettered like
a criminal, face to face with death, for
at one time he expected immediate ex-
ecution, broken down by a continuous
fever, his sufferings would have over-
powered a less vigorous constitution.
A curious anecdote of this imprison-
ment, will show the straits to which
he was reduced. The king had a no-
ble lion, a great favorite with him and
the court. When his troops were de-
feated by the English, the report was
spread about that a lion was painted
on the flag, and a superstitious notion
EMILY OHUBBtTCK JUDSOtf.
333
of the people attached a fatal influ-
ence to the animal at the court. The
king sent the beast for safe keeping to
the death prison, where Judson and
other foreigners were confined, while
the queen's brother gave directions to
the keeper not to supply the beast with
food. The agony of his starvation,
with his piteous outcries, added to the
horrors of the place. When the ani-
nial was dead, Judson, crawling to the
prison door, for his feet were motionless,
manacled to a bamboo cane, to meet
his wife, entreated her to procure for
him the privilege of sleeping in the va-
cant cage of the lion, as an improve-
ment of his condition. She was en-
abled to obtain this great boon, as it
really was for him, and there he pass-
ed the lingering hours of fever. At
length, after six months of tortures,
he was released from his irons to act
as an interpreter to the government offi-
cers, to whom he rendered important
assistance in their final negotiations
with the English. It was not till the
close of the war, in 1826, that he was
finally set at liberty. He then removed
for a time to the new English settle-
ment, in the ceded provinces at Am-
herst, where, in his absence, in July of
that year, while on a visit with the
British officers to the court, his wife
died of a fever. The next year the
seat of the mission was removed to
Maulmain, a town under English rule,
not far distant in the interior. In
1834, Dr. Judson was married to the
widow of the Baptist missionary Board-
man, who had been his associate in
Burmah. Her health rapidly failing,
in 1845, it became necessary that her
husband should accompany her on a
n.— 42.
voyage to the United States. Her
death occurred on the way, while the
vessel was at St. Helena, in September.
The following month, Dr. Judson land-
ed in Boston.
Such had been the career of Dr.
Judson, when, at the age of fifty-seven,
he first became acquainted with Miss
Emily Chubbuck. The Kev. Mr. Gil-
lette, with whom she was staying at
the point where our narrative was in-
terrupted, went on to Boston in De-
cember to secure his attendance at a
series of missionary meetings in Phila-
delphia. Being detained by a slight
railroad accident, on their way to the
latter city, Mr. Gillette borrowed for
his entertainment a copy of Fanny
Forester's recently published volume,
a collection of her sketches, entitled
" Trippings in Author Land." Hand-
ing the book to Dr. Judson, the latter
became earnestly interested in its p&
rusal, and expressed a desire to know
the author. Mr. Gillette told him he
would soon be gratified in this, for he
would presently meet her at his own
house. On learning that she was a
Baptist, Dr. Judson's interest in what
he considered the due employment of
her talents was proportionably in-
creased. The sequel is best narrated
in the words of Emily's biographer,
Professor Kendrick. "Promptly on
the day after their arrival in Philadel-
phia, Dr. Judson came over to Mr.
Gillette's. Emily (in her morning
dress) was submitting to the not very
poetical process of vaccination. As
soon as it was over, Dr. Judson con-
ducted her to the sofa, saying that he
wished to talk with her. She replied
half playfully that she should be de-
331
EMILY CHTJBBUCK JUDSON.
lighted and honored by having him
talk to her. With characteristic im-
petuosity, he immediately inquired
how she could reconcile it with her
conscience to employ talents so noble
in a species of writing so little useful
or spiritual as the sketches which he
had read. Emily's heart melted ; she
replied with seriousness and candor,
and explained the circumstances which
had drawn her into this field of au-
thorship. Indigent parents, largely
dependent on her efforts — years of
laborious teaching — books published
with but little profit, had driven her
to still new and untried paths, in
which at last success unexpectedly
opened upon her. Making this em-
ployment purely secondary, and care-
fully avoiding every thing of doubt-
ful tendency, she could not regard her
course as open to serious strictures.
It was now Dr. Judson's turn to be
softened. He admitted the force of
her reasons, and that even his own
strict standard could not severely cen-
sure the direction given to filial love.
He opened another subject. He wish-
ed to secure a person to prepare a me-
moir of his recently deceased wife,
and it was partly, in fact, with this
purpose that he had sought Emily's
acquaintance. She entertained the
proposition, and the discussion of this
matter naturally threw them much to-
gether during the ensuing few days.
The consequences of the coming to-
gether of two persons respectively so
fascinating, were what has often oc.
curred since the days of Adam and
Eve/'
An association in missionary life was
no new idea tc Miss Chubbuck. It
had haunted her from her girlhood ;
while she might naturally have taken
some pride at finding this eminent
apostle to the heathen, with his extra-
ordinary intellectual powers, and the
proofs of self-sacrifice which he had
given to the world, a suitor for her
hand. A life spent in learned labors,
and in the conversion of barbarians,
was likely to afford a striking contrast
to the newest refinements of a lady
author skilled in the fashionable liter-
ature of the day ; but Dr. Judson had.
a heart of great tenderness, and ap-
pears, throughout his married life, in
its several periods, to have exhibited
equal judgment and affection. In this
affair of the engagement to Miss Chub-
buck we are admitted by her bio-
grapher somewhat familiarly behind
the scenes ; and, though we may smile
at the lover's occasional efforts at play-
fulness, we cannot but respect the kind
motive of sympathy with the depend-
ent being which inspired them. " The
following little note," writes Professor
Kendrick, u contains Dr. Judson's for-
mal avowal of attachment. It seems
half like sacrilege to lift the veil upon
a thing so sacred as a marriage pro-
posal ; but this interweaves so ingen-
ious and graceful a memorial of his
former wives; and its delicate play-
fulness illustrates so admirably a large
element in his character, which found
little scope in his ordinary correspon-
dence, that the reader will pardon its
publication. 'I hand you, dearest one,
a charmed watch. It always cornea
back to me, and brings its wearer with
it. I gave it to Ann when a hemis-
phere divided us, and it brought her
safely and surely to my arms. I gave
EMILY CHUBBUCK JUDSON.
335
it to Sarah during her husband's life-
time (not then aware of the. secret),
and the charm, though slow in its
operation, was true at last. Were it
not for the sweet sympathies you have
kindly extended to me, and the bless-
ed understanding that "love was
taught us to guess at," I should not
venture to pray you to accept my
present with such a note. Should you
cease to "guess" and toss back the
article, saying : " Your watch has lost
its charm ; it conies back to you, but
brings not its wearer with it" — O, first
dash it to pieces, that it may be an
emblem of what will remain of the
heart of, Your Devoted A. JUDSON."
The watch, we may presume, was
not returned, for the parties were,
after a due interval, married in June
of the following year, and- the next
month they embarked at Boston, and,
in November, Avere landed at Amherst,
whence they proceeded immediately
to the home of the mission at Maul-
main. Here, with the exception of an
unhappy interval passed in an ineffec-
tual attempt to revive the mission at
Rangoon, the few years of her resi-
dence with her husband in the East
were spent. She encountered many
pri -rations, and suffered from illness;
but her cheerfulness remained un-
broken, while she devoted herself to
the care of a • large household — Dr.
Judson having several children by his
second wife — and, with her accus+om-
ed readiness, mastered the Burmese j
language, that she might assist in the
vvork of the mission. Part of her j
time was given to the composition of
an interesting biography of the late
Mrs, Sarah Boardman Judson Her
letters to her friends at home exhibit
much of her old vivacity in the des-
cription of the novel scenery and as-
sociations in which she wras placed.
In December, 1847, she became the
mother of a daughter, who survived
her. Her health meantime was very
much broken, and the serious illness
of her husband now added much to
her anxieties. There is a touching
poem of great beauty composed by her
in 1849, while attending at his bed-
side, entitled " Watching."
Sleep, love, sleep!
The dusty day is done.
Lo ! from afar the freshening breezes sweep,
Wide over groves of balm,
Down from the towering palm,
In at the open casement cooling run,
And round thy lowly bed,
Thy bed of pain,
Bathing thy patient head,
Like grateful showers of rain,
They come;
While the white curtains, waving to and fro,
Fan the sick air ;
And pityingly the shadows come and go,
With gentle human care
Compassionate and dumb.
The dusty day is done,
The night begun ;
While prayerful watch I keep.
Sleep, love, sleep!
Is there no magic in the touch
Of fingers thou dost love so much?
Fain would they scatter poppies o'er tbee now;
Or, with its mute caress,
The tremulous lip some soft nepenthe press
Upon thy weary lid and aching brow;
While prayerful watch I keep,
Sleep, love, sleep!
On the pagoda spire
The bells are swinging,
Their golden circlet in a flutter
With tales the wooing winds have dared to ut
ter,
Till all are ringing,
As if a choir
Of golden- nested birds in heaven were singing;
And with a lulling sound
836
EMILY OHUBBUCK JUDSON.
The music floats around,
And drops like balm into the drowsy ear ;
Commingling with the hum
Of the Sepoy's distant drum,
And lazy beetle ever droning near.
Sounds these of deepest silence born,
Like night made visible by morn ;
So silent that I sometimes start
To hear the throbbings of my heart,
And watch, with shivering sense of pain,
To see thy pale lids lift again.
The illness of Dr. Judson increased,
and it was thought advisable, as a last
resource, that a sea voyage should be
tried. The health of his wife — she was
now on the eve of her second confine-
ment— did not permit her to accompany
him, and, in March, 1850, they parted,
to meet no more on earth. Dr. Jud-
son sailed on board a vessel for the
Isle of Bourbon, and died at sea on
the 12th of April. It was nearly four
months afterward before she heard of
the event. In the meantime a son had
been born to her and died on the in-
stant. She would have remained in
the East, devoted to her missiouary
work, but her health forbade. She
was threatened with consumption, and
a return home was imperative. Pro-
ceeding, by way of Calcutta, to Eng-
land, she reached "London in August,
1857 ; and, without lingering among
her kind British friends, hastened to
America, arriving in Boston in Octo-
ber. Her few remaining years were
largely occupied in devotion to the
memory of her husband. She render-
ed important assistance to Dr. Way-
land in the preparation of the Me-
moirs. A collection of her poems, en
titled "The Olio," appeared in 1852.
She also wrote other occasional poems ;
a book entitled "The Kathayan
Slave ; " and, her thoughts reverting
to the past, a touching memorial of
her deceased sisters, Lavinia and Har-
riet, with the simple title " My Two
Sisters." Calmly meeting the end
which she had long foreseen, she died
with Christian hope and resignation,
at her home in Hamilton, New York,
on the first of June, 1854.
The story of such a life needs no
moral at its close. The patient, earn-
est child, sustained by a strong, cheer-
ful disposition through trials of great
hardship, develops into the faithful?
self-denying teacher of the village
school ; emerging from poverty, and a
life burdened with many cares, into
the sunshine of popular favor, enliven-
ing the world with her cheerful, happy
writings; and, laying aside this flat
tering enjoyment at the call of affec-
tion, to devote herself to the welfare
of a barbarous race, pursuing her
Christian work through pain and suf-
fering;, in broken health with sorrows
O'
manifold, happy in herself and useful
to others to the end — in all, we have a
picture of life which must ever be
dear to those who can appreciate the
gentleness of woman, or who would
seek in the world some resting-place
for hope, confidence, and, admiration
in the midst of its many disappoint-
ments.
ALonzo Chappel
Co.
THOMAS CHALMEKS.
339
Encyclopedia ;" at his own request the
article Christianity had been assigned
to him, and he was now engaged in
preparing it. In studying the creden-
tials of Christianity, he received a new
impression of its contents. A sustain-
ed but abortive effort to attain that
pure and heavenly morality which the
Gospel of Christ requires, led on to
that great spiritual revolution, the na-
ture and progress of which his jour-
nal and letters enable us to trace with
such distinctness. When he resumed
his duties, an entire change in the
character of his ministry was visible to
all. The report of discourses so ear-
nest and eloquent as those now deliv-
ered, and of household visitations con-
ducted with such ardent zeal, soon
spread beyond the limits of his own
neighborhood. His reputation as an
author received at the same time a
large accession by the publication in a
separate form of his article on Christi-
anity, as well as by several valuable
contributions to the Edinburgh Chris-
tian Instructor, and the Eclectic Re-
view. So strong, however, at that time
was the public bias against those evan-
gelical doctrines which he had embra-
ced, that when a vacancy occurred in
Glasgow, and his friends brought him
forward as a candidate it was only af-
ter extraordinary efforts, and by a nar-
row majority, that his election was car-
ried in the town-council.
In July, 1815, he was formally ad-
mitted as minister of the Tron church
.and parish. A blaze of unparalleled
popularity at once broke around him
as a preacher. A series of discourses
which he had preached on the connec-
tion bet\\ c,ien the discoveries of astron-
omy and the Christian revelation were
published in January, 1817. Its suc-
cess for a volume of sermons was un-
precedented. Within a year, nine ed-
itions and 20,000 copies of the book
were in circulation. Soon after its ap-
pearance he visited London, and occu-
pied for the first time one or two of
the pulpits of the metropolis. The
crowds were enormous, the applause
loud and universal. " All the world,"
writes Mr. Wilberforce, "wild about
Dr. Chalmers." His extraordinary pop-
ularity remained undiminished during
the eisrht years that he remained in
~ * .. •
Glasgow.
His preparation for the pulpit, how-
ever, formed but a small part of his la-
bors. In visiting his parish, which
contained about 11,000 souls, he speed-
ily discovered that nearly a third of
them had relinquished all connection
with any Christian church, and that
their children were growing up in ig-
norance and vice. The appalling mag-
nitude of the evil, and the certainty of
its speedy and frightful growth, at once
arrested and engrossed him. To de-
vise and execute the means of check-
ing and subduing it, became henceforth
one of the ruling passions of his life.
Attributing the evil to the absence
of those parochial influences, education-
al and ministerial, which wrought so
effectually for good in the smaller
rural parishes, but which had not been
brought to bear upon the overgrown
parishes of our great cities, from all
spiritual oversight of which the mem-
bers of the Establishment had retired
in despair, his grand panacea was
to revivify, remodel, and extend the
old parochial economy of Scotland.
340
THOMAS CHALMERS.
Taking his own parish as a specimen,
and gauging by it the spiritual neces-
sities of the city, he did not hesitate to
publish it as his conviction that not
less than twenty new churches and
parishes should immediately be erected
in Glasgow. All, however, that he
could persuade the town-council to at-
tempt was to erect a single additional
one, to which a parish containing no
fewer than 10,000 souls was attached.
This church built at his suggestion
was offered to him and accepted, in
order that he might have free and un-
impeded room for carrying out his dif-
ferent parochial plans.
In September, 1819, he was admit-
ted as minister of the church and par-
ish of St. John's. The population of
the parish was made up principally of
weavers, laborers, factory workers, and
other operatives. Of its 2,000 families,
more than 800 had no connection with
any Christian church. The number
of its uneducated children was count-
less. In this, as in his former parish,
Dr. Chalmers' first care and efforts
were bestowed upon the young. For
their week-day instructions, two com-
modious school-houses were built, four
well qualified teachers were provided,
each with an endowment of j£25 per
annum; and at the moderate school
fees of 2s. and 3s. per quarter, 700
shildren had a first-rate education sup-
plied. For the poorer and more neg-
lected, between forty and fifty local
sabbath-schools were opened, in which
more than 1000 children were taught.
The parish was divided into twenty-
five districts, embracing from sixty to
one hundred families, over each of
which an elder and a deacon were
placed — the former taking the over-
sight of their spiritual, the latter of
their temporal interests. Over the
whole of this complicated parochial
apparatus Dr. Chalmers presided,
watching, impelling, controlling every
movement. Nor was his work that of
mere superintendence. He visited per-
sonally all the families, completing his
round of them in about two years, and
holding evening meetings, in which he
addressed those whom he had visited
during the week. Many families were
thus reclaimed to the habit of church-
going, and many individuals deeply
and enduringly impressed by the sa
cred truths of Christianity.
The chief reason why Dr. Chalmers
removed from the Tron parish to that
of St. John's was that he might have
an opportunity of fairly testing the
efficacy of the old Scottish method of
providing for the poor. At this period
there were not more than twenty par-
ishes north of the Forth and Clyde in
which there was a compulsory assess-
ment for the poor. The English
method of assessment, however, waa
rapidly spreading over the southern
districts of Scotland, and already
threatened to cover the whole country.
Dr. Chalmers dreaded this as a great
national catastrophe. Having studied
in its principles, as well as in its results,
the operation of a compulsory tax for
the support of the poor, he was convin-
ced that it operated prejudicially and
swelled the evil it meant to mitigate.
It was said, however, that though the
old Scotch method of voluntary con-
tributions at the church-door adminis-
tered by the kirk-session was applica-
ble to small rural parishes it was in
THOMAS CflALMERS.
341
applicable to the large and already
half-pauperized parishes of our great
cities. Dr. Chalmers asked the mag-
istrates of Glasgow to commit the en-
tire management of the poor of the
parish of St. John's into his own hands
and he undertook to refute that alle-
gation. He was allowed to try the ex-
periment. At the commencement of
his operations, the poor of this parish
cost the city £1,400 per annum. He
committed the investigation of all new
applications tor relief to the deacon of
the district, who had so small a num-
ber of families in charge, that by spend'
ing an hour among them every week
he became minutely acquainted with
their character and condition. By
careful scrutiny of every case in which
public relief was asked for ; by a sum-
mary rejection of the idle, the drunken,
and the worthless; by stimulating
every effort that the poor could make
to help themselves, and when necessary
aiding them in their eiforts ; a great
proportion of these new cases were
provided for without drawing upon
the church-door collections ; and such
was the effect of the whole system of
Christian oversight and influence, pru-
dently and vigorously administered,
that in four years the pauper expendi-
ture was reduced from £1400 to £280
per annum.
At the commencement of his minis-
try in St. John's, Dr. Chalmers began
a series of quarterly publications on
" The Christian and Civic Economy of
Large Towns," devoted to the theoret-
ic illustration of the various schemes
of Christian usefulness which he was
carrying on ; presenting himself thus
as at once their skilful deviser, their
H.— 43
vigorous conductor, their eloquent ex-
pounder and advocate. But the fa-
tigues of so toilsome a ministry began
to exhaust his strength ; and he was
already longing to exchange the per-
sonal for the literary labors of his pro-
fession, when the vacant Chair of
Moral Philosophy in the University
of St. Andrews was offered to him.
This offer, the seventh of the same kind
that had been made to him during his
eight years' residence in Glasgow, he
accepted, entering on his new duties
in November, 1823, and devoting the
next four years of his life to their ful-
filment. Hitherto metaphysics and
ethics had been taught conjointly by
the professors of moral science in the
Scotch colleges, while, in teaching the
latter, allusions to the peculiar doctrines
of Christianity had generally and of-
ten carefully been avoided. Looking
upon mental philosophy as belonging
properly to another chair, Dr. Chal-
mers confined his prelections to the
philosophy of morals, entering at large
upon the duties man owes to God as
well as those he owes to his fellow-
men, endeavoring throughout to dem-
onstrate the insufficiency of natural re-
ligion to serve any other purpose than
that of a precursor of Christianity.
Many of his lectures, as remodelled
afterwards and transferred to the theo-
logical chair, are to be found now in
the first and second volumes of his
works. In the purely ethical depart-
ment, those discussions in which he
made important and original contribu-
tions to the science, are those occupied
with the place and functions of voli-
tion and attention, the seperate and un
derived character of the moral senti
342
THOMAS CHALMEKS.
ments, and the distinction between the
virtues of perfect and imperfect obli-
gation. It was not so much, however,
for their scientific speculations that his
lectures in the moral philosophy class-
room were distinguished, as for that
fervor of professional enthusiasm with
which they were delivered, and which
proved so healthfully contagious.
Beyond the intellectual impulse thus
communicated, his frequent references
to the great doctrines of Christianity?
and still more the force of his inviting
example, kindled to a very remarkable
degree the religious spirit among the
students of St. Andrews; and not a
few of them — including many men
who have since highly distinguished
themselves — have been led thereby to
consecrate their lives to missionary
labor.
In November, 1828, Dr. Chalmers
was transferred from the chair of moral
philosophy in St. Andrews to that of
theology in Edinburgh. In this wider
theatre he was enabled to realize all
his favorite ideas as to the best meth-
ods of academical instruction. To the
old practice of reading to his students
a set of carefully prepared lectures he
added that of regular viva voce exam-
ination on what was thus delivered,
and introduced besides the use of text,
books, communicating tl rough them
a large amount of information ; and
coming into the closest and most stim-
ulating contact with his pupils, he
attempted to combine the different sys-
tems pursued in the English and the
Scottish universities. In the profes-
sorial chair there have been many who,
with larger stores of learning, nave
conducted their students to greater
scientific proficiency; but none have
ever gone beyond him in the glowing
impulse, intellectual, moral, and relig-
ious, that he conveyed into the hearts
of the ardent youths who flocked
around his chair ; and to that spirit
with which he so largely impregnated
the young ministerial mind of Scot-
land, may, to a large extent, be traced
the disruption of the Scottish Estab-
lishment.
The leisure for literarv labor which
«y
professorial life afforded was dili-
gently improved. At St. Andrews he
resumed the work which his departure
from Glasgow had suspended, and in
1826, published a third volume of the
" Christian and Civic Economy of
Large Towns." This was followed in
1827, by his treatise on the " Use and
Abuse of Literary and Ecclesiastical
Endowments." For many years his
chief ambition had been to complete a
treatise on political economy, a science
which had been a favorite one from
youth. In St. Andrews, besides his
ordinary course on ethics, he had
opened a class for instruction in this
science, and had been delighted to find
how attractive it had proved. As
soon as he had got through his first
course of theological lectures in Edin-
burgh, he resumed this subject, and
embodied the reflections and prepara-
tions of many years in a work on
Political Economy, published in 1832
enforcing the truth that a right moral
is essential to a right economic condi-
tion of the masses, — that character is
the parent of comfort. His work on
Political Economy was scarcely through
the press, when, on invitation from the
trustees of the Earl of Bridgewater
THOMAS CHALMEKS.
343
Dr. Chalmers was engaged on a trea-
tise li On the Adaptation of External
Nature to the Moral and Intellectual
Constitution of Man," which appeared
in IS 33. Literary honors, such as
were never united previously in the
person of any Scottish ecclesiastic,
crowned these labors. In 1834 he was
elected fellow of the Royal Society of
Edinburgh, and soon after made one
of its vice-presidents. In the same
year he was elected corresponding
member of the Royal Institute of
France, and in 1835 the university of
Oxford conferred on him. the degree of
D.C.L.
Hitherto Dr. Chalmers had taken
but little part in the public business
of the church. One of the earliest acts
of the General Assembly of 1834, the
first in which the Evangelical party
had the majority, was to place Dr.
Chalmers at the head of a committee
appointed to promote the extension of
the church, a duty which he discharged
with such success that, in 1841, when
he resigned his office, he had to an-
nounce that, in seven years, upwards
of £300,000 had been contributed to
this object and 220 new churches had
been built.
This great movement on behalf of
church extension was finally checked
by another in which Dr. Chalmers was
destined to play a still more conspic-
uous part. In 1834, the General As-
sembly, after declaring it to be a fun-
damental principle of the church that
" no minister shall be intruded into any
parish contrary to the will of the con-
gregation," had enacted, that in every
instance the dissent of the majority of
the male heads of families, being com-
municants, should be a bar to the set-
tlement of a minister. This act, com
monly called the Veto Law, was based
upon the old constitutional practice of
the Call in which the people invited
the minister to undertake the pastoral
office, on which invitation alone the
spiritual act of ordination was ground-
ed. But now the power of the church
to pass such a law as that of the Veto
was challenged, and the civil courts
claimed a right not only to regulate
the destination of the benefice, but to
control and overrule the decisions of
the Church. In the protracted struggle
which ensued in this controversy be-
tween Church and State, Dr.Chalmers
was the unflinching and indefatigable
champion of the claims of his order ;
and when it was finally determined in
favor of the State by the highest legal
and parliamentary authority, he took
the lead in the work of disruption,
when, on the 18th of May, 1843, 470
clergymen withdrew from the General
Assembly and constituted themselves
into the Free Church of Scotland, elect-
ing; Dr. Chalmers as their first moder-
O
ator.
For two years previous to this final
step, Dr. Chalmers had foreseen the
issue, and in preparation for it had
drawn up a scheme for the support of
the outgoing ministers. For a year or
two afterwards the establishment and
extension of that fund, to which the
Free Church owes so much of her sta-
bility, engaged a large share of his at-
tention. He then gradually withdrew
from the public service of the church
occupying himself with his duties as
Principal of the Free Church College
j and in perfecting his "Institutes o^
344
Theology." In May, 1847, lie was sum-
moned before a Committee of the House
of Commons to give evidence regarding
that refusal of sites for churches in
which a few of the landed proprietors
)f Scotland who were hostile to the
Free Church were still persisting. He
returned from London in his usual
health, and after a peaceful Sabbath
(May 30), in the bosom of his family
at Morningside, he bade them all good
night. Next morning, when his room
was entered and the curtains of his bed
withdrawn, he was found half erect,
his head leaning gently back upon
the pillow, no token of pain or strug-
gle, the brow and hand when touched
so cold as to indicate that some hours
had already elapsed since the spirit
had peacefully departed.
" During a life of the most varied and
incessant activity," writes Dr. Hanna,
" spent much, too, in society, Dr. Chal-
mers scarcely ever allowed a day to pass
without its modicum of composition.
He had his faculty of writing so com-
pletely at command that at the most
unseasonable times and in the most
unlikely places, he snatched his hour
or two for carrying on his literary
work. He was methodical indeed in
all his habits, and no saying passed
more frequently from his lips than
that punctuality is a cardinal virtue
His writings now occupy more than
thirty volumes. He would perman-
ently perhaps have stood higher as an
author had he written less, or had he
indulged less in that practice of reiter-
ation into which he was so constantly
betrayed by his anxiety to impress his
ideas upon others. It would be pre-
mature to attempt to estimate the place
THOMAS CHALMERS.
which his writings will hold in the lit
erature of our country- We may briefly
indicate, however, some of the original
! contributions for which we are in-
debted to him. As a political econo
misfc he was the first to unfold the con-
nection that subsists between the de-
gree of the fertility of the soil and the
social condition of a community, the
rapid manner in which capital is repro-
duced (See Mill's " Political Economy,"
vol i, p. 94), and the general doctrine
of a limit to all the modes by which
national wealth may accumulate. He
was the first also to advance that argu-
ment in fa\or of religious establish-
ments which meets upon its own ground
the doctrine of Adam Smith, that re-
ligion like other things should be left
to the operation of the natural law of
supply and demand. In the depart-
ment of natural theology and the Chris-
tian evidences, he ably advocated that
method of reconciling the Mosaic nar-
rative with the indefinite antiquity of
the globe which Dr. Buckland has ad-
vanced in his Bridgewater Treatise,
and regarding which Dr. Chalmers had
previously communicated with that
author. His refutation of Mr. Hume's
objection to the truth of miracles is
perhaps his intellectual cJief cTceuvrc,
| and is as original as it is complete. The
| distinction between the laws and dis-
position of matter, as between the
; ethics and objects of theology, he was
j the first to indicate and enforce. And
i it is in his pages that the fullest and
most masterly exhibition is to be met
with of the superior authority as wit-
nesses for the truth of Revelation of
the Scriptural as compared with the
ex-Scriptural writers, and of the Chris
THOMAS CHALMERS.
345
fcian as compared with the hea,then tes-
timonies. In his " Institutes of Theol-
ogy," no material modification is either
made or attempted on the doctrines of
Calvinism, which he received with all
simplicity of faith, as he believed them
to be revealed in the Divine word, and
which he defended as in harmony with
the most profound philosophy of
human nature, and of the Divine prov-
idence.
"The character of Dr. Chalmers' in-
tellect was eminently practical. The
dearest object of his earthly existence
was the elevation of the common peo-
ple. Poor-laws appeared to him as
calculated to retard this elevation ; he
therefore strenuously resisted their in-
troduction. The Church of Scotland
appeared to him as peculiarly fitted
to advance it; he spoke,, he wrote he
labored in its defence and extension.
'I have no veneration,' he said to the
royal commissioners in St. Andrews,
before either the Voluntary or the
Non-Intrusion controversies had arisen,
' I have no veneration for the Church
of Scotland quasi an establishment, but
I have the utmost veneration for it
quasi an instrument of Christian good.'
Forcing that church to intrude unac-
ceptable ministers, and placing her in
spiritual subjection to the civil power,
in his regard stripped her as such an
instrument of her strength, and he res-
olutely but reluctantly gave her up.
" It is as a mover of his fellow men,
«s the reviver of evangelistic feeling in
Scotland, and as a leader in that great
movement which terminated in the er-
ection of the Free Church, that Dr.
Chalmers will fill the largest place in
the eye of posterity, and occupy a niche
in the history of Scotland and of the
church. Various elements combined
to clothe him with public influence —
a childlike, guileless, transparent sim-
plicity, the utter abscence of every-
thing factitious in matter or manner —
a kindliness of nature that made him
flexible to every human sympathy — a
chivalry of sentiment that raised him
above all the petty jealousies of pub-
lie life — a firmness of purpose that
made vacillation almost a thing impos-
sible, a force of will and general mo-
mentum that bore all that was mov-
able before it — a vehement utterance
and overwhelming eloquence that gave
him the command of the multitude, a
scientific reputation that won for him
the respect and attention of the more
educated — the legislative faculty that
framed measures upon the broadest
principles, the practical sagacity that
adapted them to the ends they were
intended to realize — the genius that in
new and difficult circumstances could
devise, coupled with the love of calcu-
lation, the capacity for business details
and the administrative talent that fit-
ted him to execute — a purity of motive
that put him above all suspicion of
selfishness, and a piety unobtrusive
but most profound, simple yet intense
ly ardent.'1
GU IZOT.
fTlHIS philosophical French histor-
JL ian and statesman was born in
October 4, 1787, at Nisines, in the
French department of Gard, where his
father, Francois Andre Guizot, an ad-
vocate of distinction, and a Protestant,
became one of the victims of the
French Revolution, and was executed
on the 8th of April, 1794. The widow,
left with two sons, of whom Francois
was the elder, removed from her na-
tive town to Geneva, where she had
some relatives, and where she hoped
to obtain a better education for her
children. After having completed his
studies in the gymnasium of Geneva
with extraordinary success, and ac-
quired the Greek, Latin, German, Eng-
lish, and Italian languages, M. Guizot,
in 1805, proceeded to Paris for the
purpose of studying jurisprudence, the
schools of law having been re-estab-
lished in 1804. Instead, however, of
prosecuting this study, he accepted an
engagement as tutor in the family of
M. Stapfer, who had been for many
years ambassador from Switzerland to
Paris, and by him was introduced to
M. Suard, the journalist and litterateur,
the translator into French of Robert-
Ws " History of Charles the Fifth,"
(346)
in whose reception rooms he had the
opportunity of becoming acquainted
with some of the most distinguished
literary persons of the times. In 1809,
he published his first work, a " Die
tionary of Synonyms," which was fol
lowed by " Lives of the French Poets,"
and by an edition of Gibbon's " De-
cline and Fall of the Roman Empire,"
with historical notes by the editor.
M. Guizot had been for some time a
periodical writer, and his " Annals of
Education," in 6 vols. 8vo, extend
from 1811 to 1813, His talents were
already known, when, in 1812, M. de
Fontanes attached him to the Univer-
sity of Paris, as assistant in the Pro-
fessorship of History, in the Faculty
of Letters, and not long afterwards
named him Professor of Modern His-
tory, a chair which he was peculiarly
fitted to occupy with distinction. In
the winter of 1812, he married Made-
moiselle Pauline de Meulan, a lady of
birth, whose family had been ruined
by the Revolution, and who supported
herself and others of her family by
journalism. She was engaged in the
editorship of a magazine called " The
Publicist," and it is said that the as-
sistance she received in the conduc'
FRANCOIS PIERRE GUILLAUME GUIZOT.
341
of this work, during a long illness,
from Guizot, the authorship of whose
contributions was at the time unknown
to her, paved the way for their union.
She was fourteen years his senior.
Her relations with the chiefs of the
Royalist party assisted in opening a
political career for her husband. Their
married life lasted fifteen years, Mad-
ame Guizot dying in 1827. She pos-
sessed remarkable talents, which she
displayed in literature, chiefly as a
critic and writer on morals and sub-
jects of domestic life. Before her
marriage to M. Guizot, she had pub-
lished a novel, entitled " The Contra-
dictions;" among her later works
were " Domestic Education," and " A
Family."
In the year 1814, M. Guizot paid a
visit to his mother, who was then re-
siding in her native town of Nismes.
Before his return, Louis XVIII. had
been seated on the throne of his ances-
tors ; and the young professor was in-
debted to the active friendship of M.
Royer Collard, for the patronage of M.
Montesquieu, then minister of the in-
terior, who appointed him his secretary-
general. This was the first step of M.
Guizot in the career of politics. The
return of Napoleon I. from the island
of Elba displaced him from his politi-
cal situation, and he resumed his occu-
pation as Professor of History. After
the restoration of Louis XVIIL, M.
Guizot was appointed secretary-gen-
eral to the Minister of Justice. His
first political pamphlet " Of Represen-
tative Government and the Actual
State of France " placed him in the
ranks of the constitutional royalists.
In his " Essay on Public Instruction,"
published in 1816, he defended the
cause of public education against the
attacks of the Jesuits. In 1818, he
was named Counsellor of State ; and,
while M. Decazes was minister of the
interior, M. Guizot had an oifice spe-
cially formed for him in the communal
administration of the departments.
After the assassination of the Duo
de Berri, in February, 1820, the ultra-
royalist party gained the ascendancy,
and the constitutional royalists, M.
Decazes, M. Royer Collard, M. Guizot,
and the rest, were expelled from office.
In the years 1820-'22, M. Guizot pub-
lished several political pamphlets,
directed generally against the admin-
istration of M. Villele, which created a
sensation at the time. His historical
lectures at the Sorbonne were attended
by crowded audiences, but the free
expression of his opinions gave offence
to the government, and his lectures
were suspended. M. Guizot then re-
linquished politics for awhile and re-
sumed his historical researches. In
the period from 1822 to 1827, he pub-
lished a " Collection of Memoirs Rela-
tive to the English Revolution," fol-
lowed by the first part of his "His-
tory of the Revolution," comprising
the Reign of Charles I.; a " Collection
of Memoirs, relating to the Ancient
History of France;" "Essays on the
History of France ;" and, " Historical
Essays on Shakespeare." He also con
tributed to the " Revue Frangaise,'
and was one of the founders of the
society called " Aide-toi, le Ciel t'aid-
era," — Assist thyself, and Heaven will
assist thee — th j object of which waa
to secure the freedom of elections. In
1828, the ministry of M. de Martignac
348
FRANCOIS PIERRE GQILLAUME GUIZOT.
allowed him to resume his lectures at
the Sorbonne ; they were attended by
very large numbers, and occupied
much of his time from 1828 to 1830.
At the end of 1828, he married his
second wife, niece of his first wife,
who, when she was dying, advised the
union. In 1829, he was reappointed
Counsellor of State, and in the same
year became part-editor of the " Jour-
nal des Debats," and of " Le Temps."
In January, 1830, he was elected for
the first time a member of the Cham-
ber of Deputies by the arrondissement
of Lisieux, department of Calvados,
where he had an estate.
M. Guizot had assisted largely in
producing the Revolution of 1830,
which expelled Charles X. and intro-
duced Louis Philippe; and the com-
mission which sat in the Hotel de
V^ille, on the 31st of July, named him
Minister of Public Instruction, and the
next day appointed him Minister of
the Interior. The first ministry of
Louis Philippe lasted but a few
months, M. Guizot losing office with
it in November. In the Cabinet, of
which Marshal Soult was the head in
1832, he became again the Minister of
Public Instruction. Many important
reforms were carried out by him in
this department of the government.
The law of the 28th of June, 1833, on
primary education, prepared by him-
self, raised in a brief period, in nine
thousand communes, the village school-
room for the instruction of the poor.
Cinder the ministry of Thiers, he was,
in 1840, ambassador to England, after
7 O /
which he became Minister of Foreign
Affairs, and was paramount in the
councils of Louis Philippe during the
last year of his reign. In the revolu-
tion of 1848, following the example
of the King, he escaped from Paris in
the dress of a workman, but returned
the following year and engaged in
various political writings, chiefly as a
journalist and reviewer. His main
pursuits, however, during the rule of
Louis Napoleon, were in the province
of history, biography, philosophy, and
general literature. Though a repre-
sentative of the cause of Protestantism
in France, he, in 1861, in a public ad-
dress, advocated a continuance of the
temporal power of the Pope.
Such is a brief outline, for which we
are indebted to the "English Cyclo-
paedia," of the public career of M.
Guizot. The general importance of
his writings, his studies in English
history, his familiar acquaintance with
the statesmen of that country, shown
in his composition of a work of " Me-
moirs of Sir Robert Peel," with the
acute philosophical character of his
mind, have led to frequent translations
of his works into English. There are
few French writers on history whose
works are so well known to intelligent
readers in Great Britain and America.
In an article on the publication of the
first volume of his " Memoirs to Illus-
trate the History of My Time," in
1858, the "Edinburgh Review " thus
speaks of his mingled literary and
political career: "Amongst the band
of great and honorable men, the par-
liamentary statesmen of the late mon-
archy in France, equally distinguished
by literary ability and by political
eloquence, M. Guizot will retain in
history, as he has occupied in life, the
first and highest place. Other writers,
FRANCOIS PIERRE GUILLAUME GUIZOT.
349
gifted with livelier powers of imagin-
ation, and appealing more directly to
the sentiment of their contemporaries,
may, like M. de Chateaubriand, have
exercised for a time a more powerful
influence on the literature of France.
Other orators may have kindled fiercer
passions in the audiences they address-
ed, and may leave on some memories
the impression of more intense drama-
tic power. Other statesmen have en-
joyed far more of popular sympathy
in their day, for they fought under a
banner to which M. Guizot was stead-
ily opposed ; and, whilst they spoke
with the energy of assailants, his pub-
lic life has been, for the most part,
spent in the service of the crown, and
in the discharge of the positive duties
of government. But, in the depth
and variety of his literary labors,
which have enlarged the philosophy
of history and extended our knowledge
of the laws that manifest themselves
in all human affairs ; in the force and
precision of his oratory, which at one
swoop could bend an assembly or
crush a foe; and, in the systematic
consistency of his whole political life,
which realized in action the opinions
of his closet, and gave the authority
of a minister to the principles of a
philosopher, M. Guizot has had no
equal, either in his own country, or,
as far as we know, in any other. The
wisdom of some of his writings, and
the felicity of some of his orations, may
not improperly be compared to the
productions of Burke ; the ascendancy
he enjoyed in the executive govern-
ment and the parliament of France
was probably greater than any minis-
ter has possessed in a constitutional
ii.— 44
state since the death of Mr. Pitt. But
in M. Guizot the speculative genius of
the one was united to the practical
authority of the other; and, though
each of these great Englishmen may
have possessed his own peculiar quali-
fication in a still higher degree, M.
Guizot stands before them both, in the
rare union of the contemplative and
active faculties. To have written the
"History of Civilization in France,"
and to have occupied the most import-
ant position in the government of
France for a longer period than any
minister since the Due de Choiseul,
are joint achievements in literature and
politics which no other man has per-
formed."
In a brief compass there is a clear
and earnest exposition of M. Guizot's
political views in the pamphlet enti-
tled "Democracy in France," which
was written immediately after the
Revolution of 1848. In this he depre-
cates as the greatest of all evils for his
country the paramount ascendancy of
the democratic principle, to the exclu-
sion of all other elements of order in
the State. Instancing the example of
Washington, and the early history of
the United States, in the influence of
sound conservatism, he traces the de-
fects of socialism in the destruction of
property, with its manifold rights and
duties, violating the continuity of so-
ciety, and reducing its members to
" mere isolated and ephemeral beings,
who appear in this life, and on this
earth the scene of life, only to take
their subsistence and their pleasure,
each for himself alone, each by the
same right and without any end or
purpose beyond, precisely the condi-
350
FRANCOIS PIERRE GUILLAUME GUIZOT.
tion of the lower animals, among
whom there exists no tie. no influence
which survives the individual and ex-
tends to the race." Passing thence to
the consideration of the essential
aspects of society, in all states of
whatever description, he looks to a
corresponding variety of constitutional
powers in the government, and the in-
fluence of the moral conditions of so-
cial peace in the domestic virtues, and
the superintending spirit of a true
Christianity. He concludes with these
wordo at once of warning and encour-
agement to his country, destined to
acquire new significance as the years
rolled on.
" Let - not France deceive herself.
Not all the experiments she may try,
not all the revolutions she may make
or suffer to be made, will ever emanci-
pate her from the necessary and inevi-
table conditions of social tranquility
and good government. She may re-
fuse to admit them, and may suffer
without measure or limit from her re-
fusal, but she cannot escape from
them. We have tried everything:
— Republic, Empire, Constitutional
Monarchy. We are beginning our ex-
periments anew. To what must we
ascribe their ill success ? In our own
times, before our own eyes, in three of
the greatest nations in the world, these
three same forms of government — Con-
stitutional Monarchy in England, the
Empire in Russia, and the Republic
in North America — endure and pros-
per. Have we the monopoly of all
impossibilities ! Yes ; so long as we
remain in the chaos in which we are
plunged, in the name and by the slav-
ish idolatry of Democracy ; so long as
! we can see nothing in society but
Democracy, as if that were its sole in-
gredient ; so long as we seek in govern-
! ment nothing but the domination of
O
! Democracy, as if that alone had the
| right and power to govern. On these
! terms the Republic is equally impossi-
! ble as the Constitutional Monarchy,
! and the Empire as the Republic; for
all regular and stable government is
impossible. And liberty — legal and
energetic liberty — is no less impossi
ble than stable and regular govern-
ment. The world has seen great and
illustrious communities reduced to this
deplorable condition ; incapable of
; supporting any legal and energetic
liberty, or any regular and stable gov-
ernment; condemned to interminable
and sterile political oscillations, from
the various shades and forms of an-
archy to the equally various forms of
despotism. For a heart capable of
any feeling of pride or dignity, I can-
not conceive a more cruel suffering
than to be born in such an age. Noth-
ing remains but to retire to the sanc-
tuary of domestic life, and the pros-
pects of religion. The joys and the
sacrifices, the labors and the glories of
public life exist no more.
"Such is not, God be praised, the
state of France ; such will not be the
closing scene of her long and glorious
career of civilization — of all her exer-
tions, conquests, hopes, and sufferings.
France is full of lite and vigor. She
has not mounted so high to descend in
the name of equality to so low a level.
She possesses the elements of a good
political organization. She has numer-
ous classes of citizens, enlightened and
respected, already accustomed to man
FRANCOIS PIERRE GUILLAUME GUIZOT.
351
age the business of their country, or
prepared to undertake it. Her soil is
covered with an industrious and in-
telligent population, who detest an-
archy, and ask only to live and labor
in peace. There is an abundance of
virtue in the bosoms of her families,
and of good feeling in the hearts of
her sons. We have wherewithal to
struggle against the evil that devours
us. But the evil is immense. There
are no words wherein to describe, no
measure wherewith to measure it. The
suffering and the shame it inflicts upon
us are slight, compared to those it
prepares for us if it endures. And
who will say that it cannot endure,
when all the passions of the wicked,
all the extravagances of the mad, all
the weaknesses of the good, concur to
foment it ? Let all the sane forces of
France then unite to combat it. They
will not be too many, and they must
not wait till it is too late. Their united
strength will more than once bend under
the weight of their work, and France,
ere she can be saved, will still need to
pray that God would protect her."
The later years of M. Guizot, free
from the political excitements of his
earlier days, were mainly passed in the
retirement of his home and in the lite-
rary pursuits to which he had always
been attached. His " History of the
English Revolution " was supplement-
ed by historical works on " Oliver
Cromwell," and '' Richard Cromwell
and the Restoration of Charles II."
The close of his life, indeed, exhibited
an indefatigable literary industry. Bi-
ography, as well as history, engaged
his attention, with a preference of re-
ligious subjects. In 1865 he publish-
ed " Meditations on the Present State
of the Christian Religion." His last
literary occupation was the preparation
of a " History of France for my Grand-
children," several volumes of which
were published before his death, which
occurred at his chateau, at Val Richer,
on the 13th of September, 1874, in the
eighty-seventh year of his age.
A newspaper writer of the day thus
describes the personal appearance of
M. Guizot, when his fame was fully es-
tablished :
" Small, thin, and frail in body, he
appeared thinner from the habit of
wearing a long brown frock-coat. In
the lappel of his coat he wore the rib-
bon of the Legion d'Honneur. His
hair was silvered, the face full of life
and brightness, with dark gray eyes
that looked earnestly at you from un-
der his black velvet skull-cap. A dry
man of earnest mind, keen rather than
wide, without the slightest trace of
humor. An admirable face, sculptured
by time, that had hollowed wrinkles
there, and stamped it with an incom-
parable expression of strength and
energy. It was impossible to avoid a
respectful astonishment at the sight of
that long, thin, austere head, that dom-
ineering look, that small, severe, and
disdainful mouth. His voice was su-
perb, harsh and biting, accentuating
words and giving them an extraordi-
nary force. His gestures, hard and
commanding ; his hand, striking at al-
most regular intervals on the desk, to
a certain extent modulated the sentence
and deepened the impression upon the
mind."
ELIZABETH BARRETT B R O W N I N G .
lady, the powers displayed
JL in whose works place her at the
head of the female poets of England,
the daughter of Mr. Barrett, a wealthy
London merchant, was born near Ledbu-
ry, Hertfordshire, about the year 1807.
She very early exhibited great precoci-
ty of intellect, which was fostered by
her learned education. At ten, she
wrote verses ; and at nineteen, in 1826,
published, anonymously, her first vol-
ume, entitled "An Essay on Mind,
with other Poems." The chief poem
in this collection, indicated in the title,
is a discursive review, a fluent, and
by no means elaborate adaptation
of the style of Pope's famous essay,
rambling over the themes of philoso-
phy and poetry, with instances from
their chief forms of production, fre-
quently illustrated by the great au-
thors of the world, in numerous trib-
utes to their genius and example. The
metaphysicians are boldly dealt with,
and with good judgment, in the writer's
appreciation of Plato, Bacon, and
Locke, whom she reverenced for his
spirit of liberty and truth. The cause
of freedom, for her advocacy of which
in Italy she was to be afterwards so
greatly d;stinguisl ^d, was even then
1352)
dear to her, one of the most enthusias
tic passages of the " Essay " being de
voted to the national struggle then
going on in Greece.
"Lo! o'er JEgea's waves, the shout hath ris'n!
Lo ! Hope hath burst the fetters of her prison 1
And Glory sounds the trump along the shore,
And Freedom walks where Freedom walked
before !
Ipsara glimmers with heroic light,
Redd'ning the waves that lash her naming
height ;
And Egypt hurries from that dark-blue sea!
Lo! o'er the cliffs of fam'd Thermopylae,
And voiceful Marathon, the wild winds
sweep —
Bearing this message to the brave who sleep —
' They come ! they come ! with their embat-
tled shock,
From Pelion's steeps, and Paros' foam-dash'd
rock!
They come from Tempo's vale, and Helicon's
spring,
And proud Eurotas' banks, the river king!
They come from Leuetra, from the waves that
kiss
Athena — from the shores of Salamis;
From Sparta, Thebes, Euboea's hills of blue—
To live with Hellas — or to sleep with you!' "
The show of reading in this first
volume is something extraordinary ;
for the author already had high claims
to learning, which she afterwards per-
fected and she shows not a trace of
pedantry, scholarship with her being
.
ELIZABETH BAERETT BEOWNING.
353
always an instrument of thought. With
what a warm, natural, unaffected feel-
ing she paints, under the disguise of a
school-boy, her own first passion :
"Oh! beats there, Heav'n! a heart of human
frame,
Whose pulses throb not at some kindling
name?
Some sound, which brings high musings in its
track,
Or calls, perchance, the days of childood back,
In its dear echo, — when, without a sigh,
Swift hoop and bounding ball were first
laid by,
To clasp in joy, from school-room tyrant free,
The classic volume on the little knee,
And con sweet sounds of dearest minstrelsy,
Or words of sterner lore; the young brow
fraught
With a calm brightness which might mimic
thought,
Leant on the boyish hand — as, all the while,
A half-heav'd sigh, or aye th' unconscious
smile
Would tell how, o'er that page, the soul was
glowing,
In an internal transport, past the knowing!
How feelings, erst unfelt, did then appear,
Give forth a voice, and murmur, 'We are
here!'"
We have given these passages as in-
dications of the early bent of Miss
Barrett's powers, and of the natural
development of her genius, shown in
her subsequent performances. These
youthful poems, moreover, have not
been included in any edition of her
collected writings, and the volume in
which they appear is of great rarity.
The preface, it may be added, shows
an equal readiness and proficiency in
prose writing, of which the author
subsequently gave some happy exam-
ples, in a few published literary criti-
cal sketches in the " Athenaeum ;" and
of which her "Letters," if they were
brought together, would afford con-
stant instances, and gain her a distinct
reputation in this department of litera-
ture.
In the absence of fuller biographical
materials, we may note several allu-
sions to her early home-life, in the oc
casional poems appended to the " Es
say on Mind." There are tuneful
flowing lines " To My Father on His
Birth-day," with an appropiate Hora-
tian motto expressive of her sense of
gratitude ; for even, as Horace, sheowed
to her parent that greatest of all gifts,
her training in literature. It is curious
to observe her, even then, when not
out of her teens, giving this sentiment
the form of a reminiscence.
•j
"For 'neath thy gentleness of praise,
My Father! rose my early lays 1
And when the lyre was scarce awake,
I lov'd its strings for thy lov'd sake."
From some " Verses to my Brother,"
in the same volume, we learn that they
pursued their studies together in a
happy childhood :
"And when the laughing mood was nearly o'er,
Together, many a minute did we wile
On Horace's page, or Maro's sweeter lore ;
While one young critic, on the classic style
Would sagely try to frown, and make the
other smile."
This first volume was succeeded, in
1833, by a translation from the Greek
of the tragedy of ^Eschylus, " Prome-
theus Bound," which was sent forth
from the midst of his learned proof-
sheets, by the students' publisher,
Valpy. There was boldness in this
attempt ; but no one sooner found it
out than the author. In 1830, she re-
placed this " early failure," as she then
quite unnecessarily calltd it — for it
has much poetical excellence — by " an
354
ELIZABETH BAKRETT BKOWNING.
entirely new version, made for her
friends and her conscience, in expia-
tion of a sin of my youth, with the
sincerest application of my mature
mind." Comparing the two versions,
we find, as might be expected, partic-
ularly in the lyrical passages, an in-
creased depth of feeling, and especial-
ly a sinewy knotted expression. The
easy enthuaiasm, the flowing stream of
thought, has become crystalized and
more beautiful at the touch of the
magician, Learned Experience. The
preface to the first version has a hand-
some compliment to " the learned Mr.
Boyd," who, among other works, trans-
lated from the Greek, published' in
1806, " Select Passages of the writings
of St. Chrysostom, St. Gregory Nazi-
anzen, and St. Basil." It was the privi-
lege and luxury of Miss Barrett to
share in these erudite studies — an in-
timacy of friendship and scholarship
which has left an eloquent memorial, in
a fine poem, celebrating a gift of " The
Wine of Cypress," from that learned
companion :
%
"And I think of those long mornings
Which my Thought goes far to seek,
When, betwixt the folio's turnings,
Solemn flowed the rhythmic Greek.
Past the pane, the mountain spreading.
Swept the sheep-bell's tinkling noise,
While a girlish voice was reading,
Somewhat low for at's and oi's.
Then what golden hours were for us I
While we sat together there,
How the white vests of the chorus
Seemed to wave up a live air!
How the cothurns trod majestic
Down the deep iambic lines :
And the rolling anapaestic
Curled, like vapor over shrines."
Miss Browning appears to have been
specially indebted to Mr. Boyd for
her acquaintance with the Greek
Christian Poets, Gregory Nazianzen
and the rest (of whose verses she gave
some fine poetic translation) in the pa-
pers already alluded to, published in
the " Athenaeum " for 1842, and issued
in a posthumous volume in 1863. On
the death of Mr. Boyd, in 1848, she
paid a tribute to his memory in two
sonnets, feelingly picturing his eleva-
tion of soul and sympathies with na-
ture, under the privation of blindness,
by which he had been long afilicted, and
which her reading to him of the Greek
alluded to in the poem just cited, had
done something to assist. He remem-
bered this in a legacy.
"Three gifts the Dying left me; jEschylus,
And Gregory Nazianzen, and a clock
• Chiming the gradual hours out like a flock
Of stars, whose motion is melodious.
The books were those I used to read from, thus
Assisting my dear teacher's soul to unlock
The darkness of his eyes — now, mine they
mock,
Blinded in turn, by tears."
The year 1838 brought with it
"The Seraphim, and other Poems,"
the first volume by Miss Barrett which
attracted any general attention. The
" Seraphim " rises on the wings of the
Greek chorus to a higher Christian
theme — a lyric strain of divinity which
reached its culmination in the author's
" Drama of Exile," in 1844. Sublimi-
ty, tenderness, the sympathy of inani-
mate nature, the compensation of the
second Eden, are blended in that bold,
but human and pathetic choral song of
the "Fall of Man." Before the last-
mentioned work was produced, other
lessons and discipline of a more person-
al character, nearer than the sympathies
ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.
355
of the imagination, had been interpos-
ed to temper, refine, and strengthen the
aspiring soul of the young poetess.
For a knowledge of these incidents,
we are indebted to a reminiscence of
the poetess given by her friend, Miss
Mitford, in her "Recollections of a
Literary Life." "My first acquaint-
ance with Elizabeth Barrett," she
writes, " commenced about 1835. She
was certainly one of the most interest-
ing persons I had ever seen. Every-
body who then saw her said the same ;
so that it is not merely the impression
of my partiality or my enthusiasm.
Of a slight, delicate figure, with a
shower of dark curls falling on either
side of a most expressive face ; large,
tender eyes, richly fringed by dark
eyelashes ; a smile like a sunbeam ; and
such a look of youthf ulness, that I had
some difficulty in persuading a friend,
in whose carriage we went together to
Chiswick, that the translatress of the
' Prometheus ' of JSschylus, the author-
ess of the 'Essay on Mind,' was old
enough to be introduced into company,
in technical language — was out. By
the kindness of another invaluable
friend, to whom I owe many obliga-
tions, but none so great as this, I saw
much of her during my stay in town.
The next year was a painful one to
herself, and to all who loved her. She
broke a blood-vessel upon the lungs,
which did not heal. If there had been
consumption in the family, that disease
would have intervened. There was
no seeds of the fatal English malady
in her constitution, and she escaped.
Still, however, the vessel did not heal,
and after attending her for about a
twelvemonth at her father's house in
Wimpole street, Dr. Chambers, on the
approach of winter, ordered her to a
milder climate. Her eldest brother, a
brother in heart and in talent worthy
of such a sister, together with other
devoted relatives, accompanied her to
Torquay ; and there occurred the fatal
event which saddened her bloom of
youth, and gave a deeper hue of
thought and feeling to her poetry.
" Nearly a twelvemonth had passed,
and the invalid, still attended by her
affectionate companions, had derived
much benefit from the mild sea breezes
of Devonshire. One fine summer morn-
ing her favorite brother, together with
two other fine young men, his friends,
embarked on board a small sailing-ves-
sel for a trip of a few hours. Excellent
sailors all, and familiar with the coast,
they sent back the boatmen, and un-
dertook themselves the management
of the little craft. Danger was not
dreamt of by any one. After the catas-
trophe no one could divine the cause ;
but, in a few minutes after their em-
barkation, in sight of their very win-
dows, just as they were crossing the
bar, the boat went down, and all who
were in her perished. Even the bodies
were never found. I was told by a
party who were traveling that year in
Devonshire and Cornwall, that it waa
most affecting to see on the corner
houses of every village street, on every
church door, and almost every cliff, for
miles and miles along the coast, hand-
bills offering large rewards for linen cast
ashore marked with the initials of the
beloved dead ; for it so chanced that
all the three were of the dearest and
the best ; ' ne, I believe, an only son,
the other the son of a widow. This
356
ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.
tragedy nearly killed Elizabeth Barrett.
She was utterly prostrated by the hor-
ror and the grief, and by a natural but a
most unjust feeling that she had been in
some sort the cause of this great misery.
It was not until the following year that
she could be removed in an invalid car-
riage, and by journeys of twenty miles
a day, to her afflicted family and her
London home. The house that she oc-
cupied at Torquay had been chosen as
one of the most sheltered in the place.
It stood at the bottom of the cliffs al-
most close to the sea ; and she told me
herself that during the whole winter
the sound of the waves rang in her
ears like the moans of one dying. Still
she clung to literature and to Greek :
in all probability she would have died
without that wholesome diversion to
her thoughts. Her medical attendant
did not always understand this. To
prevent the remonstrances of her
friendly physician, Dr. Barry, she
caused a small edition of Plato to be
so bound as to resemble a novel. He
did not know, skilful and kind though
he was, that to her such books were
not an arduous and painful study, but a
consolation and a delight. Returned to
London, she began the life which she
continued for so many years, confined to
onelarge and commodious but darkened
chamber, admitting only her own affec-
tionate family and a few devoted friends
(I, myself have often traveled five and
forty miles to see her, and returned
the same evening without entering an-
other house) ; reading almost every
book worth reading in almost every
language, and giving herself heart and
soul to that poetry of which she
seemed born to be the priestess."
During this period of confinement
the "Drama of Exile" was written
and the numerous fine poems which
accompanied it on its publication. It
was the first of her works published
in America, and one of the most orig-
inal; and among the longest of the
poems, the admired "Lady Geraldine's
Courtship," was written in the space
of twelve hours, in order to be includ-
ed in the proof sheets to be sent across
the Atlantic in advance of the English
publication. Of this ballad, Edgar
Poe wrote, "with the exception of
Tennyson's 'Locksley Hall,' we have
never . perused a poem combining so
much of the fiercest passion with so
much of the most ethereal fancy." The
volumes also included several poems,
which will be remembered with the
best of her writings, among them es-
pecially that piercing appeal to the
humanity of England, memorable in
its utterance as Hood's lament of an-
other class of sufferers, " The Song of
the Shirt," with which, though quite
unlike in its structure, it has been
often compared. We allude to the
vivid presentation of the sufferings
and privations of the young factory
operatives, in the poem entitled " The
Cry of the Children." Nor less no-
ticeable is the rapid, energetic " Rhyme
of the Duchess May," a ballad instinct
with life and imagination, worthy of
being ranked with the best of any of
the great masters of lyric narrative:
while, in another vein of elevated
thought, there is the " Vision of Poets "
with its fine characterization of the
noble spirits of the race, and its philo-
sophical expression of their sympa-
thies and sufferings. Interspersed
ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.
357
with the rest are several direct allu-
sions to the enforced confinement of
the sick room to which she was bound
in these days and months of illness.
There is a touching picture of her
darkened hours, in a little poem " To
Flush, My Dog,'1 a favorite gift from
Miss Mitford, and a graver expression
of her sense of privation in the sonnet
entitled " The Prisoner : "
"I count the dismal time by months and years,
Since last I felt the green sward under foot,
And the great breath of all things summer-
mute
Met mine upon my lips. Now Earth appears
As strange to me as dreams of distant spheres,
Or thoughts of Heaven we weep at. Nature's
lute
Sounds on behind this door so closely shut,
A strange, wild music to the prisoner's ears,
Dilated by the distance, till the brain
Grows dim with fancies which it feels too fine ;
While ever, with a visionary pain,
Past the precluded senses, sweep and shine
Streams, forests, glades — and many a golden
train
Of sunlit hills transfigured to Divine.
But from this seclusion the poetess
was soon to be emancipated. Her
health gradually improved, and the
whole current of her life, in 1846, was
altered by her marriage in that year
to the poet Robert Browning, whose
genius she had been among the earliest
to appreciate. This union was fol-
lowed by an immediate change of resi-
dence to Italy, where her subsequent
life was passed with her husband.
The climate was favorable to her
health, and, under these joint influ-
ences, her thoughts were diverted from
more purely imaginative themes to
subjects drawn from the outer world
and her new living experiences. As
she had before lived in the past life of
H.— 45
Greece, she now devoted herself to the
drama acting before her eyes in the
emancipation of Italy, to which the
later exertions of her muse were al-
most wholly given. She resided first
at Pisa and afterwards at Florence,
which became her permanent home.
The first fruits of this new Italian life
was her poem given to the world in
1851, entitled " Casa Guidi Windows,"
a picture of the Revolutionary scenes
of 1848 as witnessed from her resi-
dence at Florence. " From a window,"
she says in her preface to the book,
" the critic may demur. She bows to
the objection in the very title of her
work. No continuous narrative, nor
exposition of political philosophy, is
attempted by her. It is a simple story
of personal impressions, whose only
value is in the intensity with which
they were received, as proving her
warm affection for a beautiful and un-
fortunate country ; and the sincerity
with which they are related, as indi-
cating her own good faith and freedom
from all partizanship." The verse in
which this poem or series of poems is
written is somewhat intricate and diffi-
cult in its system of triple rhymes,
managed as usual by the author with
great felicity; and it is made the
vehicle of the most impassioned des-
cription of the animated scenes pass-
ing before her, and of her aspirations
and prophecies of the certain redemp-
tion and emancipation of Italy. Col-
ored by philosophy and fancy, the
work is yet intensely real, and may be
read as a chapter of history as well as
for its individual exhibition of the
poetic faculty.
In her next publication, in 1856,
358
ELIZABETH BARKETT BROWNING.
" Aurora Leigh," Mrs. Browning essay-
ed her longest flight. It is a novel in
verse, comprehended in nine books,
and extending to some ten thousand
lines. Its subject is the social philo-
sophy of the times : it is a picture of
manners and a code of perceptions in
literature and art — a resume of the
author's opinions on a vast variety of
subjects, moral, social and aesthetic.
As a novel, its incidents are subordin-
ate to its reflections, yet it is striking
as a story with a sustained interest in
the plot as the narrative moves on in
flexible, rapid, blank verse; simple,
sarcastic, passionate, as may be re-
quired. The story may be briefly out-
lined. Aurora is the offspring of an
English gentleman of wealth, who,
late in life, falls in love with and mar-
ries a fair Italian girl, whom he first
sees in a priestly procession in Flor-
ence. The mother dies in her daugh-
ter's infancy, and a few years of fond
intimacy in childhood with her father,
in a mountain home in Tuscany, close
with his death. The proud, passion-
ate, intellectual, sensitive child of the
South, an orphan, passes to the pupil-
age of a maiden aunt in England,
whose prospects had been disconcerted
by the marriage — a character admira-
.bly drawn, though a cramped, gnarled
growth of society, not a caricature, but
with allowances of human emotion. It
is evident that the warm Italian na-
ture of Aurora will be sadly congealed
by this northern iceberg. Her youth
is of course in danger of being sacri-
ficed to the conventionalisms and so-
called proprieties of the ordinary Eng-
lish dwarfing routine of female educa-
tion. But Nature had got the start of
the Ologies, and was wayward to save
some part of that life for herself. She
has a lover, too, the hero of the book,
Romney Leigh — not a very attractive
sort of hero — a benevolent man, but a
calculating moralist, a kind of soften-
ed Gradgrind, a Utilitarian philan-
thropist, the goodness in him starched
into a stiff formalism of behaviour —
beneficial but unpleasant. A little
spontaneity at the outset would have
saved this man much misery through
life. The better he sought to protect
himself and his schemes, the worse
they were protected. His first misfor-
tune was losing the hand of the fair
Aurora ; his cool, didactic philosophies
on the superiority of his sex not suit-
ing her ardent impulses. His head is
too much for his heart. The lady, it
must be admitted, is a little exacting
— since she has all along a half-con-
scious affection for her cousin. She
rejects him, to the dismay of the aunt,
who, suddenly quitting this earthly
scene shortly after, a wide separation
of parties ensues. Dying, she held in
her hand an unsealed letter, which
proves a generous device of Cousin
Romney to secure a fortune to Aurora.
It is a deed of gift to the aunt of
thirty thousand pounds, to be inherit-
ed by the niece. The latter disdains
the contrivance, and, proudly shaking
off the dust of the ancestral acres, of
which she was disinherited by her
semi-foreign parentage, departs for
London, to enter upon the character of
an author by profession. This intro-
duces an animated sketch of the liter-
ary life of a productive writer, and
pairs off with the brilliant portraits
by Thackeray of the other sex. An
ELIZABETH BAERETT BEOWNING.
359
other important actor now appears
upon the stage, a bold, adventurous,
spoilt widow, Lady Waldemar, who,
setting her cap for the wealthy social
philanthropist, Romney Leigh, is bent
upon defeating a quixotic match he
has upon the tapis with a daughter of
the people whom he has fallen in with,
upon his errands of benevolence. This
character, Marian Erie, is powerfully
delineated, though her suffering is
such an overwhelming dispensation of
fate as to limit her actions in the
world to a narrow sphere. Romney,
who has a touch of vain glory in his
beneficence, is to marry the girl at
a fashionable West-end church, and
Mayfair and St. Giles meet for the
ceremony. Lady Waldemar, however,
prevents the marriage. She induces
Marian to depart with an attendant of
her own choosing. The victim falls a
prey to violence, and is next met with
in Paris, a mother living only in her
child. Shall this injured woman be
an outcast? Society answers such
questions with little discrimination by
a too general affirmative. It was in
this poem the privilege of an honored
mother of England — an intellectual
representative of her sex to the world
— a lady whose simple truthful life,
unimpeachable, sought no empty glory
of the reformer, who justified religion
and every home morality, a voice un-
questionable— to reply in the tender-
ness of a woman's heart, with the in-
spired eloquence of the singer, No!
The muse covers this sorrow for all
coming time under the wings of her
protection. The sequel of the story
may be readily anticipated. Lady
Waldemar is in the end exposed, and
the exposure brings about an under-
standing between the original lovers,
the cousins. Each has learned much
in the interim; the too pragmatical
philosopher, that a little more nature
and less restraint would produce bet-
ter practical results; while the lady
has learned something in the school of
experience, has found life superior to
literature and its true oracle, and, wo-
man of genius as she is, acquiesces in
attainable results. Such a narrative
of course afforded scope for many re-
flections, and it is in the strong ex-
pression of sentiment, rather than in
its literary art or finish, that the poem
excels.
"Aurora Leigh" was followed, in
1860, by another series of patriotic and
political verses relating to the affairs of
Italy, entitled "Poems before Con-
gress." This proved the author's last
publication. In the following year
her invalid constitution gave way,
and, on the 29th of June, she died in
Florence, at the Casa Guidi. In recog-
nition of her services to the cause of
Italy, the house, by order of the city
government, bears an inscription re-
cording her residence in it and the
national appreciation of the Poems she
wrote there. A posthumous volume
of her "Last Poems," on a variety
of themes, appeared in England in
1862.
COUNT VON MOLTKE.
FTELMUTH KARL BERNHARD
-Li VON MOLTKE, the most dis-
tinguis^ed strategist of his times, re-
nowned for his success in directing the
military operations of the two great
wars which have resulted in the crea-
tion of the new German Empire, is de-
scended from an ancient Danish family
of celebrity. He was born on the 26th
of October, 1800, at Gnawitz, the es-
tate of his father, near Parchim, in
Mecklenburg. Soon after his birth,
his parents became residents of Hoi-
stein, and in his twelfth year, young
Moltke was sent to Copenhagen, to
be educated at the Cadet's Institu-
tion, to the military profession. He
became a page at the Danish Royal
Court, and held the rank of lieutenant.
He remained in Denmark till 1822,
when he entered the Prussian service
as Second-Lieutenant in an infantry
regiment, and pursued his studies in
the Military Academy at Berlin. After
having passed some time in perfecting
his education, and serving as military
instructor in the division schools, he
was, in 1828 and 1832, promoted to
appointments on the General Staff. In
1832, he was promoted to a first-lieu-
tenancy, and two years later to a cap-
(360)
taincy. In 1835, while engaged in a toui
in Turkey, he was presented to the Sul-
tan Mahmoud II., by whom, with th(
consent of the Prussian government, he
was employed in introducing various
improvements into the service, and su-
perintending the reorganization of the
Turkish army. He remained several
years in the country, and accompanied
the army in its campaign in Syria
against Mehemet Ali, of Egypt, and
was decorated for distinguished ser-
vices on the field. Returning to Prus-
sia, he resumed, in 1841, his connec-
tion with the staff, and the next year
became major. He prepared about
this time a volume of letters on the
circumstances of Turkey, during the
period of his employment by that gov-
ernment, which was issued at Berlin in
1841, with an introduction by the
geographer, Carl Ritter. He also, in
1845, published an elaborate work on
the military campaign of Russia in
European Turkey, in 1828-'29, which
was subsequently translated into
French and English, the latter version
bearing the title "The Russians in
Bulgaria and Roumelia in 1828 and
1829." In 1846, he was appoiuuxJ
aide-de-camp to Prince Henry of Prus
COUNT VON MOLTKE.
361
sia, then resident in Rome, after whose
death, in 1847, he was engaged in con-
nection with the general command on
the Rhine, becoming in 1848, a mem-
ber of the Grand General Staff, and in
1849, chief of the staff of the fourth
army corps in Magdeburg. In 1850,
he became lieutenant-colonel ; in 1851,
full colonel, and in 1855, was appoint-
ed major-general, when he was assigned
as aide-de-camp to Prince Frederick
William, King of Prussia, and Emper-
or of Germany of after-days, and in
1858, was appointed Chief of the
Grand General Staff of the Prussian
Army, and, the following year, to the
rank of lieutenant-general.
In the war between Austria and
Italy, which ensued, Gen. Moltke was
present in the Austrian head-quarters,
and at its conclusion, superintended an
official account of the campaign, which
was published at Berlin, in 1812. He
was now actively devoted to the im-
provement and development of the
Prussian army, which was soon to be
called into active service in the field.
In the Schleswig-Holstein war of 1864,
he was engaged in planning the opera-
tions of the campaign, being attached,
as chief of the staff, to Prince Freder-
ick Charles. The development of the
military resources of Prussia was now
the grand object of the administration.
It was the policy of the king, who had
been educated as a soldier ; and what
Count Bismarck was promoting by his
political measures, Gen. Von Moltke
was perfecting in the camp. The na-
tion soon prepared for its new military
career, and it was greatly indebted for
its powerful army organization to the
genius of Von Moltke. Having now
reached the rank of full general of in-
fantry, he planned with great care the
campaign against Austria, in 1866, ac-
companying the army to the field, and
personally directing the operations in
the battle of Koniggratz. " The bril
liancy of the campaign," writes Gen.
Haven, in his work on " The School and
the Army in Germany and France,"
was unparalleled, while the sacrifice of
life was marvelously small. The ac-
tive fighting campaign embraced but
seven days, with an effective force in
line of 437,262 men and officers, and
120,892 horses. There were killed in
battle and died from wounds, but 262
officers and 4,093 men ; and died from
other causes 53 officers and 6,734 men ;
while the whole loss in horses from all
causes was but 4,750. Whatever credit
is due for the wonderful success of this
campaign and its speedy termination,
largely belongs to General JMoltke."
At the close of the " Seven Weeks'
War," Gen. Moltke was employed in
conducting the negotiations for au
armistice, and the preliminaries of
peace. In the triumphal entry into
Berlin which followed, General Von
Moltke, as chief of the general staff, rode
in the front rank, immediately before
the king, with the war minister, Voii
Roon, and the premier, Count Bis-
marck. For his eminent services in
the campaign, he received from the
king, the order of the Black Eagle.
An account of the war was drawn up
under his superintendence, which was
issued at Berlin, and also in a French
translation.
The ability shown by Von Moltke
on all previous occasions, designated
him as commander-in-chief in the great
362
COUNT YON MOLTKE.
war with France, of 1870-71. He di-
rected all its important movements
with unfailing success, was created a
Count for his services during its pro-
gress, received from the king the dec-
oration of the Order of the Iron Cross,
and on the triumphal conclusion of the
war, was further rewarded with the
rank of Field Marshal of the newly-
created German Empire.
The first volume of the official his-
tory of the war, was published at
Berlin, in the summer of 1872. The
preparation of the work, the proceeds
of which aie devoted to patriotic and
charitable purposes, is carried on un-
der the immediate superintendance of
Count Moltke, who is understood to
furnish to it its most important passages.
The diary of Gen. Haven of the Uni-
ted States Army, already cited, fur-
nishes us with a personal notice of
Gen. Moltke, as he was observed by
the writer, one Sunday in October,
1870, at the head-quarters of the Ger-
man forces at Versailles : — " While
going to church, I noticed near me, in
a new uniform of a general officer, some
me who at lirst impressed me as the
youngest, blondest, and slenderest
general officer I ever saw, and I tried
to divine how promotion could have
been so rapid in an army where every
thing is regular. I looked again, and
the quick, elastic step, the slender, al-
most womanly wrist, contrasted strange-
ly with his rank, which I now noticed
to be that of a full general. On look-
ing into his face, I was still more sur-
prised to recognize Gen. Von Moltke.
We continued on the remaining hun-
dred yards to the chapel-door together.
He is a man of few words, of a singu-
larly youthful expression of counte-
nance and eye; and, although one
knows that he is seventy years of age,
and heavy time-lines mark his face, it
is hard to shake off the idea that he is
a boy. He has a light and nearly trans-
parent complexion, a clear, blue eye,
flaxen hair, white eyebrows, and no
beard. He speaks good English, and,
on calling at his room, I found him
very affable, and full of sagacity and
accurate knowledge. In his room were
a few chairs, a desk, on which was dis
played a map of France, and not an
other scrap of anything to be seen."
SAMUEL FINLEY BREESE MORSE.
rFVHIS eminent inventor of the elec-
L trie telegraph, who but for this
addition to his fame in his later years
would have been more widely known
to his countrymen by his early achieve-
ments in art, was born of a distin-
guished New England family in
Charlestown, Massachusetts, April 29,
1791. His name, Samuel Finley, was
derived from his maternal great- grand-
father, the predecessor, in the age pre-
ceding the Revolution, of Dr. Wither-
spoon, in the Presidency of the Col-
lege of New Jersey. His father, Jede-
diah Morse, of Connecticut, minister of
the church at Charlestown, at the time
of his son's birth, is remembered in
the annals of American literature by
his pioneer labors in the department
of geography, which remain an inter-
esting study of the topography and
early material development of the na-
tion at the close of the last century.
Young Morse, of course, with such pa-
rentage received a sound elementary
education, which was developed by a
course of study at Yale College, then
under the inspiriting government of
President Timothy D wight. He gradu-
ated at this institution in 1810. In-
fluenced by an early taste, and doubt-
less inspired by the example and sue
cess of his countryman, Benjamin West,
he was now intent upon pursuing the
profession of a painter — a resolution in
which he was confirmed by his ac-
quaintance with Washington Allston,
then passing a short time in America
after his first animating visit to Europe.
It was natural that Morse should im-
bibe the enthusiasm of so devoted an
artist, and be governed by the ideas of
a friend whose additional ten years of
profitably-spent life made his judgment
respected. Painting, as a means of get-
ting a living, we may presume, was not
then, in the infancy of the United
States, regarded as a very profitable or
desirable pursuit by a prudent New
England clergyman ; and it is to the
credit of the elder Morse that he ap-
preciated his son's tastes sufficiently to
give to him his consent and furnish him
the means for the prosecution of the
coveted calling in a residence in Eng-
land. Allston was about to return to
that country ; Morse sailed with him,
and the two friends arrived in London
in August, 1811. A short time after,
Charles Robert Leslie, then a youth of
seventeen, came to the great metropolis
to enter upon that pursuit of art ID
(5363)
364
SAMUEL FINLEY BREESE MORSE.
which he was destined to gain fame and
fortune and the highest personal con-
sideration in the best society of Eng-
land. A warm friendship soon sprang
up between him and Morse ; they took
lodgings together, and together ex-
plored the world of art which lay be-
fore them. The two eminent American
painters, Benjamin West, President of
the Royal Academy, and John Single-
ton Copley were then in London, ap-
proaching the close of their distinguish-
ed career. Th«y were of the same age,
about seventy-thre^ ; Copley, oppressed
with infirmities, West, reaping the fruit
of his diligent labors and splendid op-
portunities, still actively employed in
his studio. Morse carried letters to
both these venerable artists. West,
ever ready to impart to his young
countrymen the lessons of his long and
successful artist's life, received him in
his accustomed friendly manner, opened
to him the doors of the British Muse-
um, and cordially assisted his studies.
An incident of this intercourse is re-
lated by Dunlap, in his History of the
Arts of Design in America, which ex-
hibits at once the perseverance of the
young student and something of the
humor of the venerable President:
" Morse, anxious to appear in the most
favorable light before West, had occu-
pied himself for two weeks in making
a finished drawing from a small cast
of the Farnese Hercules. Mr. West,
after strict scrutiny for some minutes,
and giving the young artist many com-
mendations, handed it again to him,
saying, ' Very well, sir, very well, go
on and finish it.' ' It is finished,' replied
Morse. ' Oh, no,' said Mr. West ; ' look
here, and here, and here,' pointing to
many unfinished places which had es-
caped the untutored eye of the young
student. No sooner were they pointed
out, however, than they were felt, and a
week longer was devoted to a more care-
ful finishing of the drawing, until, full
of confidence, he again presented it to
the critical eyes of West. Still more
encouraging and flattering expressions
were lavished upon the drawing ; but
on returning it, the advice was again
given, * Very well indeed, sir ; go on
and finish it.' l Is it not finished ? '
asked Morse, almost discouraged. ' Not
yet,' replied West ; ' see, you have not
marked the muscle, nor the articula
tions of the finger joints.' Determined
not to be answered by the constant l go
on and finish it ' of Mr. West, Morse
again spent diligently three or four days
touching and reviewing his drawing,
resolved if possible to elicit from his
severe critic an acknowledgment that
it was at length finished. He was not,
however, more successful than before ;
the drawing was acknowledged to be
exceedingly good, very clever indeed;
but all its praises were closed by the
repetition of the advice, ' Well, sir, go
on and finish it.' ' I cannot finish it,'
said Morse, almost in despair. ' Well,'
answered West, ' I have tried you long
enough; now, sir, you have learned
more by this drawing than you would
have accomplished in double the time
by a dozen half-finished beginnings. It
is not numerous drawings, but the
character of one, which makes a thor-
ough draughtsman. Finish one picture,
sir, and you are a painter."
There was also another artist in Lon-
don to whom the young painters could
look for advice and assistance, the late
SAMUEL FINLEY BREESE MORSE.
365
Charles B. King, of Rhode Island, who
had then been six years a resident of
the metropolis, diligently engaged in
his profession, and resolutely employed
in the general cultivation of his pow-
ers. The advantages of such common
intimacies to our juvenile adventurers
from America, in the great, and, to a
stranger, desolate world of London life,
are hardly to be over-estimated. Leslie,
in his autobiography, has recorded his
feeling of utter loneliness on his first
arrival, and the solace of friendship by
which the sense of his desolation was
overcome. " The two years I was to
remain in London," says he, " seemed,
in prospect, an age. Mr. Morse, who
was but a year or two older than
myself, and who had been in London
but six months when I arrived, felt
very much as I did, and we agreed to
take apartments together. For some
time we painted in the same room, he
at one window and I at the other. We
drew at the Royal Academy in the even-
ing, and worked at home in the day.
Our mentors were Allston and King;
nor could we have been better pro-
vided: Allston, a most amiable and
polished gentleman, and a painter of
the purest taste; and King, warm,
hearted, sincere, sensible, prudent, and
the strictest of economists. These gen-
tlemen were our seniors ; our most inti-
mate associates of our own age were
some young Bostonians, students of
medicine, who were walking the hos-
pitals, and attending the lectures of
Cline, Cooper and Abernethy. With
them we often encountered the tremen-
dous crowds that besieged the doors of
Covent Garden Theatre when John
Kemble and Mrs. Siddons played. It
JL— 46
was the last season in which the pub-
lic were to be gratified with the per-
formance of the greatest actress that
ever trod the stage, and we practised
the closest economy that we might
afford the expense of seeing her often."
After the death of his wife, Allston
joined Morse and Leslie in hiring apart-
ments at their residence, long a favor-
ite with artists, at No. 8 Buckingham
Place, Fitzroy Square.
So Morse and Leslie began their
career in London. The first portraits
which they painted, says Dunlap, were
of each other in fancy costume, Morse
being represented in old Scottish dress,
"with black-plumed bonnet and tar-
tan plaid," Leslie in the garb of a
Spanish cavalier, with " Vandyke ruff,
black cloak, and slashed sleeves." The
two friends, however, had more serious
work before them, and resolutely set
themselves to perform it. They were
at this time intent on the grand and
colossal, and both appear to have been
engaged on paintings of Hercules, while
Allston was painting his " Dead Man
restored to life by touching the bones
of Elijah." Morse chose for his sub-
ject the dying Hercules ; and, following
the precept and example of Allston,
first modeled the figure with such suc-
cess as to gain the admiration of West,
and afterwards receive for the work the
prize in sculpture of a gold medal from
the London Society of Arts. He painted
the picture from the model, and sent it
to the Royal Academy Exhibition, at
Somerset House, in the spring of 1813,
to which Leslie also contributed a pic-
ture, entitled " Murder," suggested by
a passage in the second act of Macbeth.
The pictures of both artists were hung
566
SAMUEL FINLEY BREESE MOKSE.
in excellent positions on the gallery
walls, and were favorably noticed in
the newspapers of the day. This suc-
cess encouraged Morse to contend for
the premium offered by the Academy,
the following year, for the best histori-
cal composition on the pretty mytho-
logical subject of " The Judgment of
Jupiter in the case of Apollo, Mar-
pessa and Idas." He completed the
picture, but was unable to present it,
in consequence of his unavoidable re-
turn to America, and his consequent
inability to meet the requisitions of the
Academy, which required the personal
attendance of the successful artist at the
delivery of the prize. West wished
him to remain; and afterwards said
that if he had done so, and entered
into the competition, he would have
gained the reward, a gold medal and
fifty guineas. Morse carried this pic-
ture- with him to America, in the sum-
mer of 1815, and set it up in his studio
at Boston, where he now established
himself. There was but a poor market
for works of art in the country at that
time. The artist found no purchaser
for his prize picture, and eventually
bestowed it upon a friend and patron,
Mr. John A. Allston, of South Caro-
lina, where Morse found his first real
encouragement in the United States.
Driven from Boston by want of sup-
port in that city, he went to New
Hampshire, and for a time painted por-
traits at fifteen dollars a head, a rate
which secured him plenty of employ-
ment, and at least kept him from star-
vation. From New Hampshire he was
induced to go to Charleston, South
Carolina, where his prospects were
much improved, and the price of his
portraits raised to sixty dollars, with a
long list of orders. This success gave
him the means of returning to New
Hampshire to marry a lady to whom
he had been for some time engaged,
and for four years he spent his winters
regularly, and with profit, in the south-
ern city. He then made his home for
a while in New Haven, and was en-
gaged in painting a large picture of the
interior of the House of Representa-
tives at Washington, with portraits of
the members. From New Haven he
removed to New York, and was em-
ployed by the corporation of the city
in painting a full length portrait of
General Lafayette, who was then, in
1824, visiting the United States.
Shortly after this, in the autumn of
1825, Mr. Morse was instrumental in
forming an association of artists, "a
Society for Improvement in Drawing,"
out of which grew the National Acad-
emy of Design, of which he was elected
first President. The object of this in-
stitution was not merely to furnish to
the public an annual exhibition of the
works of living painters and sculptors,
but to unite artists in a liberal and
comprehensive society, for their com-
mon support and protection ; to educate
students, and advance the knowledge
of art in the community by every prac-
tical resource. In aid of these objects,
Mr. Morse, who had already delivered
a series of lectures on the Fine Arts
before the New York Athenseum, re-
peated the course before the students
and members of the new Academy. He
also delivered an elaborate discourse,
in which he reviewed the history of
similar institutions in Europe, on the
first anniversary of the Academy in
SAMUEL FINLEY BKEESE MORSE.
367
1827. In consequence of the collision
of the new association with a former
society, " The Academy of Arts," which
it superseded, there was much public
controversy attending the early move-
ments of the Academy, in which, as
well as in removing various prejudices
which were in the way of the enter-
prise, the pen of Morse was frequently
employed.
In 1829 Mr. Morse revisited England
and extended his tour to the Continent,
residing some time in France and Italy,
and employing himself not only in
original works, but in masterly copies
of the old masters. On his return voy-
age to America, in 1832, an incident oc-
curred which determined his devotion
to a new field of scientific labor in his
invention of the Recording Telegraph.
The circumstances bearing upon the
great object of his life are thus related
in a recent biographical sketch contrib-
uted to Messrs. Appleton's " New Cy-
clopaedia :" " While a student in Yale
College, Mr. Morse had paid special at-
tention to chemistry, under the instruc-
tion of Professor Silliman, and to na-
tural philosophy under that of Profes-
sor Day ; and these departments of
science, from being subordinate as a
recreation, at length became a domi-
nant pursuit with him. In 1826-7,
Prof. J. Freeman Dana had been a
colleague lecturer in the city of New
York with Mr. Morse at the Athenaeum,
the former lecturing upon electro-mag-
netism and the latter upon the fine arts.
They were intimate friends, and in their
conversations the subject of electro-
magnetism was made familiar to the
mind of Morse. The electro-magnet,
on Sturgeon's principle (the first ever
shown in the United States), was ex-
hibited and explained in Dana's lec-
tures, and at a later date, by gift ot
Professor Torrey, came into Morse's
possession. Dana even then suggested
by his spiral volute coil the electro-
magnet of the present day. This was
the magnet in use when Morse return-
ed from Europe, and is now used in
every Morse telegraph throughout both
hemispheres. He embarked in the au-
tumn of 1832, at Havre, on board the
packet ship ' Sully,' and a casual con-
versation with some of the passengers
on the recent discovery in France of
the means of obtaining the electric
spark from the magnet, showing the
identity or relation of electricity and
magnetism, Morse's mind conceived,
not only the idea of an electric tele-
graph, but of an electro-magnetic and
chemical recording telegraph, substan-
tially and essentially as it now exists.
The testimony to the paternity of the
idea in Morse's mind, and to his acts
and drawings on board the ship, is
ample. His own testimony is corrob-
orated by all the passengers (with a
single exception), who testified with
him before the courts, and was consid-
ered conclusive by the judges, and the
date of 1832 is therefore fixed by this
evidence as the date of Morse's concep-
tion and realization, also, so far as draw-
ings could embody the conception, of
the telegraph system which now bears
his name. But though thus conceived
and devised, as early as 1832, in the
latter part of which year, on reaching
home, he made a portion of the appar-
atus, yet circumstances prevented the
complete construction of the first re-
cording apparatus in New York city
368
SAMUEL FINLEY BEEESE MORSE.
until the year 1835.; and then it was
a rude single apparatus, sufficient, in-
deed, to embody the invention, and
enable him to communicate from one
extremity of two distant points of a
circuit of half a mile, but not back
again from the other extremity. This
first instrument was shown in success-
ful operation to many persons in 1835
and 1836. For the purpose of commu-
nicating from, as well as to, a distant
point, a duplicate of his instruments
was needed, and it was not until July,
1837, that he was able to have one
constructed to complete his whole
plan. Now he had two instruments,
one at each terminus, and could there-
fore communicate both ways ; where-
as before, with one instrument, he
could signal to one terminus only,
and receive no answer. Hence, early
in September, 1837, having his whole
plan thus arranged, he exhibited to
hundreds the operations of his system
at the University in New York. From
the greater publicity of this latter ex-
hibition the date of Morse's invention
has erroneously been fixed in the au-
tumn of 1837, whereas he has been
proved by many witnesses to have
operated successfully with the first
single instrument as early as Novem-
ber, 1835. After the summer of 1837,
it was in a condition to be submitted
to the inspection of Congress, and con-
sequently we find Mr. Morse in the
latter part of that year, and at the be-
ginning of 1838, at Washington, ask-
ing that body for aid to construct an
experimental line from Washington to
Baltimore, to show the practicability
and utility of the telegraph. Although
the invention, by its successful results
before the Congressional committees,
awakened great interest, yet from th<j
skepticism of many and the ridicule of
others, it was doubtful whether the fa-
vorable report of the committee would
command a majority of Congress in its
favor. The session of 1837-38 closed
without any result, when the inventor
repaired to England and France, hoping
to draw the attention of the European
governments to the advantages of his
invention to them, and also to secure
a just reward to himself. The result of
this visit was a refusal to grant him
Jitters patent in England and the ob-
taining a useless brevet <P invention in
France, and no exclusive privilege in
his invention in any other country. He
returned home to struggle again with
scanty means for four years, not dis-
couraged, but determined to interest
his countrymen in behalf of his inven-
tion. The session of Congress of 1842-3
was memorable in Morse's history aa
one of persevering effort on his part,
under great disadvantages, to obtain
the aid of Congress ; and his hope had
expired on the last evening of the ses-
sion, when he retired late to bed pre-
paratory to his return home the next
day. But in the morning — the morn-
ing of March 4, 1843 — he was startled
with the announcement that the desired
aid of Congress had been obtained in
the midnight hour of the expiring ses-
sion, and $30,000 placed at his disposal
for his experimental essay between
Washington and Baltimore. In 1844
the work was completed, and demon-
strated to the world the practicability
and utility of the Morse system oi
electro - magnetic telegraphs. In the
sixteen years since its first establish
SAMUEL FINLEY BKEESE MORSE.
369
ment, its lines have gone throughout
North and parts of South America to
the extent of more than 3(^,500 miles.
The system is adopted in every country
of the Eastern Continent ; in Europe,
exclusively on all the Continental lines
from the extreme Russian North to the
Italian and Spanish South; eastward
through the Turkish empire ; south
into Egypt and Northern Africa, and
through India, Australia, and parts of
China."*
Services like these to the world hap-
pily were not allowed to pass unrecog-
nized during the inventor's lifetime,
though any honors or rewards bestow-
ed upon such a benefactor must needs
have borne but a small proportion to
the benefits his ingenuity conferred in
the promotion of the material interest
and the wealth of nations. At the
suggestion of the Emperor Louis Na-
poleon, an assembly was held, compos-
ed of representatives of the chief Euro-
pean States, at which 400,000 francs
were voted to Mr. Morse, as a reward
for his beneficent invention. Other
national honors were conferred upon
him ; but the hourly and general use
of his brilliant invention is the best
tribute to his fame. He had the satis-
faction also of anticipating and keep-
ing pace with the extraordinary devel-
opment of the telegraphic systems which
now literally engage the attention of
the world. In 1842 he laid the first
submarine line of telegraphic wire in
* "Appleton's New Cyclopaedia," Article —
Moise. 1861.
the harbor of New York, for which he
received at the time in acknowledg-
ment the gold medal of the American
Institute ; and the first suggestion of
an Atlantic Telegraph, it is said, was
made by him in a letter addressed in
August, 1843, to the Secretary of the
United States Treasury. In his later
years, Mr. Morse resided in the City of
New York, in the winter months ;
passing the summer at his country
seat on the Hudson river at Pough-
keepsie.
He continued to the close of his life
to take an active interest in the liberal,
artistical, and scientific interests of his
time, traveling abroad, where he was
always received with distinguished at-
tention, and at home practising a lib-
eral hospitality. New York, grateful
for his services to science, in 1871,
erected his statue in a conspicuous po-
sition in her great Central Park, in
connection with which, it may be noted
that his last appearance in any public
act, was his unveiling the statue of
Franklin, set up in the city by the
side of the City Hall on Franklin's
birth-day, in 1872. He did not long
survive this ceremony, his death occur-
ring at his residence in New York af-
ter a short illness on the ensuing sec-
ond of April. Every honor, public
and private, was paid to his memory
at his decease : after imposing funeral
services at the Madison Square Pres-
byterian Church, of which he was a
member, his remains were deposited
in Greenwood Cemetery.
HARRIET MARTINEAU.
THE family of Harriet Martineau
is of French origin, owing its set-
tlement in England to the emigration
of the Protestant Exiles, consequent
upon the revocation of the edict of
Nantes, which impoverished France,
and enriched other countries by the
acquisition of large numbers of pru-
dent, conscientious, and industrious
citizens. The Martineaus were of this
class. Establishing themselves at
Norwich, they carried on, for several
generations, at that place, the business
of silk manufacturers. There Harriet
was born, June 12th, 1802, the sixth
of a family of eight children. Her fa-
ther was a prosperous manufacturer,
occupying a substantial house in the
city. Harriet, whose health was deli-
cate in her childhood, was educated
chiefly at home. The deafness with
which she has been afflicted through
life, early developed itself, and encour-
aged a devotion to reading and study,
which was a marked trait of her youth.
Of the manner in which she gratified
this taste, at this early age, she has
given an interesting reminiscence in
one of her later works on " Household
Education :" " One Sunday afternoon,"
she writes, " when I was seven years
(870)
old, I was prevented by illness from
going to chapel, — a circumstance sc
rare, that I felt very strange and rest-
less. I did not go to the maid who
was left in the house, but lounged
about the drawing-room, where, among
other books that the family had been
reading, was one turned down upon
the face. It was a dull-looking octavo
volume, thick, and bound in calf, as
untempting a book to the eyes of a
child as could well be seen ; but, be-
cause it happened to be open, I took it
up. The paper was like skim-milk, —
thin and blue, and the printing very
ordinary. Morever, I saw the word
'Argument,' — a very repulsive word
to a child. But my eye caught the
word * Satan ;' and I instantly wanted
to know how anybody could argue
about Satan. I saw that he fell through
Chaos ; found the place in the poetry ;
and lived, heart, mind, and soul in
Milton from that day till I was four-
teen. I remember nothing more of
that Sunday, vivid as is my recollec-
tion of the moment of plunging into
Chaos ; but I remember that, from that
time, till a young friend gave me a
pocket edition of Milton, the calf-bound
volume was never to be found, because
.
HAERIET MARTINEAU.
371
I had got it somewhere ; md, that for
all these years, to me the universe
moved to Milton's music* I wonder
how much of it I knew by heart, —
enough to be always repeating some
of it to myself, with every change of
light and darkness, and sound and
silence, — the moods of the day, and
the seasons of the year. It was not
my love of Milton which required the
forbearance of my parents. — except
for my hiding the book, and being
often in an absent fit. It was because
this luxury made me ravenous for
more. I had a book in my pocket, —
a book under my pillow; and in my
lap as I sat at meals; or rather, on
this last occasion, it was a newspaper.
I used to purloin the daily paper be-
fore dinner, arid keep possession of it,
with a painful sense of the selfishness
of the act ; and, with a daily pang of
shame and self-reproach, I slipped
away from the table when 'the dessert
was set on, to read in another room.
I devoured all Shakespeare, sitting on
a footstool, and reading by firelight,
while the rest of the family were still
at the table. I was incessantly won-
dering that this was permitted; and
intensely, though silently, grateful for
the impunity and the indulgence. It
never extended to the omission of any of
my proper business. I learned my
lessons ; but it was with the prospect
of reading while I was brushing my
hair at bed-time ; and many a time
have I stood reading, with my brush
suspended, till I was far too cold to
sleep. I made shirts with due dili-
gence, being fond of sewing; but it
was with Goldsmith, or Thomson, or
Milton, open on my lap, under my
work, or hidden by the table, that I
might learn pages and cantos by heart.
The event justified my parents in their
indulgence. I read more and more
slowly, fewer and fewer authors, and
with ever-increasing seriousness and
reflection, till I became one of the
slowest of readers, and a compara-
tively sparing one."
With reading came a talent for
composition, which she pursued with
energy, and to which, on her father's
affairs becoming deeply embarrassed
by failure in trade, she turned, while
she was quite young, as a means of in-
dependent support. Her first publi
cation appeared in 1823, a volume of
"Devotional Exercises for the use of
Young Persons," followed by various
tales of a practical moral character ;
"Christmas Day," "The Friend,"
"Principle and Practice," "The Kiot-
ers," "Mary Campbell," "The Turn
Out," " My Servant Eachel," illustra-
tive of the life of the industrial class-
es. The publication of these books,
appearing generally at intervals of a
year, extended to 1830, when she pro-
duce * The Traditions of Palestine,"
a little book which is described by
one of her critics as u a beautiful con-
ception, executed in a spirit of love and
poetry, which throws a charm over its
pages. The period in which Jesus
Christ fulfilled his mission on earth,
the people among whom he dwelt, the
scenes in which he moved, the emo-
tions he awakened, the thoughts he
kindled, all are portrayed in a series
of descriptions; while He himself,
with that true art which has in thia
instance been instilled by reverence, is
never introduced in person."
372
HARRIET MAETINEAU.
In this, and the two or three follow-
ing years, Miss Martineau, who was
attached to the Unitarian denomina-
tion, was the author of three essays
written to meet the offer of a prize
proposed by the committee of the
British and Foreign Unitarian Asso-
ciation. They were severally entitled
" The Essential Faith of the Universal
Church;" "The Faith as unfolded by
many Prophets," and " Providence as
Manifested through Israel." Three
distinct sets of judges were appointed
to decide on the comparative merits of
the essays in competition, and each
set of judges awarded the premium
to the composition of Miss Martineau.
She was also, at this time, engaged as
a writer for " The Monthly Reposi-
tory," a Unitarian periodical, to which
she contributed numerous essays, in-
cluding a series on " The Art of Think-
ing," reviews, and even poems, of which
the following " Song for August "
may be taken as an indication of the
fine philosophical mood of reflection
which was already entering into her
writings :
*' Beneath this starry arch,
Nought resteth or is still;
But all things hold their march
As if by one great will.
Moves one, move ell;
Hark to the foot- fall !
On, on, for ever.
Ton sheaves were once but seed ;
Will ripens into deed;
As eave-drops swell the streams,
Day thoughts feed nightly dreams
And sorrow tracketh wrong,
As echo follows song.
On, on, for ever.
By night, like stars on high,
The hours reveal their train ;
They whisper and go by;
I never watch in vain.
Moves one, move all ;
Hark to the foot-fall!
On, on, for ever.
They pass the cradle head,
And there a promise shed;
They pass the moist new grave,
And bid rank verdure wave ;
They bear through every clime.
The harvests of all time.
On, on, for ever."
Meanwhile, Miss Martineau was pur-
suing a design which had grown out of
her early compositions, of tales for the
industrial classes. This was a series
of stories to be entitled " Illustrations
of Political Economy," suggested by
Mrs. Marcet's " Conversations on Polit-
ical Economy." The plan was sub-
mitted to the " Society for the Diffu-
sion of Useful Knowledge," and reject-
ed by the managers of that institution,
who thought it inexpedient in their
publications to mingle fact and fic-
tion. And, while the Society was
thus fearful of spoiling their " facts,"
the publishers of the day were gener-
ally of opinion that no work of " fic-
tion " could be found entertaining or
profitable, which rested upon such a
dry scientific basis. An effort to ob-
tain a subscription among her friends
for the publication of the first volume
also failed. When the little books
were at last issued by a bookseller in
Paternoster Row, little known beyond
his connection with the Unitarians,
they proved at once, not only by their
didactic teaching, but by their vigor-
ous presentation of scenes of common
life, a decided success. They were
issued monthly, a score or more of
volumes on various points of political
HARRIET MARTINEAU.
373
economy, taxation, poor laws, and
paupers, the theory in each being ex-
hibited in an attractive story. In two
other series, the subjects of " Taxa-
tion," and the " Poor Laws " were in
like manner " illustrated." So great
was the popularity of these stories,
and the intelligent interest which they
excited, that they were translated into
French and German, and most of the
other European languages. While their
publication was in progress in England,
where they had been continued for a
year, exhibiting monthly, in great
variety of treatment, the principles
affecting the production of wealth,
and its distribution, they were greet-
ed by a discriminating, but, upon the
whole, highly eulogistic review in the
" Edinburgh." While practical men,
says this writer, were " delighting to
spread the rumor that political econo-
my had died outright in the cavern of
obscure abstractions ; whilst firmer
and more philosophical believers in
its vitality were compelled to bitterly
lament that its nature as a science of
facts, as well as of reasoning, was often
almost forgotten, this writer has al
ready made, by a previously undream-
ed of route, a brilliant progress to-
wards the rescue of her beloved sci-
-the science of Adam Smith —
ence-
from the cloud which some persons
have thought was gathering over its
condition and its fate. * * Her plan
is, in the same process to at once au-
thenticate and popularize the suppos-
ed elements of the science. By the
help of a well-contrived fiction, she
puts society, as it were, into a sieve,
and takes out of the commingled mass
of human affairs, one by one, the par-
n.— 47.
ticular amount and description of per-
son and circumstances which an actual
experiment would require. * * The
characteristic merit of the volumes, as
a whole, consists in their singular com-
bination of general beauty, with a po-
sitive object of great utility, promi-
nently announced, and strictly pur-
sued. All are equally remarkable for
the simplicity and beauty of the style.
It ordinarily flows in a clear and lucid
stream, but readily drops to any tone,
or rises to the height which the occasion
may require. Franklin could not have
epigrammatized more sententiously
her mottoes. The descriptions, wheth-
er of natural scenery, or of domestic
incident, are pictures by Calcott or by
Wilkie, turned into poetry by a sister
genius. Her sketches of character are
bold, sometimes almost too bold in out-
line ; the muscle being forced out
anatomically, as in an academy model.
But the hardness is usually relieved,
and the natural effect preserved, by
the exuberant 'variety of sentiment
and expression which breaks out and
flows over every part." Speaking of the
third of the stories, the scene of which
is laid in Brooke Farm, a village on
the eve of an enclosure, the reviewer
says : " among the sketches there are
some as clear as Crabbe's, some as
elegant as Goldsmith's, and others as
touching almost as those of Cowper."
With her fine and strong intellectual
powers, thus invigorated by exercise
and encouraged by success, Miss Mar-
tineau, on the completion of her self-
appointed task, which had led her to
investigate well nigh every condition
of national prosperity springing from
the relations of the masses of the
374
HARRIET MARTINEAU.
people in the production of wealth,
resolved upon a visit to America. Prob-
ably of all the travellers who have
written upon the condition of the coun-
try, no one ever came to it with a mind
better prepared for acute and impar-
tial observation. Miss Martineau at
the time she visited the United States,
was at the age of thirty- two, with the
freshness of youthful feeling still upon
her, — indeed it appears at no subse-
quent time to have deserted her — her
sympathies with popular forms of gov-
ernment and institutions rendered more
lively and susceptible by her recent
efforts in her writings to illustrate and
improve the life of the great masses of
the people. She was trained as a
thinker, accustomed to pursue political
and social ideas to their source ; and
consequently, at the start, was prepared
to welcome, with a philosophic appre-
ciation, whatever phenomena might
present themselves to her. The sub-
ject was a novel one to her, to be
first seriously studied, not in the books
of others, which appeared to her un-
satisfactory, but in her own practical
observations. The conditions under
which she entered upon the journey
are thus described by herself. "At
the close of a long work — the ' Illustra-
tions of Political Economy,' which I
completed in 1834, it was thought de-
sirable that I should travel for two
years. I determined to go to the
United States, chiefly because I felt a
strong curiosity to witness the actual
working of republican institutions;
and partly because the circumstance
of the language being the ^ime as my
own is very important to one who, like
myself, is too deaf to enjoy anything
like an a.verage opportunity of obtain
ing correct knowledge, where inter
course is carried on in a foreign Ian
guage. I went with a mind, T believe,
as nearly as possible unprejudiced about
America, with a strong disposition to
admire democratic institutions, but an
entire ignorance how far the people oi
the United States lived up to, or fell
below, their own theory. I had read
whatever I could lay hold of that had
been written about them ; but was un-
able to satisfy myself that, after all,
I understood anything whatever of
their condition. As to knowledge of
them, my mind was nearly a blank : as
to opinion of their state, I did not
carry the germ of one."
The tour thus undertaken occupied
exactly the time set apart for it. Lan-
ding at New York in the middle of
September, 1834, after an excursion to
the cotton factories and the falls of the
Passaic and Paterson in New Jersey,
and a visit to some friends on the
Hudson, and at Stockbridge, Massa-
chusetts, she travelled in October,
through New York, by Trenton Falls
and the route of the canal to Niagara,
thence to Pittsburgh and tnrough
Pennsylvania to Philadelphia, making
a pilgrimage on the way to the grave
of Priestley at Northumberland. After
a stay of six weeks at Philadelphia,
three more were passed at Baltimore,
bringing the traveller to Washington
during the session of Congress in Jan-
uary. Five weeks were spent at the
Capitol, then illustrious by the presence
of the great statesmen of the last gen-
eration, who have now all passed away.
General Jackson was in the President's
chair ; Chief Justice Marshall presided
HARRIET MARTINEAU.
375
over the Supreme Court in which
Judge Story was busy as an advocate ;
Clay, Webster, Calhoun, Benton, Pres-
ton, and a host of other celebrities
adorned the Senate and House of Re-
presentatives. To all of them Miss
Martineau had ready access ; she stu-
died their history and peculiarities of
character and temperament, while she
obtained their views and candidly dis-
cussed with them the rationale of pub-
lic affairs. Her deafness proved no
obstacle in these intimacies ; it was
more than compensated by the privil-
eged use of the ear-trumpet which she
always carried with her, "an instru-
ment," as she describes it, u of remark-
able fidelity, seeming to exert some
winning power, by which I gain more
in tete-a-tetes than is given to people
who hear general conversation, its
charm consisting probably in the new
feeling which it imparts of ease and
privacy in conversing with a deaf per-
son."
From Washington Miss Martineau
passed to Montpelier, to which she had
been invited by its venerable occu-
pants Mr. and Mrs. Madison. Two
days were passed there, " wholly occu-
pied," as she tells us, " with rapid con-
versation; Mr. Madison's share of which,
various and beautiful to a remarkable
degree, will never be forgotten by me.
His clear reports of the principles and
history of the Constitution of the Uni-
tedStates, his insight into the condition,
his speculations on the prospects of
nations, his wise playfulness, his placid
contemplation of present affairs, his
abundant household anecdotes of Wash-
ington, Franklin, and Jefferson, were
incalculably valuable and exceedingly
delightful to me." On leaving Mont-
pelier a visit was paid to the Professors
of the University at Charlottesville ;
with a minute study of the institutions
and the views of its founder Jefferson.
A few days were then given to Rich-
mond, where the legislature was in ses-
sion, after which the journey was con-
tinued through North Carolina to
Charleston, thence to Augusta,Georgia,
Mobile, and New Orleans, ascending the
Mississippi in May, with a visit to
Nashville, Lexington, and the Mam-
moth Cave in Kentucky. Cincinnati
succeeded in turn; Virginia was crossed
by the Kenhawa to the Sulphur
Springs, New York being reached in
July. The Autumn was spent among
the villages and smaller towns of Mas-
sachusetts, in a visit to Dr. Channing
at his seat near Newport in Rhode
Island, and in an excursion to the moun-
tains of New Hampshire and Vermont.
The ensuing winter was given to Bos-
ton, and the following spring to New
York, with excursions to Saratoga and
Lake George. A portion of the Sum-
mer, ending the period of two years
assigned to the journey, was given to
a rapid tour to Lakes Michigan and
Huron ; taking Chicago, then an infant
settlement, by the way, andRapp's in-
dustrial settlement at Economy on the
Ohio, on the return to New York,
which our traveller finally left for the
voyage home on the 1st of August
1836.
In the course of this comprehensive
tour, Miss Martineau, as she herself
sums up her special opportunities of
travel, " visited almost every kind of
institution. The prisons of Auburn,
Philadelphia, and Nashville; the in
376
HARRIET MAKTINEAU.
sane and other hospitals of almost
every considerable place : the literary
and scientific institutions ; the factories
of the north; the plantations of the
south ; the farms of the west. I lived
in houses which might be called pala-
ces, in log-houses, and in a farm-house.
I travelled much in wagons, as well as
stages ; also on horseback, and in some
of the best and worst of steamboats.
I saw weddings and christenings ; the
gatherings of the richer at watering
places, and of the humbler at country
festivals. I was present at orations,
at land sales, and in the slave market.
I was in frequent attendance on the
Supreme Court and the Senate; and
witnessed some of the proceedings of
state legislatures. Above all, I was
received into the bosom of many fami-
lies, not as a stranger, but as a daught-
er or a sister."
The manner in which Miss Martineau
first turned this varied experience to
account in her writings was somewhat
peculiar. Instead of the ordinary
diary or gossiping book of travels,
without other order than that supplied
by the passage from one place to an-
other, she chose a more philosophical
mode of presenting her views. This
was accomplished on her return to
England, in the work which she pub-
lished the following year, entitled " So-
ciety in America." It was arranged
in four leading divisions, politics, econ-
omy, civilization, and religion. In the
first was discussed the subject of par-
ties ; an exposition of the apparatus of
government was given, with a review
of what was entitled "the morals of
politics," embracing the topics of
office, newspapers, apathy in citizen-
ship, allegiance to law, sectional pre-
judice, citizenship of people of color
the " political non-existence of women."
The last was a plea for the principle
of the representation of the sex, the
absence of which she regarded as a
defect in a government based on the
democratic principle, which " requires
the equal political representation of all
rational beings — children, idiots, and
criminals, during the season of seques-
tration, being the only fair exceptions."
The power of woman to represent hei
own interests, she maintained, could
rot be denied till it had been tried.
The mode of its exercise might be
varied with circumstances. " The fear-
ful and absurd images which are per-
petually called up to perplex the
question — images of women on wool-
sacks in England, and under canopies
in America, have nothing to do with
the matter. The principles being once
established, the methods will follow
easily, naturally, and under a remark-
able transmutation of the ludicrous
into the sublime. The kings of Eu-
rope would have laughed mightily,
two centuries ago. at the idea of a
commoner, without robes, crown 01
sceptre, stepping into the throne of a
strong nation. Yet who dared to
laugh when Washington's super-royal
voice greeted the New World from
the presidential chair, and the old
world stood still to catch the echo."
A generation has passed by since these
views were given to the world ; and in
that time, without by any means see-
ing her theory fully established in
practice, Miss Martineau has certainly
witnessed a beneficial progress in the
woman's rights question, which she
HAEEIET MAETINEAU.
3TJ
was amongst the foremost to agitate,
at least in the better security, by legal
provision and otherwise, of the interests
of the sex.
In regard to another question of still
greater importance in the government
and social relations of various com-
munities, Miss Martineau has been a
leader; and, in the unexpected pro-
gress of events, her just theories have
been crowned with an early success in
the world's history which she could
hardly have ventured to anticipate.
The topic of negro slavery, with its
various influences affecting the whole
moral and material system of the coun-
try, appears again and again in her
pages. It is the one pervading sub-
ject of her volumes. Her exhibition
of it in theory and practice is a land-
mark in the history of the institution.
The free discussion of it then brought
her many assailants, and undoubtedly
obscured the great merits of her book
in the eyes of vast numbers of intelli-
gent but interested or prejudiced per-
sons in the community. The work
may now be read, not merely with
equanimity but admiration, as an im-
portant contribution to the history of
the times. It is never clearer, more
outspoken, or more sagacious than in
its numerous illustrations of the evils
of slavery. Even then she saw its
certain downfall ; though she did not
foresee the means of its immediate
overthrow in the fatal issue of war.
She looked rather to moral influences,
through the agency of the Abolition-
ists, with whom she herself was class-
ed, bearing with them the invective
and contumely to which they were
then subjected. "The world," she
wrote, " has heard and seen enough of
the reproach incurred by America, on
account of her colored population. It
is now time to look for the fairer side.
The crescent streak is brightening to
wards the full, to wane no more. Al-
ready is the world beyond the sea be-
ginning to think of America, less as
the country of the double-faced pre-
tender to the name of Liberty than as
the home of the single-hearted, clear-
eyed Presence which, under the name
of Abolitionism, is majestically passing
through the land which is soon to be
her throne." And again, writh a moral
at the close consolatory to the struggles
of our own day : " It requires no gift
of prophecy to anticipate the fate of
an anomaly among a self-governing
people. Slavery was not always an
anomaly ; but it has become one. Its
doom is therefore sealed ; and its dura-
tion is now merely a question of time.
Any anxiety in the computation of
this time is reasonable ; for it will not
only remove a more tremendous curse
than can ever again desolate society,
but restore the universality of that
generous attachment to their common
institutions which has been, and will
again be, to the American people,
honor, safety, and the means of per-
petual progress."
On other subjects of everyday life
and manners, as well as in regard to
the general class of political topics, in
the working of elections, choice of
candidates, and the like, Miss Marti-
neau showed the acuteness and intelli-
gence which might have been expected
from one who had studied political
economy so thoroughly in the entire
range of its application to society
378
HARRIET MAKTINEAU.
Evils she found in abundance in po-
litical corruption, the elevation of un-
worthy men to office, and other un-
seemly exhibitions apparently at war
with the democratic principle, which,
however, she still clung to as the safe-
guard of the state. Let the people be
purified, is her argument, and the re-
sult will be right. What she writes
of the ignorant or depraved newspa-
pers of the time, she applies to other
objectionable outgrowths of the day
in politics or religion. "There will
be no great improvement," she writes,
" in the literary character of the Ameri-
can newspapers, till the literature of
the country has improved. Their
moral character depends upon the
moral taste of the people. This looks
like a very severe censure. If it be so,
the same censure applies elsewhere,
and English morals must be held ac-
countable for the slanders and cap-
tiousness displayed in the leading
articles of British journals, and for the
disgustingly jocose tone of their police
reports, where crimes are treated as
entertainments, and misery as a jest.
Whatever may be the exterior causes
of the Americans having been hitherto
ill-served in their newspapers, it is
now certain that there are none which
may not be overpowered by a sound
moral taste. In their country the de-
mand lies with the many. Whenever
the many demand truth and justice in
their journals, and reject falsehood and
calumny, they will be served accord-
ing to their desire."
Interspersed with the arguments and
reflections of the book, indeed com-
posing the largest part of it, are the
enlivening conversations with all clas-
ses of persons by the way, and the de
criptions of scenery, for the beautiea
of which the author has always a sym-
pathetic poet's eye. Passing over par-
ticular scenes, a sketch of the general
woodland features of the country may
be taken as an instance of the habitual
blending of her inner life with her
pictures of outward circumstances.
Writing of the trees which adorn the
course of the Connecticut, she writes:
" Hills of various height and declivity
bound the now widening, now con-
tracting valley. To these hills the
forest has retired; the everlasting
forest, from which, in America, we
cannot fly. I cannot remember that,
except in some parts of the prairies, I
was ever out of sight of the forest in
the United States; and I am sure I
never wished to be so. It was like
the ' verdurous wall of paradise,' con-
fining the mighty southern and west-
ern rivers to their channels. We
were, as it appeared, imprisoned in it
for many days together, as we travers-
ed the South-Eastern States. We
threaded it in Michigan ; we skirted it
in New York and Pennsylvania ; and,
throughout New England it bounded
every landscape. It looked down
upon us from the hill-tops ; it advanc-
ed into notice from every gap and
notch in the chain. To the native it
must appear as indispensable in the
picture gallery of nature as the sky.
To the English traveller it is a special
boon, an. added charm, a newly-created
grace, like the infant planet that wan-
ders across the telescope of the astrono-
mer. The English traveler finds him-
self never weary by day of prying into
the forest, from beneath its canopy
HARRIET MARTINEAU.
379
or, from a distance, drinking in its ex-
quisite hues: and his dreams, for
months or years, will be of the mossy
roots, the black pine, and silvery birch
stems, the translucent green shades of
the beech, and the slender creeper,
climbing like a ladder into the top-
most boughs of the dark holly, a
hundred feet high. He will dream of
the march of the hours through the
forest ; the deep blackness of night,
broken by the dim forest-fires, and
startled by the showers of sparks sent
abroad by the casual breeze, from the
burning stems. He will hear again
the shrill piping of the Whip-poor-will,
and the multitudiuous din from the
occasional swamp. He will dream of
the deep silence which precedes the
dawn ; of the gradual apparition of
the haunting trees coming faintly out
of the darkness ; of the first level rays,
instantaneously piercing the woods to
their very heart, and lighting them up
into boundless ruddy colonnades, gar-
landed with wavy verdure, and carpet-
ed with glittering wild-flowers. Or,
he will dream of the clouds of gay
butterflies, and gauzy dragon-flies, that
hover above the noon-day paths of the
forest, or cluster about some graceful
shrub, making it appear to bear at
once all the flowers of Eden. Or the
golden moon will look down through
his dream, making for him islands of
light in an ocean of darkness. He
may not see the stars but by glimpses ;
but the winged stars of those regions
• — the gleaming fire-flies — radiate from
•
every sleeping bough, and keep his
eye in fancy busy in following their
glancing, while his spirit sleeps in the
deep charms of the summer night.
Next to the solemn and various beauty
of the sea and sky, comes that of the
wilderness. I doubt whether the sub-
limity of the vastest mountain-range
can exceed that of the all-pervading
forest, when the imagination becomes
able to realize the conception of what
it .is."
Following the " Society in America,"
Miss Martineau published, 1838, a
sequel to that work entitled " Retro-
spect of Western Travel " presenting,
in a series of chapters covering the gen-
eral outline of her tour, a variety of
personal narratives, describing the pub-
lie men whom she had met, and various
minor incidents of travel. Less purely
philosophical than her former work,
it afforded more of entertainment
to the general reader, while it will
be equally valued hereafter as an
historical picture of life and manners*
which, in the rapid shifting of the
kaleidoscope of American life have
already given place to new combi-
nations of social effects.
Having thus far prosecuted a career
of successful authorship, the literary
activity of Miss Martineau was for a
long time uninterrupted — book follow-
ing book, with the regularity of the
seasons. Alongside of the American
Travels, appeared a volume written for a
series published by Mr. Charles Knight
under the general title " How to Ob-
serve," Miss Martineau taking for her
theme the wide range of "Morals and
Manners," the title of her book. Like
the " Society in America " of which it
was a species of offshoot, it is marked
by its philosophic method, the subject
being treated under the general divis-
ions of " Requisites for O bservation "
380
HARRIET MARTItfEAU.
and " What to Observe ;" both depart-
ments being illustrated in appropriate
subdivisions by a great variety of sug-
gestions on practical topics of every-
day occurrence. A chapter, for instance,
on " General Moral Notions " treats, in
an interesting manner, of such matters
as " Epitaphs," " Love of Kindred and
Birth-place," " Talk of Aged and Chil-
dren" "Prevalent Pride," "Popular
Idols ;" while, under the head of the
" Domestic State " there are discussions
of " Health," " Marriage and Women,"
" Children," and other kindred points.
Mainly a book for travellers into other
countries, it is a profitable companion
for those who pursue the journey of
life at home, and would have an intel-
ligent acquaintance with the principles
at work on the objects before and
around them.
Next in order to the books we have
noticed, Miss Martineau ventured on
the field of fiction in the production of
a regular novel. Her "Deerbrook,"
published in 1840, is the story of a man
who, from a mistaken motive of com-
passion, marries a woman whom he does
not love, while he deeply loves her sis-
ter, who is unconscious of his attach-
ment, and indifferent to him. The strug-
gle of conflicting passions is worked
out by the hero, and ends in his hap-
piness in his wedded life. " The Hour
and the Man," which succeeded this
novel, is a species of historical romance
founded on the story of " Toussaint
L'Ouverture, in which the life of that
hero with the tragic scenes of the Kev-
olution in St. Domingo, of which he
was the hero, are presented in vivid
colors. It was not, however, as a rival
to the novelists of the day that Miss
Martineau was to find her constant em
ployment. The cast of her mind was
too serious to be engaged in such a
contest, in which lighter pens were more
successful. She, however, in various
minor works of fiction, pursued the
path in which she had been first suc-
cessful, her new series of " The Play-
fellow," including "The Settlers at
Home," "The Peasant and the Prince/
" Feats -on the Fiord," and "The Crof
ton Boys," being received with favor.
She also wrote much of a direct prac-
tical character, furnishing several little
works as, " The Maid of all Work,"
"The Lady's Maid," "The House
Maid," and "The Dress Maker" to
Charles Knight's series of " Guide-
Books."
For a long time following the period
of these works the health of Miss Mar-
tineau was much impaired, so that she
was in a great measure, if not wholly, de-
barred from literary composition. Her
influential friends, who sympathized
with her, brought her case to the
notice of the government ; and Lord
Melbourne, would have conferred a pen-
sion upon her — but this she firmly and
magnanimously declined, in the words
of her biographer, Mr. Smiles, " hold-
ing it to be wrong that she, a political
writer, should receive a pension which
was not offered by the people, but by
a government which, in her opinion,
did not represent the people ; sincerely
desiring to retain her independence
and entire freedom of speech with res-
pect to government and all its affairs."
The disease under which Miss Mar-
tineau suffered was an obscure inter-
nal complaint, by which she was pros-
trated while travelling on the Conti-
HAKKIET MARTINEAU.
381
nent in the summer of 1849. She sank
lower and lower after her return home,
and, for nearly five years, never, felt
wholly at ease — this is her own account
- -for a single hour. " I seldom," she
says," had severe pain, but never en-
tire comfort. A besetting sickness, al-
most disabling me from taking food
for two years, brought me very low ;
and, together with other evils, it con-
fined me to a condition of almost en-
tire stillness, — to a life passed between
my bed and my sofa." From this dis-
tress she was at last relieved by a
course of Mesmeric treatment, which
she made the subject of a series of let-
ters, narrating her experiences in detail,
published by her in the "Athenaeum "
at the close of her year of deliverance,
1844. These papers, entering into the
general subject of Mesmerism, attrac-
ted much attention at the time, and
were the occasion of a medical con-
troversy carried on in the columns of
the journal. They were not the only
evidence furnished by the writer of her
restored health. In a previous publi-
cation, issued at the beginning of the
year, entitled "Life in a Sick Room,
she had given to the world, in a style
of unabated literary excellence, the
story of her experiences as an invalid.
Having chosen for her residence a
finely situated house at Tynemouth
overlooking the sea, she had, with the
aid of a telescope, the means of obser-
ving a large area of land and water
scenery, filled with life and animation,
which afforded her a constant subject
of instruction and amusement. Of
this view she gives a highly pleasing
account in her volume, describing the
sports, sea-side amusements, rural
n— 48.
occupations in the foreground, and nu-
merous picturesque accessories, to be
seen from her window. Within she had a
still more remarkable field of observa-
tion in the imaginations and workings
of her own mind, into which she enters
largely in the volume, making the book
a species of confessional of spiritual
experiences. Some of these appeared
to her readers as strange utterances ;
but the moral of the whole could not
fail to be admired, the recognition of
the superiority of the mind to all bod-
ily infirmity, a conviction of the tempo-
rary nature of pain, and of the sure
and lasting triumph of good over
evil.
Miss Martineau, on her restoration
to health, became again actively en-
gaged with the publishers. Returning
to her old walk of composition, she
produced three volumes of " Forest and
Game Law Tales." This was followed,
in 1846, by "The Billowandthe Rock"
a story founded on the abduction and
imprisonment in the Hebrides of Lady
Grange, wife of Lord Grange, on ac
count of hermisconduct or eccentricities.
The book was reviewed in the " Edin-
burgh," in its relation to the biograph-
ical incidents which suggested it, and
its moral commended. It gives ample
proof, says the writer of the article,
"that the restoration to health of the
author is complete, that her mental
powers have been strengthened rather
than impaired by Mesmerism, and
that her long trials have left no ti ac es
of other than healthful influences — such
as the admirable book entitled " Life
in the Sick Room "would lead every
reader of taste, feeling, or reflection to
expect."
382
HAKEIET MAKTINEAD.
The winter of 1846-7 was passed by
Miss Martineau in a tour with some
friends to Egypt, Palestine, and Syria,
her observations during which were
given to the public on her return, in
her work entitled " Eastern Life, Pres-
ent and Past." Like all her books, it
is graphic in its descriptive passages,
and candid in its revelations of her
opinions, entering boldly upon points
of theological learning and belief. In
the latter she held an independent po-
sition, apart from any of the great reli-
gious denominations of the day. Her
philosophical views were, a year or two
later, again brought prominently before
the public in a published correspond-
ence with her friend, Mr. H. Gr. At-
kinson, " On the Laws of Man's Na-
ture and Development ; " followed, in
1853, by her condensed version of
Comte's '' Positive Philosophy." A
History of England during the Thirty
Years' Peace following 1815, a work of
much interest, the completion of a gen-
eral History of England begun by
Charles Knight, is among the most im-
portant of her later works, among
which are to be included an interesting
series of " Biographical Sketches con
tributed since 1852 to the London
'Daily News;'" a book on "Household
Education," a collection of papers from
the " People's Journal," and a " Com-
plete Guide to the Lake Country," in
which she has long resided, in a cot-
tage built for herself at Ambleside.
Miss Martineau, though suffering
from a fatal disease of the heart, the
nature of which was fully made known
to her in 1855, survived the announce-
ment for more than twenty years, her
death occurring at her rural home in
the Lake Country, on the 27th of June,
1876, when she had attained the age
of seventy-four. Her decease was sig-
nalized by the appearance in the Lon-
don " Daily News " of an extraordinary
obituary — a notice of her career pre-
pared by herself and entrusted to the
editor for this posthumous publication.
It was characterized by unusual candor
and self-knowledge, her criticism of
her own powers and performances be
ing marked by severe discrimination
It was an abridgment of a fuller Au-
tobiography which she left ready foi
publication, her enduring memorial.
CHARLES DICKENS.
THE true biography of an original
author, to a greater degree than
is generally supposed, is to be found
in his writings. His life history is
written in his works. Though it may
not always lie on the surface for the
observation of the casual reader, or be
expressed in definite fact or very clear
outline, yet it exists implicitly in-
wrought in every mental product. Of
course, what is purely mathematical or
scientific must be exempted in this re-
mark ; but it is essentially true of all
that involves knowledge of the world,
taste, feeling, imagination — in fine, of
what constitutes the man in his moral
relations or social experiences. Regret
is often expressed at the scantiness of
the materials for a life of Shakespeare ;
but, if we had the faculty to discover
it, the story of the man is to be found
written on every page of his writings,
not merely in the peculiarities of his
mind, his ways of thinking, but in his
outer existence, his contact with the
world. So too of Dante, of Milton, of
Wordsworth, and others, who would
seem to have lived quite apart from
their race. The secret lies in their
very originality. Mere copyists and
imitators tell us nothing; inventors
tell us everything, It is an old philo-
sophical saying that nothing is con-
ceived in the mind which has not be-
fore existed in the world of the senses.
Whatever may be our theory of in-
nate ideas, we must acknowledge the
obligations of the soul to impressions
from without. The poet Shelley, one
of the most ideal of the race, tells us
of his. craft, that they learn in suffer-
ing what they teach in song. Every
sigh, every aspiration, every consola-
tion has its antecedent in some exper-
ience, has been somehow taught or
communicated; and, if we had the
clues for the investigation, history or
biography in all authorship worth the
name, would be coextensive with per-
formance. Every metaphor, every
simile, every illustration, has its story,
for it is but the interpretation of an
idea by some fact of experience, men-
tal or physical, or both combined. Be-
hind the poet is always the man in his
everyday relations. He refines and
sublimates them, elevating common-
ness into nobility, extracting beauty
from deformity, virtue from vice, by a
species of subtle transmutation; but
it is the plain earth and ordinary hu-
manity from which he rises. If all
1383)
384
CHAELES DICKENS.
this is to be discovered in the poets, it
is much more to be suspected in the
novelists, who have actual manners
and customs for their constant theme.
Consequently, when, at the end of
their career, they sit down to tell their
story, it is frequently, as in the case of
Sir "Walter Scott, simply to inform the
public that it has had the better part
of it already in their writings.
Another extraordinary confirmation
of this observation is furnished in the
"Life of Charles Dickens," the most
fertile and inventive of authors. Not
only is his character written in the
general philosophy of his writings,
but you may find there, under a thin
disguise, the incidents and adventures
of his career, much derived from ob-
servation which, indeed, implies in-
dividual insight, much from real per-
sonal suffering or action. His biog-
raphy, as related by his chosen confi-
dant during life, and literary executor,
John Forster, is constantly drawn
from or illustrated by his published
writings, and the result is highly ad-
vantageous to both. We are inspired
in the recital with fresh sympathy and
love for the man, and with a profoun-
der regard for the humanity and truth-
fulness of his writings.
The father of Charles Dickens, for
his biographers do not care or are not
able to trace his ancestry higher, was
John Dickens, at the time of his son's
birth a clerk in the Navy Pay Office,
stationed in the Portsmouth dockyard.
He was married to Elizabeth Barrow,
whose brother was also engaged in
government employment. They had
altogether a family of eight children,
of whom Fanny, born in 1810, was
the oldest. Charles, the second child,
was born at Landport, in Portsea
February 7, 1812. His baptismal
name was Charles John Huffham, but
he very wisely, for the convenience ot
the public, confined himself in his
days of authorship to the first of these
designations. His infancy, following
the places where his father was sta-
tioned, was passed at Portsea, London ;
and, between his fourth or fifth and
ninth years, at the dockyard at Chat-
ham. At this period, he is described
as " a very little and a very sickly
boy, subject to attacks of violent
spasm, which disabled him for any ac-
tive exertion." This inability to en-
gage in the ordinary boisterous sports
of childhood left him much to himself,
and encouraged habits of reading and
observation. He was taught the ele-
ments of English by his mother, and,
after a time, some Latin. For the
rest, he went with his sister Fanny to
a preparatory day school at Chatham,
and later at a school kept by a young
Baptist minister named Giles, who
seems to have discovered his capa-
city. Happily for the future of the
child, he was early thrown in the way
of the English novelists, in a cheap
popular series of the day, Fielding,
Smollett, Goldsmith, and the immortal
fictions of Cervantes, and Le Sage,
He also made the acquaintance of the
British Essayists, and of a host of
pleasant dramatic entertainments in
Mrs. Inchbald's Collection of Farces
But the story is worth telling in Dick-
ens' own words, as he has related it in
the" Personal Experiences and History
of David Copperfield." The passage,
it appears, was written as it stands
CHAELES DICKENS.
385
for an intended autobiography, before
it was inserted in the novel.
" My father," says he, " had left a
small collection of books in a little
room up-stairs, to which I had access,
for it adjoined my own, and which
nobody else in our house ever trou-
bled. From that blessed little room,
' Roderick Random,' l Peregrine Pickle,'
'Humphrey Clinker/ 'Tom Jones,'
1 The Vicar of Wakefield,' ' Don Quix-
ote,' ' Gil Bias,' and ' Robinson Crusoe,'
came out, a glorious host to keep me
company. They kept alive my fancy,
and my hope of something beyond
that place and time — they, and the
'Arabian Nights,' and the 'Tales of
the Genii ' — and did me no harm ; for
whatever harm was in some of them
was not there for me ; /knew nothing
of it. It is astonishing to me now,
how I found time, in the midst of my
porings and blunderings over heavier
themes, to read those books as I did.
It is curious to me how I could ever
have consoled myself under my small
troubles, which were great troubles to
me, by impersonating my favorite
characters in them. I have been Tom
Jones — a child's Tom Jones, a harm-
less creature — for a week together. I
have sustained my own idea of Roder-
ick Random for a month at a stretch,
I verily believe. I had a greedy relish
for a few voyages and travels — I forget
what, now — that were on those
shelves ; and for days and days I can
remember to have, gone about my re-
gion of our house, armed with the
centre-piece out of an old set of boot-
trees, the perfect realization of Cap-
tain Somebody, of the Royal British
Navy, in danger of being beset by
savages, and resolved to sell his life at
a great price. When I think of it, the
picture always rises in my mind, of a
summer evening, the boys at play in
the churchyard, and I sitting on my
bed, reading as if for life. Every barn
in the neighborhood, every stone in
the church, and every foot of the
churchyard, had some association of
its own, in my mind, connected with
these books, and stood for some local-
ity made famous in them. I have seen
Tom Pipes go climbing up the church-
steeple; I have watched Strajj, with
the knapsack on his back, stopping to
rest himself upon the wicket-gate ; and
I Icno w that Commodore Trunnion
held that club with Mr. Pickle, in
the parlor of our little village ale-
house."
Dickens was accustomed to look
back tenderly upon this period of his
life, with a certain quaint impression
of his diminutive size and sensitive
way of thinking, and has woven his
recollections of himself into many a
touching boy legend in his books.
There was one reminiscence which he
was fond of narrating — how, when a
boy at Chatham, passing on the road
near Rochester, and admiring a fair
country house by the way, his father
said to him he might yet have it to
live in, if he would only work hard
enough ; and how it did, long years
after, become his own, and was his
favorite Gad's Hill Estate. There is a
very pleasant version of this incident
in a number of Dickens's " Uncommer-
cial Traveller," when the said traveller
midway between Gravesend and
is
Rochester, and meets, on the highway
"a very queer, small boy," whom he
386
CHAKLES DICKENS.
proceeds to interrogate. " Holloa ! "
said I to the very queer small boy,
"Where do you live?" "At Chatham,"
says he. " What do you do there ? "
says I. " I go to school," says he. I
took him up in a moment, and we
went on. Presently, the very queer,
small boy says, "This is Gad's Hill
we are coming to, where Falstaff went
out to rob those travellers, and ran
away." " You know something about
Falstaff, eh?" said I. "All about
him," said the very que^r, small boy.
" I am old (I am nine) and I read all
sorts of books. But do let us stop at
the top of the hill, and look at the
house there, if you please ! " " You
admire that house ? " said I. " Bless
you, sir," said the very queer, small
boy, " when I was not more than half
as old as nine, it used to be a treat for
me to be brought to look at it. And
now, I am nine, I come by myself to
look at it. And ever since I can re-
collect, my father, seeing me so fond
of it, has often said to me : 'If you
were to be very persevering, and were
to work hard, you might some day
come to live in it.' Though that's im-
possible ! " said the very queer, small
boy, drawing a long breath, and now
staring at the house out of window
with all his might. I was rather
amazed to be told this by the very
queer, small boy ; for that house hap-
pens to be my house, and I have
reason to believe that what he said
was true."
It was upon the whole a joyous life
for the child at Chatham; he was
praised for his recitation (of a humor-
ous piece) at school; he sang comic
songs, to the delight of his ^riends, and
regaled his boyish companions with a
tragedy of his own composing, made
up out of the "Tales of the Genii."
There was thus a fair prospect of a
happy development of his gentle na-
ture, when his father removed to Lon-
don ; and, his pecuniary affairs getting
into an unhappy condition, the family
was compelled to take up its residence
in Bayhani Street, Camden Town, a
poverty-stricken suburb of the great
city. There were no fit acquaintances
for the child here, but such company
as Goldsmith had about him in Green
Arbor Court. Goldsmith, however,
was a man when he lived there, and
might endure it or be indifferent to it.
The craving soul of the young Dick-
ens, just opening to all the refinements
of life, starved in such associations;
and the prospect within doors was
worse under the accumulating depres-
sions of want. It was a terrible thing
for a child to witness this degradation
from all respectability of living, with
the neglect of all proper care and edu-
cation, while he was put to menial oc-
cupations ; and there grew up in his
soul a. fearful interest in the debased
life around him. A sickly boy, his
imagination was excited, and it fed on
what was nearest to him. " To be
taken out for a walk into the real
town," we are told, "especially if it
were anywhere about Co vent Garden
or the Strand, perfectly entranced him
with pleasure. But most of all he had
a profound attraction of repulsion to
St. Giles's. If he could only induce
whomsoever took him out to take him
through Seven Dials, he was supreme-
ly happy. l Good Heaven,' he would
exclaim, ' what wild visions of prodi-
CHARLES DICKERS.
387
gies of wickedness, want and beggary,
arose in my mind out of that place ! ' "
May not these impressions, with this
early acquaintanceship with misery,
have had their effect in after-life, in
attracting the author to those darker
shades of London life which sometimes
oppress his pages ? But there was a
deeper woe yet to be suffered by the
child, in descending into the abyss the
family was now steadily traversing.
Meanwhile, his nature was throwing
out its tendrils in search of amusement
and recreation ; which it found then, as
through life, in the humorous observa-
tion of manners and character. He
visited an old uncle, his mothers
brother, who was laid up from a fall?
and was so tickled with the conversa-
tion of an old barber he met there,
that he wrote a description of him,
which he kept to himself, for he was
too timid to come forward in this way.
There was abundant food for medita-
tion in store for him. Young as he
was when he commenced authorship,
he was truly to know life before writ-
ing about it. The Dickens' fortunes
were rapidly waning. Mrs. Dickens
projected a school, an " Establishment"
as it was called on the brass door-plate
of a house taken for the purpose ; and
young Dickens, as he tells us, went
about " leaving at a great many other
doors, a great many circulars calling
attention to the merits of the Establish-
ment. Yet nobody ever came to school,
nor do I recollect that anybody ever
proposed to come, or that the least
preparation was made to receive any-
body. But I know that we got on
very badly with the butcher and baker:
that very often we had not too much
for dinner ; and that at last my father
was arrested."
In this downward progress, Charles
was employed as the negotiator with
that last trader with misfortune, the
pawnbroker. One article of house-
hold use or comfort went after another;
and, following them, the old novels
and romances, which were sold for a
trifle to a stall-keeper — who, however
in the end, paid up the difference by
furnishing a page descriptive of his
dirty ways to David Copper-field.
Then father and mother went to the
Marshalsea, and there occurred the ac-
tual prison scenes with Micawber and
his new acquaintances, set 4own in the
fiction, — Micawber, with some allow-
ances, standing for the elder Dickens,
and Captain Hopkins in the story
being a real personage, with a simple
change of name from that of Captain
Porter. While these events were oc-
curring, young Charles was provided
for after a peculiar fashion. A person
connected with the family had become
interested in a blacking manufactory,
set up by a man named Warren as a
rival to tJie celebrated Warren, one of
his relatives, at 30 Strand. This oppo-
sition Warren had his warehouses at
30 Hungerford Stairs, Strand ; and, by
printing the number and Strand very
large and the rest of the direction very
small, was able to confuse the public
mind and compete with the better-
known article. Charles, without re-
gard to the further work of education
before him, was taken to the Hungei -
ford Stairs establishment, and giveii
employment at the rate of six or seven
shillings a week. "It was," writes
Dickens, in his reminiscences given to
388
CHARLES DICKENS.
Mr. Foster, " a crazy, tumble-down old
house, abutting, of course, on the riv-
er, and literally overrun with rats.
Its wainscoted rooms, and its rotten
floors and staircase, and the old gray
rats swarming down in the cellars, and
their squeaking and scuffling, coming
up the stairs at all times, and the dirt
and decay of the place, rise up visibly
before me, as if I were there again.
The counting-house was on the first
floor, looking over the coal barges and
the river. There was a recess in it, in
which I was to sit and work. My
work was to cover the pots of paste-
blacking ; first with a piece of oil-paper
and then wrth a piece of blue paper ;
to tie them round with a string ; and
then to clip the paper close and neat,
all round, until it looked as smart as
a pot of ointment from an apothecary's
shop. When a certain number of
grosses of pots had attained this pitch
of perfection, I was to paste on each
a printed label, and then go on
again with more pots."
The associations of such a life were
a cause of intense suffering to the sen-
sitive boy, and long after to the man,
in haunting recollections of the period.
" No words," he writes, " can express
the secret agony of my soul, as I sunk
into this companionship, compared
these every-day associates with those
of my happier childhood, and felt my
earlier hopes of growing up to be a
learned and distinguished man, crushed
in my heart. The deep remembrance
of the sense I had of being utterly neg-
lected and hopeless ; of the shame I felt
in my position ; of the misery it was to
my young heart, to believe that, day
by day, what I had learned, and
thought, and delighted in, and raised
my fancy and my emulation up by
was passing away from me, never to
be brought back any more, cannot
be written. My whole nature was so
penetrated with the grief and humilia-
tion of such considerations, that even
now, famous, and caressed, and happy,
I often forget, in my dreams, that
I have a dear wife and children;
even that I am a man; and wander
desolately back to that time of mj
life." The little incidents of that time
of servitude, when the boy was left to
provide for himself out of that scanty
pittance of a shilling a day ; how, as
he tells us, he "tried, but ineffectually,
not to anticipate the money, and make
it last the week through, by putting it
away in a drawer he had in the count-
ing-house, wrapped into six little par-
cels, each parcel containing the same
amount, and labeled with a different
day;" how he wandered about the
streets, ill-fed, lonely and desolate,
seeking with his sister, chance hours
of home, in visits to his parents in the
prison; acquitting himself meanwhile
faithfully and nobly, it may be said,
in his poor calling ; acquiring great
dexterity in its humble work, and,
child as he was, sacrificing none of his
higher nature in it ; how crowds gazed
in at the window where he was at work,
wondering at its rapidity ; how, among
his fellow-workmen, he got the name ol
" the young gentleman ;" and how all
this misery was relieved by his consti
tutional gaiety of disposition, and a ca
pacity of humorous observation, which
showed at once his sympathy with,
and superiority to the humiliating
conditions around him: all this may
CHARLES DICKENS.
389
he read under a thin concealment in
his romance of "David Copperfield," or
better, in his own still more feeling
narrative, where a^ain " truth is strane--
' O O
er than fiction."
Happily, the boy very soon escaped
from this house of bondage. A timely
legacy from a relative released his fa-
ther from the Marshalsea, and the
family were again in lodgings togeth-
er. Soon an opportune quarrel occur-
red between the elder Dickens and
the blacking proprietor, growing out
of some treatment of the child, and he
was discharged from the employment.
After this, he was secured the privi-
lege of attending as a day scholar at a
suburban school, kept by a Mr. Jones,
and dignified with the sign of the
Wellington House Academy. A hu-
morous description of this establish-
ment may be found in one of the
papers of " Household Words," writ-
ten by Dickens at the age of forty, en-
titled " Our School " —a kindly remi-
niscence of a miscellaneous sort of life,
with very little in it about books and
learning, and a great deal about the
comical associations of the place, and
the accomplishments of certain white
mice, who were trained by the boys
"much better than the master trained
the boys." An old schoolfellow, Dr.
Dawson, supplements this account in
Mr. Forster's narrative, with some in-
teresting additional circumstances. He
is very doubtful whether Dickens was
much of a scholar there, or studied
Greek or Latin at all ; but has a lively
recollection of his spirit of fun* and
frolic ; of his writing little tales which
were circulated among the boys ; of his
active participation in getting up small
n.— 49.
theatres, and the gorgeous style in
which he presented the " Miller and
his Men ;" and, on one occasion, of his
"heading us in Drummond-street, in
pretending to be poor boys, and ask-
ing the passers-by for charity, — espe-
cially old ladies, one of whom told us
she * had no money for beggar boys ;'
and when, on these adventures, the old
ladies were quite staggered by tho
impudence of the demand, Dickens
would explode with laughter, and
take to his heels."
He was two years at this academy,
from twelve to fourteen, and for a
short time afterward, at another Lon-
don school, when a place was obtained
for him as an office lad, with an attor-
ney in Gray's Inn, where he passed a
year or so at a salary of thirteen, raised
to fifteen shillings a week. The elder
Dickens having meanwhile become a
newspaper parliamentary reporter,
Charles left his rudimentary service
of the law, to qualify himself, by the
assiduous study of short-hand, for his
father's new vocation. It was a toil-
some occupation ; and, as the novelist
drawing from his own experience, has
plunged young Copperfield. into its
difficulties, the public is pretty fa-
miliar with the nature of them. He
learnt the art thoroughly, taking a year
or more to its acquisition, while he was
also attaining a great variety of knowl-
edge in a constant attendance at the
o
reading-room of the British Museum.
At the age of nineteen, he was fairly
at his work, reporting debates in the
galleries of the Houses of Parliament
for the " True Sun ;" afterwards for
the " Mirror of Parliament," and in his
twenty-third year for the "Morning
390
CHAELES DICKENS.
Chronicle " — in all four years of excel-
lent discipline in readiness and acute-
ness of perception, in an apt study of
language, and. the art of rapid compo-
sition. In after-life, he often recurred
to this period of exertion. It gave
him a sympathy with newspaper men
which he never lost. Nor was it a
mere routine employment in London.
His duties carried him to different
parts of England on public occasions,
where eminent men were the speakers,
and a report was to be transmitted
with the utmost speed to the capital.
There was no telegraphing in those
days. The reporter traveled by ex-
press, and wrote out the speech from
his rough notes or hieroglyphics, while
he was hurried at midnight over the
ground. " I have often," said Dickens,
at an annual dinner of the Newspaper
Press Fund, in 1865, " transcribed for
the printer, from my short-hand notes,
important public speeches, in which
the strictest accuracy was required,
and a mistake would have been to a
young man extremely compromising,
writing in the palrn of my hand, by
the light of a dark-lantern in a post
chaise and four, galloping through a
wild country and in the dead of
night, at the then surprising rate of
fifteen miles an hour. Returning home
from exciting political meetings in the
country to the waiting press in Lon-
don, I do verily believe I have been
upset in almost every description of
vehicle known in this country. I have
been, in my time, belated on miry by-
roads, towards the small hours, forty
or fifty miles from London, in a wheel-
less carriage, with exhausted horses !
and drunken post-boys, and have got j
back in time for publication, to be re
ceived with never - forgotten compli-
ments by the late Mr. Black, coming
in the broadest Scotch from the broad-
est of hearts I ever knew." The friend-
ship and appreciation of Mr. Black, the
editor of the "Morning Chronicle,"
gave Dickens his first real encourage-
ment in his pursuits of literature, and
he never forgot it.
For he was now entering on that
career of authorship which continued
to the end. His first appearance in
print as a writer, was in January,
1834, when an article by him was
published in the " Old Monthly Maga
zine," — that chapter of the " Sketches
by Boz," entitled " Mrs. Joseph Porter,"
an amusing story of certain private
theatricals at a cockney London villa,
which were brought to confusion by
the artful interference of that envious
lady. This sketch had been secretly
dropped by Dickens as a voluntary
contribution into the letter-box of the
publishers. When he bought the
number which contained it, at a shop
in the Strand, he was so overcome
with emotion, that, as he tells us, he
"walked down to Westminster Hall,
and turned into it for half an hour, be
cause my eyes were so dimmed with
joy and pride, that they could not
bear the street, and were not fit to be
seen there." Other contributions to
the " Monthly Magazine" followed, one
of them having the signature " Boz,"
which he adopted and maintained for
some time on the title-pages of his
books. It was a ludicrous nick-name
which he had given to a younger bro-
ther, whom he called '* Moses," out of
the " Vicar of Wakefield," and Moses
CHAELES DICKENS.
391
jegenerating in nursery parlance into
" Bozes," ended in " Boz." The
" Monthly " being in a very feeble
condition, could pay nothing, so the
free-will offerings of tales and sketches
having proved successful, were contin-
ued in a new series in the " Evening
Chronicle," a supplement to the " Morn-
ino- Chronicle," on whicli the author
O '
was engaged as reporter. At the be-
ffinnino; of 1836, a first series of the
DO '
sketches in book form, was published
by Macrone, who purchased the copy-
right for a conditional payment of one
hundred and fifty pounds. The work,
entitled " Sketches by Boz, Illustrative
of E very-day Life and E very-day Peo-
ple," appeared in two volumes, with
illustrations by George Cruikshank.
In happy facility of style, originality
of material, and humorous treatment,
it exhibited the germs of his best later
writings. So unerring was his genius,
that nothing which he ever published
from the beginning, can be spared
from his collected works.
The "Sketches" led the way at
once to the production of the " Pick-
wick Papers." Chapman and Hall, a
young publishing house in the Strand
were issuing a Library of Fiction ; for
which their editor, familiar with the
" Monthly Magazine," had secured a tale
by Dickens, " The Tuggs at Ramsgate."
They were also the publishers of one
of the numerous comic books illustra-
ted by Seymour, an artist of consider-
able force of humor, particularly in his
caricatures of cockney sportsmen. He
now proposed a new series of sporting
adventures, to be issued monthly, for
which he would furnish the designs.
A writer was wanted to supply the
text. Dickens, who had already fur«
nished the publishers a story, was
naturally thought of, and it was pro-
posed to him. He consented — with an
important modification, however, of
the plan. As laid before him, it was
to embrace simply a Nimrod Club, in-
volved in various fishing and sporting
adventures and the like. Seeing at
once that this was a worn-out device>
and having himself little experience in
that way, he projected an original
serial work of greater variety, in which
the plates should illustrate the text
rather than the text be written for the
plates. So the Pickwick Club was
adopted, with a concession to the idea
of the artist in the introduction of the
cockney sporting member, Mr. Win-
kle. Soon after it was thus planned,
the first number was given to the
world, on the last day of March, 1836,
with the title of the "Posthumous
Papers of the Pickwick Club, edited
by Boz ; " and, simultaneously with
its issue, on the 2nd of April, the
author was married to Catharine,
daughter of George Hogarth, a writer
of some celebrity on topics relating to
music, and engaged upon the "Morn-
ing Chronicle." Thus two of the most
important events of the author's life
occurred within the same week. The
publication of "Pickwick," however,
was not at the outset the great success
it shortly proved. There was a very
small sale for the first few numbers,
and some embarrassment was caused
by the death of the artist, Mr. Sey-
mour, in a fit of melancholy, by his
own hand, between the issue of the
first and second numbers. Mr. Hablot
K. Browne, known so long in connec-
392
CHAKLES DICKENS.
tion with the illustration of Dickens'
novels, by his designation of "Phiz,"
was then engaged ; and, by the time he
had got fairly to Avork in the fourth
or fifth number, the public had got
wind of the merits of the story ; and
its success, rising to the end, was firm-
ly established. A sale of a few hun-
dreds at the beginning reached nearly
forty thousand before its close. The
flame of popular enthusiasm kindled
by Mr. Pickwick and the Wellers
spread everywhere. "Pickwick" became
the rage in England and America, and
wherever the English language was
spoken. The interest is easy to ac-
count for, since it has hardly been
diminished by time ; for " Pickwick "
remains one of the author's most thor-
oughly enjoyable books — the fresh-
ness of style, the exuberance of animal
spirits, the pervading humor, the good-
humored benevolence, the wholesome
satire, were unrivalled at the time in
this species of literature. There was
new life and new delight in every page,
and the public neartily relished it.
Before engaging upon "Pickwick,"
Dickens had become much interested
in the theatre, and, at the close of the
year 1836, two pieces from his pen,
" The Strange Gentleman," a farce, and
" The Village Coquettes," an operatic
burletta, were successfully produced
at the St. James' Theatre, Harley and
Braham taking the principal charac-
ters.
Under the spur of the needs of mar-
ried life, and the demands of his gen-
erous impulses, the author somewhat
hastily committed himself to new liter-
ary enterprises. Before "Pickwick"
had been many months under way, an
engagement was formed with the pub
lisher, Bentley, to edit a Magazine,
commencing with the new year, and
furnish to its pages a continuous story.
So the year 1837 found him engaged
at once on " Oliver Twist," in " Bent-
ley's Miscellany," and the later num
bers of " Pickwick." He was also em-
ployed at this time with editing, which
involved to a considerable extent re-
writing, the Memoirs of the celebrated
clown, Joseph Griinaldi, who, for a
year before his death, had been en-
gaged in writing a full account of his
life and adventures. The manuscript
had been revised by a Mr. Wilks ; and,
in this state, was about to be issued
by Bentley, when he availed himself
of the ability and sudden popularity
of the author of "Pickwick" to pre-
sent it in the most attractive and pro-
fitable way to the public. It was a
subject after Dickens' own heart, and
he infused into the book his peculiar
humor, prefacing it with a delightful
introductory chapter, in which the
boy's admiration for the performances
of the circus — and what admiration
of the circus is equal to the boy's ? —
lives in every line. The work, capi-
tally illustrated by George Cruik-
shank, appeared in two volumes early
in 1838. There is to be added also to
the record of his labors of this year, a
pleasant little volume, published an-
onymously by Chapman and Hall,
"Sketches of Young Gentlemen," a
companion to " Sketches of Young
Ladies " from another pen, and follow-
ed by " Sketches of Young Ladies " in
another volume from his own. In the
previous summer of 1837, he visited
Belgium on a short excursion, accom
CHARLES DICKENS.
393
paiiied by his wife and Mr. Hablot
Browne, the artist, noticeable as the
first of those trips to the Continent
which were so often afterwards the
solace of his overwrought powers.
The successive chapters of c< Oliver
Twist," running through the year 1838,
secured a splendid success for " Bent-
ley's Miscellany." The new story was
more artistic in its form, and awaken-
ed a deeper interest than the light hu-
mors of the " Pickwick Papers." Its
pathetic story of the youth of Oliver,
its exhibition of the poor-house sys-
tem, and the profounder horrors of the
career of crime of Fagin and his com-
panions in London, touched the springs
of pity and terror with a master's
hand. There was abundance of amuse-
ment in the work, relieving the else
insupportable pressure of vice and
misery ; but the effect upon the whole
was tragic. It raised the author at
once from the class of writers for mere
entertainment into a moralist and in-
structor. Henceforth the humorous,
the pathetic, often elevated into the
sublime, became the joint characteris-
tics of his works. George Cruikshank,
too, in the series of remarkable etch-
ings which accompanied the work, ex-
hibited his best and strongest powers.
Meantime, while " Oliver Twist "
was being published, another serial
was before the public as the successor
to "Pickwick," in similar monthly
parts, "The Life and Adventures of
Nicholas Nickleby," introducing the
world to the abuses of the Yorkshire
schools in the famous Dotheboy's Hall,
a name which was a curative prescrip-
tion in itself, with Squeers and his in-
teresting family, and that wondrous
Mantalini and Newman Noggs, the
Brothers Cheery ble, and that amuse-
ing world in which the Crummies
family passed their existence. The
reading public was again shaken with
laughter or weeping in sympathy with
sufferin g. After " Nickleby " had run
its course in twenty monthly parts, its
author entered upon a new style of
publication, in the weekly issues of
"Master Humphrey's Clock," the de-
vice of the meeting of a club, as a
vehicle for the introduction of a great
variety of papers reflecting the topics
of the day in playful satire, with es-
says somewhat in the vein of the
"Spectator" and Goldsmith with
modern additions, short tales, et cetera,
supported by longer works of fiction.
The idea was entered upon with the
author's usual felicity ; but the old men
of the club proved too quiet, and the
clock machinery was somewhat cum-
brous ; the public did not enter heart-
ily into it ; not even the introduction
of the Wellers, a dangerous experi-
ment, could save the miscellaneous por-
tions of the work. So they were
gradually abandoned, and the interest
concentrated upon the main story,
" The Old Curiosity Shop," the person-
ages of which fiction created a wonder-
ful interest in the public mind. In
deed, we doubt whether any of the
author's pathetic characters has pro-
duced a deeper impression than " Lit-
tle Nell;" while Dick Swiveller, the
Marchioness, and a host of others in
the book, speedily became universal
favorites. In its successor, " Barnaby
Rudge," the author left his great field,
the life of London in his own day, for
the historic period of 1780, the action
394
CHARLES DICKENS.
of the work turning upon the "No
Popery " riots of that year. The subject
offered great opportunities for his rare
and peculiar talent in description, and
he invested it with all the resources of
his fancy and imagination. The plea-
sant life of the Varden Pamily, in this
book, is to be remembered with the
vivid descriptions of the city in tumult
ind conflagration ; nor is Barnaby's
'Raven," as real a personage as any,
to be forgotten among the rest.
Encouraged by the praises of Lord
Jeffrey, Dickens, in the summer of
1841, accepted an invitation to Edin-
burgh, where the most enthusiastic re-
ception awaited him. The hospitali-
ties freely extended to him by the
most distinguished persons of the city,
began with a public dinner, over
which Professor Wilson presided. He
was presented with the freedom of the
city, visited its historic localities, and
was overwhelmed with attentions dur-
ing his stay. On leaving the city, he
made a tour in the western Highlands,
where he seems, from his letters, to
have encountered extraordinary diffi-
culties and privations from the unu-
sual tempests and floods of the season.
The pass of Grlencoe, under these cir-
cumstances, impressed him as the
height of the terrible and sublime.
Shortly after his return from these ad-
ventures, the weekly issues of " Master
Humphrey's Clock " were brought to
an end with the conclusion of " Bar-
naby Rudge," when, weary of his
crowded and continuous labors, he re-
solved upon a year's interval before
commencing the publication of an-
other serial work. He was of too rest-
less a nature, however, to remain long
idle, or to take much repose. The
warm reception of his writings in
America, particularly of the recent
character, Little Nell, with the hearty
commendations of Washington Irving
O O
and other friendly correspondents,
turned his thoughts across the Atlan-
tic, and he suddenly resolved to em-
ploy a part of his leisure in a visit to
the United States. Setting sail in the
steamship " Britannia," from Liverpool,
on the 3d of January, 1842, he reached
Boston, after a boisterous wintry pas-
sage of eighteen days; and, immediate-
ly upon his landing, was received with
a flood of hospitalities hardly less tem-
pestuous than the voyage. At the
ontset, with his accustomed heartiness
of disposition, he entered vigorously
into the festivities and receptions, but
soon found that the enthusiasm of a
nation was too much to be encountered
by one man. The whole reading world
of America, and that embraced pretty
much all but children in the cradle,
seemed intent upon doing him homage,
at balls, dinners, private parties, and
in every method of congratulation and
compliment. As at Edinburgh, the
most eminent citizens were foremost in
their attentions at Boston, New York,
and elsewhere on his route, by Wash-
ington and the Ohio, to the west at St,
Louis. There was much to please, and
much with which he was really de-
lighted ; but, as commonly happens in
such wholesale affairs, there was much
also that was annoying and displeas-
ing. Curiosity was excited, and was
gratified at the expense of the illus-
trious traveller. All sorts of weak,
womanly enthusiasm were poured out
upon him with multifarious civilities,
CHAELES DICKERS.
395
to the exclusion of rest and privacy.
It was decidedly too much of a good
thing. The fools, as usual, where no-
toriety was to be gained for them-
selves, rushed in, and the angels, in
their respectful timidity, began to
stay at home. There was a sad want
of good management in this unprece-
dented author's progress. He was
well nigh bored to death. No human
being could stand such persistent lion-
izing by men and women of weak
minds. Writing piteously, towards
the end of his journey, to his friend
Forster, he says : " I really think my
face has acquired a fixed expression of
sadness, from the constant and unmiti-
gated boring I endure. The have
carried away all my cheerfulness.
There is a line in my chin (on the
right side of the under lip), indelibly
fixed there by the New Englander I
told you of. I have the print of a
crow's foot on the outside of my left
eye, which I attribute to the literary
characters of small towns. A dimple
has vanished from my cheek, which I
felt myself robbed of at the time by a
wise legislator." In fact, when Dick-
ens left the country in June, by the
way of Canada, he carried with him a
sense of weariness and disappointment,
which found vent shortly after his re-
turn to London in the publication of
two decidedly bilious volumes, entitled
11 American Notes for General Circula-
tion." His private letters to Forster
disclose the motives of much of the
acerbity which he displayed in this
work. Soon after his arrival in Amer-
ica, he undertook, in his public speech-
es, to further the interests of interna-
tional copyright by appeals for legis-
lation on the subject. Though what
he said on this topic was perfectly
just, it was misrepresented by many
whose interests were opposed to the
measure; while others, inclined, per-
haps, to estimate empty applause too
highly, thought it ungracious that he
should in any way disturb the na-
tional conscience, while he was partak-
ing such unbounded hospitality. It
would certainly have been better if he
had left the question toothers. As it
was, his good humor was unhappily
affected by the result. The book
which he published, with much in it
to admire in humor and happy des-
cription, was felt to be too satirical, if
not decidedly contemptuous, to pro-
ceed with propriety from the accepted
g-uest of the nation. With all its home
o
truths admitted, it proved that the
author was too little of a philosopher
to lay aside the peculiar insular preju-
dice of his countrymen, and estimate
the circumstances in which he had
been placed at their proper value. This
lack of a higher philosophic element
was, in truth, the defect of his charac-
ter and writings.
In his next novel, "Martin Chuz-
zlewit," the publication of which
was commenced in the serial form in
January, 1843, Dickens drew upon his
American experiences or antipathies in
carrying his hero across the Atlantic,
among the editors and politicians.
This, however, was but an episode in
the work, its main strength lying in
the portraiture of Mr. Pecksniff, a type
of social hypocrisy, and in the exquis-
ite comic representations of Mrs. Gamp,
decidedly one of the best of his hu-
morous creations. Somehow, the cir-
396
CHAELES DICKENS.
dilation of this work did not at once
attain the extent of its predecessors ;
but any lost ground, for the moment,
in this respect, was compensated by
the immediate brilliant success of the
" Christmas Carol," published at the
end of the year, a story of humor and
glowing benevolence, which led the
way in successive seasons for its com-
panion volumes, all fraught with the
same interest, in a highly effective im-
aginative way in bringing the extremes
of life in sympathy, and teaching a
lesson of respect or practical charity
for virtuous poverty. The series of
these delightful little works, in which
he had the aid of his artist friends,
Leech, Stanfield, and Maclise, included
"The Chimes," "The Cricket on the
Hearth," "The Battle of Life," and
"The Haunted Man," the last pub-
lished in 1848. A portion of this in-
terval, from the summer of 1844, to
the close of 1846, was passed in a
year's residence at Genoa, and a subse-
quent sojourn in Switzerland, at Lau-
sanne, with a few months in Paris.
A spirited narrative of his Italian ex-
perience was given to the public in
1846, in his " Pictures from Italy," a
portion of which was first issued in a
short series of descriptive traveling
letters, contributed to the early num-
bers of the " Daily News," the Lon-
don daily journal of which he was
one of the founders, and for a brief
period, its editor. With the book on
Italy, was announced a " New English
Story " in preparation. This was the
tale of " Dombey and Son," with its
pathetic life and death of Little Paul ;
and its humors of Captain Cuttle and
J ack Bunsby, relieving the stern isola- i
tion of the conventional life of the
haughty London merchant, the hero
of the book.
Parallel with these literary occupa-
tions in his old walk of fiction, the
author was now attracting the atten-
tion of the public in another field of
exertion, as an amateur actor. He
had by nature a strong propensity for
the stage ; and had he not early been
successful as a writer, would probaMy
have become celebrated as a profes-
sional performer. Indeed, at the out-
set of his career, he had offered him-
self to a London manager for an en-
gagement in the style of representa-
tions of the elder Mathews, of whom
he was a great admirer. Fortunately
for the reading world, this overture
was accidentally interrupted; and in the
rapid literary engagements which en-
sued, there was no thought of its re-
sumption. In a pleasant chapter of
his biography of Dickens, entitled
" Splendid Strolling," Mr. Forster gives
an account of the amateur performances
in which they were engaged, with oth-
er distinguished authors and artists,
associates, between 1847 and 1852,
commencing with the representation
at Manchester, of Ben Jonson's comedy
of "Every Man in his Humor," for the
benefit of Leigh Hunt ; and includiug
with various standard and minor per-
formances, the production of a five act
comedy, "Not So Bad as We Seem,"
written by Sir Edward Bulwer Lyt-
ton, to assist in creating a fund for
the establishment of a " Guild of Lit-
erature and Art," which was a favorite
object with Dickens. This was a
scheme for the endowment of an insti-
tution of a somewhat peculiar charao
CHAELES DICKENS.
397
ter, a species of benefit society for the
relief of distressed authors and actors,
with the provision of a permanent
home in a partially independent club
life. Chiefly through the amateur
theatrical performances, in which Dick-
ens was associated with Douglas Jer-
rold, Forster, Mark Lemon, Charles
Knight, Wilkie Collins, George Cruik-
shank, and others of his distinguished
author and artist friends, funds were
provided, and a series of buildings erec-
ted on a portion of the estate of Lord
Lytton, near Knebworth. But, not-
withstanding the cheerful auspices of
the undertaking, it failed to go into
successful operation, for the simple
reason that the intended beneficiaries
were shy of its charitable aid and neces-
sary personal restrictions. Among
other parts enacted by Dicksen in the
furtherance of this work, was Ben
Jonson's character of Bobadil, and
Lord Wilmot, in Lord Lytton's comedy.
By the side of his fondness for the
stage, Dickens had always a passion
for the life of a journalist. Inconve-
nient to him as his connection with
the "Daily News" had proved, and
glad as he was to relinquish it after
an editorship of four months, he did
not lose sight of its main object, a di-
rect communication with the public
on popular topics of the day, with the
enforcement of his philanthropic ob-
jects for the benefit of the people.
Early in 1850, he carried out his work
in the establishment of the weekly pe-
riodical entitled " Household Words,"
which was continued under that name
till 1859, when it was immediately sue-
eeededby another of like character," All
tne Year Kound," of which he remain-
VOL ii. — 50
ed editor until his death. In the holiday
numbers of this paper, he continued,
with the assistance .of others, his ad:
mirable series of Christmas stories, and
with a variety of characteristic papers,
the series of " The Uncommercial Trav-
eller." In it,' also, first appeared his
novel, " Hard Times," his " Tale of the
Two Cities," " Great Expectations,"
and " A Child's History of England,"
originally written for the instruction of
his own children. In the meantime, the
longer serials, with short intervals of
time, were succeeding one another.
" David Copperfield," in which, as we
. have seen, he put so much of his early
life and history ; " Bleak House," " Lit-
tle Dorrit," and " Our Mutual Friend.'
The last was completed in 1865.
Diversified as had been the literary
career of Dickens, it was further varied
by the course of public readings from
his own writings, which he began in
London in 1858, and afterwards pur-
sued at intervals, till it grew into a
systematic and regular, as it was al-
ways, a most profitable occupation.
His dramatic skill was here brought
into exercise; the "reading," being, in
fact, a thoroughly well-sustained and la-
borious piece of acting. It was through
the success of these performances, that
he was induced by the liberal offers
made him to deliver the series in this
country, that he again visited the
United States towards the close of the
year 1867. He landed again in Boston,
in November, and left New York on
his return home the following April.
During these few months, his time was
almost exclusively occupied, to the ad
miration of his large audiences, in the
delivery of his "readings," prominent
398
CHARLES DICKENS.
among which, was his recitation of
'The Christmas Carol." He was
throughout his journey received with
favor and enthusiasm, and the pecunia-
ry return from the expedition was large.
In these " readings," he not only greatly
delighted the public and benefited his
own income, but led the way by his
example to a new and profitable ca-
reer for others of his brethren, in the
improvement of their fortunes. On
his return to England, he closed this
episode of his career by a series of
" Farewell Headings " in the chief
cities, failing health warning him of
the danger of continuing these labors.
It was not, however, to remain idle.
A new serial was at once projected,
the story of " Edwin Drood," the pub-
lication of which he commenced with
his accustomed vigor in the spring of
1870. The early numbers were strong-
ly marked by his peculiar powers, and
the public were eagerly intent on the
development of the startling plot, when
word suddenly came to them that the
author was prostrated by an attack of
apoplexy, which t wenty-four hours after
he was taken, terminated in his death.
He was stricken down on Thursday,
the 9th of June, 1870, at dinner-time,
after a morning's labor on his unfinished
novel, at his house at Gad's Hill near
Rochester, in the vicinity of the scenes
which he was describing in his fiction,
and in the realization of the home up-
on which his youthful fancy had been
fixed. But one thing appeared to mar
his domestic felicity, the separation
from his wife on some ground of in-
compatibility of temper, which had
been of some ten or twelve years con-
tinuance. On the Tuesday following
his death, his remains were privately
interred beneath the pavement of the
"Poet's Corner," in Westminster Ab-
bey, a fitting shrine, by the ashes of his
great compeers in English literature,
the honored memories of his country
and the world.
ABRAHAM LINCOLN.
401
the first of these addresses to the Re-
publican State Convention at Spring-
field, June 17th, he uttered a me-
morable declaration on the subject of
slavery, much quoted in the stirring
controversies which afterwards ensued.
" We are now," said he, u far into the
fifth year since a policy was initiated
with the avowed object, and confident
promise, of putting an end to slavery
agitations. Under the operation of that
policy, that agitation has not only not
ceased, but has constantly augmented.
In my opinion, it will not cease until
a crisis shall have been reached and
.passed. ' A house divided against itself
cannot stand.' I believe this govern-
ment cannot endure permanently, half
slave and half free. I do not expect the
Union to be dissolved — I do not expect
the house to fall; but I do expect it
will cease to be divided. It will be-
come all one thing or all the other."
Other opinions expressed by him in
this political campaign, while they ex-
hibited him as no friend to slavery,
placed him on the ground of a constitu-
tional opposition to the institution. In
answer to a series of questions propos-
ed by Mr. Douglas, he replied that he
was not in favor of the unconditional
repeal of the fugitive slave law ; that
he was not pledged against the admis-
sion of any more slave States into the
Union, nor to the admission of a new
State into the Union with such a con-
stitution as the people of that State
may see fit to make, nor to the abo-
lition of slavery in the District of
Columbia, nor to the prohibition of the
slave-trade between the different States ;
while he was " impliedly, if not ex-
pressly, pledged to a belief in the
right and duty of Congress to prohibit
slavery in all the United States Terri-
tories." With regard to the acquisition
of any new territory, unless slavery is
first prohibited therein, he answered :
" I am not generally opposed to honest
acquisition of territory; a-nd in any
given case, I would or would not op-
pose such acquisition, accordingly as I
might think it would or would not
aggravate the slavery question among
ourselves." Mr. Lincoln, in fine, while
he held the firmest opinions on the
evil of slavery as an institution, and its
detriment to the prosperity of the
country, was not disposed to transcend
the principles or pledges of the Consti-
tution for its suppression. He would
not, with regard to circumstances,
press even the legitimate powers of
Congress. Of the vexed negro question,
he said further, on a particular occa-
sion in those debates : " I have no pur
pose, directly or indirectly, to interfere
with the institution of slavery in the
States where it now exists. I believe
I have no lawful right to do so, and I
have no inclination to do so. I have
no purpose to introduce political and
social equality between the white and
the black races. There is a physical
difference between the two, which, in
my judgment, will probably forever
forbid their living together upon the
footing of perfect equality, and inas-
much as it becomes a necessity that
there must be a difference, I, as well as
Judge Douglas, am in favor of the race
to which I belong having the superior
position. I have never said anything
to the contrary ; but I hold that, not-
withstanding all this, there is no reason
in the world why the negro is not en
402
ABEAHAM LINCOLN.
titled to all the natural rights enu-
merated in the Declaration of Inde-
pendence— the right to life, liberty,
and the pursuit of happiness. I hold
that he is as much entitled to these as
the white man. I agree with Judge
Douglas he is not my equal in many
respects — certainly not in color, per-
haps not in moral or intellectual en-
dowment. But in the right to eat the
bread, without the leave of any one
else, which his own hand earns, he is my
equal, and the equal of Judge Douglas,
and the equal of every living man."
This contested Douglas and Lincoln
election in Illinois ended in the choice
of a Legislature which sent the former
O
to the United States Senate, though
the Republican candidates pledged to
Mr. Lincoln received a larger aggre-
gate vote.
Mr. Lincoln, now a prominent man in
the West, was looked to by the rapidly
developing Republican party as a lead-
ing expounder of its principles in that
region. In the autumn and winter of
1859, he visited various parts of the
country, delivering lectures on the po-
litical aspect of the times, and was con-
stantly received with favor. In a speech
which he made, addressing a mixed as-
sembly at Leavenworth, in Kansas, in
this season, the following passage oc-
curred, which, read by the light of sub-
sequent events, appears strangely pro-
phetic. " But you, Democrats," said he,
" are for the Union ; and you greatly
fear the success of the Republicans
would destroy the Union. Why ? Do
the Republicans declare against the
Union ? Nothing like it. Your own
statement of it is, that if the Black
Republicans elect a President, you
won't stand it! You will break up
the Union. That will be your act, not
ours. To justify it, you must show
that our policy gives you just cause
for such desperate action. Can you do
that ? When you attempt it, you will
find that our policy is exactly the poli-
cy of the men who made the Union.
Nothing more and nothing less. Do you
really think you are justified to break
up the government, rather than have
it administered as it was by Washing-
ton, and other great and good men who
made it, and first administered it ? If
you do, you are very unreasonable, and
more reasonable men cannot and will
not submit to you. While you elect
Presidents we submit, neither break-
ing nor attempting to break up the
Union. If we shall constitutionally
elect a President, it will be our duty to
see that you also submit. Old John
Brown has been executed for treason
against a State. We cannot object,
even though he agreed with us in
thinking slavery wrong. That cannot
excuse violence, bloodshed, and trea-
son. It could avail him nothing that
he might think himself right. So, if
constitutionally we elect a President,
and, therefore, you undertake to de
stroy the Union, it will be our duty to
deal with you as old John Brown has
been dealt with. We shall try to do
our duty. We hope and believe that
in no section will a majority so act as
to render such extreme measures ne-
cessary."
In the ensuing nomination, in 1860,
for the Presidency, by the National
Republican Convention at Chicago, Mr.
Lincoln, on the third ballot, was pre-
ferred to Mr. Se \vard by a decided
ABEAHAM LINCOLN
403
vote, and placed before the country as
the candidate of the Republican free-
soil party. He had three rivals in the
field : BrecMnridge, representing the
old Southern pro-slavery Democratic
party ; Douglas, its new, " popular
sovereignty " modification ; Bell, a res-
pectable, cautious conservatism. In
the election, of the entire popular vote,
4,662,170, Mr. Lincoln received 1,857,-
610; Mr. Douglas, 1,365,976; Mr.
BrecMnridge, 847,953; and Mr. Bell,
590,631. Every free State, except New
Jersey, where the vote was divided,
voted for Lincoln, giving him seventeen
out of the thirty-three States which
then composed the Union. In nine of
the slave States, besides South Carolina,
he had no electoral ticket. Alabama,
Arkansas, Delaware, Florida, Georgia,
Louisiana, Maryland, Mississippi,North
and South Carolina, Texas, cast their
votes for Breckinridge and Lane, 72 ;
for Bell and Everett, 39 ; for Douglas
and Johnson, 12.
The " Platform " or series of resolu-
tions of the Republican Convention by
which Mr. Lincoln was nominated for
the Presidency, were explicit on the
principles and objects of the party.
The highest devotion was expressed for
the Union, with a political instinct
seemingly prescient of the future. It
was declared that " to the Union of the
States this nation owes its unprece-
dented increase in population ; its sur-
prising development of material re-
sources; its rapid augmentation of
wealth ; its happiness at home, and its
honor abroad ; and we hold in abhor-
rence all schemes for -disunion, come
from whatever source they may ; and
we congratulate the country that no
Republican member of Congress has
uttered or countenanced a threat of dis-
union, so often made by Democratic
members of Congress without rebuke,
and with applause from their political
associates; and we denounce those
threats of disunion, in case of a popu-
lar overthrow of their ascendency, as
denying the vital principles of a free
government, and as an avowal of con-
templated treason, which it is the im-
perative duty of an indignant people
strongly to rebuke and forever silence."
The " maintenance inviolate of the
rights of the States, and especially of
each State to order and control its own
domestic institutions according to its
own judgment exclusively," was de-
clared to be essential to " that balance
of power on which the perfection and en-
durance of our political faith depends,''
and "the lawless invasion by armed
force of any State or Territory, no mat-
ter under what pretext," was denounced
"as among the gravest of crimes."
The existing Democratic administra-
tion was arraigned for its " measureless
subserviency to the exactions of a sec-
tional interest, as is especially evident
in its desperate exertions to force the
infamous Lecompton Constitution upon
the protesting people of Kansas — in
construing the personal relation be-
tween master and servant to involve an
unqualified property in persons — in its
attempted enforcement everywhere, on
land and sea, through the intervention
of Congress and the Federal Courts, of
the extreme pretensions of a purely
local interest."
The principles of the party in regard
to slavery in the Territories, were laid
down in the declarations " that the
9:04
ABEAHAM LINCOLN.
new dogma that the Constitution, of its
own force, carries slavery into any or
all the Territories of the United States,
is a dangerous political heresy, at
variance with the explicit provisions
of that instrument itself, with contem-
poraneous expositions, and with legis-
lative and judicial precedent; is revolu-
tionary in its tendency, and subversive
of the peace and harmony of the coun-
try : " and " that the normal condition
of all the territory of the United
States is that of freedom ; that as our
republican fathers, when they had
abolished slavery in all our national
territory, ordained that no person
should be deprived of life, liberty, or
property, without the process of law, it
becomes our duty, by legislation, when-
ever such legislation is necessary, to
maintain this provision of the Consti-
tution against all attempts to violate
it ; and we deny the authority of Con-
cress, of a territorial legislature, or of
O / O '
any individuals, to give legal existence
to slavery in any territory of the United
States."
Such were the declarations under
which Mr. Lincoln was elected to the
Presidency. The legitimate influence
of the Government, it was designed,
should be exerted to give every fair
opportunity for the development of
liberty, and not, as was charged upon
the Democrats, for its forced . suppres-
sion. For the maintenance of these
views, it was admitted by all who were
acquainted with him, that a man of
singular plainness and sincerity of char-
acter had been chosen for the chief
magistracy. "He is possessed," wrote
an intelligent observer who had studied
his disposition in his home in Illinois,
" of all the elements composing a true
western man, and his purity of charac-
ter and indubitable integrity of purpose
add respect to admiration for his pri.
vate and public life. His word ' you
may believe and pawn your soul upon
it.' It is this sterling honesty (with
utter fearlessness) even beyond his vast
ability and political sagacity, that is to
command confidence in his administra-
tion."
In February, 1861, Mr. Lincoln left
his home at Springfield, on his way, by
a circuitous route through the Northern
States, to Washington. His journey at
the start was impressed with the pecu-
liar responsibility of his new position.
A defeated party, supported by the
haughty pretensions and demands of
the South, which even then stood in an
attitude of armed rebellion, was deter-
mined to place every obstacle in his
way which the malignity of disap-
pointed political ambition could sug-
gest. He felt that a crisis was at hand
requiring the most consummate pru-
dence and political wisdom in the guid-
ance of the Ship of State. In taking
farewell of his friends at the railway
station, at Springfield; he said with fer-
vor, "no one not in my position can
appreciate the sadness I feel at this
parting. To this people I owe all that
I am. Here I have lived more than a
quarter of a century ; here my children
were born, and here one of them lies
buried. I know not how soon I shall
see you again. A duty devolves upon
me which is, perhaps, greater than that
which has- devolved upon any other
man since the days of Washing ton. He
never would have succeeded except foi
the aid of Divine Providence, upon
ABKAHAM LINCOLN.
405
which he at all times relied. I feel that
I cannot succeed without the same
Divine aid which sustained him ; and
in the same Almighty Being I place my
reliance for support ; and I hope you,
my friends, will all pray that I may
receive that Divine assistance, without
which I cannot succeed, but with which
success is certain. Again I bid you all
an affectionate farewell."
With this feeling of religious earnest-
ness, Mr. Lincoln, who did not over-
estimate the importance of his position,
set his face towards Washington. At
every stage on the journey he took the
opportunity, when he was called upon
to speak by the citizens, to express his
determination to use his influence and
authority equitably for the interests of
the nation, without infringement on
the rights of any. " We mean to treat
you," he said at Cincinnati, to an au-
dience in which, we may suppose, the
Democratic party was liberally repre-
sented, " as near as we possibly can as
Washington, Jefferson, and Madison
treated you. We mean to leave you
alone, and in no way to interfere with
your institutions ; to abide by all and
every compromise of the Constitution,
and in a word, coming back to the
original proposition ; to treat you so far
as degenerate men, if we have dege-
nerated, may, according to the example
of those noble fathers, Washington,
Jefferson, and' Madison." On the same
day, the 12th of February, in another
speech at Indianapolis, he alluded to
the question then pressing upon the
country for early solution regarding
the maintenance of the national autho-
rity in a rebellious State, by force, if it
should be necessary. An outcry had
u.— 51.
been raised against the " coercion " of
a State? He saw in the clamor, a
specious mask favoring a desperate
political intrigue which threatened the
life of the nation, and he sought to strip
off the disguise that the reality beneath
might be seen. Would it be " coercion,"
he asked, if the United States should
retake its own forts, and collect the
duties on foreign importations. Do
those who would resist coercion resist
this ? " If so, their idea of the means
to preserve the object of their great
affection would seem to be exceedingly
thin and -airy. If sick, the little pills
of the homoeopathist would be much
too large for th-em to swallow. In their
view, the Union, as a family relation,
would seem to be no regular marriage,
but rather a sort of free love arrange-
ment, to be maintained on passional
attraction."
Everywhere on his journey he was
received with enthusiasm. At New
York he was greeted by the Mayor and
citizens at the City Hall; and at Phila-
delphia, on Washington's birthday, he
assisted in raising the national flag on
Independence Hall. In a few remarks
on the latter occasion, he spoke feel-
ingly, with a certain impression of me-
lancholy, of the great American prin-
ciple at stake, promising to the world
" that in due time, the weight should
be lifted from the shoulders of all
men ; " adding, " if the country cannot
be saved without giving up that prin-
ciple, I was about to say, I would
rathe,r be assassinated on this spot than
surrender it." The word "assassination"
was afterwards noticed when, a day or
two later, it was found that the Presi.
dent, warned of a plot to take his life
406
ABKAHAM LINCOLN.
on his way to Washington, had felt
compelled, by the advice of his friends,
to hasten his journey by an extra train
at night, to the capital, and thus baffle
the conspirators. He had been made
acquainted with the scheme on his ar-
rival at Philadelphia, by the police;
and it was after this intimation had
been received by him that he spoke at
Independence Hall. He then pro-
ceeded to keep an appointment with
the Pennsylvania Legislature, at Har-
risburg, whom he met on the after-
noon of the same day. At night he
quietly returned by rail to Philadel-
phia, and thence to Washington, arriv-
ing there early on the morning of the
twenty-third.
Ten days after, his inauguration as
President took place at the Capitol.
The usual ceremonies were observed;
but in addition, General Scott had pro-
vided a trained military force, which
was at hand to suppress any attempt
which might be made to interrupt
them. Happily its interference was not
called for. The inaugural address of
the President was every way conside-
rate and conservative. He renewed
the declarations he had already made,
that he had no intention to interfere
with the institution of slavery in the
States where it exists, adding, "I be-
lieve I have no lawful right to do so,
and I have no inclination to do so."
In a brief argument he asserted the
perpetuity of the Union. " It is safe
to assert," he said, " that no govern-
ment proper ever had a provision in
its organic law for its own termination.
Continue to execute all the express
provisions of our national Constitution,
and the Union will endure forever, it
being impossible to destroy it, except
by some action not provided for in the
instrument itself." He therefore an-
nounced his intention, as in duty bound
by the terms of his oath, to maintain
it. '' I shall take care," said he, " as
the Constitution itself expressly enjoins?
upon me, that the laws of the Union
shall be faithfully executed in all the
States. Doing this, which I deem to
be only a simple duty on my part, I
shall perfectly perform it, so far as is
practicable, unless my rightful masters,
the American people, shall withhold
the requisition, or in some authorita-
tive manner direct the contrary. I
trust this will not be regarded as a
menace, but only as the declared pur-
pose of the Union, that it will consti-
tutionally defend and maintain itself.
In doing this there need be no blood-
shed or violence, and there shall be
none unless it is forced upon the na-
tional authority. The power confided
to me will be used to hold, occupy and
possess the property and places belong-
ing to the Government, and collect the
duties and imposts ; but beyond what
may be necessary for these objects there
will be no invasion, no using of force
against or among the people anywhere.
Where hostility to the United States
shall be so great ard so universal as to
prevent competent resident citizens
from holding the federal offices, there
will be no attempt to force obnoxious
strangers among the people who object.
While the strict legal right may exist
of the Government to enforce the ex-
ercise of the offices, the attempt to do
so would be so irritating, and so nearly
impracticable withal, that I deem it
better to forego for the time the uses
ABRAHAM LINCOLN.
407
of such offices. The mails, unless re-
pelled, will continue to be furnished in
all parts of the Union. So far as pos-
sible, the people everywhere shall have
that sens'e of perfect security, which is
most favorable to calm thought and
reflection. The course here indicated
will be followed, unless current events
and experience shall show a modifica-
tion or change to be proper, and in
every case and exigency my best
discretion will be exercised according
to the circumstances actually existing,
and with a view and hope of a peaceful
solution of the national troubles and
the restoration of fraternal sympathies
and affections."
This disposition to effect a peaceful
settlement of the existing difficulty was
further shown in an earnest expostula-
tion or plea for the preservation of the
endangered Union, and the admission
or declaration that " if a change in the
Constitution to secure this result should
be thought desirable by the people, he
would favor, rather than oppose a fair
opportunity to act upon it." He had
no objection, he said, that a proposed
amendment introduced into Congress
" to the effect that the Federal Govern-
ment shall never interfere with the
domestic institutions of States, includ-
ing that of persons held to service,"
should be made " express and irrevo-
cable."
"My countrymen," h^ concluded,
"my countrymen, one and all, think
calmly and well upon this whole sub-
ject. Nothing valuable can be lost by
taking time. If there be an object to
hurry any of you, in hot haste, to a
step which you would never take deli-
berately, that object will be frustrated
by taking time; but no good object
can be frustrated by it. Such of you
as are now dissatisfied still have the
old Constitution unimpaired, and on the
sensitive point the laws of your own
framing under it; while the new ad-
ministration will have no immediate
power, if it would, to change either. If
it were admitted that you who are dis-
satisfied hold the right side in the dis-
pute, there is still no single reason for
precipitate action. Intelligence, patriot-
ism, Christianity, and a firm reliance on
Him who has never yet forsaken this
favored land, are still competent to
adjust, in the best way, all our present
difficulties. In your hands, my dis-
satisfied fellow-countrymen, and not in
mine, is the momentous issue of civil
war. The Government will not assail
you. You can have no conflict without
being yourselves the aggressors. You
have no oath registered in Heaven to
destroy the Government ; while I shall
have the most solemn one to 'pre-
serve, protect, and defend ' it. I am
loath to close. We are not enemies,
but friends. We must not be enemies.
Though passion may have strained,
it must not break our bonds of affec-
tion. The mystic chords of memory,
stretching from every battle-field and
patriot grave to every living heart and
hearthstone all over this broad land,
will yet swell the chorus of the Union,
when again touched, as surely they
will be, by t he better angels of our
nature."
In this spirit, the President commen
ced his administration. In the folio wing
month the bombardment of Fort Suin-
ter, by the South Carolinians under
General Beaure^ard, " inaugurated *
4:08
ABEAHAM LINCOLN.
the war. On receipt of the news of its
fall, President Lincoln, on the 15th of
April, issued his proclamation calling
for seventy-five thousand militia, to
suppress the combinations opposing
the laws of the United States, and com-
manding the persons composing the
combinations to disperse, and retire
peaceably to their respective abodes
within twenty days. Congress was,
at the same time, summoned to meet
in extra session on the ensuing 4th of
July. When that body met, the
Southern Confederacy had succeeded in
arraying large armies in the field for the
accomplishment of its revolutionary de-
signs. Various skirmishes and minor
battles had occurred in Missouri, West-
ern Virginia, and elsewhere, and the
troops which had been. raised at the
North were about to meet the enemy in
the disastrous battle of Bull Run. The
President laid the course which he had
pursued before Congress, calling upon
them for " the legal means to make the
contest a short and decisive one." He
felt, he said, that he had no moral right
to shrink from the issue, though it was
" with the deepest regret that he had
found the duty of employing the war-
power." " Having," he said, in the con-
clusion of his message, "chosen our
course without guile and with pure
purpose let us renew our trust in God,
and go forward without fear and with
manly hearts.
The story of the conduct of that
struggle through four years of unexam-
pled sacrifices by the people, of unpre-
cedented trials to the State, of a contro-
versy of arms and principles testing
every fibre of the nation, and ending in
the vindication and reestablishment of
the Union, belongs to History rather
than to Biography. But the part borne
in the struggle by President Lincoln will
ever be memorable. He was emphati-
•cally the representative of the populai
will and loyal spirit of the nation. In
his nature eminently a friend of peace,
without personal hostilities or sectional
prejudices, he patiently sought the wel-
fare of the whole. Accepting war as an
inevitable necessity he conducted it
with vigor, yet with an evident desire
to smooth its asperities and prepare the
way for final and friendly reconciliation
Unhappily, the demands of the South
for independence, and their continued
struggle for the severance of the Union,
rendered any settlement short of abso-
lute conquest of the armies in the field
impossible. To hasten this end, when
the condition appeared inevitable, Pre-
sident Lincoln, after many delays and
warnings, issued a proclamation of ne-
gro emancipation within the rebellious
States, on the twenty-second of Septem-
ber, 1862. It was appointed to go into
effect-the States continuing in rebellion
— on the first of January en suing. " All
persons," it declared, " held as slaves
within any State, or designated part of a
State, the people whereof shall then be
in rebellion against the United States,
shall be thenceforward and forever free;
and the Executive Government of the
United States including the military
and naval authority thereof, will recog
nize and maintain the freedom of such
persons, and will do no act or acts to
repress such persons, or any of them, in
any efforts they may make for their
actual freedom." This proclamation, in
general accordance with the action of
the Congress, was a war measure; it
ABEAHAM LINCOLN.
409
had grown out of the war as a necessity,
was promulgated conditionally with an
appeal for the termination of the war,
and if destined to be operative, was de-
pendent upon military success for its
efficiency. The war, it was generally
admitted, if continued, would put an
end to slavery ; and as the slave passed
under new social relations by the
advance of the national armies, by con-
quest, by services rendered to the na-
tional cause, and finally by enlistment
in the national armies, this became
every day more apparent. The Pres-
ident's proclamation, the great act of
his Administration, proved the decla-
ration of an obvious and inevitable
result. Two years more of war, after
it was issued, of war growing in malig-
nity and intensity, and extending
through 11 ew regions, confirmed its
necessity ; while President Lincoln, as
the end drew nigh, sought to strengthen
the fact of emancipation by recommen-
ding to Congress and the people, as an
independent measure, the passage of
an amendment of the Constitution,
finally abolishing the institution of
slavery in the United States.
President Lincoln, as we have said,
in his conduct of the war, steadily
sought the support of the people. In-
deed, his measures were fully in accor-
dance with their conviction, his resolu-
tions, waiting the slow development
of events, being governed more by
facts than theories. He thus became
emphatically the executive of the nat-
ional will ; his course, wisely guided
by a single view for the maintenance
of the Union, was in accordance with
the popular judgment ; and, in con-
sequence, as the expiration of his term
of office approached, it became evident
that he would be chosen by the people
for a second term of the Presidency.
As the canvass proceeded, the result
was hardly regarded as doubtful, and
the actual election in Nov., 1864, con-
firmed the anticipation. Out of twenty-
six States, in which the vote was taken
he received a majority of the popular
vote of twenty-three — Delaware, Ken-
tucky, and New Jersey for McClel-
lan.
President Lincoln's second Inaugural
Address, on the 4th of March, 1865,
was one of his most characteristic
State papers. It was a remarkable
expression of his personal feelings, his
modesty and equanimity, his humble
reliance on a superior power for light
and guidance in the path of duty.
Success in his great career, the evident
approach of the national triumph, in
which he was to share, generated in
his mind no vulgar feeling of elation ;
on the contrary he was impressed, if
possible, with a weightier sense of
responsibility and a deeper religious
obligation. "With malice toward
none," was his memorable language,
" with charity for all, with firmness in
the right — as God gives us to see the
right — let us strive on to finish the
work we are in — to bind up the
nation's wounds — to care for him who
shall have borne the battle, and for
his widow and orphans — to do all
which may achieve and cherish a just
and lasting peace among ourselves, and
with all nations." The peace so ar-
dently longed for was not far distant.
On the 9th of April General Lee surren-
dered the chief rebel army to General
Grant, and with that event the wai
410
ABKAHAM LINCOLN.
was virtually ended. President Lin-
coln had been witness of some of its
closing scenes at Richmond, and had
O '
returned to Washington in time to re-
ceive, at the Capitol, news of the surren-
der. In an address to a gathering of
the people who came to the Presiden-
tial mansion to congratulate him on
the result, he avoided any unseemly
expressions of triumph, and turned his
thoughts calmly to the great problem
of reconstruction, upon which his mind
was now fully intent. This speech was
nade on the evening of the eleventh
of April. The fourteenth was the an-
niversary of Sumter, completing the
four years' period of the war. There
was no particular observance of the
day at Washington, but in the evening
the president, accompanied by his
wife, a daughter of Senator Harris, and
Major Rathbone, of the United States
army, attended by invitation the per-
formances at Ford's Theatre, where a
large audience was assembled to greet
him. When the play had reached the
third act, about nine o'clock, as the
President was sitting at the front of
the private box near the stage, he was
deliberately shot from behind by an
assassin, John Wilkes Booth, the leader
of a gang ot conspirators, who had been
for some time intent, in concert with
the rebellion, upon taking his life.
The ball entered the back part of the
President's head, penetrated the brain,
and rendered him, on the instant,
totally insensible. He was removed
by his friends to a house opposite the
theatre, lingered in a state of uncon-
sciousness during the night and ex-
pired at twenty-two minutes past
seven o'clock on the morning of th<»
loth.
Thus fell, cruelly murdered by a vul
gar assassin, at the moment of nation-
al victory, with his mind intent upon
the happier future of the Republic,
with thoughts of kindness and recon-
ciliation toward the vanquished ene-
mies of the State, the President who
had just been placed by the sober judg-
ment of the people a second time
as their representative in the seat of
executive authority. The blow was a
fearful one. It created in the mind of
the nation a feeling of horror and pity,
which was witnessed in the firmest
resolves and tenderest sense of com-
miseration. All parties throughout
the loyal States united in demonstra-
tions of respect and affection.
Acts of mourning were spontaneous
and universal. Business was every-
where suspended, while the people as-
sembled to express their admiration
and love of the President so foully
slain, and to devote themselves anew
to the cause — their own cause — for
the assertion of which he had been
stricken down. When the funeral
took place, the long procession, as it
took its way from Washington through
Pennsylvania, New York, Ohio and
Indiana, to the President's home in
Illinois, was attended, at every step
with unprecedented funeral honors;
orations were delivered in the large
cities, crowds of mourners by night
and day witnessed the solemn passage
of the train on the long lines of rail-
way ; a half million of persons it was
estimated, looked upon the face of
their departed President and friend.
FRANCES SARGENT OSGOOD.
THIS gentle American poet, whose
delicacy and susceptibility are
reflected in a peculiar manner in all that
she wrote, giving promise of still high-
er excellence, had her life been pro-
longed, was born in Boston, Massachu-
setts, in the year 1812. She was the
daughter of Joseph Locke, a merchant
of that city, and a gentleman of educa-
tion. A taste for literary composition
seems to have been a natural gift in
the family, for several of its members
were successful writers. Anna Maria
Foster, the daughter of Mrs. Locke by
her first husband, who was married to
Mr. Thomas Wells, an officer of the
United States revenue service, pub-
lished a volume of poems in 1831. A
younger sister of Mrs. Osgood, and
her brother, Mr. A. A. Locke, wrote
for the magazines. The childhood of
Frances was chiefly passed in the vill-
age of Hingham, a locality peculiarly
adapted by its beautiful situation for
a poetic culture, which soon developed
itself in her youthful mind. She was
encouraged in writing verses by her
parents, and some of her productions
being seen by Mrs. Lydia Maria Child,
were so highly approved, as to be in-
serted by her in a Juvenile Miscellany
which she at that time conducted. They
were rapidly followed by others from
the same facile pen, which soon gave
their signature, " Florence," a wide
reputation.
In 1834, Miss Locke formed the ac-
quaintance of Mr. S. S. Osgood, a young
painter, already favorably known in his
profession. She sat to him for her por-
trait, and the artist won the heart of
the sitter. Soon after their marriage,
they went to London, where they re-
mained four years, during which Mr.
Osgood pursued his art of portrait-
painting with success ; and his wife's
poetical compositions to various peri-
odicals met with equal favor. In 1839,
a collection of her poems was issued
by a London publisher, with the title
of " A Wreath of Wild Flowers from
New England." A dramatic poem,
" Elfrida," in the volume, impressed
her friend, James Sheridan Knowles,
the dramatist, so favorably, that he
urged her to write a piece for the
st,age. In compliance with the sugges-
tion, she wrote " The Happy Kelease ;
or, The Triumphs of Love," a j.lay in
three acts. It was accepted by one of
the theatres, and would have been
produced, had not the author while
(411)
412
FRANCES SAEGENT OSGOOD.
engaged in the reconstruction of a
scene, been suddenly summoned home
by the melancholy news of the death
of her father. She returned with Mr.
Osgood to Boston, in 1840. They
soon afterwards removed to New
York, where, with a few intervals of
absence, the remainder of her life was
passed. Her poetical contributions
appeared at brief intervals in the mag-
azines, for which she also wrote a few
prose tales and sketches. In 1841, she
edited "The Poetry of Flowers and
Flowers of Poetry," and in 1847, "The
Floral Offering," two illustrated gift-
books.
Mrs. Osgood's physical frame was
as delicate as her mental organization.
She suffered frequently from ill health,
and was an invalid during the whole
winter of 1847-'8. During the suc-
ceeding winter, she rallied; and her
husband, whose own health required
the reinvigorating influence of travel,
with a view to this object, and to a
share in the profitable adventure which
at that time was tempting so many
from their homes, sailed for California,
in February, 1849. He returned, after
an absence of a year, with restored
health and ample means, to find his
wife fast sinking in consumption. The
husband carried the wife in his arms to
a new residence, where, with the happy
hopefulness characteristic of her disor-
der, she selected articles for its furni-
ture and decoration, from patterns
brought to her bedside. The rapidly
approaching termination of her ill-
ness was soon gently made known to
her, and received, after a few tears at
the thought of leaving her husband
and two young children, with resigna-
tion. The evening but one after, she
O 7
wrote for a young girl at her side,
who was making; and teaching; her to
o o
make paper flowers, the following
lines :
"You've woven roses round my way,
And gladdened all my being;
How much I thank you, none can say,
• Save only the All-seeing.
I'm going through the eternal gates,
Ere June's sweet roses blow;
Death's lovely angel leads me there,
And it is sweet to go."
The touching prophecy was fulfilled,
by her calm death, five days after, on
Sunday afternoon, May 12th, 1850. Her
remains were removed to Boston, and
laid beside those of her mother and
daughter, at Mount Auburn, on Wed-
nesday of the same week.*
This brief narrative, penned by the
writer of this notice, written shortly
after her death, for insertion in the
" Cyclopaedia of American Literature,''
supplies the simple outline of this ami-
able person's career. After the lapse
of twenty years, we recall with feelings
of respect and tenderness, her cheer-
ful, happy temperament, and the facil-
ity of her genius, which shone equally
in the seemingly unpremeditated ef-
forts of her muse, and the involuntary
delight which she exhibited in the
friendly courtesies of life, as her en-
thusiasm was kindled in the society of
her friends. A playful fancy, and
truthful, unaffected sentiment, express-
ed in easy numbers, were the main
characteristics of her writings. Her
lines to the " Spirit of Poetry," exhibit
the keenness of her susceptibility, and
her reverence for the Muse :
•* " Cyclopedia of American Literature."
FRANCES SAEGENT OSGOOD.
"Leave me not yet! Leave me not cold and
lonely,
-Thou dear Ideal of my pining heart!
Thou art the friend — the beautiful — the only,
Whom I would keep, tho' all the world
depart !
Thou, that dost veil the frailest flower with
glory,
Spirit of light and loveliness and truth !
Thou that didst tell me a sweet, fairy story,
Of the dim future, in my wistful youth!-
Thou, who canst weave a halo round the spirit,
Thro' which naught mean or evil dare in-
trude,
Resume not yet the gift, which I inherit
From Heaven and thee, that dearest, holiest
good!
Leave me not now! Leave me not cold and
lonely,
Thou starry prophet of my pining heart !
Thou art the friend — the tenderest, the only,
With whom, of all, 'twould be despair to
part.
Thou that cam'st to me in my dreaming
childhood,
Shaping the changeful clouds to pageants
rare.
Peopling the smiling vale, and shaded wild-
wood,
With airy beings, faint yet strangely fair;
TeUing me all the sea-born breeze was saying,
While it went whispering thro' the willing
leaves,
Bidding me listen to the light rain playing
Its pleasant tune, about the household eaves ;
Tuning the low, sweet ripple of the river,
Till its melodious murmur seemed a song,
A tender and sad chant, repeated ever,
A sweet, impassioned plaint of love and
wrong !
Leave me not yet! Leave me not cold and
lonely,
Thou star of promise o'er my clouded path !
Leave not the life, that borrows from thee only
All of delight and beauty that it hath !
Thou, that when others knew not how to love
me,
Nor cared to fathom half my yearning soul,
Didst wreathe thy flowers of light around,
above mo,
To woo and win me from my grief's control.
By all my dreams, the passionate, the holy,
When thou hast sung love's lullaby to me,
n.— 52
By all the childlike worship, fond and lowly,
Which I have lavished upon thine and thee.
By all the lays my simple lute was learning,
To echo from thy voice, stay with me still!
Once flown — alas ! for thee there's no return-
ing!
The charm will die o'er valley, wood, and
hill.
Tell me not Time, whose wing my brow has
shaded,
Has withered spring's sweet bloom within
my heart,
Ah, no ! the rose cf love is yet unfaded,
Tho' hope and joy, its sister flowers, depart.
Well -do I know that I have wronged thine
altar,
With the light offerings of an idler's mind,
And thus, with shame, my pleading prayer I
falter,
Leave me not, spirit ! deaf, and dumb, and
blind!
Deaf to the mystic harmony of nature,
Blind to the beauty of her stars and flowers.
Leave me not, heavenly yet human teacher,
Lonely and lost in this cold world of ours !
Heaven knows I need thy music and thy
beauty
Still to beguile me on my weary way,
To lighten to my soul the cares of duty,
And bless with radiant dreams the darkened
day:
To charm my wild heart in the worldly revel •
Lest I, too, join the aimless, false, and vain ;
Let me not lower to the soulless level
Of those whom now I pity and disdain !
Leave me not yet! — leave nie not cold aiid
pining,
Thou bird of paradise, whose plumes of
light,
Where'er they rested, left a glory shining;
Fly not to heaven, or let me share thy
flight!"
A prevailing mood of Mrs. Osgood's
verse, in its light airy qualities, capable
of rendering fugitive shades of emotion,
is indicated in one of her occasional
poems addressed "To a Dear Little
Truant :"
' When are you coming? The flowers have c ome f
Bees in the balmy air happily hum :
Tenderly, timidly, down in the dell
FBANCES SARGENT OSGOOI)
Sighs the sweet violet, droops the Harebell :
Soft in the wavy grass glistens the dew —
Spring keeps her promises — why do not you?
Up in the air, love, the clouds are at play;
You are more graceful and lovely than they?
Birds in the woods carol all the day long;
When are you coming to join in the song?
Fairer than flowers and purer than dew !
Other sweet things are here — why are not you?
When are you coming? We've welcomed the
Rose!
Every light zephyr, as gaily it goes,
Whispers of other flowers met on its way;
Why has it nothing of you, love, to say?
Why does it tell us of music and dew?
Rose of the South ! we are waiting for you !
Do, darling, come to us ! — 'mid the dark trees,
Like a lute murmurs the musical breeze;
Sometimes the Brook, as it trips by the flowers,
Hushes its warble to listen for yours 1
Pure as the Violet, lovely and true !
Spring should have waited till she could bring
you ! "
Not unfrequently, however, her po-
ems reflect the sadness of life, but in
a Christian spirit of reconciliation ;
while, in one of her later compositions,
she rises in her moral earnestness to a
high degree of eloquence. The lines
to which we allude, are entitled
" Labor :"
' Labor is rest — from the sorrows that greet us ;
Rest from all petty vexations that meet us,
Rest from ski-promptings that ever entreat us,
Rest from world-syrens that lure us to ill.
Work — and pure slumbers shall wait on the
pillow,
Work— thou shalt ride over Care's coming
billow ;
Lie not down wearied 'neath Woe's weeping
willow !
Work with a stout heart and resolute will!
Labor is health ! Lo the husbandman reaping,
How through his veins goes the life current
leaping;
How his strong arm, in its stalwart pride
sweeping,
Free as a sunbeam the swift sickle guides.
Labor is wealth — in the sea the pearl groweth,
Rich the queen's robe from the frail COCOOE
floweth,
From the fine acorn the strong forest bloweth,
Temple and statue the marble block hides.
Droop not, tho' shame, sin, and anguish are
round thee !
Bravely fling off the cold chain that hath
bound thee;
Look to yon pure heaven smiling beyond thee,
Rest not content in thy darkness — a clodl
Work — for some go6d, be it ever so slowly;
Cherish some flower, be it ever so lowly ;
Labor! — all labor is noble and holy;
Let thy great deeds be thy prayer to thy
God.
Pause not to dream of the future before us;
Pause not to weep the wild cares that come
o'er us :
Hark how Creation's deep, musical chorus,
Unintermitting, goes up into Heaven !
Never the ocean- wave falters in flowing;
Never the little seed stops in its growing;
More and more richly the Rose-heart keeps
glowing,
Till from its nourishing stem it is riven.
' Labor is worship!' — the robin is singing,
' Labor is worship!' — the wild bee is ringing,
Listen! that eloquent whisper upspringing,
Speaks to thy soul from out nature's great
heart.
From the dark cloud flows the life-giving
shower;
From the rough sod blows the soft breathing
flower,
From the small insect — the rich coral bower,
Only man in the plan shrinks from his
part."
Edgar A. Poe, who was intimate
with the author, in one of his literary
sketches, has left upon record his crit
ical appreciation of her intellectual
powers in their various aspects. !No-
ticing the first volume of her poems,
published in London, he speaks of the
leading piece, " Elfrida," as " in many
respects, well entitled to the appella
tion ' drama.' " We cite his remarks,
FBAISTCES SAKGEJST OSGOOD.
415
preserving, as characteristic of his
style, the italics, in which he has
marked favorite lines. " I allude," he
writes, " chiefly to the passionate ex-
pression of particular portions, to de-
lineation of character, and to occasion-
al scenic effect : — in construction or
plot — in general conduct and plausibili-
ty, the play fails ; comparatively, of
course — for the hand of genius is
evinced throughout. * * * 1 cannot
speak of Mrs. Osgood's poems without
a strong propensity to ring the changes
upon the indefinite word 'grace,' and
its derivatives. About everything she
writes we perceive this indescribable
charm — of which, perhaps, the ele-
ments are a vivid fancy and a quick
sense of the proportionate. Grace,
however, may be most satisfactorily
defined as * a term applied, in despair,
to that class of the impressions of Beau-
ty which admit of no analysis.' It is
in this irresoluble effect that Mrs. Os-
good excels any poetess of her country
— and it is to this easily appreciable
effect that her popularity is owing.
Nor is she more graceful herself than
a lover of the graceful, under whatever
guise it is presented to her consideration.
The sentiment renders itself manifest,
"in innumerable instances, as well
throughout her prose as her poetry.
Whatever be her theme, she at once
extorts from it its whole essentiality of
grace. Fanny Ellsler has been often
lauded; true poets have sung her
praises ; but we look in vain for any-
thing written about her, which so dis-
tinctly and vividly paints her to the
eye as the half dozen quatrains which
follow. They are to be found in the
English volume :
' ' She comes ! — the spirit of the dance I
And but for those large eloquent eyes,
. Where passion speaks in every glance,
She'd seem a wanderer from the skies.
So light that, gazing breathless there,
Lest the celestial dream should go,
You'd think the music in the air
Waved the fair vision to and fro.
Or think the melody's sweet flow
Within the radiant creature played,
And those soft wreathing arms of snow
And white sylph feet the music made.
Now gliding slow with dreamy grace,
Her eyes beneath their lashes lost,
Now motionless, with lifted face,
And small hands on her bosom crossed.
And now with flashing eyes she springs —
Her whole bright figure raised in air,
As if her soul had spread its wings
And poised her one wild instant there !
She spoke not — but, so richly fraught,
With language are her glance and smile,
That, when the curtain fell, I thought
She had been talking all the while."
" This is, indeed, poetry — and of the
most unquestionable kind — poetry
truthful in the proper sense — that is
to say, breathing of Nature. There is
here nothing forced or artificial — no
hardly sustained enthusiasm. The
poetess speaks because she feels, and
what she feels; but then what she
feels is felt only by the truly poetical."
WILLIAM EWART GLADSTONE.
npHE family of the English prime
JL minister has been curiously traced
through an ancient Scottish ancestry
of the middle class to the early part of
the sixteenth century. The Gladstanes,
as the name was then and for some
time after spelt, held land in various
southern counties of that country. A
number of the family were maltsters,
in Lanarkshire, amongst them the
great-grandfather of William, who
ended his days as a small farmer. One
of his sons was educated for the minis-
try, and became rector of the High
School of Leith. A second, John
Gladstone, settled as a corn merchant
in Leith, where his eldest son, John,
the father of the premier, was born.
He was destined to become quite a
distinguished man in trade, and to at-
tain considerable social and political
influence. An incident of his early
career, leading to his rise in business,
is thus related by Mr. Gilchrist : " When
John was just of age, he was sent by
his father to Liverpool, to sell a cargo
of grain which had arrived at that
port. He so attracted the attention of
a leading corn-merchant there, that
the latter earnestly entreated his fath-
er to let his son settle at that port.
(416)
After sundry negotiations, the result
was the formation of the firm of Conie
•
Gladstone, and Bradshaw, corn mer-
chants; Mr. Corrie taking the two
latter young men into partnership.
The firm had hardly existed two years,
ere its stability was very sorely tried.
There came a general failure of the
corn crops throughout Europe. Mr.
Corrie at once dispatched his junior
partner, Mr. Gladstone, to the United
States, to buy grain. John Gladstone
was then about twenty-four years of
age. Having the needful letters of
credit, he started upon a mission of
which the parties to it entertained the
most sanguine hopes. On reaching
America, he found that the corn crops
had failed there also, and that there
was not a single bushel to be procur-*
ed. To his dismay, by the next ad-
vices which he received from England,
he was informed that some twenty-
four large vessels had been chartered
to bring home the grain which he was
supposed to have bought. The situa-
tion was most perilous, and it seemed
that the prospects of so young a man
were fairly shipwrecked. Indeed, when
the news became known at Liverpool
it was considered impossible for the
-
WILLIAM EWART GLADSTONE.
417
house to recover the shock arising; from
o
BO many vessels returning in ballast,
instead of bearing the cargoes which
they had been chartered to convey.
Corrie and Co. were therefore regarded
as a doomed house, and the deepest
commiseration was felt for the young
absent partner, while the senior was
blamed for his precipitancy. But
young Gladstone, though strongly im-
pressed with the difficulties of the po-
sition in which he found himself, main-
tained unimpaired his courage and
presence of mind. He sought every
means by which to lighten, if not to
avert the blow. By careful examina-
tion of price lists, by ascertaining what
procurable products would best suit
the English market, he succeeded,
without waste of time, in filling the
holds of all the vessels. And when
all was sold and realized, the net loss
on the large transaction of the house
hardly exceeded ,£500.
From that time, we are told, John
Gladstone became a marked and pros-
perous man in the commercial world.
The house to which he was attached
became the agents of government in
Liverpool; the elder partners grew
wealthy and retired; John's brother
Robert was called in, and five other
brothers after a while were settled in
Liverpool. " It was about this time,"
Mr. Gilchrist tells us, " that Mr. Broug-
ham, while going the Northern Cir-
cuit, was John Gladstone's guest, and
accompanied his host to the Liverpool
theatre. The play was Macbeth, and
Kean played the chief character. When
Macduff said, l Stands Scotland where
it did ? ' a Scotchman in the gallery
cried out, *Na, na, sirs; there's pairt
o' Scotland in England noo — there's
John Gladstone and his clan." John
Gladstone rose in the world with the
rapid commercial advancement of
Liverpool. He traded to the East and
the West Indies, and, being a man of
intellectual ability, became a kind of
guardian of the political interests of
the city. It was partly by his in
fluence that Brougham was defeated
there in his famous electioneering con-
test with Canning. The latter often
advised with him on mercantile affairs,
and assisted in bringing him into par-
liament, the Marlborough family pro-
viding him with a seat as the repre-
sentative of their borough of Wood-
stock. In 1845, he was made a baronet
by Sir Robert Peel. He had married
in early life Ann Robertson, a lady of
Scottish birth, of intellect and accom-
plishments, a native of Dingwall, in
Rossshire, of which town her father
had been Provost. There were three
sons of this union, of whom William
Ewart, the subject of this notice, was
the youngest. He was born in Liver-
pool, on the 29th of December, 1809,
and named after William Ewart, one
of the leading merchants of Liverpool,
and an intimate friend of his father
Early exhibiting a ready capacity for
instruction, his education was amply
provided for by his parents. He grew
up, indeed, under the most favorable
influences iot the development of
talent. The associates of his father
were some of the leading conservative
statesmen of his time, and the union
of political with mercantile ideas in
the society about him was well calcu-
lated to sharpen his intellect. He was
sent to school at Eton, where he waa
WILLIAM EWA11T GLADSTONE.
418
noted as a student ; passing thence to
Christ Church College, Oxford; where,
graduating in 1831, he achieved the
highest distinction both in the classics
and mathematics. He became a Fellow
of All Souls College, and, in 1834, re-
ceived his degree of Master of Arts.
Among his intimates at Eton and
Christ Church were two of the worth-
iest public men of his time, Mr. Sidney
Herbert, afterwards Lord Herbert of
Lea, the eminent philanthropist, and
Lord Lincoln, afterward Duke of New-
castle.
Marked out for public life by his
father's desires and political associa-
tions, Mr. Gladstone was early intro-
duced into Parliament, taking his seat
in 1833, at the age of twenty-four, as
representative of the borough of New-
ark, by the influence of the Duke of
Newcastle. His maiden speech, de-
livered in July, was in defence of the
Established Church in Ireland in sup-
port of its Episcopate. Without be-
coming prominent as a speaker, he
was, at the close of 1834, appointed
by Sir Robert Peel, on his accession to
office and formation of a new cabinet,
a Junior Lord of the Treasury, and
shortly after was made Under-Secre-
tary of the colonial office. He held
the position, however, but for a short
time, going out with the ministry in
its early defeat. He now continued
in opposition as a tory member, sup-
porting the measures of the party till
the return of Sir Robert Peel to power
in 1841, when he was appointed Vice-
President of the Board of Trade and
Master of the Mint, with a seat at the
Privy Council. Previously to this, he
had, in 1838, called attention to his
abilities, by his speech in opposition to
the humanitarian movement, led by
Brougham for the Abolition of Negro
Apprenticeship in the West Indies, in
which he defended the views of the
planters. It was his first published
speech of consequence, and was warm-
ly commended by the '' Times." The
following summary of it is given by
Mr. Gilchrist : " The question," he said,
tl was to the colonists a matter, not of
property alone, but of character ; and
he would prove that they were guilt-
less of the oppression imputed to them.
The report of the committee, of which
Mr. Buxton was chairman, and which
had continued its sittings to the end
of last session, had, with Mr. Buxton's
concurrence, negatived the necessity
for this change. Perhaps there was
no compact in a legal sense, but in a
moral one there was. The apprentice-
ship was a part of the compensation,
and the labor due under it had a
marketable value, of which it was un-
just to deprive the master or his as-
signs. He deprecated an appeal to
mere individual instances. There were
cases of abuse, no doubt; but the
question was, were the abuses general ?
To prove that they were not, he would
take, point by point, the public re-
ports of magistrates, and even govern-
ors. He then, by a variety of cita-
tions, proceeded to prove, that on
every one of the heads, complaint of the
satisfactory cases exceeded, four or
five times over, the unsatisfactory ones,
and showed an improvement under
the system of apprenticeship, of which
this may serve as an example, that in
British Guiana, where, in the last yeai
of slavery, the number of lashes in
WILLIAM EWART GLADSTONE.
419
flicted had been 280,000, the number
inflicted, on the average of the years
elapsed since the apprenticeship, had
been only 684. The flogging of fe-
males, under any circumstances, was
odious and indefensible ; but this mo-
tion could not effect that practice ; be-
cause, when females are flogged, it is
not as apprentices, but as disorderly
persons — the same punishment being
inflicted on free women. He did not
shrink from inquiry; bui with facts
such as those he had proved, he could
not help thinking that the state of the
apprentices had but little to require
the attention of humane persons, while
such grievances remained unredressed
as the condition of the factory child-
ren, and the system of the foreign slave-
trade."
This, of course, was but an inciden-
tal subject of discussion in his parlia-
mentary* career. One of more import-
ance, representing his Oxford habits of
thinking, as well as the acuteness of
his intellect, was that set forth in the
title of his first book, published in
1838, entitled "The State in its Rela-
tions with the Church " — a work writ-
ten from the High Church, Tory point
of view, and which many years after-
wards became memorable, when its
author, having changed his opinions
with the times, took the lead as prime
minister, in the overthrow of the Irish
Church Establishment, the principle
of which he had formerly so resolutely
defended. Shortly after its appear-
ance, Mr. Gladstone's book was re-
viewed by Macaulay in one of his
brilliant critical papers in the " Edin-
burgh." The opening sentence of this
article indicates the regard in which
the author, as a man of intellect and
ideas, was already held by the enlight-
ened scholars and politicians of the
time. " The author of this volume is
a young man of unblemished charac-
ter, and of distinguished parliamen-
tary talents, the rising hope of those
stern and unbending; Tories who fol-
O
low, reluctantly and mutinously, a
leader whose experience and eloquence
are indispensable to them, but whose
cautious temper and moderate opinions
they abhor. It would not be at all
strange if Mr. Gladstone were one of
the most unpopular men in England.
But we believe that we do him no
more than justice when we say that
his abilities and his demeanor have
obtained for him the respect and good
will of all parties. His first appear-
ance in the character of an author is
therefore an interesting event ; and it
is natural that the gentle wishes of the
public should go with him to his trial.
We are much pleased, without any re-
ference to the soundness or unsound-
ness of Mr. Gladstone's theories, to see
a grave and elaborate treatise on an
important part of the philosophy of
government, proceed from the pen of a
young man who is rising to eminence
in the House of Commons. * * * That
a young politician should, in the inter-
vals afforded by his parliamentary
avocations, have constructed and pro-
pounded, with much study and mental
toil, an original theory on a great
problem in politics, is a circumstance
which must be considered as highly
creditable to him."
In the " Essay on Church and State,"
Mr. Gladstone based his argument foi
the alliance, on the divine authority
120
WILLIAM EWART GLADSTONE.
and paramount necessity of Christian
obligation, regarding the State as a
grand personality accountable as an
individual for the highest use and
direction of its powers — a theory which
has much of nobleness in it, but which,
in the modern world, fails in its prac-
tical application, from the varied forms
of religious belief of its members. The
book was accordingly received with
different impressions as it was viewed
by different parties, the old Tory
school favoring its doctrines, and the
liberal opposition looking upon it as a
visionary theory. The difficulty in
the management of religion by the
State is to hold the authorities to a con-
sistent system of administration. This
is almost impossible in a representa-
tive government, subjected to the
change or arbitrary control of the peo-
ple ; and consequently we find in Eng-
land the old Established Church more
and more, as time goes on, complain-
ing of the interference of parliament
with its interests; with the seeming
anomaly of a latitudinarian party in
the Church, holding on to the Union
for the protection it affords to their
liberal doctrines or practices. The de-
fect of the Gladstonian theory is that
it cannot be made to work, at least
without great laxity of interpretation ;
and laxity is fatal to its perfection as a
theory. America has solved the prob-
lem, preserving her character as a re-
ligious nation under a hundred years
of separation of Church and State;
and, though the union may be main-
tained in England some time longer, in
consequence of the complex traditions
and policy of the country ; the system
there, even under Gladstonian rule,
seems rapidly verging to its extinction
It was something, as Macaulay sug
gested, to have a thinking man in poli
tics. There was life in his book, and
where there is life there is apt to be
growth. This development of the
powers of a subtle and acute thinker
has been admirably illustrated in the
career of Mr. Gladstone ; bringing him
out of the ranks of the High Tories by
no unphilosophical deductions to his
later position as a liberal leader. The
business commercial questions which
he had early to handle may have had
much to do in promoting this change.
The position which he held in Sir
Robert Peel's cabinet brought liim im-
mediately in contact with these affairs,
in which he greatly profited by the
mercantile experience of his family.
He was employed in the revision of
the tariff of 1842, in which he exhib-
ited, to the admiration of the public,
his indomitable industry and great
mastery of details. The following
year he succeeded Lord Eipon as Pre-
sident of the Board of Trade. In
1845, he resigned this position on a
point of honor and delicacy. Though
he had changed his views on the obli-
gations of the State to the Church,
and was now ready to sustain the
grant to the Roman Catholic May-
nooth College, he was not willing to
subject himself to the charge of incon-
sistency by advocating a measure
which he might be supposed to favor
from self-interest as a necessity of his
position in the ministry. But he was
not long permitted to remain out of
office. In a few months he was called
by Sir Robert Peel to the Secretary-
ship for the Colonies, as the successor
WILLIAM EWART GLADSTONE.
421
of Lord Stanley. The question of the
repeal of the Corn Laws then coming
up, though in favor of the measure,
Gladstone again showed his sense of
honor by resigning his seat for New-
ark, being reluctant to hold his posi-
tion in opposition to the strong pro-
tectionist views of the Duke of New-
castle, the owner of the borough.
At the general election, shortly af-
ter, in August, 1847, he was, with the
late Sir Robert Harry Inglis, elected
for the University of Oxford. In his
address to the electors, he thus spoke
of his altered views in reference to the
Maynooth question : " However will-
ing I had been upon, and for many
years after, my introduction to Parlia-
ment, to struggle for the exclusive
support of the national religion by the
State, and to resist all arguments
drawn from certain inherited arrange-
ments in favor of a more relaxed sys-
tem, I found that scarcely a year pass-
ed without the fresh adoption of some
measure involving the national recog-
nition, and the national support, of
various forms of religion, and in par-
ticular that a recent and fresh provis-
ion had been made for the propagation
from a public chair of Arian or Socin-
ian doctrines. The question remain-
ing for me was, whether, aware of the
opposition of the English people, I
should set down as equal to nothing,
in a matter primarily connected, not
with our but with their priesthood,
the wishes of the people of Ireland;
and whether I should avail myself of
the popular feeling in regard to the
Koman Catholics for the purpose of
enforcing against them a system which
we had ceased by common consent to
53.— n.
enforce against Arians — a system,
above all, of which I must say that it
never can be conformable to policy, to
justice, or even to decency, when it has
become avowedly partial and one-sided
in its application."
Gladstone was now recognized in
Parliament as an independent advo-
cate of liberal measures of reform,
especially with regard to free trade
— a man whom it was impossible to
consider a slave to the Conservative
party to which he had hitherto been
united. The cause of freedom and
humanity, it was evident, was to find
in him a noble and disinterested sup-
porter. This was shown by his active
interference in behalf of certain vic-
tims of political oppression in the
kingdom of Naples, under the tyran-
nical rule of its notorious sovereign,
Ferdinand II, — King " Bomba " as he
was called in the revolutionary times
which soon succeeded. Mr. Gladstone
had spent the winter of 1850-51 in
Naples. " While there," says Mr. Gil-
christ," he was induced to make per-
sonal examination into the condition
of the political prisoners — victims of
the part they had played in the Rev-
olution two years before, and victims
of the perfidy of their sovereign, who
crowded his prisons with the very best
of his subjects. When he had possessed
himself of the facts, he issued a
pamphlet, which was followed by a
second supplementary one, in which
he revealed what he had discovered to
sympathetic and indignant Christen-
dom. The known character of the
writer, as well as the fact that he had
not as yet displayed any but Conser-
vative sympathies, gave to his brochures
±22
WILLIAM EWART GLADSTONE.
a very high weight and authority.
His word was taken — a more obscure
man's might have passed unheeded —
when he stated, as the result of
what he had seen with his own eyes,
or what at least he personally vouched
for and was prepared to stand by —
that the law had been violated by send-
ing men to prison without even the
formality of a sham trial ; that a for-
mer Prime Minister and the majority
of a recent Parliament were in prison ;
that there were in all twenty thousand
prisoners for political offences; and
that they were chained together two
and two. Late in the session of 1851,
Sir De Lacy Evans, in his place in
Parliament, asked of Lord Palmerston
a question, the gist of which was an
inquiry into the accuracy of Mr. Glad-
stone's statements — whether the vic-
tims " are suffering refinements of bar-
barity and cruelty unknown in any
other civilized country ?" In his reply,
Lord Palmerston used these words : —
" It has not been deemed a part of th
duty of the British Government to
make any formal representation to the
Government of Naples in a matter
that relates entirely to the internal
affairs of that country. At the same
time I thought it right, seeing that
Mr Gladstone — whom I may freely
name, though not in his capacity of a
Member of Parliament — has done him-
self, as I think, very great honor by
the course he pursued at Naples, and
by the course he has followed since ;
for I think, when you see an English
gentleman who goes to pass a winter
at Naples, instead of confining himself
to those amusements that abound in
that city , instead ol diving into vol-
canoes and exploring excavated citiea
— when we see him going to courts OT
justice, visiting prisons, descending
into dungeons, and examining great
numbers of the cases of unfortunate
victims of illegality and injustice, with
a view afterwards to enlist public
opinion in the endeavor to remedy
these abuses — I think that it is a
course that does honor to the person
who pursues it."
Lord Palmerston went on to say
that he had sent copies of Mr. Glad-
stone's pamphlet to every English am-
bassador, with an injunction, that, in
the interests of humanity, they should
bring them under the notice of the
Courts to which they were severally
accredited. This statement was most
enthusiastically cheered. The impor-
tance of these productions of Mr. Glad-
stone's heart and pen can hardly be
exaggerated. They did very much to
arouse and intensify the sympathy of
all classes of English society for long-
suffering Italy. They did not a little
to pave the way for what Cavour,
Garibaldi, Napoleon, and Bismarck
afterwards effected or were the means
of effecting.
On the formation of the ministry of
Lord Aberdeen, at the close of 1852,
Mr. Gladstone was appointed Chancel-
lor of the Exchequer, a position to
which he was naturally invited by his
previous experience in matters of fi-
nance at the Board of Trade. The
speeches on presenting his " Budgets "
in this new relation, soon became cele-
brated by their thoroughness of detail,
and the acuteness, boldness, and effec-
tiveness of his recommendations ; and
many reforms of importance in the
WILLIAM EWART GLADSTONE.
423
distribution of taxes in England, owe
their origin to him. Under Lord
Palmerston's ministry, which succeed-
«/ /
ed to that of Lord Aberdeen, in 1855,
Mr. Gladstone, at the commencement,
returned to his post of Chancellor of
the Exchequer, soon resigning it, how-
ever, and for several years continued
out of office, till he was restored to the
Chancellorship of the Exchequer under
Palmerston, in 1859. In this new ten-
ure of office, his course is remembered
by his instrumentality in securing the
repeal of the paper duty, and the aid
which he lent Mr. Cobden in his nego-
tiation of the commercial treaty with
France. He remained all this while
the representative of the University of
Oxford ; but his liberal policy had for
some time partially alienated him from
that exclusive constituency. In the
general election of 1865, he was thrown
out by that body ; but was immediate-
ly returned by South Lancashire, which
he represented till the election of 1868,
when he was defeated, and was suc-
cessfully put in nomination for Green-
wich. He was now the acknowledged
leader of the House of Commons, fore-
most in the work of reform on the lib-
eral side, introducing in 1866 a new
measure of Parliamentary .Reform, ex-
tending the franchise; which, by a
small majority on the part of the op-
position, caused the defeat of the min-
istry of Lord John Russell, who had
succeeded Palmerston at his death.
The measure, however, was adopted
by the administration of Lord Derby ;
and, on the overthrow of that ministry
in 1868, Gladstone came into power as
the head of the new government. The
first great act of his administration
was the pacification of Ireland by a
sweeping measure of reform in the re-
duction of the Irish Church Establish-
ment, which was carried by him in
July, 1869. Never were his resources
more fully displayed than in the ex-
haustive acuteness which he brought
to this measure. Every objection to his
plan was met by him with the minutest
statement of its practical working, as
he displayed a like business sagacity
with that which had distinguished his
financial exbibits as Chancellor of the
Exchequer.
The occasion was one, however, which,
in view of his earlier strongly expressed
convictions on the conscience of the
State, and its obligations to support
the established religion of the country,
seemed to require from him something
in the nature of an apologetic explana-
tion. This he aiforded to the public,
in a volume memorable in the annals
of statesmanship, which he issued on
the eve of these parliamentary changes
in the status of the Irish church. The
book is entitled simply " A Chapter of
Autobiography." It was made the
subject of a searching analysis of the
author's character in the " Quarterly
Review.* "In this pamphlet," says
the writer in that article, " Mr. Glad-
stone has put forth a sort of apologia
pro vita sud, which, to say the least, is
singularly characteristic, and will dis-
appoint both his enemies and his
friends. As a psychological revela-
tion, the ' Chapter of Autobiography '
is eminently interesting : — as a politi-
cal justification, it is eminently unsat-
isfactory. It is not an attempt to rec-
oncile his present conduct in reference
* No. 251, January, 1869.
WILLIAM EWART GLADSTONE.
to the Irish Church with his early well-
known, and published opinions as to
Church and State; but an admission,
candid in the extreme, that the two
things are wholly irreconcilable. It
will, we think, satisfy every one of
what scarcely any one who knows Mr.
Gladstone, ever doubted — namely, the
honesty and disinterestedness of his
retreat from his original position ; but
it leaves our amazement that a man of
his mental powers should ever have
intrenched himself in such a position,
tenfold greater than before."
We may trace, also, something of
this candor in Mr. Gladstone's treat-
ment of the American question at dif-
ferent periods. During the struggle,
in an address delivered while he was
Chancellor of the Exchequer, before
the University of Edinburgh, of which
he was Rector — in January, 1862 — he
reviewed the subject in its relation to
British opinion. Claiming that a gen-
eral feeling of good will toward Amer-
ica existed in England at the outbreak
of the rebellion, he asserted as a fact
of which there could be no doubt, that
when that event occurred, "all the
thinking men in the country came to
the conclusion, that in the war which
had commenced, the party which was
apparently the strongest, had commit-
ted themselves to an enterprise which
would probably prove to be complete-
ly beyond their powers. We saw there
a military undertaking which, if it was
to be successful, would only be the
preface and introduction to political
difficulties far greater than even the
military difficulties of the war itself."
Towards the end of the same year,
when the efforts of the South had been
prolonged, though without any gain ot
material advantage; in fact, were nearing
the process of exhaustion, which was
to end the rebellion, Mr. Gladstone, in
October, in a speech at a banquet at
Newcastle, did not hesitate to assert
in the most* decided manner, while ex-
pressing his concern for the welfare of
the North, his belief of the final and
inevitable dissolution of the Union.
" We may," said he, " have our own
opinions about slavery — we may be
for the South or against the South,
but there is no doubt, I think, about
this ; Jefferson Davis, and the other
leaders of the South, have made an
army — they are making, it appears, a
navy — and they have made what is
more than either, they have made a
nation. I cannot say, that I, for one,
have viewed with any regret their
failure to establish themselves in Mary-
land. It appears to be too probable,
that if they had been able to establish
themselves in Maryland, the conse-
quences of the military success in any
aggressive movement, would have been
that a political party favorable to
them would have been formed in that
State — that they would have contract-
ed actual or virtual engagements with
that political party, and that the ex-
istence of these engagements hamper-
ing them in their negotiations with
the Northern States, might have form-
ed a new obstacle to peace. Gentle-
men, from the bottom of our hearts,
we should desire that no new obstacle
to peace may be formed. We may
anticipate with certainty the success
of the Southern States, so far as re-
gards effecting their separation from
the North. I, for my own part, can-
WILLIAM EWART GLADSTONE.
425
not but believe that that event is as
certain as any event yet future and
contingent can be."
The war, in due time, ended, and Mr.
Gladstone changed his views of the pow-
er and stability of the government at
Washington. Nor did he hesitate, when
prime minister, to acknowledge his er-
ror. Five years after the date of the
opinions we have recorded, in a letter
to Mr. C. E. Lester, of New York, da-
ted August 8th, 1867, and published
with Mr. Gladstone's consent, he thus
wjote : u With respect to the opinions
I publicly expressed at a period dur-
ing; the war, that the South had virtu-
O /
ally succeeded in achieving its inde-
pendence, I could not be surprised or
offended, if the expression of such an
opinion at such a time, had been treat-
ed in your work much less kindly than
the notice I find. I must confess that I
was wrong, and took too much upon
myself in expressing such an opinion.
Yet the motive was not bad. ' My sym-
pathies ' were then where they had long
before been — with the whole American
people. I, probably, like many Euro-
peans, did not understand the nature
and working of the American Union.
I had imbibed, conscientiously, if erro-
neously, an opinion that twenty or
twenty • four millions of the North
would be happier, and would be
stronger (of course assuming that
they would hold together) without
the South than with it, and that the
negroes would be much nearer eman-
cipation under a Southern government,
than under the old system of the Union,
which had not, at that date (August,
1862), been abandoned, and which al-
ways appeared to me to place the
whole power of the North at the com-
mand of the stockholding interest of
the South. As far as regards the spe-
cial or separate interest of England in
the matter, I, differing from many
others, had always contended that it
was best for our interest, that the Union
should be kept entire."*
With all his working ability, so
often and resolutely applied in the con-
duct of parliamentary affairs, it might
be thought that the time and attention
of the political leader were sufficiently
employed. But Mr. Gladstone has
associated with his political labors a
devotion to literature and learning
which has given him rank among the
foremost scholars of the age. His twin
University training in Classics and
Mathematics has never been lost sight
of by him in either department. To
the influence of the latter we may
assign much of his exact business fac-
ulty ; while the former has been abun-
dantly exhibited in his important
contributions to the critical study of
early Greek history and poetry. His
largest work of this character entitled
" Studies on Homer and the Homeric
Age" appeared from the University
Press of Oxford in three octavo vol-
umes in 1858. It is a series of Essays,
learned and philosophical, on well
nigh every possible interest or ques-
tion which may be attached to the
great works of Homer. History,
Ethnology, Religion, Politics, Domes-
tic Manners, the Relations of War and
Peace, Geography, the Laws of Poetry,
with the various topics comprehended
under them are successively treated,
minutely and with a painstaking cau-
* ilNew York Times," Dec. 28, 1868.
126
WILLIAM EWAKT GLADSTONE.
tion for the scholar ; with enthusiasm
and picturesque illustration to stim-
ulate the attention of the general
reader.
A kind of resum£ of the " Home-
ric Studies," with important modi-
fications in the Ethnological and
Mythological portions of the inquiry
was published by Mr. Gladstone in
1869, the produce of the parliamentary
vacations of the two preceding years.
This work he entitled "Juventus
Mundi; The Gods and Men of the
Heroic Age."
In another walk of classic literature,
Mr. Gladstone appears as a poet, the
author of various translations in verse
from the Greek, Latin, German and
Italian. Of these the version of the
Ode of Horace " To Lydia " has proved
a favorite with scholars and the public.
It is a picture of a lover's quarrel and
reconciliation, which has exercised the
talents of many celebrated persons in
efforts to render the simplicity and
conciseness of the original.
HORACE.
•
While no more welcome arms could twine
Around thy snowy neck, than mine;
Thy smile, thy heart, while I possest,
Not Persia's monarch lived as blest.
LYDIA.
While thou did'st feel no rival flame,
Nor Lydia next to Chloe came ;
O then thy Lydia' s echoing name
Excelled e'en Ilia's Roman fame.
HORACE.
Me now Threician Chloe sways,
Skilled in soft lyre and softer lays ;
My forfeit life I'll freely give,
So she, my better life, may live.
LYDIA.
The son of Ornytus inspires
My burning breast with mutual fires ;
I'll face two several deaths with joy,
So Fate but spare my Thurian boy.
HORACE.
What if our ancient love awake,
And bound us with its golden yoke ;
If auburn Chloe I resign,
And Lydia once again be mine ?
LYDIA.
Though brighter than a star is he,
Thou, rougher than the Adrian sea,
And fickle as light bark; yet I
With thee would live, with thee would die.
LOUIS ADOLPHE THIERS.
T GUIS ADOLPHE THIEK8, the
J-J historian aiid statesman of France,
was born at Marseilles, on the 16th of
April, 1797. His father was a work-
ing locksmith; his mother was of a
mercantile family of the town, which
had fallen in circumstances, but could
boast of having given birth to Joseph
and Andre Chenier, the poets of the
Revolutionary era. Through the in-
fluence of his mother's family, Thiers
was admitted, when a boy, to the Ly-
ceum of Marseilles, where he was one
of those who received a gratuitous ed-
ucation at the public expense. It was
intended that he should proceed from
the school to the Ecole Polytechnique,
in order to be educated for the milita-
ry service of the empire ; but the fall
of the empire and the restoration of
the Bourbons having put an end to the
design, he resolved to become an " avo-
cat," and went to Aix to study juris-
prudence. At the college of Aix, he
formed an intimate acquaintance, con-
tinued in the literary and political as-
sociations of after-life, with M. Mignet,
the accomplished historical writer. At
Aix, young Thiers distinguished him-
self by his vivacity and talent, and his
fondness for economical and historical
studies. A curious story is told of his
cleverness while at college. The au-
thorities of the college had offered a
prize for the best eloge on Vauvenar-
ges, the French moral philosopher,
born at Aix, and Thiers had given in
an eloge which was found to be the
best. At that time, however, political
feeling ran high among the authorities
of the college — some being eager lib-
erals, and others eager royalists ; and,
it having transpired, before the open-
ing of the sealed packets containing
the competitor's names, that the au-
thor of the successful eloge was the
young liberal, M. Thiers, the royalist
party among the judges were strong
enough to prevent the prize being
awarded. No prize was given, and
the same subject was prescribed for
competition in the following jear.
That year Thiers again sent in the
identical eloge, which had, in his
opinion, been unfairly treated in the
former year. It was pronounced to be
second in merit, the prize being award-
ed to another essay, which had been
sent from Paris. It remained to ascer
tain who was the author of this piece
and greatly to the discomfiture of the
judges, when the sealed packet con-
(427)
428
LOUIS ADOLPIIE TRIERS.
taining the name was opened, it was
found that the writer of this eloge, al-
so, was M. Thiers, who had resorted
to this trick, partly by way of revenge,
partly by way of frolic.
His education having been finished,
M. Thiers began the practice of an
"avocat," but had little success. He
then turned his attention to literature,
and removed to Paris. His first pub-
lic appearance as a writer of which we
have any mention, was as a newspaper
contributor of political and other arti-
cles to the " Constitutional." While
thus, about the age of twenty-six, he
was earning a moderate livelihood as
a liberal journalist under the Restora-
tion, he was privately engaged in au-
thorship of an ambitious kind. In
1823, he wrote a sketch entitled "The
Pyrenees and the South of France
during the months of November and
December, 1822," of which a transla-
tion appeared in English ; and about
the same time, assisted by information
on financial subjects supplied him by
M. le Baron Louis, a great authority
on such matters, he wrote an account
of Law and his schemes, which ap-
peared in a review. But the work
which he had prescibed for his leisure,
was a " History of the French Revolu-
tion." He had diligently gathered
documentary materials ; and, in order
to inform himself on special topics, he
made it his business to become ac-
quainted with survivors who had acted
special parts in that great crisis. The
volume appeared in 1823, and the oth-
ers were successively published, till the
work was completed in ten volumes, in
1830. At first, the work did not at-
tract much attention; but, before it
was concluded, it had produced a pow-
erful sensation. Since that time, there
have been many histories of the French
Revolution ; but, published as the work
of M. Thiers was, during the Restora-
tion, the sympathies which it showed
with the Revolution, and the boldness
with which it endeavored to revive
the reputations of the great actors in
that extraordinary drama, was some-
thing original in French historical lit-
-erature. The vivacity of the style
and the fulness of detail, have caused
it to retain, in the midst of numerous
works on its theme, a high place in
France and in other countries.
It was the Revolution of 1830, how-
ever, that brought M. Thiers into
prominence in the active politics of
France. There can be no doubt that
he contributed powerfully to the prep-
aration for this event. But, in conse-
quence of his " History " and writings
as a journalist, he had been for some
time before recognized as one of the
most active men of the revolutionary
party among the French liberals, as
distinct from the " Doctrinaire " party,
of which the Due de Broglie, M. de
Remusat, and Guizot were leaders. He
was on intimate terms with Lafitte.
Manuel, Beranger, and Armand Car-
rell ; and when the last of these pro-
jected the famous journal called the
" National," as an organ of the more revo-
lutionary form of liberalism, he asso-
ciated Thiers and Mignet with himself
for the purpose of carrying it on. It was
agreed that the three should be edi-
tors in turn, each for a year ; and Thiers
was chosen editor for the first year. The
first number appeared on the 1st of
January, 1830, and no journal did more
LOUIS ADOLPHE THIERS.
429
to damage the cause of the Bourbon
legitimacy during the first half of that
year. The main idea of the journal,
under the management of Thiers, was
in the words of the French writers,
" war upon royalty, but legal war,
constitutional war, war in the name of
the charter." In other words, the
opinions of M. Thiers were not those
of the Republic ; and what he desired
was something in France that should
be equivalent to the Revolution of
1688 in England ; that is, that should
secure constitutional sovereignty with
a change of person. The natural issue
of such views was Orleanism ; and, ac-
cordingly, after the Three days of Ju-
ly, during which the office of the " Na-
tional " was the head-quarters of the
opposition government, M. Thiers had
an important share with Lafitte and
others, in the arrangements which
brought Louis Philippe to the throne.
This solution exactly answered his
views, which were as adverse to a pure
Republic as to legitimacy ; he prepared
the public mind for it by placards and
the like ; and it were he who under-
took the mission to Neuilly to invite
Louis Philippe to assume the govern-
ment.
M. Thiers was, of course, a promi-
nent man in the new system of things
which he had helped to bring about.
He first held an office in the French
ministry, under his old patron, M. le
Baron Louis, and showed such talent
in the office, that, when this first cabi-
net of Louis Philippe resigned, in No-
vember, 1830, the minister recommend-
ed Thieis as his successor. M. Thiers
contented himself with an under-secre-
taryship in the Lafitte ministry, which
n.— 54
lasted till March, 1831, still making
financial administration his special-
ty, while, as deputy for Aix, he began
his career as a parliamentary orator.
At first his attempts in this latter
character, were not very successful :
his extremely diminutive, and even
o4d appearance operating to his preju-
dice in the tribune ; but very soon he
acquired that wonderful volubility,
and that power of easy, familiar, anec-
dotic, and amusing, and yet bold and in
cisive rhetoric which have characterized
his oratory since. On the accession of
the Casimir Perier ministry, in March,
1831, M. Thiers went out of office, and
had even to contest the election at
Aix, with an adherent of the ministry ;
but very soon he deserted the opposi-
tion, and astounded the Chamber by a
speech against its policy. The conse-
quence was, on the one hand, that he
was appointed chief of the commission
on the budget, in whose name he pre-
sented the report ; and that, on the
other hand, he lost his popularity, and
was assailed everywhere as a traitor to
liberalism. It was at this time that
he visited Italy on a political mission,
and conceived the idea of writing a
history of Florence. On the accession
of the Soult ministry, in October,
1832, M. Thiers was established in the
Ministry of the Interior, M. Guizot be-
ing appointed Minister of Public In-
struction, and M. le Due de Broglie
being also in the cabinet. As Minister
of the Interior, M. Thiers planned and
executed the arrest of the Duchess de
Berry. On the subdivision of the
Ministry of the Interior, he chose the
Ministry of Commerce and Public
Works ; and, it was while holding this
±30
LOUIS ADOLPHE THIERS.
office, that lie declared himself in va-
rious important questions affecting
the internal politics of France. His
interest in the railway system, and in
the question of tariff reform, led him
to visit England ; and the result was
that, though he advocated a political
alliance with England, he deprecated a
commercial alliance, and declared in fa-
vor of a protectionist policy. He also
favored measures tending to centrali-
zation in France. In general politics,
the part taken by M. Thiers, was such
that he was no longer regarded as a
popular liberal, but rather as a decided
Orleanist, and therefore Conservative.
His hostility to political associations
increased his unpopularity with the
Republican or advanced liberal
party.
In 1834, M. Thiers again became
Minister of the Interior, in which capa-
city he had to direct measures for the
suppression of the Lyons insurrection.
On the dissolution of the Broglie Min-
istry, in 1836, he was made President
of the Council and Minister of Foreign
Affairs. He remained at the head of
the government for almost six months,
when a difference with the King on
Spanish affairs led to his resignation.
He was again Chief Minister in 1840,
arid then showed himself, in the con-
duct of foreign affairs, in favor of a
war policy or assertion of the military
power of the country. Being soon re-
lieved from office during the latter
years of Louis Philippe's reign, his
party was one of the elements of the
opposition. His leisure was now em-
ployed in the composition of his im-
portant work, a sequel to his " History
of the Revolution," the "History of
the Consulate and Empire," the first
volume of which appeared in 1845.
When the Revolution of 1848 came,
it found Thiers out of office. His po-
litical career, for the moment, seemed
quite at an end; but his voice was
soon heard as a member of the Con-
stituent, and then of the National As-
sembly. He opposed by pen and
speech the socialist schemes of the
day. After the elevation of Louis
Napoleon to the Presidency, M. Thiers
was thought sufficiently in his way, in
the contest with the Assembly, to be
included in the arrests in the fa-
mous ooup d'etat of the night of De-
cember 2, 1851. He was seized and
sent to the Castle of Vincennes, and
subsequently banished the country.
He visited Italy, and, after residing in
various places, was permitted to return
to Paris. He was now for a number
of years separated from political af-
fairs, being employed in literary and
artistic studies, and in the continua-
tion and completion of his work on
"The Consulate and Empire," the
twentieth and concluding volume of
which was published in 1862. The
following year he reappeared in the
Chamber of Deputies, as one of the
representatives of the city of Paris,
and took sides with the opposition in
attacking the administration of the
finances, the municipal administration
of M. Hausmann, in his enormous out-
lays for the reconstruction of Paris,
and the foreign policy of the Emperor.
He denounced the conduct of the ad-
ministration with regard to Rome and
Italy, the Mexican Expedition, and
the war between Prussia and Austria
in 1866. He upbraided the govern-
LOUIS ADOLPHE TRIERS.
431
merit with the loss of its foreign pres-
tige, and repeatedly reproached the
Emperor with allowing the union of
North Germany to be accomplished
without intervening to prevent. When
war, however, was declared by Napo-
leon, in 1870, he opposed it as inop-
portune; and, in a memorable speech
on the eve of this unfortunate act,
prophesied its failure.
Its early disasters summoned him
again to prominence and activity in
the affairs of the nation. On the 17th
of August, 1870, a month after the
O ' '
declaration of war, when the armies
were in the field, in a speech in the
Corps Le"gislatif, he expressed a hope
that Paris would, in case of necessity,
oppose an invincible resistance to the
enemy. For that purpose he said that
it would be necessary to make a waste
around Paris with the double object
of depriving the enemy of sustenance
and of causing abundance in the capi-
tal by allowing the inhabitants of the
surrounding country to take refuge in
it with all their produce. Ten days
later he was appointed a member of
the Paris Defence Committee; and,
although he declined to become a
member of the Government of Na-
tional Defence, formed after the down-
fall of .the Empire, he voluntarily un-
dertook the position of negotiator
abroad for the purpose of requesting
the intervention of the neutral nations
in arresting the inroads of Germany.
In this capacity he visited London in
September, and, after conferences with
the premier, Mr. Gladstone, and Earl
Granville, the Secretary for Foreign
Affairs, proceeded to prosecute his
mission at the courts of St. Petersburg,
Vienna, and Florence, the last of
which cities he left on his return to
Tours, on the 18th of October. A few
days afterwards, in accordance with
the proposal of the four neutral pow-
ers, he proceeded as Envoy Extraor-
dinary of the French Republic to Ver-
sailles, then the Prussian head-quar-
ters; and, having received from the
Paris government the completion of
the powers with which he had been
entrusted by the Delegation at Tours,
opened negotiations with Count Bis-
marck, on the 1st of November, for a
twenty-five days' armistice, which
should stay the effusion of blood, and
should allow France to constitute,
through elections freely held, a regular
government, with which it would be
possible for Prussia to treat in a valid
form. The negotiations were broken
off on the 6th of November, on the
question of the revictualling of the be-
sieged fortresses, and specially of
Paris, during the armistice, a conces-
sion which was refused by Count Bis-
marck, in deference to the representa-
tions of the Prussian military leaders ;
and M. Thiers returned to Tours to
place himself again at the disposal of
the Delegate Government, which, on
the 9th of December, removed from
Tours to Bordeaux, the former of
which towns fell on the 21st of the
same month into the hands of the
Prussians.
The surrender of Paris, on the 28th
of January, 1871, was followed on the
evening of the same day by an armis-
tice, which was arranged in order that
elections might be held throughout
France for a National Assembly, which
was to meet at Bordeaux, for the pur-
4:32
LOUIS ADOLPHE TIIIERS.
pose of concluding peace with the Ger-
man Empire. To this Assembly, M.
Thiers, who was only twentieth on the
list of members elected by the constit-
uencies of the capital, was. returned by
one-third of the nation ; and this un-
rivalled popularity, a sign of the uni-
versal appreciation of his patriotic en-
deavors, naturally pointed him out to
the Assembly as the future head of
the Provisional Government ; and one
of the first acts of the Chamber, which
met for a preliminary sitting on the
12th of February, was to confer that
dignity upon him. Two days after-
wards, he delivered a speech in the
National Assembly, in which he stat-
ed that, although appalled at the pain-
ful task imposed upon him by the
country, he accepted it with obedience,
devotion, and love, and with hope in
the youth, resources and energy of
France. Besides the prerogatives of
Chief of the State, he enjoyed the
privileges of a deputy, and was allow-
ed to take part in the deliberations of
the Assembly whenever he pleased, a
privilege which proved subsequently
of advantage to the State in complet-
ing the arrangements for peace. On
the 28th of February, he introduced
to the Assembly the treaty of peace,
which he had assisted on the 26th to
conclude at Versailles, subject to the
ratification of the National Assembly,
which was voted on the succeeding day
by a large majority.
Early in March, 1871, the National
Assembly removed to Versailles; on
the 18th of that month, Paris fell into
the hands of the Communists, who,
about the 15th of May, destroyed the
house of M. Thiers ; and it was only
on the 28th of May that the capital
was completely recovered to the Gov-
ernment by the army of MacMahon.
The supplementary elections of July
gave additional power to the policy of
M. Thiers in the Assembly ; which, by
a law passed by a very large majority,
on the 31st of August, prolonged his
tenure of office "until it shall have
completed its labors," increased his
powers, and changed his designation
from " Chief of the Executive Power "
to that of President of the French Re-
public. In the discharge of the duties
of this office he, as the most im-
portant of all measures, directed his
efforts to hastening the emancipation
of French territory from the occupa-
tion of the Germans, secured to them,
by the treaty of peace, as a guaranty
for the payment of the war indemnity.
This he accomplished by new negotia-
tions and a series of loans, anticipat-
ing the times of payment. His success
in these schemes, especially in the
generous reception by the country of
his financial measures, proves at once
the extraordinary pecuniary resources
of France, and its confidence in the
general administration of its affairs
under his leadership.*
Having, by the financial success of
his administration, provided for the
large indemnity due to Germany, and
thus hastened the period for the final
departure of the Emperor's troops
from the kingdom, M. Thiers was, in
the spring of 1873, engaged in the de-
velopment of political measures in the
Assembly, calculated to consolidate
the Republic thus far provisionally
adopted, and to the full establishment
* Abridged from the "English Cyclopaedia."
LOUIS ADOLPHE THIERS.
of which, under proper constitutional
restraints, he was fully pledged. The
recent popular elections had been de-
cidedly in favor of the Republic, with
a preference in one or two instances
for the old radical leaders, which gave
alarm or a pretence to the more con-
servative monarchical party in the As.
sembly; and, in a test vote in that
body, on the 24th of May, M. Thiers
was left in a minority. Upon this, he
immediately tendered his resignation
as President of the Republic ; it was
promptly accepted, and Marshal Mac-
Mahon, a soldier of honorable charac-
ter, the military hero of Algeria and
the wars of the Second Empire, was
chosen in his place. With character-
istic devotion to the political service of
his country, M. Thiers, without delay,
took his seat in the Assembly, in the
ranks of the Constitutional opposition.
HARRIET BEECHER STOWE.
FROM the interesting semi-autobio-
graphical work in which the ca-
reer of the late Dr. Lyman Beecher is
exhibited, with considerable minute-
ness, we learn that the earliest Ameri-
can ancestors of the family came from
England with the celebrated London
clergyman, John Davenport, who, with
a distinguished body of emigrants, set-
tled at New Haven, in 1638. In this
company was Hannah Beecher, the
wife of one of the original members of
the party, who died on the eve of
the sailing of the expedition. Being
skilled as a midwife, the services of
the widow were thought to be of such
importance to the colony, that she was
secured to accompany it by the prom-
ise of her husband's share in the town
plot. She brought with her a son,
John, who is simply mentioned in the
family history as the parent of Joseph,
who married a Pomeroy, " was of great
muscular strength, being able to lift a
barrel of cider, and drink out of the
bung-hole," and left a son, Nathaniel,
who, we are told, " was not quite so
strong as his father, being only able to
lift a barrel of cider into a cart." He
was six feet high, and a blacksmith by
trade. His anvil, we are told, by Dr. Ly-
(434,
man Beecher, " stood on the stump of
an old oak-tree, under which Davenport
preached the first sermon; just the
place for a strong man to strike while
the iron was hot, and he hit the nail
on the head." He married a Sperry,
the granddaughter of a full-blooded
Welchman. Their son, David, "was
short, like his mother, and could lift a
barrel of cider and carry it into the
cellar. He was a blacksmith, and
worked on the same anvil his father
had before him." Besides coming up
to the standard of physical strength in
the family, in the handling of the ci-
der barrel, he was fond of reading, and
an adept in politics, a man of humor
and humors, the latter somewhat
encouraged by dyspepsia, which he in-
curred from keeping boarders, and pro-
viding a better table than that of his
neighbors, for the representatives to
the legislature, who lodged with him.
He was five times married, his third and
" best-loved " wife, Esther Lyman, of
Scottish descent, giving birth, in 1775,
to the late Dr. Lyman Beecher, one of
the paternal family of twelve children,
all but four of whom died in infancy.
Though a seven months' child, the off-
spring of a consumptive mother, who
HAEEIET BEECHER STOWE.
435
died only two months after he was
born, there was something of the iron
of the old race of blacksmiths in his
composition, to preserve the puny
infant for the good hard work he was
destined cheerfully to undertake in
the world. Educated at Yale College,
under the presidency of the venerable
Theodore Dwight, he rendered emi-
nent service as a clergyman in his long
pastorate at East Hampton, Long
Island, and other parochial charges ;
in the Presidency of the Lane Theo-
logical Seminary at Cincinnati, and in
various other relations, up to the time
of his death, in Brooklyn, New York,
in 1863, in his eighty-eighth year.
Dr. Lynian Beech er was married in
1799, shortly after leaving college, to
Roxana Foote, an estimable lady, the
descendant of Andrew Ward, a fellow
emigrant with Hannah Beecher, under
Davenport. The Ward family was
represented in the military service of
the old French and Revolutionary wars,
and the Foote family, to which they
became allied by intermarriage, was of
equal distinction in the history of the
country. The literature of the coun-
try certainly owes much to the
union of Dr. Beecher with Miss
Foote ; for, of their numerous family of
children, nearly all have been eminent
in authorship and professional life.
The eldest son, the Rev. Dr. Edward
Beecher, is known as the author of
"The Conflict of Ages," and other
books; his brother Charles has writ-
ten several popular works on religious
topics of the day ; while we have but
to mention in this connexion the name
of the Rev. Henry Ward Beecher, to
awaken a host of kindred recollections
of his rich and varied activity in the
world of letters. The eldest daughter
of the family, Catherine Esther Beech-
er, has also published much of value
on topics of domestic interest. Of a
younger sister, the most celebrated of
all in literature, we have now to speak.
Harriet Beecher, the third daughter
and sixth child of Lyman Beecher and
Roxana Foote, was born at Litchfield,
Connecticut, while her father was set-
tled as pastor in that town, on the
14th of June, 1812. Mrs. Beecher
dying when Harriet was not yet four
years old, she can have been but little
indebted to that parent for the early
training of her faculties; but, apart
from any hereditary influences trans-
mitted to her at her birth, the child
could not fail, as she grew up, to be
greatly influenced by the vivid recol-
lections in the family of the many fine
and true qualities of her mother. In
a letter to her brother Charles, she has
herself, with much feeling, recorded
some of these impressions. "During
all my childhood," says she, "I was
constantly hearing her spoken of, and,
from one friend or another, some inci-
dent or anecdote of her life was con-
stantly being impressed on me. She
was one of those strong, restful, yet
widely sympathetic natures, in whom
all around seemed to find comfort and
repose." While her religious affec-
tions were strongly developed, she
shrank with a genuine feminine re-
serve from their utterance in public.
" She was of such great natural sensi-
tiveness and even timidity, that, in
some respects, she never could conform
to the standard of what was expected ol
a pastor's wife. In the weekly female
436
HARRIET BEECHER STOWE.
prayer-meetings, she could never lead
the devotions." And her daughter
also records how ' ' that at first the
house was full of little works of inge-
nuity, and taste, and skill, which had
been wrought by her hand — furniture
adorned with painting; pictures of
birds and flowers, done with minutest
skill; fine embroidery, with every va-
riety of lace and cobweb stitch ; ex-
quisite needle-work, which has almost
passed out of memory in our day."
By these and other traits of refinement
and a cultivated taste, of which we have
also an idyllic picture in her husband's
autobiography, where he sketches her
as she appeared among her companions
on his first acquaintance with her, we
may estimate the value of the memory
of such a mother to such a daughter.
Long years after these traditions, which
doubtless have secretly imparted a
grace to many a thoughtful, feeling
passage of her writings, were called to
mind, and embalmed, as Mrs. Stowe
tells us, in her memorable book. " The
passage in * Uncle Tom,' " she says,
" where Augustine St. Clair describes
his mother's influence, is a simple re-
production of this mother's influence,
as it has always been in her family."
When Harriet was about six years
old, Dr. Beecher brought his second
wife, Harriet Porter, to the home at
Litchfield, a lady also of a refined and
amiable disposition. Mrs. Stowe de-
scribes her as " peculiarly dainty and
neat in all her ways and arrangements,"
seeming at first sight to the children,
"so fair, so delicate, so elegant, that
we were almost afraid to go near her."
She took kindly to her new relations
in the home circle, and we find her in
the " Correspondence " published with
Dr. Beecher's autobiography, in an ac-
count of the family to her sister, in
December, 1817, when she comes to
Harriet and Henry (the pulpit orator
of the Plymouth, born a year or so
after Mrs. Stowe), speaking of them
as " always hand-in-hand, as lovely
children as ever I saw, amiable, affec-
tionate, and very bright." In another
letter, in 1819, when Harriet was about
seven, we get a second glimpse of the
pair, somewhat curious in the light of
later results : " Harriet makes just as
many wry faces, is just as odd, and
loves to be laughed at as much as
ever. Henry does not improve much
in talking, but speaks very thick."
About this time, Harriet was put to the
famous Female Academy, kept by Misu
Pierce, with the assistance of a Mr.
Brace, at Litchfield. Here she contin-
ued till the age of twelve. She was
now a diligent reader, delighted, we
are told, with such works as the novels
of Sir. Walter Scott, the "Arabian
Nights," and "Don Quixote," when
the latter book fell in her way in
broken fragments. In 1821, her bro
ther Edward writes, " Harriet reads
everything she can lay her hands on,
and sews and knits diligently." Nov-
els, as a general thing, were tabooed
in the family, but her mother had read
to her Miss Edge worth's 'Frank,' and
her father encouraged the children in
the reading of " Waverley " and its sue
cessors. " Come, George," he would
say, among them in the cold wintry
nights at Litchfield, " I'll tell you what
we'll do to make the evening go off.
You and I'll take turns, and see who'll
tell the most out of Scrtt's novels."
HARRIET BEECHER STOWE.
437
In one summer, says Mrs. Stowe,
" George and I went through '' Ivan-
hoe seven times, and were both able
to recite many of its scenes, from be-
srinninsj to end, verbatim." Another
™ O '
kindly influence in the household was
the introduction of <l a fine-toned up-
right piano, which a fortunate acci-
dent had brought within the range of
a poor country minister's means. The
ark of the covenant was not brought
into the tabernacle with more gladness
(curiously adds Mrs. Stowe), than this
magical instrument into our abode."
The father accompanied it on the vio-
lin, and her brothers on the flute, so
there were many joyful concerts, to
which a certain charming young lady
boarder contributed a stock of Scotch
ballads — altogether a pleasing, genial
picture of the minister's home at Litch-
field. The attendance of Harriet, mean-
while, at the Academy, was producing
the ripest results. Mr. Brace had a
rare faculty of teaching through con-
versation, by calling out the powers
of his pupils, and inspiring them with a
love for their historical studies. He
had, also, a particular faculty in teach-
ing composition, proposing themes, and
calling for volunteers outside of the
regular divisions of classes, to write
upon them. Harriet profited greatly
by these opportunities, and became
such a proficient in writing, that in
her twelfth year, she was appointed
one of the writers for the annual exhi-
bition. The question proposed was,
" Can the immortality of the soul be
proved by the light of nature ? " in
which she took the negative. " I re-
member," says she, " the scene, to me
so eventful. The hall was crowded
VOL ii. — 55
with all the literati of Li tch field. Be-
fore them all, our compositions were
read aloud. When mine was read, I
noticed that father, who was sitting
on the right of Mr. Brace, brightened
and looked interested, and at the close,
I heard him say, ' Who wrote that com-
position ?' l Your daughter, sir !' was
the answer. It was the proudest mo-
ment of my life. There was no mistak-
ing father's face when he was pleased ;
and to have interested him, was past
all juvenile triumphs."
Harriet's sister Catharine, the oldest
of the family being born in 1800, had
meantime opened a female seminary
at Hartford, which was in successful
operation. Thither Harriet was sent
as a pupil in her thirteenth year, and
subsequently became associated in its
management with her sister. When
her father, in 1832, removed from Bos-
ton to Cincinnati to undertake the
charge of a congregation, with the pres-
idency of the newly-founded Lane
Theological Seminary at that place, he
was accompanied by his daughter
Harriet. In a chapter contributed to
the Beecher Autiobiography, already
cited, she gives a spirited and entertain-
ing account of the journey, exhibiting
a lively talent in hitting off the pas-
sing humors of the scene — such as the
public has become familiar with in her
numerous character sketches. On<
passage shows her superiority to the or-
dinary hack impertinencies of the re-
ligious newspapers of the time. " I saw
to-day," she writes, at Philadelphia, " a
notice about father ; setting forth how
'this distinguished brother, with his
large family, having torn themselves
from the endearing scenes of their
438
HARRIET BEECHER STOWE.
home,' etc. ' were going like Jacob,' etc.
— a very scriptural and appropriate
flourish. I do hate this way of speak-
ing of Christian people. It is too
much after the manner of men, or, as
Paul says, speaking ' as a fool.' r
Arrived at Cincinnati the family
soon became established at a pleasant
rural residence on Walnut Hills, over-
looking the city, where the old cheer-
ful home life was renewed ; not, how-
ever, without disturbances in the outer
world, in the theological and anti-
slavery discussions which grew up in
connexion with the Doctor's western
pastorate anfl presidency. Harriet
was here for a time still associated
with her sister in the conduct of a
school for female instruction. In 1 8 3 6
she became the wife of the Rev Dr.
Calvin Ellis Stowe, a native of Massa-
chusetts, born in 1802, a scholar of
much distinction, who had been called
from a professorship in Bowdoin Col-
lege to the Chair of Biblical Literature
ID the Lane Theological Seminary.
She remained with her husband in
Cincinnati till his withdrawal from,
the institution in 1850. During these
years she experienced in the struggle
in the college, and in other opportuni-
ties of observation, the force of the
conflict which was being urged be-
tween the hostile elements in the na-
tion of freedom and slavery. It need
not be stated on which side, by prin-
ciples and feeling, she was enlisted.
It was inevitable that a person gift-
ed with the peculiar talents of Mrs.
Stowe, surrounded on all sides by intel-
lectual influences, should become an au-
thor. Her ability as a writer was early
displayed in a series of tales and sketch-
es, a collection of which was published
by the Harpers in 1849, with the title
of " The May Flower ; or, Sketches of
the Descendants of the Pilgrims." By
these she was known as a lively, ac-
complished writer, agreeable in style,
felicitous in description, and with a
turn for humorous characterization.
Her pen was frequently employed in
the composition of short stories foi the
periodicals, and she wrote several
books for Sunday schools. In 1851,
while residing in Brunswick, Maine,
where her husband had been called
from Cincinnati to the Divinity pro
fessorship in Bowdoin College, she con-
tributed to the "National Era," an
anti-slavery weekly paper at Wash-
ington, the national capital, a sketch
of " The Death of Uncle Tom " a ne^ro
' O
slave, which excited so much atten-
tion that she supplied other portions
of the narrative in instalments, from
week to week, during nearly a year,
till the whole story was completed. It
was shortly after published in Boston,
from the press of Jewitt & Co., with
the title " Uncle Tom's Cabin ; or,
Life Among the Lowly." Its success
was immediate and extraordinary. The
pictures of Southern life which it ex
hibited, its remarkable humorous and
descriptive talent, the vivacity of its
scenes, its pathetic interest in depict-
ing the fortunes of the slave, its bold
romantic adventure, and its warm re-
ligious interest, formed a combination
which challenged the attention oi
readers of all classes. It had, too, a
special attraction as a timely exhibi-
tion, in a vivid dramatic manner, of a
long agitated subject, familiar in other
forms to the public mind, and con
HARBIET BEECHER STOWE.
439
nected with the most engrossing inter-
ests of the country. Slavery had be-
come the social, religious and political
topic of the day. It had been ex-
hausted by orators, declaimers and
newspaper editors ; and now a new and
brilliant light was thrown upon the
whole in a most attractive fiction, of
breathless interest in the plot, power-
ful and sympathetic in every page.
Within a few months of its publica-
tion, one hundred and fifty thousand
copies of the work were sold in the
United States, and its success abroad
was quite as remarkable. The first
London edition, published in May,
1852, as we learn from an article in
the "Edinburgh Review," was not
large, "for the European popularity
of a picture of negro life was doubt-
ed ; " but in the following September,
the London publishers furnished to
one house ten thousand copies per day
for about four weeks, and had to em-
ploy a thousand persons in preparing
copies to supply the general demand.
By the end of the year a million of
copies had been sold in England. It
was at once translated into most of
the languages of Europe. Mr. Alii-
bone, in his " Dictionary of Authors,"
enumerates nearly forty translations
in seventeen different foreign tongues,
three or four in French, thirteen or
fourteen in German, two in Russian
three in the Magyar, and alongside of
the Danish, Swedish, Portuguese, Ital-
ian, and Polish, the Romaic, Arabic
and Armenian. In addition to this it
was dramatised in twenty different
forms, and acted in the leading cities
of Europe and America. The sale of
the work in the United States, includ-
ing the German version, has reached,
it has been calculated, half a million
of copies. In England, in the absence
of copyright, it had the advantage
of being reproduced in some twenty
editions, ranging in price from ten
shillings to sixpence a copy. A popu-
lar edition of large circulation was il-
lustrated by George Cruikshank. AP
a vindication of the essential truthful
ness of the pictures of slave life in her
book, Mrs. Stowe subsequently pub-
lished a volume entitled " A Key to
Uncle Tom's Cabin," a collection of
facts on the subject drawn from south-
ern authorities.
In the spring of 1853, in that period
of the early brilliant success of " Uncle
Tom's Cabin," Mrs. Stowe, in company
with her husband and her brother, the
Rev. Charles Beecher, visited Great
Britain. They were received from, the
moment of their landing at Liverpool
with the utmost enthusiasm, not mere-
ly with what might be called a popu-
lar "ovation" in the phrase of the
day, but with the most distinguished
attentions on the part of the higher
classes and various members of the
nobility. After a tour in Scotland,
spent in a round of entertainments and
visits to celebrated localities, Mrs.
Stowe reached London in May, and
was emphatically the lion of the sea-
son. Lord Shaftesbury and the Duch-
ess of Sutherland were her constant
supporters. The large liberal and
philanthropic party of the country
hailed her as an associate. From Lon-
don she passed to the Continent, visit-
ing France, Switzerland, and Ger-
many. On her return to America, she
published, in 1854, a record of the
440
HAEKIET BEECHER STOWE.
tour, in a couple of volumes entitled
" Sunny Memories of Foreign Lands."
The book was what its name imparts,
not a philosophical or critical estimate
of the countries she had visited, but a
record of her first impressions, with
which, of necessity, were mingled
many notices of the personal atten-
tions she had received — for she was
everywhere in the hands of her friends.
The volumes, indeed, were made up of
the off-hand letters she had written
from time to time to different members
of her family at home. Though some-
what in undress in point of style and
arrangement, the " Sunny Memories "
is not the least attractive of her writ-
ings, exhibiting as it does less of the
author than the woman in her impres-
sionable character, a lover of nature
and keen appreciator of the enjoyable
scenes through which she was passing.
After a second visit to Europe, Mrs.
Stowe published, in 1856, a companion
to "Uncle Tom's Cabin," in "Dred;
a Tale of the Great Dismal Swamp,"
which had a large circulation of more
than three hundred thousand copies in
England and America. It could hard-
ly be expected to equal its predecessor
in interest, for such great successes are
seldom repeated ; but it was a timely
work, and prophetic of the end at hand.
"The issues," says the author in the
preface, " presented by the great con-
flict between liberty and slavery do
not grow less important from year to
year. On the contrary, their interest
increases with every step in the devel-
opment of the national career. Never
has there been a 'crisis' in the history
of this nation so momentous as the
present. If ever a nation was raised
up by Divine Providence, and led
forth upon a conspicuous stage, as if
for the express purpose of solving a
great moral problem in the sight of all
mankind, it is this nation ! "
Since the production of " Dred," the
attention of Mrs. Stowe, as a novelist,
has been turned mainly to subjects
drawn from New England ; the society
and manners of which, at different
periods, she has painted with force and
interest. After her early sketches of
this character, which were collected in
a new edition in 1855, her next work
of this class was "The Minister's
Wooing," a tale of Rhode Island life
in the last Century; which has been
followed at intervals by " The Pearl of
Orr's Island : a Story from the Coast
of Maine;" "Old Town Folks," with
its humorous nondescript village char-
acter "Sam Lawson," one of the au-
thor's happiest creations, in a rare pic-
ture of the social life of New England ;
to which, as a sequel, has since been
added a series, collected in 1871, of
" Old Town Fireside Stories." Inter-
polated with these appeared, in 1862,
simultaneously published in the " At-
lantic Monthly," and "The Cornhill
Magazine," an historical Italian ro-
mance, entitled " Agnes of Sorrento."
The hitherto smooth course of Mrs.
Stowe's literary successes was some-
what ruined in 1869, by her publica-
tion, in September of that year, of an
article in the " Atlantic Monthly " and
"Macmillan's Magazine," in London,
bearing the title, " The True Story of
Lord Byron's Life." In this, the sep-
aration of the poet from his wife,
about which there had always hung
an air of mystery, was assigned to a
HAKRIET BEECHER STOWE.
441
charge of incest. The motive for this
publication was a defence of the char-
acter of the late Lady Byron against
aspersions upon her in a recently pub-
lished book of " Recollections of Lord
Byron," by the Countess Guiccioli.
The revelation by Mrs. Stowe brought
upon her a host of adverse critics ; and,
to justify herself and Lady Byron, on
whose personal communication to her-
self the charge was based, she published
shortly afterward a volume entitled
" Lady Byron Vindicated : a History of
the Byron Controversy from its begin-
ning in 1816 to the Present Time."
In addition to the volumes we
have noticed, Mrs. Stowe is the
author of several other works,
essays, moral tales, etc., of which we
may mention, " Little Foxes, by Chris
topher Crowfield;" "Pink and White
Tyranny;" ''My Wife and I; or
Harry Henderson's History." She has
also written a number of stories for
the young : " Palmetto Sketches," a
series of chapters descriptive of scen-
ery, climate, and social and industrial
life in Florida, where she has a winter
residence on the St. John's B,iver, ap-
peared in 1873.
WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.
WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT
was born at Cummington, Hamp-
shire County, Massachusetts, Novem-
ber 3rd, 1794. His father, Dr.
Peter Bryant, was a physician whose
character and attainments are spo-
ken of with high respect. He
was married to a lady " of excel-
lent understanding and high charac-
ter, remarkable for judgment and
decision, as for faithfulness to her
domestic duties." Of an active
mind, Dr. Bryant was versed in litera-
ture and science, and took an hon-
est pride in the culture of his son,
who exhibited an early mental
development. In one of the poems
of the mature man, the "Hymn
to Death," written in 1825, after
celebrating in a lofty strain, the moral
uses of the King of Terrors, the poet
turns to a tribute to the memory of
his father :
" Alas! I little thought that the stern power
Whose fearful praise I sung, would try me
thus
Before the strain was ended. It must cease —
For he is in his grave who taught my youth
The art of verse, and in the bud of life
Offered me to the muses. Oh, cut off
Untimely! when thy reason in its strength,
(442)
Ripened by years of toil and studious seaich,
And watch of Nature's silent lessons, taught
Thy hand to practice best the lenient art
To which thou gavest thy laborious days,
And, last, thy life. And, therefore, when the
Earth
Received thee, tears were in unyielding
eyes
And on hard cheeks, and they who deemed
thy skill
Delayed their death hour, shuddered and
turned pale
When thou wert gone. This faltering verse.
which thou
Shalt not, as won't, o'erlook, is all I have
To offer at thy grave — this — and the hope
To copy thy example, and to leave
A name of which the wretched shall not
think
As of an enemy's, whom they forgive
As all forgive the dead."
In the poem " To the Past," there is
another allusion of similar tenor. From
these it appears that the son traces
much of his taste for literature to the
example and encouragement of his
parent. His very childhood, indeed,
was marked by great precocity. At
ten, we are told, he was a contributor
of verses to the neighboring " Hamp-
shire Gazette," at Northampton, and
judging from those which he published
•
WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.
443
a very few years after, they were,
doubtless, quite respectable. Besides
this home culture, the youth received
the instructions at school, of the Rev.
Mr. Snell, of Brookfield, and of the
Rev. Mr. Hallock, of Plainfield, Mass.
He was prepared by their care for
Williams' College, which he entered as
a sophomore, in his sixteenth year, in
1810. The year previously to this, ap-
peared a thin little pamphlet of poems
from his pen, at Boston, entitled " The
Embargo ; or, Sketches of the Times.
A Satire. The second Edition, cor-
rected and enlarged, together with the
Spanish Revolution, and other poems.''
The preface to the leading poem bears
date, Cummington, October 25th, 1808,
and the rest are dated still earlier.
The poems, therefore, were written be-
fore the author had completed his four-
teenth year, a remarkable instance of
early poetical cultivation, when we
consider both the subject-matter of the
poems and their execution. The " Em-
bargo, a Satire," as its title suggests,
was written from the New England
Federal point of view, and levelled at
that monster, in the eyes of all devout
persons in that region — Thomas Jeffer-
son. The young bard mourns the de-
cline of commerce, and deprecates the
fate of the country thrown into the
arms of France. The picture of the
President himself is sufficiently per-
sonal, but it is by no means more
severe than what older rhymsters, and
even grave divines from their pulpits
were saying. That a mere boy should
put all this feeling of the times into
three or four hundred good set verses
is something extraordinary. The critics
of the excellent " Monthly Anthology,"
a critical journal of the savans at Bos-
ton, would not believe the statement
of the extreme youth of the writer, and
an advertisement or certificate was, in
consequence, appended to the second
edition vouching for the fact.
At college Mr. Bryant was distin
guished, as might have been antici
pated by his fondness for the classics.
He did not, however, pursue his studies
to the close of the course at Williams-
burg, but left with an honorable dis-
missal, with the intention of complet-
ing this portion of his education at
Yale. From this he was diverted to
the immediate study of the law, at first
with Judge Howe, of Washington, in
his native State, and afterwards with
Mr. William Baylies, of Bridgewater.
He was, at the age of twenty-one, ad-
mitted to the bar, at Plymouth, when
he engaged in the practice of the pro-
fession for a year, at Plainfield, neai
his birth-place, and then removed to
Great Barrington, in Berkshire. There,
in 1 821, he was married to Miss Frances
Fairchild, a most happy union, worthy
a poet's home.
From this brief allusion to Mr. Bry-
ant's law pursuits, we must turn to
narrate his history as a poet. In 1816
appeared in the " North American Re-
view," perhaps to this day, the most
popularly known of his productions,
the lines entitled "Thanatopsis." They
were written four years before, when
the poet was but eighteen. Their lofty
declamation on the solemn theme still
finds an echo in the hearts of all rea-
ders, and will while life continues to
be devoured by death. They are
recited by schoolboys, they are found
in popular collections, both English
WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.
and American; they are heard often
from the pulpit, with their wealth
of imagination, their noble topics of
consolation, and incentive to manly
endeavor :
"So live, that when thy summons comes to join
The innumerable caravan, that moves
To that mysterious realm, where each shall
take
His chamber hi the silent halls of death,
Thou go not like the quarry-slave at night,
Scourged to his dungeon; but, sustained and
soothed
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave,
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams. "
We may well believe the story of
the fond father, though " a somewhat
stern and silent man," melting into
tears at the recital of these verses.
Nor does the poem stand alone at this
early period, the dawn of the poet's
career. The "Inscription for an En-
trance into a Wood " was written the
year after, in 1813. It is in the same
easy, sonorous, well-modulated, blank
verse, and stands as a prelude to many
of the author's subsequent poems, which
have drawn a genuine inspiration from
that woodland — a real American for-
est, with all its peculiarities of light
end foliage, of rock and rivulet, its
rustling leaves, its busy animal life,
and the minstrelsy of its winds. The
" Lines to a Water-fowl," an exquisite
carving against the clear sky, worthy
companionship with the finely-wrought
lyrics of ancient Greece, is dated 1816.
The author's longest poem, "The Ages,"
was delivered the year of his marriage
as a Phi Beta Kappa poem at Harvard.
It is written in the Spenserian meas-
ure, the recurring rhyme and lengthen-
ed line at the close falling on the ear
with an added burden of thought and
sentiment, as the poet, in historic re-
view, celebrates the progress of the
world in liberty and virtue, and dissi-
pates the doubt so feelingly expressed
at the onset, as he contemplates the
departure of the virtuous.
"Lest goodness die with them and leave the
coming years. "
The poem is varied by a succession
of the most pleasing imagery : — pic-
tures of man and nature ; of Greece,
of Rome, of mediaeval Europe, of our
own forest land and rising civilization :
"Thus error's monstrous shapes from earth are
driven,
They fade, they fly— but truth survives their
flight;
Earth has no shades to quench that beam oi
heaven,
Each ray that shone, in early time, to light
The faltering footsteps in the path of right,
Each gleam of clearer brightness shed to aid
In man's maturer day his bolder sight,
All blended, like the rainbow's radiant braid,
Pour yet, and still shall pour, the blaze that
cannot fade."
It is still the burden of the poet's
song, the cause that cannot die, " the
blaze that cannot fade." We may
trace the unyielding sentiment in
many of his after poems — in that no-
ble strain of eloquence, " The Antiqui-
ty of Freedom :"
" O Freedom! thou art not, as poets dream,
A fair young girl, with light and delicate limbs
And wavy tresses gushing from the cap
With which the Roman master crowned hi.«
slave
When he took off the gyves. A bearded man,
Armed to the teeth, art thou ; one mailed hand
Grasps the broad shield, and one the sword;
thy brow,
Glorious in beauty though it be, is scarred
With tokens of old wars; thy massive limbs
WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.
445
Are strong with struggling. Power at thee
has launched
His bolts, and with his lightnings smitten
thee;
They could not quench the life thou hast from
heaven.
Merciless power has dug thy dungeon deep,
And his swart armorers, by a thousand fires,
Have forged thy chain ; yet, while he deems
thee bound,
The links are shivered, and the prison walls
Fall outward ; terribly thou springest forth,
As springs the flame above a burning pile,
And shoutest to the nations, who return
Thy shoutings, while the pale oppressor flies."
in the sublime consolation of the " Bat-
tle Field:"
" A friendless warfare! lingering long
Through weary day and weary year.
A wild and many-weaponed throng
Hang on thy front, and flank, and rear.
Yet nerve thy spirit to the proof,
And blench not at thy chosen lot.
The timid good may stand aloof,
The sage may frown — yet faint thou not.
Nor heed the shaft too surely cast,
The foul and hissing bolt of scorn;
For with thy side shall dwell at last,
The victory of endurance born.
Truth crushed to earth shall rise again ;
The eternal years of God are hers ;
But Error, wounded, writhes with pain,
And dies among his worshippers."
— in many of the author's prose writ-
ings ; in his daily survey, in the jour-
nal which he edits, of all that in the
providence of Heaven throughout the
world ministers to human freedom,
virtue, and happiness.
After ten years spent in the practice
of the law, having achieved no little
distinction by the publication of the
tirst volume of his poems, and become
familiar with literary employments, by
his contributions to the " Boston Lite-
rary Gazette," Mr. Bryant, by the ad-
n.— 56
vice of his friend Mr. Henry D. Sedg-
wick, removed to the city of New
York, with the intention of pursuing
the career of a man of letters. He at
once became associated with Mr. Henry
James Anderson, an accomplished scho-
lar, in editing the "New York Re-
view," a monthly publication of much
literary merit of those days, which the
following year was merged in a similar
work entitled "The United States Re-
view and Literary Gazette," which in
turn was brought to an end in a brace
of volumes in the autumn of 1827.
Mr. Bryant wrote many just and forci-
ble reviews for these publications, in
maintaining which, he had the assist-
ance, as contributors, of his early friend
Mr. Richard H. Dana, Robert C. Sands,
and the poet, Halleck. There also
appeared many of his poems, as " The
Death of the Flowers," "The Disin-
terred Warrior," " The African Chief,"
"The Indian Girl's Lament."
At the end of 1826, Mr. Bryant
first became connected with the "Eve-
ning Post " as a contributor. The fol-
lowing year he was made one of the
proprietors, and fairly entered on that
career of journalism which, with the
exception of an occasional vacation, he
has never since intermitted. The
" Evening Post," with which he thua
became associated, is one of the oldest
and most influential newspapers in the
city of New York, being founded by
the eminent Federalist, William Cole-
man, in 1801. On his death, which
occurred some two or three years after
Mr. Bryant's introduction to its col-
umns, William Leggett was employed
as assistant editor. His labors on it
ceased in 1836, when it was, for a
446
WILLIAM CULLEN BEY ANT.
number of years, conducted solely by
Mr. Bryant, assisted a portion of
the time by his son-in-law, Mr. Parke
Godwin, till Mr. John Bigelow became
a fellow-proprietor in 1850, so that it
is seen to have been under the guid-
ance of men of distinguished ability
from the start.
About the time of his introduction
to the "Evening Post," Mr. Bryant
engaged with his friends Sands, already
mentioned, and Mr. Gulian C. Ver-
planck, in the composition of an annual
entitled "The Talisman," which was
published for three years by a very
worthy bookseller of New York, a gen-
tleman of taste and refinement, Mr.
Elam Bliss. For this Mr. Bryant
wrote poems, sketches, and several
stories. He also contributed two prose
narratives," The Skeleton's Cave," and
"Medfield," to the "Tales of the Glau-
ber Spa," published by the Harpers,
two years after the conclusion of the
"Talisman," in 1832.
His remaining literary works consist
of various poems written from time to
time, and collected at different periods
m several editions, two volumes of
travelling letters, the fruits of journeys
at intervals, from 1834 to 1858, in the
Southern States of the Union, the
island of Cuba, and in various parts of
Europe — Scotland, England, Holland,
France, Switzerland, and Spain; and
Eulogies, delivered in memory
of the artist Thomas Cole, the nov-
elist Fenimore Cooper, Washing-
ton Irving, and Gulian C. Verplanck,
with numerous other anniversary and
occasional addresses.
All these productions, whether in
prose or verse, whether as an editorial
in his newspaper or a staid academical
discourse, are distinguished by the
same unvarying purity of expression
and faithful adjustment of the words
to the subject. In this respect, Mr.
Bryant stands distinguished among the
authors of the day, in thorough men-
tal discipline, strength of perception,
and truthfulness in all that he utters.
His verse never oversteps the modesty
of nature. Whether it paints a bird,
a flower, a prairie, or an ocean, it is
fidelity itself. There is, perhaps, less
surplusage in his writings, than in
those of any author who has written
so much. Of his published composi-
tions in verse, since his manhood, we
know of nothing which could be spared
from his collected works. This is a
very rare merit, and argues not merely
self-knowledge, for that a man may
have and fall very far short of perfec-
tion, but a concentrated power of
mind which is proof of a very high
order of genius. Whenever a poem
appears from his pen it is sure to pos-
sess some peculiar merit — some grace
of nature, heightened by art, yet with
no taint of affectation; something
plain yet refined, like the beauty of
the Roman poet's mistress, sirr.plea
munditiis.
The topics of the poems are of per-
manent interest, the great emotions of
life, its joys, oftener its sorrows, and
not seldom its visions of death ; the
four seasons of the year, with their
varieties of association, the voices of
birds and rills, and sweet faces of the
flowers ; the elements of nature — the
heavens with the winds and tides ; the
struggles of man for freedom and hap-
piness; the love of country, the love
WILLIAM CULLEN BEYANT.
447
of all. They are sentimental, yet the
sentiment is so blended with truth
and reason, and the outward types of
nature, that it never becomes senti-
mentality. They are sometimes per-
sonal, yet the personality is so veiled
and associated with universal objects
and emotions that it may be as true to
your experience as to the writer's.
There is one poem in particular of the
latter character which reveals a world
of heartfelt emotion. It is entitled
"The Future Life."
How shall I know thee in the sphere which
keeps
The disembodied spirits of the dead,
When all of thee that time could wither, sleeps
And perishes among the dust we tread?
For I shall feel the sting of ceaseless pain,
If there I meet thy gentle presence not,
Nor hear the voice I love, nor read again
In thy serenest eyes the tender thought.
Will not thy own meek heart demand me there?
That heart whose fondest throbs to me were
given?
My name on earth was ever in thy prayer,
Shall it be banished from thy tongue in
heaven?
In meadows fanned by heaven's life-breathing
wind,
In the replendence of that glorious sphere,
And larger movements of the unfettered mind,
Wilt thou forget the love 'that joined us here?
The love that lived through all the stormy past,
And meekly with my harsher nature bore,
And deeper grew, and tenderer to the last,
Shall it expire with life, and be no more ?
A happier lot than mine, and larger light,
Await thee there; for thou hast bowed thy
will
[n cheerful homage to the rule of right,
And lovest all, and renderest good for ill.
For me, the sordid cares in which I dwell,
Shrink and consume my heart, as heat the
scroll ;
And wrath has left its scar— that fire of hell
Has left its frightful scar upon my soul.
Yet though thou wear'st the glory of the sky,
Wilt thou not keep the same beloved name,
The same fair thoughtful brow, and gentle eye,
Lovelier in heaven's sweet climate, yet th«
same?
Shalt thou not teach me, in that calmer home,
The wisdom that I learned so ill in this —
The wisdom which is love — till I become
Thy fit companion in that land of bliss?
The part borne by Mr. Bryant in
political life is well known. Long at-
tached to the Democratic party, a sup-
porter of its great measures in free
trade and finance as they were illus-
trated by such leaders as Andrew Jack-
son, Silas Wright, and others, he took,
the initiative in the formation of the
new Republican party, which he has
seen grow to strength by his advocacy,
as much as that of any man, and which
now, in its maturity, recognizes him as
its honored guide.
Mr. Bryant's residence,for the greater
part of the year, is in the country, at
Roslyn, Long Island, on the Sound, a
few hours' distant from the city. His
house is a plain, rural dwelling of the
better class, built by a Quaker settler,
toward the close of the last century,
with an eye to substantial comfort. It
stands — we quote from the description
in the " Homes of American Authors,"
" at the foot of a woody hill, which shel-
ters it on the east, facing Hempstead
harbor, to which the flood tide gives
the appearance of a lake, bordered to
its very edge with trees, through which,
at intervals, are seen farm-houses and
cottages, and all that brings to mind
that beautiful image, l a smiling land.'
The position is well chosen, and it is
448
WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.
enhanced in beauty by a small, arti-
ficial pond, collected from the springs
with which the hill abounds, and lying
between the house and the edge of the
harbor, from which it is divided by an
irregular embankment, affording room
for a plantation of shade-trees and fine
shrubbery." Roslyn, the name of the
village, was suggested by Mr. Bryant,
from an incident recorded in the town
annals, that the British troops marched
out of Hempstead to the tune of Ros-
lyn Castle. Mr. Bryant has also an-
other rural residence, the old pater-
nal homestead in Berkshire.
In person, Mr. Bryant is tall and
rather slender, but vigorous and capa-
ble of endurance. In early life he had,
we have heard, a tendency to ill health,
which has been overcome by care and
exercise. He is an early riser, a stout
pedestrian, and spite of his editorial
labors, lives much in the open air. He
is fond of rural pursuits, and is fre-
quently called upon to address horti-
cultural and other agricultural socie-
ties. He has also a sincere fondness
for art, and may be seen at the annual
openings of the exhibitions of the Aca-
demy of Design, in New York, one of
the most honored and delighted guests.
He was one of the Presidents of the
American Art Union. In fine, there
is no literary or artistical excellence
which has sprung up in the city in his
time, which has not benefited by his
genial presence, as there are no great
questions which have agitated the
country, in which he has not taken an
influential part.
Advanced some years beyond the
three-score and ten allotted to man, he
has added to his many services to his
country and the literary world, a trans-
lation of the grand Epics of Homer,
the Iliad and the Odyssey. The latter,
finishing this great undertaking, was
completed in 1872. It is generally
acknowledged that in this work Mr.
Bryant has rendered the felicities of the
original in an appropriate style of sim-
plicity and refinement unequalled by
any of his numerous predecessors Avho
have attempted the task. Choosing
blank verse as the best medium of
interpretation in the English language ;
a measure which he has cultivated in
its highest perfection, the reader is car-
ried along by him on a smooth current,
reflecting in the finest transparency the
truth and nature of the original. With
a just conception of the author and his
age, never violating the essential char-
acteristics of the Homeric poems, the
book has the ease and grace of an orig
inal composition.
Likeness from, an approved photograph.
Johnson ^Wilson & Co, Publishers,
ROBERT EDWARD LEE.
451
and, save in defence of my native State,
with the sincere hope that my poor ser-
\ices may never be needed, I hope I
may never be called on to draw my
sword." These utterances exhibit in
few words the opinions and feelings of
Col. Lee at this time. Imbued with
the doctrine of State rights, impressed
with sympathy for his kindred, unable
to extricate himself from what he
thought the necessity of his position,
he reluctantly bade adieu to the nation
from which he had derived all his hon-
ors, and accepted the fortunes of a war-
ring section of the country.
Lee was ready to sacrifice his fortune
for Virginia, and the State, conscious
of his worth, hastened to draw him
from his retirement and entrust her wel-
fare to his hands. On the 23d of April
he was appointed by Gov. Letcher Ma-
jor-General of the State forces, and
solemnly pledged himself before the
Virginia convention, then assembled at
Richmond, to the duty assigned to him.
He was immediately actively engaged in
organizing the bodies of troops which
hastened to Virginia as the battle-
ground of the war. When the govern-
ment of the Southern Confederacy was
fully established at Richmond, he re-
ceived, in July, the rank of Brigadier-
General in the Confederate army. His
estate at Arlington Heights, where he
had at the outset erected fortifications,
was now deserted, and in the posses-
sion of the Union forces. His first ac-
tive campaign was in another direction
in Western Virginia, whither he was
sent as the successor of General Gar-
nett. There, in August, he planned an
attack upon the camp of Gen. Reynolds
at Cheat Mountain which failed of
success ; when, in September, he pro-
ceeded to the relief of Generals Floyd
and Wise, then pressed by Gen. Rose-
crans in the Kenhawa region. The
winter closing in and forbidding furth-
er operations for the season in this
quarter, Lee was recalled and sent to
superintend the military coast defences
of South Carolina and Georgia. Early
in 1862 he was summoned to Rich-
mond to assist in the defence of the
capital, which was presently belea-
guered by the great army of McClellan.
Gen. Joseph E. Johnson was at that
time in command, and directed the first
grand attack on the Union army be-
fore the city, in the battle of Seven
Pines. Being severely wounded and
disabled in this engagement, that of-
ficer was compelled to retire from ac-
tive service, and Gen. Lee was on the
instant appointed to the chief com-
mand of the army.
His active superintendence became
at once visible in the much improved
condition of the camps and genera]
discipline of the army. It was a criti-
cal moment, and whatever was to be
done must be done quickly. Lee rose
to the emergency, and initiated a series
of strategical movements, which in *
short time effected the deliverance of
Richmond, and the retreat of the army
of McClellan. To gain thorough in-
formation of the position and resources
of his enemy, Gen. Stuart was sent, in
the middle of June, on his famous cav-
alry raid through the outposts and
around McClellan's army. This was
successfully accomplished, and impor-
tant information gained, which deter-
mined Lee in his plan of attacking his
foe to the East of Richmond on the
4:52
ROBERT EDWARD LEE.
north bank of the Chickahominy. For
this purpose " Stonewall " Jackson, an
officer on whom Lee always placed
great reliance, and who never failed
him, was called with his command from
the Valley, where he confronted Fre-
mont, at Harrisburg. Jackson adroitly
brought off his forces, reaching Ash-
land on the 25th of June, when he was
within striking distance of the right
wing of McClellan's forces. The next
day, in combination with Gen. Hill, he
was in action at Mechanics ville ; and
the following, struck a decided blow in
the desperate encounter at Cold Har-
bor. That night began the full retreat
of the army of McClellan to the James,
Gen. Lee being on the field and direct-
ing operations in the vigorous move-
ments of that week of battles, ending
with the Confederate disaster at Mal-
vern Hill.
When McClellan, in August, left the
Peninsula, recalled to the Potomac to
co-operate with Gen. Pope, then on
the line of the Rapidan, Lee, anti-
cipating the new aggressive move-
ment of his enemy, sent forward Jack-
son with his corps, to arrest his ope-
rations. The battle of Cedar Run
was fought and followed up by a
northern Confederate movement, direct-
ed by Lee in person, which culminated
in the second battle of Bull R-un or
Manassas. There was much confusion
at this time in the military regulation
of the Union forces, and Lee, thinking
it a favorable opportunity to carry out
a policy eagerly demanded by the
South, resolved upon the invasion of
Maryland, which was supposed to have
a large population ready to serve the
Confederate cause. The second battle
of Manassas was fought on the 30th of
August. On the 4th of September,
Lee crossed the Potomac, with his army
in front of Leesburg ; and on the 8th
issued the following proclamation to
the people of Maryland, from his head-
quarters, near Frederickton : u It is
right," said he, " that you should know
the purpose that has brought the army
under my command within the limits
of your State, so far as that purpose
concerns yourselves. The people of the
Confederate States have long watched
with the deepest sympathy, the wrongs
and outrages that have been inflicted
upon the citizens of a commonwealth
allied to the States of the South by the
strongest social, political and commer-
cial ties, and reduced to the condition
of a conquered province. Under the
pretence of supporting the Constitu-
tion, but in violation of its most valu-
able provisions, your citizens have been
arrestedjand imprison ed,upon no charge,
and contrary to all the forms of law.
A faithful and manly protest against
this outrage, made by a venerable and
illustrious Marylander, to whom in bet-
ter days no citizen appealed for right
in vain, was treated with scorn and
contempt. The government of your
chief city has been usurped by armed
strangers; your Legislature has been
dissolved by the unlawful arrest of its
members ; freedom of the Press and of
speech has been suppressed; words
have been declared offences by an arbi-
trary decree of the Federal Executive,
and citizens ordered to be tried by mil-
itary commission for what they ma}
dare to speak. Believing that the peo-
ple of Maryland possess a spirit toe
lofty to submit to such a Government,
ROBERT EDWARD LEE.
453
the people of the South have long wish-
.ed to aid you in throwing off this for-
eign yoke, to enable you to again enjoy
the inalienable rights of freemen, and
restore the independence and sovereign-
ty of your State. In obedience to this
wish our army has come among you,
and is prepared to assist you with the
power of its arms in regaining the
rights of which you have been so un-
justly despoiled. This, citizens of Mary-
land, is our mission, so far as you are
concerned. No restraint upon your
free will is intended — no intimidation
will be allowed within the limits of
this army at least. Marylanders shall
once more enjoy their ancient freedom
of thought and speech. We know no
enemies among you, and will protect all
of you in every opinion. It is for you
to decide your destiny freely and with-
out constraint. This army will respect
your choice, whatever it may be, and
while the Southern people will rejoice
to welcome you to your natural posi-
tion among them, they will only wel-
come you when you come of your own
free will.''
Maryland, ho wever, did not respond
to the call, and Lee was left to his
own resources, while McClellan, who
was in command of the hastily reorgan-
ized Union army, advanced to meet him
on the line of the Potomac. Lee plan-
ned his campaign skilfully ; made an
easy conquest of the garrison and stores
at Harper's Ferry, but, unable to hold
his ground at South Mountain, was
again overpowered at Sharpsburg or
Antietam in the bloody battle of the
17th of September, from which he
retired discomfited, hurrying his forces
across the Potomac,
n.— 57
Another campaign followed before
the year closed. In November Mc-
Clellan crossed the Potomac and was
pushing southward along the mountain
ranges on the east, when he was super-
seded by Gen. Burnside, who turned
his force to the left and confronted
Lee, who, in anticipation of his move-
ment, had carried a large portion of
his army to Fredericksburg. Here the
armies lay opposed to each other till
the middle of December, when Burn-
side sent his forces across the river,
and the action known as the battle of
Fredericksburg was fought with equal
determination on each side. Lee's dis-
positions were well made, and, seconded
by the bravery of his troops, secured
the speedy withdrawal of Burnside to
his former camp, on the bank of the
river. New efforts were now made
for the spring campaign, and the war
on the Rappahannock was again re-
newed in April, Lee holding his own
position on the southern bank, the
Union army under a new commander,
General Hooker, confronting him on
the north. A passage of the river was
again forced at the end of April, 1862 ;
Gen. Hooker by a vigorous flank move-
ment establishing himself at Chancel-
o
lorsville, to the west of Fredericksburg.
Here, in the " Wilderness," as the deso-
late range of country was called, in
the first days of May was fought the
battle of Chancellorsville, memorable
for the extraordinary severity of the
struggle, the retreat of the Union
forces, and the loss to the Confederate
ranks of the brave and resolute South-
ern champion, a soldier whose devotion
to arms and to his cause was tinged
with fanaticism — Stonewall Jackson.
EGBERT EDWAED LEE.
The fall of Jackson, wounded by his
own men, touched Lee deeply. When
he heard from Jackson of hi 3 disaster,
he wrote to him, " could I have direc-
ted events, I should have chosen, for
the good of the country, to have been
disabled in your stead;" and -when
the news of the death of his friend
and fellow- soldier came, Lee announced
the event to his army : " The daring,
skill, and energy of this great and
good soldier, by a decree of an all- wise
Providence, are now lost to us. But
while we mourn his death, we feel
that his spirit lives and will inspire
the whole army with his indomitable
courage and unshaken confidence in
God as our hope and strength. Let
his name be a watchword for his
corps, who have followed him to vic-
tory on so many fields. Let officers
and soldiers imitate his invincible de-
termination to do everything in the
defence of our beloved country."
Once more it was determined by
Lee, in the summer of 1863, to make
a powerful diversion, if not secure
final success, by carrying the war
across the Potomac, into the Northern
States. The motives which influenced
him, are indicated in his report of the
campaign which ensued. " The posi-
tion," says he, u occupied by the ene-
my opposite Fredericksburg being
one in which he could not be attacked
to advantage, it was determined to
draw him from it. The execution of
this purpose embraced the relief of the
Shenandoah Valley from the troops
that had occupied the lower part of it
during the Winter and Spring, and,
if practicable, the transfer of the scene
of hostilities north of the Potomac. It
was thought that the corresponding
movement on the part of the enemy,
to which those contemplated by us
would probably give rise, might offer
a fair opportunity to strike a blow at
the army therein commanded by Gen-
eneral Hooker, and that, in any event,
that army would be compelled to leave
Virginia, and possibly to draw to its
support troops designed to operate
against other parts of the country. In
this way it was supposed that the
enemy's plan of campaign for the sum-
mer would be broken up, and part of
the season of active operations be con-
sumed in the formation of new combi-
nations and the preparations that they
would require."
Accordingly, on the 3d of June, he
began the movement of his troops in
the direction of Culpepper. A caval-
ry reconnoissance, ordered by Hooker,
brought the opposing forces in contact,
and developed the intentions of the
enemy. The Lower Valley again be-
came the scene of military operations,
and Lee pushed an advanced body of
cavalry across the Potomac to Chain-
bersburg While this was engaged in
seizing upon supplies, he himself was
moving by the Valley, w^hile Hooker
pursued a parallel course to the east of
the mountains, coming up in time to
guard the lower fords of the Potomac.
On the eve of crossing the river, on the
21st, Lee issued his general orders for
the regulation of his army " in the ene-
my's country." Kequisitions were to
be made upon the local authorities for
needed supplies; which, if granted,
were to be paid for or receipts given ;
and if not yielded, to be seized. The
corps of E well, Longstreet, and Hill now
ROBERT EDWARD LEE.
crossed the river at Williarnsport and
Shepardstown. Hagerstown, Cham-
bersburg, Shippensburg, and Carlisle,
Pennsylvania, were rapidly occupied
in succession, and Harrisburg threat-
ened. A force was sent eastward to
orotect the main column. A portion
of the invading army levied a contri-
bution at Gettysburg on the 26th, and
York, to the eastward, suffered a smi-
lar visitation two days afterwards.
Hooker was succeeded in the chief
command of the Union army by
Meade, who rapidly concentrated his
forces. The first of July saw the be-
ginning of what, iu truth, was the de-
cisive conflict of the war, at Gettys-
burg. The march towards this place,
says Lee in his official report, "was
conducted more slowly than it
would have been had the move-
ments of the Federal army been
known. The leading division of Hill
met the enemy in the advance of Get-
tysburg on the morning of the first of
July. Driving back these troops to
within a short distance of the town, he
there encountered a large force, with
which two of his divisions became en-
gaged. Ewell, coming up with two
of his divisions by the Heidlersburgh
road joined in the engagement. The
enemy was driven through Gettysburg
with heavy loss, including about five
thousand prisoners and ; several pieces
of artillery. He retreated to a high
range of hills south and east of the
town. The attack was not pressed that
afternoon, the enemy's force being un-
known, and it being considered advis-
able to await the arrival of the rest of
our troops. Orders were sent back to
hasten their march ; and, in the mean-
455
time, every effort was made to ascer-
tain the numbers and position of the
enemy, and find the most favorable
point of attack. It had not been in-
tended to fight a general battle at such
a distance from our base, unless attack-
ed by the enemy ; but finding ourselves
unexpectedly confronted by the Feder-
al army, it became a matter of difficul-
ty to withdraw through the mountains
with our large trains. At the same
time the country was unfavorable for
collecting supplies while in the pres-
ence of the enemy's main body, as he
was enabled to restrain our foraging
parties by occupying the passes of the
mountains with regular and local troops.
A battle thus became, in a measure un-
avoidable. Encouraged by the successful
issue of the engagement of the first day,
and in view of the valuable results
that would ensue from the defeat of
the army of General Meade, it was
thought advisable to renew the attack.
The remainder of EwelFs and Hill's
corps having arrived, -and two divisions
of Longstreet's, our preparations were
made accordingly. During the after-
noon intelligence was received of the
arrival of General Stuart at Carlisle,
and he was ordered to march to Gettys-
burg, and take position on the left."
Continuing his report, the second and
third days' battles are thus noticed by
Gen. Lee: "The preparations for at-
tack were not completed until the after-
noon of the second. The enemy held a
high and commanding ridge, along
which he had massed a large amount
of artillery. General Ewell occupied
the left of our line, General Hill the
centre, and General Longstreet the
right. In front of General Longstreet
EGBERT EDWARD LEE.
the«enemy held a position, from which,
if he could be driven, it was thought
that our array could be used to advan-
tage in assailing the more elevated
ground beyond, and thus enable us to
reach the crest of the ridge. That
officer was directed to endeavor to car-
ry this position, while General Ewell
attacked directly the high ground on
the enemy's right, which had already
been partially fortified. General Hill
was instructed to threaten the centre
of the Federal line, in order to prevent
reinforcements being sent to either
wing, and to avail himself of any op-
portunity that might present itself to
attack. After a severe struggle, Long-
street succeeded in getting possession
of and holding the desired ground.
Ewell also carried some of the strong
positions which he assailed, and the
result was such as to lead to the belief
that he would ultimately be able to
dislodge the enemy. The battle ceased
at dark. These partial successes de-
termined me to continue the assault
next day. Pickett, with three of his
brigades, joined Longstreet the follow-
ing morning, and our batteries wrere
moved forward to the position gained
by him the day before. The general
plan of attack \vas unchanged, except
that one division and two brigades of
Hill's corps were ordered to support
Longstreet. The enemy, in the mean-
time, had strengthened his line with
earthworks. The morning was occu-
pied in necessary preparations, and the
battle recommenced in the afternoon
of the third, and raged with great vio-
lence until sunset. Our troops suc-
ceeded in entering the advanced works
if the enemy, and getting possession of
some of his batteries ; but our artillery
having nearly expended its ammunition,
the attacking columns became exposed
to the heavy fire of the numerous bat-
teries near the summit of the ridge, and
after a most determined and gallant
struggle, were compelled to relinquish
their advantage and fall back to
their original positions, with severe
loss."
Such, in Lee's simple statement, was
the battle of Gettysburg; the heaviest
blow yet suffered by the Confederate
army of Virginia. Lee bore the disas-
ter with patient resignation, made the
best dispositions for retreat, and suc-
ceeded in a disadvantageous march in
bringing the remains of his shattered
army across the Potomac into Virginia.
Seven months of comparative quiet
ensued in Virginia, while new combina-
tions were being effected. Lee fell
back with his army to the Rapidan.
In October and November there was
some sharp fighting with Meade on the
old skirmishing grounds of Eastern
Virginia, but nothing decisive. In the
spring of 1864, Gen. Grant, crowned
with western laurels, was appointed
Lieutenant-General and Commander-in-
Chief of the Union forces. In the be-
ginning of May, he opened the contest
in earnest ; crossing the Rapidan in the
face of Lee's army, and then began in
the Wilderness, a series of battles un-
paralleled during the war, in dogged,
hard fighting and loss of life, in which
Grant's obstinacy at last prevailed ;
bringing him by a continued flank
movement to the old battle-ground of
the Chickahominy, and Lee once more
in Richmond. The south side of the
James river, before Petersburg, then
EGBERT EDWARD LEE.
457
became the main field of operations,
where, during the summer and autumn
of this eventful year, various engage-
ments were fought ; the winter succeed-
ed, with manifold conflicts, and yet Lee
held Richmond. In February, 1865,
destined to be the last year of the war,
Lee, in obedience to a universally ex-
pressed desire, was created General-in-
Chief of the army of the Confederate
States. In assuming the command, he
said in a general order : " Deeply im-
pressed with the difficulties and respon-
sibilities of the position, and humbly
invoking the guidance of Almighty
God, I rely for success upon the cour-
age and fortitude of the army, sustain-
ed by the patriotism and firmness of
the people — confident that their united
efforts, under the blessing of Heaven,
will secure peace and independence."
But the exhausted Confederate cause
was past surgery. Not even the skill,
prudence and military combinations of
Lee could save it. Its strength was ef-
fectually broken by the grand march of
Sherman in the South ; and Grant, at
the end of March, was closing in upon
the devoted city. Lee made one last
effort for Richmond, in an attack on the
Union forts before Petersburg, on the
25th ; but the valor of his troops was
of no avail. Overpowered by numbers
and superior resources, he was compel-
led to evacuate his capital. The Union
forces followed on the track of his en-
feebled army, and on the 9th of April
Lee surrendered to Grant, at Appomat-
fcox Court House. He received honor-
able terms, being paroled with his
army. The war was virtually at an end.
On the 10th of April, Lee issued
the following farewell address to his
army : " After four years of arduous
service, marked by unsurpassed cour-
age and fortitude, the army of Northern
Virginia has been compelled to yield
to overwhelming numbers and re-
sources. I need not tell the survivors
of so many hard-fought battles, who
have remained steadfast to the last,
that I have consented to this result from
no distrust of them ; but, holding that
\ralor and devotion could accomplish
nothing that could compensate for the
loss that would attend the continua-
tion of the contest, I have determined
to avoid the useless sacrifice of those
whose past vigor has endeared them
to their countrymen. By the terms of
agreement, officers and men can return
to their homes and remain there till ex-
changed. You will take with you the
satisfaction that proceeds from the
consciousness of duty faithfully per-
formed, and I earnestly pray that a
merciful God will extend you His
blessing and protection. With an in-
creasing admiration of your constancy
and devotion to your country, and a
grateful remembrance of your kind
and generous consideration of myself,
I bid you an affectionate farewell."
After this, Lee returned to his home
in Richmond, where he passed a lew
months in retirement ; and in October,
having taking the amnesty oath re
quired by the government, was install-
ed President of Washington College,
at Lexington, in the Valley of Virginia.
Avoiding, as far as possible, all public
notoriety, he continued in the discharge
of the duties of this office during the
brief remainder of his life. He died at
his home at Lexington, of congestion ol
the brain, October 12th, 1870.
ELIZA COOK.
lady, the daughter of a res-
JL pectable English tradesman, was
born about the year 1818, and early
in life became known to the public by
her contributions in verse to various
periodicals in London, including the
" New Monthly Magazine," the " Met-
ropolitan," and the " Literary Gazette."
In 1840, after her reputation was
established, an illustrated edition of
her writings was published in London
entitled " Melaia, and other Poems" —
a volume which includes most of the
compositions by which she is best
known in America. As many of these
are of a lyrical character — indeed, it is
in that capacity that her genius is
chiefly to be recognized — they have
become in the hands of favoriie singers
and reciters " familiar as household
words." Foremost among these un-
doubtedly in point of popularity ranks
" The Old Arm Chair, " which has
touched thousands of hearts rJy its pic-
ture of household affection and piety.
I love it, I love it ; and who shall dare
To chide nie for loving that old arm-chair?
I've treasured it long as a sainted prize,
I've bedew'd it with tears, and embahn'd it
witr sighs;
'Tis bound by a thousand bands to my heart ;
Not a tie will break, not a link will start.
(468,
"Would ye learn the spell? a mother sat
And a sacred thing is that old arm-chair.
In childhood's hour I linger'd near
The hallow'd seat with list'ning ear;
And gentle words that mother would give,
To tit me to die and teach me to live.
She told me shame would never betide,
With truth for my creed and God for my
guide;
She taught me to lisp my earliest prayer,
As I knelt beside that old arm-chair.
I sat and watched her many a day,
When her eye grew dim, and her locks were
grey;
And I almost worshipp'd her when she smil'd
And turn'd from her Bible to bless her child.
Years roll'd on, but the last one sped —
My idol was shatter'd, my earth-star fled ;
I learnt how much the heart can bear,
When I saw her die in that old arm-chair.
'Tis past! 'tis past! but I gaze on it now
With quivering breath and throbbing brow:
'Twas there she nursed me, 'twas there she
died;
And memory flows with lava tide.
Say it is folly, and deem me weak,
While the scalding drops start down my
cheek ;
But I love it, Hove it, and cannot tear
My soul from a mother's old arm-chair.
The effect of this and many kindred
poems by the author is produced rather
by a swelling tide of natural emotion,
based upon some simple heartfelt inci-
dent, than by the exercise of any con
ELIZA COOK.
459
summate literary art. The poems of
Miss Cook, indeed, seem always the
expression of a happy, healthy nature,
prompt to display itself in lyric utter-
ances. Her muse never goes far to
seek for a subject ; its inspiration is
found in the common scenes and
thoughts of every-day life, of the
daughters and mothers of England.
o O
Life and death, patriotic aspirations,
religious fervors, the charms of nature;
but, above all, the home affections, sup-
ply the materials for her apparently
spontaneous verse. Whatever she has
written has the stamp of a genuine
natural enthusiasm, coming warm from
the heart. Occasionally, when some
romantic incident is unfolded, as in
her longer narrative poems " Melaia,"
and the tale of "Tracy de Vere and
Hubert Grey," it will' be found that
the motive is supplied by some tender
outburst of affection, as in the former,
the devoted faithfulness of the dog to
his owner ; and, in the latter, the lov-
ing relation between the peasant and
the feudal lord. The simple rapid
movement in these poems shows a
capacity in the author for prolonged
narratives, somewhat in the vein of
Scott or Byron. The description of
the solitude of the desert in the flight
of Melaia would do no discredit to the
latter in its contrast of emotion.
"The whirling blast, the breaker's dash,
The snapping ropes, the parting crash,
The sweeping waves that boil and lash,
The stunning peal, the hissing flash.
The hasty prayer, the hopeless groan,
The stripling sea-boy's gurgling tone,
Shrieking anlid the flood and foam,
The names of mother, love and home;
The jarring clash that wakes the land,
When, blade to blade, and hand to hand,
Unnumber'd voices burst and swell,
In one unceasing war-whoop yell;
The trump of discord ringing out,
The clamor strife, the victor shout ;—
Oh ! these are noises any ear
Will dread to meet and quail to hear;
But let the earth or waters pour
The loudest din or wildest roar;
Let Anarchy's broad thunders roll,
And Tumult do its worst to thrill,
There is a silence to the soul
More awful, and more startling stilL
"To hear our very breath intrude
Upon the boundless solitude,
Where mortal tidings never come,
With busy feet or human hum;
All hush'd above, beneath, around —
No stirring form, no whisper'd sound;—
This is a loneliness that falls
Upon the spirit, and appals
More than the mingled rude alarms
Arising from a world in arms."
Writing almost exclusively for the
instant demands of the newspaper 01
periodical press, Miss Cook has seldom
attempted compositions of length. On
the other hand, she has not sacrificed
her genius to the preparation of mere-
ly occasional verses to live and die
with the passing topics of the hour.
Her verses are generally of permanent
interest, touching upon themes such
as we have indicated, which never
grow old. With what a natural de-
light she hails the coming of Spring in
this animated strain :
"Welcome, all hail to thee!
Welcome, young spring!
Thy sun-ray is bright
On the butterfly's wing.
Beauty shines forth
In the blossom-robed trees;
Perfume floats by
On the soft southern breeze.
"Music, sweet music,
Sounds over the earth;
)ne glad choral song
Greets the primrose's birth;
too
ELIZA COOK.
The lark soars above,
With its shrill matin strain;
The shepherd boy tunes
His reed pipe on the plain.
"Music, sweet music,
Cheers meadow and lea; —
In the song of the blackbird,
The hum of the bee:
The loud happy laughter
Of children at play
Proclaim how they worship
Spring's beautiful day."
With what glee she celebrates the
praises of the Horse :
"Behold him free on his native sod
Looking fit for the sun -god's car;
With a skin as sleek as a maiden's cheek
And an eye like the Polar star."
And how on more than one occasion
she is inspired by the suggestions of
the Sea and the Sailor's life, as in her
" Song of the Mariners : "
" Choose ye who will earth's dazzling bowers,
But the great and glorious sea be ours ;
Give us, give us the dolphin's home,
With the speeding keel and splashing foam :
Right merry are we as the sound bark springs
On her lonely track like a creature of wings.
Oh, the mariner's life is blythe and gay,
When the sky is fair and the ship on her way."
Occasionally we meet in the volumes
of our authoress poems of a more som-
bre character ; but even here, as in the
case of the poem on " The Sexton," the
subject is relieved by a certain anima-
tion in the verse.
" 'Mine is the fame most blazon'd of all;
Mine is the goodliest trade ;
Never was banner so wide as the pall,
Nor sceptre so fear'd as the spade.'
*' This is the lay of the sexton grey —
King of the churchyard he —
While the mournful knell of the tolling bell
Chimes in with his burden of glee.
*****
"He digs the grave, and his chaunt will break
As he gains a fathom deep —
' Whoever lies in the bed I make
I warrant will soundly sleep.'
"He piles the sod, he raises the stone,
He clips the cypress tree ;
But whate'er his task, 'tis plied alone —
No fellowship holds he."
To the " Dispatch," originally estab-
lished as a sporting paper by Mr. Bell,
in London, and which, by the vigor of
its political articles, attained a large
circulation, Miss Cook was a frequent
contributor, furnishing, for a considera-
ble part of the time, a poem weekly be-
tween the years 1836 and 1850. In
1849, she established a paper of her
own, entitled " Eliza Cook's Journal,"
which was continued weekly till 1854,
when it was given up in consequence
of her failing health. A volume of
selections from her papers in this per-
iodical, entitled " Jottings from my
Journal," was published by Routledge
in 1860. This gathering of articles on
topics of every-day life and manners is
of a light, amusing, yet useful and
practical character, and shows the au-
thoress to be as clever in prose as in
poetry. Various other volumes have
proceeded from her pen, chiefly collec-
tions of her Poems ; a Christmas vol-
ume in 1860, and " New Echoes and
Other Poems " in 1864. In this latter
year her name was placed on the liter-
ary pension list of the English govern-
ment.
Painted, "by
WILLIAM HENHY SEWARD.
463
Seward resumed the practice of the
.law at Auburn, from which he was
called in 1849, by his election to the
United States Senate. In this new
sphere of duty he acted on a larger
theatre the character for usefulness
which he had established as State
Governor, advocating all means of in-
creasing the resources of the country,
opening the public lands to settlers,
promoting the Pacific Railroad, and
other national internal improvements ;
while he kept steadily in view the great
principles of freedom with which his
public life was identified.
It was the period of renewed agita-
tion of the relations of the Government
to slavery, growing out of the acquisi-
tion of territory in the recent war with
Mexico. To guard the vast territory
of the West, now stretching to the
Pacific, from the encroachments of the
slave power, was the work of the poli-
tical leaders of the country — prominent
among whom was Mr. Seward — pledg-
ed to the support of a national policy of
freedom. The debates on the admission
of California gave the new Senator an
opportunity to display his peculiar
powers. In his able philosophical
speech on that occasion, delivered
March llth, 1850, he employed a
phrase, Tlie Higher Law, which was
taken hold of by his opponents, who
endeavored to fasten it as a term of
reproach upon his party, as if it had
been uttered in opposition to the legal
claims of the Constitution. It was, in
fact, brought forward by him in sup-
port of his interpretation of that in-
strument. Speaking of the power of
Congress over the territories, "The
Constitution," said he, "regulates our
stewardship ; the Constitution devotes
the domain to union, to justice, to de-
fence, to welfare, and to liberty. But
there is a Higher Law than the Consti-
tution, which regulates our authority
over the domain, and devotes it to the
same noble purposes. The territory is
a part, no inconsiderable part, of the
common heritage of mankind, bestowed
upon them by the Creator of the uni-
verse. We are his stewards, and must
so discharge our trust as to secure in
the highest attainable degree their hap-
piness." The statesmen who create
the popular watchwords are invariably
thinkers, of philosophic perceptions
and powers ; and, like all philosophers
of fertile minds, accustomed to affairs
where energy is demanded, their genius
has a tendency to express itself in epi-
grammatic form. Calhoun was a speak-
er of this stamp, John Randolph anoth-
er ; and Mr. Seward, whether in speak-
ing or writing, was constantly making
points which are remembered. Seldom
have two words had a profounder sig-
nification or been more portentous as a
warning of the future than the simple
phrase " irrepressible conflict " which
he introduced in a speech at Rochester,
New York, during the Congressional
elections of 1858. He had now, through
the administrations of Presidents Fil-
more, Pierce, and the first half of Mr.
Buchanan's term of office, in opposition
to the Fugitive Slave Law, to the repeal
of the Missouri Compromise, in the pas-
sage of the Kansas and Nebraska Bill,
o '
to the attempt to force the Lecompton
Constitution upon Kansas, in the Senate
and out of it, opposed every measure
favoring the extension of the slave
power over the virgin free soil of the
£64
WILLIAM HENRY SEWARD.
nation, and he on this occasion re-
minded the country anew of the war
of principles upon which it had, of ne-
cessity, entered. "Hitherto," said he,
in words whose prophetic force he him-
self probably did not then fully antici-
pate, "the two systems (slave and free
labor) have existed in different States,
but side by side, within the American
Union. This has happened because
the Union is a confederation of States.
But in another aspect the United States
constitute only one nation. Increase
of population, which is filling the States
out to their very borders, together with
a new and extended net-work of rail-
roads and other avenues, and an inter-
nal commerce which daily becomes
more intimate, are rapidly bringing the
States into a higher and more perfect
social unity, or consolidation. Thus
these antagonistic systems are contin-
ually coming into closer contact ; and
collision results.
" Shall I tell you what this collision
means ? They who think that it is ac-
cidental, unnecessary, the work of in-
terested or fanatical agitators, and
therefore ephemeral, mistake the case
altogether. It is an irrepressible con-
flict between opposing and enduring
forces, and it means that the United
States must and will, sooner or later,
become either entirely a slave-holding
nation, or entirely a free-labor nation."
That nothing revolutionary, of the char-
acter of the civil war afterwards
brought about, was at this time favored
or even imagined by the speaker, we
may infer from the qualification which
he added, expressly to guard against
misapprehension. " If," said he, " these
States are to again become universally
slave-holding, I do not pretend to say
with what violations of the Constitu
tion that end shall be accomplished.
On the other hand, while I do con-
fidently believe and hope that my
country will yet become a land of uni-
versal freedom, I do not expect that it
will be made so otherwise than through
the action of the several States cooperat-
ing with the federal government, and
all acting in strict conformity with
their respective Constitutions."
Previous to the close of his second
senatorial term, Mr. Seward, in 1859,
paid a second visit to Europe, extending
his tour to Egypt and the Holy Land.
He was now looked upon as a promi-
nent candidate of the new Republican
party for the Presidency, as indeed, he
had been regarded by many at the pre-
vious election. He had then given his
o
support to Fremont, as he had to Scott
in 1852. In 1860, he was supported
at the nominating Convention by the
delegates of New York, Massachusetts,
and six other States, receiving on the
first ballot more votes than Mr. Lincoln.
Promptly accepting the choice of the
latter, he entered heartily into the cam-
paign, making numerous speeches, and
when the election was gained, was
called to the foremost place in the new
cabinet as Secretary of State. His
unwearied diplomatic activity in his
correspondence with foreign nations,
bringing into effective use all the re-
sources of his cultivated mind, his
ready, fluent style, his mental ingenuity,
the spring and elasticity with which
he maintained the integrity of hia
country, are matters of the history of
to-day. Nor less were his services at
this time conspicuous in his judicious
WILLIAM HENRY SEWARD.
465
treatment of the difficult public ques-
tion known as the "Trent Difficulty."
Anticipating by his prompt action the
unseemly exasperating demand of
Great Britain for the surrender of the
captured Mason and Slidell, the en-
voys of the Southern Confederacy, by
bis preliminary dispatch he, in the
words of Mr. Adams, " saved the dig-
nity of the country," and, in its not
improbable consequences, "the unity
of the nation." "It was," continues
Mr. Adams, " like the fable of the Ro-
man Curtius, who leaped into the
abyss which could have been closed in
no other way."
After holding the Secretaryship of
State through the first term of Presi-
dent Lincoln, he was reappointed to
the office in his second administration.
In the early days of this period at
Washington, he was seriously injured
by being thrown from his carriage
while riding out ; and, while suffering
from this accident, he was assailed
and desperately wounded in his bed-
chamber, on the night of the Presi-
dent's assassination, by one of the con
spirators bent upon taking his life.
His illness was greatly prolonged by
this attack, the scars of which deeply
marked his person. On his recovery,
he resumed his seat as Secretary of-
State, under the new administration
of President Johnson, and continued
with it in that capacity to its close.
The leading features of his foreign
diplomacy, at this period, were the
maintenance of the claims upon Eng-
land for the injuries suffered by Ameri-
can commerce during the war; opposi-
tion to the French intervention in
Mexico ; the negotiation of naturaliza-
tion treaties with several of the Euro-
pean powers, and the purchase of
Alaska from Russia. He then return-
ed in broken health to his old home
at Auburn, but did not long remain
there. Warned of the insidious ap-
proaches of paralysis, and conscious
that his life could be preserved only
by a career of personal activity, he
entered upon an extended course of
foreign travel, embracing a tour of the
world. Traversing Mexico and the
western region of California, he crossed
the Pacific to Japan, visited China and
India, and pursued the overland route
by Egypt, through Central Europe to
England, receiving at every stage of
his journey the most distinguished at-
tentions. Returning to his old resi-
dence, he became engaged in the pre
paration of the account of his travels,
since given to the public by his
daughter ; and it was while this work,
nearly completed, was going through
the press that, on the llth of October,
1872, after a short previous accession
of illness, he expired at his home at
Auburn. Every mark of public re-
spect by the Nation, his State, and his
numerous distinguished friends, was
paid to his memory in the services and
tributes attending his funeral. The
Legislature of New York, in April oi
the following year, prolonged these
ceremonial offerings by a special me
morial service at Albany, when, by
invitation, an elaborate address was
delivered by the Hon. Charles Francis
Adams — a generous and eloquent
tribute to the career of the depai ted
Statesman.
ALEXANDER II., OF RUSSIA.
A LEXANDER II., Emperor of
-/T\_ Russia, styled also Czar and Au-
tocrat of All the Russias, is the son of
the late Emperor Nicholas I. and
Frederica Louisa, eldest daughter of
Frederick William III., King of Prus-
sia. He was born on the 29th of April,
1818, in the reign of his uncle, Alex-
ander I. His father, Nicholas, came
to the throne on the death of that
sovereign, in 1829; the elder brother,
Constantine, by a family arrangement,
being set aside in the succession. This
led to a military insurrection at the
very outset of the new reign, which
was suppressed with great vigor by
the Emperor Nicholas, and doubtless
influenced the stern policy which sub-
sequently characterized his administra-
tion. His son, Alexander, the next
heir to the empire, was educated from
his childhood with a view to that high
destiny. He is said to have been dis-
posed rather to civil than military life ;
at least to have felt the irksomeness of
the warlike training and discipline to
which he was subjected. But, with a
Russian sovereign, a military education
'LS a necessity, and no one could set a
higher value upon the army as an in-
strument of power than the Czar Nich-
(466)
olas. He personally superintended liis
son's military studies; and when the
latter, at the age of sixteen, was de-
clared of age, he was promoted to high
office in the army, and made aide-de-
camp to the Emperor. The state ol
his health causing some uneasiness, he
was sent to visit the German courts ;
and, in 1841, was married to the Prin-
cess Wilhelmine Auguste Sophie
Maria, daughter of Ludwig II., Grand
Duke of Hesse ; who, before her mar-
riage, adopted the Greek faith and re-
ceived the name of Maria Alexan-
drowna. The Prince was now sent as
Governor to Finland, where he carried
out, as far as practicable, his father's
directions for the " Russification " of
the province. In 1850, he made a
tour of inspection through Mid-Rus-
sia, the Crimea, Circassia, and other
Russian provinces, and on his return
was decorated with the order of St.
George.
In 1853 commenced the series of
measures of interference on the part of
the Czar Nicholas with the interior
administration of Turkey, which led
immediately to the declaration, by the
Sultan, of war with Russia. France
and England were soon involved in
Likeness irom, an authentic photogntph fkrrashed hy
ALEXANDER II.
469
eminent, and military precautions were
taken against any outbreak. But it
was understood that the vote was in-
tended rather as an intimation of dis-
satisfaction with the particular mea-
sure than of any purpose of revolt ; and
it was resolved to make some conces-
sions. These somewhat hampered the
working of the emancipation scheme,
but did not materially alter it. Time
was, however, gained, and the Em-
peror was enabled to use the emanci-
pated peasantry as a check upon any
hostile movement of the proprietors.
The nobles have, on the whole, been
compelled to acquiescence; any subse-
quent attempt at hostile action has
met with a stern rebuke, and their
power of deliberation and control, by
means of their territorial assemblies,
seriously abridged. Thus the nobles
of Moscow, having met in full assem-
bly, June, 1865, to claim guarantees
which were refused, passed a resolu-
tion asserting the necessity for public
representation, the provincial assembly
of the nobles having been rendered
nugatory by the institution of the pro-
vincial parliaments, whilst the politi-
cal rights formerly possessed by the
assemblies of nobles were only par-
tially transferred to the popular par-
liaments. To this the Emperor re-
plied by a letter addressed to the
Minister of the Interior, in which, af-
ter referring to the reforms already
accomplished by him, he declares that
' the right of initiative in the various
parts of the work of gradually per-
fecting those reforms belongs alone to
me, and is indissolubly allied to the
autocratic power confided to me by
God. No class has legally a right to
ii.— 59
speak in the name of any other class,
nor is any individual entitled to inter-
cede with me in favor of the general
interests, or with regard to what they
consider necessities of State.' Further,
he wished them to understand for the
future, that any such deviations from
the regulated order would only serve
to retard the development of his
plans.
"Shortly after he ascended the
throne, the Emperor visited Warsaw.
The nobles and merchants presented an
address, and implored his favor. The re-
ply contained the usual phrases of good
will and benevolent intentions, but
with them was the significant warning
Hhe order established here by my
father must be maintained ; no dreams! '
Year after year the Poles found the
iron hand pressing harder upon them.
They were to be awakened from their
fond dream of a national existence in
any sense. The people were disarmed ;
the few constitutional safeguards were
declared inapplicable to them. Any
person of position who gave public
expression to his dissatisfaction, and
many who were only supposed to be
dissatisfied, were arrested, and mostly
exiled to Siberia. At length a harsh
edict of conscription, which would
have forced into the Russian army
pretty nearly the whole manhood of
Warsaw, brought matters to a crisis.
Insurrection spread rapidly, and
though for the most part with only im-
provised arms, the Poles maintained,
through 18G3, a long and desperate
struggle. They were of course beaten
The British, French, and Austrian
governments had proposed mediation,
and even ventured to remonstrate
470
ALEXANDER II.
against the Russian measures, but
their interference was haughtily re-
pulsed— -'The insurgents must throw
down their arms, and submit them-
selves to the clemency of the Emperor.'
His decrees for the Russification of
Poland, and its absolute absorption
into the empire, were resolutely en-
forced. Tartar insurrections and
Circassian revolts have been treated
in the same way.
" On the 16th of April, 1866, as the
Emperor was about to enter his car-
riage at the gate of the Summer Gar-
den, St. Petersburg, he was fired at by
a man named Karakosoff, but the
assassin's arm was seized by a by-
stander, who, diverting the pistol up-
wards, caused it to discharge harm-
lessly in the air. Karakosoff was a
Russian of noble family; Konimisaroff,
who saved the Emperor's life, was a
journeyman hatter, but was ennobled
on the spot for his conduct. Great
numbers of suspected persons, stu-
dents, Poles, and the like, were arres-
ted, but there was only questionable
evidence of the crime being part of a
conspiracy. A year later a similar
attempt was made in Paris, where the
Emperor was on a visit to the Emperor
of the French. As the two Emperors
were in a carriage in the Bois de Bou-
logne, a Pole named Berezowski took
aim at the Czar and fired ; but Nap-
oleon's equerry, M. Rainbeaux, observ-
ing his movement, rode forward, and
his horce received the shot — the life of
Alexander II, being thus a second time
saved from the assassin. Berezowski
was condemned to imprisonment with
hard labor for life : Alexander had
requested that his life might be spared.
" Looking at the state of Russia dur-
ing the seventeen years of the reign of
Alexander II., from 1855 to 1872, we see
that it has been eminently a period of
transition ; and that to the personal
character of the sovereign, its special
phase may be in an unusual degree as-
signed. His main purpose has been
the unification, as it is called, of the
empire, and in this he has been in a
great measure successful. With cease-
less progression, Poland, Courland, Li-
vonia, and Esthonia have been " Russi-
fied " —the national laws, administra-
tion of justice, education, language,
having had to make way for those of
Russia. He has also succeeded to a
certain degree in improving the trade
and developing the resources of the
country. Like his predecessors, he
has never lost sight of the extension
of his territories. Convinced that the
time was inopportune for actual ag-
gression on Turkey, he has yet con-
stantly sought to weaken her by en-
couraging disaffection in the Christian
provinces, and making use of the am-
bitious tendencies of the Greeks. But,
compelled to abstain from direct aggres-
sion in this quarter, he has found em-
ployment for his army by unceasing
encroachment in Asia, until he has
brought the Russian power, if not ac-
tual Russian territory, into immediate
contact with Bokhara, Afghanistan,
China, and Japan, and as some fancy,
into inconvenient proximity with
British India. Whether the ultimate
purpose or tendency of this vast ex
tension shall prove hostile or pacific,
whether it shall lead to the subjuga-
tive of ancient Asiatic kingdoms, and
a struggle for ascendancy with Euro-
ALEXANDER II.
471
pean powers, or more happily to the
opening of new and profitable channels
of trade and friendly intercourse, only
time can determine ; but the fact can-
not be without immense influence on
the future of Russia. Second, it may
be ; but only second to that resulting
from what will undoubtedly remain
the grand achievement of the reign of
Alexander II., the emancipation of the
serfs."
In its relations to the United States the
policy of the Emperor Alexander has
always been of a friendly character.
This was particularly shown during
the war in the preservation of the
Union, in the diplomatic expressions
of good will which passed between the
two countries. Removed from all oc-
casions of interference with each other,
though with different phases of gov-
ernment and different tasks to be per-
formed, there would appear to be
grounds of sympathy between the two
nations, arising doubtless from the vast
extent of territory which each occupies,
and the consequent probabilities of
aggrandisement in the future in the
two hemispheres. Conscious of this
harmonious separation of the destinies
of the nations, Russia, in 1867, ceded
to the United Stater by sale, her entire
possessions in North America border-
ing on the Pacific.
In 1871, while the war between
Germany and France was in progress,
the Emperor Alexander demanded and
obtained a modification of the Paris
treaty of 1866, in respect to the limi-
tations of his rights on the Black Sea.
By his wife, the Empress Maria
Alexandrowna, the Emperor has had
six sons and a daughter. The eldest
son, Nicholas, born in 1843, died at
Nice, in 1865. The heir to th e throne,
the Grand Duke Alexander, was born
in 1845, and married in 1866 the
Princess Daginar, of Denmark. The
other children, born between 1847 and
1860, are in the order of their birth,
Vladimir, Alexis, Maria. Sergius, and
Paul
JENNY LIND GOLDSCHMIDT.
IHTlHlS exquisite songstress, whose
-L. career among the members of her
profession is in many respects unique,
was born at Stockholm, the capital of
Sweden, in October, 1821. Her par-
ents belonged to the poor, industrial
class of the country. In their religion,
they were Protestants, members of the
Lutheran church. The father, it is
said, was a teacher of languages ; the
mother kept a school for children.
When we first hear of their daughter,
who was destined to achieve such re-
markable distinction in the world, it
is in the description of Frederica Bre-
mer, as " a poor and plain little girl,
lonely and neglected, in a little room
of the city, who would have been very
unhappy, deprived of the kindness and
care so necessary to a child, if it had
not been for a peculiar gift. The little
girl had a fine voice, and in her loneli-
ness, in trouble or in sorrow, she con-
soled herself by singing. In fact, she
sung to all she did ; at her work, at
her play, running or resting, she al-
ways sang." One day, while singing,
the child attracted the attention of
Madame Lundberg, a celebrated ac-
tress, of Stockholm, who was so much
impressed by her vocal powers, she
(472^
brought her to the notice of Croelius.
a well-known music master of the city
He, too, was astonished at her musical
ear and voice, and declared her well
worthy of being educated for the
stage. The child, nothing loth, — she
was now about nine years of age — was
taken by him to Count Piicke, the di-
rector of the Royal Opera at Stock-
holm, to be put in the way of the
necessary instruction provided uy that
institution for its disciples. The
Count, who is said to have possessed
a kind and generous heart under a
rough exterior, on first seeing her,
rudely questioned her capabilities.
Looking disdainfully at her, he said
to her protector : " You are asking a
foolish thing. What shall we do
with such an ugly creature ? See
what feet she has ! And then, her
face ! She will never be presentable.
We cannot take her." Then said the
music master, " If you will not take
her, poor as I am, I will take her my
self and have her educated for the
stage. Such another ear as she has
for music is not to be found in the
world !" The Count relented, and, con-
vinced of her powers, had her admit-
ted at once to the Musical Academy
JENNY LINT> GOLDSCHMIDT.
473
So poor was her family at this time,
that it was, as Miss Bremer tells us,
with some difficulty a simple gown of
black bombazine was procured for
her.
Under the tuition of Berg, the di-
rector of the singing school of the
opera, she at once made rapid pro-
gress. When she had been about two
years at the institution, she attracted
attention by her spirited performance
of the part of a beggar-girl, in a little
comedy acted by the pupils, and for a
year or two afterwards, was a favorite
in the representation of children's
characters. " Vaudevilles were writ-
ten expressly for her : the truth of
her conception, the originality of her
style, gained for her the reputation of
being a prodigy, while the modesty
and amiability of her demeanor secured
for her love and "regard." It was at
this period that she was threatened
with the loss of her voice. The upper
notes, and the silvery tone, her peculiar
attributes, vanished or were impaired,
and with them were departing the ex-
pectations which had been formed for
her success in the grand opera. While
under this cloud, still pursuing her in-
strumental studies, she was one evening
entrusted, at a concert, with a subordi-
nate part in an act of Meyerbeer's " Eob-
ert the Devil." Venturing timidly on
the stage, she sang the single air allot-
ted to her to the admiration of the
company. Her voice had recovered its
former powers ; her success was appre-
ciated by the manager, and she was
immediately afterwards assigned a
character which she had long studied
and coveted, in Weber's "Der Frie-
schiitz." "At the rehearsal preceding
the performance," writes Miss Bremer,
" she sang in a manner which made
the members of the orchestra at once
lay down their instruments to clap
their hands in rapturous applause It
was our poor, plain little girl here
again, who now had grown up, and
was to appear before the public in the
role of Agatha. I saw her at the eve-
ning representation. She was then in
the prime of youth, fresh, bright, and
serene as a morning in May — perfect
in form — her hands and her arms pe-
culiarly graceful — and lovely in her
whole appearance, through the ex-
pression of her countenance, and the
noble simplicity and calmness of her
manners. In fact, she was charming
We saw not an actress, but a young
girl full of natural geniality and grace.
She seemed to move, speak, and sing
without effort or art. All was nature
and harmony. Her song was distin-
guished especially by its purity, and
the power of soul which seemed to
swell in her tones. Her 'mezzo voce'
was delightful. In the night scene,
where Agatha, seeing her lover come,
breathes out her joy in rapturous song,
our young singer, on turning from the
window, at the back of the theatre, to
the spectators again, was pale for joy.
And in that pale joyousness, she sang
with a burst of outflowing love and
life that called forth not the mirth,
but the tears of the auditors."
This performance established the
success of Jenny Lind. Her name be-
came known throughout Sweden, and
for several seasons she was heard with
enthusiasm in leading parts suited to
her capacity, at the Royal Opera, at
Stockholm. Her voice, however, had
4:14
JENNY LIND GOLDSCHMIDT.
not yet been trained to the full perfec-
tion which it afterwards attained. To
accomplish herself still further in its
exercise, she resolved upon a visit to
Paris, to become the pupil of Garcia,
renowned for his training of eminent
singers. The necessary funds to carry
this resolution into effect, were provid-
ed by a series of concerts, which she
gave in the principal towns of Sweden
and Norway. On her arrival in Paris,
she was advised by Garcia to give her
voice absolute rest for three months,
so much impaired was it by use. She
passed the time, not without suffering
and mortification, in retirement, and
at the end of the period, the profes-
sional master to whose direction she
had submitted, pronounced her pow-
ers greatly improved. She then per-
fected that warble, in which, as Miss
Bremer remarks, " she is said to have
been equalled by no singer, and which
could be compared only to that of the
soaring and singing lark, if the lark
had a soul." At Paris, she made the
acquaintance of the composer Meyer-
beer, who greatly admired the purity
of her tones, and arranged for her a
rehearsal in the salon of the Grand
Opera, in which she appeared in the
best scenes of "Robert the Devil,"
" Norma," and " Der Freischiitz."
In the spring of 1843, Jenny Lind,
having returned to her native city, re-
appeared at the opera, in " Robert the
Devil," and won the hearts of all by
her exquisite singing and dramatic
representation. A professional visit
to Copenhagen, in which she made
her first appearance in the same char-
acter of Alice, ensued, when she was
received by the Danes *dth eager en-
thusiasm. " It was like a new revela-
tion in the realms of art," wrote the
author Andersen, " the youthful, fresh
voice forced itself into every heart :
here reigned truth and nature; and
everything was full of meaning and
intelligence. At one concert, she sang
her Swedish songs. There was some-
thing so peculiar in this, so bewitching,
the popular melodies uttered by a
being so purely feminine, and bearing
the universal stamp of genius, exer-
cised omnipotent sway — the whole of
Copenhagen was in rapture. On the
stage, she was the great artist who
rose above all those around her ; at
home, in her own chamber, a sensitive
young girl, with all the humility and
piety of a child." After her return
from this visit to Copenhagen, she was
invited by Meyerbeer to an engagement
at the Theatre Royal, at Berlin, where
she soon succeeded in winning her way
to the admiration of her critical audien-
ces. An engagement followed in Vi-
nena ; she reappeared several seasons in
Berlin, and was welcomed wherever
she appeared throughout Germany.
In 1847, she visited England, for the
first time making her appearance in
London, in May, in her established
part of Alice in " Robert the Devil."
The Queen and Prince Albert were
present in a distinguished audience,
which hailed her appearance and ex-
ecution with unbounded enthusiasm.
On every occasion she was received
with tributes of admiration awarded,
not merely to her professional merits,
but to her rare personal qualities, the
gentleness, refinement and generosity
of her nature, the fame of which had
preceded her, and the expression of
JENNY" LINT) GOLDSOHMIDT.
475
which was recognized in her acting.
She subsequently appeared in Donni-
zetti's " D aughter of the Regiment,"
in " Norma," in Amina, in " La Sonnam-
bula," and in other parts; and when
her London engageni2nt was completed,
followed up her successes in a tour
through the provinces and in visits to
Edinburgh and Dublin. The enthu-
siasm with which she was received in
this and other succeeding seasons in
England became a mania. Through
all classes, at the grand opera and the
concert room, her popularity was un-
bounded. In the midst of this musical
excitement, at the close of 1849, Mad-
emoiselle Lind received overtures
from the enterprising P. T. Barnum,
offering to guarantee her large receipts
if she would visit the United States.
The terms proposed and accepted by
her were one thousand dollars a night
for one hundred and fifty concert per-
formances. In no case was she to
appear in opera. The distinguished
composer and pianist, Julius Benedict,
and the Italian vocalist Belletti; were
engaged to accompany her. In mak-
ing the announcement of this engage-
ment in a letter to the American News-
papers, Mr. Barnum put prominently
forward the sacrifices the fair artist
was making in accepting his proposi-
tion, which involved her declining var-
ious highly advantageous European
overtures, while he judiciously dwelt
upon her admiration for America, and
the generosity of her disposition in
her numerous charities. u Miss Lind,"
he declared, " has numerous better
offers than the one she has accepted
from me, but she has a great anxiety
to visit America ; she speaks of this
country and its institutions in the
highest terms of rapture and praise,
and as money is by no means the
greatest inducement that can be laid
before her, she has determined to visit
us. In her engagement with me,
(which engagement includes Havana
as well as the United States,) she ex-
pressly reserves the right to give
charitable concerts whenever she
thinks proper. Since her debut in
England, she has given to the poor,
from her own private purse, more than
the whole amount which I have en-
gaged to give her ; and the proceeds of
concerts for charitable purposes in
Great Britain, where she sung gratuit-
ously, have realized more than ten
times that amount. During the last
eight months she has been singing en-
tirely gratuitously, for charitable pur-
poses, and she is now founding a ben-
evolent institution in Stockholm, her
native city, at a cost of $350,000. A
visit from such a woman, who regards
her high artistic powers as a gift from
Heaven, for the amelioration of
affliction and distress, and whose every
thought and deed is philanthropy, I
feel persuaded will prove a blessing
to America, as it has to every coun-
try which she has visited ; and I feel
every confidence that my countrymen
and women will join me heartily in
saying, ' May God bless her !' '
When Jenny Lind therefore landed
from the steamer Atlantic, one Sunday
morning of September, 1850, it was to
be received as a kind of angel visitant
rather than as any ordinary profession-
al performer. Her avoidance of the
theatre doubtless assisted in setting
her apart from the race of actresses
476
JENNY LIND GOLDSCHMIDT.
and opening to her in the concert-
room a far wider range of sympathies
than could possibly reach her on the
stage. The press, too, both of Englancl
and America, seemed devoted to her
reputation. She came heralded by
the eulogies of the best newspaper
critics of London, and had hardly pat
foot in the new world, when all those
elements of popular enthusiasm, so
easily excited at that period, were
aroused in her favor. The journals of
the day, led on by the adroit Barnum,
artfully fed the flame; the Swedish
nightingale was the subject of conver-
sation everywhere ; and when the tick-
ets for her first performance were put
up for sale, the demand was unpre-
cedented. An enterprising hatter
paid six hundred dollars for the first
ticket. This opening concert was
given at Castle Garden, at the Battery,
where the great hall was filled by
some seven thousand persons. A
musical critic of the day, Mr. Dwight,
thus describes the appearance upon
the stage of Jenny Lind on that mem-
orable evening, after Benedict had led
the way with the overture to his opera
"The Crusaders," himself conducting
the orchestra, and Belletti had been
heard in one of Rossini's bravura
songs. uNow came a moment of
breathless expectation. A moment
more, and Jenny Lind, clad in a white
dress, which well became the frank
sincerity of her face, came forward
through the orchestra. It is impossible
to describe the spontaneous burst of
welcome which greeted her. The vast
assembly were as one man, and for
some minutes nothing could be seen
but the weaving -of hands and handker-
chiefs, nothing heard but a storm of
tumultuous cheers. The enthusiasm
of the moment, for a time beyond all
bounds, was at last subdued, after
prolonging itself, by its own fruitless
efforts to subdue itself; and the divine
songstress, with that perfect bearing,
that air of all dignity and sweetness,
blending a child-like simplicity and
half-trembling womanly modesty with
the beautiful confidence of Genius and
serene wisdom of Art, addressed her-
self to song, as the orchestral symphony
prepared the way for the voice in
Costa Diva. A better test-piece could
not have been selected for her debut.
If it were possible, we would describe
the quality of that voice, so pure, so
sweet, so fine, so whole and all-per-
vading in its lowest breathings and
minutest jiorlture, as well as in its
strongest volume. We never heard
tones which in their sweetness went
so far. They brought the most distant
and ill-seated auditor close to her. —
They were tones every one of them,
and the whole air had to take the law
of their vibrations. The voice and
the delivery had in them all the good
qualities of all the good singers.
Song in her has that integral beauty
which at once proclaims it as a type
for all, and is most naturally wor-
shipped as such by the multitude.
* * * Hers is a genuine soprano,
reaching the extra high notes with
that ease and certainty which make
each highest one a triumph of expres-
sion purely, and not a physical marvel.
The gradual growth and sostenuto of
her times; the light and shade, the
rhythmic undulation and balance of
her passages ; the bird-like ecstacy of
JENNY LINT) GOLDSCHMIDT.
477
her trill; the faultless precision and
fluency of her chromatic scales ; above
all, the sure reservation of such volume
of voice as to crown each protracted
climax with glory, not needing a new
effort to raise force for the final blow ;
and, indeed, all the points one looks
for in a mistress of the vocal art were
eminently hers in Casta Diva. But
the charm lay not in any point, but
rather in the inspired vitality, the
hearty, genuine outpouring of the
whole, — the real and yet truly ideal
humanity of all her singing. That is
what has won the world to Jenny Lind;
it is that her whole soul and being goes
out in her song, and that her voice be-
comes the impersonation of that song's
soul, if it have any ; that is, if it be a
song. There is plainly no vanity in
her, no mere aim at effect ; it is all
frank and real, and harmoniously ear-
nest."
Other musical triumphs followed ;
and, at the close, Mr. Barnum being
called for, brought the enthusiasm of
the evening to its utmost height by
the announcement that Mademoiselle
Lind had devoted her share of the
proceeds of the concert, amounting to
ten thousand dollars, to a number of
the most worthy charities of the city.
a list of which he proceeded to read,
with the sums assigned to each. At
the head stood the Fire Department
Fund to which three thousand dollars
were appropriated, an excellent stroke
of policy ; for, under the old voluntary
system, this body then represented in
a certain popular way the great masses
of the community.
The moral as well as the professional
element, it was evident, was to play its
n.— 60
part in the great Jenny Lind " ova-
tions." " In this tumultuous reception
which we are giving to the pale
Swede,"wrote the accomplished author,
Mr. Willis, at the time, " there is, of
course, some professional management
and some electrified and uncompre-
hending popular ignorance, (as in
what popular enthusiasm is there
not ?) but it is, in much the greater
portion of its impulse, signally credit-
able to our country. The lever which
works it is an admiration for her good-
ness. Without her purity, her angelie
simplicity, her munificence, and hei
watchful and earnest-hearted pity for
the poor and lowly — or without a
wide and deep appreciation of these
virtues by the public — she would
have found excitement only at the
footlights of the stage. Her voice
and her skill as an artist might have
made her the rage with ( the fashion.7
But while the Astor Place Opera-
house will hold all who constitute ' the
fashion,' it would take the Park and
all the Squares in the city to hold
those who constitute the rage for
Jenny Lind. No! let the city be as
wicked as the reports of crime make it
to be — let the vicious be as thick, and
the taste for the meretricious and arti-
ficial be as apparently uppermost — •
the lovers of goodness are the many
the supporters and seekers of what is
pure and disinterested are the substan«
tial bulk of the people. Jenny Lind
is, at this moment, in the hearts of the
majority of the population of New
York, and she is there for nothing but
what pleases the angels of Heaven as
well."
This was the spirit of the enthusias-
478
JENNY LIND GOLDSCKMIDT.
tic reception of Jenny Lind in Ameri-
ca. The popular excitement, origina-
ting in New York, was continued in
Boston, Philadelphia, and other cities
of the Union, the management of the
concerts remaining in the hands of
Mr. Barnum till nearly one hundred
of the number originally proposed
were given, when Mdlle. Lind availed
herself of a clause in the agreement by
which she was at liberty to dissolve
the engagement on forfeiture of a
considerable sum. This was in the
summer of 1851. Some other concerts
were then given, after which, before
her departure from the country, Mdlle.
Lind was married at New York, to
Mr. Otto Goldschmidt, a young pian-
ist, son of a wealthy merchant of Ham-
burg. After her marriage, Madame
Goldschmidt returned to Europe,
passing through England to Germany •
and, declining all propositions to sing
in public, settled for a time at Dresden,
largely employing herself in works of
charity. She afterwards made her resi-
dence in England. She has several times
since reappeared in con cert rooms, main-
taining her old reputation, chiefly in
her effective rendering of sacred music.
JOHN BEIGHT.
481
tary renown. I care for the condition
of the people among whom I live.
There is no man in England who is
less likely to speak irreverently of the
Crown and Monarchy of England than
I am ; but crowns, coronets, mitres,
military display, the pomp of war,
wide colonies, and a huge empire, are,
in my view, all trifles light as air, and
not worth considering, unless with
them you can have a fair share of
comfort, contentment, and happiness
among the great body of the people.
Palaces, baronial castles, great halls,
stately mansions, do not make a na-
tion. The nation in every country
dwells in the cottage ; and unless the
li^ht of your Constitution can shine
o «/
there, unless the beauty of your
legislation and the excellence of your
statesmanship are impressed there on
the feelings and conditions of the peo-
ple, rely upon it, you have yet to learn
the duties of government. I have not,
as you have observed, pleaded that
this country should remain without
adequate and scientific means of de-
fence. I acknowledge it to be the
du.ty of your statesmen, acting upon
the known opinions and principles of
ninety-nine out of every hundred per-
sons in the country, at all times, with
all possible moderation, but with all
possible efficiency, to take steps which
shall preserve order within and on the
confines of your kingdom. But I
shall repudiate and denounce the ex-
penditure of every shilling, the en-
gagement of every man, the employ-
ment of every ship, which has no ob-
ject but intermeddling in the affairs
of other countries, and endeavoring to
extend the boundaries of the Empire,
which is already large enough to
satisfy the greatest ambition, and, I
fear, is much too large for the highest
statesmanship to which any man has
yet attained. The most ancient of
profane historians has told us that the
Scythians of his time were a very war
like people, and that they elevated an
old cimeter upon a platform as a sym-
bol of Mars ; for to Mars alone, I be-
lieve, they built altars and offered sac-
rifices. To this cimeter they offered
sacrifices of horses and cattle, the
main wealth of the country, and more
costly sacrifices than to all the rest of
their gods. I often ask myself whether
we are at all advanced in one respect
beyond those Scythians. What are
our contributions to charity, to educa-
tion, to morality, to religion, to jus-
tice, and to civil government, when
compared with the wealth we expend
in sacrifices to the old cimeter ? * * *
May I ask you to believe, as I do most
devoutly believe, that the moral law
was not written for men alone in their
individual character, but that it was
written as well for nations, and for
nations great as this of which we are
citizens. If nations reject and deride
that moral law. there is a penalty
which will inevitably follow. It may
not come at once, it may not come in
our lifetime; but, rely upon it, the
great Italian is not a poet only, but a
prophet, when he says :
' The sword of heaven is not in haste to smite,
Nor yet doth linger.'
We have experience, we have bea
cons, we have landmarks enough. We
know what the past has cost us, we
know how much and how far we have
482
JOHN BEIGHT.
wandered, bvt we are not left without
a guide. It is true we have not, as
the ancient people had, Urim and
Thummim — those oraculous gems on
Aaron's breast — from which to take
counsel, but we have the unchangeable
and eternal principles of the moral
law to guide us, and only so far as we
walk by that guidance can we be per-
manently a great nation, or our people
a happy people."
These are principles which will
stand the test of time. The imme-
diate effect of their utterance by Mr.
Bright, was, however, to call down
upon him an unworthy unpopularity,
which cost him his place in the House
of Commons at the next general elec-
tion in Manchester. He had previous-
ly been compelled by failing health to
intermit his labors in Parliament, and
recruit his strength by a journey in
Italy. The same year, 1857, in which
he was rejected by Manchester, saw
him returned by Birmingham, where
an opportune vacancy had occurred.
The ideas of Free Trade which had
been advocated all along by Cobden,
were now in the ascendant, and the
latter had the satisfaction in assisting
in the liberal measures brought for-
ward by Mr. Gladstone, as Chancellor
of the Exchequer, and his friend Cob-
den's negotiation of the commercial
treaty with France. But what most
distinguished Mr. Bright in this new
period of his Parliamentary career,
was his sagacious insight into the
American question which sprang up
with the war of Secession in the
United States, and the steady and
brave consistency with which he en-
deavored to hold Parliament to a
proper sense of responsibility in the
observance of the obligations and the
o
maintenance of right relations with
the national government at Washing-
ton. Like Cobden, he saw from the
beginning the true nature of the con-
test, that slavery was its source, and
that it involved a great question of
moral right and wrong ; and when he
found such an issue, as in the case of
the restrictive policy of the corn laws,
his judgment never wavered, for it was
guided alike by his intelligence and
his instincts. When, at the close of
the war, he reviewed its course, he
thus traced its origin : " In spite of
all that persecutions could do, opin-
ion grew in the North in favor of
freedom ; but in the South, alas ! in
favor of that most devilish delusion
that slavery was a divine institution.
The moment that idea took possesion
of the South, war was inevitable. Nei-
ther fact, nor argument, nor counsel,
nor philosophy, nor religion, could by
any possibility affect the discussion of
the question, when once the Church
leaders of the South had taught their
people that slavery was a divine insti-
tution; for then they took their stand
on other and different, and what they in
their blindness thought higher grounds,
and they said * Evil ! be thou my good ;
and so they exchanged light for dark-
ness, and freedom for bondage, and,
if you like, heaven for hell. Of course,
unless there was some stupendous mira-
cle, greater than any that is on record,
even in the inspired writings, it was
impossible that war should not spring
out of that state of things; and the
political slaveholders, that 'dreadful
brotherhood, in whom all turbulent
JOHN BRIGHT.
483
passions were let -loose,' the moment
that they found that the presidential
election of 1860 was adverse to the
cause of slavery, took up arms to sus-
tain their cherished and endangered
system. Then came the outbreak which
had been so often foretold, so often
menaced ; and the ground reeled un-
der the nation during four years of ag-
ony ; until, at last, after the smoke of
the battle-field had cleared away, the
horrid shape which had cast its shadow
over a whole continent had vanished,
and was gone for ever."
"With this understanding of the es-
sential grounds of the struggle, he saw
its inevitable result ; and when motives
of policy seemed to blind his country-
men to the issue, and tempt them to rec-
ognition of the South, he manfully resis-
ted what he considered the foul conta-
gion. " Coming back to the question
of this war," said he in one of its
darker hours, "I admit — of course,
everybody must admit — that we are
not responsible for it, for its commence
ment, or for the manner in which it is
conducted ; nor can we be responsible
for its result. But there is one thing
which we are responsible for, and that
is for our sympathies, for the manner
in which we regard it, and for the
tone in which we discuss it. What
shall we say, then, in regard to it?
On which side shall we stand ? I do
not believe it is possible to be strictly,
coldly neutral. The question at issue
is too great, the contest is too grand
in the eye of the world. It is im-
possible for any man, who can have
an opinion on any question, not to
have some kind of an opinion on the
question of this war. I am not ashamed
of my opinion, or of the sympathy
which I feel, and have over and over
again expressed, on the side of the
free North. I cannot understand how
any man witnessing what is enacting
on the American continent, can indulge
in small cavils against the free people
of the North, and close his eye entirely
to the enormity of the purposes of the
South. I cannot understand how any
Englishman, who in past years has
been accustomed to say that 'there
was one foul blot upon the fair fame
of the American Republic,' can now
express any sympathy for those who
would perpetuate and extend that
blot. And, more, if we profess to be,
though it be with imperfect and fal-
tering steps, the followers of Him who
declared it to be His Divine mission
* to heal the broken-hearted, to preach
deliverance to the captives and recov-
ering of sight to the blind, to set at
liberty them, that are bruised,' must
we not reject with indignation and
scorn, the proffered alliance and friend-
ship with a power based on human
bondage, and which contemplates the
overthrow and the extinction of the
dearest rights of the most helpless of
mankind ! If we are the friends of
freedom, personal and political — and
we all profess to be so, and most of
us, more or less, are striving after it
more completely for our own country —
how can we withhold our sympathy
from, a government and a people
amongst whom white men have al*
ways been free, and who are now of*
fering an equal freedom to the black?
I advise you not to believe in the ' de-
struction ' of the American nation. It
facts should happen by any chance to
484:
JOHN BRIGHT.
force you to believe it, do not commit
the crime of wishing it. I do not
blame men who draw different conclu-
sions from mine from the facts, and
who believe that the restoration of
the Union is impossible. As the facts
lie before our senses, so must we form a
judgment on them. But I blame those
men that wish for such a catastrophe.
For myself, I have never despaired,
and I will not despair. In the lan-
guage of one of our old poets, who
wrote, I think, more than three hun-
dred years ago, I will not despair, —
' For I have seen a ship in haven fall
After the storm had broke both mast and
shroud.'
From the very outburst of this great
convulsion, I have 'had but one hope
and one faith, and it is this — that the
result of this stupendous strife may
make freedom the heritage for ever of
a whole continent, and that the grand-
eur and the prosperity of the American
Union may never be impaired."
On another occasion, he remarked
on the same, speaking on the same sub-
ject : " What I do blame, is this. I
blame men who are eager to admit in-
to the family of nations, a State which
offers itself to us, based upon a princi-
ple, I will undertake to say, more odi-
ous and more blasphemous than was
ever heretofore dreamed of in Christian
or Pagan, in civilized or in savage
times. The leaders of this revolt pro-
pose this monstrous thing — that over
a territory forty times as large as Eng-
land, the blight and curse of slavery
shall be forever perpetuated. I can-
not believe, for my part, that such a
fate will befall that fair land, stricken
though it now is, with the ravages of
war. I cannot believe that civilization,
in its journey with the sun, will sink
into endless night, in order to gratify
the ambition of the leaders of this
revolt, who seek to
' Wade through slaughter to a throne
And shut the gates of mercy on mankind.'
I have another and a far brighter vision
before my gaze. It may be but a vis-
ion, but I will cherish it. I see one
vast confederation stretching from the
frozen North in unbroken line to the
glowing South, and from the wild bil-
lows of the Atlantic westward, to the
calmer waters of the Pacific main, —
and I see one people, and one language
and one law, and one faith, and,
over all that wide continent, the
home of freedom, and a refuge for
the oppressed of every race and of
every clime."
America is not likely to forget these
words and many others which this
orator uttered in her behalf during her
momentous struggle. In the councils
of Parliament, he was emphatically a
peace-maker, deprecating the rude ac-
tion of the government toward Ameri-
ca in resentment of the seizure of the
Southern ambassadors on board the
" Trent." He thought that his govern-
ment might have shown a little more
generous courtesy on that occasion.
" It is not customary in ordinary life,"
he said from his seat in Parliament,
" for a person to send a polite messen-
ger with a polite message to some
neighbor, or friend, or acquaintance,
and (in allusion to the English war-
like preparations) at the same time to
send some men of portentous strength,
JOHN BEIGHT.
485
handling a gigantic club, making every
kind of ferocious gesticulation ; and at
the same time, to profess that all this
is done in the most friendly and cour-
teous manner." In regard to the fitting
out of the 'Alabama,' \vhich he de-
nounced as a violation of the statutes
of his country, leading to an infraction
of international law, and, in fine, on all
proper occasions, the voice of this
champion of liberty was heard in vin-
dication of his own cherished longings
for peace and the rights of America,
which he valued as part of the civiliza-
tion of the world.
When the American contest had
terminated, as Bright had predicted it
would terminate, perhaps beyond his
hopes, in the utter extinct ion of slavery,
another question became prominent in
the councils of England. This was
the further progress of Parliamentary
Reform in an important extension of
the right of suffrage. Palmerston died
in 1866, after which the question made
rapid progress, and Bright was a fore-
most worker in the agitation, which
speedily ended in the passage of the
new Reform Bill, distinguishing him-
self by his skilful use of Parliamentary
weapons, not less than by his faculty
of influencing the people. His fully
recognized ability now marked him
out for a seat in the ministry ; and
when the new administration was
formed, in 1868, with Gladstone at its
head, he received and accepted a seat
in the cabinet, with the office of Presi-
dent of the Board of Trade. A serious
illness, in 1870, led to his resignation of
office ; but the electors of Birmingham
would not consent to his relinquishing
the seat they had given in the House
of Commons. During his Parliamen-
tary career, he remained a partner with
his brothers in the manufacturing
business, at Rochdale and Manches
ter.
ii.— 61
THOMAS JONATHAN JACKSON.
HE most marked individual among
-i- the Southern Generals, perhaps
among the many officers engaged on
either side during the late civil conflict,
was. doubtless, General Thomas Jona-
than Jackson, familiarly known by his
designation, distinguishing him from
numerous others in history of his name,
Stonewall Jackson. He was born of
a respectable family of English and
more remote Scotch Irish ancestry,
at Clarksburg, Western Virginia, the
youngest of a family of four children,
January 21st, 1824. His great grand-
father, who emigrated from London in
1748, and his grandfather, both bore
their part on the American side in the
War of the Revolution ; and the family,
on the adoption of the Constitution,
was represented in Congress by two
of its members. His father, Jonathan
Jackson, who had practised law with
success, was overtaken by misfortune
in his latter years, and at his death, in
1827, left his family in want. His
widow, a lady of cultivation and of
unaffected piety, married again in 1830
and died the following year. Her
orphan child, the subject of this notice,
was thus left to the care of his father's
relatives for maintenance and support.
The boy thus eariy in life displayed
some strength of will, for he ran away
from the first of these protectors whom
he disliked, and was received and en-
tertained by an uncle, Cummins Jack-
son, on a farm at Weston, where he
remained during his boyhood, assisting
in the rural work and picking up the
rudiments of education at a country
school.
He was at this youthful period a lad
of spirit, and had the hardihood, at the
age of nine, in company with an elder
brother, to undertake an erratic fortune-
seeking journey on the Ohio, from
which, after encountering various hard-
ships of toil as a wood-cutter on an
island of the Mississippi, and enfeebled
by the ague of the spot, he was enabled
to return to Virginia by the charity of
a steamboat captain. At home he was
known to the country round as a suc-
cessful rider of his uncle's horses in the
race-course, for which that relative had
a true Virginian's affection. It is
characteristic at once of young Jack-
son's incipient manliness and of the
primitive habits of the region in which
he dwelt, that at about the age of
sixteen he was elected Constable by
the Justices of the County Court of
•
THOMAS JONATHAN JACKSON.
487
Sessions in which he resided. The
duties of this office in traversing
a considerable extent of country,
serving process, collecting debts and
making arrests, were calculated to
develop a native hardihood of dis-
position; and the young incumbent
appears to have secured the esteem
and confidence of the members of
the court and others interested in
his proceedings. The position, how-
ever, was not sufficiently satisfactory
or important to stand in his way
when, a vacancy having occurred in
the representation of the Congres-
sional district at West Point, it was
suggested that young Jackson should
apply for the position. His uncle
favored the notion, and the youth
further succeeded in impressing an
influential friend on the spot, if not
with his present qualifications, at least
with his own conviction, of the possi-
bility of success in the future; and with
a letter from his benefactor, Colonel
Bennett, to the member of Congress
for the District, made his way to
Washington, where he succeeded in
obtaining the coveted appointment.
His position at West Point was at first
embarrassed in consequence of his im-
perfect preparation, but this was an
impediment which, like many others of
vigorous natural powers who have
entered this institution uninformed, he
rapidly overcame by diligence and ap-
plication. His mind was rather a
stubborn, reluctant soil to cultivate,
but it held and retained strongly what
was with much labor firmly planted
in it.
This disposition, though slow at the
outset and far from brilliant in its
early exhibitions, is probably the most
favorable in the end for the serene and
abstruse studies imposed at the na
tional military academy. Jackson is
described at this time as an awkward
youth, and in his ways averse from
amusements, unsociable, self-absorbed,
arid consequently of no little simplicity
as to common e very-day affairs. He
was even, it is said, something of a
hypochondriac, suffering indeed from
derangement of the stomach, and fancy-
ing, not without probability, an heredi-
tary taint of consumption, which he
guarded against by sitting, according
to some remedial theory, " bolt upright
at his meals." One of his notions at
this or some subsequent time, " was to
believe that everything he eat went
down and lodged in his left leg" Again,
he would never eat except by the
watch, at the precise moment; and he
would take out his watch, lay it on the
table, and eat at that moment. If the
meal was behindhand he would not eat
at all. Illustrative of the difficulty he
had in learning anything, General Sey-
mour, his classmate at West Point, re-
lated an anecdote : — " Seymour was at
that time learning to play on the flute,
and Jackson took it into his head that
he also would learn. He went to the
work with his accustomed vigor and
perseverance, but he could not succeed
in learning to play even the simplest
air. He blew six months on the first
bar of 'Love Not,' and then gave it
up in despair."*
With these mingled incentives and
disabilities of an eccentric nature,
working resolutely in its distorted
* W. Swinton. Reminiscences of Stonewall
Jackson. ' ' New York Times, " May 22, 1863.
188
THOMAS JONATHAN JACKSON.
fashion, Jackson ploughed his way
heavily through his studies, and at
the end of his first year stood in
general merit fifty-one in a class of
seventy ; another year brought him up
to thirty ; a third to twenty, and the
end of the fourth to seventeen. With
this standing, in the same class with
Generals McClellan, Foster, Reno,
Stoneman, A. P. Hill, and other offi-
cers of renown in the conflict in which
he was destined to bear so prominent
a part, Jackson graduated with the ap-
pointment of brevet second lieutenant
of artillery, July 1, 1846. It was the
period of the war with Mexico, when
the newly -created young officers of the
small overtaxed national army were in
request, and heartily responded to the
call for active service on a scale of ad-
venture and importance unprecedented
in the experience of the generation then
on the stage. The war had many
attractions; the whole country was
kindled with the novelty and magni-
tude of the operations; one battle
followed another, promotion was rapid,
and honor was attained on every field.
Jackson was attached to the 1st Regi-
ment of Artillery, and was first brought
into active service in the spring of
1847, in the column of General Scott at
the siege of Vera Cruz. When the
army advanced after the battle of Cerro
Grordo he was transferred, at his own
request, to Captain Magruder's light
field battery, a position which brought
with it a certainty of adventurous duty.
In the action which followed at Churu-
busco he proved his courage on the
field, and gained the warm commenda-
tions of his superiors. " When my fire
was opened," wrote Magruder in his
report, " in a few moments Lieutenant
Jackson, commanding the second sec-
tion of the battery, who had opened
fire upon the enemy's works from a po-
sition on the right, hearing me fire still
further in front, advanced in handsome
style, and being assigned by me to the
post so gallantly filled by Lieutenant
Johnstone [who had been killed in the
first encounter], kept up the fire with
great briskness and effect. His con-
duct was equally conspicuous during
the whole day."
At the subsequent arduous assault
at Chapultepec his bravery was still
more conspicuous. In the dispositions
of the day he occupied an advance
post, where his section of the battery
encountered fearful odds of the enemy,
and was at one moment ordered to re-
tire, but he insisted on holding his
ground till he was reinforced, and
drove the enemy from his position.
When his men were sheltering them-
selves from the heavy fire pouring upon
them, it is said that Jackson, to incite
their courage, advanced to the open
ground in front, swept by shot and
shell, "Come on," says he, "this is
nothing. You see they can't hurt
me." * More than one of the reports
of the day records his gallantry. Says
General Worth, who bore a conspicu-
ous part in the action, "although he
lost most of his horses and many of his
men, Lieutenant Jackson continued
chivalrously at his post, combating
with noble courage." The young
lieutenant was heartily recommended
for promotion, and immediately re
ceived the brevet rank of Major. He
* Cooke's Life of Stonewall Jackson, p 17.
THOMAS JONATHAN JACKSON".
169
now entered Mexico with the victorious
army, passed several months there of
quiet duty, employing his comparative
leisure in the acquisition of the Spanish
tongue, which he mastered with his
usual dogged industry and resolution,
studying the forms of the language in
a grammar, the only one he could find,
written in Latin, which he had never
been taught. It was an important
event in his life at this period, that he
now began firmly to strengthen his re-
ligious opinions — oddly, for the zealous
Presbyterian of after-life, making some
of his first enquiries in theology of
the Roman Catholic Archbishop of
Mexico.*
In the summer of 1848, Major Jack-
son returned to the United States, and
was stationed for two years at a quiet
post of routine duty at Fort Hamilton,
in the harbor of New York. During
this time his religious convictions were
confirmed, and he was baptized by and
received the communion from the hands
of the Rev. Mr. Parks, the Episcopal
chaplain of the garrison. From Fort
Hamilton, Jackson was transferred for
a short time to Florida, whence, in the
spring of 1851, he was called to occupy
the position of Professor of Natural
and Experimental Philosophy and Ar-
tillery Tactics in the Military Academy
of Virginia. This was an important
institution, well situated in a pictur-
esque location at Lexington, in Rock-
bridge county, was already well es-
tablished, and had attracted to it a
large body of students. In the elec-
tion for the Professorship the names
of the subsequently distinguished
* Dr. Dabney's Life of Jackson. London
Edition, Vol. 1, p. 63-'4.
General s McClellan, Reno, Rosecrans,
and G. W. Smith, were before the
Board of Visitors for selection. Jack-
son gained the preference by the im-
pression which his character had made
and by his birth as a Virginian. He
resigned his rank in the army, accepted
the new position, immediately entered
upon its duties, and continued to dis-
charge them with faithfulness and regu-
larity for the ensuing ten years, at the
end of which time the Professor, under
the new order of things at the South,
resumed his fighting career in active
and portentous service.
Of Jackson's career at the Military
Academy his biographers have many
incidents to relate. During this period
he was twice married; in 1853, to the
daughter of the Rev. Dr. Judkin, Presi-
dent of the neighboring Washington
College at Lexington, a union which
was terminated by the death of his
wife in little more than a year ; and in
1857, to a daughter of the Rev. Dr.
Morrison, a Presbyterian clergyman of
North Carolina. His character was
now formed in a firm basis of religious
faith and experience, his associations or
convictions having led him to become
a devout member of the Presbyterian
Church, and thenceforth he was known
as a zealous professor, identifying him-
self with prayer-meetings, attendance
on service, and the usual sympathies
and observances of the denomination.
In this, as in other relations, whatever
he entertained as a duty he acted upon
and carried out with uncompromising
resolution and firmness. Thus, being
strongly convinced of a sacred Old
Testament observance of the Sabbath,
he held it a sin that the United States
£90
THOMAS JONATHAN JACKSON.
mails should be transmitted on that
day; and when it was urged that it
was quite impracticable for an indi-
vidual to arrest the proceeding, his
answer, says his biographer, Dr. Dab-
ney, was, "that unless some Christians
should begin singly to practice their
exact duty, and thus set the proper
example, the reform would never be
begun ; that his responsibility was to
see to it that he, at least, was not parti-
ceps criminis j and that whether others
would co-operate, was their concern,
not his. Hence, not only did he per-
sistently refuse to visit the post-office
on the Sabbath Day, to leave or receive
a letter, but he would not post a letter
on Saturday or Friday, which, in regu-
lar course of transmission, must be
travelling on Sunday, except in cases
of high necessity." We shall find him,
in the midst of his subsequent Southern
army occupations, seeking, in a pointed
manner, to enforce this opinion.
It was a maxim of Jackson, adopted
early in life, and left recorded in a pri-
vate note-book which he had written
at West Point, that, "You may be
whatever you resolve to be." It was
an old apophthegm which the student
might have learnt from his Virgil,
where the poet points the moral of
the struggle for mastery in the ex-
citing contest of the rowers— possunt
quid posse videntur —
"For they can conquer who believe they can."
But the young soldier learnt it not
from books, but from the rugged ex-
perience of hk own nature, in his hard
attained success in overcoming the
difficulties inward and outward, by
which he was invested. We value
proportionately what we accomplish
with effort ; and, once acquired, the les-
son never failed the aspirant. What
is easy to a man he is apt to overlook.
and sometimes despise. Dry reluctant
minds, on the other hand, to whom
struggle is a necessity, take their facul-
ties for the race, and, rigidly adhering
to their object, outstrip the better en-
dowed but negligent. Jackson be-
longed to the class vowed to determi
nation. If he once thought he ousrht
O O
to do a thing, he would not spare him-
self in accomplishing it. Thus, having
r^.ade up his mind that it was a desir-
able acquisition to be able to speak
fluently in public, probably in conse-
quence of his consciousness of his utter
inability to do so, he joined a debating
society at Lexington ; and though he
begun with failure after failure, and
was compelled time and again to sit
down, after a few awkward ineffectual
utterances, he yet rose again and per-
severed till, with confidence and in-
creasing skill, he finally attained suc-
cess. Equally firm was his resolu-
tion— in which thousands of invah'ds
with the strongest possible motives
fail — for the cure of the malady, the
painful disorder of the stomach, which
long clung to him, and which he over-
came by a rigid system of temperance
worthy of Oornaro. He not only re-
fused to partake of stimulating liquors
and tobacco, but avoided the use of
tea and coffee. Self-denial, the first
element of the soldier, was habitual to
him.
In careless times of peace the con-
straint of such a man does not always
prove acceptable, and we are not sur-
prised to learn that, even in a Military
THOMAS JONATHAN JACKSOK
491
Academy, where a certain degree of
severity may be supposed to be the
order of the day, Jackson was rather
unpopular with the students. It would
appear, from the narratives of friends
who have described his course at Lex-
ington, that he was somewhat of a
pedantic turn in his instructions ; that
he lacked ease and adaptation to the
wants of students in communicating
knowledge; that his lectures in fact
savored more of the inflexible camp
drill than of a winning, accommodating
philosophy. The pupils, doubtless,
learnt to respect his nature when they
became acquainted with it, but thought-
less youth saw more at first sight to
deride than admire. "No idiosyncrasy
of the Professor," we are told by his
accomplished biographer, Mr. John
Esten Cooke, who learnt to know him
well in subsequent military experience
in the Valley of Virginia, " was lost
sight of. His stiff, angular figure ; the
awkward movement of his body ; his
absent and 'grim' demeanor; his ex-
aggerated and apparently absurd devo-
tion to military regularity ; his weari-
some exactions of a similar observance
on their part — that general oddity, ec-
centricity, and singularity in moving,
talking, thinking, and acting peculiar
to himself — all these were described on
a thousand occasions, and furnished
unfailing food for laughter. They
called him ' Old Tom Jackson,' and,
pointing significantly to their fore-
heads, said he was 'not quite right
there? Some inclined to the belief that
he was only a great eccentric; but
others declared him 'crazy.' Those
who had experienced the full weight
of his Professional baton — who had
been reprimanded before the class, or
'reported' to the superintendent for
punishment or dismissal — called him
' Fool Tom Jackson.' These details
are not very heroic, and detract consid-
erably from that dignified outline
which eulogistic writers upon Jackson
have drawn. But they are true. Noth-
ing is better established than the fact,
that the man to whom General Lee
wrote, ' Could I have directed events,
I should have chosen for the good of
the country to have been disabled in
your stead ;' and of whom the London
' Times ' said, ' That mixture of daring
and judgment, which is the mark of
' Heaven-born ' Generals, distinguished
him beyond any man of his time.'
Nothing is more certain, we say, than
that this man was sneered at as a fool,
and on many occasions stigmatized as
insane."
One anecdote of this portion of
Jackson's career deserves to be record
ed. It is related by his biographers,
and is probable enough in its incidents,
in the murderous intent of the student
— for a student has been known to
shoot a Professor, if we remember
rightly, in the University of Virginia
— and the indifferent, courageous bear
ing with which the meditated assault
was met. One of the cadets had been
tried under charges preferred by Jack-
son, and dismissed from the Academy.
He vowed revenge, declared that he
would take the life of the Professor,
and, arming himself, awaited the com-
7 O '
ing of his victim at a point on the
road by which he must pass on his
way to the Institution. The Professor
was warned, but refused to turn from
his course, simply remarking, " Let the
492
THOMAS JONATHAN JACKSON.
assassin murder me if he will," and
keeping on, calmly and sternly, con-
fronted the young man, who, rebuked
by his steady gaze, quailed, and re-
tired in silence from the spot. This
was an exercise of true self-reliance and
courage, and displayed a spirit always
admired in its exercise in great com-
manders and others who have been
suddenly called to suppress a danger-
ous mutiny.
These years of Professional life were
varied by a brief visit to Europe, un-
dertaken for the benefit of health, in
the summer of 1856. The tour, which
lasted four months, extended from Eng-
land, through Belgium and France, to
Switzerland. On his return he found
the free soil agitation in progress, and
even at that early day, "to the few
friends to whom he spoke of his own
opinions, declared that the South
ought to take its stand upon the outer
verge of its just rights, and there re-
sist aggression, if necessary, by the
sword."* In his political opinions, an
ultra State-Bights Democrat, he re-
sented any political action which
might in his view lead to interference
with the institution of slavery in the
South. Three years after this time he
was summoned with his cadets and
light battery to protect the Court at
Charleston in its arraignment of the
memorable John Brown, about to be
tried and condemned for his insane at-
tempt to create a servile insurrection,
and revolutionize Virginia. While
there he witnessed the execution of the
courageous and desperate fanatic, who
displayed a strength of will and patient
fortitude which Jackson, if not thor
"Dabney's Life of Jackson," Vol. I. p. 167.
oughly blinded by the feelings of the
hour, must at heart have admired. For
there were points in common between
John Brown and the " Stonewall,"
There was at least something of the
uncompromising hostility of the former
in Major Jackson, when, on entering
upon the Confederate service at Har-
per's Ferry, at the beginning of the
war, he deliberately declared that " it
was the true policy of the South to
take no prisoners in this war. He
affirmed that this would be in the end
the truest humanity, because it would
shorten the contest, and prove economi-
cal of the blood of both parties ; and
that it was a measure urgently dic-
tated by the interests of the Southern
cause, and clearly sustained by justice."*
"Stonewall" Jackson looking on at
the death of John Brown is a subject
for a painter's pencil and a moralist's
meditations.
We have now to contemplate Major
Jackson — for he speedily resumed the
title under new auspices — on the theatre
of the war which he invoked. When
the conflict was fairly commenced by
the attack on Sumter, and the conse-
quent call by President Lincoln for a
Northern army, Jackson was one of the
foremost of the Southern officers to
take the field. On the 21st of April,
1861, four days after Virginia, by he*
passage of an act of secession, had
joined the Confederates, he left Lex-
ington in command of the corps oi
cadets of his military school for the
camp at Richmond. There he was
appointed by the State authorities
Colonel of Volunteers, and immediate-
1 ly ordered to the command of the forces
"Dabney's Life of Jackson," Vol. I., p. 224.
THOMAS JONATHAN JACKSON.
493
gathering at Harper's Ferry, which
had just been evacuated by the few
United States troops stationed at the
public works. There he entered upon
the preliminary task of drilling and
and organizing the new levies, until his
superior officer, General Joseph E.
Johnston, appeared on the field, when
he was assigned to the command of
four regiments of Virginia infantry,
known as the First Brigade of what
was then called the " Army of the
Shenandoah." A month was now
passed in bringing troops into the
field, and making those military dis-
positions on either side, which deter-
mined for a long period the nature and
ground of the struggle already com-
menced. The Confederates concentra-
ted their forces in the Valley of Vir-
ginia, and at Manassas, in front of
Washington. Leaving Harper's Ferry
as an untenable position, Johnston re-
tired upon Winchester, whence by rail-
way and the passes of the intervening
mountain he could readily support
Beauregard at Manassas, where the
main body of Confederate troops was
assembled. When the Northern force,
under Patterson, crossed the Potomac
at Williamsport at the beginning of
July, Jackson, who had been on duty
in this quarter at Martinsburg, destroy-
ing the stock of the Baltimore and
Ohio Railroad, resisted the advance of
the Pennsylvania General, meeting his
troops in a spirited encounter at Fall-
ing Waters. Compelled to fall back
before superior numbers he invoked
aid from Johnson to attack the North-
ern army ; but no action was fought,
and the whole Virginia force in this
region was concentrated at Winchester,
H.— 62
where Jackson now received his com-
mission of brigadier-general.
The middle of the month brought
the battle of Manassas, as it was called
at the South — the memorable Bull
Run of the Northern journalists and
historians. In this engagment Jack-
son was destined to bear a prominent
part. The battle, it will be remem-
bered, began with an attack on the
18th of July, upon the Confederate
lines at Bull Run, at Mitchell's and
Blackburn's Fords, followed by the
important Federal flanking movement
of the 21st. Immediately on the first
of these assaults, Johnston was sum-
moned with his forces to the relief
of Beauregard. Leaving Winchester,
he at once set his troops in motion,
Jackson with his brigade, now com-
posed of five Virginia regiments, about
twenty - six hundred strong, being
among the foremost, on the 20th, to
reach the Confederate lines, where he
was posted in support of Longstreet's
brigade at Blackburn's Ford. The
battle of the 21st opened with an at-
tack on the Confederate position at
Stone Bridge, followed by the passage
of the main portion of the Federal army
of the stream in its rear, at Sudley's
Ford, distant some eight miles from
the spot where Jackson's brigade was
stationed. It was not, therefore, till
the great engagement of the day in the
vicinity of the Henry House was well
advanced that Jackson was brought
into action. He came up at a critical
moment, when General Bee, over-
powered by the Federal troops, was
driven back after a gallant fight, his
forces broken and shattered. Jackson,
with his fresh troops, and others which
494:
THOMAS JONATHAN JACKSOK
opportunely arrived, turned the for-
tunes of the day. Boldly confronting
the still advancing Federal forces, they
made a fresh assault, pierced the cen-
tre of the Union line, and finally drove
their antagonists from the bloody field.
Jackson, who was a man by no
means given to boasting, always as-
serted in behalf of his brigade the dis-
o
tinguished part we have described in
the military efforts of the day. Of his
signal energy on the field, his display
of all the warlike enthusiasm of his
nature, there was no question. When
on first coming up to the scene of ac-
tion he was met by General Bee with
the word, " They are beating us back,"
he simply replied with his customary
brevity and coolness, "Then we will
give them the bayonet." His firmness
gained the admiration of Bee, who ex-
claimed to his men, " There is Jackson
standing like a stone wall." They
were soon both involved in the hurry
and carnage of the battle, and Bee fell
mortally wounded, leaving this word
of eulogy, sublimated in the heat of the
fiery conflict, a legacy to his friend and
fellow-soldier. Thenceforth Jackson
was known as the Stonewall. This
was the origin of the appellation, which
never deserted him. Jackson was
struck on the hand in the action by a
fragment of shell, but made light of
the disaster, refusing the attentions of
the surgeons till those more severely
wounded were cared for.
Two personal records of this engage-
ment remain from his pen. One is a
letter to Colonel J. M. Bennett, narrat-
ing the military movements of his
brigade during the action, concluding
with the declaration, "You will find,
when my report shall be published
that the First Brigade was to our army
what the Imperial Guard was to the
First Napoleon; that, through the
blessing of God, it met the thus far
victorious enemy, and turned the for-
tunes of the day." To his wife he
wrote the day after the engagement,
" Yesterday we fought a great battle,
and gained a great victory, for which
all the glory is due to God alone.
Though under a heavy fire for several
continuous hours, I only received one
wounjd, the breaking of the largest
finger on the left hand, but the doctor
says the finger can be saved. My horse
was wounded, but not killed. My
coat got an ugly wound near the hip.
My preservation was entirely due, as
was the glorious victory, to our God,
to whom be all the glory, honor, and
praise. Whilst great credit is due to
other parts of our gallant army, God
made my brigade more instrumental
than any other in repulsing the main
attack. This is for your own informa-
tion only — say nothing about it. Let
another speak praise, not myself."*
Nor was the eulogy withheld. " The
conduct of General Jackson," says Gen-
eral Beauregard in his official report of
the Battle of Manassas, " requires men-
tion, as eminently that of an able and
fearless soldier and sagacious com-
mander, one fit to lead his brigade;
his efficient, prompt, timely arrival be-
fore the plateau of the Henry House,
and his judicious disposition of his
troops, contributed much to the sue-
cess of the day. Although painfully
wounded in the hand, he remained on
* "Dabney's Life of Jackson," Vol. I., p. 265-fi
THOMAS JONATHAN JACKSON.
495
the fbld till the end of the battle, ren-
dering invaluable assistance."f
It was Jackson's opinion, after the
battle of Bull Run, that the Confeder-
ate army should be immediately pushed
upon Washington, for he was always
the advocate of energetic forward
movements ; but he was compelled for
a time, with the rest of the troops,
to inaction before Washington-, while
McClellan organized the various forces
O
which were to afford him sufficient em-
ployment in the future. He thus
passed the remainder of the summer
in camp in the vicinity of Manassas. In
October he was promoted Major-Gen-
eral in the Provisional Army, and
shortly after was assigned to the com-
mand of the " Valley District," with
his head-quarters at Winchester. This
necessitated temporary separation from
his brigade, which he took leave of in
an animated address, closing with the
encomium and appeal — " In the Army
of the Shenandoah you were the First
Brigade ; in the Army of the Potomac
you were the First Brigade; in the
Second Corps of the army you are
the First Brigade; you are the First
Brigade in the affections of your Gen-
eral ; and I hope, by your future deeds
and bearing, you will be handed down
to posterity as the First Brigade in this
our second War of Independence.
Farewell."
It was a favorite plan of Jackson, at
this period of the war, to enter the
north-western part of Virginia, rally
the inhabitants favorable to the South-
ern cause, and, holding the line of the
Baltimore and Ohio Railroad from
Cumberland to Harper's Ferry, thus
t Report, August 26th, 1861.
protect the rich upper and lower valleys
from the invasions with which they
were constantly threatened. The au-
thorities at Richmond, however, failed
to support him in this scheme ; but he
employed all the means at his command
to interrupt the communications of
the Union forces, and drive away such
portions of them as had already gained
a foothold from the Valley. On first
occupying Winchester he had but a
small body of troops with him, but
this was not long after increased by
the return to his command of his old
brigade, and the arrival of the Vir-
ginian and Southern regiments, giving
him, in December, about eleven thous-
and men. Late as was the season, he
resolved with these to commence active
operations. His first work was, under
circumstances of considerable dif-
ficulty, to destroy an important lock
j of the Chesapeake and Ohio Canal
I above Martinsburg. This was speedily
followed by an undertaking of greater
magnitude, and, as it proved, of almost
unprecedented hardship. With about
eiffht thousand five hundred men,
o *
five batteries of artillery, and a few
companies of cavalry, he set out from
Winchester to clear Morgan and Hamp-
shire counties of the Federal troops es-
tablished at Bath, Hancock, and Rom-
ney. The force, which in numbers
was amply sufficient for the purpose,
set out on the 1st of January, 1862, a
remarkably fine day of an open season,
so mild that the soldiers left their
overcoats and blankets to be brought
after them in wagons. That night tho
weather changed, a severe northern
blast bringing with it all the terrors
of winter in an inclement mountainous
±96
THOMAS JONATHAN JACKSON.
region. A storm of sleet and snow
set in, the rough unused roads, which
fche troops traversed on a secret forced
march, were coated with ice ; the wag-
ons were • slow in coming up, and for
several nights the men, without coats
or blankets, bivouacked in the wet,
with no other resource but the camp
fires. The suffering was excessive,
numbers left the ranks and made their
way to Winchester, officers murmured,
but Jackson with his usual determina-
tion kept on, and the third day reach-
ed Bath, a distance of forty miles,
where he expected to surprise and cap-
ture the Union garrison ; but they had
warning of his approach, and escaped
across the Potomac at Hancock, whi-
ther he pursued them. Replanted a
battery opposite the town , and sum-
moned it to surrender, and the com-
mander refusing, bombarded it vigor-
ously. After destroying a railroad
bridge in the vincity, and otherwise
interrupting the communications of
General Banks' army on the Potomac,
Jackson inarched with his forces on
Ronmey, which, from the difficulties of
the way, he did not reach till the 14th,
when he found that General Kelley
had escaped, with the garrison. He
had accomplished his object, however,
in clearing the region for the time of
the Union forces, and directing the
supplies of the country to his own
purposes ; and, having done this with
an energy, and an endurance on the
O»/ /
part of his troops worthy an important
Campaign, he returned to Winchester.
He had proved his determination and
inflexibility to the verge of rashness ;
and his men had fully learnt what he
expected from them, and what he was
ready to perform himself, for he shrank
from no hardship of the camp.
Jackson had left one of his officers,
General Loring, with a garrison at
Romney, which he was presently
moved by the Confederate Secretary
of War to recall. Regarding this as
an unhandsome interference with his
command, Jackson sent his resigna-
tion to1 Richmond ; it was not acted
upon, however, was tacitly admitted
as a protest, and, besieged by remon
strances, the " Stonewall," who could
not well be spared, continued in com
mand in the Valley.
Washington's birthday in February
brought a general movement of the
Northern forces. General Banks, in
command of a distinct army corps,
crossed the Potomac at Harper's Ferry
on the 26th, immediately occupied
Charlestown and Sinithfield, and ad-
vanced upon Winchester, where Jack-
son, though beset by vastly superior
forces, was, as usual, disposed to show
fight. He was ordered, however, to
retreat, and evacuated Winchester as
Banks came up and occupied the town
on the 12th of March. General Shields
with his brigade was placed in com-
mand there, and Jackson, pursued
along his route, retired up the Valley
to Mount Jackson, about forty-five
miles distant, where he was in com-
munication with the Confederate
troops at Luray, and Washington to
the East. It was General Shields'
design to draw him from this position
and supporting force. Consequently,
as he tells us, in his report of the
action which ensued, he fell back from
the pursuit to Winchester, on I he 20th,
" giving the movement all the appear-
THOMAS JONATHAN JACKSON.
497
ance of a retreat." General Banks,
meanwhile, was leaving with a consid-
erable portion of his army for the
Eastward, and Jackson, induced by
these circumstances, resolved to return
and attack the diminished force at
Winchester. General Shields did not
anderrate his enemy, and made vigi-
lant preparations for his reception on
the southern approaches to the town.
Jackson advanced with his accustomed
impetuosity. His first day's forced
march, on the 22nd, was, a distance of
twenty-six miles, to Strasburg; the
next day he came up about noon on
the main road to the vicinity of the
village of Kernstown, about three and
a half miles from Winchester. Shields
had already his forces in position on a
neighboring height, which became the
scene of the conflict. Jackson com-
menced the attack with resolution and
with partial success, when fresh Union
troops were advanced and charged
upon the Confederates, who, after an
obstinate struggle, were compelled to
retreat, leaving their killed and woun-
ded on the field. Jackson had under-
rated the numbers, if not the valor, of
his opponents, and suffered defeat.
He would, however, have renewed the
conflict if the reinforcements which he
had summoned to his aid from Luray
and elsewhere, had not been prevented
by a rise in the Shenandoah from
joining him.*
As it was, Shields continued the
pursuit to Woodstock, whence Jack-
son retired to his former quarters at
Mount Jackson. Early in April Jack-
son Was followed up by General
* Report of General Shields to General Banks,
March 29, 1862.
Banks, who had again taken the field
and having advanced to Harrisonburgh
on the 22d, wrote to Washington that
Jackson "had abandoned the valley
of Virginia permanently." This, how-
ever, never was a calculation in Jack-
son's thoughts, as General Banks pre-
sently found. Meanwhile, on the first
week of May, we find Jackson moving
to the west, and driving back General
Milroy, who, in co-operation with
Banks, was moving from that direc-
tion towards Staunton. A large part
of General Banks' command was now
withdrawn for the reinforcement of
the army in Eastern Virginia, and
Jackson, with the intent of directing
the loudly called for reinforcements
from McClellan, now before Richmond,
again assumed the aggressive in the
Valley. Fremont was threatening
him from the West, across the moun-
tains; Bapks was in his front, and
McDowell was dispatching General
Shields against him from Fredericks-
burg on the East. At Newmarket,
on the 20th May, Jackson was joined
by Ewell ; Banks was on the direct
valley road, about forty miles in his
front, at Strasburg. Instead of advan-
cing in this direction, Jackson, with
good generalship, turned in a flank
movement to the right into the Luray
Valley, and struck, with a force of
about 20,000 men, directly by a forced
march for Front Royal, on the Man-
assas railway, the next prominent sta-
tion, twelve miles to the East of Stras-
burg. There the brave garrrison under
Colonel Kenley was, on the 23d, over-
powered and driven from the place by
his superior uumbers. Banks, on
hearing of the disaster and the force
±98
THOMAS JONATHAN JACKSON.
of the enemy, saw at once the danger
in which Winchester was placed, and
commenced his retreat to that point.
There was a sharp race for the prize.
Banks encountered the advance of the
enemy on the way at Middletown, at
Newtown, and up to Winchester, where
there was a spirited contest, by which
the pursuers were checked for five
hours, when the harassed Union forces
pushed on to Martinsburgh, and
thence to the Potomac, a march of
fifty-three miles, thirty-five of which
were performed in one day, the army
arriving at the river in forty-eight
hours after the first news of the attack
on Front E-oyal. Such was the pur-
suit of Stonewall Jackson in the val-
ley of Virginia in May, 1862. A gen-
eral order from his headquarters at
Winchester, on the 28th, marks his
exultation in the event. Within four
weeds," he declared, "this army has
made long and rapid marches, fought
six combats and ten battles, signally
defeating the enemy in each one, cap-
turing several stands of colors and
pieces of artillery, with numerous
prisoners, and vast medical and army
stores, and finally driven the boastful
host which was ravishing our beauti-
ful country into utter rout." Nor did
he forget to add an expression of his
habitual religious confidence in the
support of his cause from above.'
"Our chief duty," he said, "to-day, is
to recognize devoutly the hand of a
protecting Providence;" and, in pur-
suance of his convictions, according to
a custom which he frequently observed
he ordered divine service in the camp
In the afternoon.
Though successful in this undertak-
ing, the threatened concentration oi
forces in his rear permitted no long in-
terval of repose to his jaded troops.
Within a few days after this act of
thanksgiving Jackson was again in the
saddle, retiring with his command to
Winchester, which he immediately left,
hastening onward to Strasburgh, where
he was in danger of being cut off by
the junction of Shields and Fremont.
The advance of the former had already
retaken Front Royal, and Fremont was
near at hand on the West, forcing a
passage of the mountain from Wardens-
ville to Hardy County. Encumbered
with the spoils of Winchester and the
Union supplies in the lower Valley,
Jackson reached Strasburg on the
night of the 31st, as Fremont's advance
was coming up. Employing part of
his force in resisting his pursuer, Jack-
son pushed on his retreating column
by the valley road to Newmarket.
There he was in danger of being over-
taken by Shields operating on his
flank, the reverse of his own forward
movement by the Luray Valley. Fre-
mont, too, who had come up, was now
on the direct road, closely pressing his
rear, which was ably defended by
Ashby with his cavalry. Near Wood-
stock there was a gallant charge on
Colonel Patton's brigade of Jackson's
rear guard, in which three of Fremont's
cavalrymen dashed upon the command,
broke through its ranks into the midst
of the array, and two of them fell, the
other escaping. The narration of this
incident by Colonel Patton to Jackson
called forth a characteristic reply. " If
I had been able," said Patton, struck
by this act of extraordinary bravery,
"I would have prevented the troops
THOMAS JONATHAN JACKSOK
499
from firing upon these three men."
Jackson chagrined at the confusion
which had been caused in his ranks by
the assault, asked, " Why would you
not have shot those men, Colonel ? "
"I should have spared them, General/'
returned the officer, "because they
were brave men who had gotten into a
desperate situation where it was as
easy to capture them as to kill them."
Jackson coldly replied, "Shoot them
all, I don't want them to be brave."*
Protected from Fremont by the
valor of Ashby's cavalry, and out-
stripping Shields on his flight, Jackson
passed Harrisonburg, still pursued by
the double forces of his enemy. An
encounter above the latter place cost
him the valuable life of his brave cav-
alry officer, Ashby, and Jackson him-
self, closely pressed, narrowly escaped
death or capture at Port Republic.
Fremont and Shields were near at hand
rapidly converging upon him at this
place. Jackson's troops were on the
north of the town across the Shenan-
doah when the bridge which crossed
the latter was suddenly seized by
Shields' advance. At this moment
Jackson was in the town, separated
from his command, and his enemy had
possession of the bridge. The incident
of his escape is thus related by Mr.
Cooke: — "He rode toward the bridge,
and, rising in his stirrups, called sternly
to the Federal officer commanding the
artillery placed to sweep it. 'Who
ordered you to post that gun there,
sir ? ' * Bring it over here.' The tone
of these words was so assured and
commanding that the officer did not
imagine they could be uttered by any
* Cooke's Life of Jackson, p. 165.
other than one of the Federal generals,
and, bowing, he limbered up the piece
and prepared to move. Jackson lost
no time in taking advantage of the
opportunity. He put spurs to his
horse, and, followed by his staff, cross
ed the bridge at full gallop, followed
by three hasty shots from the artillery,
which had been hastily unlimbered and
turned on him. It was too late. The
shots flew harmless over the heads of
the general and his staff, and they
reached the Northern bank in safety."
The battle which ensued at Port Re-
public, on the 9th of June, when Jack-
son turned his forces upon his pursuers,
was one of the best fought and most
sanguinary of the many conflicts in the
Valley. The losses on both sides were
heavy. It ended the pursuit of Jack-
son, who was now free to carry his
forces to the aid of the beleaguered
army at Richmond.
Summoned by General Lee, Jackson
reached Ashland with his command on
the 25th of June, just in time to par-
ticipate in the crowning event's of the
campaign, which was about to culmi-
nate in the seven days' battles, and re-
treat of McClellan to the James River,
In the first of the series of engagements
on the north of the Chickahominy, nt
Cold Harbor, on the 27th of June,
Jackson bore a prominent part, coming
upon the field at the close, and turning
the fortunes of the day by his bayonet
charge in favor of the Confederates.
The next day saw the army of McClel-
lan in full retreat, Jackson following
in the pursuit, and being engaged in
the final action at Malvern Hill, where
his command suffered severely. Im-
mediately after, he returned with his
500
THOMAS JONATHAN JACKSON.
corps to the vicinity of Richmond at
Mechanicsville, whence he was present-
ly sent to the protection of Gordons-
ville, now threatened by General Pope.
On the 9th of August he was again in
conflict with General Banks, this time
at Cedar Run, where Jackson again
saved the Confederates from disaster
by a final charge.
General Lee's advance into Maryland
now followed, attendant upon the
withdrawal of McClellan's army from
James River. Jackson was actively
engaged in the campaign, being en-
trusted by General Lee with the flank-
ing movement by Thoroughfare Gap
upon the rear of Pope's army at Man-
assas, where he was again in action at
the end of August, in the second bat-
tle at that place. In the first week of
September, Jackson realized his long-
cherished desire of an invasion of
Maryland. He crossed the Potomac
in front of Leesburg, advanced to
Frederick City, and in the decisive
movements which ensued, was employ-
ed in the capture of Harper's Ferry,
after which he rejoined the main army,
and took part in the Battle of Antie-
tam on the 17th, where his corps, as
usual, rendered distinguished service.
He was with the army in its retreat
into Virginia, and was encamped for
a while in Jefferson County, in the
vicinity of the Potomac.
At the end of October, McClellan
again entered Virginia, and was pres-
ently succeeded on his southward
march by General Burnside, who took
up a position on the left bank of the
Rappahannock, opposite Fredericks-
burg, to the defence of which Jack-
son was called from the Valley, and
established on the right wing of the
Confederate army. In the action at
Fredericksburg, and the repulse of
Burnside's forces on the 13th of De-
cember, he was again prominently en-
gaged ; and the year's campaign being
now closed, enjoyed a period of com-
parative repose at his headquarters on-
the river below the city. Here he
employed himself in superintending
the official reports of his battles, in-
sisting upon simplicity, and even brev-
ity of statement. He was also, as
usual, much engaged in his religious
observances, which he always managed
to reconcile with camp life. A famous
Sabbatarian letter, which he addressed
to Colonel Boteler at Richmond, was
written about this time, in which he
urged the repeal of the law requiring
mails to be carried on Sunday. "I
do not see," he wrote, " how a nation
that arrays itself against God's holy
day can expect to escape his wrath ;"
adding curiously, " the punishment of
national sins must be confined to this
world, as there is no nationality be-
yond the grave."
One more brief, fatally interrupted,
campaign remained for the devoted
champion of the Southern cause. In
the spring of 1863, the Union forces
before Fredericksburg, now under
General Hooker, were again in motion.
On the 29th of April, that officer hav-
ing crossed the Rappahannock, estab-
lished his head-quarters at Chancel-
lorsville, on the flank of Lee's army.
Jackson was promptly ordered up
from his position to the left, at what
had now become the front of the line.
Here a flank movement was projected
against Hooker's right, and it was
THOMAS JONATHAN JACKSON.
501
while engaged in carrying out this
strategy, that Jackson, returning from
a personal scrutiny of his advanced
line with his staff, at nine in the even-
ing of the 2d of May, 1863, the party
was mistaken for the cavalry of the
enemy, and he was fired upon and
mortally wounded by his own men.
Nearly all his staff were killed or
wounded by the volleys which were
fired. Jackson was struck by three
balls — in the left arm below the shoul-
der joint, severing the artery ; below,
in the same arm, near the wrist, the
ball making its way through the palm
of the hand, and in the palm of his
right hand. This was in the immedi-
ate vicinity, about a hundred yards of
the Union lines, from which, before
the disabled General could be remov-
ed, a deadly fire was poured upon his
escort. Under these terribly tragic
circumstances, the guns of the renewed
conflict sounding in his ears, he was
borne with difficulty from the field to
a hospital five miles distant. The
next day, the great day of the battle,
Sunday, his arm was amputated, and
on the following he was removed eight
miles further, to Guinea's Depot. His
danger was evident to himself as to
others. His wife was sent for, and
same. He was interested in the re-
ports of the battle, talked resolutely
of military affairs, and often reli-
giously declared his wish to be buried
in " Lexington, in the Valley of Vir-
ginia ;" and at the end, in moments of
delirium, his thoughts reverted to the
battle-field. "Order A. P. Hill to
prepare for action," " Pass the infantry
to the front," were expressions which
escaped his lips, closing with a few
words of idyllic simplicity, in touching
contrast to the tales of carnage sadly
recorded in these pages. " Let us
cross over the river, and rest under
the shade of the trees !"* So closed,
on Sunday, May 10th, 1863, the life
of " Stonewall Jackson." He had just
reached his fortieth year. His career
was certainly a remarkable one, im-
pressed by a striking personal charac-
ter. The justice or policy of the cause
for which he died must be tried by
other arguments than his own impres-
sions. But there was much in his
nature to admire, and something also
to fear ; for the convictions of such a
man are to him a law, which he wil]
fearlessly execute ; and, so complex are
human nature and human life, his very
virtues may invigorate and intensify
the dangers of his errors.
* Cooke's Life of Jackson, p. 444.
ii.— 63
ROSA BONHEUR.
IV IT A DEMOISELLE Rosalie, or as
J_VJLshe is known familiarly to the
public by the abbreviation of her
Christian name, Rosa Bonheur, is a
native of France, born at Bordeaux,
in March, 1822 : Her father, Raymond
Bonheur, an artist of some distinction,
brought her with him to Paris. After
a preliminary education at a boarding-
school, she was apprenticed to a seam-
stress, but showing, it is said an equal
dislike for books and needle-work, in
her preference for the pencil, she was
instructed in drawing and painting by
her father. Her choice in art was
early made. She seems to have had
an instinctive fondness for the por-
traiture of animal life ; and though she
had but limited opportunities for
studies of this kind in a city, she
eagerly availed herself of what might
be seen in the streets of Paris. She
frequented the abattoirs or slaughter-
houses, where animals were collected,
and the market-places, and in one way
or another managed to draw her obser-
vations from nature. She also studied
at the Louvre. The result was that
when, at the age of nineteen, in 1841,
she offered her first works on exhibi-
tion in the Salon of that year, they
(502)
were accepted, and made for her a dis-
tinguished reputation. The subjects
of the two pictures which she first
placed on the walls were a group of
goats and sheep, and " The Two Rab-
bits." Pictures of larger animals fol-
lowed. Her horses and cattle pieces
were celebrated in the annual exhibi-
tions. In 1848, she exhibited a bull
and sheep in bronze, modeled by her-
self, and received from Horace Vernet
the first-class medal, with a costly
Sevres vase. Her compositions were
highly finished and elaborate. One,
upon which she had bestowed great
pains, and which ranks at the head of
her performances, the Labourage Ni-
vernais, was completed in 1849; and,
becoming the property of the govern-
ment was placed in the national collec-
tion of the works of French Artists
in the gallery of the Luxembourg.
Her grand spirited painting "Z<?
Marche aux Chevaux" or " The Horse
Fair," widely known by its exhibition
in England and America, and by
various engravings, was a leading
attraction in the Gallery of French
Pictures formed in London, in 1855.
It was bought by M. Gambart, the
French printseller, in London, for eight
H
ROSA BONHEUR.
503
thousand dollars, who disposed of it
to Mr. Win. P. Wright of Weehawken,
New Jersey, where for many years it
was hung in his gallery. It has since
become the property of Mr. A. T.
Stewart, the well-known merchant of
New York. An admirable engraving
of large size of the " Horse Fair," was
executed by the eminent artist Thomas
Landseer, for M. Gambart. It has
also been executed in a cheaper form
in colors.
The London "Art Journal " of this
period, thus spoke of the artist and
her work, in a notice of an entertain-
ment given to her in the city, at which
various members of the Royal Acad-
emy were assembled. " Of the lady
artist herself, who now deservedly
takes her place among the very first
painters of any age in her peculiar
department, all that need be said in
the way of her personal appearance
is, that she is quite petite in size ; her
features are regular, very agreeable
and sparkling with intelligence. Her
large picture, the " Horse Fair," would
be a wonderful work for any painter;
but as the production of a female it is
marvellous in conception and execu-
tion. One has only to imagine a
group of ten or a dozen powerful
Flemish horses ' trotted out,' in every
possible variety of action, some of
them led by men as powerful and
wild-looking as themselves, and he will
then have some idea of the composition
of this picture. The drawing of the
horses and their action is admirable ;
one especially, to the left of the spec-
tator, is foreshortened with extraordi-
nary success. The coloring of the animals
is rich and brilliant, and is managed
so as to produce the most striking
effect."
By these and other like brilliant
successes, Mademoiselle Bonheur has
gained a world -wide reputation in art,
as the delineator in great perfection
of treatment of the various forms of
animal life, involving, of course, in her
larger compositions, where character-
istic scenery is introduced, proportion-
ate merit as a landscape painter. Her
style is at once minute and spirited,
remarkable alike for its breadth and
fidelity. From the beginning of her
career, she has thought no pains too
great to be taken to secure an absolute
air of reality in her representations.
In her secluded cotttage in Paris, where
she resided, an inventory of her animal
establishment annexed to the premises
enumerates two horses, five goats, an
ox, a cow, three donkeys, sheep, dogs,
birds and poultry, kept for models.
The success of Rosa Bonheur secured
for her father, in 1847, the post of
Director of the Free School of Design
for Girls at Paris; and on his death
in 1849, the position or title was con-
ferred upon his daughter. In 1865
she was decorated with the Cross of
the Legion of Honor, and, in 1868,
appointed a member of the Institute
of Antwerp. When in the war be-
tween France and Germany, in 1870-
'71, her studio and residence at Fon-
tainebleau, were in possession of the
enemy, they were in recognition
of her genius, spared and protected
from the surrounding devastation, by
express order of the Crown Piince of
Prussia.
DAVID GLASCOE FARRAGUT.
nnHIS energetic and intrepid naval
-L officer, whose career on the Mis-
sissippi, from the Gulf of Mexico to
Vicksburg, has identified him with
some of the most substantial services
rendered to his country in the War
for the Union, was born in East Ten-
nessee, near Knoxville, about the year
1801. His father, an intimate friend
of General Jackson, at that time held
the rank of major in a cavalry regi-
ment in the service of the United
States — military talents being in re-
quest in what was then a frontier
region, infested by hostile Indians.
On one occasion, in the childhood of
David, his mother, in the absence of
her husband, was required to defend
her house against a party of those
savage marauders, which she did with
spirit, removing the children to a place
of safety, and parleying with the as-
sailants through a partially barricaded
door, till Major Farragut, with his
squadron of horse, opportunely came
to the rescue. Scenes like this were
well calculated to give strength and
hardihood to a youth of spirit. We
accordingly find young David, when
his father was called to New Orleans
to take command of a gun-boat, at
(504)
the opening of the war of 1812, anx
ious also to enter the service. Falling
in with Commodore Porter, his wishes
were gratified in a midshipman's ap-
pointment on board that commander's
ship, the Essex. In this famous vessel
he made the passage of Cape Horn,
and in his boyhood participated in
that novel and remarkable career of
naval conquest and adventure, which
was terminated by the heroic action
with two English ships, the Phoebe
and Cherub — one of the bloodiest on
record — in the harbor of Valparaiso.
Young Farragut, boy as he was, seems
to have particularly distinguished
himself in this engagement. His name
is mentioned with honor in the official
report of Commodore Porter, as one
of several midshipmen who " exerted
themselves in the performance of their
respective duties, and gave an earnest
of their value to the service," adding
that he was prevented by his youth
from recommending him for promo-
tion. He was then but thirteen, and
previously to the action had been en-
gaged in conducting one of the Eng-
lish prizes, taken by the Essex, from
Guayaquil to Valparaiso, against the
strong remonstrance of the British
DAV E
DAYID GLASCOE FARKAGUT.
505
captain, who objected to being under
the orders of a boy ; but the boy in-
sisted upon performing his duty, and
was sustained in its performance.
Returning with the rest of the offi-
cers of the Essex on parole to the
United States, young Farragut was
placed, by Commodore Porter, at Ches-
ter, Pennsylvania, under the tuition
of one of Bonaparte's Swiss Guards,
who taught his pupils military tactics.
Being exchanged, the youth resumed
his naval career as midshipman till
1825, when, being on the West India
station, he was commissioned a lieu-
tenant. For the next sixteen years
we find him engaged in various ser-
vice on board the Brandywine, Van-
dalia, and other vessels, on the coast
of Brazil, and on the receiving-ship
at the Norfolk Navy Yard. He was
commissioned Commander in 1841,
and ordered to the sloop-of-war Deca-
tur, in which he joined the Brazil
squadron. Three years' leave of ab-
sence succeeded, when he was again
on duty at Norfolk, and in 1846 was
placed in command of the sloop-of-war
Saratoga, of the Home Squadron. He
was then for several years second in
command at the Norfolk Navy Yard,
and in 1851 was appointed Assistant-
Inspector of Ordnance. He held this
appointment for three years, when he
was ordered, in 1854, to the command
of the new Navy Yard, established at
Mare Island, near San Francisco, Cali-
fornia. In 1855, he was commissioned
captain, remaining in charge of the
Navy Yard on the Pacific till 1858,
when he was ordered to the command
of the sloop-of-war Brooklyn, of the
Home Squadron, from which he was
relieved in 1860. The opening of the
Rebellion thus found him at home,
awaiting orders.
His residence was at Norfolk, where
he was rather in a critical position
when, on the fall of Sumter, the lead-
ers of the revolt in Virginia hurried
the State out of the Union. His loy-
alty was well known, and, of course,
exposed him to suspicion and hatred.
It was evident to him that he could
no longer live in Virginia in safety,
without compromising his opinions,
and at the last moment, the day before
the Navy Yard was burned, narrowly
escaping imprisonment, he left with
his family for the North, his journey
being interrupted by the destruction
of the railroad track from Baltimore.
Arrived at New York, he placed his
family in a cottage at Hastings, on
the Hudson, in the vicinity of New
York, in readiness at the first oppor-
tunity, to enter on active service.
When the navy was reinforced by the
building of ships, and established on
its new footing, in the first year of
President Lincoln's administration of
the department, when the capture of
Hatteras and Port Royal had given
an impulse to naval operations for the
suppression of the Rebellion, this oc-
casion was found in the organization
of the expedition against New Orleans.
By an order of Secretary Welles, dated
January 20th, 1862, Captain Farragut
was ordered to the Gulf of Mexico, to
the command of the Western Gulf
Blockading Squadron, with such por
tion of which as could be spared, sup
ported by a fleet of bomb vessels,
under Commander D. D. Porter, he
was further directed to " proceed up
506
DAYID GLASCOE FAK1IAGUT.
the Mississippi River, and reduce the
defences which guard the approaches
to New Orleans, when you will appear
off that city and take possession of it,
tinder the guns of your squadron, and
hoist the American flag therein, keep-
ing possession until troops can be sent
to you."
Never was a programme of such
magnitude more faithfully and direct-
ly carried out. The necessary prepa-
rations, which involved many delays,
having been completed, at the earliest
possible moment in March, Captain
Farragut entered the Mississippi in
his flag-ship, the steamer Hartford,
accompanied by the vessels of his
squadron. He was presently followed
by the mortar fleet of Porter, and
everything was pushed forward to
secure the object of the expedition.
The bombardment of Fort Jackson
was commenced on the 16th of April,
by the mortar fleet, and kept up vig-
orously for several days, preparatory
to the advance of the fleet. Before
dawn, on the morning of the twenty-
fourth, the way having been thus
cleared, and a channel through the
river obstructions opened, Captain
Farragut, having made every provis-
ion which ingenuity could suggest, set
his little squadron in motion for an
attack upon and passage of the forts.
The fleet advanced in two columns,
the right to attack Fort St. Philip and
the left Fort Jackson. The action
which ensued was one of the most
exciting, and, we may add, confused,
in the annals of naval warfare. Pass-
ing chain barriers, encountering rafts,
fire-ships, portentous rams and gun-
boats, fires from the forts and batteries
on shore, the officers of the fleet pushed
on with an energy and presence of
mind which nothing could thwart. In
the perils of the day, the flag-ship was
not the least exposed and endangered
" I discovered," says Captain Farragut,
in his report, " a fire-raft coming down
upon us, and in attempting to avoid
it, ran the ship on shore, and the ram
Manassas, which I had not seen, lay
on the Opposite of it, and pushed it
down upon us. Our ship was soon
on fire half-way up to her tops ; but
we backed off, and through the good
organization of our fire department,
and the great exertions of Captain
Wainwright and hia first-lieutenant,
officers and crew, the fire was extin
guished. In the meantime our battery
was never silent, but poured in its
missiles of death into Fort St. Philip,
opposite to which we had got by this
time, and it was silenced, with the
exception of a gun now and then. By
this time the enemy's gun-boats, some
thirteen in number, besides two iron-
clad rams, the Manassas and Louisiana,
had become more visible. We took
them in hand, and, in the course of a
short time, destroyed eleven of them.
We were now fairly past the forts, and
the victory was ours; but still here
and there a gun-boat making resistance.
. . . . It was a kind of guerilla ; they
were fighting in all directions."
Leaving Commander Porter to re-
ceive the surrender of the forts, and
directing General Butler, with his
troops of the land forces, to follow,
Captain Farragut, with a portion of
his fleet, proceeded up to New Orleans,
witnessing, as he approached the city,
the enormous destruction of property
DAVID GLASCOE FARKAGUT.
507
in cotton-loaded ships on fire, and
other signs of devastation on the
river. The forts in the immediate
vicinity of the city were silenced, and
on the morning of the twenty-fifth, as
the fleet came up, the levee, in the
words of Captain Farragut, " was one
scene of desolation • ships, steamers,
cotton, coal, etc., all in one common
blaze, and our ingenuity being much
taxed to avoid the floating conflagra-
tion." In the midst of this wild scene
of destruction, the surrender of New
Orleans was demanded, and after some
parley, the American flag was, on the
twenty-sixth, hoisted on the Custom-
house, and the Louisiana State flag-
hauled down from the City Hall.
More than a year of arduous labor
for the land and naval forces of the
Upper and Lower Mississippi remained
before the possession of that river was
secured to the Union. In these active
operations Flag-Officer Farragut — he
was appointed Rear-Admiral on the
creation by Congress of this highest
rank in the navy in the summer of
1862 — with his flag-ship, the Hartford,
was conspicuous. In the campaigns
of two seasons on the river, from New
Orleans to Vicksburg, ending with
the surrender in July, 1863, of the
latter long-defended stronghold and
Port Hudson, the Hartford was con-
stantly in active service. In these
various encounters she was struck, it
was said, when the good ship returned
to New York for repairs in the ensu-
ing month, in the hull, mast, spars,
and rigging, two hundred and forty
times by round shot and shell, and
innumerable times by Minie and rifle
balls. The reception of Admiral Far-
ragut at New York, the Brooklyn
Navy Yard, and at his new home at
Hastings, was earnest and heartful,
becoming the occasion and the man.
The attack on Mobile, on the 8th of
July, 1864, crowned the long series of
victories which compose the record of
Admiral Farragut. The results of this
engagement were the destruction of
the Confederate fleet, the capture of
the iron-clad ram Tennessee, and the
surrender of all the forts in the har-
bor, with twenty-six hundred pris-
oners.
As a reward for this brilliant
achievement, and for his other services,
the rank of Vice- Admiral, correspond-
ing to Lieut.-General in the army, was
created by Congress and conferred
upon Admiral Farragut.
Soon after this, at his request, he
was relieved from active service, and
was called to Washington, where he
remained, directing the movements of
the navy till the end _of the war.
In 1867-8, Admiral Farragut visited
the chief ports of Europe in the flag-
ship Franklin, and was received with
distinguished attention by the sover-
eigns and courts of all the leading
powers. An illustrated narrative of
his tour was published. He did not
long survive his return. He died at
Portsmouth, N. H., August 14th, 1870.
His remains were brought to the city
of New York for interment, at the
close of the following month, and, at-
tended by President Grant, and with
every honor the Republic could bestow
were deposited in the cemetery at
Woodlawn.
BENJAMIN DISRAELI.
IN a biographical notice prefixed to
an edition of his father's writings,
Disraeli traces the history of the fam-
ily to the end of the fifteenth century,
when, with others of the Jewish
faith, they were driven by the perse-
cution of the Inquisition from their
home in Spain to seek refuge in the
more tolerant territories of the Vene-
tian Republic. His ancestors, he tells
us, " had dropped their Gothic surname
on their settlement in terra firma, and
grateful to the God of Jacob, who
had sustained them through unprece-
dented trials, and guarded them
through unheard of perils, they
assumed the name of Disraeli, a
name never borne before, or since,
by any other family, in order that
their race might be for ever recog-
nized. Undisturbed and unmolested,
they flourished as merchants for more
than two centuries, under the protec-
tion of the lion of St. Mark, which
was but just, as the patron saint of
the Republic was himself a child of
Israel. But towards the middle of
the eighteenth century, the altered
circumstances of England, favorable,
as it was then supposed, to commerce
and religious liberty, attracted the
(508)
attention of my great-grandfather tc
Great Britain, and he resolved that the
youngest of his two sons, Benjamin,
the ' son of his right hand,' should set-
tle in a country, where the dynasty
seemed at length established through
the recent failure of Prince Charles
Edward, and where public opinion
appeared definitively adverse to per-
secution on matters of creed and con-
science." Benjamin Disraeli was mar-
ried to a lady of his own Hebrew
faith. He prospered in England and
survived to a great old age. He had
but one child, named Isaac, who re-
ceived a liberal education on the con-
tinent, and after sundry miscellaneous
poetical and other efforts with his pen,
settled down upon criticism, history
and biography, incorporating the re-
sults of his protracted studies in " The
Curiosities of Literature" and other
kindred productions. Gifted with an
independent fortune, and occupying a
somewhat isolated position, he devoted
himself to courses of liberal reading
with the zeal of a bibliomaniac. " He
disliked business, and he never re-
quired relaxation; he was absorbed
in his pursuits. In London his only
amusement was to ramble among
attei
BENJAMIN DISRAELI.
509
booksellers; if lie entered a club, it
was only to go into the library. In
the country, he scarcely ever left his
room, but to saunter in abstraction
upon a terrace, muse over a chapter
or coin a sentence. He was a complete
literary character, a man who really
passed his life in his library. Even
marriage produced no change in these
habits ; he rose to enter the chamber,
where he lived alone with his books,
and at night his lamp was ever lit
within the same walls."
Devouring books and libraries to
the last, unlike many of his class, he
made the public the sharer of his
acquisitions, in the numerous learned
and delightful essays and sketches we
have spoken of — books which have
charmed readers of every age and
opened the path to learning to many
an ingenuous youthful mind.
His son, Benjamin Disraeli, the Eng-
lish parliamentary leader, was born at
the family residence in Bloom sbury
Square, London, in December, 1805.
Inheriting his father's tastes, or profit-
ing by the literary opportunities of
his youth, he very early became an
author. Having received a careful
education at school, like his father
he exhibited a disinclination to a busi-
ness or professional career, and follow-
ing further the example of his parent
he found for himself an entrance upon
a literary life. In 1826, before he
was of age, he began by contributing
articles to the "Representative," a
daily London newspaper in the tory
interest, which was published but a
few months, and the same year pub-
lished the first portion of his novel,
" Vivian Grey," which was completed
ii.— 64
by the issue of three additional volumes
the following season. As described
in a contemporary notice by the "Lon-
don Magazine," it is " the history of an
ambitious young man of rank, who by
dint of talent, personal advantages and
audacity, becomes the dictator of
certain circles in high life, some of the
recent occurrences and actors in which
he has taken the liberty to describe
with great freedom." A certain tu-
multuous vivacity in the style, the
daring of the animal spirits of youth,
added force to its satiric touches. It
was the talk of the town and eminently
successful.
" It is curious at this time of day,"
writes that excellent biographer, Mr.
Samuel Stiles, in a sketch of Disraeli,
"to read 'Vivian Grey* by the light
thrown upon its pages by the more
recent career of its author. Thus re-
garded, it is something of a prophetic
book. It contained the germs of
nearly all the subsequent fruit of Mr.
Disraeli's mind, — to the extent of his
political aspirations, his struggles and
his successes. They are all fore-
shadowed there. Although in the
third volume (published a year after
the first two), he disclaimed the charge
of having attempted to paint his own
portrait in the book, it is nevertheless
very clear, that, in imagination, he was
the hero of his own tale, and that the
characters or puppets which he exhib-
ited and worked were such as he would
have formed had he the making of
the world; nay, more, they were such
as he subsequently found ready-made
to his hand. The motto standing on
the title-page bespeaks the character
of Vivian Grey :
510
BENJAMIN DISRAELI.
' Why then the world's mine oyster,
Which I with sword will open. ' "
Following the production of " Viv-
an Grey," the author made an exten-
sive tour on the continent and in the
East, visiting Italy, Greece, and Alba-
nia, and passing the winter of 1829-'30
at Constantinople. The enduing season
he traveled in Syria and Palestine, and
after journeying through Egypt and
Nubia, returned to England in 1831.
While on this tour, the influence of
which is seen in the oriental coloring
O
of many of his writings, he wrote and
published his novels, " Contarini Flem-
ing," and "The Young Duke," books
with the merits and faults of u Vivian
Grey," brilliant in style, abounding
in talent, piquantly seasoned with sa-
tire to attract "attention, with a preva-
lent air of exaggerated effect. The
Reform Bill being in agitation when
Disraeli reached England, after his
travels, he made vigorous efforts to
secure an entrance into political life.
He stood, with recommendations from
Hume and O'Connell to back him, for
the small borough of Wycombe, in
Bucks, his position being that of a
candidate of Radical opinions, whom,
however, the Tories as well as the Radi-
cals supported, from opposition to the
Whigs. Defeated in this election, he
became a candidate, in 1833, in the
Radical interest, for the borough of
Marylebone; describing himself in an
address to the electors as a man who
" had already fought the battle of the
people," and who " was supported by
neither of the aristocratic parties," and
avowing himself a friend to Triennial
Parliaments and Vote by Ballot. He
was again unsuccessful ; and seeing no
chance of being elected by any other
constituency, he resumed his literary
occupations. The " Wondrous Tale of
Alroy," and "The Rise of Iskander,'
published together in 1833, provoked
some critical ridicule from the exuber-
ance of their style, as well as from the
extravagance of the author's claims in
their behalf as novelties in the modern
literary art. They were followed by
" The Revolutionary Epic," a quarto
poem, the high pretensions of which
were not confirmed by any impression
it made on the reading public. The
first part only was published. In the
same year, 1834, he wrote "The Crisis
Examined," and in 1835, another po-
litical pamphlet, entitled " A Vindica-
tion of the English Constitution.' In
this year he became a candidate for the
borough of Tauuton; and as he now
came forward in the Conservative in-
terest, O'Connell, in reply to an attack
by Disraeli, made on him at the hust-
ing, issued a diatribe against him, in
which he accused him of inconsistency
in language coarser and more personal
than was perhaps ever used before on
any similar occasion. u If his genealogy
were traced," said he, " he would be
found to be the true heir of the impen-
itent thief who died upon the cross."
This led to a hostile correspondence
between Disraeli and O'Connell's son,
Morgan, who declined to meet his
challenger in a duel. Disraeli was
bound over to keep the peace, and the
correspondence was published. In the
course of the newspaper altercations
attendant upon this affair, Disraeli ex
plained his political principles in a man-
ner intended to show how his profes-
sions and conduct in 1831 and 1833
BENJAMIN DISRAELI.
511
might be reconciled with his profes-
sions and conduct in 1835. In a letter
addressed to O'Connell himself, after
his failure in the election, he said, al-
luding to this fact of his repeated
failure: "I have a deep conviction
that the hour is at hand when I shall
be more successful. I expect to be a
representative of the people before the
repeal of the Union. We shall meet
again at Philippi ; and rest assured
that, confident in a good cause, and in
some energies which have not been al-
together unimproved, I will seize the
first opportunity of inflicting upon
you a castigation which will make
you remember and repent the insults
that you have lavished upon Benjamin
Disraeli." This was thought bravado
at the time; but the prediction was
realized. After an interval of two
years, during which he published his
novels " Henrietta Temple " and " Ve-
netia," he was, at the age of thirty-two,
in the general election of 1837, re-
turned to Parliament as Conservative
member for Maidstone. But the list
of his failures was not yet closed. His
maiden speech, prepared beforehand,
and in a very high-flown style, was
a total failure; he was accompanied
through it by the laughter of the House,
and at last was obliged to sit down.
But before he did so he energetically
uttered the following sentences, "I
have begun several times many things,
and have often succeeded at last. I
shall sit down now, but the time will
come when you will hear me." This
proved to be true. Speaking little
for some time, and carefully training
himself to the Parliamentary style
and manner, he began, about 1839, to
obtain the a ttention of the House, and
by the year 1841, he was recognized
as the leader of the " Young England
Party," who were trying to give a new
form and application to Tory princi
pies. His marriage, in 1839, with
Mrs. Wyndham Lewis, the wealthy
widow of his Parliamentary colleague
for Maidstone, gave his talents the so-
cial means necessary for their full suc-
cess in public life. It was during the
Peel ministry of 1841-'46, that he ac-
quired his highest distinction as a
master of Parliamentary invective :
during the latter portion of this period,
his attacks on Peel were incessant. He
was then no longer member for Maid-
stone, but for Shrewbury. After the
repeal of the Corn Laws, and the re-
tirement of Sir Robert Peel from
office, Disraeli labored, in conjunction
with Lord George Bentinck, to form
the new Protectionist party, as distinct
from both the Peel Conservatives and
the Whigs. The results were decisive.
After Lord George Bentinck's death,
in 1848, Disraeli, elected for Bucks, in
1847, became the leader of the Protec-
tionist or old Tory party in the House
of Commons ; and he led it with such
consummate ability, that, on the re-
tirement of Lord John Russell's cabi-
net in 1852, and the formation of a
Tory government under Lord Derby,
he became Chancellor of the Exchequer.
This government lasted only from
March to December, 1852, when it
broke down on Disraeli's budget. The
coalition ministry of Lord Aberdeen
succeeded, to be followed by that of
Lord Palmerston, which fell before
the opposition to the Conspbacy to
Murder Bill, which appeared to the
BENJAMIN DISRAELI.
national jealousy of the time to be too
favorable to the French government ;
and Lord Derby, in February, 1858,
was again summoned to power, and
for the second time conferred the
Chancellorship of the Exchequer on
Disraeli, who, with that office, resum-
ed the leadership of the House of
Commons. At the suggestion of his
chief, who wished to carry a substan-
tial measure of electoral reform, whilst
still the country was free from clamor ;
Disraeli, in February, 1859, brought
forward his elaborate bill, a principal
feature of which was to ensure a later-
al extension of the franchise, so that
the whole body of the educated classes
should be admitted to the suffrage
without regard to property qualifica-
tion. The attempt to carry the bill
was unsuccessful; and it was finally
defeated in the House of Commons
on the 31st day of March. An ap-
peal to the country followed, the re-
sults of which were so little cheering
to the Derby administration, that they
resigned in June, 1859, and for seven
years thereafter, their party remained
in the cold shade of opposition.
" Disraeli is known as an ardent ad-
vocate of ' that sacred union between
Church and State, which has hitherto
been the chief means of our civilzation,
and is the only security of our relig-
ious liberties ;' and Le signalized his
long period of opposition by taking a
prominent part, both in Parliament
and elsewhere, in confronting the ec-
clesiastical legislature of the Liberal
party. Five of his speeches on church
matters, delivered between the 4th of
December 1860, and the 25th of No-
vember, 1864, were edited with a pre-
face by a * Member of the University
of Oxford,' with the title of ' Church
and Queen.' The speeches delivered
by Disraeli in the House of Commons
in opposition to Gladstone's Budgetr
of February, 1860, and April, 1862,
were published as strictures on 'Mr.
Gladstone's Finance, from his accession
to office in 1853, to his Budget of
1862.' To the same period of official
vacation, belongs the republication,
with 'purely literary connections ' of
the ' Revolutionary Epic,' the first
small issue of which, fifty copies, had
tflken place thirty years before.
"The month of July, 1866, found
Lord Derby once more in power, with
Disraeli for the third time as his Chan-
cellor of the Exchequer. They resol-
ved to attempt a settlement of the
long agitated question of Reform,
which so many administrations had
either failed to solve, or else had
agreed to shelve. The franchise was
to .be given to the working classes, in
the words of Lord Derby, 'with no
niggard hand ;' but, though he found
in Disraeli a willing coadjutor, their
course was seriously retarded and em-
barrassed by the hesitations, fears and
disapproval of many members of their
own party. It was upon Disraeli that
the conciliation and ' education ' of the
malcontents chiefly devolved ; and in
this process he was so successful that
in 1867 the Tories were induced to
accept a policy repugnant to their
most cherished traditions, and to pass
a measure of Radical Reform which
made the parliamentary franchise
depend on household suffrage. The
professed hope of the promoters of
this measure was that of penetrating
BENJAMIN DISRAELI.
513
to a stratum of Conservative feeling
which was said to underlie the liberal-
ism of the lower middle classes. The
attitude of Disraeli with regard to
o
Reform throughout the larger propor-
tion of his political career is exhibited
in a volume, edited by Mr. Montague
Corry, a barrister of Lincoln's Inn and
entitled ' Parliamentary Reform. A
Series of Speeches on that Subject
delivered in the House of Commons,
by the Right Hon. B. Disraeli, 1841-
66.' The memorable Speeches at Edin-
burgh, in which Disraeli claimed to
have ' educated ' his party to the pas-
sing of the Reform Bill, and which
gavt considerable umbrage to some of
his adherents, were published 'by
authority ' with the title of l The Chan-
cellor of the Exchequer in Scotland;
being two Speeches delivered by him
in the city of Edinburgh, on the 29th
and 30th of October, 1867.'
" On the retirement of Lord Derby
in February, 1868, Disraeli succeeded
him as First Lord of the Treasury ;
and his short occupancy of power was
signalised by the favor which he show-
ed to the Protestantism and even the
Orangeism of Ireland when the ques-
tion of the disestablishment of the
church of that country was agitated
by Gladstone, into whose hands the
Prierniership fell upon the resignation
of Disraeli in December, 1868. On
this occasion the latter accepted for
his wife a promotion to the peerage of
the United Kingdom with the title of
Viscountess Beaconsfield. As leader
of the opposition in the House of
Commons, Disraeli took action against
his rivals' Bill for the Abolition of the
Irish Church establishment in 1869, to
which, whilst virtually accepting the
disestablishment and disendowrnent
of that Church, he proposed a series
of amendments which he soon ceased
to defend, and the effect of which in
Gladstone's calculation, would have
been to add one or two millions to the
existing endowment of the Church.
With reference to the Irish Land Bill,
the passing of which was the great
work of the session of 1870, Disraeli
and some of his adherents undertook
to demonstrate the inconsistency of
the Bill with the rights of property,
whilst they explicitly or virtually
acknowledged the necessity of buying
off agrarian disaffection in Ireland.
The final adoption of the Bill, in its
complete form was furthered by the
absence of systematic opposition, and
more especially by the forbearance of
Disraeli, who, throughout the session,
avoided unnecessary occasions of con-
flict."*
During the progress of this extraor
dinary parliamentary career, Disraeli
maintained his reputation in literature,
while serving his interests in politics,
by the production of a series of novels,
in which he engaged the attention of
the public in the discussion of his
peculiar views. u Coningsby ; or the
New Generation," published in 1844;
" Sybil, or the Two Nations," in 1845 ;
"Tancred, or the New Crusade," in
1847; to which may be added ''Lo-
thair" in 1870 — all more or less, strip-
ped of their romantic accessories,
belong to the class of political or social
essays. The author made them the
vehicle for the presentation of hi?
peculiar views on government and
* English Encyclopedia.
BENJAMIN DISRAELI.
society, the modified system of tory-
ism in its incorporation with modern
institutions which he had adopted;
hif idiosyncrasies in his advocacy of
the faculties of the Jewish race, his
caustic personalities and satire, under
thin disguises, of political opponents.
Though no writer of the time has
afforded such abundant opportunities
for the severities of criticism, few have
managed upon the whole to be more
successful. His books, spite of their
extravagance, perhaps by virtue of it
have always secured a multitude of
readers ; the latest, " Lothair," certain-
ly not the least faulty in style, having,
in its season, secured an immense pop-
ularity throughout Europe and Amer-
ica. There are other minor miscella-
neous literary works of Disraeli, and
one of some importance as a contribu-
tion to the political history of the
times — a biography of his parliamen-
tary associate and leader, Lord George
Bentinck.
The marriage of Disraeli, already
mentioned, proved a very happy one,
bringing wealth and influence to the
author and politician, who ever found
iu his wife his best and truest support-
er. The dedication to her of his novel
Sybil," bear? testimony to her vir-
tues. " I would," he writes, " inscribe
these volumes to one whose noble
spirit and gentle nature ever prompt
her to sympathise with suffering; to
one whose sweet voice has often en-
couraged, and whose taste and judg-
ment have ever guided their pages;
the most severe of critics, but a perfect
wife." Again, in a public speech at
Edinburgh, in 1867, he spoke of his
partner as " that gracious lady to
'whom he owed so much of the hap-
piness and success of his life."
After a protracted illness, this
lady expired on the 15th of Decem-
ber, 1872, and was buried the fol-
lowing week in the family vault
in Hughenden Church. The ceremony,
as described in the papers of the day,
differed little from a humble village
funeral, and was touching in its sim-
plicity. The weather was very wet ,
nevertheless Mr. Disraeli walked bare-
headed through the rain, and reverent-
ly followed the remains of his late
partner to the vault. "Lady Beacons-
field," says the writer in the " Graphic,'
"was much beloved in Hughenden,
where her simple deeds of kindness
and charity towards the poor and
sick, and her graceful affection for her
husband, will not easily be forgotten."
THE BARONESS B U R D E TT-C O U TT S .
English lady, born on the
JL 25th of April, 1814, so eminently
distinguished for her pecuniary liber-
ality, and many works of enlightened
practical beneficence, is the youngest
daughter of Sir Francis Burdett, re-
nowned for his liberal political opin-
ions and his advocacy of popular rights
in the British Parliament during the
first quarter of the present century.
Throughout that period, few names
were oftener in men's mouths in Eng-
land, than that of Sir Francis Burdett.
The contested election struggles for
the representation of Middlesex in the
first decade, followed by his commit-
tal in the Tower for a letter addressed
to his constituency, denying the power
of the House of Commons to imprison
delinquents, furnished a constant ex-
citement to the electors of the metrop-
olis in those days of struggle for con-
stitutional liberty. Beside his efforts
for political reform, he exerted him-
self in the philanthropic work of im-
proving the management of Cold Bath
Fields and other prisons. Sir Francis,
in early life, married Sophia, the daugh-
ter of the wealthy banker, Thomas
Coutts. This personage, familiarly
known as 'Tommy Coutts," was the
descendant of an Edinburgh merchant,
whose son, James, had settled in Lon
don as a merchant, and subsequently
becoming a banker, had founded the
well-known house in the Strand. He
was joined in the enterprise by his
brother Thomas, who, by survivorship,
became sole proprietor of the bank,
and the accumulator of immense
wealth. He had in early or middle
life married an estimable young wo-
man, but of humble circumstances, a su-
perior domestic in his brother's fami-
ly, by whom he had three daughters,
who, aided by their handsome pros-
pects, had formed distinguished alli-
ances with the nobility, becoming the
Marchioness of Bute, the Countess of
Guilford, and Lady Burdett. With
his daughters thus established in the
world, at about the age of seventy-five,
his wife at that time being completely
broken down in health, and overcome
with infirmities, with little conscious-
ness of what was going on around her,
he fell in, at Cheltenham, with an ac-
tress, with whom he at once formed a
peculiar attachment. This was Har-
riet Mellon, the daughter of an Irish-
woman, of the peasant class by birth,
who had begun life in Cork as a seinp*
(515)
510
BARONESS BURDETT-COUTTS.
tress, and attracted by her beauty a
military gentleman of somewhat un-
certain position, calling himself Lieu-
tenant Mellon of the Madras Native
Infantry, to whom she was married in
1777, and with whom she went to re-
side in London. The only advantage
to her of this union, was the birth of
her daughter, Harriet, which occurred
in Westminster ; for, before this event,
her husband had departed for India,
dying, it is said, on the voyage, and
she was left with her child to support
herself as best she could. While in
Ireland, she had been for a time at-
tached to a strolling company of play-
ers, among whom she had been admit-
ted in the capacity of dresser, ward-
robe keeper, and money-taker at the
door. The pantominist who presided
over the company, now turning up in
London, Mrs. Mellon joined his stroll-
ing band in her former capacity of
dress-maker, in their excursions through
England, and, after a short time, was
married to a Mr. Entwisle, a musician
in the traveling orchestra. She was
now, though in a subordinate capacity,
permanently associated with the stage,
and, naturally enough, brought up her
child to the same profession. Being a
woman of extraordinary acuteness and
great managing talent, she looked out
for her daughter's education from the
start, and was careful to guard her
from the immoral tendencies of her
vagrant mode of life. The girl herself
early displayed a remarkably lively,
vivacious disposition, a creature of im-
pulse and sensibility, of hearty gener-
ous emotions — qualities which, with a
healthy and engaging personal appear-
ance, constituted her capital in the
business of life. It was the time of
youthful prodigies. Indeed, the chil-
dren of strolling players, where they
had any capacity, were, as a matter of
course, brought upon the stage. So
Miss Mellon, at the age of ten, made
her first appearance at the theatre at
Ulverstone, in the character of " Little
Pickle," in the farce of "The Spoiled
Child ;" which was succeeded by her
representation of the part of " Priscilla
Tomboy," in the farce of " The Romp."
The latter character was one in which
Mrs. Jordan, then in the heyday of her
powers, was very famous; and when
Miss Mellon, a few years afterwards,
Sheridan having become acquainted
with her talents in the provinces, intro-
duced her to an engagement at Drury
Lane, it was in Mrs. Jordan's parts, or
as her companion rather than rival,
that she became known to London au-
diences. Her great success was in her
performance of "Volante," in Tobin's
comedy of " The Honeymoon," a part
in which she was cast at the first
performance of the play, and which
she made her own. While enjoying
this success in the metropolis, her par-
ents, Mr. and Mrs. Entwisle, were re-
siding in Cheltenham, the mother con-
stantly drawing upon her daughter for
support, which the generous Harriet
was quite willing to contribute. She
had become responsible for the build-
ing of a fine house in that place, which
the Entwisles let out on speculation,
and, one day, there being a demand
for more money, Miss Mellon agreed
to go down and give a performance in
aid of the failing funds. The enter-
prizing Mrs. Entwisle was of course
ready to do all the trumpeting, and
BAEONESS BTJRDETT-COUTTS.
517
take every means for the sale of tick-
ets. And tliis brings us round to the
banker, Thomas Coutts, who happened
to l>e then at Cheltenham, recruiting
his health. Always careless in dress, of
habits exclusively formed in the life
of a man of business, he would have
attracted little attention from Mrs.
Entwisle, had she not been informed,
without knowing his name, that he
was spoken of by his valet as one of
the richest people in London, and a
very unhappy sort of a gentleman, his
wife going out of her mind, which so
preyed upon his spirits, that he was
seeking the fashionable watering-place
for a change. This hint the mother of
the actress turned to account, solicit-
ing a subscription for a box at the
coming benefit night. No immediate
answer was returned ; but the banker,
meeting the actress in his walks, intro-
duced himself to her from his acquaint-
ance with her face in the Drury Lane
green-room, apologized for his delay in
answering the request, and handed her
an enclosure of five guineas for a box
to be kept for Mr. Coutts. From that
moment, it is said, the prescient moth-
er had her eye on the great banker as
a matrimonial alliance for her daugh-
ter. The five new guineas were care-
rully set aside by Miss Mellon, who
had always a tinge of superstition, to be
kept as " luck money." Certainly, her
good luck was thenceforward in the
ascendant. The acquaintance formed
with the banker was kept up by him
-vith the actress in London. He be-
came a regular visitant at her lod^ino-s,
o o o /
where, according to numerous anec-
dotes given by the daughter's biogra-
pher, Mrs. Cornwell Baron- Wilson, the
ii.— 65
mother was assiduous in all those lit-
tle cares so engaging to such an old
gentleman, forlorn in the midst of his
abundance. " As for Mr. Coutts him-
self," says the writer, "he was exactly
the sort of person, and in exactly the
position, to fall in with Mrs. En-
twisle's schemes. He was eccentric,
and very shrewd in worldly matters,
but open to being won by ' a soft word,'
as the royal brothers, and many needy
dandies of the peerage knew. Then
there was a strong vein of romance —
high-flown romance — beneath all this
shrewdness ; also a great love of witty
society, and more especially that of the
green-room. His position, notwith-
standing his wealth, was lonely in the
extreme, as regards a domestic circle of
affection ; for his daughters had been
long married, and his poor wife was
not companionable, or even sensible
of his presence. It will be readily
seen what a chance there was for the
wheedling Irishwoman and her respect-
ful daughter (for this was the attitude
which she assumed), when they receiv-
ed a visit from the solitary millionaire,
and devoted themselves to preparing
all the trifling comforts which servants
would not do of themselves ; and their
master, engrossed in business, forgot to
order. In time, he regularly took his
luncheon in Little Eussell Street at
two, and if his family wanted to see
him, they knew where to go."
Matters continued in this way dur-
ing the lifetime of Mrs. Coutts; her
growing infirmities, in the beginning
of 1815, being brought to a sudden
termination from the effects of a disas-
ter in falling into the fire. The event
found her husband confined to his bed
518
BARONESS BURDETT-COUTTS.
by illness, from which he rose to stag-
ger into the presence of his friend,
the actress, with the intelligence.
In this illness he was for some time
prostrated, and the presence of Miss
Mellon, whose attentions had long
since become habitual to him, seemed
now indispensable for his recovery.
An arrangement was accordingly made
for a private marriage, which was en-
tered upon and announced in the
Times newspaper, early in March,
hardly two months after the decease
of the banker's wife. At the time of
this union, Mr. Coutts was at about
the age of eighty-four, and Miss Mel-
lon approaching forty. In the month
preceding she had taken her farewell
of the stage, after a prosperous career
of twenty years on the London
boards, in the part of Audrey, in
" As You Like It." Mr. Coutts now
improved in health, though slowly,
and survived for seven years, dying
in 1822. By his will he left the whole
of his vast property to his wife. Con-
sidering herself as a trustee of this
enormous wealth, for the benefit of
his family, she immediately settled
large annuities upon his daughters,
who had been already greatly enriched
by his gifts, receiving each a marriage
portion of one hundred thousand
pounds. Mrs. Coutts, from her wealth
and fine personal qualities, now held
a distinguished position in English
society. We get an interesting glimpse
of her in the autumn of 1825, in the
Diary of Sir Walter Scott, on occasion
of her visit to Abbotsford. She was
then visiting various seats of the no-
bility in Scotland traveling in state,
writh an imposing equipage accompa-
nied by Lady Charlotte Beauclerk and
her brother, who had recently become
Duke of St. Albans. The latter, now
a young man of twenty-four, already
her suitor, was in due time to become
her husband.
After a delay of a year or so, Mrs.
Coutts, in June, 1826, became the
Duchess of St. Albans. The scene
was now reversed ; a young wife with
an old husband had became an old
wife with a young husband. She
maintained the new relation with her
accustomed ease and pliability of dis-
position for ten years, when she ex-
pired, after a short illness. True to
her sense of responsibility to her
benefactor, the wealthy banker, she
made large bequests by will to the
members of his family, leaving the
great bulk of her property to his
granddaughter, Miss Angela Burdett.
She is said, in the fourteen years pre-
vious to her deatlx, out of the proceeds
of the fortune given to her by her
husband, estimated in his will at nine
hundred thousand pounds, and from
the returns from the banking-house,
in which his interest was retained, to
have bestowed nearly four hundred
thousand pounds upon his family.
A contemporary paragraph in the
London Morning Herald, cited by
Mrs. Baron Wilson, estimated the
amount of Miss Burdett's fortune
thus acquired at the respectable sum
of one million, eiorht hundred thou-
i O
sand pounds. Miss Coutts also now
became principal proprietor of the
Banking-House of Coutts & Co., a
fortune in itself.
Fortunately, with this extraordinary
legacy, the recipient was gifted also
BARONESS BURDETT-COUTTS.
519
with the generous spirit of the testa-
tor. Numerous anecdotes are related
of the benevolent disposition of the
Duchess of St. Albans. On one occa-
sion, when the distress of the Irish
peasantry was extreme, in a threatened
general famine, she fitted out a ship
entirely at her own expense, laden
with clothing, and all sorts of provis-
ions, which she sent to the sufferers.
Her good feeling towards her old as-
sociates on the stage was never relin-
quished, and she had many opportu-'
nities of serving them ; while in her
days of comparative poverty, her slen-
der purse had always been at the
command of her parents.
On coming into possession of her
vast legacy, Miss Burdett, by royal
sign manual, in gratitude to the mem-
ory of her grandfather, assumed his
name, and was thenceforth known as
Miss Angela Burdett-Coutts. Her
subsequent career is to be traced in
the social annals of England, and by
her munificent deeds of charity, many
of them of too important a character
and public in their nature to escape
observation. When the particulars of
her life shall, as they probably will
hereafter, be given to the world, much
of interest relating to her will doubt-
less be disclosed; at present, readers
at a distance must be content with a
few scattered notices of her entertain-
ments, her balls and parties, in the
published diaries of Moore and Crabb
Robinson, with the latter of whom
in particular she seems to have lived
on quite friendly terms. Robinson,
on one occasion, acknowledging a do-
nation from Miss Coutts of a hundred
pounds for a hospital in which he
was interested, pronounces the donor
"the most generous and delicately
generous person he knew." Among
the celebrities whom he meets at her
table are Sir Charles Napier, Chevalier
Bunsen, Babbage, Charles Young, the
poet Wordsworth, and not least the
Duke of Wellington, who was said at
one time, in his later years, to have
been a suitor for her hand or wealth.
This was the gossip of the London
season — for the Duke was fond of
money ; but he probably had little
encouragement in seeking it in that
direction, and he was not destined to
add another to the list of anomalous
marriages in the family history.
For information respecting the gen-
eral direction of Miss Coutts' life, we
cannot do better than cite the account
given in one of the English biographi-
cal works of the day. She has exer-
cised the extensive power conferred
upon her by the gift of the Duchess
of St. Albans, of benefiting her less
fortunate fellow-creatures, not only by
the ordinary method of subscribing
largely to public institutions, but by
working out her own wise and benevo-
lent projects. A consistently liberal
churchwoinan, in purse and opinion,
her munificence to the Establishment
in all parts of the world has become
historical. Besides contributing large
sums towards building new churches
and new schools in various poor dis-
tricts throughout the country, she erec-
ted and endowed at her sole cost, the
handsome church ot St. Stephen's,
Westminster, with its three schools
and parsonage, and more recently, an-
other church at Carlisle. She endow-
ed, at .an outlay of little short of fiftj1
520
BABONESS BUBDETT-COUTTS.
thousand pounds, the three colonial
bishoprics of Adelaide, Cape Town,
and British Columbia ; besides found-
ing an establishment in South Austra-
lia for the improvement of the aborig-
ines. She also supplied the funds for
Sir Henry James' Topographical Sur-
vey of Jerusalem. In no direction
have Miss Coutts' sympathies been so
fully and practically expressed as in
favor of the poor and unfortunate of
her own sex. The course taught at
the national schools, and sanctioned by
the Privy Council, included many lit-
erary accomplishments which a young
woman of humble grade may not re-
quire on leaving school ; but the more
familiar arts essential to her after- career
were overlooked. By Miss Coutts' ex-
ertions, the teaching of common things,
such as sewing and other household
occupations was introduced. In order
that the public grants for educational
purposes might reach small schools in
remote rural as well as in neglected
urban parishes, Miss Coutts worked
out a plea for bringing them under
the required government inspection
by means of traveling or ambulatory
inspecting schoolmasters, and it was
adopted by the Committee of the
Privy Council for Education.
Miss Coutts' exertions in the cause
of reformation, as well as that of edu-
cation, have been no less successful.
For young women who had lapsed out
of the well-doing part of the commu-
nity, Miss Coutts provided a shelter
and means of reform in a small estab-
lishment at Shepherd's Bush. Nearly
one half of the cases which passed
through that reformatory during the
seven years that it existed, resulted in
new and comparatively piosperous
lives in the colonies. Again, when
Spitalfields became almost amass of des-
titution, Miss Coutts began a sewing
school there for adult women, not only
to be taught, but to be fed and pro-
vided with work ; for which object
government contracts are undertaken
and successfully executed. Experienced
nurses are sent daily from this unpre-
tending charity amongst the sick, who
are provided with wine and other
comforts; while outfits are distribu-
ted to poor servants, and winter cloth-
ing to deserving women.
Miss Coutts has also taken great in-
terest in judicious emigration. When
a sharp cry of distress arose in the
island of Girvan, in Scotland, she ad-
vanced a large sum to enable the
starving families to seek better for
tune in Australia. Again the island-
ers of Cape Clear, Shirken, etc., close
to Skibbereen, in Ireland, when dying
of starvation, were relieved from the
same source by emigration, and by the
establishment of a store of food and
clothing ; by efficient tackle, and by a
vessel, to help them to their chief means
of livelihood — fishing. By an arrange-
ment with Sir Samuel Cunard, Miss
Coutts enabled a great many families to
emigrate from all parts of the United
Kingdom at a time of wide-spread
distress.
One of the black spots of London
in that neighborhood, once known to
and dreaded by the police as Nova
Scotia Gardens, was bought by Miss
Coutts; and upon the large area of
squalor and refuse, she erected the
magnificent model dwellings called
Columbia Square, consisting of «epar
BARONESS BURDETT-COUTTS.
521
ate tenements, let out at low weekly
rentals to upwards of three hundred
families. Close to these dwellings, she
caused to be erected at a cost of two
hundred thousand pounds, (more than
a million dollars) the magnificent struc-
ture known as Columbia Market, in-
tended for the convenience of the small
dealers and traders of that populous
and indigent locality in the sale and
supply of cheap articles of food, with
a special adaptation for the sale of
fish, the philanthropic donor thinking
it desirable to encourage the use of
fresh fish as a common article of diet
for the poor of London, in preference
to inferior qualities or portions of
butcher's meat, which had become
greatly enhanced in price. In the au-
tumn of 1871, this costly building,
erected with an eye not only to utility,
but to elegance and beauty, was for-
mally presented by her to the Cor-
poration of London.
For these and other services to her
country, the title of Baroness was
conferred in 1871 by Queen Vic-
toria upon Miss Burdett-Coutts.
In further acknowledgment of the
noble gift of Columbia Market be-
stowed to the Corporation of the City
of London for the benefit of the poor
of the East End, the Common Council,
in July, 1872, in a public ceremony,
presented to Lady Burdett-Coutts the
freedom of the city. It was accom-
panied by a complimentary address
enclosed in a gold casket of beautiful
construction, paneled in compart-
ments, one bearing the arms and sup-
porters of her ladyship, the other sev-
en representing tableaux of acts of
mercy, emblematic of her beneficence —
" Feeding the Hungry," " Giving Drink
to the Thirsty," " Clothing the Naked,"
" Visiting the Captive," " Lodging the
Homeless," "Visiting the Sick," and
" Burying the Dead." The four cardi-
nal virtues, Prudence, Justice, Temper-
ance, and Fortitude, supported the
box at the corners. The lid, which is
domed and surmounted by the city
arms, bore on its front an engraving
of a fishing scene, in allusion to the
establishment of the fish market. In
her reply to the addresses of the Lord
Mayor and Chamberlain of London, on
occasion of the presentation, she al-
luded in graceful terms to the interest
which the proceedings of the day would
excite in the question of " a wholesome,
varied, and abundant supply of food
for the health and comfort of all
classes," an interest which she had
evidently philosophically studied iu
its details and generalities.
HIRAM POWERS.
distinguished American
-L sculptor was born at Woodstock,
Vermont, July 29th, 1805. His fath-
er was a small farmer of the place,
also, as he is described by the artist,
'half blacksmith and half ox- yoke-
maker, who had served an apprentice-
ship to nothing, but possessed a cer-
tain skill in whatever he undertook.
He valued himself on the curves of his
ox-bows and yokes, and could strike
with the blacksmith himself." * Be-
coming bondsman to a friend, this
parent lost all the little property he
possessed ; and an untoward season for
farming succeeding this calamity, the
family, which included seven children,
five of whom were at home, were
driven to great straits for their sup-
port. One of the sons, a youth of
talent, had obtained sufficient as a
school teacher to pursue his education
at Dartmouth College, and had gone
to the West, and become engaged in
editing a newspaper at Cincinnati.
This appears to have turned the
thoughts of his father in that direction,
and led him to emigrate with his fam-
* Seven Sittings with Powers the Sculptor,
by the Rev. Dr. Henry W. Bellows. — "Appleton's
Journal," 1869.
ily to the west. In 1819. when Hiram
was at the age of about fourteen, they
all set off upon the journey together
in three wagons, with the household
goods and money which remained, and
travelling through the state of New
York, made their way to the Ohio,
which they descended in a flat boat.
Upon reaching Cincinnati, by the
aid of the son settled there, the elder
Powers, with his family, were soon
established upon a small farm, a few
miles from the city. Unhappily it
was badly located in the neighborhood
of a marsh, the miasma from which
infected the whole family with fever,
and caused the death of the father.
The family was, in consequence of
this double disaster, broken up and
scattered. Hiram, the future artist,
was disabled by his illness, and inca-
pacitated for work for a year. He at
length obtained a situation in a pio-
duce store in Cincinnati, his business
being to watch the wagons that came
into town, bringing wheat and whis-
key, and direct them to his employer,
and afterwards roll the barrels in and
out of the building. This employ-
nient was continued till the " concern "
was broken up, when his brother, the
HIRAM POWERS.
523
editor, created a new occupation for
Hiram by making an agreement with
an hotel-keeper to furnish him with
his exchange newspapers, with which
he was to open a reading-room, to be
free to the guests of the house, but
for the use of which outside subscrip-
tions were to be paid. Hiram was to
be placed in charge of this, and re-
ceive whatever could be made out of
it. The reading-room was opened, but
the pecuniary result, whether from
the mismanagement of the landlord,
or the reluctance of the good people
of Cincinnati to pay for what they
were in the habit of obtaining gratis,
\vas next to nothing.
This resource failing, the disappoint-
ed youth, "looking anxiously around
for the means of living, fell in with a
worthy man, a clock-maker and organ-
builder, who was willing to employ
him in collecting bad debts in the
country." Mounted on an old horse,
in what was rather an adventurous
pursuit in those days in the West,
young Powers was so successful that,
after collecting the debts, his em-
ployer proposed to set him at work in
the clock-and-organ factory. "He
thought he had some rough work
there, he said, which even so wholly
unskilled a hand as mine might per-
form. I could afford to refuse no
proposition that promised me bread
and clothes, for I was often walking
the street hungry, with my arms
pressed close to my sides to conceal
the holes in my coat-sleeves. So I
went into the shop, and the master
gave me some brass-plates to thin
down with the file. They were parts
of the stops of an organ he was build*
ing, and required to be very nicely
levelled and polished; but my busi-
ness was only to prepare them for the
finisher. The boss was to come in,
after a day or two, and see how I got
along. Now, I always had a mechani-
cal turn, and had whittled out a great
many toys, and made a great many
pewter guns, in my boyhood. I took
hold, therefore, of the brass plates and
the files with a confidence that I could
surprise my employer; and, although
I blistered my han Is badly at once, I
stuck to them with a will. My em-
ployer did not look in for several days,
and, when he did come, I had already
finished several plates. He took one
up, and cast his eye along it ; then put
it upon a level table, and cast his eye
under it; and, finally, bringing it
down face to face with another of my
plates, lifted that up by mere cohesive
attraction. He said nothing to me,
but, calling in his head workman, he
cried, " Here, Joe, is the way I want
them plates finished ! " The truth
was, I had, at once, greatly surpassed
the finisher at his own business, by
mere nicety of eye and determination
of spirit. From that moment my em-
ployer took me into his confidence.
He really seemed to love me. He
soon gave me the superintendence of
all his machinery ; I lived in his family,
and I felt my future secure. There
was a machine for cutting clock- wheels
in the shop, which, though very valua-
ble, seemed to me capable of being
much simplified and improved. The
chief hands, jealous of my favor with
the boss, laughed at my suggestions
of improvement in a machine which
had come all the way from Connecti
524
HIRAM POWEES.
cut, where " the foreman guessed they
knew something about clocks." There
was an old silver bull's-eye watch
hanging in the shop — too poor to
steal — which had, however, excited
my cupidity. I told the master that,
if he would give me that watch, I
would undertake to make a new ma-
chine— much simpler and more effi-
cient than the old one. He agreed;
and, after ten days' labor, I so simpli-
fied and improved the plan, that my
new machine would cut twice as many
wheels in a day, and cut them twice
as well. This established my reputa-
tion with him and the workmen. The
old watch has ticked all my children
into existence, and three of them out
of this world. It still hangs at the
head of my bed."
It was about this time that the
artist recollects visiting the Museum
in Cincinnati, where he noticed par-
ticularly an elephant's tusk broken
and held together by iron hoops ; and
a plaster cast of Houdon's " Washing-
ton," the first bust he had ever seen.
" It excited my curiosity strangely,"
he says, " and I wondered how it was
made." There happening then to be
in the city a German sculptor engaged
on a bust of General Jackson, Powers
sought his acquaintance, and learned
from him the elements of his art. Be-
ing an apt pupil, for nature was direct-
ing his hand, he at once turned the in-
formation he received to account, by
modelling with steady persistence, in
bees' wax, the head of the little
daughter of a gentleman of the city,
Mr. John P. Foote. When it was
completed, by careful fidelity in copy-
the exact features, he found he
had obtained an excellent likeness in
expression. Soon after, the famous
Mrs. Trollope made her appearance at
Cincinnati, on her American tour, ac-
companied by the clever French artist,
Hervieu, who illustrated a number of
her works. By agreement, Powers
modelled a bust of this sketch er in ex-
change for a portrait of himself by the
painter. These, however, were but
first attempts. It was not till some
time after that a peculiar opportunity
presented itself to advance his employ-
ment as a bust maker. It would be
injustice to the reader to relate it in
other than the artist's own words, as
taken down by Dr. Bellows.
"A Frenchman from New Orleana
had opened a museum in Cincinnati,
in which he found his fine specimens
of natural history less attractive than
some other more questionable objects.
Among these were certain wax figures.
He had, however, one lot which had
been badly broken in transportation,
and he had been advised to apply to
me to restore them. I went to the
room, and found Lorenzo Dow, John
Quincy Adams, Miss Temple, and
Charlotte Corday, with sundry other
people's images, in a very promiscuous
condition — some with arms, and some
with noses, and some without either.
We concluded that something entirely
new, to be made from the old mater-
ials, was easier than any repairs ; and
I proposed to take Lorenzo Dow's
head home, and convert him into the
King of the Cannibal Islands. The
Frenchman was meanwhile to make
his body— "fit body to fit head." I
took the head home, and, thrusting my
hand into the hollow, bulged out the
HIKAM POWERS.
525
cer-
museum, when
lanky cheeks, put two alligator's tusks
Into the place of the eye-teeth, and
soon finished my part of the work. A
day or two after, I was horrified to see
large placards upon the city-walls, an-
nouncing the arrival of a great curiosi-
ty, the actual embalmed body of a
South-Sea man-eater, secured at im-
mense expense, etc. I told my em-
ployer that his audience would
tainly tear down his
they came to find out how badly they
were sold, and I resolved myself not
to go near the place. But a few nights
showed the public to be very easily
pleased. The figure drew immensely,
and I was soon, with my old em-
ployer's full consentj installed as in-
ventor, wax-figure maker, and general
mechanical contriver in the Museum.
One of the first things I undertook, in
company with Hervieu, was a repre-
sentation of the infernal regions after
Dante's description. Behind a grating
I made certain dark grottoes, full of
stalactites and stalagmites, with shad-
owy ghosts and pitchforked figures,
all calculated to work on the easily-
excited imaginations of a Western
audience, as the West then was. I
found it very popular and attractive;
but occasionally some countryman
would suggest to his fellow-spectator
that a little motion in the figures
would add much to the reality of the
show. After much reflection, I con-
cluded to go in among the figures
dressed like the Evil One, in a dark
robe, with a death's-head and cross-
bones wrought upon it, and with a
lobster's claw for a nose. I had bought
and fixed up an old electrical machine,
and connected it with a wire, so that,
ii.— 66
from a wand in my hand, I could dis-
charge quite a serious shock upon any-
body venturing too near the grating.
The plan worked admirably, and ex-
cited great interest ; but I found act-
ing the part of wax-figure two hours
every evening in the cold no sinecure,
and was put to my wits to devise a
figure that could be moved by strings,
and which would fill my place. I
succeeded so well, that it ended in my
inventing a whole series of automata,
for which the old wax-figures furnish-
ed the materials, in part, and which
became so popular and so rewarding,
that I was kept seven years at the
business, my employer promising me,
from time to time, an interest in the
business, which he quite forgot to ful-
fil. When, at last, I found out the
vanity of my expectations, I left him.
He knew I kept no accounts ; but he
did not know that I reported all the
money he gave me to my wife, who
did keep our accounts. He tried to
cheat me; but I was able to baffle
him through her prudence and method.
For I had married in this interval,
and had a wife and children to sup-
port."
From these incongruous pursuits,
the artist, for such he was really be-
coming, was relieved by the generous
appreciation of the wealthy resident
and benefactor of Cincinnati, Mr.
Nicholas Longworth. This fine-heart-
ed gentleman voluntarily came to the
artist and made him three proposi-
tions, to buy out the museum and es-
tablish him in it ; send him to Europe
at his expense to study his art as a
sculptor ; or to forward his interests at
the national capital, where he might
HIRAM POWERS.
find employment in making busts of
the great men of the country. Powers
accepted the last, and, in 1835, leaving
his family at Cincinnati, took up, for a
time, his residence at Washington,
where he was speedily engaged upon
the bust of President Jackson; and,
among other distinguished sitters, had
John Quincy Adams, Calhoun, Chief-
Justice Marshall, Levi Woodbury, and
Martin Van Buren. An anecdote is
related of his bust of Jackson, one of
his earliest and most striking works,
which exhibits thus early the leading
characteristics of the author's power —
that pursuit of the real which has
given to his great portrait busts the
force and authority of a living pres-
ence. " After I had finished it," says
he, "Mr. Edward Everett brought
Baron Krudener, minister from Prus-
sia, to see it. The baron had a great
reputation as a critic of art. He look-
ed at the bust deliberately, and said :
" You have got the general completely :
his head, his face, his courage, his
firmness, his identical self; and yet it
will not do ! You have also got all
his wrinkles, all his age and decay.
You forget that he is President of the
United States, and the idol of the peo-
ple. You should have given him a
dignity and elegance he does not pos-
sess. • You should have employed your
art, sir, and not merely your nature?
1 did not dare, in my humility and
reverence for these two great men, to
say what I wanted to in reply ; to tell
the baron (for Mr. Everett was silent)
that my " art " consisted in concealing
art, and that my "nature" was the
highest art I knew or could conceive
o
of. I was content that the " truth " of
my work had been so fully acknow
ledged, and the baron only confirmed
my resolution to make truth my model
and guide in all my future undertak-
ings. I wrote Mr. Everett, many yeara
after, reminding him of this interview,
and also remarking on his silence at
the time. He wrote me frankly that
his silence was caused by his con-
sciousness of a very poor right to
speak on such a subject, but that he
had often pondered it since, and had
come to the deliberate conclusion that
the baron was wrong in his criticism
and counsel. If I have since done any
thing in my art (said Powers), it ia
due to my steady resistance to all at-
tempts to drive me from my love and
pursuit of the truth.
The eminent ability displayed by
Mr. Powers in these early works at
Washington gained for him the admir-
ation of the distinguished South Caro-
O
lina statesman, Senator William C
Preston, who, by his representations,
induced his brother at Columbia,
though he had never seen the artist, to
tender to him the means of going
abroad, authorizing him to draw an-
nually for a thousand dollars for sev-
eral years. This munificent offer was
accepted. In 1837, Mr. Powers reach-
| ed Italy, and took up his residence in
Florence, where, with remarkable local
tenacity, he maintained his studio,
to the end, accomplishing from year to
year the series of his noble busts and
statues which have gained him the ad-
miration of appreciators of art through-
out the world. During thirty years'
residence in Florence, he visited Rome
but twice, and then only for a short
time on each occasion. After execut-
HIKAM POWEES.
527
ing in marble the busts of Jackson
and others, which he had modelled in
Washington, he turned his attention
to works of invention, and produced
his first ideal statue, a representation
of Eve, a matronly figure, marked by
a fulness and certain robustness,
without any sacrifice of beauty or
grace, pensive in expression, as she is
imagined in a first moment of con-
O
sciousness after the fall, a sentiment
indicated by the slightly inclined coun-
tenance and the attitude of the arm
and hand holding the apple. Before
the model of this work was completed,
as we are told in one of the notices of
the sculptor, he was visited in his
studio by the eminent Thorwaldsen,
who happened then to be passing
through Florence. " He admired the
busts of the artist. The statue of
' Eve ' excited his admiration. Powers
could not suppress his apprehensions,
and began to offer an apology, by
stating that it was his first statue.
The noble old sculptor stopped him,
and rendered an apology useless by
the remark, ' Any man might be proud
of it as his last.' "*
"Eve" was speedily followed by
the production of " The Greek Slave,"
the best known and most popularly
successful of the sculptor's works. It
was first brought to the notice of the
world in the great London Crystal
Palace Exhibition of 1851, where its
success marks an era in American art.
It has since been reproduced by the
* The "Illustrated Magazine of Art," vol. 3,
p. 209.
artist in no less than six copies, with
slight variations of the accessories ;
and has been rendered familiar to the
public by various exhibitions and in
numerous engravings and small models
in different materials. Like the " Eve,"
it is relieved from all unrefined, sensu-
ous expression, by an air of sentiment,
the design involving a consciousness of
shame at the exposure in the slave-
market. The other chief ideal works
of the artist, are his "Penseroso," a
realization of the lines of Milton :
"And looks commercing with the skies,
Thy rapt soul sitting in thine eyes ;
There held in holy passion still
Forget thyself to marble."
The " Proserpine," a bust, the con-
ception of female beauty in repose; —
the " Fisher Boy," who listens, as he
holds a shell to his ear, to the imagi-
native sounds within it; — the national
" California " and " America ;" while
not less among his masterpieces, are
his portrait busts of eminent American
statesmen, and his statues of Washing-
ton, Calhoun, and Webster.
Po 7/ers continued to reside in Italy,
for the sake of the advantage to his
art ; but he remained in heart a true
American, never ceasing to interest
himself in the welfare of his country.
So his life wore on with great regular
ity in his studio till he was visited by
a wasting bronchial complaint, which,
after about a year's continuance, ter-
minated his life at Florence on th*
27th of June, 1873.
LOUIS AGASSI Z
LOUIS JOHN RODOLPH
AGASSIZ, one of the most dis-
tinguished naturalists and scientific
explorers of the present day, was born
in the parish of Mottier, between the
lake of Neufchatel and the lake of
Morat, in Switzerland, on the 28th of
May, 1807. Of Huguenot race his
father was a village pastor, as for six gen-
erations in lineal descent his ancestors
had been before him. The pastor's wife,
a woman of rare worth and intelligence
was the daughter of a Swiss physician.
At the age of eleven, Louis entered
the gymnasium of Bienne, whence he
was removed, in 1822, as a reward for
his attainments in his scientific studies,
to the Academy of Lausanne. Two
years later he "engaged in the study of
medicine at the school at Zurich, and
subsequently pursued the scientific and
philosophical courses at the Universi-
ties of Heidelberg and Munich, re-
ceiving his degree as doctor of medi-
cine at the latter. The bent of his
mind was already shown at these latter
institutions, in his devotion to the study
of botany and comparative anatomy.
In 1828, at the age of twenty-one,
Agassiz began his public career as a
naturalist by the description of two
(528)
new fishes in the ft Isis " and " Linnsea, '
two foreign periodicals occupied with
natural history. The following year
he was selected to assist the eminent
German naturalist, Von Martius, iri his
report of the scientific results of his expe-
dition to Brazil, undertaken under the
auspices of the Austrian and Bavarian
governments. The portion of the
work entrusted to his charge, was the
preparation of an account of the genera
and species of the fish collected by
the naturalist Von Spix in the expe-
dition. The successful accomplishment
of this work gave him reputation as
an ichthyologist. His labors were
noticed with approval, and brought
before a Berlin meeting of German nat-
uralists by the eminent transcendental
anatomist, Oken. Encouraged by
this success he pursued his ichthy-
ological studies with great persever-
ance, recording the results from time
to time in the natural history publi-
cations of the day. His labors also
secured him the friendship of Hum-
boldt and Cuvier in a visit to Paris,
where he was enabled to pursue his
researches by the friendly pecuniary
assistance of a clergyman and friend
of his father, Mr. Christinat.
LOUIS AGASSIZ.
529
la 1832, he was appointed Professor
of Zoology at Neufchatel. In 1834,
he published a paper on the " Fossil
Fish of Scotland," in the " Transactions
of the British Association for the
Advancement of Science," and others
subsequently on the classification of
fossil fishes in various foreign journals.
He devoted seven years to this subject,
completing the publication of his great
work on "Fossil Fishes," in five vol-
umes in 1844. Associated with these
studies and results, was the preparation
of his important work on Star-Fishes,
or Echinodermata, published in parts
from 1837 to 1842, under the title
" Monographes d'Echinodermes Vivans
et Fossiles." He had also, during this
period, completed another leading
work, a " Natural History of the
Fresh-water Fishes of Europe," which
was published in 1839.
"The researches of Agassiz upon
fossil animals," says a writer in the
" English Cyclopaedia," u would nat-
urally draw his attention to the cir-
cumstances by which they have been
placed in their present position. The
geologist has been developed as the
result of natural history studies. Sur-
rounded by the ice-covered mountains
of Switzerland, his mind was naturally
led to the study of the phenomena
which they presented. The moving
glaciers and their resulting moraines,
furnished him with facts which seemed
to supply the theory of a large num-
ber of phenomena in the past history
of the world. He saw in other parts
of the world, whence glaciers have
long since retired, proofs of their ex-
istence in the parallel roads and ter-
races, at the basis of hills and moun-
tains, and in the scratched, polished
and striated surface of rocks. Al-
though this theory has been applied
much more extensively than is consis-
tent with all the facts of particular
cases by his disciples, there is no ques
tion in the minds of the most com-
petent geologists of the present day,
that Agassiz has, by his researches on
this subject, pointed out the cause of
a large series of geological phenomena
His papers on this subject are nu-
merous, and will be found in the ' Trans-
actions of the British Association' for
1840, in the 3rd volume of the 'Pro-
ceedings of the Geological Society,' in
the 18th volume of the 'Philosophical
Magazine,' third series; and in the 6th
volume of the l Annals and Magazine
of Natural History.' "
In 1846, Agassiz came to the United
' O
States to continue his explorations and
to fulfil an engagement to deliver a
course of Lectures on the Animal
Kingdom before the Lowell Institute
at Boston. The lectures excited much
interest and were followed in successive
seasons by three other courses on Nat-
ural History before the same institu-
tion. While these were in progioss
he had, at the close of 1847, accepted
the appointment of Professor of
Zoology and Botany in the scientific
school founded by Mr. Abbott Law-
rence, in connexion with Harvard Uni-
versity at Cambridge. In the follow-
ing year he was engaged, with some of
his pupils, in a scientific exploration of
the shores of Lake Superior, the results
of which were published in a volume
written by Mr. Elliott Cabot and
others, entitled " Lake Superior." In
conjunction with Dr. A. A. Gould, of
530
LOUIS AGASSIZ.
Boston, Professor Agassiz published
in the same year a work on "The
Principles of Zoology." Devoting
himself to an assiduous practical study
of the natural history of the country,
he has visited its most important por-
tions in the Atlantic and Gulf States,
the valley of the Mississippi, and the
regions of the Rocky Mountains. In
1850, he spent a winter upon the
reefs of Florida, in the service of the
United States Coast Survey; and subse-
quently, during the winter 1852-53,
was Professor of Comparative Anato-
my, in the Medical College of Charles-
ton, S. C., which afforded him the
opportunity of making other scien-
tific researches in the southern region
and seaboard. The results of his in-
vestigations in these various journeys
have been given to the world in a
series of volumes in quarto entitled
" Contributions to the Natural History
of the United States,1' a work for which
an extraordinary popular subscription
was obtained.
In the Summer of 1865, Professor
Agassiz extended his American resear-
ches to the Southern Continent, in an
expedition at the head of a chosen
party of assistants, in an exploration
of Brazil, where he devoted eighteen
months to a thorough survey of the
valley of the Amazon and other por-
tions of the country. An account of
this tour, in a volume entitled " A
Journey to Brazil," from the pen
of Mrs. Agassiz, a devoted companion
to her husband in his scientific studies,
was published in 1857. He subse-
quently has been engaged in a like
exhaustive study of the regions of the
United States bordering on the Pacific :
O J
and, in 1872, a voyage of scientific
observation on the western shores of
South America. In these expeditions
he is accompanied by a corps of pupils
devoted to natural history, and vast
materials are gathered by him, to be
added to the collections of animals,
plants, and fossils, of which he has
undertaken the classification and pres-
ervation, as curator of the Museum of
Comparative Zoology established in
connection with his Professorship at
Cambridge.
While pursuing his career of original
study at Cambridge and giving to the
public the result of his observations
in his series of philosophical lectures
before the Museum of Comparative
Zoology, involving original and elab-
orate constructions of animal life, the
sphere of his investigations was en-
larged in the summer of 1873 by the
gift by Mr. John Anderson, a gentle-
man of Massachusetts, of Penikese
Island, off the coast of New England.
' O
This piece of land, valued at one hun-
dred thousand dollars, was presented
to him for the establishment of a school
of Investigation in Natural History,
with an additional gift in money of
fifty thousand dollars to carry out the
design. /In the prosecution of this
liberal plan, Prof. Agassiz became at
once engaged in the effective organ-
ization of the school or college, endeav-
oring to " extend the range of its use-
fulness in the application of science to
the practical art of modern civiliza-
tion " his object being particularly " to
combine physical and chemical exper-
iment with the instruction and work
of research to be carried on upon
the island — physiological experiments
LOUIS AGASSIZ.
531
being at the very foundation of the
exhaustive study of zoology." *
Professor Agassiz has received the
most distinguished attentions from the
French Academy of Sciences and other
numerous scientific associations of
Europe. On the death of the eminent
Professor Edward Forbes, in 1854, he
was invited to succeed to his chair of
Natural History in the University of
Edinburgh, but declined the offer in
favor of his adopted home, and the
field of some of his most distinguished
researches in America.
The amiable and attractive personal
character of Professor Agassiz has
added greatly to his opportunities in
advancing the interests of science.
" He is," says the accomplished critic,
Mr. Whipple, in the course of an able
review of his " Essay on Classifica-
tion " in the first volume of the Con-
tributions to the Natural History of
North America, " not merely a scien-
tific thinker : he is a scientific force ;
and no small portion of the immense
influence he exerts is due to the energy,
intensity and geniality which distin-
guish the nature of the man. In per-
sonal intercourse he inspires as well
as informs, communicates not only
knowledge, but the love of knowledge,
and makes for the time everything
appear of small account in comparison
with the subject which has possession
of his soul. To hear him speak on
his favorite themes is to become
inflamed with his enthusiasm. He is
at once one of the most dominating
and one of the most sympathetic of
men, having the qualities of leader
* -Letter of Prof. Agassiz to the " New York
bfiily Tribune,'' June 14, 1873.
and companion combined in singular
harmony. People follow him, work
for him, contribute money for his
objects, not only from the love inspired
by his good-fellowship, but from the
compulsion exercised by his force.
Divorced from his congeniality, his
energy would make him disliked as a
dictator ; divorced from his energy, his
geniality would be barren of practical
effects. The good-will he inspires in
others quickens their active faculties as
well as their benevolent feelings.
They feel that, magnetized by the man,
they must do something for the science
impersonated in the man, — that there is
no way of enjoying his companionship
without catching the contagion of his
spirit. He consequently wields,
through his social qualities, a wider
personal influence over a wider variety
of persons than any other scientific
man of his time. At his genial insti-
gation, laborers delve and dive, stu-
dents toil for specimens, merchants
open their purses, legislatures pass
appropriation bills."
In the midst of this active career of
usefulness, after a summer of unusual
exertion in the establishment of his
School of Natural History, Professor
Agassiz, who had already suffen-d
some symptoms of failing health, was,
in the beginning of December, 1873,
suddenly stricken down by an attack
of paralysis, and, after a few days of
lingering illness, on <-he night of the
14th expired at his residence in Cam
bridge, Mass. His death was attend-
ed by the profoundest regret and the
noblest tributes to his memory in
America, and by the friends of science
throughout th.e civilized world.
FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE.
TT1LOKENCE LIGHTING ALE was
JD born in 1820, in the city of Flor-
ence, Italy, whence it is said she de-
rived her Christian name. Her fa-
ther, William Edward Nightingale, of
Lea Hurst, Derbyshire, England, was
descended from an ancient Yorkshire
family named Shore, the name which
he bore till about the year 1815, when,
in compliance with the wishes of an
uncle by the mother's side, he adopted
the name of Nightingale. He was
married in 1818 to a daughter of Wil-
liam Smith, the eminent philanthropic
member of Parliament for Norwich.
Florence, the younger of the two
daughters from this union, according to
the account in the " English Cyclopae-
dia," " appears to have been instructed
at home ; where, besides the usual ac-
complishments, she acquired a know-
ledge of the Grerman and other modern
languages, which, during her travels
on the Continent, to examine the hos-
pitals and asylums for the poor and
aged, were of essential service. Besides
attaining proficiency in the classics and
mathematics, with a general knowledge
of the sciences, her musical attainments
are highly spoken of. In early child-
hood, a marked sympathy with every
(532)
kind of affliction declared itself in her ,
and it was fostered both by the en-
couragement of her friends, and the
means for its exercise which her fa-
ther's fortune placed at her disposal.
From the first, her benevolence took
the aspect of method, being quiet,
thoughtful, and serious : she seemed
O ' »
from natural instinct to have adopted
her own vocation. Her reading main-
ly consisted of the writings of pious
Christians of different countries and
ages, who have had their missions oi
charity. From Lea Hurst, where
much of her early life was spent, she
visited the schools and hospitals oi
the neighborhood ; and when time had
lent its impulse to this benevolence,
she longed to extend its sphere by ex-
ploring the great hospitals of England.
With this view, she was taken to the
metropolis, where she examined with
rigid care the several systems of treat-
ment pursued in the hospitals, reform-
atory institutions, and workhouses.
She took great pains in observing the
nursing of patients in the Middlesex
hospital, whence afterwards she se-
lected some of the nurses who accom-
panied her to the East. After this,
she gathered new experience by iu-
FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE.
533
specting the principal hospitals in the
country towns. During this protrac-
ted course of study, the observation
which most frequently recurred to her,
was the want of competent nurses and
a school for the training of them. At
length she learned that such a training
school as she desired, though not to be
met with in the United Kingdom, exis-
ted in Germany."
This was the institution at Kaisers-
werth, near Dusseldorf, on the Rhine,
founded by Pastor Fliedner, for the
practical training of deaconesses, or
visiting nurses, who go out to visit
the sick and poor, one of a cluster of
charitable establishments at this spot
which had rapidly grown from a very
humble beginning. The story of Flied-
ner's life is told in the popular work
of John De Liefde, chiefly relating to
the charitable institutions of Germany,
entitled "The Romance of Charity."
He was, in 1822, a poor young Protes-
tant clergyman of the Prussian church,
in charge of a scanty flock, depending
for their subsistence upon employment
in a neighboring manufactory. The
failure of the factory dispersed part of
the congregation, and left the rest in
utter want. The church was in debt,
and by a pastor of less resolution than
Fliedner, would have been abandoned
in despair. In this extremity, he re-
solved to make a tour of the province,
with the hope of collecting money to
carry on the enterprize, " On this
journey, he made the acquaintance of
the leading men in the Church, and
especially in the sphere of Christian
philanthropy. Their conversation en-
abled him to cast a glance into the
depths of misery which prevailed
ii. — 67.
among the lower classes, in the pris-
ons and in the hospitals. He returned
home to his flock with the glad intel-
ligence that he was able to pay their
most urgent debts. But fresh difficul-
ties arose. It was quite absurd to ex-
pect that these poor people would be
able to meet the annual expenditure
of their church and school ; so Flied-
ner resolved to try to collect an endow-
ment for both, and this time directed
his steps to Holland and Great Britain.
He set out on his travels in 1823, and
he obtained money in abundance ; but
he carried back with him a greater
treasure in a thorough knowledge of
the chief philanthropic and charitable
institutions of the two countries."
With this experience, looking beyond
the immediate limits of his parochial
church, he turned his attention to the
condition of the inmates of the neigh-
boring prison at Dusseldorf; obtained
permission to preach to them, and pro-
cured a society of prison reform to act
for their welfare. A second visit to
Holland followed in 1827, and anoth-
er to England and Scotland in 1832,
in which he made the acquaintance of
Mrs. Fry, whose beneficent labors at
Newgate, undertaken many years be-
fore, were now bearing fruit through-
out the kingdom, and of Chalmers, who,
was also to illustrate in his career the
practical work of Christianity in the im-
provement of the condition of the poor.
Fliedner was now ready to organize in-
stitutions of his own which should be
an example to Germany and the rest of
Europe. He began with an asylum
for discharged female convicts. The
little garden house of his family was
given up for the purpose. This soon
FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE.
proving too small, a large place was
procured, and the garden house became
a school for the poor children of the
factory where they were at first taught
knitting, and this soon grew into a
fully equipped infant school. A hos-
pital was his next undertaking, and
this demanded nurses, which were
poorly supplied. To meet this new
want, an institution for training nurses
was organized, and thus the famous
deaconess-house at Kaiserswerth was
established, which has its active cor-
respondence and agents, and a brood
of like institutions which it has inspir-
ed, throughout the world. Nor was
this all that was effected by the efforts
of Fliedner. An institution for insane
women ; a home of rest for aged deacon-
esses who have accomplished their mis-
sion ; another, a rural retreat for those
who require relaxation in the midst of
their labors, are among the numerous
buildings gathered together in this
great Christian enterprize.
It was at the deaconess-house at
Kaiserswerth, that Miss Nightingale
received the education by which she be-
came especially qualified for her future
personal exertions in the care of the
sick, and her equally important work
of hospital organization. She entered
Fliedner's institution in 1849, as a
voluntary deaconess, and for six
months was engaged -.inder the direc-
tion of the founder, in a regular course
of training in the care and treatment
of medical and surgical cases. She
then visited a number of other hospit-
als and asylums for the poor in Ger-
many, France, and Italy, but more
particularly those founded on the
parent house at Kaiserswerth, for the
training of Protestant nurses and
teachers. Among the many sisters
of charity she met with in her pro-
gress, was a German lady, the Baron-
ess Kantzau, director of a royal benev-
olent institution at Berlin. Like her-
self, the baroness had adopted the vo-
cation of voluntary nurse, and had
qualified at Kaiserswerth. After her
return to England, Miss Nightingale
remained some months at Lea Hurst,
to recruit her health. Her next ser-
vice was the direction of the Sanato
riuin for Invalid Ladies, in Uppei
Harley-street, London, where she re-
mained from August, 1853, to Octo
ber, 1854, when the progress of the
war in the Crimea, and the distress of
the British army had roused the sym
pathy of the nation. The question
having been strongly urged, with a
pointed reference to the assistance
rendered by the Sisters of Charity
in the French camp, " Are there no
women in Protestant England to go
forth ?" — Mr. Sidney Herbert, secre-
tary of war, determined to send out to
the East a staff of voluntary nurses ;
and it was in consequence of his urgent
request, that Miss Nightingale, who
endeavored to shun notice and fame,
was induced to take upon herself the
onerous duty of its superintendence.
Having reached Constantinople a day
or two before the battle of Inkermann
November 5th, 1854, accompanied by
her friends and coadjutors, Mr. and
Mrs. Bracebridge, and forty-two com-
petent nurses, some of them ladies ot
ranK and fortune, she took up her
quarters in the great barrack hospital
at Scutari. The battle of Inkermann
sent down to that hospital, in a single
FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE.
535
Jay, upwards of six hundred wounded
soldiers ; and so great was the rapidi-
ty with which sickness spread through
the camp, that the number of patients
at Scutari rose in two months, from
September 30th, to November 30th,
from five hundred to three thousand,
and on the 10th of. January, 1855,
nearly ten thousand sick men were
scattered over the various hospitals on
the Bosphorus.
The services of Miss Nightingale,
ander extraordinary demands like
tHese, were of the most exacting na-
ture. How she met the occasion, has
been recorded by Russell, the celebra-
ted war correspondent of the London
" Times," in his letters from the camp
to that journal. " Wherever there is
disease in its most contagious form,"
he wrote, early in 1855, " and the
hand of the spoiler distressingly nigh,
there is that incomparable woman sure
to be seen. Her benignant presence is
an influence for good comfort, even
amid the struggles of expiring na-
ture. She is a 'ministering angel,'
without any exaggeration, in these
hospitals, and as her slender form
glides quietly along each corridor,
every poor fellow's face softens with
gratitude at the sight of her. When
all the medical officers have retired
for the night, and silence and dark-
ness have settled down upon those
miles of prostrate sick, she may be
observed alone, with a little lamp in
her hand, making her solitary rounds."
Miss Nightingale remained nearly
two years in the East, in assiduous
devotion to the great work of her life,
interrupted only by a severe attack of
hospital fever, contracted while she
wa;-. engaged in superintending tin
hospital service at the camp at Balae
lava, in May, 1855, on her recovery
from which, having rejected the ad-
vice of her friends to return to Eng-
land for her health, she immediately
resumed her duties in the care of the
wounded soldiers of the army. When
the war was ended, she returned, in
September, 1856, to her father's seat
at Lea Hurst. In acknowledgement
O
of her services to the nation at the
seat of war in the East, she was pre-
sented by Queen Victoria with a valu
able jewel, said to have been designed
by Prince Albert.
A pamphlet written by Miss Night
ingale, was published in 1850, for the
benefit of the establishment for invalid
ladies in Upper Llarley-street, giving
an account of the Institution for the
Practical Training of Deaconesses,
which she had attended at Kaisers*
werth on the Rhine. Ten years after-
ward, in I860, appeared a volume
from her pen, of a highly suggestive
and useful character, entitled " Notes
on Nursing : What it is, and what it is
not."
The treatment suggested may often be
called simply natural, founded on the
sense of man's physical relations in
the world, with no invocation of the
science of medicine. Thus, in the first
chapter of the book, that on " Ventila-
tion ..and Warming," the proposition is
laid down : " The very first canon oi
nursing, the first and the last thing upon
which a nurse's attention must be fixed,
the first essential to a patient, without
which all the rest you can do for him
is as nothing, with which I had almost
said, you -may leave all the rest alono
536
FLOKENCE NIGHTINGALE.
is this : To keep the air he breathes
as pure as the external air, without
chilling him." Among other striking
illustrations of this subject, are the re-
marks on night air : " Another extra-
ordinary fallacy is the dread of night
air. What air can we breathe at night
but night air ? The choice is between
pure night air from without, and foul
night air from within. Most people
prefer the latter. An unaccountable
choice. What will they say if it is
proved to be true, that fully one-half
of all the disease we suffer from, is oc-
casioned by people sleeping with their
windows shut? An open window
most nights in the year can never
hurt any one. In great cities, night
air is often the best and purest air to
be had in the twenty-four hours. One
of our highest medical authorities on
consumption and climate, has told me
that the air in London is never so good
as after ten o'clock at night." The,
manner of the book, it may be added,
is as good as its matter; feminine in
its thoughtful, sympathetic insight,
manly in its straightforward, energetic
utterance
We cannot better close this notice,
of a lady whose practical beneficence
is benefiting the world, than in the
lines addressed to her by the poet
Edwin Arnold :
" If on this verse of mine
Those eyes shall ever shine,
Whereto sore-wounded men have looked for hie,
Think not that for a rhyme,
Nor yet to fit the time,
I name thy name,— true victress in this strife 1
But let it serve to say
That, when we kneel to pray,
Prayers rise for thee thine ear shall never know J
And that thy gallant deed,
For God, and for our need,
Is in all hearts, as deep as love can go.
Tis good that thy name springs
From two of Earth's fair things, —
A stately city and a soft-voiced bird ;
'Tis well that in all homes,
When thy sweet story comes,
And brave eyes fill— that pleasant sounds ba
heard.
Oh voice ! in night of fear,
As night's bird, soft to hear,
Oh great heart! raised like city on a hill;
Oh watcher ! worn and pale
Good Florence Nightingale,
Thanks, loving thanks, for thy large work and
will!
England is glad of thee, —
Christ for thy charity,
Take thee to joy when hand an<* heart are stilL'
ALFKED TENKYSON.
the day. Plow seldom is it, that the
readers of the great poets, of Chaucer,
Spenser, etc., meet with a fresh book,
into which they no sooner enter, than
they feel as if they were in a new dis-
trict of their old territory, and turn
the first leaf as if they closed the por-
tal behind them, and were left alone
with nature and a new friend. Here
are two, both genuine, both on the
borders of the great country, both in
full receipt of its airs, and odors and
visions, and most human voices, and
all the congenial helps of a -common
soil and climate ; and both possessing
trees of their own that promise to be
mighty, and haunted with the sound
of young angelic wings." In conclu-
sion, the critic gives his verdict be-
tween the two poets in favor of
Charles, on the ground mainly that
" he seems less disposed to tie himself
down to conventional notions." Charles
was then about to take holy orders,
and a few years after became vicar of
Grasby in his native county ; and,
about that time, in consequence of his
succeeding to a family property, took
the name of Turner. Frederick pub-
lished nothing with his name till 1854,
when his volume of poems entitled
" Days and Hours " appeared ; so that
after 1830 Alfred Tennyson was vir-
tually left alone to represent the poetic
genius of the family.
His second volume, simply entitled
"Poems by Alfred Tennyson," ap-
peared from the press of Moxon, in
1833, a small volume of about a hun-
dred and fifty pages, containing, among
other noticeable productions, "The
Lady of Shalott," the first of the
poems inspired by the legends of the
Arthurian romance; that favorite, the
pathetic "May Queen;" "CEnone,"
instinct with the classic spirit ; and
that beautiful English idyll, a tale of
love and marriage affection so lightly
yet feelingly touched, "The Miller's
Daughter," disclosing a new vein of
household poetry, to be worked by the
author with great effect in future com-
positions. The next ten years produced
a great development of these poetic
germs in the new poems of the two
volumes published in 1842, of which
it is sufficient to mention simply the
names of a few of the more prominent
as the "Morte d' Arthur," and "Sir
Galahad," with the fragment of " Sir
Launcelot and Queen Guinevere,"
giving farther promise of the Epic
series since accomplished by the poet ;
the " Gardener's Daughter " and
"Dora" in the purest idyllic spirit;
the " St. Simeon Stylites" and « God-
iva," inspired by a wonderful force of
imagination and poetic comprehension
of individual life ; and "Locksley Hall,"
remarkable alike by its \rilliant ver-
sification and its sympathy with the
world's progress in its entrance upon
the problem of human life and society
at the present day. This "dash of
metaphysics," which Burke claimed to
be an ingredient in every great mind,
was further marked in the "Two
Voices " a solution of the question of
belief and unbelief in favor of cheer-
ful hope and joy and the final good.
Five years after these volumes were
published, " The Princess, a Medley,"
in which the " woman question " of
the time was presented in an atuios
phere of elegance and refinement as
far removed as possible from the every
540
ALFRED TENNYSON.
day associations of the subject. The
tale is interspersed with exquisite songs,
and enlivened by airy descriptions and
the most felicitous illustrations, in the
very perfection of a social philosophical
discussion. Seldom have vulgar fal-
lacies been penetrated and put to flight
by such finely tempered weapons.
The fanciful humor of the piece is in
the happiest possible mood and the
result picturesquely arrived at, in the
interdependent relations of the sexes,
united yet distinct, most consonant to
reason and philosophy.
The "Princess" was followed, in
1850, by the collection of poems en-
titled, " In Memoriam," which has been
pronounced " the richest oblation ever
offered by the affection of friendship
at the tomb of the departed." The
occasion which gave rise to its produc-
tion was the death in 1833, of the
author's early college companion and
intimate friend, Arthur Henry Hallam,
the son of the historian, a young
man of rare moral qualities, and of
the brightest intellectual promise.
"Maud," a tale of disappointed
affection, of a wild and passionate
nature, appeared in 1855, and with it,
in the same volume, that charming
idyll, "The Brook." After this the
author appears to have devoted his
poetic studies, mainly, to the Arthurian
romance of which he had given to the
public in previous collections the
"Morte d' Arthur," and other com-
positions based on the legends, as we
have already mentioned. The success
of this effort and his strong predilection
for a subject which had strongly
tempted the imagination of Milton, led
him to further achievements in the
promise which he had thus already
made his own, and in which he has
thus far had no successful competitor.
In the " Idylls of the King," published
in 1859, Tennyson realised the hope
and expectation of the public that he
would pursue the national mythical
theme of King Arthur and the Knights
of the Round Table. Though an old,
it was comparatively a novel subject,
the legends being known to but few
readers in their acquaintance with the
early chroniclers and the compilation
by Sir .Thomas Malory, originally
printed in 1634. In the "Idylls," it
is but justice to Tennyson to say that
he has re-created the whole, gathering
about King Arthur, his ideal of per
feet Knighthood, and investing the
adventures of his followers with many
rare graces of his own invention — his
object, as interpreted by his friend and
critic, Mr. Knollys, being, in the char-
acter of King Arthur, to set forth
"the King within us, our highest
nature, by whatsoever name it may be
called — conscience, spirit, the moral
soul, the religious sense, the noble re-
solve ; — his story and adventures thus
becoming the story of the battle and
pre-eminence of the soul, — and of the
perpetual warfare between the spirit
and the flesh, — Arthur being the type
of the soul on earth, from its mys-
terious coming to its mysterious and
deathless going."
The volume of 1859, embraces four
of the legends: " Enid " the tried wife
of the knight Geraint, emerging in
rare beauty in her innocence from an
unworthy persecution ; " Vivien," the
wily subduer of the weird enchanter
Merlin; "Elaine," the lily maid of
ALFEED TEMYSON.
541
Astolat, entranced by her passion for
Lancelot, awakening the wrath of the
Queen and ending in her pathetic death
and burial ; and " Guinivere," the sad
story of her fall and the pathetic lofty
action of the King. The " Holy Grail,''
was added in 1869; which, with "The
Corning of Arthur," "Pelleas and
Ettarre," and " Gareth and Lynette,"
the last in 1872, complete the series
of the Arthurian " Idyls " A dedica-
tion prefixed to the whole is a noble
tribute to the memory of Prince
Albert.
In addition to the volumes already
enumerated of Tennyson's writings,
there are to be mentioned the popular
tale ''Enoch Arden," in the author's
felicitous blank verse, of which, in the
" Idylls," he had shown himself so con-
summate a master ; the collection of
lyrics, set to music, entitled, "The
Window; or the Songs of the Wrens;"
and, among other miscellaneous poems,
the few of a national or patriotic char-
acter, as the " Ode on the Death of the
Duke of Wellington," "The Charge
of the Light Brigade," "The Ode
Sung at the Opening of the Inter-
national Exhibition " and the " Wel-
come to the Princess Alexandra."
These latter poems may be assigned
to his office or dignity as Poet Lau-
reate, to which he succeeded on the
death of Wordsworth. The poet also
bears the honorary title of Doctor of
Civil Law, conferred upon him by the
University of Oxford.
The reception of his poems has been
such as has been seldom accorded by
their contemporaries to men of genius.
The best artists of the time, including
Dore, Mulready, Millais, and Maclise,
have been employed as illustrators
of his works, which have employed
the powers of the best critics in his
praise, and have further had the sin-
gular honor of being presented in two
minute and elaborate \erbal Concor-
dances.
n.— 68.
ULYSSES SIMPSON GRANT.
ri THE ancestry of General Grant is
-L traced to an early Pilgrim emi-
grant, Matthew Grant, who came to
Massachusetts with his wife, Priscilla,
from Dorsetshire, England, in 1630.
After a few years' residence at Dorches-
ter, having lost his wife, Matthew set-
tled at Windsor, in Connecticut, where
he became a man of consequence, and
was a second time married.
Ulysses Simpson Grant was the sev-
enth in descent from this alliance.
Members of the family served in the
old Indian and French wars, and in
the war for Independence, Noah, the
grandfather of Ulysses, having entered
the service at Lexington, and attained
the rank of captain. After the war
was over, he was settled for a while in
Pennsylvania, and subsequently estab-
lished himself in a house in Ohio. His
son, Jesse Root Grant, then in his child-
hood, accompanied him, and after vari-
ous youthful adventures, entered upon
manhood with the occupation of a tan-
ner. At the age of twenty-seven, he
married Hannah Simpson, and of this
alliance was born at the family resi-
dence, Point Pleasant, Clermont Coun-
ty, Ohio, on the 27th of April, 1822,
Ulysses Simpson Grant. This, how-
(542)
ever, was not the baptismal name of
the child. He was christened Hiram
Ulysses Grant, the first name appar-
ently exhibiting a trace of the ances-
tral Puritan associations of the family ;
the second, Ulysses, having been in-
spired by a no less classical authority
than the " Telemachus of Fenelon," a
stray copy of which had brought the
fame of the Homeric hero to the home-
stead on the Ohio. We shall see pres-
ently by what accident the name was
changed. The boy grew up in the
Buckeye State, under the paternal
training, accustomed to the industry
of the tan-yard; and outside of the
labors of this sturdy pursuit, finding
ready relief in the manly rural sports
and adventures of Western life, with
an especial zest for all that related to
horsemanship. He became in fact so
great an adept in riding, that he prac-
ticed some of the daring feats of the
ring. In such hardy pursuits, Grant
grew up a rather quiet, self-reliant
youth, and on his approach to man-
hood, exhibited a spirit of independ-
ence in an uncompromising disrelish of
the somewhat rough toil of the tan-
nery. On his rejecting this mode of
life, his father, looking round for a
ULYSSES SIMPSON GRANT.
543
pursuit for his son, the thought hap-
pily occurred to him of a cadetship at
West Point. Accidentally there was a
vacancy in the district, and an appli-
cation to the representative in Congress
secured it. The member confounding
the family names, sent in the applica-
tion for Ulysses Simpson Grant. Under
this name the appointment was made
out, and the authorities at the Military
Academy being indifferent or unwilling
to correct the error, the candidate was
compelled to accept the designation.
He entered West Point in. 1839, at the
age of seventeen, and graduated in due
course, in 1843, the twenty-first in a
class of thirty-nine. He had no great
reputation in the academy as a student,
though he displayed a taste for mathe-
matics ; while his general abilities and
moral qualities were undoubted. The
skill in horsemanship which he car-
ried with him, distinguished him in
the exercises of the riding-school. His
biographer, Albert D. Richardson, to
whom we are indebted for many inter-
esting personal notices of Gen. Grant,
has recorded an anecdote of his profi-
ciency in this accomplishment. " There
was nothing," says he, " he could not
ride. He commanded, sat, and jumped
a horse with singular ease and grace ;
was seen to the best advantage when
mounted and at a full gallop; could
perform more feats than any other
member of his class, and was alto-
gether one of the very best riders West
Point has ever known.
. " The noted horse of that whole re-
gion, was a powerful, long-legged sor-
rel, known as i York.' Grant and his
classmate, Gouts, were the only cadets
who rode him at all, and Gouts could
not approach Grant. It was his de-
light to jump York over the fifth bar,
about five feet from the ground ; and
the best leap ever made at West Point,
something more than six feet, is still
marked there as ' Grant's upon York.'
York's way was to approach the bar
at a gentle gallop, crouch like a cat,
and fly over with rarest grace. One
would see his fore feet high in the air,
his heels rising as his fore feet fell, and
then all four falling lightly together.
It needed a firm seat, a steady hand,
and a quick eye to keep upon the back
of that flying steed. At the final ex-
amination, his chief achievement was
with his famous horse York. In pres-
ence of the Board of Visitors, he made
the famous leap of six feet and two or
three inches."
Grant left West Point with the bre-
vet appointment of second lieutenant
in the 4th Infantry, and presently
joined his regiment at Jefferson Bar-
racks, St. Louis, Missouri, where he
became acquainted, and formed an at-
tachment to the sister of one of his
academy classmates, Miss Julia Dent,
the lady who subsequently became his
wife. This was the period of medi-
tated Texas annexation, which under
the influences of Southern political
necessities, was being steadily forced
upon the country. Portions of the
small national army were gradually
concentrated on the Southern frontier.
The regiment to which Grant was at*
tached, was pushed forward in the
movement, tarrying a year at Fort Jes-
sup, on Red River, when it was sent
to Corpus Christi, Texas, forming a
part of General Taylor's army of obser-
vation, Grant being now promoted full
ULYSSES SIMPSON GRANT.
second lieutenant, and in the spring of
1840, reached the Rio Grande. It
was a challenge to the Mexican forces
on the right bank of the river, which
they were not long in accepting. The
contest fairly began in May, with the
battles of Palo Alto and Resaca de la
Paima in both of which actions Grant
was actively engaged. He was also
in the thick of the fight in the severe
assault of Monterey, in September.
Shortly after the arrival of General
Scott at Vera Cruz, in the beginning of
the following year, Grant joined that
commander, his regiment with others
having been withdrawn from the forces
of General Taylor, to take part in the
expedition against the capital. He
was with the army of Scott in the suc-
cessive battles from Cerro Gordo, on-
ward, which marked the victorious pro-
gress to the city of Mexico, ever active
in the field and as quartermaster, and
was breveted first lieutenant and cap-
tain for gallant and meritorious con-
duct at Molino delRey and Chap ul tepee.
The war being ended, Grant, on a
vdsit to St. Louis, married his betrothed
in August, 1 848, and was subsequently
stationed for two years with his regi-
ment at Detroit, with a brief interval
of service at Sackett's Harbor, dis-
charging the duties of quartermaster.
In 1852, his regiment was sent to the
Pacific, and stationed in the vicinity of
Portland, Oregon, where in 1853, he
was promoted to a full captaincy. He
was then ordered with his company to
Fort Humboldt,in Northern California.
Here, having been subjected to certain
animadversions from Washington, on
the ground of intemperate drinking,
in an intimation of the charge in the
summer of 1854, he resigned his com-
mission. He now passed several yeara
in farming operations with his wife's
family in Missouri, and in 1859, became
engaged with a friend in business at
St. Louis as real estate agent, with the
firm of Boggs & Grant. At this time
he made an application to the authori
ties of the city for a local office. The
characteristic letter addressed to the
Hon. County Commissioners, in which
he presented his claims, has been pre-
served by his biographers ; it reads as
follows : " Gentlemen : I beg leave to
submit myself as an applicant for the
office of County Engineer, should the
office be rendered vacant, and at the
same time to submit the names of a few
citizens who have been kind enough to
recommend me for the office. I have
made no effort to get a large number
of names, nor the names of persons
with whom I am not personally ac-
quainted. I enclose herewith also, a
statement from Prof. J. J. Reynolds,
who was a classmate of mine at West
Point, as to qualifications.
" Should your honorable body see
proper to give me the appointment, I
pledge myself to give the office my en-
tire attention, and shall hope to give
general satisfaction.
Very respectfully,
Your obedient servant,
U. S. GRANT."
This application, though backed by a
goodly number of business friends, was
rejected, his competitor for the office
succeeding, it is said, through greater
political influence, though it must be
admitted, there was but a feeble recog.
nition at this time of the talents and
character by which Grant subsequent
ULYSSES SIMPSON GKANT.
545
iy became so famous. " There was no
other special objection to him," says
his biographer, Richardson, " than his
supposed democratic proclivities from
his political antecedents. His ability
as an engineer was accorded. He was
not much known, though the commis-
sioners had occasionally seen him about
town, a trifle shabby in dress, with
pantaloons tucked in his boots. They
supposed him a good office man, but
hardly equal to the high responsibility
of keeping the roads in order. He
might answer for a clerk, but in this
county engineership, talent and effi-
ciency were needed."
A partial amend for this disappoint-
ment was made by a minor position in
the Custom House at St. Louis, out of
which he was thrown after a few weeks
possession by the death of his superior,
the collector. On the prospect of a
vacancy in the County Engineership in
1860, he sent in a second application to
the commissioners, but the office was
not vacated, and of course nothing
came of it. In this extremity of his
fortunes, having a family to support, he
removed to Galena, Illinois, where his
father had established a profitable lea-
ther business. In this store Grant was
employed at the very humble salary of
eight hundred dollars. In this posi-
tion he was found when the attack on
Sumter, in the spring of 1861, sum-
moned the country to arms for the pre-
servation of the integrity of the Union.
The news that this first blow was
struck, in Illinois, as elsewhere in the
North and West, fired the heart of the
people. Grant's town of Galena was
not behind in this national emotion.
A. meeting1 >n the instant was held, at
which Washburn, member of Congress
of the district, and Rawlins, a young
lawyer of the place, destined to become
distinguished in the United States
army, were speakers, and gave expres-
sion to the enthusiasm of the hour.
Their voice was for the uncompromis-
ing maintenance of the National Union,
and their expressions were unequivocal
that this involved an armed struggle.
Grant was present, quite willing to ac-
cept the conclusion, and expressed his
intention again to enter the service.
At a second meeting, he was called
upon to preside, and being apparently
the only one in the region who knew
anything of military organization, un-
folded some of the details required in
raising troops, which was now the order
of the day. He was active in the pre-
liminary local movements, in getting
together volunteers j and Washburn,
who began to appreciate, his merits,
presented his claims to command un-
successfully in these first days to Gover-
nor Yates, at Springfield. Grant, mean-
while, had offered his services to the
War Department at Washington, and
the application remained unanswered ;
nor had an application to the Governor
of Ohio met a better fate. Governor
Yates, now of necessity, gave him em-
ployment as clerk in his military office,
and under like exigency, though still
without a commission, became actively
engaged in the work of military organi-
zation. Nearly two months had now
passed, and Grant was on a visit to his
father in Covington, opposite Cincin
nati, when General McClellan was in
command. It is related that Grant
called upon him twice without " pro
posing to ask for an appointment, but
546
DLFSSES SIMPSON GRANT.
thinking that McClellan might invite
him to come on his staff."* The acci-
dent of not meeting McClellan, offers a
curious subject for speculation as to the
probable results in diverting a man of
mark from the future great destiny
which awaited him. Before he reached
Illinois, on his return, a dispatch from
Governor Yates to Grant was on its
way, appointing him colonel of the
twenty-first Illinois volunteers. In this
capacity Grant began his actual service
in the war, marching his men to north-
ern Missouri, where he discharged the
duties of acting Brigadier - General.
Congress was now in session in July,
and the organization of the national
army of volunteers was proceeding at
Washington, and at the urgency of
Wash burn, Grant received the com-
mission of Brigadier-General. He was
now placed in command of the district
of south-eastern Missouri, including the
neighboring territory at the junction of
the Ohio and Mississippi, with his head-
quarters at Cairo. He began by ren-
dering an important service to the
country. In the nick of time, in ad-
vance of orders from General Fremont,
commander of the Western Department,
and in anticipation of the Confederate j
General Polk, who was bent on appro-
priating the district, and was about
moving on from his head-quarters be-
low, at Columbus, Grant detailed a
portion of his command to take posses-
sion of Paducah, Kentucky, an impor-
tant station for military purposes" at
the mouth of the Tennessee. Thus
promptly securing this station, he ad-
dressed a proclamation to the citizens
of Paducah, dated September 6th, well
* Richardsom "Personal History of Grant."
qualified by its courtesy and firmness
to vindicate his course in allaying the
jealousies, and at the same time re^
pressing any hostility which might be
expected from the border State, a por-
tion of whose territory he was occupy-
ing. "I am come among you," says
he, "not as an enemy, but as your
fellow-citizen ; not to maltreat you,
nor annoy you, but to respect, and en-
force the rights of all loyal citizens.
An enemy, in rebellion against our
common government, has taken posses-
sion of, and planted his guns on the
soil of Kentucky, and fired upon you.
Columbus and Hickman are in his
hands. He is moving upon your city.
I am here to defend you against this
enemy, to assist the authority and
sovereignty of your government. I
have nothing to do with opinions, and
shall deal only with armed rebellion
and its aiders and abettors. You can
pursue your usual avocations without
fear. The strong arm of the govern-
ment is here to protect its friends, and
to punish its enemies. Whenever it
is manifest that you are able to defend
yourselves, and maintain the authori-
ty of the government, and protect the
rights of loyal citizens, I shall with-
draw the forces under my command."
Grant's friend Rawlins joined him at
Cairo, as assistant adjutant general. A
participation in friendship and military
duty continued during the struggle,
and which,at the present writing (1869)
has culminated in his appointment in
the cabinet of the president as Secre-
tary of War.
In November, Fremont having taken
the field on the Arkansas border, where
he was opposed to the rebel genera]
ULYSSES SIMPSON GRANT.
541
Price, ordered Grant to make a demon-
stration in the direction of Columbus
to prevent the co-operation of Polk
with the enemy in Arkansas. Grant,
accordingly gathering his newly re-
cruited forces, about three thousand
men, embarked with them on trans-
ports on the 6th, and moved down the
river. Resting for the night at a point
on the shore, he learnt that Polk had
thrown over a force from Columbus to
Belmont, immediately opposite, on the
Missouri side. To carry out the object
of the expedition, and to test the valor
of his troops, he resolved upon an at-
tack. He landed his men about three
miles above Belmont, out of range of
the guns at Columbus, and leaving a
batallion of infantry to protect his
boats, advanced on the enemy's camp,
where General Pillow had concentrated
about i wenty-fi ve hundred men. Meet-
ing the confederates on the way, the
land was swampy and covered with
timber, there was considerable miscel-
laneous firing, in which Grant's horse
was shot under him. This was carried
on through the morning hours, ending
in a determined push upon the enemy,
and the capture of their camp, with its
artillery and personal spoils. The raw
recruits, elated by success, began the
work of plunder, and presently the
tents were set on fire. As all this was
visible at headquarters at Columbus, j
Polk directed his guns at the spot and
brought over reinforcements to inter-
cept the Union troops on their return,
which Grant and his officers, fully
aware of the situation, with energy,
though not without difficulty, were
conducting. The men were brought
through a fire of skirmishers to the
boats, carrying off a number of prison-
ers, with all possible care for the wound-
ed, Grant being the last man on the
bank to re-embark. It is said that
while he was riding slowly along in the
dress of a private, he was pointed out
by General Polk, as a target to his men,
who were too intent on firing upon the
crowded transports to take advantage
of this opportunity within their reach.
This was the battle, as it was termed,
of Belmont, with a result which fully
justified the movement, a heavy loss
having been inflicted on the enemy, in
killed, wounded, and prisoners ; the in-
dicated diversion having been effected,
and what was more, at the time, in the
words of Grant in a private letter to
his father immediately after the engage-
ment : " confidence having been given
in the officers and men of this com-
mand, that will enable us to lead them
in any future engagement, without fear
of the result."
The next military movement of con-
sequence in which Grant was engaged,
grew out of his timely proceeding in
gaining command of the Tennessee
river at Paducah. Halleck was now
Grant's superior in the Western de-
partment, and was planning a compre-
hensive scheme of attack upon the
enemy on the Kentucky and Tennessee
frontier, proportionate to the impor-
tance and magnitude which the conflict
had now assumed.
January, 1862, saw these plans per-
fected ; the design was to dislodge the
enemy on the upper waters of the Ten
nessee and the Cumberland, and thus
gain possession of the river comniuni
cation with the interior. Grant moved
with a laud force on the 2nd of Feb
548
ULYSSES SIMPSON GKANT.
ruary, ascending the Tennessee in trans-
ports from Paducah, supported by a
flotilla of gunboats under Com. Foote.
Fort Henry was the immediate object
of attack, and the position was gained
in the preliminary assault b}7 the gun-
boats in a close encounter, General Til-
man, the commander of the garrison,
making a timely escape with his men
to Fort Donelson, distant but twelve
miles on the Cumberland, which thus
far pursued a parallel course with the
Tennessee. Grant now saw his oppor-
tunity to strike a blow by advanc-
ing immediately upon Fort Donelson.
With characteristic energy he would
have moved at once, but was prevented
by a rising of the Tennessee, which put
the roads under water, and made them
impracticable for artillery. On the
12th, he moved upon the position, and
began the investment of the place.
Weather of intense severity set in, and
the men suffered fearfully from expo-
sure; still the work went on, with sharp
skirmishing, reinforcements meanwhile
arriving, and Foote bringing up his
gunboats on the Cumberland. An at-
tack of the latter upon the works fail-
ed of success, on account of the high
position of the enemy's guns above the
river. On the 15th, the enemy, despair-
ing of maintaining their position,though
numbering a large force, ably defended
by artillery, attacked the right of
the investing army, held by McCler-
nand. They had gained some advan-
tage when Grant came upon the
ground, arriving from an interview
with Foote. Detecting by his military
sagacity, from the fact that the prison-
ers: haversacks were filled with rations,
the intention of the enemy to cut their
way out, he resolved upon an immedi
ate assault upon the works, ordering
the veteran General C. F. Smith, in com-
rnand on the left, to begin the attack.
This was made late in the afternoon
with great gallantry, and ended in
Smith's gaining a position which com-
manded the fort. That night the enemy
evacuated the position, the rebel gen-
erals Floyd and Pillow escaping with
a large portion of the force by boats
up the river, leaving General Buckner
to arrange the conditions of surrender.
He accordingly,at daylight on the morn-
ing of the 16th, sent a dispatch to Gen-
eral Grant proposing an armistice, with
a view of entering on negotiations.
To this Grant, on the night after, sent
the following reply: "Yours of this
date, proposing armistice, an appoint-
ment of commissioners to settle terms
of capitulation, is just received. No
terms except an unconditional and im-
mediate surrender can be accepted.
I propose to move immediately upon
your works." Stript of his troops by
the flight of the rebel-generals, Buck-
ner had no choice left, but submission.
The United States flag was raised at
Fort Donelson, arid fourteen thousand
prisoners were transported to Cairo.
For that good day's work Grant was
made a major-general of volunteers.
Notwithstanding Grant's brilliant
success at Donelson, his character ap-
pears to have been so little understood
by General Halleck that, after several
annoying complaints, Grant felt com-
pelled to ask to be relieved from fur-
ther duty in the department. This,
however, Halleck would not accept, and
ordered a disposition of the forces
which soon brought Grant again into
ULYSSES SIMPSON GRAOT.
549
action. Two months later occurred the
battle of Pittsburgh Landing, on the
Tennessee River. Under the orders of
his superior, Grant had brought to-
gether at this place all the troops in
his command, numbering 38,000 men,
and he was expecting Buell from Nash-
ville to join him with about the same
number. The enemy was assembling
his forces at Corinth, an important rail-
way junction twenty miles distant.
Exaggerated reports of their strength
were current in the Union Camp, and
as the position was badly defended, and
an immediate attack was feared, Grant
began to look with anxiety for the ar-
rival of his reinforcements. At last, on
the 5th of April, the van of Buell's
army reached the Tennessee a few miles
below the camp, and were ordered to
hold themselves in readiness for imme-
diate action, as skirmishing had already
commenced. On Sunday, the 6th of
April, the rebel General A. S. Johnson
made an attack in force. General Pren-
tiss was in command of that side of the
camp where the attack began, and he
had only time to form his line before
he was driven back by the advancing
columns. The field was soon swept by
the enemy, and the Union forces push-
ed to the river, where they were par-
tially protected by the gunboats. The
reinforcements which had arrived the
day before, and the rest of Buell's
army which had followed them, did
not come upon the ground until too
late to be of service on that day. At
the beginning of the battle, General
Grant was at his headquarters at Sa-
vannah, but heaving of the action, im-
mediately reached the ground and was
engaged on the field in the afternoon
o o
ii.— 69.
in rallying his broken divisions. When
he perceived that the ardor of the
enemy's attack had somewhat abated,
and that they did not pursue their ad
vantage as they might, he determined
to renew the fight on the next morning,
believing, as he said, that in such cir-
cumstances, when both sides were near-
ly worn out, the one that first showed
a bold front would win. Such was his
determination, when the arrival of
Buell's 20,000 fresh troops placed the
hoped for success almost beyond a
doubt. The next day the fight was
accordingly resumed, and after a series
of severe contests, Beauregard, who
had succeeded to the command of
General Johnson, who was killed in
the first day's engagement, retired with
his army to Corinth. The fatigue of
the troops, and the roads rendered im-
passable by the showers of rain, made
pursuit impossible.
Soon after this, General Halleck, the
head of the department, took the field,
and Grant became second in command.
After the evacuation of Corinth by the
enemy, when Halleck was called to
Washington, as General-in-Chief, the
force which had been gathered on the
Tennessee was divided up into differ-
ent commands. Buell was sent with
his army to the east, and General Grant
was assigned to the army of West Ten-
nessee. The battles of luka, and the
second battle of Corinth, in September
and October, proved the successful man-
agement of his department. His com-
mand having been greatly increased,
he established his head-quarters, in De-
cember, at Holly Springs in Mississippi,
and henceforth was engaged in the ar-
duous operations in that State, which
ULYSSES SIMPSON GRANT.
for many months employed the forces
on the Mississippi, till final victory
crowned their efforts in the capture of
Vicksburg, with its garrison, a triumph
Joubly memorable by its association
with the day of independence — the full
surrender being made and the flag rais-
ed over the vaunted stronghold on the
4th of July, 1863. The campaign of
General Grant immediately preceding
the close investment of the city gained
him the highest reputation as a com-
mander, at home and abroad. After
the Union forces had been disappoint-
ed in repeated efforts to take the city
with its formidable works by direct as-
sault or near approach, General Grant,
at the end of April, landed a force on
the Mississippi shore, about sixty miles
below, defeated the enemy at Port Gib-
son, thus turning Grand Gulf, which
consequently was abandoned to the
naval force on the river ; advanced into
the interior, again defeated the enemy
at Kaymond, on the 1 2th of May ;
moved on and took possession of Jack-
son, the capital of the State ; then
marched westward towards Vicksburg,
defeating the forces General Pem-
berton, the commander of that post,
sent out to meet him, at Baker's Creek,
and again at Black River Bridge. All
this was the work of a few days, the
eighteenth of the month bringing the
army in the immediate vicinity of
Vicksburg, in command of all its com-
munications with the interior. The
siege followed ; it was conducted with
eminent steadfastness and ability, and
surrendered, as we have stated, in an
unconditional triumph. For this emi-
nent service, General Grant was pro-
moted Major-General in regular army.
This great success finally determined
Grant's position before the country, and
the estimation in which he was now
held was allthe more enthusiastic and
secure in consequence of the distrust
which, in spite of his successes, had in
a great degree attended his course. It
had in fact been with difficulty that he
had been retained in his command be-
fore Vicksburg; and it had been wholly
owing to his self-reliance that had
carried out his own plan of throwing
himself in his final successful move-
ment upon the passage of the river be-
low the fortress. President Lincoln
unreservedly acknowledged Grant's su-
perior prescience and his own want of
confidence. When all was over and the
Mississippi was virtually opened to the
sea, he wrote to the General, " When
you got below and took Port Gibson,
Grand Gulf, and vicinity, I thought
you would go down the river and join
General Banks ; and when you hurried
northward east of the Big Black, I
feared it was a mistake. I now wish
to make the personal acknowledgment
that you were right and I was wrong "
This period also practically saw au
end on the part of his opponents of the
scandal which had at different times
been revived against Grant on the
charge of intemperance in drinking.
During the protracted siege of Vicks-
burg, an impatient grumble, we are
told by Richardson, demanded his re-
moval from the President. " For what
reason ?" asked Lincoln. " Because he
drinks so much whiskey." " Ah ! yes,"
was the reply, " by the way, can you
tell me where he gets his whiskey?
He has given us about all the success
es, and if his whiskey does it, I should
ULYSSES SIMPSON GRANT.
551
like to send a barrel of the same brand
to every General in the field." In fact,
Grant, as his biographer just cited
states, " was never under the influence
of drinking to the direct or indirect
detriment of the service for a single
moment, and after the restoration of
peace, planted his feet on the safe and
solid ground of total abstinence."
In October, Grant was again called
to the field. Kosecrans had been badly
defeated by Bragg and Longstreet at
Chickamauga,in Tenriessee,r.nd Thomas,
who had superseded him, was now close-
ly hemmed in by the enemy at Chatta-
nooga. Grant, while on a visit to New
Orleans in the summer, had been thrown
by a restive horse, sustaining severe
bruises, which confined him to his bed
for several weeks, and at the time he
received his orders to join the army of
the Tennessee, he was only able to
move about on crutches, but his bodily
suffering in no way subdued his char-
acteristic energy. He immediately
brought up Sherman with a large rein-
forcement, and at the same time Hooker
with his army was sent by General
Halleck from Virginia. In the succeed-
ing battle of Chattanooga, Grant at-
tacked the enemy in his own position,
and after a series of conflicts, among
the severest in the war, the Union
troops, led by Hooker and Sherman,
drove the rebels from their lines, forc-
ing Bragg to retreat into Georgia, and
thus exposing the centre of the Confed-
erate States.
In consequence of these brilliant
successes, the grade of Lieutenant-Gen-
eral was revi red by Congress and con-
ferred upon General Grant. He was now
Commander-in-chief of all the armies '
of the United States. That he fully
appreciated how much in attaining this
rank he owed to his subordinates, is
shown by the following letter address-
ed to Sherman, on quitting the west.
After announcing his promotion, he
says : " Whilst I have been eminently
successful in this war, in at least gain-
ing the confidence of the public, no one
feels more than I, how much of this
success is due to the energy, skill, and
harmonious putting forth of that ener-
gy and skill, of those whom it is my
good fortune to have occupying subor-
dinate positions under me.
"There are many officers to whom
these remarks are applicable to a great-
er or less degree, proportionate to their
ability as soldiers ; but what I want Is,
to express my thanks to you and to
MTherson, as the men to whom, above
all others, I feel indebted for whatever
I have had of success.
" How far your advice and assistance
have been of help to me you know.
How far your execution of whatever
has been given to you to do, entitles
you to the reward I am receiving, you
cannot know as well as I.
" I feel all the gratitude this letter
would express, giving it the most flat-
tering construction.
" The word you, I use in the plural,
intending it for M'Pherson also."
Grant had now the whole country
before him to chose his own field of
operations. His first thoughts were
turned to Georgia, where the oppor-
tunities opened up by the success at
Chattanooga, invited him to a cam-
paign in the interior, but looking round
he saw that the head and front of the
rebellion was still at Richmond, and he
552
ULYSSES SIMPSON GRANT.
determined to face the enemy upon
the ground where, hitherto undefeated,
a victory gained over him would be
most decisive in breaking the power
of the Confederacy.
Grant's design was now to make a
simultaneous attack along the whole
Union line, from the James River
to New Orleans. He took the com-
mand of the army of the Potomac in
person, and moved from his head-
quarters at Culpepper Court-House on
the 4th of May, with the object of
putting himself between Richmond and
Lee's army, which was then a few miles
distant, at Orange Court-House. The
enemy, however, apprised of his move-
ment, fell upon his flank ; and the two
days fighting in the Wilderness, that
ensued, were among the bloodiest con-
flicts of the war. Grant barely held
his ground, but although the losses
he sustained were as great as those
which had driven Hooker and Meade
back to Washington, he held on to the
design of cutting the rebel line, and
before the last gun was fired in the
Wilderness, his front had again en-
countered Lee's troops at Spottsylvania.
Here the contest was renewed, and
lasted with various movements and
great slaughter for twelve days. It
was now evident that success, however
determined the onset, and with what-
ever sacrifice of life, was not to be de-
termined by a first or a second blow.
Grant, however, was not to be deterred
from his purpose, which he expressed
in a memorable dispatch. " I propose
to fight it out on this line if it takes
all summer." The line, however, as
at another earlier crisis of the war,
proved not so direct as was anticipated
by the public, which learnt only by de
grees the full measure of the enemy's
strength and resolution. By a flank
movement, Grant now directed his
forces to strategic points of importance
on the road to Richmond, successfully
accomplishing, though not without op-
position, the passage of the North Anna,
to encamp again on the old battle-
grounds of McClellan. The struggle
was renewed in a desperate but :m
practicable assault on the enemy's line
at Chickahominy.
From this point the contest was
rapidly transferred to the James River ;
Petersburg was in vested; and the effort,
henceforth, was to command the enemy's
supplies, and draw closer the lines of
the siege by cutting off his communica-
tions by railroad with the granaries of
the South. When that region was de-
vastated by the march of Sherman to
the sea, and the force of the Rebellion
in men and provisions was fairly ex-
hausted, then, and not till then, he
yielded to the steady and repeated
blows of Grant and his generals. The
surrender took place at Appomattox
Court-House, on the 9th of April,
1865, in a personal interview between
the two commanders, Grant accepting
liberal terms of capitulation.
These successes of Grant in the field,
in terminating the war, with the good
sense and ability, mingled firmness and
moderation which he had uniformly
displayed as a leader of events, marked
him out as the inevitable candidate
for the presidency of the party to
whom had fallen the conduct of the
war, The interval which elapsed saw
him steadily engaged at Washington,
occupied with his duties as Lieutenant
ULYSSES SIMPSON GEANT.
553
General, and for a short time during
.the suspension of Stanton, acting Sec-
retary of War.
When the Republican National Con-
vention met at Chicago, in May, 1868,
Grant was unanimously nominated for
the presidency on the first ballot. In
his letter of acceptance, after endorsing
the resolutions of the Convention, he
added, — "If elected to the office of
President of the United States, it will
be my endeavor to administer all the
laws in good faith, with economy, and
with the view of giving peace, quiet,
and protection everywhere. In times
like the present, it is impossible, or at
least eminently improper, to lay down a
policy to be adhered to, right or wrong,
through an administration of four
years. New political issues not fore-
seen, are constantly arising ; the views
of the public on old ones are constantly
changing, and a purely administrative
office should always be left free to exe-
cute the will of the people. I always
have respected that will, and always
shall.
" Peace, and universal prosperity —
its sequence, with economy of admin-
istration, will lighten the burden of
taxation, while it constantly reduces
the national debt. Let us have peace."
At the election in November, Grant
was chosen President by the vote of
twenty-six States; Mississippi, Flori-
da, Texas, and Virginia, not voting,
and the Democrats carrying Delaware,
Georgia, Kentucky, Louisana, Mary-
land, New Jersey, New York, and
Oregon ; his popular majority over
Horatio Seymour, in the direct votes
being something over three hundred
thousand.
President Grant's inaugural addresa
on assuming the Presidency was mark
ed by ato ne of moderation and defer-
ence to the will of the people, as ex-
pressed in the Acts of Congress. Hia
administration has been in accord with
their measures. Among the leading
features of its domestic policy, has been
the gradual restoration to the South
of its privileges, forfeited by the ne-
cessities of the war, and the reduction
of the national debt ; while its foreign
policy has secured the negotiation of
the treaty of arbitration with England
for the settlement of claims, arising
from the negligence or wrong-doing of
that country in relation to certain ques-
tions of international law, during the
Southern rebellion. When, in 1872,
at the approaching conclusion of his
term of office, a new nomination was
to be made for the Presidency, he was
again chosen by the convention of the
Republican party as their candidate.
The result of the election was equal-
ly decided with that following his
first nomination. He received the vote
•
of thirty -one states, with a popular
majority, over Horace Greeley, of
762,991. The second inauguration, on
the 4th of March, 1873, though the
day Was severely cold, was celebrated
by an imposing civil and military pro-
cession, with a large attendance at the
capitol. In his address, the President
alluded to the restoration of the South-
ern States to their federal relations,
the new policy adopted towards the
Indians; the civil service rules, and
other topics of foreign and domestic
administration, with a general refer-
ence to the tendency of the world to
wards Republicanism.
CHARLOTTE SAUNDERS CUSHMAN.
r MlIIS eminent actress has a distin-
J- guished ancestry, both on the
father and mother's side, in the old
New England stock of Puritan set-
tlers. Robert Cushman, of '7 horn she
is a descendant, was one of the found-
ers of Plymouth Colony, a member of
the original band of Nonconformists,
in Holland, who crossed the Atlantic
in the " Mayflower." He came over
in the succeeding vessel, in 1621, in
time to preach the first sermon in
America that was printed. He was
much engaged in negotiations for the
welfare of the colonists; and, on his
death, in the early years of the settle-
ment, left a name which has always
been warmly cherished by his success-
ors in the country. On the mother's
side, the family of Saunders, of like
Puritan descent, settled at Cape Ann,
and was equally respected. It probably
never occurred to these worthies that,
in the course of two or three genera-
tions they would be brought into no-
tice by the merits of a performer on
the stage, a daughter of their house.
Charlotte Saunders Cushman was
born at Boston, July 23. 1816. Her
father was a merchant of that city,
5VTho had attained some prosperity,
(654)
when he was overtaken by reverses
and died, leaving a widow and five
children in destitute circumstances.
The mother, displaying a characteristic
energy, provided for their support by
keeping a boarding-house in Boston.
Charlotte, the eldest, was early distin-
guished by her taste for music and
capacity as a singer, as well as for her
fondness for dramatic poetry. As she
grew up, her fine contralto voice was
developed ; and her mother, being ac-
complished in music, appreciated the
gift and encouraged its cultivation.
This led, in March, 1830, when Char-
lotte was fourteen, to her first appear-
ance in public, at a social concert given
in Boston. She was well received on
this occasion, and, having been further
instructed by a musician of ability,
named Paddon, residing in the city,
who had previously been an organist
in London, she made such advances
that when Mr. and Mrs. Joseph Wood,
formerly Miss Paton, gave their first
concerts in the city, she sang with them
at one of their performances; when
Mrs. Wood was so impressed with her
ability that she advised her to turn
her attention to the stage. 'This,"
says one of her biographers, was a
-
CHAELOTTE SATJNDER CUSHMAIT.
novel proposal, certainly ; but, however
welcome to herself, our readers will
conceive its horror to the hearts of her
good family. Presbyterians, and de-
scendants of a leader of the Puritans,
they were perhaps the very last to give
it an instant's consideration. Of all
forms of earthly vanity, they had been
taught to abhor the stage the most;
and to assent to her adopting it, was
nothing less than becoming parties to
her surrender to perdition. It was
now that that resolution for which she
was remarkable, gave the first proof
of its strength. More enlightened than
her family, and consequently more
tolerant, she had learned to value in-
struments by their grandest applica-
tions, and thus even to regard the
stage as a means that might be elevat-
ed to the height of a moral agent."
Her resolution having been taken,
Miss Cushman was placed under the
direction of Mr. James G. Maeder, a
professor and composer of music, who
had accompanied Mrs. Wood to Amer-
ica, by whom she was instructed, and
under whose auspices she made her
first appearance on the boards, at the
Tremont Theatre, in April, 1835, in
the part of the Countess in the " Mar-
riage of Figaro," Mrs. Maeder, better
known in the history of the stage by
her maiden name, Clara Fisher, playing
Susanna. Miss Cushman made a de-
cided impression in her performance,
which was repeated ; and so highly
was Mr. Maeder impressed with its
merits, that he obtained for her a situa-
tion as prima donna at the New Or-
leans Theatre. She proceeded to that
city ; and on her arrival, from the
change of climate or the attempt to
extend the compass of her voice, it en
tirely failed her, so that she was una-
ble to make her expected appearance
as a singer. In this emergency her
thoughts turned to the stage and the
possibilities of success as an actress
Happily, she found a friend and in-
telligent instructor in Mr. Barton, an
English actor in the company, under
whose direction she studied the part
of Lady Macbeth, and made her debut
in that character in a performance of
the tragedy on his benefit night. It
was a bold first step, but it was suc-
cessfully taken with a consciousness
of her powers. From that first per-
formance, doubtless greatly improved
as she prosecuted her art, she made
the character her own, and it has al-
ways remained one of her most dis
tinctive parts. The performance was
several times repeated.
At the close of the season in New
Orleans, Miss Cushman came to New
York ; and, being unable to obtain an
engagement at the Park Theatre, made
her appearance at the Bowery Thea-
tre, under the management of Mr.
Hamblin, in Lady Macbeth. Her
performances here, the proceeds of
which were devoted to the support of
her family, were interrupted by ill-
ness ; and before her health was restor-
ed, the theatre was destroyed by fire,
and with it all her theatrical wardrobe
was lost. She subsequently, in April,
1837, (to follow the record of Mr. Ire-
land, in his valuable work on the
New York Stage), made her appear-
ance at the old National Theatre, then
under the management of Mr. Hackett.
o »
in Romeo, followed during her engage
meat by Patrick in the " Poor Soldier,"
CHARLOTTE SATODERS CUSHMAN.
Count Belino, Lady Macbeth, Elvira,
Queen Gertrude in " Hamlet," Helen
McGregor, Alicia, and Tullia in
Payne's "Brutus." She also, in this
engagement, first played Meg Mer-
rilies, a part in which she afterwards
became eminently distinguished. An
engagement at the Park Theatre fol-
lowed, where her reputation soon be-
came established as a leading actress,
and where for several seasons she se-
cured the admiration of the public.
Her performance of Nancy Sykes, in a
stage adaptation of Dickens' " Oliver
Twist," like her Meg Merrilies, was
recognized as an impersonation of ex-
traordinary power and ability. In
1839, her younger sister, Miss Susan
Cushman, was introduced by her to
the stage, at the Park Theatre, and
met with success in a gentler line of
characters than that in which Charlotte
had established her fame. In this first
performance, in a play called "The
Genoese," Miss Cushman acted the
lover Montaldo to her sister's Laura.
Miss Cushman was subsequently
engaged at Philadelphia, where her
merits attracted the attention of Mr.
Macready, in his visit to the country
in 1844 She appeared with him in
leading parts during his engagement
at the Park Theatre in New York;
and her success being now fully estab-
lished on the American boards, she
shortly after left with her sister for
England, to pursue her advantages on
the London stage. She was engaged
at the Princess's Theatre in that me-
tropolis, making her first appearance
there in February, 1845, in the char-
acter of Bianca in " Fazio." This was
succeeded by her performance of Lady
Macbeth, to which the highest praise
was given by the best London critics.
Its merits were universally conceded.
The stage, said an able writer in the
"Athenaeum," had long been waiting
for " a great actress ; one capable of
sustaining the gorgeous majesty of
the tragic muse," and the desideratum
he confessed was supplied in the per-
formance of Miss Cushman. Again,
when, a few weeks later she acted
Beatrice, we are told by the same
journal how she " showed her usual
decision and purpose in the assump-
tion of the character — qualities in
which, at present, she has not only no
rival, but no competitor."
In Julia, in the " Hunchback," she
won new laurels, especially in the more
forcible passages, being pronounced
" the only actress who has at all ap-
proached the first representative of
the character." She also successfully
acted Juliana, in the "Honeymoon."
Her Portia was admired, and her Meg
Merrilies established as " a performance
of fearful and picturesque energy,
making a grand impression."
In the following season, Miss Cush-
man played an engagement at Hay-
market Theatre in which she appeared
as Romeo to her sister Susan's Juliet.
The latter was admired for its beauty
and delicacy, and the former, whilst
regarded as a bold venture and in
some degree as an exceptional perfoi-
mance, was described as " one of the
most extraordinary pieces of acting,
perhaps, ever exhibited by a woman •
— masculine in deportment, artistic in
conception, complete in execution, pos-
itive in its merits, both in parts and
as a whole, and successful in its iinrne
CHARLOTTE SAUNDZKS CUSHMAK
557
diate impression." Miss Cushraan
also appeared in this engagement as
Ion; in Talfourd's Greek tragedy ; and
in Viola, in " Twelfth Night," to her
sister's Olivia, in which they were both
much admired. Charlotte's Meo; Mer-
O
rilies again repeatedly acted, became
her most popular performance, and it
was noticed how, out of the meagre
materials of the 'drama, she had, by her
skill and effective additions of by-play,
created " a historic whole — a triumph
of art."
These successes were continued for
several seasons during Miss Cushman's
residence abroad. In 1848, her sister,
Miss Susan Cushnian, was married to
an English gentleman, Dr. Muspratt,
and retired from the stage. Charlotte
returned to America; and in October,
1849, after an absence of four years,
reappeared at the Park Theatre, New
York, in the character of Mrs. Haller.
During this engagement she personated
among other parts, Rosalind, Lady
Macbeth, Julia, Queen Katharine,
Beatrice, and her now firmly-established
Meg Merrilies. After a continued
series of performances at different
theatres throughout the Union an-
nounced as preparatory to her retire-
ment from the American stage, she
closed with a farewell benefit at the
Broadway Theatre, in New York, in
May, 1852. She then revisited Eng-
land ; to return, however, to the United
States for another professional tour in
1857, in the course of which she acted
the part of Cardinal Wolsey, " being
probably," says Mr. Ireland, " the first
time the character was ever personated
u.— 70
by a female." Again visiting England,
she returned to America in 1860,
and played forty-eight consecutive
nights at the Winter Garden Theatre, in
New York, during which her powerful
representation of Nancy Sykes was
revived, after an interval of twenty
years. She shortly after again sailed
for Europe, " where," says Mr. Ireland,
" her devotion to the cause of her coun-
try's Union was most honorably con-
spicuous during the dark days of the
Great Rebellion." In 1863, we find
her, in behalf of the Sanitary Com-
mittee of the Union, playing Lady
Macbeth in Washington in the District
of Columbia, and by other performances
in Philadelphia, Boston, Baltimore, and
New York, adding over eight thousand
dollars to that charitable national
fund.
In 1871, Miss Cushman acted at
Booth's Theatre, in New York, in,
among other parts, her long-estab-
lished characters of Lady Macbeth, and
Meg Merrilies, and appeared at the same
theatre the following year. She sub-
sequently gave a series of " Readings "
in New York and elsewhere in 1873-4 ;
and in the autumn of the latter year
made her final appearance on the New
York stage in the part of Lady Mac-
beth, the occasion being honored by
an address by the poet Bryant. The
next year she appeared in a closing en-
gagement at Boston. Failing health
now forbade further exertion in her
profession. After much suffering from
cancer, she died at the Parker House
Boston, of an attack of pneumonia, on
the 18th of February, 1876.
L
PIUS THE NINTH.
plIOVANNI MARIA MASTAI
VJTFERRETTI, who on his election
to the Papal see assumed the name of
Pius, a member of a noble Italian fam-
ily, was born at Sinigaglia, near Ancona,
on the eastern coast of Italy, May 13,
1792. As a youth, he was distin-
guished for his mild disposition and
works of charity. While still a child
he was saved from drowning by a poor
"contadino," who lived to see him
seated on the papal throne. At the
age of eighteen he went to Rome for
the purpose of entering the body-
guard of the reigning pontiff, Pius
VII. An epileptic attack, however,
prevented the attainment of his wishes
and seems to have determined the
course of his after-life. He entered
a religious seminary, where his gen-
tleness and devotion proved the foun-
dation of his future . distinction. In
due course of time he was elevated to
the priesthood, and exercised the
sacerdotal functions in the hospital of
Tata Giovanni, at Rome, an institution
founded for the education of poor
orphans. These duties, however, he
was compelled to resign on being sent
out to South America on a special
mission as auditor to M. Mugi, Vicar-
(558)
Apostolic of Chili. In this capacity
he gained some insight into the secrets
of policy and diplomacy, the study of
which led him to draw out on paper a
system of political amelioration for
the Papal States. On his return to
Europe, he was appointed prelate of
the household to Pope Leo XIL, and
president of the hospital of St. Michael.
While holding this post his time was
chiefly devoted to the education of the
youth of Rome, and certain stated
preaching. In 1829, he was nomina-
ted Archbishop of Spoleto, from which
he was translated in 1832 to the see
of Imola, where his charities to the
poor greatly endeared him to his flock.
Not long afterwards he was sent to
Naples as Apostolic Nuncio, and in
1840, he was raised to the dignity of
a cardinal, and in June 1846, on the
death of Pope Gregory XVI, he was
elevated to the papacy.
The condition of affairs in the Papal
States at this time was »uch as to call
for a lar«;e measure of reform. The
o
new Pope found the financial system
on the verge of national bankruptcy ;
the system of taxation was expensive
and capricious ; and high posts of the
administrative and executive depart
Jjikeness from .
• .JolniooTi. WiLaon fo Co..PablishBra,'New"ftrk. -$r
, aetxr&ry is art nfdmgresnAD 18'/4ty Johis, n Wlsm #•<&. 01. 9iA ofti.f of/tin Librxnasi o ' ..iitfui B
PIUS THE
561
troops at Monte Rotondo, brought
about a renewal of the French occupa-
tion on the 30th of October, 1867,
and the utter discomfiture of the Ital-
ian invaders at Mentano, on the 4th
of November, on the 18th of which
month the Pope celebrated a solemn
service for the repose of the victims in
the battle which had respited the
temporal sovereignty. An allocution
of the 20th of December expressed the
pontifical gratitude that " while Satan
and his satellites and sons ceased not
to let loose, in the most horrible man-
ner, their fury against our divine re-
ligion, the God of mercy and of good-
ness sent the valiant soldiers of the
Emperor of the French, who rejoiced
to come to our aid, and fought with
the utmost zeal and ardor, especially
at Mentano and Monte Rotondo, thus
covering their names with glory." In
another allocution, written with refer-
ence to the religious affairs of Austria,
and dated June 23, 1868, the Pope de-
plored and condemned as abominable
the marriage and other laws depriving
the Church of control over schools,
and establishing the freedom of the
press and liberty of conscience, declar-
ing those laws null and void, censur-
ing those concerned in their initiation,
approval or, execution, praising the
conduct of the Austrian bishops as
defenders of the Concordat, and ex-
pressing a hope that the Hungarian
bishops would follow in their foot-
steps. On the 29th of June, 1868, the
supreme Pontiff issued a bull fixing
the opening of the (Ecumenical Coun-
cil, which had been announced on the
8th of December, 1867, for the 8th of |
December, 1869. On the llth of j
April, the "jubilee of the priesthood
of Pope Pius IX.," or the fiftieth anni-
versary of the celebration of his first
mass, was observed with great fervor
at Rome, and generally throughout
Roman Catholic Christendom ; and it
is stated that the gifts on this occasion,
whether of the clergy or laity through-
out Europe and America, reached tho
value of nearly four millions of dol
lars.
The interest of the later incumbency
of the Roman See groups itself around
the efforts made by the Pope for the
perpetuation and security of the tem-
poral power, which finally fell as a
sequel to the withdrawal of the French
troops from Rome in 1870, and the
efforts which he has made for the ex-
tension of the spiritual prerogative and
dominion of his Church. Among the
latter, the (Ecumenical Council at
Rome will always hold the foremost
place. A Pre-Synodal Congregation
assembled in the Sistine Chapel on the
2d of December, 1869, when the Pope
delivered an allocution, and received
the oaths of the officers of the ap-
proaching Council, which was opened
as appointed on the 8th of December,
the anniversary of the declaration of
the Immaculate Conception, with the
ringing of bells and salvos of artillery.
The inaugural ceremony took place in
St. Peter's Church, whither the Pope
marched in the rear of a procession
composed of nearly eight hundred
ecclesiastics — prince-archbishops, car-
dinals, patriarchs, archbishops and
bishops, abbots and generals of relig-
ious orders from all parts of the Chris-
tian world; to whom, after mass and
an inaugural discourse, the Pope gave "
662
PIUS THE NINTH.
his blessing. The appointed prayers
followed, and the Pope three times in-
voked the aid and presence of the
Holy Spirit at the deliberations of the
Council. The session extended over
six months. Its most important act
was the definition of the dogma of the
Infallibility of the Roman Pontiff, de-
claring and inculcating as a dogma of
faith that, in virtue of the divine as-
sistance promised to St. Peter, he
" cannot err when, fulfilling his mis-
sion as supreme teacher of all Chris-
tians, he defines by his Apostolic au-
thority what the Universal Church
must hold in matters of faith and
morals, and that the prerogative of
infallibility extends over the same
matters to which the Infallibility of
the Church is applicable."
In a letter addressed by King Victor
Emmanuel to the Pope, dated Flor.
ence, September 8, 1870, the former
adverted to the necessity, in the inter-
ests of his own crown and of the
spiritual power of the supreme Pon-
tiff, and in the face of the events then
agitating Europe, that he should oc-
cupy Rome and assume the protector-
ate of the Holy Father. The Pope,
who had previously refused to recog-
nize the kingdom of Italy, protested
energetically against such an occupa-
tion as a " great sacrilege and injustice
of high enormity;" notwithstanding
that it was undertaken to be effected
without loss of the papal revenue or
dignity, and without prejudice to the
full jurisdiction and sovereignty of the
Pope over the Papal city. On the
20th of September, sixteen days after
the downfall of the Emperor Napo-
leon III., the troops of Victor Emman-
uel entered Rome, after a short resist-
ance by the Pope's soldiers, who had
received orders to yield to violence
when violence should be offered. A
slight breach in the walls of Rome
was thus the sequel for the cessation
of the defence of the city. A plebis-
cite of the Papal dominions was taken
early in October, when an almost un-
animous vote was recorded for the an-
nexation of Rome and its dependen-
cies to the kingdom of Italy. Perfect
freedom of action was left to the Pope,
either to remain at Rome or to leave
it ; and the Italian government under-
took, for itself and on the part of the
people, that, whatever might be the
determination of the Holy Father, he
should " never fail to be surrounded
with all the honors and all the proofs
of respect which were due to him."
Pius IX., a member of a long-lived
family, is the first occupant of the
chair of St. Peter, who, since the death
of that apostle, has held office for the
full term of twenty-five years. This
was completed on the 16th of Jun*3,
1871 ; but it was only on the 23d cf
August that his reign reached the
duration which tradition ascribes tc
that of the Apostle — twenty-five years,
two months and seven days. This
event of the "Pope's Jubilee" was
celebrated by sermons, masses and re-
ligious ceremonies of imposing solem-
nity, and the presentation of splendid
gifts and offerings.*
* This narrative is abridged from the account
of P-Jpe Pius in the " English Cyclopaedia."
WILLIAM TECUMSEH SHERMAN.
•\ /TAJOR GENERAL SHERMAN,
-1-VJL of the United States Army, is a
descendant of one of the early emi-
grants from England to Massachusetts
in the first generation of colonists of
that region. The family established
itself in Connecticut where, as time
passed on, more than one of the name
became conspicuous in the public an-
nals. Of this race was the celebrated
Roger Sherman, who, from a shoe-
maker, became an eminent lawyer; in the
war of the Revolution, a signer of the
Declaration of Independence ; a fram-
er of the Constitution, and a Senator
of the United States. Taylor Sher-
man, the grandfather of the General,
/ C3 '
was a judge of one of the Connecticut
courts. His widow removed with her
family to what is now the town of
Lancaster, in Fairfield County, in the
State of Ohio. One of her children,
Charles Robert Sherman, became dis-
tinguished in Ohio as a lawyer, and
at the time of his death, in 1829, was
a Judge of the Supreme Court of the
State. Of his eleven children, Wil-
liam Tecumseh was the sixth. He
was born in Lancaster, Ohio, February
8, 1820. His father being suddenly
cut off by cholera in middle life, the
family was inadequately provided for,
and William, then about nine years
old, was adopted by the Honorable
Thomas Ewing, an intimate friend of
Judge Sherman. The youth was edu-
cated at Lancaster, and at the age of
sixteen, on the nomination of his guar-
dian Mr. Ewing, then a Representative
in Congress, was admitted as a Cadet
at the Military Academy of West
Point. He entered with zest into the
usual occupations of the place, pursued
his studies with credit, and, in 1840,
graduated sixth of his class, with a
fixed determination to devote his life
to the service of his country. His de-
sire, as expressed in a letter which he
wrote while an under-graduate, was
" to go into the infantry, be stationed
in the far West, out of the reach of
what is termed civilization, and there
remain as long as possible." In an-
other characteristic letter, written a
few months before he graduated, he
says of the Presidential canvassing
then going on: "You, no doubt, are
not only firmly impressed, but abso-
lutely certain, that General Harrison
will be our next president. For my
part, though of course but a superficial
observer, I do not think there is the
1563)
564
WILLIAM TECUMSEH SHERMAN.
least hope of such a change, since his
friends have thought proper to enve-
lope his name with log cabins, ginger-
bread, hard cider, and such humbug-
ging, the sole object of which plainly is
to deceive and mislead his ignorant and
prejudiced, though honest, fellow-citi-
zens ; whilst his qualifications, his hon-
esty, his merits, and services are barely
alluded to."* Sherman thus early had
a true soldier's dislike to shams and
pretences.
On graduating, he was appointed
Brevet Second-lieutenant in the Third
Regiment of Artillery, and was sent to
serve in Florida. There he remained
for two years employed in the duties
of camp life, with occasional inroads
upon the belligerent Indians; and in
1842, after a brief period of command
at Fort Morgan, at the Ba}^ of Mobile,
was stationed at Fort Moultrie, in
Charleston harbor. Here, and with
occasional employment in other parts
of the South, he continued till 1846,
the period of the war with Mexico,
when he was assigned to duty as re-
cruiting-officer at Pittsburgh, Pennsyl-
vania. At his request for active ser-
vice in the field, he was presently, in
the summer of that year, ordered to
California to act in concert with Colonel
Kearney's overland expedition. There
he was employed as Acting- Assistant
Adjutant-General of the forces in the
Tenth Military Department, discharg-
ing the duties of the office with ex-
* Sherman and his Campaigns: a military
Biography, by Col S . M. Bowman and Lt.-Col.
R. B. Irwin. to vnich valuable work and a Me-
moir of Sherman, also by Col. Bowman, in the
" United State.* Service Magazine" for August
and September, 1864, we are greatly indebted for
the materials of this notice.
amplary fidelity and efficiency. In
1850, he returned to the United States,
and was married to the daughter of his
O
friend Mr. Ewing. In the following
year he was brevetted captain for his
services in Mexico. In 1853, the Army
offering but an inadequate means of
support, he resigned his commission
and became a manager of the branch
banking-house of Messrs. Lucas, Turner
& Co., at San Francisco. He was en-
gaged in this business for some years,
till the branch-house was closed up ;
after which, early in 1860, he accepted
the office of Superintendent of the
State Military Academy of Louisiana,
at Alexandria.
Here he displayed his usual vigor and
administrative abilities, and when the
schemes of the Southern leaders were
ripe for open hostility, they hoped to
secure the powerful aid of Sherman
and retain him in their service. But
he was too clear-sighted and sincere
a patriot to accept such conditions.
When the disguise which had been
maintained was removed, and the Stato
of Louisiana had placed itself iii an
open attitude of rebellion, Sherman
did not for a moment hesitate, but
placed his resignation in the hands of
the governor in the following charac
teristic letter: "Sir, As 'I occupy a
quasi-military position under this State,
I deem it proper to acquaint you that
I accepted such a position when Louisi.
ana was a State in the Union, and when
the motto of the Seminary, inserted in
marble over the main door, was : '•By
the liberality of the General Govern-
ment of the United States : The Union
i — Esto Perpetual Recent events fore
shadow a great change, and it becomes
WILLIAM TECUMSEFI SHERMAN".
565
all men to choose. If Louisiana with-
draws from the Federal Union, I prefer
to maintain my allegiance to the old
constitution as long as a fragment of it
survives, and my longer stay here
would be wrong in every sense of the
word. In that event, I beg you will
•send or appoint some authorized agent
to take charge of the arms and muni-
tions of war here belonging to the
State, or direct me what disposition
should be made of them. And, further-
more, as President of the Board of Su-
pervisors, I beg you to take immediate
steps to relieve me as superintendent
the moment the State determines to se-
cede ; for on no earthly account will I
do any act, or think any thought, hos-
tile to or in defiance of the old govern-
ment of the United States."
Sherman now left the South, joined
his family at the North, and soon offered
his services at Washington for the sup-
pression of the rebellion, of the danger
and magnitude of which he in vain
warned the authorities. Lincoln, it is
said, smiled at his enthusiastic energy.
" We shall not need many men like
you," said he; "the affair will soon
blow over." Sherman had lived too
long in the South, and had too recently
escaped from the intrigues of the rebel
chiefs, not to know better. It was the
season of palliatives ; nor could the in-
genuous mind of an American patriot
readily be brought to believe in the
probability of so atrocious a war as
that which was soon after waged
against the honor and liberties of the
country. Sherman's friends, knowing
his ability, sought employment for him,
arst as Chief Clerk of the War De-
partment, and afterwards as Quarter-
ii.— 71
master-General in place of Gen. Joseph
E. Johnson, resigned ; but both appli-
cations were neglected. Presently Fort
Sumter fell ; the North was aroused to
arms, and Sherman was directed to
raise a regiment of three months' men
in Ohio. He did not believe in three
months' soldiers in a war the magni-
tude of which he clearly foresaw ; and
waited, knowing that he would not
have long to wait, for more regular and
important service. When the United
States army was enlarged in May, ho
was appointed colonel of the new Thir
teenth regiment of Infantry. Before
the command was organized, Gen. Mc-
Dowell, with the levies of Volunteers,
took the field before Washington, and,
in view of the impending attack on
the enemy at Manassas, Col. Sherman
was ordered to report to him, and in
the organization of his forces, was ap-
pointed to the command of the Third
Brigade in the division of Brigadier-
General Tyler. The brigade was com-
posed of the Thirteenth, Sixty-ninth,
and Seventy-ninth New York and
Second Wisconsin regiments of Infan-
try, with Capt. Ay res' battery of the
Regular Artillery.
In the movement preliminary to the
battle at Bull Run, Sherman's Brigade
was in the advance with Tyler's di-
vision, in the occupation of Centreville,
and in the dispositions of the memor-
able Sunday, the 21st of July, was
sent to threaten the Stone Bridge, to
cover the grand flanking movement on
the enemy's left. When the action was
brought on by the passage of the river *
at Stfdley's Springs, Hunter's division
was attacked, 'Sherman crossed the
stream to support the advance,
566
WILLIAM TECUMSEH SHERMAK
and was presently actively engag-
ed.
The action at Bull Run was a prac-
tical comment on Sherman's advice as
to the conduct of the war. A larger
o
scale of operations was adopted, and in
the new appointments which became
requisite, he was, in August, commis-
sioned Brigadier-General of Volunteers.
On the organization of the Department
of Kentucky, in the following month,
he was ordered to report to Gen. An-
derson, then at its head, and on the re-
tirement of that officer in October be-
came his successor. His duties were to
call out the quota of the troops of the
State summoned by the President, and
presently to oppose the enemy, who
was in force in the southern and west-
ern counties. Whilst he was marshal-
ling his troops for this purpose, the
general spirit of disaffection was gain-
ing ground in the State. The Confede-
rates, with vast resources in their rear,
were in strength on its frontiers, and
everything, to his experienced eye, por-
tended a desperate struggle. At this
time, in October, Cameron, the Secre-
tary of War, and Adjutant-General
Thomas visited the Department in a
western tour of observation and inquiry.
" What force do you require ? " they
asked of Sherman. " Sixty thousand,"
was his reply, " to drive the enemy out
of Kentucky; two hundred thousand to
finish the war in this section." The
report of the interview was published ;
the candor, sincerity, and, as it proved,
absolute correctness of the estimate,
were misrepresented, and interpreted
as evidence of sympathy with the re-
bellion, or, more charitably, to derange-
ment of the brain of the calculator.
Sherman, the most sagacious man at
the time in the army, was popularly
represented, in consequence of this
sound arithmetical calculation, as out
of his wits. The story of this delusion
is worth remembering as a possible
corrective or preventive of such dan-
gerous opinions in the future. " A
writer for one of the newspapers,' says
his biographer, Col. Bowman/' declared
that Sherman was crazy. Insanity is
hard to prove ; harder still to disprove,
especially when the suspicion rests up-
on a difference of opinion; and then
the infirmities of great minds are al-
ways fascinating to common minds
The public seized with avidity upon
the anonymous insinuation, and ac-
cepted it as an established conclu-
T>
sion.
It was probably in consequence of
this absurdity that General Sherman,
in November, was superseded in the
Department of Kentucky by General
Buell. He was ordered to report to
Major-General Halleck, then in com-
mand of the important military Depart-
ment of the West, with his headquar-
ters at St. Louis. When Gen. Grant
followed up his capture of Fort Henry
in February, 1862, Gen. Sherman was
stationed at Paducah, charged with
sending forward reinforcements and
supplies — a most important duty,which
required all his energy, but giving lit-
tle distinction in the theatre of war.
From this employment, on the subse-
quent organization of the Army of the
Tennessee, Sherman was called to the
field in command of its Fifth Division.
In the middle of March he landed with
his brigades at Pittsburgh Landing, on
the Tennessee river, preparatory to the
WILLIAM TECUMSEII S1IERMAK
567
intended movement of General Halleck
with his army upon the enemy under
Beauregard at Corinth. The several
divisions of the Army of the Tennessee
arrived soon after, and were encamped
at the landing, where Gen. Grant, in
command of the whole, waited the ar-
rival of Gen. Buell with his forces from
Nashville. The latter was slow in
coming up, and Johnston, the Confede-
rate commander, taking advantage of
the delay, resolved upon attacking the
Union army in its camp on the river
before the junction was effected. Ac-
cordingly, having his troops well in
hand, he made his assault in force on
the morning of the 6th of April upon
Sherman's front and centre at Shiloh
Church, and immediately after upon
other portions of the line. The battle
became general ; the enemy pushed on
in numbers and with great vigor, deter-
mined, if possible, to drive the army
into the river. His success in the early
part of the day seemed to promise this
result, as positions were taken, regi-
ments broken, and defeat appeared im-
minent ; but Sherman, compelled to
retreat, fell back only to maintain a
new line, and by his energy in the field
in arousing the courage of his men, by
his skilful dispositions, the effective
management of his batteries, and the
support he gave the other divisions,
saved the fortunes of the day. Though
severely wounded by a bullet in the
left hand, he persistently kept the field
and was in the thickest of the fight.
General Grant, who arrived on the field
after the action was advanced, testified
generously to the merits of his division
comman ler. " At the battle of Shiloh,"
he subsequently wrote to the War De-
partment, " on the first day, Sherman
held with raw troops the key-point of
the landing. It is no disparagement to
any other officer to say that I do not
believe there was another division com-
mander on the field who had the skill
and experience to have done it. To
his individual efforts I am indebted
for the success of that battle." In the
night the division of Lewis Wallace
came up, Buell's army arrived, the gun-
boats in the river did good service in
repelling and annoying the enemy, and
every preparation was made to attack
the enemy in turn on the morrow.
General Beauregard,who had succeeded
in the command to Sidney Johnston,
who was slain upon the field, awaited
the assault at Shiloh, after a sharp
contest, was driven back, and on the
afternoon of the 7th was on his retreat
to Corinth. On this second day Sher-
man's gallantry was equally conspic-
uous. He had three horses shot under
him, and, mounting a fourth, kept the
field.
To Shiloh succeeded the gradual ap-
proach to and final capture of Corinth,
in the operations attending which Sher-
man's division was constantly conspic-
uous. It was foremost in the advance,
and first to enter the abandoned town.
"No amount of sophistry," wrote Sher-
man, in his congratulatory order on the
event, " no words from the leaders of
the rebellion can succeed in giving the
evacuation of Corinth, under the cir-
cumstances, any other title than that of
a signal defeat, more humiliating to
them and their cause than if we had
entered the place over the dead and
mangled bodies of their soldiers. We
are not here to kill and sJay, but tc
568
WILLIAM TECUMSEH SHERMAK
vindicate the honor and just authority
of that government which has been be-
queathed to us by our honored fathers,
and to whom we would be recreant if
we permitted their work to pass to our
children marred and spoiled by ambi-
tious and wicked rebels." For his suc-
cess in this campaign, Sherman was ap-
pointed Major-General of Volunteers.
During the month of June, Sherman
was employed in active operations in
northern Mississippi, and in July, when
General Grant, on the appointment of
General Halleck to the chief command
at Washington, succeeded that officer
in the enlarged Department of the Ten-
nessee, was sent to take charge of the
city and district of Memphis, a mixed
military and civil authority, which he
exercised with his accustomed energy
and activity, coercing the disaffected
inhabitants where necessary, protecting
the interests of the nation, punishing
guerillas, and as far as possible causing
safety and order in place of peril and
confusion. It was a position of no lit-
tle difficulty to adjust the proper limits
of restraint ; and Sherman was naturally
exposed, a probable proof of his fair-
ness, to censure from both sides. Vin-
dicating his course to a complaining
Southern lady, he subsequently wrote:
" During my administration of affairs
in Memphis, I know it was raised from
a condition of death, gloom, and sad-
ness to one of life and comparative
prosperity. Its streets, stores, hotels,
and dwellings were sad and deserted as
I entered it, and when I left it life and
business prevailed, and over fourteen
hundred enrolled Union men paraded
its streets, boldly and openly carrying
the banners of our country. No citi-
zen, Union or secesh, will deny that 1
acted lawfully, firmly, and fairly, and
that substantial justice prevailed with
even balance."
In the farther operations of General
Grant on the Mississippi river, he con-
stantly relied on the high military quali
ties of Sherman. Vicksburg was the
next important point to secure on the
river. It was the key, in fact, of the
Southwest. The enemy knew this,
and took measures to protect it accord-
ingly. To its capture Grant now de-
voted all his energies. His first at-
tempt was planned in concert with
Gen. Sherman. The latter was to em-
bark on the river, descend to the Yazoo,
and attack the Vicksburg defences
directly, while Grant was to advance
by land on the line of the railway to
Jackson, and there secure the outlet of
the city in the rear. Both of these de-
signs failed in execution. Grant was
detained by the surprise and surrender
of his depot of supplies at Holly Spring,
and Sherman, making good his landing
on the Yazoo, after much gallant fight-
ing; in the last week of December, was
o
compelled to turn back from the em-
barrassed ground and powerful defences
of the enemy at the Chickasaw Bluff.
As he was returning from the river in
his transports, Gen. Sherman was met
by Gen. McClernand, by whom he was
superseded in his command. A new
organization of the army, however, was
presently effected, by which Sherman
was placed in command of the Fifteenth
Army Corps, one of the four great divis-
ions of Gen. Grant's Arniy of the Ten-
nessee.
The first attack on Vicksburg had
been well planned, and was uusucces.H
WILLIAM TECUMSEH SHERMAN.
569
ful. It was presently redeemed by
•mother, planned by Gen. Sherman,
which was successful. This was the
attack on Fort Hindman, or Arkansas
Post, a well-constructed work on a
bluff at an advantageous point of the
Arkansas river, fifty miles from its
mouth, the guardian of the central por-
tion of the State and of the approach
to Little Hock. A week after the re-
embarkation on the Yazoo, on the 9th
of January, 1863, the troops of Sher-
man and McClernand, in concert with
the fleet of Admiral Porter, were in ac-
tion at Arkansas Post. Sherman's dis-
positions were, as usual, well made, in-
vesting the fort in the rear, while its
guns were silenced by the gunboats.
We now arrive at the series of im-
portant operations attending the siege
and final capture of Vicksburg. The
first of these with which Sherman was
connected was the attempt of Admiral
Porter to penetrate to the Yazoo in
the rear of the formidable works at
Haines' Bluff, by Steele's bayou and
an inner chain of creeks and water-
courses, which it was considered might
be traversed by the gunboats. Sher-
man was to cross the swampy land
with a division of his corps in support
of the movement. The boats met
with unexpected difficulty in the im-
peded course of the streams, which
were obstructed by fallen trees, and
occasionally so narrow as to render
navigation difficult. But by persever-
ance these impediments were overcome,
and the fleet was about to enter the
Yazoo, as anticipated, when its course
was arrested by a body of the enemy
on land. The vessels, sorely beset by
batteries, sharp-shooters, and renewed
efforts to obstruct the streams, were
in great peril, when they were relieved
by the arrival of Sherman's advance
which had made its way by forced
marches, under unusual difficulties, to
their rescue. The success of this en-
terprise would have secured an impor-
tant portion of the country, rich in
supplies, on the enemy's flank, and a
base for further operations.
After the failure of this undertaking-,
Grant began in earnest his meditated
approach to Vicksburg by effecting a
landing below the city. To accom-
plish this, it was necessary to descend
the Mississippi on the right bank to a
point sixty or seventy miles distant
from Milliken's Bend, and then cross
the river to the new line of operations
on the flank and rear of Vicksbmg.
The corps of Sherman was left to bring
up the rear in the land movement of
the troops, but they were not left
without an object. While Grand
Gulf, the first point of assault below
Vicksburg, was being assailed, it was
necessary, to prevent reinforcements
being sent to the garrison, that the
attention of the enemy should be
attracted in another direction. Sher-
man was accordingly sent up the Y"azoo
to manoeuvre and apparently threaten
the old works at Haines' Bluff. This
was skilfully performed, as directed,
on the last days of April, and when
this work was accomplished Sherman
put his command in rapid motion on
the west bank of the Mississippi, for
the proposed point opposite Grand
Gulf, where he crossed on the 6th of
May. That place, in consequence of
the engagement at Fort Gibson, and
other operations, after resisting the
670
WILLIAM TECUMSEH SHERMAK
first assault of the gun-boats, had been
evacuated ; and Sherman, in compliance
with the orders of General Grant, was
free to push on in support of the rapid
movement of the other corps. While
McPherson, the gallant commander of
the Sixteenth Army Corps, was suc-
cessfully engaged at Raymond on the
12th, Sherman was skirmishing at
Fourteen Mile Creek. Their forces
were then joined in pursuit of the
enemy at Jackson, where they acted
in concert in defeating and driving
the enemy from the city. Sherman
was ordered to destroy the railways in
the vicinity, and a few days after was
in motion again, in what Grant called
"his almost unequalled march" from
Jackson to Bridgeport, compelling the
evacuation of Haines' Bluff and con-
necting the right of Grant's army
with the Mississippi. Vicksburg was
thus invested, and after two unsucces-
ful assaults, conducted with extraor-
dinary valor, in which Sherman's corps
bore a distinguished part, the regular
siege operations here commenced which
led to the surrender of the garrison
and the occupation of the city on the
memorable Fourth of July. Sherman
was now sent in pursuit of the Con-
federate General Joseph E. Johnston,
who had been hovering in the rear,
seeking to relieve the garrison at Vicks-
burg. He overtook him at Jackson,
drove him from the city, and again
and more thoroughly destroyed the
railway communications leading in-
land. " The siege of Vicksburg and
last capture of Jackson and dispersion
of Johnston's army," wrote General
Grant, in his dispatch, ;< entitle Gene-
ral Sherman to more credit than
usually falls to the lot of one man to
earn."
Sherman acted up to his resolve.
No one was more intent than himself
that the military advantage of the fall
of Vicksburg should not be lost, and
" fulfilled all its conditions " with more
indomitable perse verence. Henceforth
he is the conspicuous personage in the
conduct of the war in the South-west
and South, arid his genius is in those
extensive regions from the Mississippi
to the Atlantic, everywhere active and
triumphant. Vicksburg having fallen,
the central position of Chattanooga be-
came the immediate point of conflict
between the opposing forces. Thither,
on the defeat of Rosecrans by Gen.
Bragg, before that place, Sherman was
summoned, in September, by Gen.
Grant from his position in the rear of
Vicksburg. Taking his corps by water
to Memphis he set out from that place
in the early days of October, on a
march of unusual difficulty, passing
through Corinth and luka, driving the
enemy from Tuscombia, and crossing
the Tennessee river with his forces at
Eastport, and thence by forced marches
pursuing his way far north of the river
by Fayetteville to Bridgeport, in the
immediate vicinity of the scene of action,
which he reached on the loth of Nov-
ember. On his march, he received at
luka orders from General Grant assign-
ing him to the command of the Army
of the Tennessee, under the new organ-
ization by which Grant himself was
placed at the head of the Military
Division of the Mississippi.
Sherman's arrival at Bridgeport was
the signal for Grant's decisive move
ments upon the enemy's positions at
"WILLIAM TECUMSEII SHERMAN".
Missionary Ridge and Lookout Moun-
tain. The leading strategic operations
were entrusted to Sherman and carried
out by him with his usual diligence
and inventive resources. Seizing the
outposts of the enemy, he promptly
succeeded in getting his command
across the river, and on the afternoon
of November 24 surprised and occu-
pied the extremity of the Ridge. The
next day he followed up this advan-
tage by a determined attack on the
enemy's second and stronger position
on the Ridge, and so maintained the
struggle with the enemy, that upon
the advance of Gen. Thomas upon the
centre in the afternoon, the victory
was complete. Sherman was now
further employed in pursuing the
flying foe and cutting off his railway
communications with Longstreet, who
had been sent to besiege Burnside at
Knoxville. The latter, severely pressed,
in danger of starvation, called loudly
for help, and Sherman, "ever good at
need," was sent by Gen. Grant to his
relief. The Army of the Tennessee,
after its fatiguing series of marches,
and sanguinary engagements, was
certainly in no condition for the extra-
ordinary efforts required in this new
expedition. But there was no time
to rest or even provide for its necessi-
ties. "Seven days before," says Sher-
man in his report, u we had left our
camps on the other side of the Tennes-
see, with two days' rations, without a
change of clothing, stripped for the
fight, with but a single blanket or coat
per man, from myself to the private
included. Of course, we that had no
provision, save what we gathered
along the road, were ill-supplied
for such a march. But we learned
that twelve thousand of our fellow-
soldiers were beleaguered in the moun-
tain-town of Knoxville, eighty-four
miles distant, that they needed relief,
and must have it in three days. This
was enough ; and it had to be done."
And it was done : the march, notwith-
standing the presence of the enemy on
the route, and the serenity of mid-win
ter in the mountains, was accomplished
between the 28th of November and
the 5th of December, when, on the
immediate approach of the army to
the city, Longstreet having tried his
strength against the works without
success, retreated, and Knoxville was
again in safety. General Burnside
felt that he was greatly indebted to
Sherman for his deliverance, and
courteously acknowledged the obliga-
tion. Reviewing the entire campaign
from Vicksburg to Knoxville, Gen.
Sherman in his report says, " I must
do justice to my command for the
patience, cheerfulness and courage
which officers and men have displayed
throughout, in battle, on the march
and in. camp. For long periods, with-
out regular rations or supplies of any
kind, they have marched through mud
and over rocks, sometimes barefooted,
without a moment's rest. After a
march of over four hundred miles,
without stop for three successive nights,
we crossed the Tennessee, fought our
part of the battle of Chattanooga,
pursued the enemy out of Tennessee,
and then turned more than a hundred
miles north and compelled Longstreet
to raise the seige of Knoxville, which
gave so much anxiety to the whole
country."
WILLIAM TECUMSEII SHERMAN.
There being now necessarily an in.
termission of active army operations,
Sherman returned for a time to the
scene of his recent command at Mem-
phis. Here he had again an oppor-
tunity, and was required to deal with
the disaffected population of his mili-
tary district. But he was as ready for
this emergency as for any other, being
quite as adroit with the pen as with
the sword, as his frequent correspond-
ence with various parties on many of
the questions arising out of the war
has witnessed.
The next move of Sherman was of
his own planning," " the Meridian raid,"
or military expedition, which, crossing
the centre of the State of Mississippi,
in February, 1864, penetrated to the
Alabama line, and did immense damage
' O
to the important railway communica-
tions on the route. Much more might
have been accomplished had the whole
scheme of operations been carried out.
It was designed by Gen. Sherman that
General W. S. Smith, of his command,
starting from Memphis, should advance
with about eight thousand calvary on
the Mobile and Ohio railway to Merid-
ian, where he himself, having marched
due east from Vicksburg, would effect
a junction with him, and act further
against the Confederate forces in that
region. Sherman moved with regular-
ity, and was promptly at Meridian ; but,
finding that the expected calvary had
not arrived, and there was no prospect
of their approach, after destroying th'e
railways and vast stores of the enemy,
fell back leisurely to his former position
at Vicksburg. The expedition was in-
tended as a diversion in favor of certain
projected naval operations against Mo-
bile, which were deferred for a more
favorable opportunity.
The succeeding month of March was
marked by an event of great import
ance in the history of the war. Gen.
Grant was called to Washington with
the rank of Lieutenant-General, and
placed in command of the armies of the
United States, and on his departure
for the East, Gen. Sherman was as-
signed to the command of the military
division of the Mississippi. On receiv-
ing this order at Memphis, on the 14th
of March, he hastened to join Grant
at Nashville, and accompanied him as
far as Cincinnati, on his way to Wash-
ington. " In a parlor of the Burnet
House at Cincinnati," says Col. Bow-
man, " bending over their maps, the
two generals, who had so long been
inseparable, planned together that co-
lossal structure whereof the great cam-
paigns of Richmond and Atlanta were
but two of the parts, and grasping one
another firmly by the hand, separated,
one to the east, the other to the west,
each to strike at the same instant his
half of the ponderous death-blow."
The Atlanta campaign of Gen. Sher-
man began with the concentration of
his forces, numbering nearly ninety-
nine thousand men and two hundred
and forty-four guns in the three army
divisions of the Cumberland, the Ten-
nessee, and the Ohio, at or within
supporting distance of Chattanooga.
Thomas, McPherson, and Schofield were
the major-generals commanding the sev-
eral divisions. In front, the Confede.
rate General Johnston, with about
forty thousand infantry and four thou-
sand cavalry held the line of the Chat-
tanooga and Atlanta railway, with
WILLIAM TECUMSEH SHEKMAN.
573
his Lead-quarters at Dalton. This was
the general position at the beginning
of May, when Sherman, having col-
lected vast stores of supplies at Chat-
tanooga, directed his army against the
enemy. Atlanta, the object of the
campaign, was one hundred and thirty
miles from his starting-point, by a road
easily to be defended at various passes
and defiles. It is not necessary here to
pursue the details of Sherman's masterly
report of the march and the series of bat-
tles by which he made good his progress,
and within three months of continuous
hard fighting, at length gained his end.
Now ensued another characteristic
correspondence of Sherman, with the
Confederate Gen. Hood and the Mayor
of Atlanta. It was necessary to hold
the city which was to become the start-
ing point of a new and decisive move-
ment, and it was Sherman's design to
make it strictly a military post. This
involved the removal of the citizens
who remained in it, for there was no
means of support left them there, and,
judging by past experience, it was
difficult or impossible to prevent them
from communicating with the enemy
without. It was the heart of a hostile
country, and strict military precaution
was the only rule. Sherman accord-
ingly proposed a ten days' truce to the
Confederate Gen. Hoodfor the removal.
Hood accepted, but denounced loudly
the " studied and ungenerous cruelty
of the act," protesting against it, " in
the name of the God of humanity."
Sherman replied by instancing the
similar conduct of Johnson and of Hood
himself in this very campaign, retort-
ing upon his adversary his view of the
iniquities of the war.
ii.— 72
To the Mayor of the city, who had
made a more courteous remonstrance,
he replied at length, candidly stating
in plain language the real grounds of
the difficulty: — "You cannot," said he,
" have peace and a division of our
country. If the United States sub-
mits to a division now, it will not
stop, but will go on till we reap the
fate of Mexico, which is eternal war.
The United States does and must
assert its authority wherever it has
power ; if it relaxes one bit to pressure
it is gone, and I know that such is not
the national feeling. This feeling
assumes various shapes, but always
comes back to that of Union. Once
admit the Union, once more acknowl-
edge the authority of the National
Government, and instead of devoting
your houses and streets and roads to
the dread uses of war, I, and this army
become at once your protectors and
supporters, shielding you from danger,
let it come from what quarter it niaj."
When Hood, presently, in October,
threatened Sherman's communications
with Chattanooga, the latter again took
the field in pursuit, the Confederate
General retiring before him. It was
now Hood's object, under instructions
from Richmond, to unite with other
Confederate troops in an invasion of
Tennessee, with the presumption that
Sherman would thus be withdrawn
from Atlanta. But Sherman had nc
idea of being turned backward ; he
knew his own strength, and the weak
ness of the enemy ; and, leaving him in
his rear, to be dealt with by General
Thomas, hastened to inflict a meditated
blow on Georgia and South Carolina,
which would demonstrate his old con-
5T4:
WILLIAM TECFMSEH SHEKMAN.
victlons expressed in the letter to Grant,
which we have recited. This was his
grand march from Atlanta to Savannah^
and subsequently from Savannah to
Raleigh. By the middle of November
the army was grouped about Atlanta.
The first object of Sherman, as stated
in his report, was " to place his army
in the very heart of Georgia, interpos-
ing between Macon and Augusta, and
obliging the enemy to divide his forces
to defend not only these points, but
Millen, Savannah, and Charleston."
The movement was successful. By
pursuing this central route, with va-
rious side movements, distracting the
attention of the enemy, Savannah was
captured, and the success of the cam-
paign was established. It was about
a month from the time of leaving At-
O
lanta that Savannah surrendered. On
taking possession on the 21st of De-
cember, Sherman sent this note to
President Lincoln : " I beg to present
you, as a Christmas gift, the city of
Savannah, with one hundred and fifty
heavy guns, and also about twenty-
five thousand bales of cotton." Be-
fore another month had elapsed, Sher-
man had commenced his march through
South and North Carolina. Columbia
was taken, and Charleston gained by
his strategy. The former surrendered
an the 17th of February, 1865; on the
12th of MarcL, the army was at Fa-
yetteville, North Carolina, a battle with
Gen. Johnston's forces was fought at
Bentonville on the 19th, and Goldsboro
immediately occupied. Leaving his
army at that place, Sherman hastened
to City Point, on the James river, where
he had an interview with President
Lincoln and General Grant on the 27th.
The two great armies were now in
supporting distance of each other.
Two days after the meeting of the
generals, Grant's army was in motion,
the commencement of the final move-
ment which ended on the 9th of April
in the surrender of Lee's army. Sher-
man at the same time was pressing
Johnston, who, on the 14th, proposed a
capitulation. Four days after, a memo-
randum or basis of agreement was
agreed upon between the two generals
involving certain conditions of restor-
ation to the Union of the rebel States
and people, which were presently set
aside for the simple terms of military
surrender accorded by Grant to Lee.
This act substantially closed the war
for the Union. On the 4th of March,
1869, when General Grant resigned his
high military rank to enter upon his
duties as President, General Sherman,
by act of Congress, succeeded to his
position as General of the Army of the
United States. In tracing Sherman's
career, we have sufficiently developed
his character ; and here we close our
record, leaving him at the height of
honor and fame, to pursue his career
of usefulness in the army, happily in
the ordinary discharge of its duties,
the object of love and admiration to
his countrymen for his great services
to the Nation.
ALEXANDRINA VICTORIA.
A LEXANDRINA VICTORIA,
JL\. the only child of Edward, Duke
of Kent, the fourth son of George III.
and of Victoire Maria Louisa, daughter
of Francis, Duke of Saxe Coburg Saal-
feld, was horn at Kensington Palace,
near London, on the 24th of May
1819. Her ancestry on the father's
side may thus be traced through the
succession of the House of Hanover to
the Electress Sophia, the youngest of
the large family of Elizabeth, Queen
of Bohemia, the daughter of James I.,
and so upward along the line of Eng-
lish sovereigns. On the maternal side
her lineage ascends through a direct
line of Saxon ancestors, numbering
twenty five generations, to the tenth
century. Passing down this long pedi-
gree in the fifteenth century, we light
upon a certain Frederick the Peacea-
ble, Elector of Saxony, in whose family
occurred an incident of interest in any
history of the race of Queen Victoria.
As the story has been related by Gar-
lyle in his usual graphic manner, after
his usual diligent research, it may
readily, following his narrative, be here
reproduced for the reader. "In those
troublous times, with the constant
divisions of territory going on in the
family successions of the Saxon house>
it was difficult even for a ruler who
had earned the title of ' The Peaceable '
not to have his fingers sometimes in
war and marauding. This happened
in the end to Frederick in a war with
his brother, growing out of the settle-
ment of a disputed territory, in which
he employed a certain German mer-
cenary leader named Kunz von Kauf-
ungen to fight for him. Before this
little military transaction got itself
settled, Kunz was a loser by some
very hard knocks, his 'old tower of
Kaufungen and all his properties
wasted by ravages of war/ and ho
himself taken prisoner by the Bohe-
mians, from which he could extricate
himself only by the payment of 4,000
gold gulden, about ten thousand dol-
lars, a sufficient sum for an exhausted
freebooter. He claimed this to be re-
turned from the Elector Frederick,
who would not pay, but proposed ar-
bitration, which was partially sub-
mitted to; but Kunz, not liking the
appearance of the Court, went away
before the verdict was delivered, which
turned out to be as unsatisfactory as
he expected."
Having correspondence with a trai-
(575)
576
ALEXANDRIA VICTORIA.
torous cook or scullion in the Elec-
toral Castle at Altenburg, he was in-
formed one day of an opportunity for
his threatened revenge, such as he had
been long looking for. The Elector
was to be absent on a journey to
Leipzig, leaving the Electress with the
two princes, Ernest and Albert, at
home, while the servants, on a certain
night, being invited to a supper in the
town, would be away drinking. Kunz,
accordingly, with his two Squires
Moseu and Schonberg, military adven-
turers quartered with him, set out
from Isenburg to capture the princes.
Arriving with his party towards mid-
night of the 7th of July, 1455, before
the castle, he is admitted within its
walls by the faithless scullion by rope
ladders ; the doors of the apartments
are locked by the band from the out-
side, and the outer portals secured,
Kunz being from old residence famil-
iar with the place. The two princes
are seized, boys of the age of fourteen
and twelve, and brought down to the
court-yard, where Ernest is identified,
and his companion proves to be, not
Albert, but another youth, his bed-fel-
low. The mistake is soon corrected,
the genuine Albert being found under
his bed ; and the prey being thus se-
cured, Kunz and his freebooters take
to horse, while the Electress, from a
window, shrieks and pleads in vain.
Take anything else, <(only leave my
children ! " The band now divides for
safety — Kunz with the younger prince,
Albert, taking one direction ; Mosen,
with Ernest in his possession, the
other, mainly through a wild forest re-
gion, to cross the border to Bohemia.
They have hardly departed when the
servants of the castle, having burst the
doors, ring the alarm bell of the castle,
which is echoed by the bell of the
town, and that by others through the
region. The hue and cry is fully up
in Saxony, and it requires hard riding
and skilful windings to escape the
pursuers. But it is injustice to the
reader to continue the story at this
point in other language than that oi
Carlyle. " A hot day, and a dreadfu.
ride through boggy wastes and intri-
cate mountain woods ; with the alarm
bell, and shadow of the gallows, dog-
ging one all the way. Here, however,
we are now within an hour of the
Bohemian border — cheerily, my men,
through these wild woods and hills.
The young Prince, a boy of twelve,
declares himself dying of thirst. Kunz,
not without pity, not without anxiety
on that head, bids his men ride on, all
but himself and two Squires shall ride
on, get every thing ready at Isenburg,
whither we and his young Highness
will soon follow. Kunz encourages
the Prince, dismounts, he and his
Squires, to gather him some bilberries.
Kunz is busy in that search, — when a
black figure staggers in upon the scene,
a grimy Kohler, namely Collier, (char-
coal-burner), with a long poking-pole
(what he calls scfiurbaum) in his hand.
Grimy Collier, just awakened from his
after-dinner nap, somewhat astonished
to find company in these solitudes.
* How, what ! Who is the young gen-
tleman ? What are my Herren pleas-
ed to be doing here?' inquired the
Collier. ' Pooh, a youth who has run
away from his relations ; who has fal
len thirsty : do you know where bil-
berries are "{ — No ? — Then why not
ALEXANDRINA VICTORIA.
577
walk on your way, my grim one ? '
The grim one Las heard ringing of
alarm-bells all day ; is not quite in
haste to go. Kunz, whirling round to
make him go, is caught in the bushes
by his spurs, falls flat on his face ; the
young Prince whispers eagerly, 1 1 am
Prince Albert, and am stolen.' Whew-
wew! — One of the Squires aims a
blow at the Prince, so it is said, per-
haps it was at the Collier only : the
Collier wards with his poking-pole,
strikes fiercely with his poking-pole,
fells down the Squire, belabors Kunz
himself. During which the Collier's
dog lustily barks ; and, behold, the
Collier's wife comes running on the
scene, and with her shrieks brings a
/ O
body of other colliers upon it: Kunz
is e\7idently done ! He surrenders, with
his Squires and Prince ; is led by this
black body-guard, armed with axes,
shovels, poking-poles, to the neighbor-
ing monastery of Griinhain (Green
Grove), and is there safe warded un-
der lock and key. * * * From Grun-
hain Monastery, the Electress, glad-
dest of Saxon mothers, gets back her
younger boy to Altenburg, with hope
of the other: praised be heaven for-
ever for it. ' And you, O Collier of a
thousand ! what is your wish ; what is
your want ? How dared you beard
such a lion as that Kunz ; you with
your simple poking-pole ; you, Collier,
sent of heaven?' 'Madam, I drilled
him soundly with my poking-pole (liab
ihn weidlich getrillt ;') at which they
all laughed, and called the Collier der
Triller, the Driller."*
Presently, after a three days' hunt,
* "Tho Prinzenraub: a Glimpse of Saxon
History." — Westminster Review, January, 1855.
in which his party is dismembered,
Mosen, in charge of Prince Ernest, is
at bay, taking refuge in a hidden cave,
whence, having heard that Kunz 18
taken and probably beheaded, he ne-
gotiates terms of surrender, escaping
scot free on delivery of the boy. So
that the parents have now their two
sons restored to them, and all within
the week of his desperate adventure
the head of Kunz is severed from his
neck at Freyberg. The Collier, or
Driller, as he wras thenceforth called, in
compliance with his modest request,
was rewarded with the privilege secur-
ed to him and his posterity, of gather-
ing waste wood from the forest for his
charring purposes, to which was added
an annual grant of corn and a suffi-
cient little farm, which appears to
have been until quite recently occu-
pied by the family, but which is now
(or was in 1856) the site of a large
brewery, where the best of beer could
be drunk by the most loyal of Saxons
in honor of the preserver of their an-
cient ducal line. It was in memory of
the children thus rescued from captivi-
ty that, nearly three centuries after-
wards, a reigning Duke of Saxe Co-
burg named his two sons Ernest and
Albert, the latter being known to his-
tory as the Prince Consort of Queen
Victoria, who is also descended, as we
have stated, from this old Saxon
stock.
On the death of Frederick the
Peaceable, the family became divided
into two great branches, named from
his sons the Ernestine and the Albert-
ine. The former, in the next genera-
tion, in the persons of Frederick the
Wise and John the Stedfast, in theii
L
578
ALEXANDRIA VICTORIA.
support of Luther, became identified
with the Protestant cause, which, in
the contest which ensued with Charles
V., cost the family the electorate of
Saxony, and brought the sovereignty
into the younger or Albertine line.
The Ernestine branch, in its disinte-
grated state, then appears in possession
of minor duchies and dependencies,
bringing us down to Duke Francis of
Saxe Coburg, whose youngest daugh-
ter, Victoire Marie Louise, was first
married to the Prince of Leiningen,
and afterwards to the Duke of Kent.
This marriage took place in 1818; and,
in the spring of the following year,
there was born of the union, as we
have stated, the Princess Alexandrina
Victoria. Her maternal grandmother,
the Dowager Duchess of Coburg, on
hearing of the event, wrote to her
daughter, .the Duchess of Kent, al-
ready anticipating the accession of the
child to the throne. " Again a Char-
lotte— destined, perhaps, to play a
great part one day, if a brother is not
born to take it out of her hands. The
English like queens, and the niece of
the ever-lamented, beloved Charlotte
will be most dear to them." The allu-
sion was of course to the Princess
Charlotte, daughter of the Prince Re-
gent and Caroline of Brunswick, mar-
ried to Prince Leopold, whose death
in child-bed, in November, 1817, had
been so greatly mourned by the nation.
The newly born Victoria was thus, on
the death of her father and uncles,
presumptive heiress to the throne.
Three months afterwards, the Duchess
of Coburg again writes to her daugh-
ter, announcing to her the birth of her
sjiandchild Prince Albert, who, it
seems, was assisted into the world by
the same accoucheuse, Madame Sie-
bold, who had presided at the birth of
Victoria in May. " How pretty," says
the Duchess in this letter, " the May
Flower will be when I see it in a year's
time. Siebold cannot sufficiently des-
cribe what a dear love it is." The
Duke of Kent did not long survive the
birth of his daughter. He died in
January of the following year, and
within the same week the old King
George III. was released from his in-
firmities and gathered to his fathers.
The Princess Victoria was now left
to the care of her amiable mother in
the old Royal Palace of Kensington,
where her early years were chiefly
passed in a sort of domestic court re-
tirement, yet with favorable influences
from the great world without. As
she advanced in childhood, the proba-
bility of her being called to the throne
was manifestly increased. The Duke
of Clarence, the immediate heir to the
throne, had married the Princess Ad-
elaide, in 1818. and had issue two
daughters,both of whom died during the
infancy of Victoria. The D uke of York
died in 1827; and, consequently, when
the now childlessWilliam IV. succeeded
to George IV. in 1830, the Princess
Victoria was the next heir. In anti-
cipation of this, Parliament, in 1825,
made an additional grant of six thou-
sand pounds to the Duchess of Kentt
to continue through the minority pf
her daughter, as a provision for hei
education, which now began to be a
matter ef some public anxiety, Able
instructors were provided ; and, before
her twelfth year, we are told, she had,
among other studies, been instructed
ALEXANDRIA VICTORIA.
579
in Latin, so as to read Horace with
fluency. Mr. Westall, the artist, had
taught her drawing; and shehad exhib-
ited an enthusiastic taste for music.
She also early acquired, under the
training of an eminent riding-master,
an excellent skill in horsemanship.
During the seven years of the reign of
William IV. she became an object of
personal interest to the people in many
parts of the country by her visits with
her mother to various seats of the no-
bility, and residence at the Isle of
Wight, and other summer resorts.
In May, 1837, having attained her
eighteenth year, she was declared
legally of age, according to the pro-
visions of a recent act of Parliament;
and, on the 20th of the following
month, on the demise of William IV,
succeeded to the throne. The announce-
ment of the event was made to her at
Kensington Palace, by the Premier,
Lord Melbourne, accompanied by other
official personages. At noon she was
visited by the Lord Mayor of London
and other members of the corporation.
The Privy Council took the oaths of
allegiance and were addresed by the
Queen, in words expressing her sense
of the responsibility of her position,
and her desire to discharge the duty
for the happiness and welfare of all
classes of her subjects. It was noticed
that in this, as in all the circumstances
of the day, she conducted herself with
remarkable ease, grace, and self -posses-
ion.
The next day the Queen attended
at the Royal Palace of St. James, where
she was publicly proclaimed Queen
of Great Britain and Ireland, under
the title of Alexandrina Victoria I.
Lord Melbourne, who had always
been on friendly relations with the
Queen, representing as he did the lib-
eral political views of her father, the
Duke of Kent, was willingly retained
by her in office as the premier. In the
month of July, the Queen, with her
mother, left Kensington to reside in
Buckingham Palace. The same month
she visited, instate, the House of Lords
to dissolve parliament, in accordance
with the custom at the beginning of
a new reign ; and again delighted those
who heard her by the felicitous man-
ner in which she read the royal speech
prepared for the occasion. On the
assembling of the new parliament, a
suitable provision was made for the
Duchess of Kent, and the Queen's civil
list for salaries of household, trades-
mens' bills, etc., was fixed at £385,000
per annum, and her privy purse,
exclusively for her personal control,
at £60,000. The coronation, at West-
minster Abbey, took place on the 28th
of June 1838, with the usual imposing
ceremonies.
The wishes of the Queen's grand-
mother, the Dowager Duchess of Co-
burg were now to be fulfilled in the
union of her grand-children. She
always anticipated this, but lived only
to witness the near prospect of the
accession to the throne of the Princess
Victoria, after the death of George
IV.
The Princess Victoria saw Prince
Albert for the first time, when he
accompanied his father, Duke Ernest
of Saxe Coburg, and his brother Ernest,
on a visit to England, in 1836 and
they passed four weeks together at
Kensington Palace. • The Princess had
580
ALEXANDRIA YICTORIA.
then just completed her seventeenth
year. The Prince was three months
younger. This was a year before the
Queen came to the throne, and the
visit undoubtedly had reference to the
future possible union by marriage of
the cousins. As such, it was opposed
by the reigning sovereign William IV.
who, it seems, though he never men-
tioned the subject to the Princess her-
self, was anxious to bring about an
alliance between her and a member of
the royal family of Holland.
The impressions, received by both
parties were those of mutual admiration
and regard ; though nothing, for some
time after, was settled concerning the
important question of marriage. A
limited and reserved correspondence
was carried on between them. The
Prince addresses her on her succeeding
birthday, and in another congratulatory
letter shortly after, when she became
Queen — reminding her of her cousins,
the Prince and his brother, who were
then pursuing their university studies
at Bonn. In the meantime, King
Leopold of Belgium, the uncle of the
parties and virtually their guardian,
never lost sight of the affair of the
marriage. He directed the studies
and travels of Prince Albert with an
eye to the result, judiciously recom-
mending travels on the continent, in
which he might be at the same time
perfecting his education, and be
brought in various positions before the
public. The Queen, meantime, was
well advised of his progress, and he sent
her some memorials of his tour. At
length in the early part of 1838, a
year after her accession to the throne,
King Leopold proposed the marriage
to the Queen and the proposition seems
to have been favorably entertained :
and it was also discussed between
King Leopold and Prince Albert, who
had now become accustomed to regard
it as an event to which he might look
forward, and who naturally required
that something definite should be de-
termined respecting it. There was.
undoubtedly, some delay in the adjust-
ment of the affair, which was not
brought to an end till, in October, 1839,
Prince Albert with his brother again
visited England, bearing with him a
special letter from King Leopold to
the Queen. It was then immediately
settled.
The Princes were received on their
visit to England by the Queen at
Windsor Castle, where, about a week
after their arrival, Prince Albert was
invited to a private audience, at which
the offer of her hand, according to
royal requirement, was made.
The intention of making the first
announcement to parliament was aban-
doned and an official communication
to the Privy Council substituted in its
stead. This took place on the 23d of
November, shortly after the departure
of the Princes for Coburg. At the
meeting of Parliament, in January, the
approaching marriage was thus an-
nounced in the royal speech, delivered
by the Queen herself. " Since you
were last assembled, I have declared
my intention of allying myself in mar-
riage with the Prince Albert of Saxe-
Coburg and Gotha. I humbly implore
that the divine blessing may prosper
this union, and render it conducive to
the interests of my people, as well as
to my own domestic happiness ; and it
ALEXANDRIA YICTOEIA.
581
corresponding qualities on the part of
tlie Queen.
The early months of the Queen's
married life were happily passed in
the usual routine of Court employment
and the discharge of her public duties,
in which she was effectively but unos-
tentatiously assisted by the Prince
Consort. He was fond of theatrical
entertainments, and they attended to-
gether a series of representations at
Covent Garden, in which Charles Kem-
ble reappeared in some of Shakes-
peare's principal characters. They
also gave much attention to musical
performances, the Queen still, as she
had done for several years previously,
taking lessons in singing from Signor
Lablache, for whom she entertained a
kind regard ; considering him, in her
own words, " not only one of the finest
bass singers, and one of the best ac-
tors, both in comedy and tragedy, that
she had seen, but a remarkably clever,
gentleman-like man, full of anecdotes
and knowledge, and most kind and
warm-hearted." In the midst of this
cheerful life, an incident occurred
which for a moment cast a shade upon
the scene. This was an apparent at-
tempt upon the Queen's life, as she
was going out with the Prince from
Buckingham Palace, the afternoon of
the 10th of June, for the public drive
in Hyde Park.
The perpetrator of this attempt
proved to be a young man named
Edward Oxford, seventeen years old,
a waiter at a low inn, apparently a
fool or a madman. It was a matter
of doubt whether his pistols were
loaded. Having nothing to say for
himself, except to plead guilty, and
will be to me a source of the most
lively satisfaction to find the resolu-
tion I have taken approved by my
Parliament." The tenth of the ensu-
ing February was appointed for the
celebration of the marriage. On that
day the ceremony took place with im-
posing state in the Chapel Royal of
St. James's Palace, the Archbishop of
Canterbury, assisted by the Bishop of
London, officiating; her uncle, the
Duke of Sussex, giving away the
royal bride. A wedding breakfast
followed at Buckingham Palace, at-
tended h/ the members of the royal
family arvl various state officers ; and,
at its clooo, the royal party left for
Windsor Palace.
The first enisstion of importance in
jhe Queen's private affairs which arose
was the determination of the Prince
Consort's position at Court. This had
been agitated in Parliament before the
marriage, when it was proposed to de-
fine the precedence of the Prince by
an act ; but the question being a diffi-
cult one, it was left unacted upon, and
thus became a subject for the Queen's
prerogative. Accordingly, early in
March, letters patent were issued, con-
ferring upon the Prince precedence
next to the Queen, as had been origin-
ally proposed in Parliament. In this
as in all other matters growing out of
their new relation, the Queen appeared
desirous of placing her husband, as far
as possible, in a perfectly independent
position. There appears to have been
some slight friction at the outset in
the domestic arrangements of the
o
household ; but here, as in greater
things, the self respect and good sense
of the Prince Consort were mut by
ii. — 73
ALEXAKDRINA VICTORIA.
there being no conceivable motive for
the act, though he was convicted on
his trial and sentenced to death, the
sentence was set aside for imprison-
ment in a lunatic asylum, from which,
in 1867, he was released on considera-
tion of leaving the kingdom. There
would appear to be a strange kind of
fascination working upon weak minds
in attempts like this, which proved
only the first of several similar assaults
to which the Queen has been subject-
ed. In May, 1842, a man named John
Francis fired upon her with a loaded
pistol while she was driving in Hyde
Park in an open carriage, for which he
was tried and sentenced to be hanged ;
but the Queen again magnanimously
interposed and commuted the sentence
to transportation for life. Another
fanatic named Bean, a mouth or so
after the last-named attempt, was de-
tected in the act of presenting a pistol
at the Queen while passing along in
one of her public drives, and was sen-
tenced to eighteen months' imprison-
ment with hard labor. In June, 1850,
she was assaulted with a cane or whip
while walking in Kensington Garden
by a supposed crazy man named Pate.
These would all appear to have had
no other incentive than an entire or
partially disordered state of mind,
and the frequency of such conditions
led Parliament, in 1843, to pass an
act, by which severe flogging was im-
posed as part punishment in such
cases. This was thought to have put
an end to such absurd attempts. But
many years afterward, another case
arose rivalling either of the others in
absurd temerity : on the 29th of Feb-
ruary, 1872, as the Queen was re-enter-
ing the court-yard at Buckingham Pa
lace, after a drive through the Park,
Arthur O'Connor, a Fenian, eighteen
years of age, sprang over the wall,
rushed up to the carriage, and struck
the Queen on the breast with an un-
loaded pistol, at the same time pre-
senting a petition of amnesty for th,e
Fenians — exclaiming "sign or die.'
Prince Arthur, who was seated in the
carriage with the Queen, knocked the
man down. Connor was seized and
conveyed to prison. The Queen was
perfectly calm. When Connor was
questioned, he said his design was to
frighten the Queen into doing justice
to Ireland. On examination before
the Police Magistrates at Bow street,
it was elicited that he was grand
nephew to the well-known Feargus
O'Connor, one of the leaders of the
chartist movement. A commission of
medical men. appointed to examine as
to his sanity, found that he was oi
sound mind, but an enthusiastic Fen-
ian. In explaining to the Commission
why his weapon was not loaded when
he made the assault, he said he would
have used a loaded pistol, but he de-
sired only to frighten the Queen into
compliance with his demand. Any
fatal result would have brought the
Prince of Wales to the throne, an
event which he did not desire to occur •
wishing Queen Victoria to be the last
English monarch. On his trial at the
Old Bailey, in April, he pleaded guilty,
with the mitigating ground of insanity.
The latter was not admitted. He was
committed and sentenced to twelve
months hard prison labor and twenty
lashes.
The public life of Queen Victoria, in
ALEXANDRIA YICTOEIA.
583
a Constitutional country such as Eng-
land, belongs rather to the history of
the nation than the biography of the
individual. What is more strictly per-
sonal to her is included in the story of
her domestic cares, the birth, educa-
tion and settlement in life of her chil-
dren, and the one great event of her
existence, the consecrated sorrow of
many years, the death of her husband,
Prince Albert.
To enumerate in order her numerous
family: On November 21, 1840, the
first of the Queen's children, the Prin-
cess Royal, now (1873) Crown Prin-
cess of Prussia, was born ; on Novem-
ber 9, 1841, Albert Edward, Prince of
Wales; on April 25, 1843, Alice Maud
Mary; on August 6, 1844, Alfred Er-
nest Albert; on May 25, 1846, Helena
Augusta Victoria ; on March 18, 1848,
Louisa Caroline Alberta; on May 1,
1850, Arthur William Patrick Albert ;
on April 7, 1853, Leopold George
Duncan Albert; and on April 15,
1857, Beatrice Mary Victoria Feodore.
Among the more purely personal in-
cidents of Queen Victoria's career are
to be mentioned her different journeys
through Great Britain — what in Queen
Elizabeth's day were called "Royal
Progresses;" and her occasional visits
to the Continent. Of some of these
we have an account from the Queen's
own pen, in the volume edited by Ar-
thur Helps, entitled " Leaves from the
Journal of Our Life in the Highlands,"
and published chiefly in commemora-
tion of the writer's daily life with the
Piince Consort. Regarded in this
Light, no such touching memorial of
affection has probably under similar
circumstances ever been given to the
world. It covers nearly the whole
period of her married life, beginning
with her first visit to Scotland, in
company with the Prince, in the sum-
mer of 1842, and closing with a visit
to the Lakes of Killarney, in the sum-
mer of 1861, a few months only before
his death. The book is certainly
unique in authorship — a simple record,
unaffectedly truthful and artless — ••
chronicling little details, which have
all their value from the homely do-
mestic affections of the narrator.
Happily does one of her reviewers
describe the plan and spirit of the
work. "These leaves," says a writer
in the " Edinburgh Review," " from the
private journal of the Queen, are ad-
dressed to the domestic sympathy of
the people of England. They owe, no
doubt, much of the interest which
they will excite to the character of
their august author, and to the contrast
which the mind involuntarily draws
between the outward splendor and
formality of royalty and the incidents
of daily life which are common to all
sorts and conditions of men. But
this real claim to the universal notice
they cannot fail to receive, lies in the
genuine simplicity with which the
private life of the Royal Family, and
the sentiments of the first Lady in the
land are related in their pages. * * *
Undisturbed by the glare which might
blind and dazzle eyes less accustomed
to live in it, the Queen of England
pursues the simple avocations and
amusements of woman's life ; she
teaches her children — she controls her
servants, whose lives in every detail
are familiar to her — she scratches an
expressive outline on her sketch- book;
584
ALEXANDRIA VICTORIA.
she shares with an intense sympathy
the tastes, the pursuits, the sports of
her husband — and she records day by
day, in pages destined at the time for
no eyes but her own, the current of a
life which needed not the burden or
the glory of a crown to make it com-
plete and happy. No doubt, it is the
touch of grief which has unlocked
those secrets of love. Men are not
wont to breathe aloud the sense of their
deepest enjoyments until they have
lost them. Then, indeed, when the
Past has received the ashes of the Pres-
ent into its eternal keeping, every
trifle acquires a deeper potency — a
faded rose-leaf, a familiar scent, the
tone of an unforgotten voice, the out-
line of a scene once gazed on by other
eyes than our own, all acquire a per-
petual meaning ; and the things which
were most fugitive in their brief exis-
tence become imperishable in their rc-
cnains."
The notices of the Queen's residence
in her Scottish retreat at Balmoral are
of particular grace and feeling, cover-
ing the period from the first occupation
oftheplace, in 1848, through successive
years, while the heart of its royal oc-
cupant, in her own words, "became
more fixed in this dear Paradise, and
so much more so now that all has be-
come my dearest Albert's own creation,
own work, own building, own laying
out, as at Osborne; and his great
taste, and the impress of his dear
hand, have been stamped everywhere."
In view of the event which was ap-
proaching, there Is something very
touching in the quotation from Scott's
" Lay of the Last Minstrel," which pre-
cedes these Balmoral entries :
" Land of brown heath and shaggy wood,
Land of the mountain and the flood,
Land of my sires! what mortal hand
Can e'er untie the filial band
That knits me to thy rugged strand !
Still, as I view each well-known scene,
Think what is now, and what hath been,
Seems as, to me, of all bereft,
Sole friend thy woods and streams are left ;
And thus I love them better still,
Even in extremity of ill. "
That " extremity " came in. the au
tumn of 1861, when the Prince Con
sort, having returned in October from
Balmoral, had visited the Prince of
Wales, then a student at the Univer-
sity of Cambridge, and was passing
his time in his usual employments at
Windsor; though not in his usual ro-
bust health, yet freely exposing him
self to the inclemencies of the season.
One day, about the beginning of De-
cember, he reviewed a volunteer corps
of Eton boys in a heavy rain, and left
the ground suffering from a feverish
cold. The symptoms gradually grew
worse, and, on the thirteenth, assumed
a dangerous character. The Prince
was prostrated by a typhoid fever, and
rapidly sank under it, dying the next
day. That event has colored the
whole of the Queen's later life. It
has thrown her much into retirement j
and when she appears in public, she
seems ever to be accompanied by thi;
great sorrow.
HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.
rilHE biography of a poet is, in gen-
JL era], little more than an inventory
of his writings. He is a man whose
world is within, who must have quiet
to write, and whose genius tempts him
to perpetuate the quiet which he finds.
Seldom a man of action, his migrations
are of little more importance to the
world at large, save through his writ-
ings, than those of the Vicar of Wake-
field, from the blue bed to the brown.
Mr Longfellow, the popular poet of
England and America at this time, is
no exception to the rule. The in-
cidents of his life are mainly to be
found in the record of his mental
emotions in his books. There is mat-
ter abundant and voluble enough, but
the narrative belongs rather to the
critic thant he biographer.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow was
born at Portland, Maine, February 27,
1807. His father, the Hon. Stephen
Longfellow, was alawyer of distinction,
a man of influence, highly esteemed by
his contemporaries. The son was sent
to Bowdoin College at Brunswick,
where, in due time, he graduated in
the class with Nathaniel Hawthorne,
1825. Seldom has any college in
year sent forth to the world two
in
such ornaments of literature. At that
early period, Mr. Longfellow was
addicted to verse-making, and some of
these juvenile poems written before
the age of eighteen, are preserved in
the standard collection of his writings.
They are mostly descriptive of nature.
There is one among them, a " Hymn
of the Moravian Nuns of Bethlehem,
at the Consecration of Pulaski's ban-
ner," which was something of a favor-
ite when it appeared, and still has a
flavor akin to that of the many spirited
picturesque little poems of its class
which the author has since writ-
ten.
Most college students who are led
on to pursue literature as a profession,
make their entrance to it after a pre-
liminary turn at the law. The transi-
tion is easier from that profession than
from the others. The pulpit and the
scalpel are apt to hold on to their ap-
prentices, but the profitless tedium of
the early years at the bar supplies a
vacuum into which anything may rush.
Besides, to some, especially those of a
poetical inclination, the study is posi-
tively distasteful. The dereliction is
embalmed as an adage in one of
couplets —
(585)
586
HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.
The clerk foredoomed his father's soul to cross,
Who pens a stanza when he should engross.
We are not aware that our poet had
any difficulty in choosing his vocation.
Probably not, for he fell so readily and
happily into the habits of the scholar
that a]l must have acquiesced in his
selection of the calling. He was only
nineteen, in fact, when he was ap-
pointed Professor of Modern Languages
at his college at Brunswick ; and, ac-
cording to a judicious custom in these
New England seats of learning, was
granted the privilege of a preliminary
tour in Europe to qualify himself hand-
somely for the post. In 1826, and the
two following years, accordingly, he
made the tour of Europe, plunging at
once into the study of the various lan-
guages where they are best learned,
among the natives of the country. He
visited France, Spain, Italy, Germany,
Holland, and England. On his return
he lectured at Bowdoin on the modern
languages he had acquired, wrote arti-
cles for the " North American Review,"
translated with great felicity the exqui-
site stanzas of the Spanish soldier poet
Manrique on the death of his father,
and penned the sketches of his travels
— which, withalittle romance intermin-
gled, make up his pleasant volume, the
first of his collected prose works, en-
titled "Outre Mer." In all that he
did there was a nice hand visible, the
touch of a dainty lover of good books,
and appreciator of literary delicacies.
The quaint, the marvellous, the re-
mote, the picturesque, were his idols.
He had been to the old curiosity shop
of Europe, and brought home a stock
of antiquated fancies of curious work-
manship, which, with a little modern
burnishing, would well bear revival.
They were henceforth the decorations
of his verse, the ornaments of his
prose. Everywhere you will find in
his writings, in his own phrase, " some
thing to tickle the imagination " either
of his own contrivance, or credited to
the wit and wisdom, the marrowy con-
ceits, of an antique worthy. From
Hans Sachs to Jean Paul; from Dante
to Filicaia ; from Rabelais to Beran-
ger; from old Fuller to Charles Lamb,
the rare moralists and humorists were
at his disposal. He was never at a
loss for a happy quotation, and he who
quotes well is half an original. His
genius and benevolent nature, its
kindly fellow worker, supplied the
other half. Such was the promise of
" Outre Mer," a bright, fresh, inviting
book, which a man, taking up at a
happy moment — and every book re-
quires its own happy moment — would
bear in mind, and look out for the
next appearance of its author in print.
Then came, in 1835, one of the mi-
grations from the blue bed to the
brown — the Professor of Modern Lan-
guages at Bowdoin became Professor
of Modern Languages and Literature
at Harvard, in the honorable place of
Mr. George Ticknor, resigned. The
new appointment generated another
tour in Europe, and this time the pro-
fessor elect chose new ground for his
travels. He visited a region then
rarely traversed by Americans. He
went to the north of Europe, presen-
ting himself in Denmark and Sweden,
beside a protracted stay in Llolland.
and a second visit to Germany, France
and England — a profitable tour for
studies, but a sad one to the poet's
HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.
557
heart, for at Rotterdam, on this tour,
he lost his young wife, the companion
of his journey.
Returning to America with his inti-
macy with his beloved German authors
refreshed by participation in their
home scenes, and a newly acquired
fondness for the northern sao-as, des-
O /
tined to bear vigorous and healthy
fruit in his writings, he commenced
his duties at Harvard. He removed
his household gods, his "midnight
folios," to Cambridge, and one summer
afternoon, in 1837, as it has been pret-
tily set forth by his friend Curtis —
" the Howadji," in his sketches of the
Homes of American Authors — estab-
lished himself as a lodger in the old
Cragie house, whilom the celebrated
head-quarters of General Washington
in the Revolution. The house had a
history ; it was the very place for the
brain-haunted scholar to live and
dream in, a stately mansion with
royalist memories before the rebel days
of Washington, with flavors of good
cheer lino-erino; about its cellars, and
o o *
shadowy trains of stately damsels flit-
ting along its halls and up its wide
stairway. The place was rich with
traditions of wealthy merchants and
costly hospitalities, nor had it degen-
erated, according to the habit of most
honored old mansions, as it approached
the present day. Venerable and
Beamed men of Harvard, still alive,
had consecrated it by their studies.
No wonder that the poet professor
found there his " coigne of vantage,"
and made there " the pendent bed and
procreant cradle " of his quick-coming
fancies. Many a, poem of his goodly
rolumes has been generated by the
whispers of those old walls, and
thence came forth "from his still,
south-eastern upper chamber, in which
Washington had also slept, the most
delectable of his prose writings, the
romance of " Hyperion."
We well remember the impression
this work made on its appearance,
about 1839, with its wide-spread type
and ample margin, and the pleasant
kindling thoughts of love, and the
beauty of nature, and old romantic
glories, and quaint Jean Paul, "the
only one" — its criticism of taste and
the heart. It was the first specimen
given to America, we believe, of the
art novel, and a fit audience of youths
and maidens welcomed its sweet utter-
ances. Everything in- it was choice
and fragrant ; the old thoughts from
the cloistered books were scented
anew with living fragrance from the
mountains and the fields. It was a
scholar's book with no odor of the
musty parchment or smell of the mid-
night lamp. All was cheerful with
the gaiety of travel; the sorrow and
the pathos were tempered by the
romance — and over all was the purple
light of youth.
Then came, in a little volume of
verse, the first collection, we believe,
of the author's original poems, " The
Voices of the Night," published at
Cambridge in 1839. It was the great-
est hit, we think, take it all together,
ever made by an American poet, for it
created a distinguished poetical reputa-
tion at a single blow. Its " Hymn to
the Night," drawing repose
From the cool cisterns of the midnight air ;
its "Psalm of Life"— what the heart
588
HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.
of the young man said to the Psalm-
ist. "The Reaper and the Flowers,"
"The Light of Stars," "The Foot-
steps of Angels; and with others,
the "Midnight Mass of the Dying
Year:" — these all at once be came
popular favorites, and the echoes
of their praises have not yet died
away from the lips of their first
fair admirers. The success, doubtless,
gave the poet confidence — for, to sing
from the heart, the hearts of others
must respond. It is a game at which
there are two parties, the poet and the
public, and one can do nothing without
the other. The public plighted its
faith to the new poet, and no meddling
critics have since been able to break
the alliance.
Since that first volume appeared,
many others have followed in cream-
colored paper and the brown cloth of
Fields — sacred to poets — all of kindred
excellence, Ballads with Excelsior, and
the Lay of Nuremberg, and the " Belfry
of Bruges," Tegner's pastoral, "Children
of the Lord's Supper," Poems of the
" Seaside and Fireside," " Waifs and
Estrays," "The Spanish Student," a
drama, in rapid sequence. Encouraged
by the reception of these generally
brief an^ occasional efforts, the poet,
in 1846, essayed a longer flight in his
elaborate poem " Evangeline, A Tale
of Acadie." It was written in hexa-
meters, a bold attempt upon the public
in the adaptation of a classic measure,
but greatly differing from the severe
crabbed verses of this kind which Sir
Philip Sidney sought to engraft upon
English literature, and failed in attempt-
ing. The lines of Mr. Longfellow are
not rugged, nor the pauses difficult to
manage. On the contrary, the verse is.
harmonious, and, if there be any defect,
cloys from its recurring cadence and
uniformity. Goethe had adopted the
measure in his narrative, semi-pastoral
poem, "Herman and Dorothea," the
treatment of which doubtless sug-
gested " Evangeline." Beyond this sanc-
tion of a great example, the American
poem was little indebted to its German
predecessor. The theme was new and
striking, singularly adapted to the
poet's powers. All readers know the
story, and all probably have admired
the beauty of the descriptions, the pictu-
resque manners and customs, the exqui-
site tenderness of the poem — a tale of
wonderful beauty and pathos, of a rare
setting in the American landscape. It
is by many accounted Mr. Longfellow's
happiest work, and is certainly one of
the most inviting and best sustained of
his compositions, felicitous alike in sub-
ject and execution.
To " Evangeline," in 1849, succeeded
" Kavanagh," a tale in prose, a New
England idyll. The hero is a poetical
clergyman, who attracts all the beauty
and refinement of the village, unless
the interest which he creates is divided
with the schoolmaster Churchill. There
is much that is pleasant in the manner
of the piece, which has a gentle humor
everywhere lighted up by a poetical
fancy.
The " Golden Legend," a bundle of
poems tied by a silken string, carrying
us into the very heart of the middle
ages, was the next production of Mr.
Longfellow's muse. It appeared in
1851, was well received, perhaps not
as closely taken to the popular heart
as " Evangeline " — but that could not
HENRY WADSWOKTH LONGFELLOW.
589
he expected with a more remote scho-
lastic subject. It displays a great deal
of reading with much learned inge-
nuity. The invention, curious and feli-
citous, admits of and receives very
wide illustration throughout the medi-
O
BBval world of Europe, its religion, its
arts, its schools, its government.
The " Golden Legend " — we thus
chronicled it on its first appearance — is
a volume of three hundred pages of po-
etical thoughts and fancies strung upon
the thread of a simple ballad incident
of a knight who grew very unhappy
in the world on account of wickedness
and melancholy, with no better pros-
pect for recovery, after a pretty vigor-
ous course of church discipline, than
the luck of some maiden's offering up
her life for him — a prescription of the
learned Italian doctors of Salern. Such
a maiden does present herself, one of
his forest peasantry, and, as the prince
belongs to the Rhine, and the event is
to come off in Italy, a journey through-
out Europe is the consequence. With
constant variety, as one topic is deli-
cately touched upon after another, we
are most agreeably entertained with
forest scenes, town scenes, priestly cere-
monies, learned arts, the sanctities of
the cloister, its profanities, quaintly
narrated in a species of rhyme which
is neither heroic nor common-place, but
singularly in consonance with the half-
earnest, half-ludicrous associations of
the subject. Lucifer, a la Mephisto-
p/iiles, is employed as a mocking spirit,
inspiring evil suggestions, a delighted
showman of evil scenes. Walter de
Vogelweide, the Minnesinger, enters
with a melodious rustling of his gar-
ments. A Mystery of the Nativity, a
ii.— 74
fine bit of scholarship of that olden
time, is celebrated at Strasburg. The
grim legend of Macaber is painted on
the walls as the monks revel in the
refectories. The School of Salern
thickens with strange forms of living
and dying. These are the outward
circumstances and decorations of a tale
of passion, the object of which is the
evolution of immortal affection. The
catastrophe is of course the marriage
of the prince and the peasant girl, and
a happy return to the hereditary castle
on the Rhine.
Four years later, in 1855, the poet
made another venture in a novel walk
of composition. The " Song of Hia-
watha," a collection of legends of
the North American Indians, in tro-
chaic octosyllabic measure,fell strangely
upon American ears. The book was
hardly launched, when, from every
quarter of the heavens, the winds of
criticism blew over the agitated liter-
ary sea upon the apparently devoted
bark. Eurus and Notus, and squally
Africus, rushed together and rolled
their vast billows of hostile denuncia-
tion upon the publisher's counter. But
propitious Venus held her guaidian
course aloft, and Neptune reared his
placid head above the tempestuous
waters. In a fortnight the loud blast
of the critics was reduced to a piping
treble ; indignation subsided to laugh-
ter, and laughter gave place to an old
knack of affection, which the public has
always shown for its favorite. The only
crime of Hiawatha was its novelty, its
originality. The olive was liked a^ter
it was tasted. The legends once read,
were read again, and the trochaics were
echoed in a thousand parodies. The
590
HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.
story of the reception of the book is
one of the curiosities of American lit-
erature.
The materials of the volume were
rescued from the Dryasdusts and anti-
quarians, like Tennyson's legends of
King Arthur's Court, to be preserved
in a gallery of enduring beauty. The
task of the American writer was the
more difficult of the two, in the appa-
rent intractability of the subject. The
fancies of the American savage, painted
on the mists of their meadows, and in
the shadows of their forests, have a
vagueness and unreality, too slight and
vanishing even for verse. These wild,
airy nothings were hardly food sub-
stantial enough for a poet's dream. To
catch and cage them in verse was a
master's triumph.
"The Courtship of Miles Standish,"
published in 1858, followed. It is a
return to the measure, the tilting hexa-
meters, of" Evangeline," celebrating an
anecdote of love and beauty with the
moral, of a grim old suitor employing
youth in his service as an agent to en-
trap for him the gentle heart of woman-
hood. The warrior achieved many
triumphs in his day over rebels and
Indians, but, stern Achilles as he was,
he had to yield his lovely Briseis.
Fair Priscilla, the Puritan girl, in the solitude
of the forest,
Making the humble house and the modest ap-
parel of home-spun
Beautiful with her beauty, and rich with the
wealth of her being,
Was not for him, but for Jonn Alden, the fair-
haired taciturn stripling.
That is the whole moral, and quaintly
and picturesquely is it set forth in the
historic costume of the period of the
Pilgrim Fathers.
These, with the addition of a collec-
tion of translations by others of "The
Poets and Poetry of Europe," a few
"Poems on Slavery," dated 1842;
"The Wayside Inn," a group of New
England stories in verse ; " The Divine
~
Tragedy," a version of the Gospel nar-
rative somewhat in the style of the
" Golden Legend, "favored or suggested
by the representation of the Ober-
ammergau Passion Play; and an ad-
mirably faithful poetical translation
of the Divine Comedy of Dante, a work
which is an honor to American litera-
ture, embrace, we believe, the chief of
Mr. Longfellow's acknowledged writ-
ings to the present time. The same
general characteristics run through
them : a learned, exuberant fancy, pro-
digal of imagery ; a taste for all that
is delicate and refined, pure and elevat-
ed in nature and art ; a skilful adap-
tation of old world sentiment to new
world incidents and impressions ; a
heightened religious fervor as his muse
transcends things temporal, and reaches
for\yard to. the things which are eter-
nal. The gentle ministry of poetry,
fertile in consolation, has seldom sooth-
ed human sorrow in more winning, pa-
thetic tones than have fallen from the
lips of this amiable bard, ever delight-
ing and instructing his race.
It is now some years since Mr. Long-
fellow resigned his professorship at
Harvard, to be succeeded by another
disciple of the muses, the accomplished
poet Lowell ; but he still continues to
breathe the old atmosphere in the
house of Washington, cheered amid
the trials of life by the affections of his
countrymen, and of those who read the
English language throughout the world
EDWIN BOOTH.
593
At the age of fifteen, in September,
1849, as stated by Mr. Brown, Edwin
made his debut as Tressel in " Richard
III.," at the Museum, Boston, Massa-
chusetts. In May, 1850, he appeared
for his father's benefit, in Philadelphia,
at the Arch Street Theatre, as Wilford
in "The Iron Chest." Mr. Ireland, in
his " Records of the New York Stage,"
chronicles his appearance in the same
character, on a similar occasion, at the
Chatham Street National Theatre, with
his father's Sir Edward Mortimer, in
September of that year at the Park
Theatre ; subsequently, during the
same engagement of the elder Booth,
appearing as Hemeya to his Pescara.
rTunius Brutus Booth died about two
years after, in November, 1852, while
journeying on a steamboat from New
Orleans to Cincinnati.
We have no further notice of Edwin
Booth's performance in New York for
some years, when, in May, 1857, after
a tour through California, which was
extended to Australia, he made his
appearance at Burton's Theatre, in the
character of Richard III. He was well
received and his reputation at once es-
tablished. During this engagement,
he acted in a large number of parts, as
enumerated by Mr. Ireland, including
Richelieu, Sir Giles Overreach, Shy-
lock, Lear, Romeo, Hamlet, Claude
Melnotte, lago, Sir Edward Mortimer,
and Petruchio. Since that time he
has been universally recognized as a
performer of eminent ability in the
higher walks of the drama. In 1860,
he was married to Miss Mary Devlin,
an amiable young actress, whose early
death, in 1863, was much lamented.
Mr. Booth visited England in 1861,
and acted the part of Shylock in Lon
don. After a period of retirement,
consequent upon the death of his wife,
he returned to the stage, and commenc.
ed at the Winter Garden Theatre, in
New York, a series of Shakespearian
revivals, among which his Hamlet was
greatly distinguished. Producing this
play on the 28th of November, 1864,
he acted the part of Hamlet for one
hundred consecutive nights, an utterly
unprecedented feat in the annals of
the stage. The destruction of the
theatre by fire in the spring of 1867,
led to the construction of the present
noble edifice, "Booth's Theatre," in
the city, which was opened for the
first time in 1870, with the revival of
Romeo and Juliet, Mr. Booth taking
the part of Romeo, and Juliet being
acted by Miss Mary McVicker. Other
Shakespearian revivals of extraordin-
ary splendor have followed at this
theatre— Hamlet, The Winter's Tale.
Richard III., and Julius Caesar, among
them, in which Mr. Booth has sustain-
ed the leading parts. At the close of
the season in 1873, Mr. Booth retired
from the management of the theatre.
Mr. Stedman, in the article already
cited, after a sketch of the person of
the elder Booth, thus notices the phy-
sical appearance of his son. " Here,"
says he, "is something of the classic
outline and much of the Greek sensu-
ousness of the father's countenance,
but each softened and strengthened
by the repose of logical thought, and
interfused with the serene spirit which
lifts the man of feeling so far above
the child of passion unrestrained. The
forehead is higher, rising towards the
region of the moral sentiments; the
594
EDWIN BOOTH.
face is long and oval, such as Ary
Scheffer loved to draw; the chin short
in height, but from the ear downward
lengthening its distinct and graceful
curve. The head is of the most refined
and thorough-bred Etruscan type, with
dark hair thrown backwards, and flow-
ing student-wise ; the complexion pale
and striking. The eyes are black and
luminous, the pupils contrasting sharp-
ly with the balls in which they are
set. If the profile and forehead evince
taste and a balanced mind, it is the
hair and complexion, and, above all,
those remarkable eyes — deep-search-
ing, seen and seeing from afar, that re-
peal the passions of the father in their
heights and depths of power. The
form is taller than that of either the
elder Booth or Kean, lithe, and dis-
posed in symmetry ; with broad should-
ers, slender hips, and comely tapering
limbs, all supple, and knit together
with harmonious grace. We have
mentioned personal fitness as a chief
badge of the actor's peerage, and it is
of one of the born nobility that we
have to speak. Amongst those who
have few bodily disadvantages to over-
come, and who, it would seem, should
glide into an assured position more
easily than others climb, we may in-
clude our foremost American tragedian
—Edwin Thomas Booth."
EMPRESS EUGENIE.
Tjl UGENIE - MARIE DE GUZ-
JjJ MAN, Countess of Teba, was
born in Granada, Spain, on the 5th of
May, 1826. In her ancestry, the Scot-
tish and Spanish races were blended.
Following an account of the family,
which was published at the time of
her marriage to the Emperor Napo-
leon, we learn that her great grand-
father on the maternal side, Mr. Kirk-
patrick, of Conheath, Dumfriesshire,
Scotland, was a gentleman of large
landed property in right of his father,
and that he was married to a Miss
Wilson, of Kelton Castle, in Galloway.
His son, William Kirkpatrick, went
early in life to Malaga, in Spain, where
he was British Consul for many years,
and where he married the only daugh-
ter of Baron Grevennee. Of three
daughters by this marriage, the eldest,
Donna Maria Manuela, was married to
the Count de Montijo, a member of
one of the most ancient of the noble
houses of Spain. He fought bravely
under the standard of France, as Col-
onel of Artillery in the Peninsular
war. At the battle of Salamanca, he
lost an eye and had his leg fractured.
When the French army were driven
out from the Peninsula, the Count
accompanied them in their retreat, and
continued to serve in the French army.
He was decorated by ' the Emperor
Napoleon for the courage he displayed
in the campaign of 1814. When the
allies marched upon Paris in that year.
Napoleon confided to the Count the
task of tracing out the fortifications oi
the capital, and placed him at the
head of the pupils of the Polytechnic
School, with the mission to defend the
Buttes de St. Chaumont. In the ex
ecution of this duty, he fired, it is
said, the last guns which were dis-
charged before Paris in 1814. He
died in 1839, when his daughter Eu-
genie was twelve years old.*
In a reminiscence of the family in
Spain, extending over many years,
Washington Irving, in his published
correspondence, thus writes to a mem-
ber of his family, when Eugenie had
come into celebrity by her alliance
with the Emperor. " I believe I have
told you that I knew the grandfather
of the Empress — old Mr. Kirkpatrick,
who had been American Consul at
Malaga. I passed an evening at hia
house in 1827, near Adra, on the coast
of the Mediterranean. A week or two
* " Illustrated London News," Jan. 29, 1853.
(595)
596
EMPRESS EUGENIE.
after, I was at the house of his son-in-
law, the Count Teba, at Granada — a
gallant, intelligent gentleman, much
cut up in the wars, having lost an eye,
and been maimed in a leg and hand.
His wife, the daughter of Mr. Kirk-
patrick, was absent, but he had a fam-
ily of little girls, mere children, about
him. The youngest of these must have
been the present Empress. Several
years afterward, when I had recently
taken up my abode in Madrid, I was
invited to a grand ball at the house of
the Countess Montijo, one of the lead-
ers of the ton. On making my bow
to her, I was surprised at being re-
ceived by her with the warmth and
eagerness of an old friend. She claim-
ed me as the friend of her late hus-
band, the Count Teba, subsequently
Marquis Montijo, who, she said, had
often spoken of me with the greatest
regard. She took me into another
room, and showed me a miniature of
the Count, such as I had known him,
with a black patch over one eye. She
subsequently introduced me to the
little girls I had known at Granada —
now fashionable belles at Madrid.
After this I was frequently at her
house, which was one of the gayest in
the capital The Countess and her
daughters all spoke English. The
aldest daughter was married while I
was in Madrid to the Duke of Alva
and Berwick, the lineal successor to
the pretender to the British crown."
In another' letter, dated Madrid,
March, 1844, when Irving was minis-
ter to Spain, he gives a particular no-
tice of this marriage of the sister of
Eugenie to the descendant of James
II. " I vras," he writes, u a few morn-
ings since, on a visit to the Duchess of
Berwick. She is the widow of a
grandee of Spain, who claimed some
kind of descent from the royal line of
the Stuarts. She is of immense weal th,
and resides in the most beautiful pa-
lace in Madrid, excepting the royal
one. I passed up a splendid staircase,
and through halls and saloons without
number, all magnificently furnished,
and hung with pictures and family
portraits. This Duchess was an Ital-
ian by birth, and brought up in the
royal family at Naples. She is the
very head of fashion here. * * * A
grand wedding took place, shortly
since, between the eldest son of the
Duchess, the present Duke of Alva,
about twenty-two years of age, and the
daughter of the Countess of Montijo,
another very rich grandee. The cor-
beitte, or wedding presents of the
bride, amounted to one hundred and
twenty thousand dollars, all in finery.
There were lace handkerchiefs worth
a hundred or two dollars, only to look
at; and dresses, the very sight of
which made several young ladies quite
ill. The young Duchess is thought to
be one of the happiest and best-dress-
ed young ladies in the whole world.
She is already quite hated in the beau
monde. "
The display and admiration of this
distinguished marriage may have stim-
ulated the younger sister Eugenie in
her efforts to secure attention. She
was possessed of a natural vivacity,
with manners extremely winning; a
fair complexion and animated look,
and generally attractive beauty of ap-
pearance. The family usually quit-
ting Madrid during the hot season, for
EMPRESS EUGENIE.
597
a residence at one of the watering
places in the south of France, and her
winters being sometimes passed in
Paris, she became, as she grew up, fa-
miliar with the social life of that
country. In 1851, the Countess Teba,
as she was called, made a lengthened
visit at the capital with her mother,
the Countess Dowager de Montijos,
and was distinguished at the court
entertainments given at the Tuileries.
She was admired by Napoleon, and,
immediately after the restoration of
the Empire, he declared, on the 22d
of January, 1853, his intention of
marriage to the Senate in the follow-
ing address: "In announcing to you
my marriage, I yield to the wish so
often manifested by the country. * * *
She who has been the object of my
preference is of princely descent.
French in heart, by education, and the
recollection of the blood shed by her
father in the cause of the Empire, she
has, as a Spaniard, the advantage of
not having in France a family to whom
it might be necessary to give honors
and fortune. Endowed with all the
qualities of the mind, she will be the
ornament of the throne. In the day
of danger, she would be one of its
courageous supporters. A Catholic,
she will address to Heaven the same
prayers with me for the happiness of
France. In fine, by her grace and her
goodness, she will, I firmly hope, en-
deavor to revive, in the same position,
the virtues of the Empress Josephine.
I come then, gentlemen, to announce
that I have preferred the woman whom
I love and whom I respect, to one who
is unknown, and whose alliance would
have had advantages mingled with
ii.— 75-
sacrifices. Without despising any one,
I yet yield to my inclinations, after
having taken counsel with ray reason
and my convictions. In fine, by practic-
ing independence, the qualities of the
heart, domestic happiness, above dy-
nastic prejudices and the calculations
of ambition, I shall not be less strong
because I shall be more free. Proceed-
ing immediately to N6tre Dame, I
shall present the Empress to the peo-
ple and to the army. The confidence
which they have in me assures me of
their sympathy ; and you, gentlemen,
in better knowing her whom I have
chosen, will agree that, on this occasion,
as on some others, I have been inspir-
ed by Providence."
Extraordinary preparations were
made for the celebration of the nup-
tials. The civil marriage, on the eve
of the religious ceremony, was per-
formed with great state in the Salle
des Marechaux, in the palace of the
Tuileries, in the midst of a grand
company of those official personages
with whom the new Empire was al-
ready invested, gentlemen ushers, mas-
ters of ceremonies, equerries, the grand
chamberlain, with marshals and admi-
rals, ministers, secretaries of state, the
cardinals, the princes and princesses of
the Imperial family, their officers and
attendants. After the ceremony, re-
freshments were handed round, when
the whole of the company adjourned
to the theatre to listen to a cantata
celebrating the alliance, composed by
the court poet, M. Mery, the music
composed by M. Robert, the chants
sung by M. Roger and Madame Te-
desco. After this, the Empress and
her suite^were conducted by a detach-
508
EMPRESS EUGENIE.
ment of cavalry to her temporary resi-
dence at the palace of the Elysee. The
Emperor had his residence at the Tui-
leries. The next day, appointed for
the religious ceremony at Notre Dame,
was Sunday. There was a grand pro-
cession, and all Paris was early astir
to witness it. Unprecedented prices
had been given for windows in good
situations along the route, from the
palace of the Elysee, whence the Em-
press was to be conducted to the Tui-
leries, and thence, in company with the
Emperor, proceed to the Cathedral.
The streets throughout were lined by
the national guard on one side, the
troops of the line on the other — in-
fantry ; cavalry forming the whole
of the military procession. Vast num-
bers of deputations of the trades and
work-people, with nags and banners,
conspicuous among which were the
butchers, fishmongers, and others, the
representatives of the Halles et Marches,
with a band of two hundred veterans
from the Hotel des Invalides, assem-
bled at the garden of the Tuileries.
The crowd of spectators was immense.
At eleven o'clock, the Empress, with
her mother and suite, left the Elysee
for the Tuileries ; and at noon, herald-
ed by the firing of cannon, the grand
procession began to move, the Emperor
and Empress having first shown them-
selves from a window of the palace.
After a few squadrons of regular caval-
ry, the whole of the mounted national
guard, a vast number of staff officers,
military intendants and functionaries,
and two bands of music had passed,
there came an imperial cortege of six
carriages — old state carriages used on
forrnei occasions of high ceremony, and
which had been preserved at Versailles
— in the foremost of which were gath-
ered the ministers of State, the grand
officers of the imperial household, and
other dignitaries preceding the mother
of the bride and Prince Jerome and
his son, Napoleon. The imperial car-
riage then followed — the same, it was
said, that had conveyed the first Napo-
leon to his coronation, occupied by the
Emperor and Empress only.
The ladies who occupied the places
of distinction in the ceremony, repre-
senting the families of the Emperor
and Empress, were the Princess Ma-
thilde and the bride's mother, Madame
de Montijo, with the ladies of honor
and other court companions — all dress-
ed in the brightest colors of the most
costly material. Among the clergy in
attendance by the altar, not the least
conspicuous part of the show were five
cardinals in the Roman purple. The
chief part was borne by the Archbish-
op of Paris, who presented to the Im-
perial pair, on their arrival, a morsel of
the True Cross to kiss, with holy wa-
ter and incense, while four ecclesiastics
held a rich dais over the couple as the
procession advanced up the church.
The religious ceremony then proceeded
with the usual elaborate rites, perform-
ed with every artifice of State, followed
by the mass, the final benediction and
the signatures in the register. The
procession was then re-formed, and re-
turned in the order in which it had ar-
rived, following the line by the Seine
to the Tuileries. In the afternoon,
the Emperor and Empres set out for
St. Cloud.
Receiving from a relative in Paria
notice of these imposing ceremonies,
EMPEESS EUGENIE.
599
Washington Irving, who was then at
his home of Sunnyside, on the Hudson,
thus replied : " A letter received from
you while I was at Washington, gave
an account of the marriage procession
of Louis Napoleon and his bride to
the Church of Notre Dame, which you
saw from a window near the Hotel de
Ville. One of your recent letters, I
am told, speaks of your having been
presented to the Empress. Louis Na-
poleon and Eugenie Montijo, Emperor
and Empress of France ! — one of whom
I have had a guest at my cottage on
the Hudson ; the other, whom, when
a child, I have had on my knee at
Granada. It seems to cap the climax
of the strange dramas of which Paris
has been the theatre during my life-
time. I have repeatedly thought that
each errand cou, >-Je-thedtre would be
~ j-
the last that would occur in my time ;
but each has been succeeded by anoth-
er equally striking ; and what wrill be
the next, who can conjecture ? The
last I. saw of Eugenie Montijo, she
was one of the reigning belles of Ma-
drid; and she and her giddy circle
had swept away my charming young
friend, the beautiful and accomplished
. , with their career of fashion-
able dissipation. Now Eugenie is up-
on a throne, and a voluntary
recluse in a convent of one of the most
rigorous orders. Poor ! Per-
O
haps, however, her fate may ultimate
ly be the happiest of the two. * The
storm,' with her, is ' o'er, and she's at
rest;' but the other is launched up-
on a returnless shore, on a dangerous
sea, infamous for its tremendous ship-
wrecks. A m I to live to see the catas-
trophe of her career, and the end of this
suddenly conjured-up empire, which
seems to be of ' such stuff as dreams
are made of?' I confess my personal
acquaintance with the individuals who
figure in this historical romance, gives
me an uncommon interest in it ; but I
consider it stamped with danger and
instability, and as liable to extrava-
gant vicissitudes as one of Dumas's
novels. You do right to witness the
grand features of the passing pageant.
You are probably reading one of the
most peculiar and eventful pages of
history, and may live to look back up-
on it as a romantic tale." The letter,
read by the light of subsequent events,
has proved a remarkable one. Irving
did not indeed live to see the termina-
tion of the wondrous spectacle, or the
unutterable woes which attended it,
but with what prescience did he fore-
shadow the end !
From the first, Eugenie was popular
in France. A well-directed act of gener-
osity at the time of her marriage, gain-
ed for her the regard of the people.
The municipality of the city of Paris
had voted her a diamond necklace of
the value of six hundred thousand
francs, as a marriage present. In re-
ply to the municipal delegation which
had waited upon her to announce the
resolution, she answered that, while
she felt gratified at this mark of favor,
the jewels belonging to the Crown
were more than sufficient for her re-
quirements, and with the consent of
the Emperor, she would suggest that
the whole sum proposed to be in-
vested in the diamonds, should be ap-
plied to the relief of the distressed
poor of the city of Paris. Frequently
on other occasions, during her reign,
600
EMPRESS EUGENIE.
she showed a tender regard to the suf-
fering, in visiting hospitals, and other
acts of personal sympathy. Her life
was now passed in the routine of the
court, in the imperial residences at the
Tuileries and St. Cloud, and other
palaces belonging to the nation, with
frequent summer visits to her favorite
sea-side resort at Biarritz, on the bor-
der of Spain. In 1855, she accompan-
ied the Emperor in a visit to Queen
Victoria, which was shortly after re-
turned at Paris. On the 16th of March,
1856, she gave birth to a son, the Prince
Imperial, Napoleon Eugene Louis Jean
Joseph. In 1861, she visited England
and Scotland, and in 1864, some of
the German baths. Accompanied by
the Emperor, she visited the patients
of the Cholera Hospitals in Paris, when
the city was visited by the pestilence
in 1865. In 1869, she was present as
the representative of France at the
ceremonies attending the opening of
the Suez Canal, the success of which
had been greatly promoted by the
Emperor. She was, of course, received
with the honors due her exalted sta-
tion by the ruler of Egypt, and the
Sultan of Turkey gave her a magnifi-
cent reception at Constantinople. A
few months after this imposing cele-
bration, came the stirring events of the
war between France and Prussia. On
taking the field in July, 1871, the Em-
peror left the Empress as regent of the
Empire, and when the imperial armies
met with rapid reverses, and Napoleon
surrendered a prisoner of war at Se-
dan, there was full opportunity for hei
powers being called in requisition.
But the disaster was too great to be
sustained by the government. The
overthrow of the Empire was decreed
by the legislature, and the Empress was
overwhelmed by the storm. An effort,
if possible, would have been made by
her to sustain the imperial dynasty ;
but she was compelled to yield to the
new order of things. So great ap-
peared her danger, that she left the
palace of the Tuileries in disguise,
and escaped from the country by the
railway train to Belgium. Residing
with her son, the Prince Imperial, in
England, who as the contest grew hot-
ter, had been placed out of the reach
of danger, she awaited the arrival of
her husband, who landed on those shores
again an exile, at the conclusion of the
fatal war which he had provoked, and
in which the glories of his artificial
Empire had perished in an instant.
The unsubstantial pageant had dis-
solved amid the flames of a revolution,
and the anticipation of Washington
Irving, the student of history and
life, had been fulfilled. It was a short
interval between the dethronement of
the Emperor and his death, in January
1873. This period was passed by the
ex-Empress with her husband, at Chisel-
hurst, in Kent, and after his death she
continued her residence in England, re-
ceiving distinguished attentions frorr
the Queen and others in high station.
'.likeness, •from, an approved, photograph mom lit*
Johnson, wilson &L Co, _r'u blisters New"ioik
fr av* oFCcnarEsa AL'J fit h Kmum '• '.'JKn, >• Ca >.n eft- office ufthe tdmman i>.'\
HENRY WARD BEECHER
603
republished in England. A few dis-
connected sentences from the latter
will indicate something of the spirit
and style of those happy sayings in
the pulpit which have doubtless great-
ly assisted the preacher's popularity :
" She was a woman, and by so much
nearer to God as that makes one."
" A man's religion is not a thing made
in Heaven, and then let down and
shoved into him. It is his own con-
duct and life. A man has no more
religion than he acts out in his life."
'• When men complain to me of low
spirits, I tell them to take care of their
health, to trust in the Lord, and to do
good as a cure." "Men are not put
into this world to be everlastingly
fiddled on by the fingers of joy."
" Besides these " beauties " of Mr.
Beecher's discourses, an extensive
series of the sermons has appeared in
a regular weekly report of them taken
from his lips morning and evening, at
the Plymouth Church, and published,
the one in New York, the other in
Boston, respectively in the columns of
the " Independent " and the " Trav-
ellei "
"There is another volume of Mr.
Beecher's writings, made up from a
series of early articles, contributed to
a newspaper in Indiana, the " Western
Farmer and Guardian." It relates to
horticultural topics, and bears the title
" Plain and Pleasant Talk about Fruits,
Flowers, and Farming." The papers,
the author tells us, were first suggest-
ed by the multifarious discussions on
these subjects to be found in the
works of the English Gardener, Loudon;
but the naked facts in Mr. Beecher's
mind spring up a living growth of
ideas, ornamented with cheerful and
profitable associations. He always
writes on the country with a lover's
minuteness and a healthy enthusiasm.
" Another series of papers, originally
contributed by Mr. Beecher to the 'New
York Ledger,' with the title, Thoughts
as they Occur, by one who keeps his
eyes and ears open, was published with
the title * Eyes and Ears,' in Boston,
in 1862. Like his other writings,
they are of an ingenious turn, teaching
the art of profit and enjoyment in
familiar objects. On his return from
England in 1863, a collection of his dis-
courses, suggested by the times, entitled
' Freedom and War,' was published in
Boston. Of his many lectures or ad-
dresses, few if any have compared in
interest with his oration at New York,
in January, 1859, at the celebration
of the Centennial Anniversary of the
birthday of Robert Burns. It was
rather biographical than critical, bal-
ancing with a kind but impartial treat-
ment of the virtues and failings of the
poet's character. Mr. Beecher has
edited the ' Plymouth Collection of
Hymns and Tunes,' a work largely in
use in the churches that practice con-
gregational singing."
The wide range of Mr. Beecher's il-
lustrations of doctrine and religious
instruction in his sermons, disdaining
no resource of adaptation to the feel-
ings and perceptions of a large audi-
ence, is well known to the public
through the popular reproductions of
his discourses by the agency of the
newspaper press. No preacher of the
times, in this country at least, has been
listened to by a greater number of
persons ; none certainly has had his
604
HENRY WARD BEECHER.
spoken words of the Sunday so regular-
ly and systematically repeated in
print. Of course, in any attempt to
exhibit Mr. Beecher's intellectual
powers, reference must be first made to
his pulpit discourses. But from some
of his lighter productions in literature
a very just idea may be formed of the
genial and mental activities, and the
keen moral perceptions which charac-
terize the man and account for his
popularity. The series of light, play-
ful little essays or literary sketches in
the volume entitled "Eyes and Ears,"
exhibit the author in a kind of
undress, as it were. He is not, to be
sure, ever stilted or over dignified in
the pulpit ; but here he is simply an
entertaining gossiper about his taste
and affections in the simple affairs of
every-day life, as he discourses of the
domesticities, of town and country life,
of a hundred innocent recreations and
amusements, adapting himself to young
and old, teaching new arts of enjoy-
ment in life, unfolding at every turn
in his daily walks fresh capacities of
happiness. How fresh is always his
perceptions of the music of nature.
Listen to him as he discourses of the
city and country. Can any words bet
ter reproduce what most persons have
felt than the following bit of descrip-
tion from one of those Star Papers en-
titled " Country Stillness and Wood-
chucks." " Nothing marks the change
from the city to the country so much
as the absence of grinding noises. The
country is never silent, but its sounds
are separate, distinct, and as it were
articulated. The grinding of wheels in
paved streets, the clash and din of a
half million of men, mingling, form a
grand body of sound, which, however
harsh and discordant to those near by,
becomes at a little distance softenedj
round, and almost musical. Thus, from
Brooklyn Heights, New York sounds
its diapason, vast and almost endless.
The direction of the wind greatly in-
fluences the sound. When the air is
moist and the wind west, the city
sends a roar across like the incessant
break of surf upon the ocean shore;
but with an Eastern wind the murmur
is scarcely greater, and almost as soft,
as winds moving gently in forests.
But it is not simply sound that acts
upon us. There is a jar, an incessant
tremor, that affects one more or less
according to the state of his nerves.
And in leaving the city by rail-ears,
the roar and jar of the train answer a
good purpose in keeping up the sense
of the city, until you reach your desti-
nation. Once removed from all the
sound-making agencies, and one is con-
scious of an almost new atmosphere.
Single sounds come through the air as
arrows fly, but do not fill it. The
crowing of a cock, the cawing of a
crow, the roll of a chance wagon, and
the patter of horses' feet, these, one by
one, rise into the air to stir it, and sink
back again, leaving it without a rip
pie."
ckx^r/ut, oy>£fri+£,
ljil<ceness from a photograph from life faJven in. 186'
DAYID LIVINGSTONE.
607
in this way many of the classical au-
thors, and knew Virgil and Horace
better at sixteen than I do now. Our
schoolmaster was supported in part
by the company; he was attentive and
kind, and so moderate in his charges,
that all who wished for education
might have obtained it."
In pursuing his studies in this char-
acteristic way, by the limited but ef-
fective methods for the attainment
of knowledge which seem ever open
to the ingenious youth of Scotland,
however humble may be their position
in life, Livingstone was at the same
time directing his miscellaneous read-
ings in a path of his own, that was
leading to the scientific operations of
his after-life. His statement of the
matter is again very characteristic of
his Scottish training and opportunities.
"In reading," says he, " everything that
I could lay my hands on, was devoured,
except novels. Scientific works and
books of travels were my especial
delight ; though my father, believing
with many of his time who ought to
have known better, that the former
wrere inimical to religion, would have
preferred to see me poring over the
' Cloud of Witnesses,' or Boston's
'Fourfold State.' Our difference of
opinion reached the point of open re-
bellion on my part, and his last appli-
cation of the rod was on my refusal to
peruse Wilberf orce's ' Practical Chris-
tianity.' This dislike to dry doctrinal
reading, and to religious reading of
every sort, continued for years after-
ward ; but having lighted on those
admirable works of Dr. Thomas Dick,
'The Philosophy of Religion,' and
' The Philosophy of a Future State,' it
was gratifying to find my own ideas,
that religion and science are not hos-
tile, but friendly to each other, fully
proved and enforced."
The sound intellect of Livingstone
was not perplexed by the errors or
prejudice of those around him ; nor
did he suffer, as many have done un-
der similar circumstances, his fond-
ness for science to lead him to any
disparagement of Christianity. On
the contrary, as in the case of Faraday,
the two grew up together in his mind,
mutually supporting one another. The
seed of religious culture implanted by
his parents in his childhood, shot up a
vigorous plant in his youth, and bore
early fruit. He became deeply affec-
ted by religious motives; and, as he
tells us in his simple, honest words,
for which no others can be well sub-
stituted, "In the glow of love which
Christianity inspires, I soon resolved
to devote my life to the alleviation of
human misery. Turning this idea
over in my mind, I felt that to be a
pioneer of Christianity in China, might
lead to the material benefit of some
portions of that immense empire ; and
therefore set myself to obtain a medi-
cal education, in order to be qualified
for that enterprise." His new studies
were still carried on while at labor in
the factory. Every moment seems to
have been turned to account. *' My
reading while at work," he tells us,
" was carried on by placing the book
on a portion of the spinning jenny, so
that I could catch sentence after sen-
tence as I passed at my work ; I thus
kept up a pretty constant study, un-
disturbed by the roar of the machin-
ery." By this practice he acquired
DAYID LIYINGSTOKE.
the power of completely abstracting
his mind from surrounding noises; so
that he could afterwards "read and
write with perfect comfort amid the
play of children or near the dancing
and songs of savages." Out of doors,
when not reading at home, he was
still employed in adding to his knowl-
edge in practical botanical andgeological
walks and excursions with his brothers
through the surrounding country. To
extend the range of his studies by
diligent toil in the summer in cotton
spinning, to which he was promoted
in his nineteenth year, he was enabled
from his savings to support himself
while attending in Glasgow, in the
winter, medical and Greek classes,
•and the divinity lectures of Dr. Ward-
law. All of this he accomplished by
himself, without pecuniary aid from
others, exhibiting a love of independ-
ence, and a spirit of self-reliance — pe-
culiar traits of the man illustrated in
many passages of his subsequent ca-
reer. " I never," said he, " received a
farthing of aid from any one, and should
have accomplished my project of going
to China as a medical missionary, in the
course of time, by my own efforts, had
not some friends advised my joining
the London Missionary Society, on ac-
count of its perfectly unsectarian char-
acter. It ' sends neither Episcopacy,
nor Preabyterianism,nor Independency,
but the Gospel of Christ to the heathen.
This exactly agreed with my ideas of
what a missionary society might do ;
but it was not without a pang that I
offered myself, for it was not cfuite
agreeable to one accustomed to work
his own way, to become in a measure
dependent on others ; and I would not
have been much put about though
my offer had been neglected."
Having finished his course of medi-
cal studies at the Glasgow University,
he was admitted a Licentiate of the Fac-
ulty of Physicians and Surgeons; and
after pursuing a more extended course
of theological training in England, he
was admitted to the pastoral office in
England in 1840 ; and the prospects in
China being clouded by the difficul-
ties arising from the opium war, he
the same year entered the service, aa
above stated, of the London Missionary
Society, which was then engaged in a
new and interesting field of labor
opened by their distinguished mission-
ary, Robert Moffat, in Southern Afri-
ca, whither Dr. Livingstone at once
proceeded. After a voyage of three
months, he landed at Capetown, and,
immediately going round to Algoa
Bay, on the eastern coast, proceeded
thence into the interior, where he
passed the next sixteen years of his
life in medical and missionary labors
among the inhabitants, accomplishing
at the same time in numerous travels
the most important geographical explo-
rations. His first station was at the
farthest missionary outpost of Kuru-
man, mid-way between the two oceans,
some four hundred miles to the north
of his place of landing. He soon, how-
ever, pushed farther into the interior,
and cutting himself off from all Euro-
pean society for six months, among
this section of the Bechuanas, called
Bakerains, became familiarly acquaint-
ed with their habits, ways of thinking,
laws and language, thus laying a foun-
dation for his future progress among
the native tribes. After various move
DAYID LIVINGSTONE.
609
merits in the region, he selected the
valley of Mabotsa, in about latitude
25° south, and 26° east longitude, as
the site of a missionary station, in which
he established himself in 1843. Here,
having married the daughter of the
missionary Moffat, he was assisted by
her in his labors, while a family of
children grew up about them.
It was at this settlement that his
escape from the grasp of the lion oc-
curred, which he has so vividly related
in his travels.
After some years residence in this
wide region, he left the missionary
station which he had established in
the summer of 1849, on a tour of ex-
ploration across the intervening des-
ert to Lake Ngami, the general posi-
tion of which was known to him from
the report of the natives, but which had
never yet been visited by Europeans.
The journey was made in company
with Messrs Oswell and Murray, two
English gentlemen from the East In-
dies, who, smitten with the love of
hunting and adventure, had found
their way to the mission. Starting
on the first of June, they reached on
the first of August the lake, which
they found to be a shallow body of
water, about seventy miles in circum-
ference. In a second expedition, the
following year, from Kolsberg, into
the unexplored region to the north, he
was accompanied by his wife and three
children. In another tour, in the sum-
mer of 1851, in company with Mr.
Oswell, the travelers came upon the up-
per waters of the Zambesi, in the centre
of the contic ent, that river having be-
fore been supposed to have its origin
far to the east. In June, 1852, having
sent his family home to England, Dr
Livingstone started on a journey from
Capetown, which extended to St. Paul
de Loando, the capital of Angola, on
the west coast, and thence across South
Central Africa, in an oblique direction
to Quilimane, in Eastern Africa. This
vast journey, which gained for Dr.
Livingstone the distinction of being
the first white man who had crossed
the continent of Africa across its entire
breadth, from ocean to ocean, occupied
four years, being accomplished by his
arrival at the mouth of the Zambesi in
the spring of 1856. Having passed
the summer in the Mauritius, in the
following autumn, he returned to Eng-
land by the way of the Red Sea and
the overland route, reaching London
in December.
A distingushed reception awaited
him for his eminent missionary and
scientific services. A meeting of the
Royal Geographical Society was held
immediately after his arrival, to4 wel-
come him. That body had previously
conferred upon him its Victoria Gold
Medal, for traversing Africa to the
west coast ; and its president, Sir Rod-
erick Murchison, had now the pleasing
duty of congratulating him in person,
on the completion of his journey in
the passage of the entire African con-
tinent. " It had been calculated," said
he, " that, putting together all his va.
rious journeys, Dr. Livingstone had not
traveled over less than eleven thousand
miles of African territory ; and he had
come back as the pioneer of sound
knowledge, who by his astronomical
observations, had determined the site
of numerous places, hills, rivers, and
lakes, nearly all hitherto unknown;
610
DAVID LIVINGSTONE.
while be had seized upon every oppor-
tunity of describing the physical fea-
tures, climatology, and even the geo-
logical structure of the countries he
had explored, and pointed out many
aew sources of commerce, as yet un-
known to the scope and enterprize of
the British merchant." Shortly after
this, a meeting, brilliantly attended,
was held at the Mansion House, in
London, at which the Lord Mayor
presided, when resolutions were adop-
ted to congratulate Dr. Livingstone on
his achievements, and measures were
taken for the formation of a " Living-
stone Testimonial Fund," for which
a handsome amount was raised.
This was the tribute mainly of the
cultivated men of science of the day.
Other and much larger classes were
also to be brought into an intimate ac-
quaintance with the man and his la-
bors, by the publication, the following
year, of his first book, which he enti-
tled " Missionary Travels and Research-
es in South Africa : including a sketch
of sixteen years' residence in the inte-
rior of Africa, and a journey from the
Cape of Good Hope to Loanda, on the
west coast: thence across the conti-
nent, down the river Zambesi to the
Eastern Ocean." The book at once
made for the author a popular reputa-
tion in England and America, and
throughout the world, wherever inter-
est was taken in the spirit of adven-
ture, or in new geographical discover-
ies. Though, with somewhat of the lack
of finish of the academically-trained, ac-
complished book maker, the style of
Dr. Livingstone had a bright native
vigor, well calculated to arrest the
attention of his readers, and impress
them with the candor and truthful-
ness of the man. There might be de-
tected readily enough, by persons ac-
customed to look below the surface, a
sense of humor, suppressed rather than
encouraged, for which indeed there
was occasion enough, as well as for a
native Scottish element of wit, in the
descriptions of the mongrel elements
of savage life, frequently enough af-
fording satirical illustrations of the
exhibitions in civilized countries. The
religious and other conversations with
native heroes were admirably given.
The observations of natural phenome-
na were well studied and acute ; the
habits of the numerous wild animals,
who, in such beauty and profusion
peopled the continent, were always
described with zest and animation.
With regard to his views on mission-
ary operations in the country, they
are indicated in his remark, that they
can best be pursued, with the spread
of commerce and civilization, from
large healthy central stations ; " for
neither civilization nor Christianity
can be promoted alone ; they are, in
fact, inseparable."
Dr. Livingstone had not been long
in England wThen preparations were
made by the Government to send an
expedition, in accordance with the
views which he advocated, to explore
the region watered by the Zambesi,
the main river of Southern Africa,
which he had descended on his late
return to the Eastern Coast. To
carry out the plan, Dr. Livingstone
was appointed Consul for South East-
ern Africa, and there were associated
with him as naturalists, and in varioua
capacities, his brother Charles. Dr
1>AV~1D LIVINGSTONE.
611
Kirk, Messrs. Thorntun, Baines, and
others. A small steam launch was
.sent out from England in sections, to
be put together on the spot, for the
ascent of the river. Arriving at the
mouth of the river in May, 1858, the
party reached the Portuguese settle-
ment of Tette, on its banks, in Sep-
tember, after which an exploration
was made of its northern tributary,
the Shire, with an expedition on foot
for Lake Nyassa, which was discover-
ed in September, 1859. Dr. Livings-
tone afterwards pursued his way up
the Zambesi to the Victoria Falls,
which he had visited on his former
journey, and described in his " Mis-
sionary Travels," but of which its
accessories and outlets, he now made a
more detailed and fuller examination.
The chief peculiarity of this wonder
of nature is the sudden plunge of the
river when it is pursuing its course,
fully a mile wide, into a great chasm
or deep fissure in the hard, black, bas-
altic rock which forms its bed, eighty
yards in width and some three hun-
dred and fifty feet in depth, or twice
the height of Niagara. In 1861, Lake
Nyassa was again visited and thor-
oughly sailed over in a small boat by
Dr. Livingstone and a select few of
the company. In the month of April,
in the following year, Mrs. Livings-
tone, who had accompanied her hus-
band, fell a victim to a malignant
fever of the region, and was buried on
the shore. In 1863, the expedition
was recalled by the Government. It
had made numerous geographical dis-
coveries ; and, though unproductive in
immediate commercial advances, had
proved the possibilities of wealth in
the soil on the banks of the river, par-
ticularly in the delta, for the growth
of indigo, cotton, sugar, and other
tropical products. Returning to Eng-
land, Dr. Livingstone and his brother
Charles gave to the public, in 1865, a
history of the whole, in their joint
"Narrative of an Expedition to the
Zambesi and its Tributaries; and of
the discovery of the Lakes Shirwa and
Nyassa, 1858-'64."
Having in these successive explora-
tions demonstrated the generally fer-
tile and interesting character of the
interior of Africa, in a vast region
which had been formerly thought
utterly barren and monotonous, Dr.
Livingstone again left England to
perfect his discoveries by a further in-
vestigation of the great river and lake
systems which characterized the dis-
trict of Central Africa, and to which,
in addition to the interest excited by
his own labors, there was now drawn
a new excitement in relation to the
possible sources of the Nile, conse-
quent upon the successes of Burton.
Speke, and others, in their revelation
to the world of the great lakes Tan-
ganyika, the Victoria, and Albert
Nyanza. In this resolve to pursue his
examination of the water-shed of
South Central Africa, Dr. Livingstone
was greatly influenced by the advice
and encouragement of his friend, Sir
Roderick Murchison, who, in his cheer-
ing, jovial way, said 'to him: "You
will be the real discoverer of .the
sources of the Nile." The anticipation
was that the lakes to the South which
had been already visited might prove
to be connected in their communica-
tion with one another, and their out
612
DAYID LIVINGSTONE.
lets in some way with the great river
of Egypt. To settle this problem by
determining the course of the abun-
dant streams of the region in a jour-
ney inland across the head of the lake
Nyassa to the water-shed, wherever
that might be ; and, after examination,
try to begin a benevolent mission with
some tribe on the slope back to the
coast "would, Dr. Livingstone calcu-
lated, be the work of two years."
" Had I known," he adds, in the letter
addressed to Mr. Bennett from the in-
terior of Africa, after six years of
laborious effort and the object of his
journey not yet fully accomplished,
" all the time, toil, hunger, hardship,
and weary hours involved in that
precious water parting, I might have
preferred having my head shaved and
a blister put on it, to grappling with
my good old friend's task ; but having
taken up the burden, I could not bear
to be beaten by it."
In prosecution of this, his third
great African journey, Dr. Livingstone
left England, in August, 1865, and,
after visiting Bombay, proceeded to
the island of Zanzibar, whence in
March of the following year he crossed
to the African mainland to enter upon
his new field of exploration. The ex-
pedition which he led consisted of
twelve sepoys from Bombay, nine men
from Johanna, one of the Comoro Isles,
seven liberated slaves and two Zam-
besi men. To carry the necessary
equipments and supplies there were
six camels, three buffaloes, two mules,
and three donkeys. Ten bales of cloth
and two bags of beads furnished the
money for the purchase of provisions
by the way, traffic in this part of Af-
rica being carried on altogether "by
barter. The route pursued was by
the harbor of Pemba, up the Rovuma
river, which proved a track of incred-
ible hardship. A path through the
jungle was to be cleared for the ani-
mals at every step. The Sepoys and
Johanna men became discontented
with the toil, disaffected, and sought
in various ways to discourage the ex-
pedition. Owing to their worthlessness,
the Sepoys were discharged and sent
back to the coast. They Lad previous-
ly so ill-treated the animals that soon
not one was left alive. In August,
o '
the party, with these embarrassments,
reached Lake Nyassa; and when Dr.
Livingstone, in accordance with hia
plan, was for proceeding westward,
lying reports were brought him by
Musa, the leader of the Johanna men,
of the cruelties of the Ma Zitu tribe
beyond. In vain the Doctor protested
and sought to set aside these pretences.
Musa, whose purpose was formed, de-
serted with his men ; a?id, to cover up
his villainy on his arrival at Zanzibar
in December, circulated an ingeniously
contrived story, in which he related,
with great circumstantiality, the par-
ticulars of a conflict between the party
of explorers at a point five days' jour-
ney beyond Lake Nyassa, with a band
of the Ma Zitus, in which Dr. Living-
stone, with several of his supporters
were killed, and the rest dispersed.
Musa alone escaped to tell the tale.
The story was immediately forwarded
in a rather sensational despatch by the
English political "Resident" at Zan-
zibar, to Her Majesty's Secretary of
State for Foreign Affairs, and the
whole civilized world was agitated at
DAYID LIVINGSTONE.
613
this melancholy termination of the
great traveller's career. There were,
however, persons accustomed to the
duplicities of Mahometans of the type
of Musa, who doubted the story. Sir
Roderick Murchison never would
believe it. A Mr. Young, who was
familiar with life in Africa, sagely
divined that the tale was a fabrication
to cover the desertion of Musa and his
men. An expedition was sent out
from England, under the auspices of
the Royal Geographical Society, in
charge of Mr. Young, to test the truth
of Musa's assertion by a visit to the
place at which it was alleged Dr. Liv-
ingstone had been massacred. The
Zambesi was ascended by the party of
search in August, 1867 ; and, as they
proceeded and reached the region about
Lake Nyassa, they came upon various
indications and intelligence of Dr. Liv-
ingstone's movementa, discrediting the
idea of his death as announced by Musa.
The report of the Expedition was re-
ceived in London. A letter, moreover,
dated in February, 1867, about six
months after the reported disaster, was
received by the Royal Geographical
Society, in April, from Dr. Livingstone,
which effectually put at rest all fears
for his safety. He was then pursuing
his route in the Cazemba district and
was about entering on his long and
fatiguing explorations of the windings
of the Chambezi river, which he ascer-
tained to be entirely distinct from the
Zambesi, with which it had been con-
fused by the Portuguese occupants of
the coast. For about two years pre-
vious to his first arrival at Ujiji, he
was employed in his investigations of
the Chambezi, and its various tributary
streams. In the course of his journey
ings, he had traced its outlet in the
Lake Bangweolo, which he found con-
nected by a river, the Luapula, with
the more northerly lake, Moero. Again
resuming his explorations from Tljiji,
in June, 1869, crossing Lake Tangan-
yika, on which it is situated, he pro-
ceeded westward into the Manyema
country, where he was detained for
six months by ulcers in his feet, conse-
quent upon the hardships of his trav-
elling. On his recovery, he proceeded
in his explorations coming upon a tor-
tuous river, the Lualaba, which, after
much patient investigation, he found
took a northerly direction flowing
from Lake Moero into the large lake,
Kamolondo. To the south-west of
this lake he discovered another, dis-
charging its waters into the Lualaba,
which he named Lake Lincoln, in honor
of the American President's services in
the cause of Emancipation, a cause
ever uppermost in the mind of Dr.
Livingstone. While pursuing these
discoveries, and within about two hun-
dred miles of the known waters of the
Nile, he was compelled, by an utter
lack of the means to proceed, in the
failure of men and supplies, to retrace
his course to Ujiji, where, in the autumn
of 1871, sadly dispirited, he was wait
ing, seemingly in vain, for the stores
which had been forwarded to him
from Zanzibar, and which had been
stolen, or were lying intercepted on
the way, when he unexpectedly re-
ceived intelligence, in November, of
the presence in the country below of a
white man, an Englishman, as it was
supposed, who had come to Unanyem-
be, a half-way station on the route to
DAYID LIVINGSTONE.
Zanzibar, "with boats, horses, men and
goods in abundance. It was in vain,"
adds Dr. Livingstone, in his despatch
to Earl Granville from Ujiji (Dec. 18,
1871,) "to conjecture who this could
be ; and my eager inquiries were met by
answers so contradictory that I began
to doubt if any stranger had come
at all. But, one day, I cannot say
which, for I was three weeks too fast
in my reckoning, my man Susi came
dashing up in great excitement, and
gasped out, 'An Englishman coming;
see him ! ' and off he ran to meet him.
The American flaar at the head of the
O
caravan, told me the nationality of the
stranger. It was Henry M. Stanley,
the travelling correspondent of the
New York Herald, sent by the son of
the editor, James Gordon Bennett, Jr.,
at an expense of £'4,000, to obtain
correct information about me if living,
and if dead to bring home my bones.
The kindness was extreme, and made
my whole frame thrill with excitement
and gratitude."
The meeting between the two trav-
ellers, in the beginning of November,
1871, will long be remembered in the
exciting annals of African exploration,
with the first quiet salutation as Mr.
Stanley approached the man, to come
into whose presence he had hazarded
life and health, and undergone the sev-
erest labors. Affecting a calmness of
exterior before the impassive Arabs
who were in the group, he simply
said on coming up, " Doctor Living-
stone, I presume," to which the trav-
eller answered, with as little apparent
emotion, " Yes, that is my name."
The wants of Livingstone were at once
relieved, and his health restored, as he
listened to the recital of the wondrous
public events of the last five years, of
which he had heard nothing in hia
seclusion from the world. In com-
pany with Mr. Stanley, Dr. Living-
stone made a boat exploration of the
waters of Lake Tanganyika. They
subsequently parted company at Unan
yembe, in March, 1872 — Stanley on
his way to the coast to carry the good
tidings of Dr. Livingstone and his dis-
coveries to his friends and the scien-
tific world, Livingstone remaining
with the intention when he had organ-
ized a new expedition from his rein-
forcements at that place, to set out on a
final quest of the long-sought ultimate
sources of the Nile. A new expedition
which had been organized in England
for the relief of Dr. Livingstone, was
met by Mr. Stanley on his arrival at
Zanzibar, and in consequence of the
tidings which he brought — the ends
proposed having been secured by him
— was disbanded on the spot.
After the departure of Stanley,
Livingstone resumed his tour of dis-
covery, and was intent on the object
of his journey, when, after having suf-
fered from chronic dysentery for seve-
ral months, he was finally stricken
down at Muilala, beyond Lake Bemba,
in the Bisa country. He breathed his
last at this place on the 4th of May,
1873. His remains, embalmed by his
native attendants, was brought by way
of Unanyembe to Zanzibar, and thence
to England, where they arrived in
April, 1874. On the 18th of that
month they were interred, with impos-
ing funeral ceremonies, in a grave in
Westminster Abbey.
HARRIET G. HOSMER.
TT ARRIET G. HOSMER was born
J — L in Watertown, Massachusetts,
upon the banks of the beautiful river
Charles. Her mother died while she
was yet in her cradle, and inheriting
a delicate constitution, and being the
only child left to her father, she grew
up in the enjoyment of boundless lib-
erty and indulgence. Her father, a
distinguished physician, loved and
respected by all who knew him, im-
posed but one restriction upon her —
all books were to be banished, and the
one object in life was to be the attain-
ment of health. It was his theory
that there was a whole life-time for
the education of the mind, but the
body develops in a few years. Accord-
ingly, little Hatty, or, as she was
often called, " happy Hatty," grew up
under the blue sky and in the fresh
air, accustomed to sun and rain, and
frost and snow, long rides upon her
pony, rowing upon the river, swim-
ming, skating, walking, driving. These
were the pursuits which laid the foun-
dation of her wonderful physical
strength and health in after life.
" I can see her now," said a lady to
the writer who had known her in
these years of her free., wild, indepen-
dent life, " with her curly head, and
her round, smiling face, and her little
black dog under her arm, for she was
fond of pets, and had a whole men-
agerie. Probably no child was ever
left to follow her own natural impulses
so systematically. It was enough for
her ever-indulgent father that she waa
* out of doors.1 Whatever could min
istcr to her amusement, or gratify a
whim, was provided for her, and I
remember a grave lawyer, a friend of
her father's, shaking his head doubt-
fully and muttering, ' too much spoil-
ing— too much spoiling.' This was
upon the occasion of a launch upon
the river of a beautiful little Venetian
gondola, with its silvered prow and
velvet cushions."
It is probable that the only serioua
occupation to which she applied her-
self at this early period of her life,
consisted of a daily visit to a small
clay pit not far from her father's house.
Here she spent long hours modeling
whatever forms were suggested by her
childish imagination. Here was a
fund of endless delight, and so regular
had these visits become, and of such
long duration, that whenever her
absence caused anxiety at home, and
(615)
316
HARRIET G. HOSMER.
searcli was made for her, she was in-
invariably found working in her open-
air studio, unconscious of the passage
of time. After Miss Hosrner's name
had become known to fame, this clay
pit was often pointed out as the scene
of her early artistic efforts. That the
result of this unfettered, undisciplined
life should be wholly satisfactory, was
scarcely to be expected. Gifted with
great animal spirits, a boundless activ-
ity of mind and body, it is recorded
that our young artist's superfluous
energy found vent in numberless mis-
chievous pranks which amused or
startled the neighborhood. " Never-
theless," says Mrs. Child, the well-
known writer, who was a near neigh-
bor for many years, " those who knew
her well loved her dearly — there was
never any immodesty in her fearlessness,
nor any malice in her fun. Her child-
ish tricks were those of a brave, ro-
guish boy."
Having, by this time, acquired a
fair stock of health and strength, it
seemed to her father proper to adopt
more stringent measures for her educa-
tion; it was clear that at home no
regular habits of study could be form-
ed, and Hatty was accordingly en-
rolled as a student in a small private
Academy conducted by the brother-
in-law of Nathaniel Hawthorne. It is
to be feared that books did not suit
her active temperament, and that the
discipline of school life became irk-
some to her untamed spirit, for it is
on record that she was a most incor-
rigible pupil; and the first attempt" at
education was speedily brought to a
close by the excellent preceptor him-
self, who informed her father that he
could "do nothing with her." An-
other attempt was made, and still
| another ; each failure being followed
by a respite from intellectual labor,
during which the little girl was allow
ed to run wild again.
It must not be supposed, however
that learning was distasteful to her,
but she must learn in her own way
She read with avidity ; all books which
came within her reach were eagerly
devoured. Natural history especially
interested her, and her own room
became a museum, filled with curiosi-
ties of all kinds. Stuffed birds, which
she had shot and prepared with her
own hand ; butterflies and insects col-
lected and arranged by herself ; lizards,
fish, and birds' nests, interspersed with
prints, wax moulds, and clay models,
presented a curious medley, and indi-
cated her tastes and favorite pursuits.
Aided by her father, she commenced
and completed a whole course of anat-
omy, making anatomical drawings of
the human frame in so masterly a
manner, that several years afterward a
New York publisher offered to pub-
lish them at his own expense. This
was. preparatory to her more serious
art studies, for the hand of art was
ever beckoning to her, even when her
education seemed most desultory.
Thus the years passed, and at the
age of fifteen our young artist was
consigned to the care of Mrs. Charles
Sedgwick, of Lenox, Massachusetts.
Here she remained for three years,
acquiring a fund of useful knowledge
and forming many pleasant friendships,
which after years only served tc
strengthen. Of her pupil, Mrs. Sedg-
wick was often heard to say : " She
HAKEIET G. HOSMEK.
617
was the most difficult pupil to man-
age that I ever had; but I think I
never had one in whom I took so deep
an interest, and whom I learned to
love so well." On her part, Miss Hos-
mer always speaks of Mrs. Sedgwick's
patience and kindness with sincere
gratitude, and with almost filial affec-
tion.
At the age of eighteen she returned
to her home in Watertown, and soon
after, her father and herself embarked
for Europe. For years there had been
a tacit understanding between father
and daughter, that art was to be fol-
O '
lowed as a profession. It was her
choice, not a necessity ; for her father
possessed an ample fortune, and she
was his only child. But art to her
was to be not an amusement, but a
serious work. " I will not be an ama-
teur." she said ; " I shall open a studio,
and work as if I had to earn iny daily
bread."
In this resolve she arrived in Rome,
in the commencement of 1853, and
presented herself to Mr. John Gibson,
then in the zenith of his fame. Her
words were few. " I wish to become
your pupil," said she. The master
was equally laconic. " I will teach
you all I know myself." The next day
she was installed in his studio in the
Via Fontaiiella, a small room having
been allotted to her as her own. And
this was the commencement of a rela-
tion which ripened into an almost
paternal regard upon his side, and an
increasing interest in her progress and
success. And thus for a period of
nearly six years she continued to profit
by the daily instruction of her master.
To how few young artists are accorded
opportunities so rare ! But the grow-
ing requirements of space induced her
to open a studio upon a larger scale,
from which she subsequently removed
to the one she now occupies in the Via
Margatta. Numberless anecdotes are
related of master and pupil, for Mr.
Gibson, in spite of a stern demeanor,
had a fund of humor which enabled
him to appreciate and thoroughly
enjoy his pupil's originality and wit.
It is not too much to say, that his
pupil more than repaid her kind master,
in the element of brightness and cheer-
fulness which she brought into his life,
and no day was considered well rounded
and complete without a little sprightly
conversation with " the signorina."
The first task which her master
assigned her, was to copy an antique
torso, the original of which is in the
British Museum ; this was to be ex-
ecuted larger than the original. The
next work was an antique from the
Vatican ; this was to be copied smaller
than the original, that the correctness
of her eye might be tested : both
works were completed to his great sat-
isfaction. The third was to copy the
bust of the Venus of Milo, and after
that she might make an ideal head,
herself selecting the subject. That
would be a great step, and caused pro-
portionate delight. Vigorously she
commenced the copy, and it was far
advanced towards completion when
the iron which supported the clay
suddenly snapped, and her work lay a
shapeless mass upon the floor. Noth-
ing daunted, however, she replaced the
clay, and repeated the work with the
same energy as before. Perhaps noth-
ing ever excited her master's adinira
618
HABRIET G. HOSMER.
tion more than the equanimity with
which his pupil bore her misfortune.
Soon after this, having obtained per-
mission to design something of her
own, she modeled a head of " Medusa,"
not as the horrible Gorgon, but as a
beautiful maiden. The rich hair is
just beginning to wreath itself into
serpents, and the expression of despair
and agony in the face is very striking.
This bust has always been a great
favorite, and the artist has executed it
many times in marble.
Her good friend, Mr. Wayman Crow,
of St. Louis, desired to possess the
first statue which she should execute
in marble. The choice of subject was
left with the artist, and she selected
" Beatrice Cenci in Prison." This is a
charming statue, full of grace and feel-
ing. The historical head-dress of
Guide's picture is preserved, and the
features of that charming portrait are
rendered in marble as faithfully as the
difference of material will permit.
This statue was exhibited in Boston,
and was then transferred to the Mer-
cantile Library in St. Louis, where Mr.
Crow generously allowed it to remain to
adorn the Hall. Other works followed
in rapid succession, among which was
that gem of sculpture, the little Puck.
Perhaps, of all modern statues, the little
Puck is first favorite. What a mo-
ment of fun and drollery was that in
which he was conceived ! What deli-
cious pertness in that upturned toe ! It
is a laugh in marble. One of the many
copies which have been executed of
this charming little statue is in the
collection of the Prince of Wales, and
it has found its way to Australia and
the West Indies.. The Crown Princess
of Germany, on viewing it in Miss Hos
iner's studio, exclaimed, " Oh, Miss
Hosmer, you have such a talent foi
toes ! " It is said that Miss Hosmer
has realized $30,000 from this statue
alone.
How opposite is the spirit in which
" Zenobia Captive," is conceived !
Grand, stately, solemn, she treads in
the triumphal procession of Aurelian.
The head is bowed, though the queen
is unconquered. She hears not, she
sees not, she still lives in her absent
empire. The rich train sweeps the
ground, and the golden chains fetter
the hands, but her thoughts are still
free, and she is still with her people in
Palmyra. When this statue was first
exhibited in London, it was whispered
that Miss Hosmer was not its real
author, that its execution was due to
an Italian sculptor, and one journal
went so far as to publish this report
as correct. No time was lost, and an
action for libel was immediately com-
menced against the journal by
the indignant artist. Finding that
Miss Hosmer was in earnest, the ed-
itor proposed an apology, which was
accepted, upon the condition that Miss
Hosmer's lawyer should dictate the
apology, and that it should be sub-
mitted to her for approval. The con-
dition was acceded to, and the apology
was published. By the kind per-
mission of Almon Griswold, Esq., of
New York, for whom the statue was
executed, it was exhibited in several
of our principal cities, and attracted
universal attention and admiration.
Visitors to the Dublin Exhibition
of 1865, will remember a group of
which the marble was slightly tinted.
HARRIET G. HOSMER
619
and around which a circle was always
pormed. It was the only statue in
that vast hall which was " honored by
the attendance of a special policeman."
It was Miss Hosmer's "Sleeping Faun,"
of which so much has been said and
written, that the statue may truly be
pronounced classical. The London
Times thus speaks of it : tl In the
groups of statues are many works of
exquisite beauty, but there is one
which at once arrests attention and
extorts admiration. It is the 'Sleep-
ing Faun ' and ' Satyr,' by Miss Hos-
mer. It is a curious fact that amid all
the statues in this court, contributed
by the natives of lands in which the
fine arts were naturalized thousands of
years ago, one of the finest should be
the production of an American artist.
But she has received her inspiration
under Italian skies, in presence of the
great models of ancient Greece and
Rome. Hawthorne's description in the
'Transformation' of the Faun of
Praxiteles has been quoted, in a great
measure applicable to this master-
piece of Miss Hosmer." A writer in
the French Galignani gives a further
description of it: "The gem of the
classical school, in its nobler style of
composition, is due to an American
lady, Miss Hosmer. She is the last,
and we believe the only pupil of Gib-
son, and his teaching may be traced in
every line of the l Sleeping Faun '
which she exhibits. The attitude is
/
graceful and natural. He is seated,
reclining against the trunk of a tree,
partly draped in the spoils of a tiger.
The child-faun, so happily introduced
into the group, squatting behind the
tree, and with mischievous archness
binding the Faun to the tree with
the tiger's skin, gives not only sym-
metry to the composition, but that life
which is so seldom found in such remi-
niscences of antiquity. Miss Hosmer
in her 'Sleeping Faun' reaches the
highest excellence." We must add
our own testimony to the archness,
grace, and poetry of the whole group :
it is impossible to see it without re-
calling the author of Puck, and as we
gaze at the sweet, gentle sleep of the
graceful youth, we almost fancy our-
selves in the sweet-scented wood, and
under the sunny skies of his ideal
world. This beautiful statue was pur-
chased for a thousand pounds by Sir
Benjamin Guinness, at the private view
on the day previous to the opening of
the exhibition. A slight difficulty
arose, as the statue was not for sale.
Sir Benjamin offered to double the
price, and actually placed another
thousand pounds ($5,000) in the hands
of the Director of the Sculpture De-
partment, saying, " that if money could
buy that statue he would have it."
Miss Hosmer, upon being informed of
this, wrote to Sir Benjamin, assuring
him that she deeply appreciated his
generosity, and that it was indeed a
pleasure to know that her work would
be in the possession of one who valued
it so highly ; that he might look upon
the statue as his own, but that she
could not take advantage of his too
great liberality, and requested that the
second $5,000 should be returned to
him. We fear it is but seldom that
such an act, so honorable to both, can
be recorded in the history of the Fine
Arts. The group has since bean twice
repeate4 — once for the Prince of Wales
620
HARRIET G. HOSMER.
always a great admirer of Miss Hos-
mer's genius, and once for Lady Ash-
burton, who also possesses its pen-
dant, "The Waking Faun."
If the " Sleeping Faun " is the ex-
pression of complete repose, so the
" Waking Faun " is that of life and
movement. He wakes and suddenly
catches the little satyr, who struggles
in his grasp. He is imprisoned beyond
the possibility of escape, but so gently
and tenderly that we do not fear for
his safety — indeed, he seems quite as
much amused in his new position as
when knotting the tiger's skin. This
work finely exhibits the artist's skill-
ful power of grouping, for the position
selected is one of the most difficult it
is possible to conceive, but its grace
and litheness are perfect. When
these two statues are viewed together,
we think it will be difficult to pro-
nounce a preference.
Upon entering the studio, the first
work which presents itself to us is a
cast of the " Siren Fountain," executed
for Lady Marian Alford. The sculp-
ture consists of a siren, who, sitting
among the shells which form the
upper basin, sings to the music of her
lute. Three little cupids upon their
dolphins are checked in their career,
to listen to the music. These little
creatures are full of spirit and motion.
The dolphin of one is refractory, and
nearly unseats his rider ; but, fascinated
by the sweet sounds, he pays no atten-
tion to his impetuous charger, but
looks up to discover from whence they
come. When the fountain plays, the
little cupids are seen through the fall-
ing water, as if beneath its surface,
which greatly enhances the poetical
effect. The fountain is executed of
three different shades of marble, and is
most rich and elegant.
Perhaps the most important, certain-
ly the most complicated, of all Miss
Hosmer's works, are "The Golden
Gates," for Earl Brownlow, upon
which she has been employed for sev-
eral years. They are to be cast in
gold, and when completed will be
about 17 feet high. The upper por-
tion contains three figures of the Air
Earth, and Sea ; while two of the long
bassi-relievi, immediately beneath, rep-
resent the poetical and the practical
view of the Earth, and the remaining
two the poetical and the practical
view of the Sea. The central portion,
which is the most beautiful, is occu-
pied by twelve circular bassi-relievi,
representing the twelve hours of the
night, commencing with " Eolus Sub-
duing the Winds," next, "The Descent
of the Zephyrs," "Iris Descends with
the Dew," "Night Rises with the
Stars," "The Hours' Sleep," "The
Moon Rises," " The Dreams Descend,"
"The Falling Star," "Phosphor and
Hesper," " The Hours' Wake," "Aurora
Veils the Stars," and " Morning." Each
of these bas-reliefs is a poem, full of
exquisite thought and feeling, and
studied to the highest degree of finish.
The architecture is enriched with orna-
ments, symbolical of Earth, Air, and
Sea, forming an effective setting for
the bas-reliefs, while the whole is sur-
rounded by a boldly modeled festoon
of fruit and flowers, as a frame inclos-
ing the whole picture. The number
of bas-reliefs is nineteen and they con-
tain more than eighty figures. Some
idea may, therefore, be formed of the
HARRIET G. HOSMEE.
621
labor and patience necessary to com-
plete the work. When Sir Charles
Eastlake, the late President of the
Royal Academy, first saw the design,
he said, " it will immortalize her."
His words were afterwards repeated
to Miss Hosmer, who replied, "Ah ! he
meant immetallize?
Miss Hosmer is now (1874) engaged
upon two works which are destined for
our own country — one a monument to
the memory of Mr. Edward Everett,
to be cast in bronze and placed over
his remains at Mount Auburn ; the
other a monument to Mrs. Letch worth,
of Buffalo, consisting of a recumbent
figure and richly ornamented pedestal,
in the style of the fine monument to
Queen Louise at Charlottenburg. Mr.
Letchworth has erected a magnificent
mausoleum, in which the monument is
to be placed, one of the few specimens
of that style of architecture in Amer-
ica.
Perhaps the statue upon which Miss
Hosmer has labored with the greatest
affection, is that of the Queen of Naples
as the " Heroine of Gaeta." An ardent
admirer of the royal lady and an in-
timate personal friend, Miss Hosmer
has devoted herself to this beautiful
work of art, with an assiduity which
such respect and affection alone could
inspire. We will quote again from
the London Times, a description of the
work : '' I think the public will de-
cide, when the work shall be com-
pleted and exhibited, that Miss Hos-
mer has succeeded in giving grace and
elegance to a modern dress, in a life-
.
size statue of the beautiful Queen of
Naples ; which, when finished in marble,
will be on view in London. The cos-
n.— 78
tume is that commonly worn by the
unfortunate Queen during the siege of
Gaeta — a riding habit, nearly con-
cealed by a large cloak, the ample
folds of which adapt themselves to the
sculptor's purpose, nearly, or quite as
well, as any ancient drapery. The
pose of the queen is erect, and slightly
defiant — defiance less of the foe than
the danger and death that surround
her. While the right hand rests upon
the fold of the cloak where it is thrown
across the shoulder, the other points
downwards to a cannon ball that lies
close at her foot. The head, surmount-
ed by a splendid coronet of hair, is
slightly thrown back. It is well
known in Rome that during the
Queen's residence here she was a
frequent visitor to Miss Hosmer's
studio, and sat many times for the
statue now in progress, which will
thus have the value of perfect resem-
blance, as well as that of a very noble
wTork of art. It is an extremely hand-
some head, somewhat disdainful, and
breathing the utmost firmness and
resolution. The Queen's hair is cele-
brated for its length, and thickness,
and sable beauty ; let down, she might
drape herself with it like Godiva;
massed in a bold, broad braid above
her polished brow, it forms a natural
crown, more beautiful than gold-
smith's skill could supply. In the
statue it really has much the effect of
a diadem, while the rich folds and
tassels of the cloak might be taken,
without any stretch of the imagination,
for a royal robe. Royal, indeed, she
was in Gaeta ; immovable under the
deadly shower of Cialdini's shells,
more than at any other moment of her
622
HARRIET G. HOSMER.
short and hapless reign, and the
sculptor has had a happy idea, in
placing for sole inscription upon the
oedestal, " Gaetal Maria Regina." Of
the riding habit, only the part nearest
the throat is seen, and a small portion
of the skirt below the folds of the
cloak A slender, nervous foot, broad-
ened by the firmness of the tread, is
advanced to the edge of the pedestal,
and the brain and lacing of the modern
bottinc are so arranged as to give it
almost the appearance of a sandal, and
harmonize it with the remainder of
the costume. The work vindicates, at
a glance, the artist's high reputation,
and I venture to predict, that when
worked out in marble, it will be con-
sidered her master- piece."
We have thus endeavored to enu-
merate some of Miss Hosmer s prin-
cipal works. They do not embrace
all upon the list, but are some of
the most important. The ladies of the
" Women's Centennial Executive Com-
mittee" have addressed her a letter,
requesting her to design and execute
a statue expressly for the Centennial
Exhibition of 1876, " as being at once
an American, and the foremost wo-
man in the world in her art." And
Miss Hosmer, who is always ready to
lend a helping hand whenever the
question of Woman arises, has prom-
ised to accede to their wish.
In person, Miss Hosmer is rather
under the medium height, and, writes
Mrs. Child, " her face is more genial
and pleasant than her likenesses indi-
cate ; especially when engaged in con-
versation, its resolute earnestness lights
up with gleams of humor. She looks
<as she is — lively, frank, and reliable ;
she carries her spirited head with a
manly air, and her broad forehead is
partially shaded with short, thick,
brown curls, whifh she tosses aside
with her fingers, as lads do." Her man-
ner is decided, perhaps somewhat ab-
rupt ; and I remember a little notice
of her in her studio, which appeared,
some years ago, in one of our Ameri-
can journals : her manner of speaking
was compared to " an express train
crossing a short railway bridge." Her
eyes are most expressive, and are of
that uncertain hue which varies from
violet to black ; her conversation is orig-
inal and most inspiriting, and no one
can long be oppressed with low spirits
when her voice is heard. Few wo-
men are so witty, though she herself
declares that she never said but one
witty thing. It. was while driving
one day with Miss Cushman, and cross-
ing the Tiber, her friend remarked,
" How angry the river looks." "Ah!"
said Miss Hosmer, " some one has
crossed it.' This, she maintains, is
her one witty speech, but no one would
venture to assert this but herself.
To close this sketch of Miss Hos-
mer without some allusion to her favo-
rite horses would be a serious omis-
sion ;• riding is her passion, and there
are few horsewomen of the present
day who can approach her in skill
and daring, mounted upon her magni-
ficent Irish hunter, " Nuniero uno," as
he is called by many of his Italian ad-
mirers, " who can jump his own
height ;" and attired in her short hunt-
ing skirt, she is a well-known figure
at the " meets" upon the Roman Cam-
pagna, and it is said that the day Miss
Hosmer is out they are sure to find a
HARRIET G. HOSMER.
623
fox. In spite of her admirable horse-
manship, she has had many hair-breadth
escapes, and is known to have said
that her appropriate monument would
be the " Baker's Tomb," she has had
so many rolls. Some time since, in
the winter at Rome, she sustained a
severe accident by her horse falling at
a ditch and rail. The violence of the
shock was so great that the pommel
and the stirrup-strap were both broken ;
but, before many in the field were
aware of the disaster, Miss Hosmer
was again in her saddle, and broken as
it was, joined in the chase, arriving in
time to secure the honors of war, as
Prince Humbert, in admiration of her
heroism, presented her with the
brush. Previous to her last visit to
Rome, the Empress of Austria, her-
self a renowned horsewoman, declared
that there was nothing she looked for-
ward to with more interest in Rome,
than to see Miss Hosmer ride.
Possessing an independent fortune,
Miss Hosmer is free from the profes-
sional anxieties which assail too many
artists. Her work, as we have already
said, is not her necessity, but her
choice ; but there are few artists, what-
ever their circumstances, who labor so
indefatigably. Riding is her only
pastime, and that is as much for health
as pleasure. Gifted with rare talents,
with the happiest temperament, and
in the constant exercise of an art
which to her is an ever new delight,
there are few human beings upon
whom Fortune has so truly smiled as
upon Harriet Hosmer.
JOSEPH GARIBALDI.
UISEPPE, OB JOSEPH GAEL
BALDI, as his Christian name is
written in English, the renowned par-
tisan leader and enthusiastic deliverer
of the present Italy, was born at Nice,
in that country, in the summer of 1807.
His father a- sailor, and the son of a
sailor, of the race of hardy navigators
in that maritime region, Joseph was
brought up in the sea-faring occupa-
tion of the family. Before, however,
he made his first voyage as a sailor, he
had, as a school-boy, with a spirit and
resolution characteristic of his whole
career, attempted a little adventure of
his own, which he has narrated in a
little passage of his autobiography :
"Becoming weary of school in Ge-
noa," he says, " and disgusted with
the confinement which I suffered at
the desk, I one day proposed to several
of my companions to make our escape
and seek our fortune. No sooner said
than done. We got possession of a
boat put some provisions on board,
with fishing-tackle, and . sailed for the
Levant. But we had not gone as far
as Monaco, when we were pursued
and overtaken by a ' corsair,' com-
manded by good father. We were
Captured without bloodshed, and taken
(624)
back to our homes, exceedingly morti
fied by the failure of our enterprise,
and disgusted with an abbe who had
betrayed our flight."* This little af-
fair indicates two things: the child's
early and courageous love of adven-
ture and disregard of all ordinary
hazards, and the fact that his educa-
tion was conducted with some regu-
larity, or he would not have chafed
under it, or endeavored to escape from
it. He, indeed, speaks in his recollec-
tions of two faithful teachers, Padre
Gianone and Signor Arena, and
of the influence of an elder brother
Angelo, who encouraged him in the
study of his native language, and
the reading of Roman and Italian
history, which he pursued with inter-
est.
But the sea was his first love, and
its independent mode of life, in trav-
ersing the Mediterranean in a school
of navigation, in vessels for the safe
management of which so much de-
pended upon the skill and resources
of the mariner, was well calculated to
generate that passion for freedom
* The life of General Garibaldi, written by
himself ; translated by his friend and admirer
Theodore Dwitfht, New York, 1859.
JOSEPH GARIBALDI.
025
and indomitable self-reliance which
strengthened with his growth.
His second voyage, in a vessel of
his father's, was made to Rome, and
was followed by several others with
his parent and various voyages to the
Levant, in which he rose to the rank
of captain. In one of these voyages
he was left ill in Constantinople, and
his stay in that city being protracted
by the war with Russia, he engaged,
as a means of support for a time, as a
teacher of children in the family of a
widow, to whom he was introduced
by a friend. It was on a voyage,
about the time of his coming of age,
or a little later, which he made to the
Black Sea, with a young Ligurian, he
tells us he was " first made acquainted
with a few things connected with the
intentions and plans of the Italian
patriots; and surely Columbus (he
adds) did not enjoy so much satisfac-
tion on the discovery of America, as I
experienced on hearing that the re-
demption of our country was medi-
tated. From that time I became en-
tirely devoted to that object, which
has since been so long appropriately
my own element. The speedy conse-
quence of my entire devotion to the
cause of Italy was, that on the fifth of
February, 1834, I was passing out of
the gate of Linterna, of Genoa, at
seven o'clock in the evening, in the
disguise of a peasant — a prescript.
At that time my public life com-
menced, and a few days after I saw
my name for the first time in a news-
paper; but it was in a sentence of
death" He had been implicated in
some of the plots set on foot by Maz-
eini, in violation of the authority of
the King of Sardinia. Escaping to
Marseilles, he distinguished himself
there by his characteristic self-sacrifice,
in attending upon the sick in a cholera
hospital, which had been abandoned
in terror by the nurses. Before em-
barking as mate of a vessel on a new
course of voyaging, he had the oppor-
tunity of saving a youth from drown-
ing in the harbor, by plunging after
him into the water. On such occa
sions, where a fellow being was in
peril — and they have often occurred
in his adventurous life — he never
thought of peril to himself. A ready
sympathy with others, and a tendernesa
of feeling, were his characteristics from
childhood, when " a very simple acci-
dent," he tells us, "made a deep im-
pression on my memory. One day,
when a very little boy, I caught a
grasshopper, took it into the house,
and, in handling it, broke its leg. Re
fleeting on the injury I had done to
the harmless insect, I was so much af-
fected with grief, that I retired to my
chamber, mourned over the poor little
creature, weeping bitterly for several
hours."
From Marseilles, Garibaldi made a
voyage to the Black Sea, and after-
ward passed over to Tunis in a frigate
built for the Bey. Finding no em-
ployment there to detain him, he next
set sail in a vessel from Marseilles for
Rio Janeiro, in South America, where
he met a fellow Italian patriot, Rosetti,
with whom he engaged in some com-
mercial business which was soon aban
doned, " a short experience," he says,
" convincing us that neither was born
for a merchant." The Republic of
Rio Grande being then, in 1836, en-
626
JOSEPH GARIBALDI.
gaged in a struggle for independence
with Rosas, the Dictator of Buenos
Ayres, who was endeavoring to con-
solidate his authority over the States
bordering on the La Plata, Garibaldi
entered into an arrangement to pro-
ceed to the assistance of the former
province. Engaging a small vessel for
a cruiser, which he named " The Maz-
zini," he sailed along the coast with a
small band of companions as their
leader, and entered the waters of the
La Plata. An opportunity was soon
afforded to test the courage of his
O
companions — his own was fully as-
sured. In an engagement with two
Brazilian vessels he was wounded, re-
ceiving a bullet in the neck which
rendered him senseless during the re-
mainder of the action. When he re-
covered his senses, he found that the
enemy had retired and a victory had
been won. Apparently in immediate
prospect of death, he was landed at
Gualaguay, where he received surgical
attention, and recovered to enter upon
a series of entraordinary military ad-
ventures. The task entrusted to him,
says one of his biographers, "would
have been enough to overwhelm one
less able or less resolute — to him it
proved but the training for greater
deeds. Obliged to fight by sea and
land alternately, he had to create a
fleet by capturing the vessels of the
enemy, and to organize a military
force from whatever elements happen-
ed to present themselves. The war in
South America had been concluded
about two years, and Garibaldi had re-
tired with his wife (a Brazilian lady,
who had shared all the perils of his
campaigns) to a farm he possessed and
cultivated with his own hands, when
intelligence of the revolutions of 1848
reached Montevideo. Italy was in arms !
Accompanied by Annita, his two young
sons, and his faithful band, he lost no
time in setting sail for Europe, but
with all his haste he did not arrive un-
til the fortune of battle had already
turned against Italy. His first im-
pulse was to offer his sword to Charles
Albert, but his reputation as a Maz-
zinian had preceded him, and the king
recoiled from accepting the services of
a republican leader. It was indeed too
late ; and though the local government
of Lombardy readily entered into an
arrangement with Garibaldi, and he
accordingly took the field, advancing
in the first instance as far as Brescia,
and afterwards carried on a guerilla
o
warfare for several weeks in the moim
tainous district around the Lake of Co
rno, and in the Valtellina, his exertions
had no other effect than to lay the
foundation of that fame which after-
wards drew so many volunteers to his
standard.
" A wider field ol exertion soon pre-
sented itself. Rome proclaimed the re-
public after the flight of the Pope ; his
old friend and associate, Mazzini, was
elected triumvir, and Garibaldi hastened
to lead his band, swelled by the adven-
turous spirits of every part of Italy, from
the Lombard hills to the smooth Cam-
pagna. Thwarted in his schemes and
circumscribed in his actions, Garibaldi
added daily to his fame and to that
of his band by continual sallies and
skirmishes, testifying at once to his
bravery and his skill. When the capit-
ulation was agreed to, disdaining to
share its benefits, he left Rome by one
JOSEPH GARIBALDI.
627
gate while the French entered by an-
other, and took the road towards Ter-
nicina, followed by his troops. His
object was to reach Venice, where
Manin yet held aloft the flag of Italian
nationality, and his soldiers pledged
themselves anew never to desert their
chief. But the way was long, the road
intercepted by many enemies. By a
series of skilful manoeuvres, Garibaldi
eluded pursuit ; but the long marches
and counter-marches among the Apen-
nines, the apparent hopelessness of the
enterprise, combined to thin his little
band, and having reached the neutral
territory of San Marino, he released
his soldiers from their oath, himself
perceiving that his only chance of ar-
riving: at Venice was to embark in a
O
fishing-boat with a few followers. He
then made his way to Cisnatico, on the
Adriatic shore, accompanied by An-
nita and his children, and also by Ugo
Bassi, Cicerovacchio, and two hundred
faithful adherents who had still clung
to his fortunes, and had answered his
offer of their liberty by the cry ' To
Venice ! to Venice ! '
" A more painful trial than any he
had yet experienced now awaited
Garibaldi. His beloved and loving
Annita, the wife who had shared all
his toils and adventures, the heroic wo-
man who had smiled on him through
all his sufferings, and brightened every
dark hour of his life, the only rival of
Italy in his affections, was about to be
taken from him. Although on the eve
of child-birth, she had ridden by his
side throughout the march, and after
braving the heats of the July sun and
the cold of the mountain camp, she
had cheerfully embarked with her hus-
band and his friends. The little fleet
of thirteen fishing-boats were already
within sight of the Lagune, when it
was attacked by an Austrian brig,
which succeeded in sinking or captur-
ing eight among them. Five escaped,
almost by a miracle ; but previous fa-
tigue and mental exhaustion had made
this last trial too much for Annita.
She was already dying, when Gari-
baldi, in the vain hope of relieving her,
again sought the coast. To avoid pur-
suit, which they felt to be near at hand,
the patriots separated, never to meet
again in this world. Ugo Bassi, Cice-
rovacchio, and his young sons, speedily
fell into the hands of the Austrians, and
were shot down like hunted beasts.
Garibaldi went on his way, followed
by his children and by Origoni, who
now and then relieved him from the
task of carrying his dying wife. At
length he was fain to lay her down in
a peasant's empty hut. Heedless of
peril, Origoni hurried in search of
medical aid, and the husband alone
watched by the exhausted sufferer.
Nature could bear no more, no assist-
ance was at hand, and in a few hours
there Annita died. Jealous of the
right of bestowing the last cares on
one so dear, with his own hands Gari-
baldi dug her grave, in the depths of
a wild Komagnole forest, and laid her
in a spot known to himself alone. He
wandered on, and one day the widowed
husband and his orphan sons arrived
at Genoa, a port of safety, how, he
would perhaps be himself scarcely-
able to tell.
"Again Garibaldi set forth on his
wanderings. For a short time he be-
took himself to the United States, and
JOSEPH GAKIBALDI.
gained his bread by daily labor. He was
in the city of New York in 1850, and
was for some time occupied in the can-
dle manufactory at Staten Island of his
countryman and friend, Signor Meucci
Hence he again went to South Ameri-
ca, but he found no opening for active
exertion, and the home he had once
loved had lost its charm. He next
nudertook some commercial voyages
to Genoa, and thus obtained a lit-
tle money, with which he purchas-
ed the small island of Caprera, off
the coast of Sardinia. He there set-
tled down with a few devoted friends,
resigned to live by the humble
avocations of husbandry until a day
should come when he might again
draw his sword for the freedom of
Italy. The only political act he per-
formed during these long years of de-
ferred hope was the signature ho has-
tened to append to the subscription
for the hundred cannons of Alexan-
dria, opened by Manin, an act slight in
appearance, yet of deep significance,
since by it he proclaimed his separa-
tion from Mazzini, and his adherence
to the national party, under the leader-
ship of Victor Emmanuel.
" It was, perhaps, this act that in-
duced the king and Count Cavour to
turn to Garibaldi as soon as the prep-
arations of Austria, in 1859, made
war probable. The summons to Turin
found him at Caprera, and he hastened
to obey. An attachment far more sin-
cere than is usual between a king and
his subject speedily united Victor Em-
manuel and the partisan chief, and
Garibaldi was named lieutenant-gen-
eral, and entrusted with the command
of a body of volunteers about to be
formed under the name of Cacciatoi-i
delle Alpi.
" A new and more brilliant phase
of the life of Garibaldi than any that
had preceded it, was now about to be-
gin. The necessity of awaiting the
arrival of the French artillery for a
while confined him to the walls of
Casale, along with the other Italian
divisions ; but when the forward move-
ment was decided upon, the king wise-
ly thought that such a leader, and
such soldiers as he had formed, might
be better employed than in sharing
the slow advance of the regular army,
and he acceded to the wish of the
chief to be first on Lombard soil.
"The allies were still behind the
Sesia, when Garibaldi, after drawing
off the attention of the Austrians by
a feint to the north of Arona, sudden
ly crossed the Ticino at Sesto Calende
during the night of the 22d of May,
and marched upon Varese, a small
town among the hills. From this time
to his arrival at Salo, on the Lake of
Garda, a month later, his campaign
seems more like the pages of a romance
than the sober narrative of history.
During many days he was entirely cut
off from all communication with Pied-
mont, for the Austrians held the shore
of the Lago Maggiore ; and his reports
to the king, and the despatches of
Count Cavour, were conveyed by the
smugglers ; even this means being un-
certain and insecure. Opposed to him
were 17,000 foot, with six cannon and
two divisions of cavalry, commanded
by General Urban, supposed by the
Austriaus to be the only man capable
of coping with Garibaldi in irregular
warfare. The steady progress of the
JOSEPH GARIBALDI.
629
allies soon allowed Garibaldi to push
on eastward. The 5th of June, he put
his little force on board two steamers
he had captured at Como, and steamed
jp the lake to Lecco, on his way to
Bergamo, leaving the whole country
behind him free from Austrian troops,
and peaceably obeying the Sardinian
commissioner, to whom every munici-
pality had hastened to carry its hom-
age as to the representative of their
lawful king. Marching by the hills,
to avoid a body of the enemy whom
he knew to be posted on the high
road, Garibaldi was already within a
few miles of the strong and ancient
city of Bergamo, when a deputation
of its inhabitants came to inform him
that the Austrians, terrified at his ap-
proach, had spiked their cannon, aban-
doned their magazines, and fled dur-
ing the night. His entry was a tri-
umph of which any sovereign might
have been proud. The people hailed
their deliverer as if he had been a god
descended from heaven ; but no hom-
age, no ovation, could turn Garibaldi
from his task. Before dismounting, he
went to meet a column of Austrians
reported to be advancing from Brescia,
and put them to flight, the volunteers
charging with the bayonet as gaily as
if they had spent the previous twenty-
four hours in repose.
" At Bergamo, the Cacciatori enjoy-
ed a few days' rest, while their general
went to Milan, to receive the com-
mands and well-merited encomiums of
the king, who, in his enthusiasm, de-
clared that he would joyfully lay
aside his crown and the cares of state,
to be the leader of a free corps, the
vanguard of the Italian army. Gari-
n.— 79
baldi returned decorated with the gold
medal for military valor, the choicest
reward his sovereign could bestow,
and loaded with crosses and decora-
tions for his brave men, whom he was
about to lead to an enterprise more
daring than any that had gone before.
Throughout the campaign, Garibaldi
and his sons were the favorite heroes
of Italy. He was everywhere the pre-
cursor of the regular armies, and every
other issue for popular enthusiasm be
ing dammed up by the strict discipline
inculcated in all the revolutionized
provinces, it rushed with double force
into the only channel left open. The
troops of Garibaldi were the last to
exchange shots with the enemy, as
they had been the first to leave the
sheltering ramparts of Casale. The
chief was at the foot of the Stelvio,
and had already engaged the Austri-
ans in several sharp fights, winning
successes he was forbidden to follow
up, lest pursuit should lead to a vio-
lation of Germanic territory, when he
received intelligence, first of the armis-
tice, then of the convention of Villa-
franca, in July, which secured Lom-
bardy to Victor Emmanuel, and left
Venice for a time under its old Aus-
trian rule. This termination of the
war was a great disappointment to
Garibaldi, whose first impulse was to
write to the king and throw up his
command ; but, at the entreaty of his
sovereign, he was speedily induced to
withdraw his resignation."*
Following the occupation of Lom-
bardy by Victor Emmanuel came the
demand from France, as a compensa-
* Westminster Review, Oct., 1859. Article,
" Garibaldi and the Italian Volunteers."
030
JOSEPH GARIBALDI.
fcion for services, and an adjustment of
territory consequent upon the addi-
tions to Piedmont, for the cession of
Savoy and Nice. When this measure
was presented to the Sardinian Parlia-
ment, in April, 1860, Garibaldi sat as
deputy for Nice, his native town, and
was one of its most violent opponents,
declaring that the treaty made him a
foreigner in his own country. Quickly
upon this came the grand revolt which
was to bring him upon the stage as the
chief actor in the new military drama,
to end in the realization of the long-
cherished dream of her poets and pa-
triots— the union of Italy in one king-
dom. While Piedmont and Turin
were engrossed with the intrigues of
the French emperor, a revolution was
breaking out at the other extremity of
the peninsula, which was to throw the
kingdom of the two Sicilies into the
hands of Victor Emmanuel. Francis
II. succeeding his father, Ferdinand
LI., on the throne of Naples, was prose-
cuting with all his power the heredit-
ary system of repression and tyranny,
which had seemed to be the constant
fate of the Neapolitans ; and the
cruelty and oppression of his govern-
ment had become so great, that Lord
John Russell, the English premier,
wrote to the minister of his country
at Naples, declaring that, in the prob-
able event of an insurrection, and the
overthrow of the dynasty, no support
could be expected from England. In
the beginning of April, a revolt had
broken out at Palermo, in Sicily ; the
garrison was attacked, and the city
placed in a state of siege, while the
movement spread over the whole isl-
and. Garibaldi saw the opportunity,
and set to work to organize an expe-
dition to assist the insurgents. The
government, at the time, disclaimed all
connivance in the matter; but, after
the successful result of the enterprise
the king, in an address to the people
of Southern Italy, declared, "they
were Italians fighting for their liberty ;
I could not, I ought not to restrain
them." Garibaldi accordingly had
little difficulty in sailing out of Genoa
on the night of the 5th of May, with
a body of about two thousand volun
teers. On their voyage they lay for a
day or two off the fortress of Tala-
mona, on the Roman frontier, where
their chieftain issued a proclamation
to the Italians, invoking their aid for
the Sicilians against a common enemy.
Garibaldi landed at Marsala on the
10th of May, and on the 14th joined
the insurrectionary troops at Salemi.
Here he proclaimed himself Dictator
of Sicily, in the name of Victor Em
manuel. The first encounter with the
Neapolitan army was at Calata Fimi,
and the royalists were defeated and
driven from all their positions. Gari-
baldi then advanced towards Palermo,
where he organized a provisional gov-
ernment. Then followed his sue
cesses on the mainland, and the some-
what confused dictatorship of the
leader at Naples, succeeded by the en-
try of Victor Emmanuel into the city
as king. Upon this event Garibald,
left abruptly for his home at Caprera,
not, however, without some intimation
of future movements in a proclamation
to the people. " Providence," said he .
" has given Victor Emmanuel to Italy
Every Italian should bind himself to
him. All should gather close around
JOSEPH GARIBALDI
631
him. By the side of the He galantu-
omo every strife should disappear,
every rancor be dissipated. Once
again I repeat my cry to you — to
arms, all ! all ! If the month of
March, 1861, does not find a million
of Italians under arms, alas for lib-
erty ! alas for Italian existence ! "
Garibaldi now passed a year in
comparative quiet at his island home
it Caprera, without other reward than
the satisfaction of having accomplish-
ed so much for the liberation of Italy,
lie would have had the movement
completed by the extension of the
national sovereignty over the Papal
States and Venice, the withdrawal of
the French troops from Home, and the
final removal of Austrian authority
from the entire peninsula. Encour-
aged by the patriotic declarations in
the Italian Parliament, he was led, in
the summer of 1862, to believe that if
any attack was made upon Rome, the
whole Italian people would rise and
join in it, and that Napoleon, in the
face of such a demonstration, would
withdraw the French garrison. He
began to organize a movement in
Sicily. After seizing the arms of the
National Guards at Corleone, his fol-
lowers encamped at Ficuzza, near Pa-
lermo, and they afterwards took up
their head-quarters at Catania, on the
coast. On the 3d of August the king
issued a proclamation, in which he de-
clared that the government had no part
in the movement, and that the dignity
of the crown and parliament should be
maintained. General Cialdini, accord-
ingly, was sent to Sicily, but, before he
arrived, Garibaldi and his volunteers
had crossed the straits. Garibaldi,
upon landing, marched against Reg-
gio, but was met and repulsed by a
detachment of the army. General
Cialdini then arrived at Reggio, and
sent forward General Pallavicino to
overtake Garibaldi. He found the
Garibaldians encamped on the plateau
of Aspromonte. A simultaneous at-
tack was made in the front and on the
flank of the camp. In the heavy fire
at the opening of the engagement,
Garibaldi and his son Menotti were
wounded, and his followers, seeing
themselves completely hemmed in,
surrendered. Garibaldi was conveyed
as a prisoner to Spezzia. The wound
in his ankle caused him great suffer-
ing, for the ball was not extracted un-
til several weeks afterward. His po-
sition as a prisoner was very embar-
rassing to the Sardinian government.
He had been taken in arms against the
king ; but it was impossible to punish
as a traitor the man who had given
Sicily and Naples to the kingdom.
The only course, therefore, was a free
pardon, and a general amnesty was
extended to him and all his followers.
Garibaldi now had leisure for a longer
residence in his island home at Caprera.
a wild, rocky abode seamed with valleys,
the agriculture of which had been quite
neglected, till, with his accustomed
energy, he turned the spot to account.
Pursuing our outline of Garibaldi's
public career, we find him, in Janu-
ary, 1864, resigning his seat in the
Chamber of Deputies, and paying a
visit a few months after to England,
where he was received with the ut
most popular enthusiasm. A banquet
was given to him by the Lord Mayor
of London, and the people in large num
032
JOSEPH GAK1BALDI.
hers hailed him as the representative
of liberty and reform. While this
national reception was still in prog-
ress, from some motive of policy, he
suddenly withdrew from his crowd of
entertainers, who were preparing
welcomes for him throughout the
kingdom, and returned in the Duke of
Sutherland's yacht to Italy, accom-
panied by the duke and duchess. In
1866, he was again engaged in efforts
for the union of the Pa^al States to
the Italian kingdom ; but the govern-
ment still considering his measures im-
politic, checked his movements by his
arrest and conveyance to Caprera?
where he was guarded by a ship of
war. Escaping from the island, he
renewed his agitation of the Roman
question, and was again arrested after
a conflict with the French and pontifi-
cal forces at Mentana, and confined
in the neighborhood of Spezzia for a
short time, till an attack of sickness
afforded a convenient excuse for his
return to his old home.
The "isolation" at Caprera,
ever, was again broken, when, in th«
autumn of 1870, Garibaldi, at the ca.
of the provisional government of the
French republic, crossed the frontier
to take up arms with the defend-
ers of the country, in their self -sacrifi-
cing but hopeless contest with Ger-
many, after the fall of Napoleon at
Sedan. He was invested with the
command of the irregular forces in
the Vosges, having also under him a
brigade of the Garde Mobile. But
partisan warfare, however daring,
could not long withstand the sys-
tematic crushing movements of the
overpowering German forces, and
before the war was ended, Garibaldi
abandoned the now hopeless caust
and returned again to his island home.
Previously to entering upon this for-
eign service, he published a work, the
English translation of which is enti
tied "The Rule of the Monk; or
Rome in the Nineteenth Centu
r
FRANCES ANNE KEMBLE.
T71RANCES ANNE KEMBLE,
JJ daughter of Charles Keinble
and Maria Theresa Decamp, was born
in England in the year 1811. In the
biographical account of John Philip
Kemble and of Mrs. Siddons, we have
traced the career of this distinguished
O
family for several generations. After
the "retirement of these its two most
illustrious members, Charles Kemble
remained upon the stage to represent
the genius of the race.
His wife, like the wife of Garrick,
came to England a dancer from Vienna,
and both before and after her marriage
was universally admired as a charming
actress in light comedy.
She retired from the stage in 1819,
to re-appear after a lapse of ten
years for a single night, on an occa-
sion of particular interest. This
was the 5th of October, 1829,
when her daughter Frances, or as she
was then called, Fanny Kemble, who
had been educated at a French con-
vent, and already had exhibited extra-
ordinary literary talent, entered upon
her brief but brilliant theatrical ca-
reer in the character of Shakespeare's
Juliet. Abbott was the Borneo, her
father Charles Kemble, the Mercutio,
(633)
and Mrs. Charles Kemble, the Lady
Capulet. Mrs. Siddons then, at the
age of seventy-four years, witnessed
the performance, and was moved to
tears by the associations of the hour.
The young actress was received with
the greatest enthusiasm. Miss Kem
ble's performance of Juliet, after an
extraordinary run of some thirty
nights, was followed at intervals dur-
ing the season by Belvidera, in " Ven-
ice Preserved," Euphrasia, in "The
Grecian Daughter," Mrs. Beverley, in
" The Gamester," and Isabella, in the
" Fatal Marriage " — every one a lead-
ing part in which Mrs. Siddons had
been eminent ; and all of them the
young actress had sustained to the
admiration of crowd.ed and intelligent
audiences.
She entered, it is said, suddenly on
the stage, after a resolve of only six
weeks' standing; but the preparation
was of a far longer date in her life-long
thorough education, and the fine in-
stincts for her art she inherited from
her parents.
In the summer recess, Miss Kemble
played through an engagement at Ed-
inburgh. Supported by the distin-
guished compliments of such men as
634
FKANCES ANNE KEMBLE.
Scott and Prof. "Wilson, Miss Kemble
entered on her second London season in
October. She performed Juliet at the
outset ; at the end of November played
Mrs. Haller in " The Stranger," and in
December made a decided hit in Cal-
ista, in the " Fair Penitent," another of
Mrs. Siddons' great parts. Leaving
for a time the somewhat faded,
worn-out sentiment of the school of
Rowe and his associates, the main-
tenance of an interest in which makes
her success all the more remarkable,
we find her in January reviving the
character of Bianca in the tragedy of
"Fazio." A month later we have
Beatrice, in "Much Ado about
Nothing," acted to her father's Bene-
dict, which became one of her fa-
vorite personations; and this in
turn is relieved by another great
Siddonian character, Lady Constance
in "King John," which she perform-
ed with spirit, though the older
play-goers in the audience may have
missed the lofty figure and robust
physical energy of the Siddons. In
April, Massinger's " Maid of Honor "
was revived for her, that she might act
the part of Camiola. The perform-
ance of Lady Teazle in May closes
the round of her characters, in Miss
Kemble's second London season.
Her third and last season in the
great metropolis commenced in the fol-
lowing October with Belvidera, suc-
ceeded by Queen Katharine, in a revi-
val of "Henry VIII." Here, again,
as in Lady Constance, her stature and
youthful appearance were disadvan-
tages hardly to be overcome by her
intellectual appreciation of the charac-
ter. In January of the next year,
1832, she appeared as the heroine in a
translation from Dumas by Lord Leve-
son Gower, entitled " Catharine of
Cleves ;" and in March in " Francis I.,"
an historical drama with passages of
much vigor, which she had composed
two years previously.
The play was produced at Covent
Garden simultaneously with its pub-
lication in March. It was receiv-
ed with favor during the month t
and was succeeded by another original
play, in which Miss Kernble achieved
one of her most brilliant successes.
This was Sheridan Knowles' "Hunch-
back," which was brought upon the
stage early in April, the author acting
the part of Master Walter ; Fanny
Kemble, Julia ; and Charles Kemble,
her lover, Sir Thomas Clifford. The
character of Julia was well fitted to
display the best powers of Miss Kein-
ble. Since Beaumont and Fletcher
there had been nothing of the kind on
the stage more agreeable. Miss Kem-
ble made the character of Julia her
own at the start, and while she re-
mained on the stage it was one of
her most admired performances. We
have heard it pronounced her best.
With this triumph Miss Kemble
closed her last season in London. The
next was to open 'in America, where
she was destined to pass the most im-
portant years of her life. She set sail
with her father for New York on the
1st of August, and arrived in the city
on the 4th of September, a leisurely
voyage of the packet-ships of those
days, with much more of personal
interest and observation than usually
gathers a&out the rapid steam-transit
of the present time. We do not know
FRANCES ANNE KEMBLE.
635
where to look for a more vivid account
of the incidents of this old packet trav-
eling than we find in the famous
American "Journal" of Miss Kernble,
which she published a few years after.
There is the study of character forced up-
on the fellow-passengers, in their inevi-
table intimacies; the keen sense of the
harmonies of nature and all the " skiey
influences ;" and, to a thoughtful mind,
a finer consciousness of the needs of
the soul than is often experienced in
the hackneyed bustle and resort of the
world. All these are reflected in Miss
Kemble's pages. If in her personal
talk she sometimes makes a confidant
of the reader in the expression of what
may appear egotistical trifles, these are
but the fringe of substantial sense and
feeling, which often need such diver-
sions. When there is anything seri-
ous to be discussed, the true womanly
—it may be said, also, manly — senti-
ment is never at fault.
On their arrival in New York, Mr.
and Miss Kemble took apartments at
the American Hotel, at the corner of
Broadway and Murray street, in what
was then considered a fashionable
quarter of the city. After a few
days spent in observation of the
town and making the acquaintance
of "his Honor the Recorder," the
gallant Philip Hone, and other celeb-
rities of the day, the Kembles en-
tered upon their engagement at the
Park Theatre, within view of their
residence. Kemble led the way by a
performance of Hamlet, on the 17th
of September, and was succeeded by
his daughter Fanny the next evening
in Biauca. The following night Miss
Kornble played Juliet to her father's
Romeo; on the 21st, Lady Teazle to
his Charles Surface ; three days after,
Belvidera to his Pierre ; the next eve-
ning, Beatrice to his Benedict ; on the
27th, took her benefit as Mrs. Ilaller
in the " Stranger ;" on the 28th, play-
ed her original character of Julia in
"The Hunchback " to her father's Sir
Thomas Clifford ; on the 1st of Octo-
ber, Lady Constance to his Falcon-
bridge; and on the 2d, Bizarre in
"The Inconstant" to his Young; Mi-
O
rabel. The repetition of " Much Ado
About Nothing " and the " Hunchback "
closed this first engagement, in which
no less than ten plays had been pro-
duced in twelve nights, with an aver-
age receipt of over twelve hundred
dollars a night; the highest on the
night of the joint performances being
fifteen hundred and twenty dollars, on
the representation of Romeo and Ju
liet, and fourteen hundred and twenty
six dollars on the benefit night
Miss Kemble was highly appreciated
by her New York audiences, which em-
braced many persons of fine critical
taste, familiar with the best theatrical
representations of their day. After
performing with her father a round of
her characters in Philadelphia, and
being received, as at New York, in tho
best society, Miss Kemble returned to
fulfill a new engagement in the latter
city, in which she added to her previous
parts those of Mrs. Beverley and Isa-
bella. A second visit to Philadelphia
followed, during which she acted for
the first time in America, Lady Mac-
beth, Violante in " The Wonder," and
Katharine in " Katharine and Petru-
chio."
Before returning to New York, the
836
FKANCES A1STNE KIMBLE.
Kembles visited Baltimore and Wash-
ington, where they were presented to
the President, General Jackson, whose
manners the lady pronounces "per-
fectly simple and quiet, therefore very
good." Here she experienced some
annoyance, from gossiping reports, to
her prejudice, based on some random
talk with a gentleman of the place
while riding ; an explosion at the
theatre was threatened, but nothing
occurred, though the paltry misrepre-
sentation followed her to Philadel-
phia, where it appeared in the shape
of a handbill thrown into the pit,
calling upon the company to resent an
alleged insult. To the credit of the
audience, it only made them the more
vociferous in their applause ; but her
father thought it necessary to assure
the house that the whole thing was a
falsehood, while Fanny stood at the
side scene, scarce hearing what he said,
" crying dreadfully with fright and in-
dignation." " How I wished," she adds,
in her bizarre journalistic style, "I
was a caterpillar under a green goose-
berry bush ! " Escaping from these
perils of playfulness in conversation,
Miss Fanny is again at New York,
acting an engagement with her father
in March, after which she visits Bos-
ton, plays at the Tremont Theatre, and
in the summer makes a journey through
the State of New York, by way of Al-
bany and Trenton Falls, to Niagara,
where her journal closes in July, with
a rhapsody over the great cataract.
Miss Kemble continued to appear
on the stage in America till the spring
of 1834, when she acted, for the last
time in the country, at the Park Thea-
tre in New York, in April, personating,
in addition to her former characters in
America, Queen Katharine in " Henry
VITL," to her father's Cardinal Wol-
sey, and Estifania in Ben Jonson's
" Rule a Wife and Have a Wife," to
Charles Kemble's Leon. Having not
long before, in the month of January,
been married to Mr. Pierce Butler, a
gentleman of fortune and proprietor
of a large plantation in Georgia, she
now retired from the stage ; but hard-
ly to private life, for the publication of
her "American Journal," the following
year, kept her name for a long time
prominently before the public.
Part of the married life of Mrs.
Butler was passed at her husband's
estate at the South. When the sub-
ject of slavery, in the progress of the
Rebellion, engrossed the attention of
the world, in 1363, she published a
" Journal of a Residence on a Georgia
Plantation in 1838-'39," which, under
the changes which have since occurred,
O
has now become a most valuable con-
tribution to the history of a past era.
In 1841, Mr. and Mrs. Butler visited
England. Her mother had died in
1838, but she found her father living
in retirement from the stage, his last
performances, at the Queen's request,
having taken place in 1840.
The married life of Mr. and Mrs.
Butler proved unhappy, adding an-
other to the many infelicities of genius
in this relation. There appears to have
been an incompatibility of temper and
temperament, which, after several
years of alienation, ended in a per-
manent separation. Eminent counsel
were engaged on both sides, among
them Rufus Choate, of Boston, on be-
half of the lady, and George M. Dal
FRANCES ANNE KEMBLE.
637
.as, of Philadelphia, for her husband.
The interference of the Pennsylvania
courts v/as invoked for a divorce,
which was finally granted in 1849.
While these proceedings were going
on. Mrs. Butler again visited Europe,
and joined her sister Adelaide, now
become Mrs. Sartoris, at her residence
in Home. The Diary in which she re-
corded the impressions of this tour,
published immediately after its com-
pletion in 1 847, entitled, " A Year of
Consolation," has much of the vivacity
of her American " Journal," with
greater fullness and richness of style.
It is exceedingly happy in its descrip-
tions of adventure, of scenery, of ob-
jects of art, of manners and society,
as she traverses old fields, to which
her earnestness and freshness of ob-
servation impart a new interest.
Having witnessed the ceremonies
attending the death of Gregory XVI.,
and the enthusiasm attending the ac-
cession of Pio Nono in 1846, Mrs.
Butler left Rome in December ; and
when we meet her again it is in Eng-
land, returning for a season to her old
triumphs on the stage. She made her
first appearance at the Theatre Royal,
Manchester, in Julia, in " The Hunch-
oack," on the 16th of February, 1847,
and before the close of her engage-
ment played Juliana, in " The Honey-
moon," Lady Macbeth, Juliet, and
Queen Katharine. Having been ab-
sent from the stage for thirteen years,
it was anticipated that her acting
might exhibit defects from the want
of skill and practice ; but nothing of
this was observable to affect her per-
formances. On the contrary, they were
remarkably well sustained, and ex-
IL— 80
hibited more than the old elaboration
and finish. There was the same im-
posing attitude and gesture, the same
fine expression of the passions, the
same intellectual appreciation of the
subtle workings of nature. A critic,
who had witnessed her first perform-
ance of Juliet, at Covent Garden,
again noticed and commented the em-
phatic " Amen," in the scene with the
nurse, " closing her correspondence
with the inferior nature, and announc-
ing her transition into self-responsi-
bility, that Juliet, so late a nurseling,
was now left alone in the world — that
the child was gone, and the heroic wo-
man had begun her part." At the end
of April, she appeared in London at
the Princess1 Theatre, and again tri-
umphed in Julia and Juliet. She re-
mained for some time in England, for
in February and March of the next
year we find her again at the Princess'
Theatre, in an engagement with Mac-
ready, acting Lady Macbeth, Queen
Katharine, Desdemona, Ophelia, and
Cordelia. These performances were
followed in April by a series of Dra-
matic Readings, given in the afternoon
at Willis's Rooms, King street, Lon-
don, from the " Merchant of Venice,"
"Much Ado About Nothing," "The
Tempest," and " As You Like It." In
this, Mrs. Butler was following a dis-
tinguished precedent in the public
"Readings" of Mrs. Siddons, and as
in her case, the experiment was emi-
nently successful.
Returning to America, Mrs. Butler
re-appeared before the public, not on
the stage, but pursuing the new path
she had opened for herself in London,
on a simple platform, as a reader of
638
FRANCES ANNE KEMBLE.
Shakespeare. The first of these " Read-
ings," by which she became known in
this country to a more numerous class
of persons than had witnessed her
performances at the theatre, WHS de-
livered at the Masonic Temple, in Bos-
ton, on the evening of January 26,
1849. The play chosen was the " Tem-
pest," which was followed by " The Mid-
summer Night's Dream" and the " Mer-
chant of Venice." She was received
with the utmost enthusiasm by crowd-
ed audiences, the net profits on each
occasion beinsr estimated at about
O
three hundred dollars. The " Read-
ings " were continued in Boston
through February, and in March were
delivered at New York, at the Stuy ve-
sant Institute, on Broadway, opening
with "Macbeth," which had been re-
cently read in the same place by the
eminent tragedian, Macready, and
where the poet Dana the evening be-
fore had, in his course of lectures on
Shakespeare, delivered his admirable
discourse on the same play.
In addition to the literary works we
have enumerated, Mrs. Kemble pub-
lished in 1837 a second tragedy, en-
titled "The Star of Seville," and an
adaptation of Dumas' "Duke's Wager,"
from her pen, was presented at the New
York Astor Place Opera House, by
Miss Julia Dean, in 1850. The " Star
of Seville," like her former historical
drama, turns upon royal licentious-
ness and bloody revenges, leaving Es-
trella, the heroine, the only refuge of
madness and death. Like the former
two, the style is somewhat of the cast
of the old English dramatists.
The collected " Poems " of Mrs. Kem-
ble, of which several editions have been
published in England and America,
are of a miscellaneous character, in
the class of occasional verses, but gen-
erally with a predominant expression
of personal feeling. They exhibit the
disappointments of life, the burden of
its gloom and mystery an intimate
sense of the sympathies of nature,
with the disquiet or longings of the
heart — the effort of a strong nature
breaking through the darkness in
bursts of lyrical inspiration.
Mr. Pierce Butler died in Georgia,
in 1867. Of late Mrs. Butler, resuming
her maiden name, has been known as
Mrs. Frances Anne Kemble, while
her life has been passed in retire-
ment.
UNIVERSITY
THIS BOOK
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luh^on^f Toan "period
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