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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." 


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JoTins on,  Wilson  &  Co.Publi.sLei'.s,  Mew^fork 

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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." 


THC 
VNIVER8HY 


Front  the  original  paintmy  by  Chappdm  8it  possession  oft/ie  pubhs}ie>-s. 

Johnson  "Wilson  <&  Co  Publiahera  New^Srk 

\ 

Entn-el.  aeaaJira  4'  act  s-fiJvtsonJry it-Co.,in  At  alflee  nr'Ou,  Liltwian  »f  Ccryrexf  at  WaxliBia'" 


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 

I 

luh^on^f  Toan  "period 


J|\H 

NOV  2  7  2°°° 


50rn-8,'26